Fire And Ice (Book 1)

by Wayne Krabbenhoft III

  “What is the meaning of this!” the King demanded. His face was red with rage. He stared murder at Oscan. “I did not know that your wisdom matched your height.”

  That was enough for Oscan. He lowered his hand. Up and down the column arrows were loosed. The King’s escort drew their weapons and launched themselves at their traitorous attackers, most already riddled with arrows.

  Oscan watched as Mattis tried to find the hilt of his own blade with the shaft of an arrow sticking out of his neck, and another two in his back. The old man was stronger than he looked. His hand fell away from the hilt and slowly he toppled from the saddle to lay in the growing puddle of his own blood spreading across the brown grass and dirt.

  Oscan went to stand over the fallen king. It had started, he had really done it. All the little slights he had endured during his youth would soon be avenged. The crown of Grendin would be his.

  The fire crackled in the forest clearing. Snow carpeted the ground and weighed down the boughs of the evergreens around them. In the dark, Naras puffed on his pipe and blew a ring of smoke that floated slowly up into the still, crisp air. Tomorrow they would leave the boundary lands behind them, hopefully, never to return. Winter was not a good time to be in the North if you didn’t like the cold.

  “All right,” Urik said. “Now that we delivered the gold where do we go from here?”

  “South,” Naras stated. The gold was to stiffen the resolve of some of the more nervous of the sordid men they were forced to employ. It had been necessary for what they wanted to be done. Gorod was the only one who had welcomed the idea. Naras thought the man was a bit unbalanced in the head. That made him the perfect choice to lead the others. The only problem had been finding the criminal, since he was hiding out with a very large bounty on his head. The other men they had talked to didn’t want to work for a crazy man like Gorod, but the combination of gold and promises of pardons when the West was defeated persuaded them. Some of them might even survive long enough to see it.

  “Where south?” Urik asked as he filled his own pipe and lit it with a fig from the fire.

  “We should get a message soon, but until then we head for Summerhall.”

  “Aren’t we about finished with our part? I mean when the actual fighting starts there isn’t much we can do, is there?”

  “Maybe,” Naras replied. He doubted it though. He knew that Elthzidor wouldn’t be finished with them so soon. There would always be something more until Summerhall was finally defeated. He tapped out the dregs from his pipe and tucked it into the saddlebag lying next to him. He was glad he had brought a tent or it would be an even more miserable night than it already was.

  The four guardsmen that escorted them to the hilltop reined in their horses and arranged themselves in a protective arc around Coran and Shirri. After last night an escort seemed the prudent thing to do.

  “This is a good spot,” he told her and they turned their mounts to face the island city. He had told her he would take her out so she could see it in the light of day. By the light coming over the eastern horizon he judged that it would not be long before the sunlight hit the city.

  He was right. Within the next half hour the sun rose high enough to shine on the city that was situated on the island which halved the sparkling Greenriver. The sunlight gleamed off the high, thick walls and the towers that soared even higher. The blue and gold banner of the sun could be seen flying proudly from the tops of the towers. He nearly shielded his eyes from the brightness reflected off the walls of white stone. Shining bridges arched gracefully over the water below. Roads ran off from the bridges to divide and head off in all directions. It was an amazing sight.

  “It is even more beautiful than I imagined,” Shirri stated in awe. A tear leaked from the corner of her eye.

  “Are you all right?” he asked in concern.

  “Fine,” she replied and wiped at her eye with the back of a hand. “It is just that my father always talked about seeing Summerhall, but he never had the chance.”

  “I am sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say.

  “Do not be foolish,” she admonished, but he could tell that her heart was not in it this time.

  “Is that why you came here?” he asked carefully.

  She kept her gaze on the city that filled her vision. “That was one reason.”

  He waited for her to volunteer more, but nothing came. He sat his horse silently as she got her look at the city of the sun.

  Katelyn, suddenly finding herself with nothing else to do, decided to go to the yard. The walls did a good job blocking the cold wind blowing in from the west. She found her friends already there; Devon in plain browns and Alys in her suitable clothing. They stopped their sparring when she appeared. No one else was present this morning.

  “Where is Coran?” Alys asked her. “I thought he would be with you.”

  “So did I,” she replied and immediately scolded herself for the disapproving tone of voice. “He left a message that he was going out early this morning. With Shirri.” From what Coran had told them she knew that he and Shirri had been traveling together for quite a while. She had to admit that she felt a little jealous that the woman had been with him through so many adventures.

  “Uh oh.” The statement slipped out of Devon’s mouth.

  “You are not worried about Coran, are you?” asked Alys carefully.

  She shook her head. “No, not him. I am just wondering why she came all this way. It was not just to see the city.” She was sure of that. Call it woman’s intuition, something her mother had tried to explain to her once, but she didn’t understand it until now.

  “Are you sure about that?” Alys pressed.

  “I have a feeling about her. She is more than she seems.”

  “Where did they go?” Devon asked.

  “He took her out so that she could see the city in the daytime.”

  “Makes sense,” he commented. He noticed the faces of the two women. “I mean if she came to see Summerhall,” he said defensively and shrugged.

  “You just earned yourself the right to be first,” she told him and picked out a wooden blade from the rack.

  “Why do I even open my mouth,” he said half to himself. “You would think that I had learned better by now.” He raised his own practice weapon and waited for her to advance.

  After a while they stopped, and Devon backed away with a few new bruises to rub. Katelyn spotted Coran entering the yard wearing his black and silver, Shirri was with him. She wore the same brown robes she had arrived in.

  “I thought I would find you here,” Coran smiled at her.

  “Care to try me?” she said in reply. “I have been practicing.”

  He looked down at his clean clothes. “I am not really dressed for it.”

  “Afraid to get a little dirty?”

  “All right,” he conceded, and grabbed a weapon.

  The others stood by and watched. Shirri seemed to be especially curious as she watched Katelyn closely.

  Coran attacked first, it was tentative, probing. Her response was not. She forced him back with a fury of swings. As he neared the wall behind him he pushed past her thrust and spun away.

  “You have been practicing,” he complimented her.

  “And I remember you being more skilled.” She punctuated the last word with a slashing attack.

  He countered it easily, and the next ones too. His blade was a blur. In one instant she was defending a slash to her side and in the next she found the tip of his wooden blade against her throat without seeing how it had gotten there. His face was serious as he removed it and leaned in.

  “Is something wrong?” he whispered.

  She realized for the first time that she had been angry. Quickly she masked her surprise with a smile. “Of course not.” She glanced at the sky. “I have a meeting with Lord Roland.” Glad for the excuse to leave and without waiting for a reply she put the practice blade back in the rack and left. Did Shirri really bother her that much
? She hadn’t thought so.

  Sitting behind the desk in his study, Stemis stacked together the papers cluttering up his desk top, and placed them to one side. He reached over and opened the top left drawer. Pulling out the small pieces of paper stuffed into the back, he then laid them down on the desktop and started looking through them. Finding the two he needed, he returned the others and closed the drawer. He perused the words quickly, finding the part in each he thought to be important.

  Let the Queen of Battles reign,

  And the Champion of Light protect us.

  One shall sit upon a throne of fire,

  The other shall wield a sword of ice,

  The door to the hall opened and closed as Gelarus entered to stand before him. “You wished to see me?” he asked looking around briefly for the usually present Oran. “Privately, it seems.”

  “I was thinking about that night. The one over sixteen years ago.”

  “Which night would that be?” the wizard asked him innocently.

  Stemis kept his face calm. “Do not play games with me. You know the night I refer to, when the fire rained from the sky for the second time.”

  “Ah, that one, but why bring up old memories now?”

  Stemis’ jaw clenched. Was Gelarus trying to make him angry? He refused to be goaded into an argument. “That was the night you set me on this path. You said the fire was a sign that the darkness was once again stirring. You said I should search the prophecies to find clues as to how to stop it. For sixteen years I have searched, the palace library, the books here, I even sent letters to libraries in other cities to see what could be found. Sixteen years and all I have found is this.” He held out the paper for Gelarus to see. The wizard glanced at it and back to him so quickly he wasn’t sure it had happened. “Oh, I found the other works of Gratus, what he wrote of the last two wars, but nothing except vague hints as to a third one. You told me there was something to find.”

  “And you did,” Gelarus responded by glancing at the paper in his hand.

  “You eluded that there was more.”

  “There is always more. More things to find, more knowledge to gain.” Gelarus’ tone bordered on mischievous.

  Once again Stemis had to keep his anger in check. “Lately I have been pondering these words.” He lifted the paper. “And I began to wonder if it was enough after all. At least to tell me what I must do. Should I read it to you?”

  “I remember what it says.”

  How could he? Stemis had showed it to him once after finding it sixteen years ago.

  “I know you did not ask me here to show me that,” Gelarus stated impatiently. All signs of mischief gone from his voice. “I have known you to scheme before, what you did to Coran is proof of that, and I see it in your eyes again.”

  “Why is it you only tell me things that I already know, and not the things I do not?”

  “I tell you what you need to know.”

  Stemis shook his head in frustration. “Is there no one who can command you?”

  “The Creator. We must all bow to His wishes.”

  “Anyone bound to this earth?” Stemis asked grumpily.

  “There may be one or two.” The wizard smiled that infuriating smile of his that said he knew more than you ever would.

  “Obviously, I am not one of them.”

  “Obviously,” Gelarus said smugly. “Now will you tell me what you have deduced from that?” he asked, pointing at the paper.

  “The question I have is about the Voltians,” Roland was saying. They sat in the council room around the polished wood table, where a map of Midia was spread out for them to see. “You sent the same information to them?”

  “Yes,” Katelyn responded.

  “Then why are they not asking for help? They border the passes where any invasion must take place. They would be the first ones attacked.” He looked to the others at the table for an answer. Loras sat silent as usual; he had contributed little to the conversation.

  “Do we know where the Voltian forces are right now?” Martin wondered.

  “As a matter of fact I do. I ordered a scouting report before I left Holdon. The result arrived this morning.” The Lord of Axely tapped at a point on the map with a finger. “About half of their force is here at Volton at the mouth of the Sone. The rest are gathered here.” He moved his finger west along the line that marked the River Sone. “About a day’s ride from Milaard.”

  “They left the passes undefended?” Martin exclaimed unbelievingly.

  “What does that mean?” Katelyn asked confused. It made no sense to her. She had been taught tactics, but what Voltia was doing was beyond her.

  “That is the question,” as Roland started in on his role as strategist. “If you take it from the point of view of Voltia, acting defensively, then the information would suggest that they are preparing to protect northern Voltia while harrying anyone passing through in the south. Nothing else fits.”

  “Passing through to where?” Martin asked before she could. “That is what we need to know.”

  “Our clue is the fleet Coran found. If you were attacking us and wanted to strike a surprise blow, where would it count the most?”

  “Summerhall,” she and Martin said at the same time.

  “Exactly. Voltia expects them to go straight for here. How they know is another question. Unless they are just guessing.”

  “You indicated there might be another point of view?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said reluctantly. She could tell what he was about to say was not going to be pleasant. “If Voltia is for some reason against us, then their forces can move quickly to block Holdon from crossing into Voltia. They could force us to have to go over the mountains to send you help.”

  That was a very bleak thought. They might have to fight Voltia too?

  “Which, unfortunately, makes more sense,” Roland continued. “According to the map Coran brought, the invaders do not have enough men right now to take on the combined forces of Midia. That is, if we all stand together. What we need to do is find out what other surprises they have in store for us. To pull off crossing almost all of Midia and reaching Summerhall while maintaining the advantage has to involve more than just Voltia, if they are involved.”

  That thought was even worse. It was going to be a long winter. “Do you have any ideas?” she asked.

  Roland pondered over the map. “If it were me, I would not wait for spring, but attack as soon as my army was ready to come through the passes. Also, I would make as many distractions as possible. For the best timing I would start those surprises by the time I entered Voltia.” He stopped and scanned the others and their bleak faces.

  Katelyn was looking at the map as well. “Worst case, if we are outnumbered, what would you suggest for a strategy?”

  Roland touched the map again. “It depends on what we have to work with, but worst case? We defend a place where we pick the terrain and they have to get by us. Someplace as far from here as we can while not overextending ourselves. Like the bridges at Stockton. It is the only place to cross the Blood River for most of its length.”

  “Can’t we just tear them down?” she asked.

  “Not easily.” It was Martin who answered her. “The bridge at Stockton is massive, and there is the fact that we want them to come there. If they do not then we will have no idea where they will try and cross.”

  It was logical. She studied the map some more. The real worry was wondering what surprises Elthzidor had in store for them.

  “What about the North?” questioned Martin. “Where do they stand?”

  “We know they are in the Sea of the East hunting down Makkurans, and more ships have been seen heading south to the Sea of Ithan,” Katelyn informed them.

  “Why are they going there?” Roland asked.

  “We have been receiving rumors that Ithan is mobilizing its legions, and that a fleet is being built at Mercae,” she told them. The rivalry between the North and Ithan has existed since the early d
ays of the Ithanian Empire. Just the rumor of hostilities with Ithan would bring ships from the North. “Besides that I have not been able to get a straight answer from the Northern kingdoms. They are acting on their own.”

  Roland cleared his throat. “Before I left Holdon I know that Mance was sending representatives to Essendor and Nyess. Hopefully, we will have some information soon.”

  The door opened and Gelarus entered. He walked towards the head of the table to stand by Katelyn, who sat to the left of her father’s chair. “Your Highness.” He scanned the occupants of the room.

  “Gelarus,” she replied to his greeting. “Have you seen my father?”

  “Actually, I was just with him.”

  “Will he be joining us?”

  “Not right now, no.”

  “Excuse me,” Roland said to get their attention, “I do not mean to be rude, but I must ask, is the High King well?”

  Katelyn tried to think of a suitable reply. It would not do for anyone to know that the High King might be ill. Any sign of weakness would have the nobles of Midia thinking to their own advantage. Thankfully, she was spared the decision by the quick reply of Gelarus.

  “He is fine. Oh, he has not been at his best lately, mainly from working too hard, but he is much better now. He is looking forward to the feast tonight.” Gelarus spoke so smoothly that Roland believed him completely.

  “Feast?” Katelyn said in surprise.

  “Yes. It seems he took your hiring of a bard and expanded it into a feast. To celebrate Coran’s return. Everyone here is invited of course.”

  “I will be happy to attend, of course,” Roland accepted the invitation.

  “Now we can discuss the reason the King sent me here. I am to tell you what I know about those creatures that attacked Coran.” Gelarus had everyone’s undivided attention. They were all curious at what those things were. “Thousand of years ago they were brought forth into the world. Left alone they spread death and destruction across the land.” Gelarus was staring straight ahead, as if he could see something they could not. “Eventually they were defeated and driven from this world. Or so it was thought. Apparently, the Dark God must have kept one hidden away.”