The snow had began to become relentless. Days of unforgiving blizzards were set upon us as our men began to freeze. There were only so many as around seventy deaths, but the death toll kept rising again and again.
The barrage of the cold, even as Spring came closer to its way, was nearing us every second. Even the residents of Ten Towns had begun to starve and die as they threw over their own walls the very corpses of men, women, and children. Their resources were diminishing, and their flames of hope began to die out-- one by one.
I looked upon the city's white walls with great intent, on my stallion for which I fashioned a leather and fur coat. I wore leather and coat as well, as my fingers began to feel numb from the cold, even as my gloves covered every last bit of them, my palm, and the whole of my hand and wrist.
Lord Rolen patrolled the premises and the perimeter of the army, aiding the soldiers is building more secure tents and palisades. The trenches dug around a few minutes away were being rendered useless by the thick snow, though it seemed it only made them an inevitable trap, for the snow here was not packed, but rather fine.
I only monitored the southern side of the city while he monitored the northern area. Occasionally, we exchanged brief letters, reporting the situations on the front lines as this blasted war went on. Countless letters had piled up on my desk, the whims and wishes of my men for food and warmth only getting louder as the days go by.
The time would arrive eventually, when the sun would reveal its face for only a brief hour in the afternoon. That was the only time my men felt the arrival of Spring, even though it still felt like Winter.
I was thankful my men were used to the cold and damp places they lived in, but this was too much. If we stayed any longer, they would die... all of them.
"Soldier!" The alert for an invader had gone off.
The small bells of the camp had gone off, and the men raced to their bows and arrows, with some unsheathing their blades, covered with ice.
"Halt! Messenger!"
The wimpy sound of the man who rode the limping donkey echoed in the air as his mount struggled to pass through the snow. He held in his right hand a flag, white and torn, and on his left a raised piece of paper, with a noticeable stamp of red wax done on the bottom left.
My archers looked at me for a confirmation, if they would fire upon the soul or not. Killing messengers was never an honorable thing to do... not for them.
I raised my palm to signal a cease-fire. The bows had turned down.
"I... I am a messenger!" The man raised his flag higher.
"Search the man for weapons. Kill him if you find any," I commanded, staring straight into the eyes of the messenger. "If you find none, tell him to enter my tent, bind his hands and keep him from doing anything foolish."
"Aye, my lord," the men replied, their swords sheathed yet ready.
By the time he reached the camp, they took his donkey away and leashed it to a pole. Two men had frisked the man while the other aided me in getting of my stallion. The coat I wore was heavy after all.
I entered my own tent, my clothes tendered to by my servant, sat down on my chair and poured myself a small glass of wine. After only a moment, the man had entered my tent, his hands bound by rope behind him as two men held him by both arms. On one soldier's hand, the paper was held, presented to me.
Slowly, my hand took the paper from his, and my eyes traced every word.
"You have a name, poor soul?" I asked the man, who looked around 20 years young. He grew only a stubble, and his hair flowed like waves, brown and shining as candle-light hit them. It was a pity-- he could've had a wife and kids.
"Maegar. My name is Maegar, my... my lord."
My eyes looked at his briefly, then back on the parchment. "Tell me, Maegar, what am I reading and why should I send you back alive?"
His response was a line of stutter, the fear for his life beginning to reach him.
"Convince me and I'll let you live... that is, if what I am reading does not tempt me so."
Cold. The man would've felt cold to the touch as if all blood had left his body. By some miracle, he still managed to be awake and not beg for mercy like others. Perhaps we was not a total fool.
"The lord and keeper of the city, Lord Aesos Leoan, has wished to negotiate. He intends to pay you a sum no less than ten thousand golden heads to your men. If you do not take this offer... he will be forced to unleash artillery on your men and call upon the arms of the city--"
"Save it, boy." Those three words had nailed his mouth shut. "Riddle me this. How in the four regions does your lord plan to halt this invasion? We have an army of ruthless free folk marching their way north to your city and we have starved your people. I have witnessed bodies rain from your walls, young man... I hope he knows forcing my hand is more of a mistake than forcing his, because I will make sure even the memory of your city and your people will be wiped away."
My gaze had finally gotten through. Slowly his fear began to surface, turning to horror. He knelt, the guards trying to pull him up. "Spare the innocent, my lord!" His voice was filled with desperation. "Spare us! Leave those of no fault be for we have not sinned against you... please!"
I observed his every movement as the guards pulled him up from his feet, him barely standing. I give him one final stare, my eyes like daggers to his soul, and my smirk to add only insult to his inevitable demise.
"Tell me," I began. "How shall your lord's house pay for the countless lives lost during their little counter-revolution but pay with the souls of their own people?"
His eyes widened as he shook his head in realization.
I stood up from my chair and traced my finger along my throat as the guards dragged him away. His screams and pleas only grew more quiet as he left the tent. Only then did I hear the sounds he made as he grasped for air only to breathe and inhale his own blood.
Now I stood over him, watching him bleed out as his blood mixed with the snow, making for a pattern so beautiful even though it sat underneath a rotting corpse. Inside I felt a sense of guilt for killing an innocent life, then I realize the ends meet the means. Discreetly, I thanked him for his soul, then strapped his body back on the donkey.
In his hand I placed the parchment with my written reply, then ordered my soldiers to secure him to the mount by rope and send the donkey to the gates of the city while the sun still remained, only so it would know where to go. His flag, once he held and raised, was now his veil as he returned to where he came, through the gates of his own heaven.
At the inn where Noran and Orelia stayed...
Visitors?
As the door was swung open, two men awaited us at the door, with them a companion of a lady and a small kid. By the looks of it, they seemed like a family, nomads just by the way they dressed for winter. The man, who looked like a father, had grown a beard, gray and messy, with his hair balding and his stature short. His son, the eldest, was taller than him and his mother, his hair as black as mine, with the mother having a taller height than her husband, around my wife's height, carrying the kid.
"Hello! I'm Wecar. This is my wife and babe, Aean and Wefar. We are travelling south to Westhold. Care to join us?"
Oh, what perfect timing.
"I'm sorry, sir," my wife began. "Why did you knock on this inn of all places? We are not travelers... experienced ones at least."
The man only smiled, then looked as if he had remembered a lost thought, then moved aside to show his son, a grown man around five-and-ten, who wore a leather coat with layered pants to fight the winter. "My boy, Welland, was the one who bought your mare. We are not from here, as you can see. We hail from the South Cradle and we intend to settle at Westhold."
"Even more perfect," I replied. "We travel to the west also, perhaps we can travel together-- like a pack."
The thought made the man's face light up. "In that case, I'll retrieve the carriage--"
"Hold on..." The wife squinted her eyes at me, the kid of around three following her lead. "You are the son of the Duke Nosos Ravenhan aren't you?"
Well, it would happen some time.
"If we could, I beg that you keep quiet of the matter," my wife whispered. "The south, as you know, has been taken over by the rebels. They think of us dead, so I plead with you to keep that a secret."
"It's a surprise they don't have a bounty on your head," the father added. "T-though, even if they had, we are a loyal family."
"Aye to that," his son replied, arriving with our mare, pulling a large carriage along with two other horses. "We Daelics are loyal by blood, I tell you."
"Turned down a man's offer of a hundred gold heads, my husband did. All because the man's offer wasn't fair to his buyers." His wife seemed proud of that, even though he had lost them so much wealth.
"Well, come on," the man urged, walking towards the carriage with a gentle limp. "We ought to go before the sun goes down. Don't worry, Paddy and Iggy here will keep us safe the entire journey."
...who?
I looked down to see... HOUNDS?
Instinctively, I stepped back, my hand feeling the wound on my shoulder as I tried to muster a smile. My voice was stammered and my voice frail. "Do they bite?"
The man looked to his wife, then to me, as if in disbelief. They burst in laughter, as if I had said a joke. "These here are hounds, your grace. Aye, they bite, just not who I tell them not to."
I simply laugh along, trying to stay away form them as much as I could.
The son went down from the carriage then crossed his arms. "Shall I get your things, your grace? We should get ready if we're going to hear the story of that wound of yours," he remarked, pointing at my shoulder.
"Grey hound, bit me in a cave--"
"Perhaps we save the tales for later, your grace. I suggest you tell me where your belongings are so I can get them on board. Your lady may enter the carriage with my mother and brother."
I nodded in agreement, then entered the inn with him. We had little to no things, with only our pouch and our food to carry along. By the time I entered the carriage, I had seen the mounts of food stored-- vegetables by the lots, meat of plenty, covered with ice, and fruits to last us the entire journey.
"You prepared well for this journey." My wife's impressed demeanor was obvious as she entered the carriage doors. "This is a large carriage."
"You bet it is. My father built this himself. Took the lumber from the nearby trees he did, and he built this beauty. He calls her Lily, after the castle. Says she's as strong as timber can get." His voice was enthusiastic, obviously proud of his father and his father's work.
"You better stay inside, your grace. We best hide you as much as we can. Paddy and Iggy will only protect us from animals and beasts, not an entire army." The father's voice was truly worried, which gave me relief, knowing we were in good hands.
"Alright then," I began. "Best pray to the gods to keep us safe, then?"
"Best pray to the one idol the lowly peasants serve," the mother noted. "You won't find the homeless worshiping the king, knight, and scribe here."
"Neither the Winged God," the son added as the carriage began to move.
"Their prayer begins with the one thing they love and hate most-- 'Winter, Oh, Winter,' as the men and women say."