Marching North
It takes them less than a week after Tino's return to prepare everything they need for the long journey north and the upcoming battle. The ones deemed unable to fight, the children, elders and the sick or injured are left behind in Dale with the bare minimum of armed people to protect them should the enemy chose to return for vengeance at a later point. The rest of them are now walking along the narrow dirt road leading towards Aeston.
They do not have enough horses for everybody and the carts they have are loaded to the limit of their capacity with equipment and food, leaving most people to trudge along the road. At the most, every fifth rebel have a horse to ride or a seat on one of the carts to rest their legs and it is slowing their pace significantly.
Matthias is one of the lucky ones to get a horse and relieved that he does not have to trudge through the mud with a heavy pack and the axe strapped to his back. He spends most of his time on the road riding in the front of the caravan with Torleif. He is hoping to partake in the ongoing discussions of tactics, wanting to know what their current plans are feeling a strong need to stay on top of everything considering his involvement in getting them all on this path to begin with. Torleif seems happy to include him even when some of the other men and war veterans in the lead are not, but there are still times when they send Matthias away to keep an eye on the back of their convoy to make sure there are no stragglers.
The remaining time, he rides next to Berwald and Tino.
Torleif gave Berwald responsibility for a cart containing most of their collected armor as his apprenticeship with the smith meant he has far better knowledge than most of them how to care properly for the equipment and the skills to make minor repairs on the road. Tino has a place on the same cart as a passenger with strict instructions to rest. His recent injuries makes him ill suited for travel, but when he refused to be left behind, telling them that if they did, he would find a way to catch up with them, everybody found it for the best to at least make sure the journey would be somewhat easier on him and placed him with Berwald.
The first few days seem hard on Tino. The fever refuses to let up on him for three more days, and then there are the nightmares that wakes him up screaming in the middle of night, the horrors he saw still fresh and haunting. He does not talk much the first few days, too tired after wakeful nights and spends the days dozing against Berwald's side, wrapped up in a thick cloak as the cart rolls north.
With so many people walking rather than riding, the journey is slow and cold, especially when the weather takes a turn for the worse and it begins snowing four days into their march. The wind howls at them throughout the night, tears at them when they march during the day and the ground freezes solid beneath their feet. Every step is exhausting, but their determination is enough to push them onwards.
"Are we far from Aeston now?" Matthias asks for the third time today as he steers his horse up besides Berwald's cart, not willing to suffer boredom alone and the smith's apprentice does not have the authority to send him on firewood duty when he is being annoying. "We have been riding for eight days now, shouldn't we have been there already?"
"It is just a few more miles to go through the forest and we should be there," Tino says. His voice is muffled by a thick scarf wrapped around his neck. His cold is finally beginning to let go, but his voice is still raspy and weak after long days of fewer and coughing and only just returning to normal. "You knew this journey was going to be much slower with so many people."
"I know," Matthias sighs, ignoring how he sounds like a petulant child. "It is just that the longer time we use, the further away that army will have moved, who knows if we will even be able to catch up. We might just end up following a trail of destruction in their wake instead. I just want to find them now, teach them a lesson. I hate waiting around"
Berwald clears his throat from the other side of the driver's seat. "You should not be so eager to ride into battle," he says. "This is serious. If we fail a lot of people will die and the rest of the Kingdom will end up suffering as well."
"I know that!" Matthias snaps back, annoyed that the conversation is turning far more serious than intended. "I know the risks, but I believe this is the only right thing to do."
Berwald looks like he is about to argue back, but luckily there is a rider galloping towards them from the front of the convoy. "Matthias," he yells. "Tino. Torleif wants to see the both of you, right now." He turns his horse around and trots alongside them as he talks. "We are almost through the forest to the village, and we could use Tino's insight and tracking skills."
"We'll be right there," Matthias replies, and the rider gives them a nod before he turns back around again, back the same way he came.
Tino reaches back in the cart and pulls up his bow and a full quiver and gestures for Matthias to ride a little closer and swings himself from the cart to sit behind Matthias on his horse. Matthias gives his horse a tap in the side, and they trot quickly past people to get to the front of the convoy.
Torleif and his commanders are waiting for them a little away from the rest of the convoy having called for a halt, the men are grim-faced and the horses nervous, they seem to sense that something is off. When Torleif sees the two of them, he makes a silent signal for them to follow and kicks his horse in the side to trot in between the trees towards where the village should lie.
The group ride for about ten minutes until the forest thins out before them and opens to a field and the remainders of the village that used to be Aeston, reduced to a pile of burn out rubble. A village that used to house a few hundred people, all reduced to charred wood, cracked stones and death.
Matthias can feel how Tino's arm tighten around his waist as Torleif leads the little group closer to the destruction. The wind stings against Matthias' face as he leads the horse out from the trees and into the open and it is bitterly cold. The ground is bare as the wind takes away the light drizzle of snow before it can even fall.
That means there is no cover for the dead, they are at the mercy of the elements. The closer they ride, the more bodies they see. Several stare at them with empty eye sockets after the crows have eaten their fill and far too many have arrows sticking out of their backs, making it obvious how they were mercilessly shot while trying to escape.
"I told you it was horrible," Tino whispers hoarsely as they ride past the corpse of a woman, clutching her child in an embrace even in death. He presses his face against Matthias' back, trying not to look and masking a few shuddering sobs against his cloak.
Torleif stops his horse, waiting for the two of them to catch up, then turns around to give Tino a sympathetic look where he is hiding away behind Matthias' back. "We need to figure out which way the army went when they were done with this place," he says gravely. "Can you tell us where you saw the bulk of them?"
Tino discretely wipes his face against Matthias' cloak and leans out to point almost at the opposite side of the rubble. "They were just there," he says, they had people circled around most of the village when I got here, but that was where most of them were standing."
Torleif nods and kicks his horse back into a trot, aiming for that direction.
They ride around the town center, not yet ready to face the destruction head on. When they reach the spot Tino pointed out, Torleif jumps off his horse and begins clearing away some of the snow, brushing it aside with his gloves and examines the ground underneath. "Well," he mutters thoughtfully after a little while. "It's been more than two weeks since the battle, but I'd say these tracks are obvious. There were a lot of people here at some point, men on foot and horse alike, their steps overlapping."
Tino slides off the horse and joins him. "The weather has turned even colder in the last two weeks, preserving the tracks for us." He brushes aside more snow and a few dead leaves with his foot, squinting at the ground, deep in concentration. "That should make is easier to tell where they were headed."
Matthias watches from horseback not feeling like has anything to contribute as Tino moves further away from the village with Torleif close on his heels. He brushes aside more snow and mutters to himself rapidly speeding up as he seems to catch the trail proper and then he stops, turning around to stare at them triumphantly. "From what I can see here, I would say that the soldiers continued further west from here."
Torleif gives him a smile and a pat on the back. "You did excellent," he says. "I know you'd rather not return to this place, but this would have taken us hours without you."
The sound of a rapidly approaching horse stops either of them from responding any further and they see Brynjar, another veteran from the last war galloping towards them. The look on his face is hard to interpret, but it is fairly obvious he as bad news. "There is something you need to see," he says, breath leaving his mouth as an angry, white cloud. "Brace yourselves, it is not for the faint of heart."
Torleif nods in conformation, face grim and then turns towards the other two. "Will you be coming?" he asks, his eyes lingering a little longer on Tino and there is concern in his face.
Tino does look pale, so Matthias decides to offer him a way out. "I can take you back to the rest of the group if you want," he says.
"No!" Tino replies immediately, with determination in his voice. "I can handle it." He adjusts the bow on his back and marches over to Matthias' horse, reaching up a hand in silent demand to be let up. "I'm not looking forward to seeing what other cruelties the soldiers have come up with, but I am not going hide away either."
Matthias takes his foot out of the stirrup on lends Tino a hand to get back up again.
"Let's go," Tino demands impatiently, and Matthias has to admire his guts.
Torleif mounts his own horse and signals for Brynjar to lead the way and Brynjar takes them back towards the village, weaving through clusters of bodies and burnt out husks of houses to what must have been the village square at some point.
A chill runs down Matthias' spine and the skin of his arms break in goose flesh the closer they get. There is just something about the village that feels wrong beyond just the destruction. He is not the only one feeling unsettled. The horses toss their heads, nickering anxiously as they move further towards the village center. Neither beast nor man has any wish to be there.
There is an opening between the rubble almost like the remainders of a road and the village square appears before them. It becomes immediately obvious what Brynjar wanted them to see. In the very middle of the square, is a raised pole and at the sight, Torleif sucks in a large gulp of air, only to release a long string of violent curses immediately after.
A flock of nearby crows screech angrily at their presence and takes off to circle above their heads in an ominous cloud.
Matthias is at a lost of words for himself as he steers his horse up beside Torleif's and see for himself. He barely feels Tino cling to his back.
There is a dead child tied to the pole.
Or maybe it is more correct to say that it is the remains of one as the crows have had their pick over the last two weeks and devoured most of the soft tissue over that time. He might have been eight winters of age or so before his death and it looks like the soldiers tortured him before hanging him on display. There are gashes all over his arms and legs, showing through the tears in his clothing. He is not wearing shoes and one of his feet are twisted unnaturally and barely hanging on.
There is a crude sign hanging around his neck, the letters dark brown as if written in blood.
"What does the sign say?" Matthias finally asks weakly. He feels like he needs to know.
There are a few grim faces from those present in the square that knows how to read, and nobody looks eager to tell him.
Torleif takes a few calming breaths as he rides closer to read it for them all. "All rebels will suffer the same fate as Aeston." His voice cracks on the last word and he takes a few seconds to recover once more. "They knew we would come her," he growls, and Matthias sees how Torleif's fingers curl into a tight fist around his reigns. "They wanted us to see this, they want to break us, but we will not be broken. Tino found their tracks, we know where they are going, and we will follow."
"It is probably a trap," Matthias says weakly. "They left this warning with a purpose. There's at least a thousand soldiers, they want us to attack, and they want us angry and distracted."
"I know that, but this is not acceptable!" Torleif snaps back and gestures at the dead child. "We are not going to be reckless and let them catch us by surprise, but we are going to hunt them down like the beasts that they are. They might have better equipment and training, but we do have the numbers and a far better reason to fight."
"We are with you, Torleif." Brynjar says gravely, "but we should take some precautions from here on out, let's say keep a few scouts ahead of the group at all times just in case."
"That is probably for the best," Torleif agrees easily. "Perhaps it is time as well that we hand out weapons and make sure everyone is armed and ready."
There are a few more grim nods from the others.
Torleif turns his horse around and gives a nod to Matthias. "We should return and inform the group of what we found. We all knew what was waiting for us, but it is completely different to see it with one's own eyes. If somebody would be so kind as to take down the child's body, I think we would all appreciate it. I don't want the others to see how truly disrespectful the soldiers are, some thing should still be sacred.
A few of them head back towards the forest then and the others, Torleif in the front and Mattias just on his heel with Brynjar trailing just behind them again.
That is when Matthias notices something moving out on the field. At first, he almost believes it is just his imagination, but as he blinks and squints it becomes clearer that whoever it might be is all dressed in white, blending in with the snow and riding an equally white horse, making them hard to spot either of them. "Hey, Torleif," he says, quietly and a bit vary as he points towards the figure who has stopped moving. "There is a rider out there, is he one of ours?"
Torleif frowns as he glances towards the figure, looking uncertain. Even Brynjar looks hesitant as he squints in the same direction.
They turn their horses around, moving towards the figure and immediately the rider on the field turns his own horse around, urging it into a gallop in the opposite direction.
Torleif swears as he kicks his own horse into a gallop to pursue. "It's an enemy scout!" he yells. "Catch him! We can't let him make it back to his commanders!"
The chase is on.
Matthias, Brynjar and Torleif all push their horses to the limit, tearing over the field.
"If he makes it to the forest, we'll never catch him!" Tino screams over Matthias' shoulder, barely audible over the thundering of hooves and whipping of the wind.
"I'm doing my best," Matthias yells back, never taking his eyes of the target. "His horse is well rested, and we are riding double. We'll never catch up!"
"Keep the horse steady," Tino commands, "and do not slow down!"
Matthias turns around, just for a second when Tinos hands disappears from around his waist, and he realizes Tino has drawn his bow and is trying to aim it over Matthias' shoulder.
"Are you crazy?" Matthias yells. "You'll never hit from this distance." He still keeps his horse steady however and keeps riding for the forest where the scout is little more than a flurry of white ahead of them.
Tino ignores him and seconds before the enemy rider is about to disappear behind the first few trees of safety, there is a whistle past his ears as Tino releases his arrow.
It seems as time slows down as Matthias watches the arrow fly through the air and despite all odds, there is a howl of pain from the rider, and he lists over in his saddle. He then flies off his horse as the animal bucks underneath him and both crash to the ground.
"You did it!" Matthias yells. "I can't believe it." He pulls gently on the reigns to slow his horse from the breakneck speed to something more manageable. The rider has not moved from where he landed in the snow, and they can afford to approach him with a little more caution. Torleif and Brynjar fan out on either side of them to flank their target.
They slow down even further as they approach.
The horse is struggling on the ground, trying to get up but is unable to do so with an obviously broken leg. It is tragic to see an animal suffer like that, but they have a more important thing to focus on. The rider is lying just a few meters away from his horse, face down in the snow and with an arrow sticking out of his back.
Tino swings himself off the horse, immediately notching another arrow and aims it straight for the rider, still not trusting him to be harmless. Matthias jumps off as well and reaches for his axe.
Torleif and Brynjar catch up as well and judging from their expression, they can hardly believe what they just witnessed. "Well done boys!" Torleif roars. "I thought for sure we would lose the bastard and then you pull off a shot like that. I can't believe it!"
"Let's look at our catch shall we," Brynjar says, voice cold and cruel.
With a swift kick, Torleif turns the enemy scout over and the pale face that looks up at them grimaces in pain as the arrow snaps and digs its way further into his back. By his sides, his fingers twitch weakly as if he wants to react but finds his body unresponsive. Ha has dark, greasy hair after several days without a wash and there is a burning hatred in his eyes as he stares up at them. There is blood trickling over his lips with every rattling breath he releases that suggest he does not have long left to live.
Tino had made a truly magnificent shot.
Torleif draws his own sword and rest it threateningly on the man's throat.
To the surprise of them all the scout begins laughing, loud and manically. "You will never win," he wheezes and grins at them with bloodied teeth. "You might think you have a chance, but you do not." He gasps for breath as more blood rattles in his airways, but he does not make any attempt to move. "You have not met our main army yet, nor our commander. He will find you, and he will crush you like the insects that you are."
Torleif ignores the man's taunting and pushes his sword harder against his throat but receives no reaction. "Where can we find the main army?" he growls. "How many men are there and where are they heading?"
The scout laughs even harder and twists his head just enough to spit a mouthful of blood at Torleif's shoes. "Why should I tell you anything?" He gurgles. "I am already a dead man, and we all know it, there is nothing you can do to make me talk." He spits out more blood and gasps for air, struggling more with each passing breath. "I will see you again in death soon enough. Trollbunden will see to that." His fingers twitch once more by his side, still attempting to move, but the scouts body is broken beyond repair.
"Let's just kill him and get it over with," Brynjar growls and draws his own sword. "I would just leave him to die a long miserable death. It is nothing more than he deserves, but I'm already sick of his filth."
The scout spitefully laughs at them, blood gurgling from his mouth and then Brynjar makes a quick swing to silence him at last after a short approving nod from Torleif.
Matthias shudders in the ensuing silence.
Tino clears his throat, shuffling awkwardly on the spot. "Does anyone have any idea what Trollbunden means?"
Brynjar snorts, sounding strangely agitated after having diffused a dangerous situation. He wipes blood of his sword with a few clumps of snow. "Man was already dying and wanted to waste his last moment trying to scare us. It is not worth paying attention to."
For some reason Matthias does not fully believe that that is all there is to the situation. Brynjar looks like he would rather bury the subject as fast as possible, pretend they never spoke of it to begin with. It seems a little bit suspicious. "That scout seemed pretty sure of himself," Matthias says, but he packs away his axe.
"Stop arguing," Torleif snaps, but he makes a grimace and looks a little conflicted himself, something about the word 'Trollbunden' seem to have riled up the two veterans. "We should get back to the others and tell them the news. The main army can't be too far away as they have left a scout behind, we need to move quickly before his people expect him back."
He marches back to his horse and kicks his horse into a gallop, done with the conversation.
Two days later, Matthias is out scouting a few miles ahead of the main caravan.
It is almost relaxing to break away from the rest of the group for a few hours and enjoys the quiet of nature. The atmosphere with the rebels turned tense after telling them of what they saw in Aeston and even worse when a few journeyed out of the forest to see for themselves. They are understandably nervous and knowing the soldiers have left scouts behind does not make them feel any better. They left town within two hours, none of them wanting to stay that close to the
Matthias has been out for a few hours already and knows he will have to turns back soon to check in or risk Torleif sending out a rescue team, but instincts tell him to keep going for just a little while longer and so he urges his horse further.
The forest has thinned significantly in the last two days and with all the leaves dropped, they appear almost naked. The birds have left for warmer destinations and the forest is strangely quiet except for the sounds of hooves against frozen ground and snow. Every twig snapping appears almost loud enough to echo and when Matthias hears something that does not sound like his own breathing or the occasional snort from his horse, he is alert in an instant, straining his ears, listening closely.
There are raised voices somewhere in the distance.
It is faint, but there is no doubt in his mind, there are people talking or yelling somewhere further ahead.
He jumps of his horse and stops to listen further, but the voices do not seem to be moving. He ties his horse to one of the naked trees. The animal is too loud and too visible, and Matthias figures he will be able to sneak far closer to the sounds if it is only him moving ahead. It is risky of course. If he does get caught, there is a very little chance of getting away without a rested horse, but he brings his axe so at least he will not have to go down without a fight should he get caught.
He carefully moves forward, checking the ground before he steps and keeping an eye out for human tracks or any scouts. The forest grows thinner and the sounds louder. There is the sound of metal clanging against metal, but there are no screams of panic like there would be in combat, rather calm commands shouted above the noise. It sounds like people are training.
Matthias moves from tree to tree to have at least a little bit of cover, but when he realizes he is at the end of the forest, he finds himself standing almost at the edge of a sharp cliff, staring out into a vast open space.
The weather is bright for once and he has a clear view for several kilometers ahead of him. Careful to stay away from the cliff's edge he peers over the edge to find a dizzying drop should he lose balance. The landscape below is so vastly different from the one the rebels have travels through so far. There are no trees moving forward, just a vast open tundra almost as far as the eye can see. Just by the horizon however, there is a mighty chain of snow-covered mountains stretching their height towards the skies.
Out there, just far enough away from the cliff to avoid being hit by arrows, lies a large camp, full of enemy soldiers. The clanging of metal and the sunlight glimpsing off metal makes that abundantly clear. From the looks of it, they have been here for a few days at least if not longer. There is a system of what looks like sharp spikes all around the encampment to scare off attackers.
There are rows upon rows of green tents, and more green flags waving in the gentle breeze, the king's color on proud display.
Matthias lets out a huff of air in disbelief. He found the enemy encampment and he can hardly believe it.
"And so we meet again."
Matthias whirls around, stumbling in place as he reaches for his axe.
At the edge of the forest stands a figure dressed all in white, almost invisible against the snow and face mostly obscured under a large hood. "You should be careful of that edge," the man says evenly but with a teasing edge that is so familiar it almost knocks the air out of Matthias' lungs. "It is a long way down and I would hate to see you fall when you have come this far."
Matthias' grasp eases on the axe as he slowly comes to realize the owner of the voice, even as he struggles to believe it. "You have a habit of showing up at the strangest times," he says weakly, and his voice betrays the terror he feels at thinking he had been discovered.
The figure steps further out from the trees and throws back the hood to reveal Lukas unreadable face. "I can leave again if that is what you wish," he offers with a faint arcing of one elegant eyebrow, but otherwise shows no signs of actually moving.
"Of course I don't want you to go," Matthias snaps, "You owe me some answers and you're not going anywhere until I get them. I just still don't know what to think of you."
"And you are wise to distrust me," Lukas replies simply.
Matthias feels a little unsettled at that statement. Most people would find it insulting being accused of being untrustworthy, but not Lukas. He just looks calm and collected, but Matthias suspects he will not begin explaining on his own. "You promised you would answer my questions," he prompts carefully.
Lukas sighs, and finally the calm facade cracks just a little. He moves with measured steps towards the edge of the cliff, standing almost shoulder to shoulder with Matthias and stares out over the tundra. "There will be a battle tomorrow and there is nothing either of us can do to avoid that. Considering that it is impossible to guess the outcome, I suppose it is time you finally learn the truth," he says, carefully keeping his gaze aimed forwards, clearly not wanting to meet Matthias' eyes. "However, I have to warn you. It is likely you will regret wanting those answers. Ignorance can truly be bliss."
Matthias barely holds back a snort of annoyance, quickly growing impatient. He feels like he has waited more that long enough to get some answers, especially considering the lies he has needed to tell the other rebels to keep Lukas' existence under wraps. "I think I'd rather know what I am dealing with than stumble around like a headless chicken. You were in Griven when this all first began as if you knew what was about to happen and you have been able to follow us wherever we go and know all about the soldiers' movements. I would say you have been a part of this war since the very beginning, and I'd like to know how and why."
Lukas looks completely unphased by what is no less than an accusation. "That is certainly insightful of you," he says evenly. "I do have a particular interest in this war, and I have indeed followed it closely from the very beginning."
"Wait a second, then you must know all the people involved," Matthias interrupts thoughtfully. "Names and who they are, right?"
Lukas lifts an eyebrow at him. "That is certainly not where I expected this conversation was headed," he says. "Why this sudden interest in people and names?"
"Don't think I won't return to the original subject," Matthias says. "We just came across an enemy scout, and he said some things I want some clarity in. We tried asking him a few questions, but he wasn't exactly cooperative and died without telling us much, but he mentioned a name. He said somebody named 'Trollbunden' is going to get us, and our leaders refused to talk any further of the subject and that makes me think."
Matthias notices how all color appears to drain from Lukas' face. "I assume from your reaction that that name is familiar to you," he says."
"Yes," Lukas breathes, his voice weak. "Trollbunden is not just a name, it is a title. It is a word from a very old language that few know how to speak these days. The name is used to spread fear as it is the name the soldiers use for their main commander, the one highest in rank after the King himself."
"Who is he?" Matthias asks impatiently when Lukas grows quiet again. "We have met other commanders and they were nothing special, why should we fear this guy so much?"
Lukas does not reply immediately. "I had hoped to postpone this conversation for just a little while longer," he says, sounding more like he is speaking to himself rather than Matthias. "I should have learned my lesson in not making promises a long time ago."
"You really enjoy speaking in riddles," Matthias says, "and you still have not answered my questions."
Lukas ignores him and swallows thickly as he reaches for the clasp of his heavy cloak fiddling with the mechanism, for some reason still keeping the cloak tucked firmly around himself. "I know it makes no difference," he says weakly, "but I want you to know that I had no choice in any of this."
Then he throws his arms back, sending the cloak fluttering to the ground behind him and Matthias loses his breath again.
The elegant clothes he has seen Lukas wear before are gone. Instead, he is wearing a uniform, one sewn in the colors of black and emerald green. A very familiar shade of green that he can see on every single tend in the encampment below. On the front of his doublet, covering most of his chest there is a mighty oak tree, embroidered in shining silver thread, and above it in gold, is a crown.
The king's crest.
Lukas appears full of shame when Matthias finally manages to collect himself enough to actually look back at him. "The reason why I know so much is because I am the king's most trusted general. I am the one they call, Trollbunden."