The Icefire Trilogy

by Patty Jansen

  Friends forever.

  * * *

  Onlookers fled. People pushed away. Knights retreated to the edge of the arena. In the holding pens, eagle attendants shuffled back, pulling their eagles away, wide-eyed. Isandor lay there alone in the snow.

  “What is this?” Rider Cornatan kicked Isandor’s wooden leg.

  Isandor raised himself, stumbling to get the leg under him. He still managed to act dignified, but the look in his eyes frightened Carro more than anger would have. It was not anger, not hurt, but a withering look of determination.

  “Who said cripples could join the Knights?” Rider Cornatan asked.

  “No one said they couldn’t.” Isandor’s voice was cold as the southern wind.

  A cold gust of wind blew eddies of snow in the corners of the arena.

  “You should well know cripples can’t even live in this city. You are an abomination. I don’t understand why no one has seen it before.”

  “I’ve not hidden anything.” Again, that confident tone.

  That was true. Isandor had come up to the registration as he was, with his slight limp. Why had no one seen it? Yes, why? Everyone with half a brain could see that Isandor didn’t walk normally. Yet no one had commented.

  “How come you’re even alive? Who hid you?”

  “No one. I’ve lived with my mother in the Outer City all along.”

  Look at the cockiness of him. Look at him stand there.

  “Well, whatever you did, you’re finished now.” Rider Cornatan stepped forward and tore the golden badge from Isandor’s collar. “You will never darken the eyrie with your presence again. Thanks to my vigilant spies, I have saved the City of Glass from this evil. Take him away.”

  Knights closed in. Two grabbed Isandor under the armpits and yanked him up.

  What were they going to do with him? Carro had flown over the jagged shapes of the ice floes earlier today. Anyone left there alone would be attacked by stray bears. Anyone put in the dungeons would die a slow death of hunger and disease. Why did I say this? Isandor is my friend. He looked after me. He would never kill anyone. The fact that he made the Lion a servitor doesn’t prove that he made the human one.

  Knights don’t have Imperfect friends, the other voice in his mind said.

  Isandor has been good to me. He’s a good person.

  But I’ve had enough of “good” people. I don’t want pity. I want people to be honest. Right, they are honest, and don’t like me. I want people to like me and be honest. No pity. I can’t stand pity. I want to be accepted because of what I am, not because my father is a moderately successful merchant. I hate him anyway.

  Oh, he was so confused.

  Chapter 21

  * * *

  NO. ISANDOR!

  Everyone was getting up, blocking Jevaithi’s view of the arena. The citizens were filing out, most still uttering expressions of confusion and trading gossip. A whole group of Knights rushed into the arena and out again. Jevaithi presumed that they escorted the young Champion Knight away.

  To the palace dungeons. She had to put a stop to it; she had to.

  Rider Cornatan returned to her, his face red.

  “With respect, Your Highness. We must take you to a safe place.”

  “What happened?” she asked, although she was sure she had seen it better than any of them. The animal had run off into the festival grounds in its blue state, leaving the Champion standing there holding the pulsing heart. The animal had become his servitor.

  “It was inappropriate for your eyes. Rest assured, the Knight will be punished severely.”

  No. She saw an emaciated body, wounds from lashes, matted hair. She remembered. She had only been young when she saw the man who had been blamed for poisoning her mother. He’d spent ten years in the dungeons. “I would like to set eyes on him, who dares to perform these deeds before the Queen.” She was trembling, fighting to keep control over her speech. That day, last year, she had presided over the poor wretch’s execution. She didn’t believe the man had poisoned her mother any more than she wanted him dead. He’d been a palace servant. All the servants adored her mother. But the Knights had to have someone to punish.

  “He’ll be taken into custody.” Rider Cornatan’s voice sounded far off.

  “Can I see him?” She ached to ask more, but anything she said could be dangerous. Rider Cornatan raised an eyebrow. He knew what she was, and probably had thoughts along the same lines as her fascination with the strange young Knight.

  “I would think that inappropriate. Come, Your Highness, We must go now. It’s getting late and this place is not safe at night.”

  Jevaithi stifled a sob. She must save that young Knight, the only other person of her kind. But how? The Knights controlled everything. They gave her the illusion of power as long as she did what she was told.

  She took Rider Cornatan’s arm and let him lead her away from the arena, which was completely abandoned now, save for a few remaining splatters of blood. To Jevaithi’s eyes, they exuded a soft yellow glow.

  People in the tents along the way cheered and waved at her, but she paid them no attention. In her mind, she saw those blue eyes, looking up at her with the boy’s innocence. When she looked at him, declaring him her Champion, it was as if she had seen into his soul, as if their hearts beat in unison. If he was tortured, she would lie awake with the pain. If he was killed, part of her would die.

  “We shall return to the palace as soon as possible,” Rider Cornatan said.

  For once, she couldn’t find a reason to disagree with him. She longed for the warmth of her room, the comfort of her bed and the whisper of servants bringing her dinner.

  She shuffled with her entourage, nervous Knights looking everywhere, Rider Cornatan holding her arm like an over-protective mother bear. They passed the food stalls, where it had become quiet. Stall holders were cleaning up for the night. Most of the revellers had gone into the Outer City to celebrate in the melteries. How stupid had she been to imagine she could ever dance with the local boys.

  Stupid. Naïve.

  Ahead, a woman screamed.

  Rider Cornatan halted. The Knights at the front of the group had all stopped, a solid wall of cloaked backs. The woman’s screams had turned into sobs. The Knights murmured. Hands went to swords, but most of the men just stood there.

  “What’s going on?” Rider Cornatan demanded.

  “See for yourself, sir.” The wall of Knights parted.

  Jevaithi’s royal sled stood abandoned on the plain. Splatters of blood marked the white paint and had seeped into the snow. The harness which had held the four magnificent bears lay empty on the ground. The bears themselves were bloodied humps of white fur in the snow.

  Jevaithi took a gasp of stinging cold air and couldn’t breathe out again. She clutched her throat, dizzy, blood pounding in her ears.

  “No, no,” she stuttered, fighting to repel blackness from the edge of her vision. Her beautiful bears, and the driver—where was he?

  “Guard the Queen!” Rider Cornatan shouted, while he started running towards the sled with agility that belied his age.

  Between the bodies of the Knights who closed in around her, Jevaithi saw how he jumped into the driver’s seat and hauled up the body of the sled’s driver. His head was bent back like a broken stick and his cloak dark with blood. His arms flopped by his side; his body hadn’t been out here long enough to have frozen stiff.

  “Don’t look, Your Highness,” one of the guards said.

  “Who would do such a thing?” Jevaithi’s voice sounded weak, even to her own ears. All of a sudden, she had trouble keeping her balance.

  A soft warmth closed around her, the dense fur of a shorthair c
loak, and a man’s arms. It was one of the Senior Knights, a man normally calm and reserved. Jevaithi stifled her sobs in the man’s shirt. She was shivering.

  The Knights were shouting amongst themselves over her head.

  “Who could have done this?”

  “I’d say—what has done this? This wasn’t done by a human.”

  “He’s right. Look at the bears. No one can kill a bear that easily.”

  Jevaithi pressed herself deeper under the Knight’s cloak, seeing images of a blue-tinged Legless Lion running from the arena. No humans . . .

  “I want to go home,” she said to no one in particular.

  Why ever did she entertain such silly plans to go amongst the common people? There were murdering strangers out there. Poor, poor bears, poor driver. What had they done to deserve this?

  “Shh, Your Highness. You are safe with us.” The man’s voice rumbled in his chest. He tightened an arm around her, while he continued to give orders to the guards.

  Jevaithi felt warm, and protected. Was this the feeling kids had about their fathers?

  She didn’t know how long she had stood there when Rider Cornatan returned. She heard his voice before he came into view.

  “Where is the Queen?”

  “Safe,” the Knight said.

  Jevaithi extracted her face from the warmth of his cloak.

  Rider Cornatan came to a stop. Stared at her and then at the Senior Knight.

  “I’ll take care of her now,” Rider Cornatan said.

  A sharp look passed between the two men over Jevaithi’s head. The Knight released her. Jevaithi reluctantly left the warmth of his cloak to take Rider Cornatan’s arm. Even in times such as this, they jostled to be first in line to her bedroom.

  The group started moving, away from the slaughter scene.

  “What’s happening now?” Jevaithi asked Rider Cornatan, doing her utmost best to sound composed.

  “I’ve sent a messenger to the City. He’ll bring back another sled. We’ll wait for it to arrive.”

  “Couldn’t I . . .” She licked her lips. “Couldn’t I fly on an Eagle with a Knight? We would be back very quickly—”

  The look he gave her stopped her talking. Obviously out-of-the-question.

  They crossed the festival grounds through the maze of tents and fences. Legless Lions barked in the distance. There were now so many Knights around her that it was impossible for her to see the cheering people. The Knights walked quickly, ushering the crowd aside. Jevaithi wasn’t in the mood to be cheered.

  They left the festival grounds, and clambered up the slope that led into the Outer City. Through a wide street, where abandoned sleds stood in shop entrances, their terrified drivers holed up in alleyways by Knights. How many Knights had come from the city with her? How could someone still have killed the bears and the driver with all these Knights to guard her?

  A person invisible to the Knights could do it.

  They were now crossing the market place over trampled snow covered with sand. The Knights halted again in front of a cone-shaped building on the corner. The locals called these structures limpets. The writings had told her that there was a waterproof inner layer, made of ancient debris from the city before the Great War, a mantle of still air, and then an outer layer made from blocks of ice. This limpet was larger than most, and had three entrances. Someone had carved patterns in the icy outer cover.

  A few of the Knights had gone inside. The glow of a fierce fire peeped through a crack between the doors.

  There were shouts and bangs inside. The doors were flung open and lots of people streamed out, some speaking in angry voices.

  Jevaithi shivered with the piercing breeze. She glanced over her shoulder to the Knight who had offered her the warmth of his cloak.

  The Knights moved forward, through the door and a short hall with racks for cloaks—all empty—into a room where the air was impossibly warm and laced with a tang of liquor and smoke. The inner walls, made from sheets of metal and other unidentified material, sloped slowly to a high ceiling. A balcony surrounded the wall, with stairs leading up to it. There were tables and chairs up there. Empty.

  A huge metal stove stood in the middle of the room, a blazing fire within. Surrounding the stove were many small tables and chairs. A couple of red-faced girls were hastily removing glasses from the tables, many still containing dark red fluid. A young man was righted chairs that had fallen over.

  “Your Highness, what a surprise and honour to receive you in my humble establishment.”

  The man who bowed before her was rotund and almost bald. Although his words had been polite, his tone gave away his extreme annoyance.

  Oh, she could see why. He’d had a room full of drinking, paying patrons and the next thing the Knights barged in and tossed everyone out on the street. The voices of those paying patrons now drifted in from outside, shouts and jeers. A crash, the tinkle of glass. Angry voices.

  “I would be happy if you let your customers back inside,” Jevaithi said, making her voice as clear and regal as she could.

  “For once, Your Highness, be quiet and stop your childish demands,” Rider Cornatan hissed. She had never heard his voice as tight as this.

  The flicker of hope that dashed across the meltery owner’s face died instantly.

  “Sit here by the fire, Your Highness.” He indicated a soft, high-backed chair that had worn fabric but looked very comfortable indeed.

  There was another crash of glass outside. A man shouted and something thudded against the door.

  “I’m sure,” she said, as peevishly as she could, while sitting down in the chair, “I’m absolutely sure that a street brawl is just what you need to calm things down, especially if your men are out there attempting to catch a Legless Lion most of them can’t even see.”

  In two steps, Rider Cornatan stood next to her. He grabbed a strand of her hair as he bent to her ear and pulled hard. His whisper sounded like a hiss of air. “I’m warning you . . . You’re behaving like a brat. You want to be grown-up? I’ll show you grown-up. When we come back to the palace, I will take you to your rooms and teach you a lesson you won’t forget in a hurry.” He let her go and stepped back as if he had merely conveyed a private message.

  Jevaithi shivered and leaned back in the chair. Her eyes met the meltery owner’s. His were wide, shocked.

  Yes, the common people loved her and that love was her protection, but tonight, that would not be enough.

  Chapter 22

  * * *

  ISANDOR TRIED TO RUN, but he never had a chance.

  The Knights had him blindfolded and tied his arms behind his back before he could do anything. They pushed him out of the arena and through the crowd. There were as many people cheering as shouting.

  “Show them, show them!” a man yelled.

  Show them what?

  He struggled against the Knights’ hands. “Stop pushing. I can walk. Where are you taking me?”

  “To the only place sorcerers belong,” the man holding him growled. “I hope you had a good look at the sky, because you won’t see it again.”

  People around them were calling for the Queen, and then there were other voices from further away.

  “Let the boy go, tyrants!”

  “Down with the oppression!”

  “Give us our houses back, and our businesses, and our money!”

  “Death to Pirosian scum.”

  There were more scuffles and screams. People bumped into him. Knights shouted out. Out-of-control, hoarse voices. Daggers came out of sheaths. The sound of people running. Something heavy landed near his feet with a dull thud.

  Isandor tried to free his arm to pull the ra
g from his eyes, but the Knights held him too tightly. He wanted to see these people. There were still supporters of the old king in the Outer City? The revelation confused him. The deeds the king had done, according to the books about the fall of the royal family, horrified him.

  But what if those books had been written by Knights?

  He did remember that last book Carro had bought, the one that described all the wonders of icefire, not just the bad things. Deadly, but very useful and powerful.

  Why had he never known that people still supported the old king?

  He was running through the street. Even though he was blindfolded, he could see. People were in his way, running, pushing each other. Their unintelligible screams filled the air. Their words were garbled bursts of sound that meant nothing.

  Some had sticks and tried to push him. He kept slipping, his flippers finding no purchase on the trampled ice.

  I am much faster in the water.

  The water, where the fish were fresh and wet and where the females waited for him.

  He needed to get back there.

  Isandor stumbled and gasped, realising how he’d been holding his breath and how lack of air had made him dizzy. By the skylights, what was wrong with him?

  The Knights were dragging him along at a fast walking pace, having left the shouting crowd behind. Judging by the echoing footsteps, they were somewhere in the alleys of the Outer City. The ground was uneven, and every now and then, the Knight holding his arm kicked his wooden leg, and then laughed when he stumbled.

  “Hey,” he shouted. “Where are we going? Where are you taking me?”

  His angry shouts echoed in the street, and were taken up by other voices.

  “Where you be taking him? He’s done nothing,” one man said in Outer City slang.

  “You’ll be taking him away like Merro,” another man yelled.

  “Where is Merro?” This voice was more educated.

  The Knights sped up, tightening their grip on Isandor’s arm. The sound of running footsteps followed them. Isandor was heartened by that. Certainly the Knights were less likely to harm him when there were witnesses. He had to face it. His time with the Knighthood was over. He might as well make the transition into evil complete.