“That is the fifth assault against us in the past week,” Hilde remarked as she sheathed her blade. “Prince Talannar would be wise to press the attack on them.”
“We would need a lull first,” Gorram's deep, almost monotone, voice drummed on. “We must wait for their advances to weaken before we push back. We have the fortress and all of its defenses at our disposal here.”
“Yes, but every loss that we take is more detrimental to our cause than all of the Abyssals that we slay,” Hilde shook her head, her blonde curls bouncing on her neck under her helmet. “Who knows how these vile creatures keep spawning from the pit of hellfire that they emerge from? For all we know, there is never to be an end to these demons, as long as the pit to the Abyss remains agape in our world. And there are only so many willing to traverse these frozen lands to defend Prince Talannar, his cause, and his secrets.”
Gavin agreed, but he did not say as much. As he trudged on the snowy path, his greaves kicking up tufts of white, he sorely missed the warmer climates. Where he was from, he had experienced a diversity of temperatures throughout a year, but it was always moderate; never extreme hot or cold. It was times like this that he considered growing his hair back out to at least help provide some form of warmth.
“Elf, how is it that you stay so warm?” Hilde glanced at Darriel out of the corner of her eye, measuring up the leather breastplate, furred cloak, and otherwise bare arms.
“Well, woman, my elven heritage makes me part of the Ice Kin clan, so while you're all freezing,” Darriel held his arms out from within his cloak, “I've actually worked up quite a sweat from that battle.”
Despite the clouds that seemed to continuously dump snow and never leave their grasp on the sky, Chill was located high in the mountains, dominating the landscape where no others dared; and occasionally, on the rare occasion when the sun would sneak through the blankets in the sky, it would reflect gloriously on the wall of ice that surrounded the city. Enhanced by Prince Talannar's magic, the ice that acted as a fortification for the town's borders would not melt by even the strongest of Abyssal flames – at least, not that Gavin had witnessed in his short time in the Alliance. But the sight, as very rare as it was, really made him appreciate the beauty that the prince put in to creating the town.
Today was not one such of those days, he noted with some chagrin, as they approached. Every time he returned, he hoped he would be able to marvel in awe; to be welcomed home from the tiring battle with such pure beauty of nature and magic coming together. It heartened him – it heartened all of them – just to see it. The men in his unit, in particular a man by the name of Tomas, had started calling the phenomenon the ‘aurora’, but Gavin had never heard such a name before.
Once they passed through the imposing gates and arrived in the heart of Chill, the four warriors dismissed their men; many of which were eager to find the warmth of a hearth and a constant drip of ale. Gavin followed the trio of his allies through the walkways that were surprisingly devoid of ice and snow.
“Magic truly is an amazing thing, is it not?” Darriel held a palm out, and a single flake of snow danced down to melt in the center of his hand. “Here we are, on the highest peak of the Ice Mountains, surrounded by the elements on every wall, and yet the snow melts before it can even reach the ground.”
Gavin nodded. He too was amazed; whenever they passed the walls to Chill, there was indeed a slight shift in the temperature. Whatever magic that had blessed the frozen walls rose the internal temperature for those from the southern climates, while still making it perfectly hospitable for those from the north.
“Yes, it would be amazing, were Mantica not at war on every front, and every nation of people were not at each other's throats,” Hilde added grimly.
“Ah, it doesn't seem so bad,” Darriel shrugged, inclining his head to Gorram. “Your people seem to get along well with everything going on, eh?”
Gorram regarded Darriel with an indifferent look. “They thrive in combat and bloodshed, eager at any opportunity to sacrifice their opponents to appease Korgaan. They revel in the current state of the land. But that is a life I have left behind. A life I wish no part of anymore.”
Gavin looked briefly at Gorram, searching for any more hint of emotion in the man's words, but there was none to be found. Darriel smiled broadly as he patted the former Varangur on the back.
“Well, we're glad to have you fighting with us and not against us! I wouldn't want to be standing across the field of battle from you! Eh, Gavin? Am I right?”
“I agree. While you no longer follow the Varangur way of life, the skills you have learned under their tutelage are impressive,” Gavin eyed the long shaft that ended in an axe head that was equipped to the man's back. “Your tenacity and ferociousness in combat is indeed inspiring.”
Gorram met Gavin's look and nodded at the man of approximate equal age, holding his gaze all the while.
Darriel and Hilde continued to talk as they walked, most of which, Gavin was not paying attention to. Every night, the soldiers of the Alliance were always welcome to eat in the dining hall of Prince Talannar’s palace. And no matter how many times he came to the castle, the shimmering crystal was always an immaculate sight. The beautiful, high-rising spire glistened like a jewel in the sea of snow. Men and women of varying nations and races patrolled around the grounds and parapets across the outside of the castle, just above intermittently spaced stained glass windows. Gavin and his allies approached the portcullis, guarded by two heavily armored figures; Darriel gave a two finger wave, Hilde saluted casually, but the guards raised their hands to halt them.
“Soldiers. Where are you coming from?”
“The battle, you know, just over yonder?” Darriel jerked his chin back the way they had come.
“There was a small skirmish with Abyssal demons just outside the entrance to Chill,” Hilde stepped in to cut off the elf’s sarcasm. “We have just returned to deliver our report to the prince.”
The guard on the right exchanged a look with his comrade before looking the warriors over. “Which one of you is Stalspar?”
Gavin inclined his head back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I am.”
“The prince wishes to hear the report from you,” the left guard said sternly before both of them took their blades down. “The rest of you are to carry on.”
Gavin narrowed his eyes and let an exasperated breath out from his nostrils. He usually left that part of it to one of the other three, filling in details only when asked. He especially did not want to be shown any special favor. The less attention, the better.
Gavin felt a rush of warmth come over him as he entered the main hall behind the other three, but it did not do much to improve his soured mood. His eyes did not have much to adjust to, as torches and tall candelabras lit the way forward, as well as to the turn-off paths left and right. The constant whipping of the wind in his ears was replaced with the sound of music; lutes, flutes, percussion, and other instruments Gavin couldn’t name, came together to produce a welcoming melody that fluttered along the corridors from somewhere deeper within.
“Well, Stalspar, I suppose this is where we part,” Darriel indicated the large main staircase ahead of them with his chin. “What in the Abyss did you do to get singled out? What member of the prince’s family did you sleep with? How much gold did you take?”
Gavin clenched his teeth together hard, trying to remind himself that Darriel was his ally, and that slamming him against the wall and berating him to silence his incessant chatter would do no good.
“Darriel, enough already,” Hilde barked as she placed a hand on her temple. “We get it, you’re hilarious, but come off it already.”
“Oh, alright, alright. I just find it odd that Sir Brooding here gets a special audience with the prince is all.”
“I don’t know what the prince wants either,” Gavin said, his tone a bit more biting than he wanted. “You needn’t worry. I will make sure that the prince knows we all did our
parts. I did nothing more than any of you three.”
“Right, then,” Hilde let her gaze wander on Gavin, as if almost leery of exactly what he was worried about – being shown special treatment. She quickly shifted her gaze to her other two comrades. “Off to eat we go.”
“Save you a plate of whatever we can scrounge up,” Darriel winked and pat him on the shoulder as he walked by. Gorram followed the first two, but there was no mirth in his expression. He gave Gavin a glancing nod before trudging away with the others.
Gavin sighed, trying to collect himself and rouse out of the dour mood, as he took two of the giant steps up at a time. The armored guards at the top of the ascension crossed their blades over the door as Gavin approached, their faces stoic as they eyed him.
“Gavin Stalspar,” the scruffy warrior saluted, bringing his closed fist diagonally across his chest to his opposite shoulder. “Reporting the results of the latest Abyssal attack.”
“Proceed,” he heard a voice call from behind a pair of closed dark blue doors with silver adornments run from top to bottom. The blades recoiled, and the guards used their free hands to push open the entrance.
Gavin proceeded slowly and respectfully into the throne room. He had been in here on numerous occasions, but he could not help but take note of the adornments on the walls; exquisite and strangely colored furs were stretched farther than the width of the largest wolf Gavin had seen, spoils of war that ranged from gilded trinkets to heavy suits of armor were arranged neatly, and a banner with the emblem of the Northern Alliance hung from ceiling to floor behind a giant throne that seemed it was carved out of ice itself. An elf sat slightly slouched back, his elbows resting on both arms of the chair, his fingers steepled together before his mismatched colored ice blue and silvery purple eyes. His long blonde hair with a single streak of silver was regally pulled back from his pale face, while still having locks hanging down on both sides of his cheeks. His sharp features, combined with his elegant armor dyed the colors of the Northern Alliance, marked him out as Prince Talannar Icekin.
Gavin stopped and kneeled a respectable distance away. He took his helmet off, holding it in the crux of his arm, and dropped his head low.
“Please, Gavin, stand.”
The knight raised his head, meeting the prince's icy gaze as he stood respectfully. Gavin waited a few moments in awkward silence before he finally spoke.
“Your Majesty, you have summoned me?”
“Yes. Thank you for coming with such great haste, Gavin. I assume that the Abyssals have been successfully pushed back once more?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I have just come from the skirmish. Our forces have succeeded in slaying all that would try and assault Chill with minimal casualties. Huscarls Tanebar, Shurad, and Lores led their men admirably in the fight. They would have come themselves, but they were dismissed by your guards.”
The prince nodded pensively. “That is indeed good to hear, but it is regrettable that we lose any men – as minimal as the casualties might have been. Soldiers are not lining up by the millions to join our cause, and every loss we suffer is unfortunate.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Those that did sacrifice their lives made sure that the enemy did not get anywhere near Chill. We met them out in the snowdrifts, along the side of the mountain, and halted their advance upon first engagement. It was the usual sort of rabble; lesser Abyssals, mostly. Nothing of greater threat, nor any surprises we have not seen before.”
“That is most fortuitous,” Prince Talannar inclined his head back slightly. “How is the morale of the men under your command?”
“High, for the most part, Your Majesty. Unlike myself, they are born and raised in the cold of the mountains, so the frosty winds do not bother them. They fight emboldened that you have given them a place to call their home. The deaths of any of our comrades always weigh heavily, but it also invigorates the men and women to keep their fighting spirit alight, to avenge their brethren.”
Prince Talannar narrowed his eyes as his head bobbed ever so slightly. “I see. And you, Gavin? How do you fair?”
Gavin paused, trying to find the right words. “I... feel no different than the others, Your Majesty. I appreciate it more than words can convey that you have given me a place to fight in your army, as a sergeant, no less. I do not take my position lightly, Your Majesty. While I'm still not used to the cold winds of this eternal winter, I am happy to pledge my blade under the colors of your banner.”
“That is good to hear. I have noticed that when your comrades report in, it seems you are loath to say anything, unless directly spoken to. I was beginning to wonder if you resented being made a huscarl.”
Gavin bowed his head, fighting the color that began to rush to his face; the prince was no fool. “I apologize, Your Majesty. I-...”
“There is no need to apologize.” Gavin raised his head to witness the prince wave his hand dismissively, the smile a bit wider on his face. “We all have our secrets and our reasons for being who we are. I do not question that. I am concerned though, if the duties I have placed upon you are too much.”
“No. Your Majesty.” Gavin clenched his jaw tightly as he spoke. It was as the prince said, they all had their secrets. “I apologize for my lack of enthusiasm. I would just rather let my blade be my voice upon the battlefield, to speak for my loyalty and devotion.”
“Very well,” the prince nodded. “I thank you for the service you do the Northern Alliance on the battlefield, and I ask that you continue that dedication.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Gavin bowed low before standing back up once more.
* * * * *
Gavin thoroughly chided himself during the walk to the dining hall. He had been given a chance to start over. He had been given a chance to command men once more, without having to claw and fight his way up the ladder, as he had once done. Now, here he was; almost about to squander his new life, all because he was too wary to trust the prince that had given him a position of rank, when other men of the north, men that would fight and die without hesitation for Prince Talannar, deserved it more. That wasn’t to say that he was not loyal to the Northern Alliance, but Gavin still was not sure that this was a cause worth giving his life over.
He entered the dining hall and saw his allies sitting at the same table as they always had, a seat at one of the ends reserved for him, as he liked it. He plopped onto the bench next to Darriel and slammed his helmet down with him. There was a dwarf that sat across from him with a long orange beard, wearing goggles with zoomed lenses, as he tinkered away with some device, his food and ale forgotten at his side. The dwarf looked up at Gavin and blinked, his eyes appearing three times the size as normal.
“Benthur,” Gavin nodded to the familiar face.
The dwarf’s face twitched in a smile, but he turned his face back to his gadget, mumbling something under his breath rather quickly.
“Benthur, for the millionth time,” Darriel slammed his hands on the table. “We. Can’t. Understand. Your. Mumblings!”
“I said hello, Gavin, was wondering if you’d be coming.” Benthur still spoke rather quickly, but Gavin knew that was his version of slowing things down. His voice was still just barely above a mumble, but Gavin heard him and smiled politely.
Darriel threw his hands up and shook his head. “Unbelievable.”
“What’d the prince want?” Hilde asked, staring daggers across the table at Gavin.
Before he answered, Darriel passed him over a haunch of meat and a stout mug of ale. Gavin downed half of the contents of the drink in one go, noting that the elf was occasionally good for something.
“He just wanted my report, same as always.”
“He wanted to see just you for the battle report?” Hilde seemed to lean in a bit closer as she asked.
Gavin thought about chomping into his food, but noticing that now Darriel and Gorram were staring at him too, he exhaled deeply through his nose. “The prince was concerned about my loyalties because of how little
I speak during our reports.”
“Hmph,” Gorram shook his head as he stared down into the flagon he was nursing. “If he’s looking to question loyalties, you’re hardly the one to look to.”
“Are you saying that there’re people we should be questioning?” Hilde turned in her seat to stare at the former Varangur next to her as he swirled his ale.
“In an army full of those who seek their purpose, with no place to call home, why would there not be those with ulterior motives? Surely not all that come to call the Northern Alliance their ‘home’ are here out of the goodness of their hearts, to serve a master in the northern wastes of the world, for a mysterious purpose none known of. Why have you come here, Basilean?”
“Much like yourself, my former life is a title I wish not to be called,” Hilde said bitterly as she took a swig from her own ale.
“Ooh, is it story time?” Darriel clapped his hands in mock excitement. “Oh, I do love story time! Hilde, my dear, there is so little we know about you. Why have you come to serve the Alliance?”
A scowl crossed her face for a few moments, but she sighed and drank deep, looking at each of them with a look of exasperation.
“I was once a paladin of renown. I fought in many campaigns to beat back all forces that would dare oppose the Hegemony; when those of Neretica would get ornery and come up on land to raise trouble, when the orcs and their pet goblins would come to assail our lands, and even those men and elves whose hearts were as black as night would let their avarice get the better of them, I was always on the field of battle to defend Basilea. I trained the heartiest of soldiers, watching many of them expire to the forces of darkness over the years. When this all started, when the Abyss opened up – what, almost two years ago? – I was wounded in the first battle. Before we truly understood the might of the Abyssals, we engaged them in battle. Because we underestimated their might, many good men and women died that day. Somehow, gods only know, I lived. I watched as almost my whole army was slaughtered, and my recompense was that I was branded by a gargoyle.”
Tales of Mantica Page 34
