Plight of an Empire

Chapter Thirty Five- part 1: Arkayus

Weywynd, Rundil

Chaos was the only true certainty this war.

A blizzard stronger than any winter storm in Arkayus's lifetime descended upon the north, crushing the high queen's lines and hindering their march. Dark figures riding ahead were barely visible in the whiteout. The cold had already claimed the lives of six men and ten horses since they left Mynoa a week ago. Northerners who had survived the initial onslaught of Behemoths claimed that the Tundra was coming down upon them. Deserters flew south in droves, to safety. If only Arkayus could join them.

He spied the covered wagon that carried High Queen Audriel near the head of the envoy. She had come against all the wishes of her counsel and lords beneath her. Even he had opposed the idea, but she was insistent, claiming she knew how to stop the Behemoths. Lord Ronan Pellinor rode alongside her on his palfrey. It struggled along with the rest of the horses, except for those few that belong to the northerners. Their shaggy coats kept them warm against the air and ice.

Behind the crownless king, his five golems stumbled along. A thin layer of sweat coated his brow as he tried to keep track of them all. He had never summoned so many at once. Holding them all in his grasp proved more difficult than he anticipated. But he needed them. All of them.

A strong wind blew through him, chilling him to his core. Hailing from the mountains of Didaan, he thought he would be able to face the wind and think little more of it. But the wind of his home was just a dwarf's fart compared to the wind that assaulted the line now.

"How much farther until the front?" he yelled over the howling wind to one of the knights riding beside him.

The knight, a man called Sir Fair-Maiden by his fellows, shrugged. "Can't say because of all this damn snow." The knight's cheeks were bright red and his blond beard frosted over. Beneath his fur hood, Arkayus knew he had hair as long as any woman's, which is how he came by his name. But the name his mother gave him was Brennar, Arkayus had learned one night after some heavy drinking. "We're only making a few miles a day, at best. Weywynd should be close by now though."

Arkayus's groan was swallowed by the wind. Or perhaps that sound was the groans of all the men walking ahead of him, and the screams of the widows the Behemoths have made.

He kept his eyes down, fearing that looking into the wind for too long would freeze his eyeballs. A few stories were circulating around camp of men that had happened to. Arkayus hadn't seen any of these men with ice for eyes, but he wasn't taking any chances.

Within hours, it was too dark to go any further.  Much to every man’s displeasure, reaching the town was going to have to wait a day more.  Arkayus knew there was an inn in the town, and he also knew it couldn’t hold every one of the ten thousand men that accompanied him.  He and the high queen secured a bed with their birth, as well as maybe a few highlords.  But for the rest of the lot, they were sleeping in the snow.

As Sir Brennar Fair-Maiden began setting up the tents, Arkayus went to post his golems along the camp.  If any Behemoths were to attack, they would be ready.  He kept one stone golem by his encampment.  One of stone and one of ice were posted at the north end of the camp.  An ice one was sent to the east, and a stone one to the west.  His own would cover the south if need be.

When he returned to his camp, he saw that the fair knight had finished lighting the fire, putting up his own tent, and was in the process of stuffing Arkayus’s with furs.  He went to his saddlebag and pulled out a skin filled with wine.  He bit off the top and poured the sweet red into his mouth.  Putting the top back on, he held it out to the knight as an offer.  With a nod, Arkayus tossed the skin over to the knight.