Jay Olsen-Thrift

Standing on top of the Wall, Na’roc of North stretched as far as the eye could see. It was always winter in those desolate lands. Snow fell every day, some days worse than others. Two months ago, snowstorms drifted towards the Wall, plunging the lands south of the border into an early winter. Looking northward there was nothing except the snow. East and west were not much of a sight either. The Wall was built between two mountain peaks referred to as the Twins, a perfect fortification in a natural pass leading south to the lands of Promthus. At least the lands south of the Wall had more color. Trees and mountains covered the landscape, indicating the border between Promthus and the Imalar Woods. Not too far to the south was a windmill and small farm that provided provisions to the men stationed at the Wall.

Addam had been stationed at the Wall for almost three years. Being that far north was miserable, but it beat being anywhere south of the Hourglass Lakes. He had cousins and a brother who were on the front lines near Merrioff and the border with Moonyswyn. The last he’d heard from his family, the fighting was fierce. That letter had arrived over three months ago, though, so he didn’t know if his cousins and brother were still alive. Letters only arrived at the Wall during the warmer months unless it was an urgent message from the king. The best he could hope for was an early thaw and a speedy courier. 

“About time to head downstairs,” Addam’s fellow soldier, Stuart, said hopefully, raising his voice over the wind. “My fingers and toes are about damn frozen. Will do me good to get a bowl of soup.”

Addam grunted and nodded in agreement. The two had been standing atop the Wall for nearly four hours, the standard shift during winter. They were in the sixth guard tower, closer to the eastern Twin. Torches and a small pit fire burned around them, but the wind seeped through their armor and clothing regardless. 

Stuart had been at the Wall a couple of years longer than Addam and was one of his closest mates. The two had bonded over their status as third sons, both being sent north to preserve their bloodlines. They had trained with Prince Robyn before his disappearance. Both were due trips south in the next few months to visit family and warm their bones. Stuart had a wife in Trent. Last he heard from her she was with child. By the time he left the Wall, he would get to meet his son or daughter. Addam’s family was on the other side of the lakes in Ferilin. He had no woman waiting for him at home, which suited him just fine. He was of the mind to let his older brothers get married and have children, leaving him to forge his own path. Although so far that path had led him north, to a place where he could never quite shake the chill from his bones or feel the whole of his fingertips. 

It’ll be good to get down for a few hours, Addam thought as they made their way to the stairs leading to the outpost below. As they descended, their two replacements were climbing up the stairs. They nodded to each other in passing, nothing to report or announce.

Below the Wall were a few small outposts, each providing lodging, meals, and an armory for the guard towers above. Addam and Stuart’s outpost covered the sixth, seventh, and eighth guard towers on the Wall. The journey to the outpost took roughly twenty minutes, but it got their blood flowing. By the time they entered the mead hall they were ready to shed their cloaks and outer coats. The scent of meat and stew filled the air. Addam was practically salivating. Provisions were not as ample in the colder months, so their daily meals were cut from three to two and they only ate meat twice per week. Tonight was one of those lucky nights. 

A great fire pit filled the center of the mead hall, tended to by the apprentices of the outpost. Tables lined both sides of the fire pit, several men already feasting upon their suppers. Opposite the entrance was some semblance of a kitchen. The stew cauldron was positioned over the edge of the fire pit. There was a small alcove of hutches, countertops, and a large stone oven behind it. Addam and Stuart made their way to the cauldron, greeting some of the men at the tables. 

“Regis! Been some time. Good to see you!” Addam called out to a grisly older man hunched over his bowl of stew. The man nodded and waved his spoon in acknowledgement.

Another man, Lesnet, cackled. “Addam ‘n Stuart must’ve run down those stairs. Barth just left.” 

“Didn’t want to miss out on supper!” Stuart laughed.

One of the apprentices was ladling stew into two bowls for the men. Stuart mumbled his thanks and left to join the other men in one of the empty seats. 

Addam hovered by the apprentice for a moment, eating a spoonful of stew. “Mark, is it?”

The apprentice looked up from the cauldron and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“You serve the 7th, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good men over there,” Addam grunted. He shoveled another spoonful of broth into his mouth, enjoying the tender carrots. “How long you been up here?”

Mark stirred the stew idly. “Nearly six months, sir.”

“And did the boys at the 7th train you to call everyone ‘sir’?” Addam grinned, nudging the boy with his elbow. He couldn’t have been any older than seventeen, eighteen at the most. Mark had a long mess of brown hair on his head, and he stood taller than Addam. He was dressed in thick woolen clothes, but it was obvious the boy lacked muscle. 

Mark’s cheeks flushed. “No, my mam made the impression. She always told me to be respectful.”

“Good lesson.” Addam nodded. “Which city you from?”

“Ferilin.”

“A fellow mate! Ferilin’s my home as well. Blue Breeze Farm is my family’s.” Addam’s father and uncle ran the farm together, growing greens and sheep for Ferilin.

“Mam always enjoyed getting wool from your family,” Mark said. “When we could afford it.”

Addam understood. Several families sent their boys and men to the Wall to earn coin, though the more lucrative offer was to join the war down south. “Do you have any others?” he asked.

“Nah, just three sisters.”

Addam nodded. The boy was here for a modest but steady supply of coin, and his family wanted him to return with all his limbs still attached. 

From behind Addam came grumbles and a couple of men clearing their throats. Mark realized there was a line and began serving more bowls of stew. 

Addam took his leave, calling over his shoulder, “We should catch up some time!”

“Yeah,” Mark agreed.

Addam took a seat near Stuart and a handful of other men, setting down the bowl of stew before removing his snow-dusted cloak and draping it across the back of his chair, flakes falling to the floor.

A man named Rhonold pointed at the cloak with his spoon. “Nasty out there, eh?” 

Addam nodded, and Stuart let out an agreeing guffaw.

“Gonna be hard getting up for the dawn shift,” Stuart mumbled, shoveling food into his mouth.

Rhonold and Lesnet laughed. They washed their stew down with mugs of ale. Addam and Stuart hadn’t gotten their drinks yet—both men had wanted to fill their bellies first.

“Watch beats training,” Rhonold retorted. “I’ll be gettin’ up to whip the new bloods into shape.”

“It’ll get the blood flowing at least,” Addam said.

Rhonold conceded with a scowl, draining his mug. He stood and stalked off to fill it again. 

“What would you lads do to kill time ‘til your shift?” Lesnet asked, scooting over to take Rhonold’s spot. “Four hours to kill.”

“Sleep, shit, or maybe visit the armory,” Stuart rattled off. “They always got blades needin’ sharpening.”

Lesnet grimaced. “Where’s that bloke with the cards? Maybe he’ll come by for supper soon.”

“Hestin, I think’s his name,” Addam answered.

“Good lad,” Stuart grunted.

Each of the three men ate, drank, and sat in silence for a few moments. Rhonold returned with three mugs, nudging Lesnet with his knee. Lesnet grumbled but made no other protest and slid back to his original seat to allow Rhonold to sit down. The man set one mug in front of himself, giving the other two to Addam and Stuart. The other two men raised a toast to Rhonold, all four clinking mugs before drinking deep.

“Thanks, mate,” Addam said, forcing down a swig of the ale.

The four men continued idle chatter for almost an hour, long after their bowls were empty. Rhonold and Stuart took turns getting up to fetch more ale, but Addam only nursed the one drink. He wasn’t too fond of the taste anymore, after he had nearly drowned himself in it in the months after Prince Robyn’s disappearance two years ago. However, there was little else to drink around the outpost, and it warmed his belly and cheeks. He was sure other men at the outpost drank for the same reason, although they never talked about it. Nothing much to talk about a man who goes missing in Na’roc of North, even if it’s the crown prince. 

Lesnet rose and was about to say something else when the doors to the mead hall were thrown open, the cold air sobering the men inside. A royal herald entered, panting heavily. He wore a hauberk bearing the royal sigil—a crown sitting atop an hourglass-shaped lake—along with a light cloak, hood drawn. As he entered, he yanked the hood off, revealing a young, tired face. He must have been in his early twenties at the latest.

The sight of the herald sent a chill down Addam’s spine, the warmth from the ale vanishing. A couple of the men nearest the entrance leapt to their feet and rushed to assist the messenger, calling to others for food and drink. They helped the man to a seat near the fire pit. Addam, Stuart, and the others all stood and moved closer. 

“What’s a herald doing here in winter?” Stuart whispered. Someone from the crowd hushed him.

“Where’s Captain Bronhyld?” the herald called out. 

More murmurs spread throughout the room. One of the men handed the herald a mug of water, and he drained it while waiting for an answer. Addam listened to the chatter around him.

“Where’s the captain?”

“Took to bed early, didn’t he?”

“Isn’t Bronhyld on watch tonight?”

“Boy! Go to the captain’s cabin!” one voice roared over the others. Addam saw Mark set his ladle down and hurry off into the night, not even grabbing a cloak to cover himself. 

The herald was given a bowl of stew by Regis. The herald thanked him profusely and devoured it. In between bites the two talked, although Addam couldn’t hear their words over the din. He tried shuffling his way closer to the herald, but the crowd was thick. All the men were trying to get closer to hear the messenger’s words.

After several moments, Captain Bronhyld arrived with Mark trailing behind him. Bronhyld was a tall man with a head of black hair and a full beard. Streaks of white and wrinkles around his eyes revealed his older age. He had served at the Wall for nearly twenty years, hailing from a noble house back in Auora. The captain was wrapped in a thick cloak lined with fur, covering his evening clothes underneath. It was obvious that the apprentice had disturbed the man while he was in bed. No signs of sleep could be found on his face, though. He was wide awake and alert.

“What news?” Bronhyld asked. At the sound of his voice, all the men in the mead hall hushed, their attentions shifting to their captain.

The messenger hastily set his spoon down and rose to his feet, bowing. “Captain Bronhyld, sir.”

“What news from Auora?” the captain asked again, standing in front of the herald.

“Sir.” The herald plucked a scroll from a bag on his hip, passing it to the older man. “Urgent news from the king. I fear I may already be too late in its delivery.”

Bronhyld frowned and broke the seal on the scroll, unraveling it to read its message. Addam struggled to read the expression on the captain’s face. It wasn’t until he raised his eyes from the parchment that Addam and every other man in the mead hall realized how dire the news was.

“Watches will be doubled immediately. The scouting towers must be manned again,” Captain Bronhyld told his men. He shifted his attention back to the herald. “How many days ago was this letter penned? How long have you ridden?”

“Five days. Messengers were sent to all cities and villages.”

“Have you delivered this news to any of the other captains here?”

“No, sir. Your post was closest on my journey.”

“You’ve done an honorable service. Rest here tonight and travel back to Auora in the morning,” Bronhyld said softly to the herald. He looked back at the gathered assembly, searching for someone. “Nowan, you’re to take this message to the other outposts and share the news with Captains Mirrin and Weiss. Tell them the scouting towers must be manned. Report their responses to me. Go, swiftly.”

The summoned man, Nowan, appeared before the captain and was handed the scroll. He left the mead hall with haste.

“Captain, what’s happened?” one of the other men dared ask.

“Princess Niamnh has been kidnapped,” Captain Bronhyld said, his voice grim.

A heavy silence fell over the room. None spoke, but Addam, and surely the other men, wanted answers. Who would kidnap the princess? Are the Provira behind this? Has the war reached the island of Auora? 

“We’re to watch for anyone traveling with a young woman with dark skin and pale hair. Double the watches. Regis, coordinate with the seventh and eighth to man the Eastern Twin. I want that beacon lit by sunsrise.” Captain Bronhyld issued the orders with a calm, resolute voice. 

Addam latched onto that calmness, trying to steady himself amidst his thoughts, as the others no doubt were doing as well. Though this situation was different, memories of a similar winter evening resurfaced in his mind. Two years ago, Bronhyld had been the one to declare Prince Robyn lost, along with the other four men who had traveled with him beyond the Wall. 

The princess has been kidnapped.

Addam’s chest tightened and he raised a hand to clutch at his hauberk. Murmurs broke out among the men. Beside him, Addam heard Stuart and Lesnet talking in hushed tones. Several men left the mead hall, some to spread word to those on the wall, others to dress themselves and man the wall themselves.

“Sir, how likely is it that she’d end up here?” one man asked. “Not questioning your orders, sir, just trying to make sense of it.”

Others seemed to agree, although not eagerly. All were thinking of blaming the Provira for this offense. 

“Aye, I know you’re all thinking. South would make sense,” Bronhyld said to the crowd. “But we’re loyal men to Promthus and to King Nelle. If there’s a chance his daughter is being taken north, we’ll find her.”

The crowd rumbled in agreement. They cared for their king and for their prince who had disappeared nearly two years ago beyond the Wall. The bitterness and sorrow were still fresh for some of the men garrisoned at the Wall, Addam included. Though their time together was short, Prince Robyn had been a stalwart companion to Addam during their training. The prince chose to go north on a hunting expedition. Addam had asked to join, of course, but Captain Mirrin wouldn’t allow it since he was still in training. A week after the prince left, Addam was sent to the seventh outpost to complete his training under Captain Bronhyld. Word of Prince Robyn’s disappearance was not sent to the east and west outposts until two months later. Addam had convinced himself that if Mirrin had let him go with the prince, that he would have brought him back safely. It was a foolish notion, but he had missed his friend dearly. He still did.

“He seeks to atone for Prince Robyn,” Addam heard Stuart whisper. Addam and Lesnet turned their attention to him, and they both nodded solemnly. “Justice for the princess, if no justice for the prince.” 

The crowd thinned out as more men left to bolster their ranks. Addam finished the remainder of his ale then gathered up his cloak. 

Stuart is right, Addam thought as he left the mead hall. Justice for the princess, if no justice for you, my prince. He returned to the Wall and began to climb.