by Jacob Cooper
Today, though, it seemed different. The shape of this cloud system had appeared to change dramatically this morning, as did its color. Had she just not noticed it before? Perhaps it was always this shape but wasn’t close enough to observe until now. She judged it to be roughly five or six leagues away and as she intently peered to the north, she thought she saw something strange within the thick haze, though it lacked focus. Then it was gone, as if the cloud had spewed out a particle, something solid, and then retracted it. A rumble beneath her feet began and she realized she had felt it before, but now it was growing with intensity. Nothing shook; her tent and supplies were not disturbed. Ehliss knew it wasn’t an earthquake—no, wrong sort of tremor. These vibrations were more constant and slowly growing rather than intense and jarring. Looking back to the horizon and the enigmatic cloud, she saw clearly for the first time that it ran along the surface of the glacier as well as extending hundreds of feet, as much as a quarter league even, into the sky. In fact, the cloud wasn’t very high in the sky compared to others, she noted. At its current velocity, Ehliss judged the storm would be upon her by nightfall, perhaps even earlier.
Turning her attention back to her more immediate duties, she took a long square iron shaft with a rounded head and slammed it down into a spot she had designated the day before. Ice splintered up as the sharp round threaded head bit into the glacier a few inches.
Ehliss pulled the thick pole free from the icy ground and repeated the effort, gaining a few more inches of depth. After a third stab, the head grabbed deep enough into the frozen ground and she twisted hard until the shaft was securely rooted.
When the first shaft had been driven down to only about half a foot protruding, Ehliss removed the winch and found another square shaft. She fastened it to the first shaft with a connecter coupling, slid the center of the winch over the top of the second shaft, and began to twist again.
Ehliss heard thunder. No, not thunder; something else. It had come from the north, from the storm cloud, hadn’t it? Leaving her coring shafts where they were, she grabbed her field journal and sat for over an hour just gazing north and recording observations. She tried to make several rough sketches but the cloud seemed more and more to shift in its appearance and made her sketches obsolete before she finished them. She saw again what appeared to be objects that separated from the cloud and then rejoined it. She could tell now that this was happening frequently the closer the storm approached. The dark cloudbank moved with speed and now appeared less than a league away. The rumbling beneath her had become more pronounced and she could audibly hear the vibrations in the ice. It seemed now that she would have to retreat down a frozen cliff face to the forest floor half a league south and take shelter. She thought she remembered a small cottage in the forest not far from the beginning of the glaciers and decided she would attempt to seek succor there. But she still had some time before she must leave.
And then, all at once, Ehliss finally saw the storm come into terrifying focus. A paralyzing fear seized upon her and turned her heart colder than the glacier’s core.
THIRTY-ONE
Shilkath
Day 27 of 1st Dimming 412 A.U.
NEARLY A QUARTER-LEAGUE ABOVE the icy earth that his army of Borathein marched upon with discipline and anticipation, Shilkath sat perched upon his Alysaar. He swept back and forth in the air across the formation of the Alysaar battery. The winged creatures each carried two Borathein warriors, one who was the rider and steered the beast, the other a warrior who searched for earthbound prey to strike down with arrow or blade. Altogether, each Alysaar unit presented three Borathein soldiers, including the Alysaar itself. Long talons of petrified bone protruded from hind legs salient enough to pierce the prevalent ice and stone of the north that so often made a natural perch. Formations of thorny spikes were manifested around the maw of the Alysaar that a man would liken to a beard, particularly a Borathein. Shilkath’s beard, heavily laden with the evidences of his triumphs, swayed and jangled its percussive song in the cold wind as he dove, ascended and dove again, shouting out orders in guttural blasts of speech. As a Deklar, Shilkath did not have a second rider on his Alysaar. Hawgl was massive enough to carry three Borathein warriors on his strong back, but in a show of prowess, most Deklars rode alone. In fact, Shilkath reminded himself, he was the only Deklar now. All Borathein nahgi had been united under him as the single Deklar of his people.
After many cycles, their long journey of crossing the ice desert was nearing an end. His men were restless with the promise of vengeance now close to being fulfilled as they could see the terrain change only a few leagues off from their current position. After easily defeating a few Deklars whose nahgi had resisted, the remaining Deklars bent the knee and joined their nahgi to Shilkath’s. Discipline was difficult to maintain through such an extensive journey where so many disparate factions and tribes had been forced together in only a few years. Many times, small disputes among the camps turned into bloodbaths before he could put an end to the disruption. This more often than not was achieved through giving the offenders to the Ice Desert as an offering—stripping the offending parties naked and staking their hands and feet to the ice. The blood that flowed over the ground from open wounds quickly froze and became part of the Ice Desert, as would soon the disgraced Borathein warriors from whom the blood escaped. To break from discipline when engaged in Griptha was to bring down the wrath of Vyath upon the entire war host unless a sacrifice of flesh and ice was offered as penance to the god of vengeance and war. Shilkath entered the holy pact of vengeance, a Griptha, by offering his own frozen blood in sacrifice at Vyath’s altar before a Gründaalina, the spiritual leaders of the Borathein, opening the flesh upon his chest with a blade of ice and stone. All Gründaalina were females. His blood froze almost instantly upon falling to the crude altar of ice and bone, bones of fallen enemies from previous Griptha over the ages.
Once, long ago, the ice was not part of the altar. That was a time when the Ice Desert was fertile ground, according to the legends, some thousands of years ago when the Borathein and Hardacheon were still one people. Shilkath swore to avenge their ancient kin who had been defeated by treachery, by foes disguised as friends. Now Shilkath led a host of ten thousand score Borathein and Alysaar, and they were mere days from fulfilling the Griptha and claiming glory for Vyath, freeing the souls of their long ago defeated kin that languished in Kulbrar, the frozen plane between this world and glory that engulfed the defeated dead. Only one path leads to the Shores of Thracia and eternal glory with the gods: dying in a battle that ends victorious. For he who falls on the field of battle where his forces are defeated, no matter the previous victories earned and worldly honor gained, damns his soul to Kulbrar until a kinsmen completes the victory in life, avenging his defeated and dead kin. A Griptha blessed by Vyath would shatter the frozen plain’s grasp on his long-forgotten Hardacheon kin when fulfilled. He, Shilkath, would do this and free the tens of thousands in the grip of Kulbrar; he would bring down the traitors who wore cloaks of false friendship that concealed dark betrayal, deeply hidden; he would cause their women and children to feed upon their own dead and add their husbands’ and fathers’ flesh and bone to his beard while still soaking in blood. Shilkath would desecrate every holy place, devastate every home, and destroy the existence of every so-called wood-dweller from the land. The entire Arlethian race would be sent to Kulbrar by his war host’s blade, and none would ever avenge them from their eternal enslavement upon the frozen plane. He could feel the anticipation from his men, the anticipation of battle and glory; the same anticipation that caused tension and the breaking of discipline, requiring the atonement of ice and flesh.
I will play the fool for now, he thought. But I must be ready for Wellyn. He will reveal himself not long after we have triumphed over the Arlethians. Shilkath had no expectations of a man who would betray his own subjects to keep his bond between strangers. Yes, we will be ready.
A small pillar of smoke protruded into the mo
rning sky. Hawgl smelled it and reacted with interest just before Shilkath caught sight of it. Following it down to its source, he spied a small camp half a league off in the distance that appeared to be abandoned, but the smoldering fire pit gave evidence that it had not been abandoned long. He called out commands for two other Alysaar units to break off and follow him ahead of the host. His beast lowered its head and angled the front of its wings downward, retracting them closer to its body. As it dove toward the ground with the other two Alysaar slightly behind it on either side, Shilkath glimpsed a small figure disappear down a cliff face a short distance beyond the small camp. Barren trees started coming into focus as they drew closer and Shilkath realized it was not just another typical chasm in the icy ground where the figure had disappeared, but the edge of the Ice Desert itself. They had arrived. Their arrival must be unnoticed, at least for another couple days. He could not risk them being discovered just yet.
“Mindok, Frahl!” he barked to the other two Alysaar units and pointed to the cliff edge where the unknown person had disappeared. “Pursue and destroy!”
“For Vyath!” the riders shouted back.
They streaked off southwest toward the small campsite. The sun was drawing long shadows on the Ice Desert below as night started to come on.
If the fool Wellyn has played his part, Shilkath hoped silently, the Shores of Thracia will surely be granted to me forever by Vyath.
Hawgl released a sound of terrible volume that could crack the glaciers and leave giant chasms in its wake.
THIRTY-TWO
Reign
Day 27 of 1st Dimming 412 A.U.
THE EVENING HAD BEEN ONE of the first times Reign had felt a sense of family for many years. Stories filled their time, relaying tales of Aiden as a young, newly appointed master of the hold guard and his follies as he grew into the role, and of the twins’ time with Jayden among her packs. The fire in the gray stone hearth furnished its light, filling the small room where the four of them laughed and reminisced. Crimson Snow took up as much room as any of them in the cottage as he lay upon the earthen floor with his three pups wrestling around and over him. They pulled at his ears and tail, attempting to drag him into the frolic, but he did not respond to their efforts. He watched Reign and the rest in their conversation with what appeared to be nostalgic eyes. The other wolves were heard carrying on in much of the same ruckus in their kennels.
“I remember,” Reign chimed in, “when that merchant with his belly hanging out from his shirt caught you with your hand in his pocket. He tried to grab you but missed as you ducked and he spun himself around and nearly fell over!”
“Right,” Hedron recalled. “I think you were sitting in the alley just watching, nicely tucked away and hiding. Thanks for the help.”
“You were the one stealing from him!” Reign shot back playfully.
“No, I was trying to borrow his krenshell so I could buy those sweet rolls you love so much. It was all for you, dear sister.”
“Let me get this straight,” Aiden interrupted. “You were attempting to buy food from this merchant…with his own money?”
“Hey,” Hedron said with a shrug, “At least I wouldn’t have been stealing the food!”
“There is something seriously wrong with your line of thinking!” Reign laughed and threw a pillow at him.
“I kept you from starving and this is the thanks I get?”
Hedron’s playful demeanor reminded Aiden so much of Thannuel. Jovial when there was nothing to guard against, firm when it was demanded of him and unyieldingly loyal to his sister; but he was also in a place within his mind that would not allow him to grow into who and what he was born to be. Aiden still grappled with the revelation that both his former Lord’s children were alive. He’d learned much of their youth through this evening of stories.
“Now, tell me of Lord Therrium,” Jayden said. “What has happened?”
Aiden related the events that had transpired, of Shane the assassin, of the surprise attack by Wellyn’s men on the hold and the nearly complete extermination of all the hold guard, of General Roan’s timely return, of Reign and Hedron finding him after the battle, and of his departure from Therrium’s service. He made no mention, however, of the obscene stone road that he had glimpsed a view of outside the east wall.
“As we made our way here, we heard rumors of war breaking out between the West and the Realm. It seems Banner has seceded from the Realm.”
Jayden just nodded as she took it in. Hedron, however, was pale as the snow falling outside the small cottage. He stared dumbfounded as if across a large expanse. Aiden stopped speaking when he noticed Hedron’s demeanor. The boy was working his jaw, shaking his head slightly.
“It can’t be,” he said under his breath.
“What is it?” Reign asked. She sat next to him on a wooden bench they had pulled away from the table.
Hedron locked eyes with Aiden. “You said his name was Shane?”
“Aye, the assassin. He was part of the ploy with Wellyn, it seems. I can’t understand how an Arlethian would betray his own people.”
Reign looked quizzically at Hedron, trying to understand her brother’s growing agitation.
“How long had he been with the hold guard?” Hedron asked.
“More than four years, maybe four and half, give or take a few span. Again, as I’ve said, I took him on to keep him close. The man had a turbulent feel about him underneath his outward appearance.”
“And he came to you? Looking for work?” Hedron stood, his voice rising. “Did he say it would give him purpose again? Did he have a scar on his cheek?”
“Aye,” he said. “You knew him?”
Hedron clenched his fists so tight that they turned white. His arms shook. He looked to the side and cursed.
“He’s dead?” Hedron asked, not looking at anyone. “You’re certain? You did it?”
Reign gasped as understanding struck her.
“Could he be the same?” she asked.
“He is dead, lad, just as I have related it. His head no longer enjoys the company of his body.”
Reign reached up and took her brother’s hand. It was still balled into a fist. She worked his hand gently, prying open his fingers, soothing him by her gentle touch. Hedron’s breathing started to calm. Finally he raised his head and looked to Aiden. He had hot tears in his eyes.
“Thank you,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Thank you. You served my family with great honor and did not know.” The boy disappeared and the demeanor of a man slowly took his place. Regal and authoritative. “On behalf of my beloved mother, and jointly with my sister, the last of our house, I thank you for what you have done.”
The silence that filled the air was broken by one of the wolf pups playfully growling and nipping at Crimson Snow’s ears.
“What happened?” was all the former master of the hold guard for two Lords of the West could say. “I mean, what really happened? You were there, weren’t you, Hedron? The Khans—they didn’t come to arrest Moira, did they? Or the remaining servants?” Aiden was silent for a moment. “Was it him? Was it Shane?”
Hedron nodded. “It was. He was named hold master after father died. So many servants had left. We were nearly destitute. His arrival seemed such a blessing at the time, as if the Ancient Heavens were truly watching over us.” The boy sat, the demeanor of the man that had occupied him briefly now gone. “Reign did not know him as I did. I kept her hidden as best I could.”
“Hidden from what?” Aiden asked.
“From too many questions!” Jayden saved Reign and Hedron from having to reply and Aiden realized he had inadvertently entered a subject best not visited. He accepted this and left it alone…for now.
“But what happened after her death?” Aiden wanted to know. “How did you come to be here with Jayden?”
Before anyone could answer, Crimson Snow stood up sharply. His cubs immediately ceased their playfulness and came to his side. He stared at the door t
hat led to the outside for a few seconds and then looked at Jayden. After what seemed to be nothing more than a sliver of a second, he moved his gaze back to the door. The wolves outside in the kennels were suspiciously silent. The fur on the back of Crimson Snow’s neck raised and pointed skyward. His cubs began to growl and snarl. A small rumble, barely audible but easily felt, reverberated through the ground. Aiden rose to his feet, his hand crossing his body to find his sword’s hilt. Reign came to the large white wolf and nuzzled her head next to his.
“What is it?” she whispered. Crimson Snow continued to stare at the door, tense. She drew her short blade as the silence continued, the small rumble beneath them the only interruption.
The three wood-dwellers felt it at the exact same time. Hurried footfall, a frantic rhythm, headed in their direction.
“Just one,” the twins said in unison.
“Aye,” Aiden responded, still vigilant.
The moment arrived: a hurried pounding at the door followed by a young woman bounding into the small cottage.
A scream for help had started to escape her lungs but was cut short as Aiden grabbed her and forced her face down to the floor with all the efficiency of a hold guard. She let out a small whimper as Aiden raised her arm behind her back, pinning her face down. Crimson Snow brought his snout with teeth bared to her face. Dust and sediment on the cottage floor shot outward under the wolf’s low rumble of a growl, dangerous as a impending avalanche.
“Please!” she finally squeaked, her terror stricken face barely visible behind disheveled snow-dusted hair. “Help me!”