The Legend of the Winterking: The Crown of Nandur

by J. Kent Holloway

  “The Crown! But how?”

  He scratched the stubble across his jaw with his free hand. He glanced at the antler, then back at her.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “How ever did you retrieve the Crown of Nandur so quickly?”

  “You call that quick? I told you…I’ve been gone for days!”

  “Do not jest, Master Krin! We only just got here.”

  “No. We didn’t. I’ve been living off the carcasses of pigeons and rats nesting in the observatory for nearly a week. I’ve been forced to chat with the most insane creature anyone would ever meet—non-stop—all that time. Non-stop! All its rambling and half thoughts and rhyme-schemes. Days! And days! Don’t play around, Leara. I don’t think my mind could take any more.”

  She glared at the use of Krin’s pet name for her, then her face softened. Her shoulders relaxed, and a slight, welcome smile spread across her face.

  “Amazing,” she said, walking over to him, and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It is a fact, Master Krin, that time in the other Worlds do not align with our own. In Wyndter, for instance, it moves much faster. It is said that the other two worlds move at different rates as well; though faster or slower, no one knows for sure. It is very possible that what was only a split second for me, could have been an entire lifetime for you. Or vice versa.”

  This bit of news stunned Krin. “You’re telling me that if I rift into one of those other worlds, I might come back, and hundreds of years have passed in a blink of an eye?”

  “Precisely.”

  “And you, Nicholas, and the Magi want me to actually embrace this ‘gift’? Are you out of your mind?”

  “I doubt that such a thing would ever happen,” she said. “Keep in mind, I am not like you. I am only capable of rifting into Wyndter, not the other two worlds. But from my own experience, there seems to be a balancing effect. Somehow, over time, you develop an innate sense of the time difference. You simply know when to rift back. It is quite difficult to explain.”

  “Try.”

  “We have no more time. It is the Crown that we are after, and you have recovered it.” Her cheeks suddenly blushing, she backed away from him as if suddenly realizing she was standing entirely too close to him. “Tell me. How did you defeat the N’ahk?”

  “Defeat him?”

  “Yes. Since you have returned—a feat no one has ever accomplished—and you have Nandur’s Crown, I assume you must have bested the vile beast.”

  Krin laughed at this. “Bested him? I’m lucky I haven’t pulled all the hair out of my roots after having to listen to that lunatic ramble on day and night!”

  She took another step back from him, her hand slowly drifting to the hilt of her sword on her belt. “He talked to you? What did he say?”

  “Who knows? A bunch of gibberish, mixed in with a dash of riddles, and peppered with a healthy portion of ‘We’re going to eat your face off’! That thing was insane. And he wasn’t about to let me leave until he finished filling my head with all the secrets of universe—which by the way, isn’t all that exciting, I might add.”

  It was a half-truth, and Krin winced at having to deceive her. A few tidbits he had been told, were as vivid and raw as if he had just heard them a moment before. Bits about his father, and his father’s own quest. About the N’ahk’s run-in with him, and how Kraen-Lil had erected the Great Circle around the Crown to keep the fierce beast away from it. He still didn’t understand why. Didn’t understand why such a task was so paramount to his father, or why the N’ahk didn't seem all that upset by the action.

  On the contrary, it actually seemed rather thankful. Yet the circle had not stopped it from trying to tear his father limb from limb before he was able to escape. The encounter had indeed left its scars on his elven father…which Krin himself had inherited by an accident of his own birth. But he couldn’t tell Finleara about that. At least, not yet. He was still processing it all himself, and knew instinctively that it was something that should remain secret until later.

  One or two things the N’ahk had told him, he had been asked to keep secret as a matter of principle. And though he didn’t quite understand all the nuances of one such story, Krin wasn’t sure why it had been so important to keep the world in the dark in regards to how the creature itself had tragically come to be. He was, however, determined to honor his word…if for no other reason than he was racked with waves of pure terror when he considered the beast, and the true power it held.

  The other tales told to him came and went in flashes through his head. Small snippets of rhyme. Hidden messages. Half-remembered truths. Nothing substantial enough to reveal to his companion—like a quickly fading dream. So, he simply glossed over the faded bits.

  “But how did you escape? How did you recover the Crown?”

  “I didn’t escape. He just finished what he had to say, let me take the antlers, and showed me the way out.” He shrugged. “Like I said when we first got here, a bit anticlimactic really.”

  She shook her head. “No, no, no. It cannot be that simple. The N’ahk lets no man walk into its domain and live. He would never…”

  Krin held the Crown up over his head, waving it in the air.

  “Hello? I’ve got the stupid thing, don’t I? What does it matter how I got it?”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but then closed it again. After a rather uncomfortable few seconds, she nodded. “You are right, of course. The only thing that matters is the Crown itself, at this point.” She held out her hand. “I will hold it for you while you prepare your infernal carpet.”

  It was Krin’s turn to take a step back. Without any logical reason, a great dread suddenly washed over him at the thought of giving the artifact to anyone.

  “Um, I can manage.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s been entrusted to me, after all, and I would rather not do anything to anger the N’ahk including handing it over to the first person I see.” He leaned in, and cast his gaze around the room, then whispered. “It’s still here, you know. It can see us. Better to wait until we’re outside of its reach.”

  Her eyes narrowed, as if suspicious of his motivation. Then, she shrugged, and moved toward the Tower’s entrance. “Fine. If it makes you feel better.” She placed her shoulder under the wooden beam blocking the door, and heaved it off the hooks holding it in place. “Just get the carpet ready.”

  As she struggled to pull the door open, Krin untied the carpet, and unfurled it onto the stone floor. He then took the rope, tied it around both ends of the antlers, and slung the Crown over his shoulder. Satisfied it was secure, he stepped onto the carpet, reached into his pocket, and grasped the small bell in his right hand. Instantly, the carpet rose off the floor about two feet.

  “We’re ready when you are. Let’s go…” His sentence trailed off as he looked past the entrance into the snow-swept landscape beyond. Though the air had been chill earlier when they had entered into the cairn, the sky had been clear, and nowhere cold enough for the blizzard that raged outside at that moment. “Wow. If I’ve only been gone a few minutes, then where did that come from?”

  Finleara scowled. “From the southwest, near Sair’n Nanlech. This is no ordinary snow. It hails from Wyndter.” She strode over to the carpet, and scrambled up onto it with a grace she had not shown upon the first time she rode it.

  “Why do you say that? Looks like regular snow to me.”

  “But it does not feel regular, does it? Like me, you are a being of Wyndter. The cold does not affect you the way it does mortals. But this cold bites even our skin. It comes from the Dhunarheme, which means only one thing…the dragons’ souls stir. The Winterking is preparing them for their resurrection.”

  “Their what?”

  “Surely my father told you. The final objective to all this is so that the Krampus can resurrect the dragons, making them Sair’n Kryl’s army here in the Thanaheim.” She nodded for Krin to get them moving, but when he folded his arms, and gestured for her
to continue, she relented. “There are two elements to a dragon. The physical body, and their souls. When a dragon is alive—body and soul connected—they feed on the heat of the earth; which gives them the ability to both breathe fire, and strip the land of all its warmth. When a dragon dies, its soul is pulled into Wyndter. It is why the Dhunarheme—at least the bits closest to where the dragon souls graze—is a frozen tundra. They are incessantly feeding upon the land. However, the bones of the dragons do nothing but lay in wait here in this world.”

  “So…that means…?”

  “Can we not discuss this in the air, while on our way?”

  Krin shook his head defiantly. “Nope. Talk.”

  With an irritated sigh, she continued. “It’s why Calibus believes Sair’n Kryl and the Krampus are after the Crown of Nandur. The theory is he’s figured out a way to use it to reunite the dragon souls with their bones, which would, more than likely, result in bringing them back to life.”

  “But why? To what end?”

  “Are you really this naïve?”

  “Let’s pretend I am,” he said. “Humor me.”

  “The dragons were created by the Nephilim. They were the generals in their armies. Their peace keepers, if you will. The things that kept the ancient world in line with their iron rule. If the Winterking is resurrecting the dragon, it means only one thing.”

  “He’s planning on making a comeback.”

  She nodded. “Now, can we please…”

  A single arrow flew through the open door, barely missing Krin’s right ear as he flew past.

  “Whoa!”

  “It is the Romans!” Finleara pointed past the entrance, drawing Krin’s gaze in that direction. Through the murky haze of the winter storm, he could just make out the forms of a large number of men, bracing against the cold, and marching toward them. Three more arrows shot past, much wider, and off the mark than the first.

  “Yeah, time to get out of here!” Krin focused, and the carpet launched through the door, and into the air. As they flew toward the approaching army, a barrage of arrows shot past them. A few imbedded into the carpet; the arrow tips poking through the fraying fabric like cloth-eating fangs. Krin ducked, throwing his arms over his head, and the rest of the arrows whizzed by harmlessly. “Sheesh! Those guys mean business!”

  “Then I suggest you get this carpet moving faster,” Finleara shouted over the wind. “Some of those soldiers have horses. They’ll be able to keep up for a time.” She pointed west. “Fly that way. Once we reach the forest of Lear’ana, they shouldn’t be able to follow as easily.”

  “But that takes us further away from the Madagus Keep Vault and closer to Sair’n Kryl’s fortress, doesn’t it?”

  “It is the best strategic course at the moment,” she explained. “The forest will provide us ample cover, while masking our true destination.”

  “But I…”

  “Just do as I say!” she shouted; her eyes blazed with undisguised irritation. Or was it fury?

  “Okay,” he said meekly. He definitely did not like this side of the elf. Her outburst caused that something to prick at the back of Krin’s mind again. He still couldn’t quite place his finger on it. Something the N’ahk had told him…something that lay hidden in the back of his mind.

  Something about heart being gone, and about someone going to my enemy? Then something about betrayal. But what were the exact words? Why could he not remember? It was as if a great dam had been erected in his mind, blocking the flow of his memories. In particular, those related to the discourse between the strange beast and himself.

  He sighed. The N’ahk’s warnings withstanding, he would do what she told him to do. The creature had been insane. Its words, a jumbled mess.

  For heaven’s sake, it couldn’t even tell the difference between past, present, and future tenses! How am I to trust something like that?

  Finleara did know more about the inner workings of this world than he, and she had been hand-selected by the Magus Prime himself to guide Krin along the journey. Still, he would keep a watchful eye. And the hairs on the back of his neck still stood up.

  Stay sharp, lad. He could hear Garhet's voice echoing in his thoughts. Be ready. And most importantly, be thankful. It’s almost over.

  The last thought brought a sullen smile to his face as he steered the carpet due west. Toward the fortress of Kor Shani. Toward enemy territory.

  FORTY-THREE

  “You are veering south,” Finleara hissed into Krin’s ear.

  She was pressed against him, as the carpet skimmed the snowcapped trees. Flakes of icy snow pelted both of them, leaving red welts across Krin’s face, and exposed skin. The snow itself was getting worse, coming down hard, and rapidly intensifying into a full-scale blizzard.

  Krin squinted, visibility nearly was next to nothing.

  “How can you tell?” he asked, willing the carpet to turn a little to the right in order to adjust course.

  She answered, but he was unable to pick up on the words. The wind was howling even more ferociously than it had the night before, when they had left Madagus Keep. His hearing was suffering all the more for it.

  “What was that?”

  “I said…I have an innate sense of direction!” She paused, leaned in tighter. “You do too, if you ever learn to utilize it! All elves do.”

  Elves. He would never get accustomed to the thought of being linked—by blood, no less—to creatures of faery tales. Legends. The very notion that his father had been a full-blooded dark elf, a Dhunan’ahki, as Garhet had called it, still seemed so unbelievable. But even the N’ahk had confirmed his heritage. Providing him with more insight into his lineage than anyone else had ever bothered to do. Nicholas certainly hadn’t told him. Neither had Calibus, or even Garhet. It had taken a monster, whose millennia-long decent into madness had made him into a mere shadow of his former self, to tell him precisely who Kraen-Lil had been.

  The thought made his head swim. As if finding out he was part elf was bad enough, what the N’ahk had revealed to him had threatened to overwhelm him to the point of madness himself. Did Nicholas know? Surely, he did. But if so, how could he not tell him? The news was huge! Infinitely more troubling than finding out he was an elf, anyway.

  Finleara said something, interrupting his train of thought.

  “What?”

  “I said that maybe you should put us down here,” she repeated. “I believe we’ve lost our pursuers, and I need to rest a while. Elves were not meant for flight!”

  “Are you sure? Why not just turn north, and fly back to the Keep? The Crown needs to be secured in the Vault.”

  “Because I must rest!” The venom in her voice was palpable. Krin knew the elf warrior had not been a proponent of the carpet from the outset of their mission, but he had hoped she would have grown accustomed to it; just as he had. Apparently, not. The realization disappointed him.

  “Just land us now. Please.”

  He nodded, trying to push down the lump that had swelled in his throat at the harshness of her words, then willed the carpet to descend. As they approached the ground, visibility improved, and he could see the vague outline of a tall spire rising up from the forest to the north.

  “Is that Kor Shani?’ He nodded toward the structure.

  “It is.”

  “Is it wise to get so close to it?”

  “My father’s spies have said that neither the Dragon Lord, nor his vile cult, are there,” she said. Her voice was less tense now. She sounded almost relieved. “No doubt he is off overseeing the enslavement of Chieftain Lorent’s dwarf clan. It should be perfectly safe.”

  Said the two flies about to land in the spider’s web. Krin's thoughts turned glum.

  He contemplated her words as they descended gently to a small clearing in the forest, just southwest of the citadel. A flicker of movement caught his eye, the fleeting glimpse of something lithe, and powerful gliding beneath the tree canopy, before disappearing completely. He hadn’t been able to
tell what it was, but from its movements…from its graceful stride…he thought it was feline.

  With that thought, the carpet launched higher into the air, skimming the branches of a nearby tree, and rose into the clouds.

  “What are you doing?” Finleara asked.

  “Cra'chuna! I saw it down there! There’s no way I’m putting us down near one of those cat things!”

  “But…”

  “Don’t even try to talk me out of it!” he yelled over his shoulder, struggling to maintain control after the sudden acceleration. “We’re not going down there, and that’s final.”

  A moment later, the carpet leveled off, and Krin allowed himself to breathe once more. He wasn’t certain whether the cat had seen them, or if it even mattered. What did matter, however, was the fact that they were being stalked by the feline monsters. He didn’t know why, and would rather not find out. The only thing currently concerning him was avoiding them, while getting back to the Vault as soon possible.

  He was just about to say as much to Finleara, when she cried out in fear, stumbled forward on the carpet, and bumped awkwardly into him. The blow threw Krin off balance. His arms waved wildly in the air, trying to right himself before falling over the edge, but there was nothing he could do. He began to topple over the edge, but spun just in time, reached out for Finleara, and tried to grab hold of the object she was now clutching in her hand—the Crown of Nandur. Surprised at the sudden move, the elf let go of the antlers, sending Krin sprawling backward, and over the fringed edge of the carpet.

  ***

  “Krin!” she shouted, scurrying onto her knees, and inching up to the edge of the carpet. She saw him then, grasping onto the corner fringe with one hand; his feet kicking wildly at the empty air, nearly one hundred feet above the tallest tree in the forest below. In his other hand, he held onto the antlers, refusing to let them go no matter the cost.

  Had she tried to take them from him? No. The very idea was preposterous. She had simply lost her footing, and like him, had grabbed hold of the first thing within reach.