Winter Reign: Rise of the Winter Queen

by N. M. Howell

  “You are quite right, Rhon. I also am bewildered as to how I came here, but I can at least tell you the story of my life and the assault on Moerdra Castle.”

  I spend more than two hours telling Rhon of my journey and trials. Of my slow coming into myself from the duty of a servant girl. And as I’ve told him these hurts and these treasures from my past, it has only served to rekindle my need of Delara. Since that final night in Moerdra Castle, that night filled with battle and revelation, I have been torn into two parts: one devoted to Eduard and one devoted to Delara. I ask myself how I could have given up on Delara for Eduard, but I never did. I have never stopped loving her, needing her, silently begging for her forgiveness. I have hurt her deeper and more viciously than I ever intended, and because of the dangerous fate now surrounding us all I can’t seek out the time to be with her. Or have I simply tricked myself into believing I’ve no time because I’m afraid?

  “I thank you for listening, Rhon. But now there is another I must sit and talk with.”

  “The Lady Delara, I presume.”

  “Your instincts are keen, indeed.”

  “More than you know, my Queen. I sensed, saw, and heard what happened in the healing hut earlier. Some expression of magic had hold of you.”

  “Yes. I sensed another with magical abilities is present.”

  “I do not know how this can be. Your party of three and the child are the only humans in the village, and Philip and Ariel swore a vow to the Queen of the Winterlands that this people would never take magic. It is our most sacred law.”

  “I hope then that I am wrong. For now, I bid you goodnight, sir.”

  Rhon bows to me and I depart in search of Delara. Fortunately, I find her in the same place. And with the same scowl. I sit across from her. She moves to rise and I raise an ice wall to block her path; she bumps into it and falls back into the chair. Faster than I can react, she casts a spell at me. My chair flies back across the hut, slamming into the wall. I manage to stay in it. She moves to stand again and I encase her and the chair in a box of light. I lift her, bring her over to me, and set her down. As soon as the box has dissipated, she raise her hand and shoots a spell. I counter. The magic meets in the air and cancels.

  “Enough,” I say. “I meant not to start a battle, only for you to speak with me. We were children together. We have lived all our lives within the same walls. It was you who found me among wreckage and carnage and gave me a home. How can you hate me for loving and being loved?”

  “You had many chances to speak of your love for him, of your magic, of your lineage. You had days, weeks, to protect my heart and our friendship. And you are quite right. I plucked you from destruction and made a young woman of you. I took care of you, secured presents for you, protected you. I let you into my heart. I loved you. And you betrayed me and the House of Eaynfall.”

  “Delara, you cannot think I have done even part of this to hurt you. I have only ever wanted to be your sister, your companion. Do not turn your back on me now, I cannot bear it.”

  “You cannot bear it? And what have I to bear? The near murder of my father. The endangerment of my family. The destruction of my home. The complete and total obliteration of my way of life. My separation from mother, father, sister. All so I could play spectator to your romance and ascension. Everything that happened is your fault. I was nearly killed and what did you do? Ran off into a corner of a besieged castle, my castle, and made love while the walls were falling around you.”

  I am speechless. Can she really blame me for everything that happened? Can I even deny it? She stands and this time I do not try to stop her. She glowers at me.

  “I go with you now to save this world and be restored to my family and my home. Nothing more. We shall never be friends again, servant girl.”

  Delara leaves and for a time I am all alone. I do not know what I am thinking of; I cannot even say that which I am thinking. My mind is muddy, my thoughts slow, my spirit broken. I have lost and had to leave behind so much. We left our friends and family behind in the Warming Caves because they were safer away from us. From me. It never occurred to me until this very moment that there was a possibility that we may never see them again. How can we even say if they are still alive at this very moment?

  “I believe I’ve stood by long enough,” comes Eduard’s voice. “May I enter?”

  “Do not come with your lies. Do not come at all if you intend on anything less that utter truth.”

  He comes in through the door, looking downcast. I can tell that he has understood my earlier anger and punished himself.

  “That is as fair as any woman might ask, my Queen,” he says, kneeling before me. “I will be more forthright in the days to come. I have always struggled to know when and how you should be told the secrets surrounding you. Most days I don’t even know if it should be I who tells you, but no more. It is not my truth to keep. I swear to you.”

  I lean forward to kiss him and those lips rock me to my very foundation. I feel his hands on my thighs, rising. Feel his body moving forward, closer, between my legs.

  “Your skin burns.”

  It is the boy. He has lain catatonic all day, but he has spoken at last. I turn to the door.

  “Rhon! Floron!”

  I hear two far away screeches answer my call. Eduard and I rise and go to the boy.

  “Your skin burns. Your skin burns.”

  It seems all he is able to say. Behind me I hear wings and rushing, and a cloud of dust rises and moves through the room. Rhon and Floron have arrived.

  “What is it, Your Grace?” asks Floron.

  “The child speaks,” I say. “But he repeats the same thing. Is there anything you can do?”

  “I’m afraid not, my Queen. This is a powerful sickness. This poor child is doomed.”

  “He’s not wrong, but there may still be a way we can learn from him,” says Eduard. “Nevena, do you remember the seeing spell I taught you?”

  I reach out and place both of my hands over the boy’s chest, careful not to touch his bare skin. The poor dear is trembling terribly and it breaks my heart to use him when he’s weakest, when I can’t even help. But I know what needs to be done. I close my eyes.

  “Take my shoulder, Eduard.”

  I feel his hand on me and I begin to chant. It doesn’t take long. Suddenly, spread out in my mind is a panorama of life and death. I can see through the boy’s eyes. I can see the mountains being blasted from the earth, dirt and stone erupting into the air for miles around. I see bodies being torn apart. The source of the power is a woman, but I can only see her from behind. Her hair is long, brunette. She wears a white cape. There is darkness pouring from her hands and mouth. Night is pouring from her mouth. Something takes off from the ground and flies through the dust into the crater. The vision moves forward. The thing returns to its mistress and she clears the air around them. The thing is an Aiglon. It carries a large net, filled with stones: glowing blue stones. It lays the net at the woman’s feet. She is speaking to it, but I cannot hear. She reaches out her hand to it, but doesn’t touch it; more night flows from her fingertips into the Aiglon’s mouth. The thing trembles and rises to its feet. It looks at its hands and begins to smile. It turns toward me, toward the boy, and unleashes black stars. A body falls on either side of me. They must be the boys’ parents. The Aiglon laughs, filled with black magic. The woman falls to her knees and speaks.

  “Kill every living thing.”

  The Aiglon takes flight. The shrouded men who have had their backs to me transform into all manner of beasts. There must be a hundred of them. The Helkar. The woman holds out her hand beside her.

  “Come here, little one.”

  The boy does not move.

  “I shall not ask again.”

  The boy still does not move. The woman curls her fingers and the boy is forced to her, powerless against this great and terrible magic. As he comes beside her, she drops to her knees, weak, gasping a little.

  “It was pow
erful magic you saw here today, little one. You’ll never see its like again. Perhaps you won’t mind strengthening me.”

  She reaches out and with the most delicate, tender caress she pulls light from the boy’s face. It seems to revive her some, but she is still too weak to regain her feet. The boy is weakened and he falls.

  “Your skin burns,” comes his tiny voice.

  “I shall leave you cursed, young Thraenn. You shall have the honor of being the last living member of your race. I rejoice in the annihilation of your kind.”

  And with a flick of her wrist I, the boy, am thrown into a group of trees, beneath the brush.

  “And when they go to read your mind, as Grandestor surely will, let them know that if my spy does not slit their throats with black magic as they sleep, I will turn the Stones of the Almighty on them when they come for me.”

  I release the boy and come back into the healing hut. I turn to Eduard and his face is grave indeed. Floron and Rhon wait eagerly.

  “You must know of this,” I say to them.

  I tell them all the tale of what I saw. Floron and Rhon lose their color as they listen.

  “I cannot believe it,” says Floron. “A traitor among the Aiglon. Never in the history of our people has one renounced our ways and disregarded our most sacred law.”

  “More than that,” says Rhon, “He’s taken mor’lumière, dark magic. Black magic. Tell me, Your Grace, did this treasonous coward have anything on him to distinguish him?”

  “No, Rhon. I’m afraid he looks just as others of your race do. But we may still be able to find him. I can try to sense for him.”

  “That is a great plan,” says Eduard. “By now he will know you’re here, but he won’t know you have that ability. Let us go outside.”

  The four of us leave the hut. I indicate that Rhon and Floron should stand back. Eduard gives me an encouraging nod, his beautiful changing eyes glowing softly in the night. I begin to raise my hands. Then we hear the child scream. We all turn. There, standing in the door of the hut, is Delara. Her hand is blurred, strange. It is a moment before I realize: the hand is surrounded by darkness. Rhon and Floron let out blood-curdling screeches and before I can stop them, they’ve taken flight and are heading straight for Delara. They cover the distance in the blink of an eye, but she is just fast enough. Up comes a black wave of magic that Rhon and Floron crash against. They fall. Delara looks at me and for the first time in weeks she does not look angry. She looks to be in a panic. More of the Aiglon are coming and as they see Rhon and Floron lying on the ground, they all begin to screech. By now I’ve taken off running toward Delara. I reach her and gaze behind her to the child. I cannot see his body for he is shrouded in black smoke. The Aiglon are closing in behind us, angry screeching, some even circling above.

  “Enough!” I command.

  I am unsure if it will work, but as if I’d compelled them by magic, everyone quiets and comes down from the air. They do not relinquish their anger, but they kneel. They all knee before me, silent as the night.

  “My Queen,” one of them says. “We understand that this lady is dear to you, but we cannot stand for an attack against our own. There must be consequences.”

  There are some screeches of agreement.

  “’Consequences?’” Delara demands. “I am the Lady Delara of House Eaynfall and you dare threaten me with ‘consequences?’ You will suffer this so-called ‘attack’ as you suffered the destruction of the mountains. Where was your anger then? That child lay suffering while you squawk about your pathetic village in allegiance to one Queen executed in another age of the world and one who was a servant but a month ago. To ‘attack’ you all would be a mercy on the land.”

  “Murderer!”

  “Silence!” I command. “There’ll be no bloodshed before me tonight. I will take the Lady Delara from this place. You have been kind today and I shall not forget it. I ask now that you procure supplies for our travel and that someone be found who can show us how to find the great evil that wasted the mountains.”

  For a moment there is silence and not a soul moves. One of the Aiglon looks up at me. I believe this one is female.

  “Is that all you require, my Queen?”

  “Yes. That and your forgiveness for what has befallen your comrades.”

  “You shall have it, my Queen.”

  They rise and leave. A group comes to pick up Rhon and Floron. I turn to Delara to scold her, but she is already turning and rushing into the forest. Eduard and I follow her.

  “Nevena, I must tell you now,” he says as we hurry, “I fear for Delara’s fate.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When she was struck by the black magic that night in Moerdra Castle, she should have died. It was a terrible spell that hit her and I have never seen someone, magical or not, survive once the smoke poured from their body. No one but those who have the dark magic themselves. And even that is rare.”

  “No. I’ll not believe that of her. She is my friend, my sister, and I love her. She is not…”

  “Hear me, Nevena. That night her eyes. . . they were like mine. They were changing. It is one of the marks of mor’lumière.”

  “What?” I ask, stopping in my tracks. “What does that mean?”

  “It only comes from being struck by someone who has mastered mor’lumière. Those sorceresses had more power than you know. My eyes continue to change because after I was struck I resisted the dark magic. And I resist it every day. But Delara’s eyes have stopped. She has given over. When I was struck with the black magic, it was but a mild spell and I barely pulled through. Delara should be dead.”

  I want to respond, but I can’t - this is too much. I turn and begin to run again. I must find Delara. I must find my family. We run and run and run until we find a clearing in the trees. We stop to catch our breath, searching all around, calling out for her, and then I see her at the edge of the clearing. She has her back to us and her hands are fists. She turns slowly, black smoke pouring out around her feet and her fingertips.

  “You must fight it Delara!” I say. “I will not lose you to this.”

  “Delara-”

  Before he can finish, something swift and strong shoots forward from the trees and knocks him into the air. As I’m raising my hands to cast, it circles around and grabs me, taking me straight up into the air. It soars high with me, then drops me. As I fall through the sky, the Aiglon darts in and out, knocking me through the air, scratching me, moving almost too fast for me to see. Even faster than the chimera. I come colliding into the earth. My head is ringing, my eyes rolling. The wind has been knocked from me. I look over to Eduard. The Aiglon, the traitor, is knocking him back and forth, always striking him again just before his unconscious body hits the ground. Finally the Aiglon sinks its talons into Eduard, hard enough and deep enough to draw blood, and takes off into the night with him.

  “Eduard! Bring him back you coward!”

  “His name is Erglon,” Delara said. “He came to me after I left the healing hut and spoke the truth to me. He told me all about Eduard’s plan and the true purpose of the Winter Queen. You are a false idol. The rest of the kingdoms may bow to you, but I will not. I will defeat you.”

  As Delara comes closer, I feel my body healing, feel the winter magic rising within me. I calm it, push it back down, allowing my body to heal without that explosion of power. I will not hurt Delara. I may have to fight her, but I will not hurt her. I regain my feet.

  “This darkness will not steal you from me,” I say, my hands becoming fists. “You must help me find Eduard. Do not surrender, sister.”

  “Erglon has given me the truth. You will call him the enemy’s spy, but I call him teacher. I did not have much time with him, but he taught me a few spells. I’ll try them now.”

  She begins to swirl her hands around her and she conjures a storm. Thunder. Lightning. Beating rain and punishing wind. I can barely remain standing.

  “The mor’lumière is strong within me,”
she says, completely seduced by the dark power.

  At her command the lighting strikes at me, turning the ground around my feet to glass. I pour forth great pillars of white flames from my hands, but the wind and rain will not let it pass. Delara conjures a tornado and pushes it toward me; I am not prepared and it lifts me off of my feet and throws me into a tree. It feels like I’ve broken in half, but my body is instantly healing itself. I raise my hand and slam it into the earth. The ground underneath Delara explodes sending her flipping backward. She lands on her feet, agile and ready. The rain comes harder, almost too thick to see through. I rise and leap into the air. I create a block of ice, land on it, and use it to circle through the air around Delara, casting spells at her as I go.

  “You will resist this evil!” I yell. “I shall never let you go!”

  “FALSE IDOL!”

  I strike her in the chest with a suffocation spell. She drops to her knees gasping for breath. The winds around her still prevent me from getting too close. But the more she coughs and gasps, the more black smoke comes from her mouth. Her nose. Her eyes. When she stands again, her eyes have gone completely black. She holds up a hand and breaks my legs. I fall from the ice to the earth. I conjure a lion of ice and send it hurtling for Delara. She decapitates it with her bare hand. She moves toward me, covering some fifty feet in the blink of an eye. I reach for the magic inside me and turn my body to white, strong ice. She unleashes a flurry of black stars, but they cannot hurt me in this form. I can see now that the mor’lumière has taken her; it has her completely.

  Her magic is strong, perhaps too strong, and I see that she is struggling to maintain the storm. My healing has strengthened enough for me to begin to stand. Delara drops her hand for only a moment, to catch her breath, and I take advantage. I strike her in the face with a transparent ice hand and knock her across the clearing. I gather the winds under my feet and thrust myself into the air. As I reach the peak and begin to fall again, I turn my body back into flesh and aim for Delara. She evades me just as I slam into the earth, sending a crack meandering across the ground. I have but a moment to launch my defense as a cascade of black stars rises from Delara’s outstretched arms and washes over the ground toward me. I create an aura of light to surround and protect me, but the first hit of the mor’lumière sends me staggering. I manage to keep my feet, putting all of my force into the light, trying to break through her dark magic. The black stars are so multifarious and so loud, so strong, that I feel I’m in the middle of a stampede. They cannot penetrate my light, but each one of the black multitude takes a piece of my energy. They weaken me even from outside. With a desperate scream, I throw the aura in all directions at once, an explosion of hard light so bright and so vast that the size of the clearing is doubled as the racing aura rips the trees up and away by their very roots. Without hesitation, I lift the freshly felled trees and launch them at Delara. She is launching others at me. They collide over and around us, great crashes in the night, splinters and needles flying in every direction. The sound of the trees intersecting is so loud.