The crown of wolves

Chapter Six

The next morning, the villagers had had enough. They began gathering their possessions, preparing to leave. Silthgrad, Malron, Eldredge, and Prince Aidan sat together.

"I'm coming with you," Ronlen said, his eyes still red from tears, anger bubbling within him.

"You have people to look after now. They need you more," Prince Aidan said.

"I have to avenge my father. I have to," Ronlen replied tearfully.

"Where and what will it get you? Lead your people to safety. That's all you can do now. It's what your father would want," the prince continued.

Later, as Ronlen waved goodbye to the travelers heading deeper into the region, Eldredge waved back, a smile on his face, offering a glimmer of hope to the young boy. 

The four made their way deeper into the desolate landscape, the cold air biting at their faces.

"Where were you last night? Silthgrad says she didn't recall you leaving before the hall was breached," Prince Aidan asked Eldredge as they rode.

"I went out to get some fresh air and take a leak," Eldredge lied, keeping his gaze ahead.

"It doesn't seem we have much choice for companions now, do we? We stay together and do this as one. When we rescue Princess Lyedia, we will have a better talk," Prince Aidan concluded. His decision was driven by a gut feeling. Despite everything, there was something redeeming about Eldredge, something he had sensed from the beginning.

The landscape grew harsher as they continued. The wind howled through the trees, and the snow crunched beneath their horses' hooves. They moved cautiously, ever vigilant for signs of the night wolves or other dangers lurking in the shadows.

The four made their way deeper into the village, now a frozen wasteland where hope seemed to have perished along with the inhabitants. The howling wind carried an eerie silence, punctuated only by the occasional crack of ice underfoot. Malron took a cautious step forward and scanned the area.

"Stay on alert," he instructed, his breath forming clouds in the frigid air. "It seems our friends have been through this place. See what you can find—we need silver, and lots of it. Rendezvous back here."

Malron headed towards what appeared to be an old blacksmith's workshop, leaving Silthgrad and the prince to explore another part of the village. Eldredge, left with his faithful donkey, Nikhole, nodded in agreement.

"Well, it seems we will find our own path," Eldredge said, giving Nikhole a reassuring pat.

Each went their way, exploring the derelict village. Abandoned properties stood as silent witnesses to the horror that had swept through. Frozen carcasses of animals littered the streets, a grim testament to the recent past.

Malron entered the blacksmith's workshop, the place thick with the scent of cold iron. He rummaged through the scattered tools, searching for anything of value. As he sifted through the scrap, a low growl echoed in the distance. His hand instinctively went to his sword.

Meanwhile, the prince and Silthgrad found an old tool shed. They pushed through the clutter, the prince sighing in frustration as they came up empty-handed.

"There's absolutely nothing here," he grumbled, kicking a pile of rusty tools.

"Silver is for the rich," Silthgrad replied, her voice steady. "This village is as poor and desolate as Lonely Sands."

She was about to continue when she suddenly crouched, dragging the prince down with her and pressing a finger to her lips. They listened intently as the sound of their horses' panic reached their ears. Silthgrad peered through a crack in the shed and saw a pale figure, its eyes empty and its flesh rotting, trying to grasp one of the terrified animals.