Plight of an Empire

Chapter Fifteen- part 1: Jyrik

Frostfall, Rundil

"My lord, riders approach from the north." Morven raised his fur gloved hand with an outstretched finger.

Jyrik followed the direction and saw the riders Morven was speaking of. Four riders, each riding some of the stockiest horses he had ever seen, were sprinting towards them. They did not appear to be brigands and highwaymen, an appearance Jyrik had learned to see during their journey north. "Perhaps they are of Frostfall. Do you recognize them, Morven?"

The northerner raised his hand to block the ice attacking them from the skies. "I do not recognize the riders, but the horses are from the town." Frostfall was well-known in the north for the superiority of their snow horses. They say you can easily spot the difference between a horse of Frostfall and any other northern horse. Jyrik did not doubt it any longer once he saw the horses riding to them. "I think they were expecting us."

Jyrik nodded. He thought that too. He doubted that Audriel would let them come without sending a bird warning them of their impending arrival. Though he was surprised that they would be expecting them so soon. They had made excellent time, arriving just a few miles south of Frostfall a few days early than estimated.

The sound of galloping grew closer as the horses and their riders approached. They bore no banners, Jyrik was not expecting them to bear any banners. There was no nobility that ran the towns of the north, save for Lady Winter herself. Though the people of the north were a part of the empire and were allegiant to the High Queen, they did not operate the same as the rest of the empire did. Every day was about surviving to these people. The cold showed no mercy to the weak. Only the strong survived.

"Who among you is Prince Jyrik of Hermuna?" the lead rider asked upon his arrival to their caravan. The man was dressed in a thick layer of furs. His coarse beard was frozen in place with the ice.

Jyrik spurred his horse forward. "I am Prince Jyrik", he announced. "Do you hail from Frostfall?"

"Yes, milord", the lead rider answered. "We received a bird several weeks ago that you would be arriving with the king-killers. We just received a bird two days ago that you were a three days journey from the town."

"How much further are we from the town?"

The rider tilted his head side to side. "About three or four miles. We were surprised to hear that you were so close in such a short amount of time. We weren't expecting you for another week."

"We are ready to finish our mission and return home", Jyrik shouted over the howling wind.

"Sick of the cold already, eh?" the rider jested.

Jyrik nodded. Mynoa was cold. But this was something else entirely. Even by the fire, Jyrik never actually felt warm. There was always a chill that hung to his bones. He expected that he would never be warm again.

"Well, follow us", the rider said. "We will lead you into town."

The southern horses that Jyrik and his men had ridden up on were unaccustomed to the northern chill. Several weeks back, they had to trade them out for some northern horses that could withstand the snow and ice. They were the best the breeders had to offer, but they were still poor in comparison to the horses leading them to Frostfall. Jyrik planned on trading their horses for some Frostfall horses, but he doubted none would take theirs. If anything, the poor horses could be used for food. He had heard that horse meat tastes similar to both beef and venison. Horse meat makes men strong he had heard Morven say during their journey.

The men had not lied. The town was closer than Jyrik had imagined it to be. Walking through the town's gates was relieving. They were finally there. After many long weeks of riding, they had finally made it. Almost.

"The inn is just east of here", the rider said, pointing down a dirt road. It was filled with people pushing carts to and from the stone buildings on the sides of the road. A large building stood above the others. An ice-laden wood sign bore the letters The Dancing Dame Inn. Morven started off towards the inn.

"Hold", Jyrik commanded. "Where do you think you're going?" He urged his horse to sprint in front of Morven's horse.

Morven's permanent scowl seemed to only grow. "I'm headed to the blasted inn for a flagon of mead." He urged his horse around Jyrik's. But Jyrik grabbed the reigns of the horse before he could.

"But we are not headed for the inn", he said coolly. He turned to face the rest of his men. "Our mission is to take the king-slayers into the Black Rocks for exile. Our mission is not completed until we have done just that." He pointed to the sky. "The sun is still out so we march on."

Around him, the people of Frostfall whispered to each other and stared at the prince. He suddenly realized that he must not look very much like a prince in his frozen furs and unshaven beard. He saw many gazes fall onto the cages that held the murderers. They seemed fearful and uncertain of the visitors to their town. Mothers pulled their little ones tightly to their bosoms as Jyrik's men trotted through the town.

"I am Prince Jyrik Benson of Hermuna", he shouted. His voice commanded the attention of the common folk. "I have come at the request of High Queen Audriel Pellinor. Just over two months ago, our High King, the beloved Odirius Pellinor, was killed. Murdered by his own family, Lisbette and Laelette Pellinor, blood of the treasonous Bramwell Pellinor. I have been sent here by his daughter to bring the king-killers to the edge of the Drop Off and send them into exile as punishment for their crimes against the empire." By this time, the crowds of people who had been shielding their children in their arms were now applauding and rallying Jyrik and his men.

"Down with the king-killers!" the men and women cursed.

"They don't deserve to live!"

One child threw a rock at the cage of Iceglass. Soon after, multitudes of men and women were hurling stones and ice at the cages. They all bounced off without so much as a scratch, but Jyrik could only imagine what the twins were thinking about the sudden cacophony erupting inside the cages. A smile spread across his lips. Serves them right.

"Excuse me, Prince Jyrik", a frail voice said. He looked down at the owner of the voice and saw a small woman at the foot of his horse. "Excuse my disrespect, but did you say that you were taking the king-slayers into the Black Rocks?"

The woman was small, but she did not look younger than he. Wisps of nut colored hair flew in the hard winds around her face. A smudge of dirt was smeared on her cheek. She did not appear to be someone who would work in the fields or mines. She had the face of a tavern wench. Though she was obviously a commoner, Jyrik could not deny the fact that she held a delicate beauty about her.

"Yes, my lady", he said with a smile. "We are to take them to the Drop Off for their exile."

A flash of fear crossed her face. "You must be careful", she pled, tears in her eyes. "For the past few months, our town has lost several hunting parties to the Black Rocks. Many of the men suspect that they succumbed to the cold, but I suspect something more."

"What do you call yourself, my lady?"

She seemed surprised by this response. "Estrild, milord", she said, blushing slightly.

Jyrik smiled kindly at her. "Well, Estrild", he said. "You have on my honor as a prince that I will return safely to you within one week's time with any information I can uncover about the missing hunters."

Estrild's blush reddened even more. "Oh, thank you, milord", she squeaked. "It would mean much to the entire town if you would. We would be forever in your debt. Especially me." Her face hardened with sadness. "I lost my husband in the first hunting party to go missing. We had just married and he wanted to provide the most he could for me, so he joined the hunters." Tears fell down her cheek. "I never saw him again. That was four months ago."

"What was your husband's name?" he asked, wanting to pay his respects to a man with a name.

She peered up tearfully at him. "Samwell," she said. "His name was Samwell."