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The crusade set out early the next morning. Riding Baruch at the head of his knights, Godfrey smiled brightly. He was optimistic, rejuvenated, nothing could upset him now.
The crisp air invigorated him. The sun was bright. Snow crunched with each step of Baruch’s hooves. His wound, which had left him bedridden for days, seemed only a minor inconvenience now.
Turpin had taken one hundred knights for the rearguard to march with the baggage train, leaving Walaric and Godfrey at the head of their group. Walaric rode beside Godfrey on the horse of a knight who had fallen during the battle a few days previous. Tancred had three thousand infantry and two hundred knights with him. They marched ahead of Godfrey and Conrad’s contingents. Beyond Godfrey’s field of view, Varin and the crusade’s scouts tracked ahead with the Pavikian rangers. With luck, the scouts would be able to sniff out any danger before the crusaders were caught unawares.
“You seem awfully cheerful for someone who almost died a few days ago,” Walaric grunted heavily.
“I am in love,” Godfrey sighed.
“Good for you.” Walaric rolled his eyes.
“She kissed me,” Godfrey added defensively.
“I bet she did,” Walaric agreed sardonically. “She would not stop asking me about you the whole time you were in that bed.”
Godfrey contemplated this revelation as he and Walaric rode together silently. The only obstacle between Godfrey and Madeline was her father. If Godfrey proved himself in battle, maybe the Duke would warm up to him. Frowning, Godfrey looked to his left, where Conrad’s crusaders trod across the snowy plain. Tancred favored Conrad. It was obvious. Madeline’s desires were second to a duke’s prerogative over his daughter.
“I still wish enough ships would have stayed for us at Biorkon,” Walaric grumbled. “They could have transported us up through the gulf to Vindholm. That would have saved us a couple of days of marching.”
“We needed some ships to get back to the Ostlands as quickly as possible to gather our reinforcements,” Godfrey chided. “Morgan the Bloodied is hoping there will be more crusaders ready to go by the time the ships get down there. In the meantime, the ships we have need to be used where they can be used best. It would take too long for the other groups to get to Laht and Mirborg if they had to go around the gulf. Besides, Mirborg is a port city and a naval assault would be best for that.”
Walaric murmured something indistinct about Lortharain’s crusaders getting all the hard tasks, then he grew quiet for a bit.
“That certainly was convenient back at Biorkon,” Walaric brooded aloud, indicating Tancred’s red-clad soldiers ahead of them. “The Nordsmen attack Biorkon and the Duke of Pavik happens to be there in the fortress with an army of his own.”
“I think it was more than convenient,” Godfrey confided. “I think it was by design.”
“Oh?” Walaric raised his eyebrow, urging Godfrey to share his thoughts.
“Something Madeline said earlier.” Godfrey shook his head. “She said he did not come just to meet the crusade’s leaders. I think he wanted to make sure the crusade went north.”
“Then why is he taking us to Epsberg?” Walaric drew his cloak around him as his horse continued through the snow.
“I don’t know,” Godfrey confessed. “At the time, I thought Madeline was talking about something else, but you saw how quickly Tancred volunteered to bring his forces with us once he saw he couldn’t persuade us to go north.”
“Good point.” Walaric shrugged. “Where is Madeline anyway?”
“She rode ahead to Vindholm to visit the temples,” Godfrey answered. “Before we left Biorkon this morning, I overheard Tancred telling some of his retainers to escort her there.”
“It’s probably safer there than Biorkon.” Walaric looked ahead wistfully. “Are we going to stop at Vindholm? It would be a shame to come all this way to defend those sacred places but then not see them.”
“Probably not until after the crusade ends, unless we are called to defend Vindholm’s walls,” Godfrey admitted with a frown. “We must make all haste to Epsberg if we are to maintain the advantage of surprise.”
“It would probably help morale if we did stop there,” Walaric said, ignoring Godfrey’s objection. “I heard a lot of the men saying they wanted to make their devotions at Vindholm before going into battle again.”
“I’ll bring it up with Conrad and Tancred when we make camp tonight.” Godfrey nodded.
“Thanks,” Walaric sighed, unconvinced.
Simmering at Walaric’s sarcasm, Godfrey nearly threw an insult at his friend. Did Walaric not understand strategic necessity sometimes overruled religious considerations? Probably not, Godfrey realized. Walaric’s training was in the work of the gods. The acolyte probably had little understanding of war beyond what he had personally witnessed since he had joined the crusade.
“I want to go there too you know.” Godfrey scowled. “I want to see the places where the gods walked, where the saints performed miracles. I want to see the sacred springs, the temples, and all the other holy sites. But sometimes, in war, you can act too late.”
“Sometimes, in devotion, you can act too late too,” Walaric countered.
The two said little else as they rode for the remainder of the day. Grabbing a hard biscuit from his satchel, Godfrey recalled that he had not gotten any more food while at Biorkon. He chewed on the dry, bland cake at a measured pace.
“I hope Turpin bought some better food than this back at Biorkon,” Godfrey said as he took another bite.
“We’ll find out tonight.” Walaric grimaced, pulling out a biscuit for himself from one of his horse’s saddle packs.
Godfrey, Turpin, and Walaric set up their tents near Conrad’s and Tancred’s later that evening. It was a choice made from tactical necessity more than anything else. Godfrey would have preferred not to be in such proximity to them. However, if the camp were to fall under attack during the night, they would need to be close to coordinate their efforts.
Conrad only ever glowered at Godfrey when the two crossed paths in camp. This did nothing to improve Godfrey’s opinion of the Duke of Errans. He would just as soon punch Conrad as talk to him. It took great effort for Godfrey to approach the fire Conrad and Tancred were sitting at after the Sun had set.
“We strike camp again at dawn tomorrow,” Tancred said as Godfrey sat on a log across from him and Conrad. “There is good foraging ground ahead for the men.”
“Right.” Godfrey took a strip of salted venison from his satchel.
Turpin had not failed Godfrey and Walaric. The spiced meat was much better than the biscuits they had acquired on the ship while at sea, though the venison was nothing spectacular. Still, Godfrey packed several hearty bites into his mouth before swallowing.
“Might I say you have a beautiful daughter,” Conrad told Tancred. “She is fairer than any damsel in all of Lortharain.”
Godfrey almost choked on the venison he had just swallowed. Smirking, Conrad glanced at him from the corner of his eye. Recovering, Godfrey stared at Conrad with venom. His jaw was clenched so tight it began to hurt. Tancred, apparently flattered by Conrad’s remarks, looked to the young Duke of Errans with interest. Apparently, he did not notice Godfrey’s reaction.
“And you have shown great prowess at Biorkon,” Tancred replied with a barely contained grin. “Such gallantry will find its reward, make no mistake.”
Godfrey cleared his throat. Turning to him, Tancred’s countenance fell as he was forced to acknowledge Godfrey was at the fire with them. Conrad still smirked at Godfrey, obviously content with Tancred’s latest words. It took a few deep breaths for Godfrey to suppress his desire to fly at Conrad and pummel him into the snow with his fists.
“Will we be stopping at Vindholm?” Godfrey asked as he attempted to avoid Conrad’s gaze.
Tancred stared into the fire without saying a word.
“I know we have to hurry to Epsberg,” Godfrey acknowledged. “But think about what it will do for the men’s spirits if they could visit the temples, maybe hear a sermon or receive a blessing at the altars.”
“No.” Conrad shook his head. “Alvir could be moving against the crusade right now. We cannot delay.”
“Actually I think Godfrey may be right,” Tancred conceded. “We will reach Vindholm in three days. We will spend one day there to resupply and pay our respects to the gods. Then, if we march at double time, we can reach Epsberg in another four days.”
“Thank you, lord.” Godfrey bowed his head.
“I am thinking of the men,” Tancred said, silencing Conrad before he could object. “Crusades are all about morale. Lose morale, and you lose the crusade. Keep morale, and crusaders can do incredible things.”
Conrad’s face twisted in consternation. Godfrey knew the battle raging in Conrad’s mind. It was written across his rival’s conflicted expression. Would he let Godfrey get his way or would he risk upsetting Tancred? Godfrey wondered if the only reason Conrad acted interested in Madeline at all was to be a thorn in his side. At least Tancred could avoid antagonizing Godfrey when it suited his purposes. Godfrey supposed Madeline’s father was reserving his spite for a more opportune moment. It was a victory all the same—however small.
“Well I must be turning in, then.” Godfrey smirked at Conrad. “It’s an early day tomorrow.”
Walaric waited outside Godfrey’s tent. The acolyte had his arms crossed, and was shivering in the cold night air even with his heavy cloak wrapped around him. With teeth chattering, he looked to Godfrey apprehensively.
“Spread the word among the men...” Godfrey clasped Walaric’s shoulder. “We will have one day at Vindholm to make devotions and restock whatever supplies they lack.”
Walaric met Godfrey with a hearty embrace. His eyes gleaming, Walaric immediately set off for the tents the Bastognian crusaders occupied. Godfrey smiled after the retreating figure of his friend. Baruch snorted, drawing Godfrey’s attention away from his thoughts.
There was not much for Baruch to graze on through the snow. Godfrey went to his tent and grabbed a fistful of oats from a bag sitting in the corner. Emerging from his tent with the oats, Godfrey found Baruch’s snout already moving to his hand. Godfrey proffered the oats, and Baruch greedily devoured the grain. Snorting again, Baruch gave him a sad look.
“All right.” Godfrey waved his hands in defeat. “I’ll give you some more. Just hold on.”
Godfrey went back to the bag of oats and scooped out as many as he could with both hands cupped together. Baruch ate these just as insatiably as the first handful. The horse’s mournful gaze returned, however, as if Godfrey had not fed him at all.
“I’m sorry,” Godfrey explained, rubbing Baruch’s nose. “I know it’s not much, but we can’t eat it all in one night. We need some for tomorrow.”
Baruch snorted again and trotted off a few paces towards Turpin and Walaric’s horses.
“Good night,” Godfrey muttered, stifling a yawn.
Entering his tent, Godfrey tied the door shut for the night and began tearing himself out of his armor. The air was frigid. He quickly pulled his bedroll around himself and lay down on the tent floor. Would it ever warm up here?
***
Walaric’s mood significantly improved the next day. The crusaders all chatted excitedly on the march, and their faces grew brighter the closer they got to Vindholm. The cold did not bite Godfrey’s face so harshly. The biscuits were still bland, hard, and dry, but that was Godfrey’s only complaint in the day thus far. Godfrey noted that even Conrad the Wolf was in a more pleasant mood. The foraging parties caught several deer, rabbits, and some sort of snow-white quail that day. Godfrey could think of few things that would have made the march better. Tancred was right. Morale was everything for a crusade.
The second day after the crusaders decided to stop at Vindholm proved to be much like the first. Though the foragers did not find as many deer in the woods along the way, white quail could be found in almost every thicket they searched. By sunset on the third day, the city of Vindholm was in sight.
Though Vindholm sat atop a large defensible hill, and was surrounded by a strong stone outer wall, earthworks had been dug up around the hill for added defense. The trees around the hill had been cleared for some distance so that its garrison at the wall’s towers could more easily see the approach of attackers. The southern gatehouse was tall and intimidating, but the temples behind the twenty-foot walls stood even taller.
There were three temples. One was dedicated to Loxias and Luna. Another was dedicated to Saint Pelegius, a mortal man who had ascended to glory at the very site over which his temple was built. The third and largest temple was set on the highest point of the hill next to the city’s keep. This domed temple was dedicated to Spes, the home of all the celestial gods. Both the keep and the Temple of Spes were behind the city’s inner curtain wall.
“It is the largest city in all of Azgald,” Walaric told Godfrey as they rode their horses at the head of the knights once again. “It might even be the largest city in all the Nordslands.”
“How could so many people live where it is so cold all year?” Godfrey shivered. “You would think they would not have enough food to live in such a harsh realm.”
“Their faith brings them here.” Walaric shrugged. “Pilgrims come from all over the world to make sacrifices, petition for special blessings, or even just to say they came and walked where the gods walked.”
“But the gods are everywhere,” Godfrey countered.
“Well what I mean is the gods have touched these grounds,” Walaric explained. “Three temples are all here in the same city, plus dozens of sacred springs and groves blessed by the saints too. Gods great and small have been here. Loxias himself even canonized Pelegius here in ancient times. This is the city of the gods because they themselves have marked this as a holy city.”
“And that is exactly why the Nordsmen seek to defile it,” Godfrey spat. “They know that, by desecrating so many sites at once, it will severely weaken the celestial gods.”
“It may even irreversibly turn the tide of the War in Heaven to the dark gods’ favor,” Walaric expounded.
“But we will not let them.” Godfrey clenched his fist as his heart filled with righteous indignation.
“No,” Walaric agreed.
Immediately after crossing through the city gate, Godfrey, Walaric, and all the knights with them dismounted from their steeds, and offered up their prayers to the gods. Marveling at the thought of standing on sacred ground, Godfrey silently hoped the gods would bless him. Turpin joined them with the rearguard, though Godfrey was surprised to see that the chaplain remained mounted.
“Forgive me for interrupting.” Turpin half-smiled to Godfrey. “But your knights are blocking the entrance for the rest of the crusaders.”
“Right,” Godfrey said as he and Walaric got to their feet, flushing with embarrassment.
“Go on.” Turpin gestured encouragingly. “Make your devotions at the temples. The hour is not so late yet.”
The knights dispersed as the rest of the crusaders flooded into the city. Spotting Conrad, Godfrey quickly led Baruch and Walaric away from the Duke of Errans down an alleyway. Walaric tugged the reins of his own horse, urging it to follow them. There were dozens of winding side streets and alleys that crisscrossed the main thoroughfares. It was easy enough to avoid Conrad without impeding their own progress too badly.
“What is your horse called again?” Godfrey asked, realizing Walaric never told him.
“I don’t know what his old master called him,” Walaric admitted. “But I’m calling him Moon Frost.”
“Seems appropriate to the climate.” Godfrey nodded, appreciating the steed’s white hair.
“I thought so.” Walaric grinned.
Godfrey and Walaric found a stable, and left the horses with the stable-hands. Reaching into his satchel, Godfrey produced a large silver coin. He tossed it to the master of the stable. The old man deftly caught the coin, and hastily tucked it away into his pocket. Satisfied, Godfrey and Walaric left, and began wandering through the streets. Torches and candles were being lit near doorways in the quickly fading light.
“You’re going to run out of money if you’re not careful,” Walaric admonished Godfrey, looking back to the stable they had left.
“I had to pay the man.” Godfrey frowned. “Besides, that was to take care of both of our horses.”
“Okay fine,” Walaric conceded the point. “Just don’t spend it all at once.”
“Madeline is here somewhere.” Godfrey began scanning the darkening streets. “Let’s try to find her.”
“Do you have any idea where she would be?” Walaric crossed his arms.
“No.” Godfrey frowned.
“Let’s go to the Temple of Spes,” Walaric suggested. “Maybe we will see her along the way.”
The few commoners out in the late evening stopped Godfrey and Walaric on their way to the temple, thanking them for their sacrifice, and lauding their piety. The two humbly accepted the praises as they went. If only these people knew the frustration of the crusade’s inner politics, Godfrey thought.
The two passed through the inner curtain wall without seeing Madeline. Godfrey clenched his teeth nervously. Panic struck as he thought he might somehow miss her altogether while he was at Vindholm.
“Perhaps she is at one of the inns,” he suggested, scanning the street.
“At least you will get to make your devotions at the temple.” Walaric frowned.
“Right,” Godfrey conceded distractedly.
Godfrey could not shake the feeling that though the gods and temples would be there tomorrow, Madeline might not. Still, Godfrey’s piety won out. Perhaps the gods would bless him for making them his priority.
The Temple of Spes was an impressive structure. Its ancient stone columns were massive and its frieze was cluttered with images from myth. It was hard to distinguish what events the frieze was trying to depict. Darkness had finally overcome Vindholm for the night. Yet even in the darkness, the temple was obviously in a state of disrepair, and the ice from long winters through the centuries had begun to work cracks into the pediment. A long set of wide steps cut up the podium to the temple. Ascending those steps proved arduous.
“It’s to remind the pilgrims that faith requires work,” Walaric said in between gasping breaths as he and Godfrey climbed the steps.
“As if we did not already have to work to get here,” Godfrey muttered, huffing just behind Walaric. “Not that I am complaining.”
“Oh no,” Walaric panted sardonically. “Travel to the far reaches of the world with a good chance of dying in battle. What is there to complain about?”
“You two should be careful not to blaspheme.” Madeline crossed her arms as she stepped out from behind one of the columns. “It’s unbecoming of crusaders to complain about their trials like that.”
Madeline looked down at Godfrey from the top of the steps with a mockingly imperious gaze. No matter how many times he saw her, his heart still jumped at her appearance. She was wearing a heavy wool cloak as well as gloves and fur-lined boots. Admiring her beauty, Godfrey had almost forgotten that she was chastising them.
“The gods too are fond of a joke,” Walaric countered before Godfrey could say anything.
Madeline scowled at Walaric.
“You’re right.” Godfrey bowed his head in a penitent gesture. “We did volunteer for this after all.”
The wind whipped Godfrey’s cloak around, sending a chill through his spine. Walaric shuddered too. With a sigh, Madeline rolled her eyes at the two of them.
“Well I think freezing to death outside tonight would probably be a harsher penance than the gods would intend.” Madeline tugged on Godfrey’s tabard, drawing him up the last step. “Inside, both of you, now.”
Madeline paused for a moment. She looked up into the stars. Her breath left her mouth in steamy trails as she contemplated something. Godfrey had trouble concentrating on whatever she was about to say. Her skin reminded him of polished white marble. The distraction did not last long though.
“Actually...” She looked at Walaric then Godfrey. “I think you should see something first, Godfrey.”
Walaric fumed at the omission. Madeline’s awkward expression made it clear that she intended Walaric to go on without them. She made a conciliatory gesture, but Walaric only rolled his eyes in contempt. With a sigh, he turned away from her.
“I get it,” the acolyte snorted. “I’ll just see myself into the temple.”
“Sorry,” Godfrey began, but Walaric was already leaving.
“It’s fine,” Walaric called out over his shoulder as he continued into the temple.
Godfrey doubted that.
If only there were a girl for him, Godfrey thought. Then this stuff would not be so...but there was no girl for Walaric. There never would be if he really ended up devoting himself to Luna or one of the other celestial gods or goddesses. It was the nature of his vocation. Still, Walaric had chosen this path after all, right?
Godfrey had never asked Walaric that particular question now that he thought about it. Upon further consideration, Godfrey realized that many people’s paths were chosen for them. Godfrey knew serfs worked the land upon which they were born. Other commoners followed in the professions of their fathers who were, in turn, controlled by guilds. Even the liberty granted by wealth was constrained by the rival ambitions of feudal lords and ladies. For instance, Madeline standing before Godfrey now surely did not have her father’s approval. This meeting, like the one on Biorkon’s stairs, had to be a secret.
“What are you thinking?” Madeline gave a faint smile now that Walaric had gone inside the temple.
“I was just wondering what you wanted to show me.” Godfrey’s heart began to race.
The anticipation heightened his senses. It made time slow. The experience was not entirely unlike the tension he felt before combat. Only, in this instance, his hand did not tremble.
“Come with me.” Madeline extended her hand.
Taking Madeline’s gloved hand, Godfrey was led to a garden behind the temple. There were no flower blooms or any signs of greenery in the cold darkness, but the way the slumbering shrubs, trees, statues, and stone benches had been arranged told him that at another time of year, this spot of ground had been well cared for.
“This site is used for augury,” Madeline explained. “The priests watch birds here for signs during the day. But at night, there are other marvels in the heavens to watch.”
Madeline offered Godfrey no further explanation. Brushing snow off a nearby bench, she sat and offered Godfrey a place at her side. He sat, setting his spangenhelm on the ground next to them. The icy stone soon stung him through the seat of his trousers.
“Does it ever really warm up here?” Godfrey complained.
Godfrey immediately regretted asking the question. Complaints were not the sort of thing that kept damsels interested in young knights. However, Madeline took it in stride.
“This is nothing compared to Farthest Thule,” she teased. “Or at least that’s what I’ve been told.”
“I’ve never heard of it,” Godfrey admitted.
“As the name implies,” Madeline started in a lecturing tone, “it’s the farthest realm beyond the known world. It’s so far north men cannot live there. Only a small kingdom of elves is said to be up there. And they only survive thanks to powerful magic.”
“Have you ever seen any of these elves?” he asked. “They had some great empire centuries ago, and I’ve seen the ruins of some of their cities down in the Ostlands.”
“No,” she confessed. “But my grandparents used to say they had before they passed on. An elf army helped out during one of the crusades back when they were young.”
“Interesting,” Godfrey noted. “How did the crusaders get the elves to help?”
“One of the crusaders found Farthest Thule,” Madeline answered. “The elves agreed to help the crusader on the condition that he would never reveal the location of their city. The elves jealously guard such secrets.”
Godfrey considered this for a while.
“But we are only really in the southernmost part of the Nordslands.” He began to put to rest a half-formed plan in his mind. “We would have to get through most of Azgald and all the Nordsman clans before we would be anywhere near Farthest Thule, huh?”
“That’s why Azgald has only sought out Farthest Thule in vain.” Madeline shook her head. “With the Nordsmen, orcs, trolls, giants, cyclopes, and undead that stand between us and that realm, contact is all but impossible.”
“Not for that crusader your grandparents spoke of,” he countered.
“He was lucky,” she said, dismissing the thought.
“Or he was blessed by the gods,” Godfrey suggested as he turned his attention back to the temple behind them.
A smile cracked across her face.
The two sat and said nothing for a while. Though he made no mention of going inside, his body was almost completely numb. Even Madeline was beginning to show signs of cold. Shifting on the bench, Godfrey began to worry about whether Conrad or Tancred would unexpectedly show up.
“You never did say what you wanted me to see,” Godfrey said, breaking the silence.
“Oh.” Disappointment washed over Madeline’s face. “I was hoping tonight...”
With a sudden flash of light, her countenance changed from dull to luminous just as much in the physical as the emotional sense. Shocked, Godfrey looked from her face to a strange shimmering green light in the sky overhead. He almost fell back at the eerie display, but steadied himself just before he could lose his balance.
“What manner of sorcery is this?” Godfrey had trouble keeping the fear out of his voice.
“It’s not sorcery,” Madeline reassured him. “In Azgald, we call this the northern lights.”
“It’s beautiful.” He relaxed a bit, watching the lights dance through the sky. “How do you know it’s not magic?”
“Magical beings can sense when magic is being used around them.” Her answer took on a cautious tone. “Whatever powers create the northern lights on nights like this do so naturally, even if there is no rhyme or reason as to when.”
“How do you know so much about magic?” His voice had grown graver than he meant it to.
“A few days ago you entrusted me with a secret,” she began. “You told me something very personal you had never told anyone before. Now I’d like to tell you something very personal about me that I have never told anyone before.”