1694: The Cause of a Tempest – Part 2 1694: The Cause of a Tempest – Part 2 The horse had lived like a warrior itself.
So mounts were trained for the fight, but Walter had the instincts of a creature that seed to seek the fight out.
Oliver was almost irritatingly proud of the animal.
He spoke his praise of it at tis to those around him, and the weary looks that they’d worn in response to it was enough to indicate that they’d heard the sa things a thousand tis before.
It was the losses that otherwise might be considered small that really found their way to sting Oliver.
Indeed, it was sentintality that brought him riding as close to Solgrim as he did, with their horses crunching down the icy snow, compacting it afresh, leaving only their hoof prints in what was otherwise an unblemished blanket.
It was enough evidence – if ever they needed any – that Solgrim had not seen visitors since last they were there, just a few days before.
He brought his party circling around it in a loop.
It wasn’t in a bad state, considering the battle that had been fought next to it.
The Erson’s hadn’t acted to reduce what was in the end their own captured defences, and Oliver and his n had never gone as far as sieging it.
There were only the most minor of repairs that needed to be done.
All things considered, it was remarkable how well it looked.
It was enough to make one believe Fitzer’s rambling – of which Oliver had now heard them too – that there was so kind of spell of protection on Solgrim, to have it kept safe from all the invaders over the years that would do it harm.
A will that was watered with the blood of the people, and added to with each fresh enemy that they overca.
Oliver shivered at the thought.
There was an undeniable presence to it.
As he pulled his party away, he could almost feel the village mourning his absence.
It pulled him to it, willing him to walk those streets again, to see himself settled in the Lord’s house, where Ferdinand had once dwelled.
“Soon,” he told it aloud, ignoring the strange looks that he was given for speaking to himself.
“Soon enough.” With his final little departure of sentintality, he set himself to his cause.
There was a cold wind already blowing.
They were dressed up warmly.
There wasn’t a man among them that wasn’t wearing a thick pair of gloves on their hands, and a cloak, or a fur coat over their armour.
It was a neck scarf that Oliver wore, in place of a helt, and a little fur hat to go along with it.
It looked almost childish on his head, and Nila had remarked that it seed far too cute for the likes of the work that he was doing.
He’d grinned at that, and decided to keep it regardless.
South they went – finally, after going back east again, so that those Blackthorn n who were watching atop the wall would know that he hadn’t lied to them in his intentions.
He wondered if they could assu as to the nature of the detour that he’d made.
But then, he supposed, that too mattered not.
Their horses bore the weight of saddlebags, but it hardly seed to slow them.
He’d had enough supplies gathered up between them to last a handful of days.
He wasn’t quite sure of his own intentions yet, how long he intended to be out there, or the exact nature of his plan.
But he realized that he preferred that.
There was a certainty to how he rode, despite that lack of a plan.
He knew there was just a one thing that he intended to find – and that was a storm.
He pushed the n hard through the night – for the night ca far earlier in those winter days than a man would wish for.
Only after a few good hours of riding in pitch darkness did he finally give them leave to rest.
Even when they did rest, it was of the most uncomfortable, fitful sort, given the cold.
The clothes they wore were sufficient when they were pushing themselves in their riding, and they had the natural heat of exertion to fuel them, but when they were sitting in the snow and the cold, unmoving, the frost quickly word its way beyond the fabrics, straight into the muscles around the bones.
He allowed them their fires.
That was at least a comfort.
But as to their bedding, and their shelter, there was nothing but the snow to work with.
There were two spades to pass around between those thirty n, and they worked them to make so little dugouts in the snow, a few feet deep.
Just enough to keep them away from the worst of the wind, but not enough to protect them from the snow when it began to fall during the night.
When dawn ca, they were half-subrged.
Every man had his cloak pulled up tight past his head.
Other parties might have passed them, and not at all realized that there were n sleeping in the snow there – not if they failed to see the smoke of the still smouldering fires, or the depressions that had been dug out.
“Well, that was a thoroughly miserable night,” one man comnted, a little too loudly for the Minister of Blades.
“Is that a complaint, Soldier?” He asked sharply.
“No, my Lord,” the man said, instantly yielding.
“It was a harsh night,” Oliver agreed.
“Forgive .
Such will be the nature of this exertion.
Such is why there are only thirty of us.” “They will last,” the Minister of Blades said.
“Lest they embarrass the Yoreholder na with further complaints.” “Quite right, my Lord.
We will last, General Patrick, so please don’t pay any mind to my complaints,” the sa man said.
“Then I shall push you further today,” Oliver said, taking a small amount of amusent in seeing the man’s confident look plumt.
They were mounted again, and out they went.
Further to the south, plunging through the thinning snow.
The weather ward up noticeably, though it was still winter no matter how far they ran, it was lesser than the winters to the north, where Solgrim and Ernest lay.
The snow grew shallower, and the skies sat less angry, with more sun peering through the clouds.
Reviews
All reviews (0)