Traven shifted uncomfortably. “He says there is a staircase leading up.”
“Then we must take it,” Crystalia said as she strode past the Hero. Despite her initial unease around the great beast, Crystalia was now comfortable with the wolf’s presence. In her gut, she knew Pale would never lead her into danger. With the wolf and Corpse following close on her heel, Traven had no other choice but to join them.
“What of the Arctic Eagles?” Traven asked.
Crystalia did not know how she knew, but she was quite certain of her words. “They will claim their dead and fly to the highest Eyre. There they will pay their respects, then rejoin their family.”
The Hero took her upon her word and stepped into the lead. Crystalia was more surprised by her declaration than any other in the group. The more she reached out with senses and welcomed the cold terrain, the more it spoke to her. Everything the moon’s rays touched was now her responsibility. To take on the Snowy Maiden’s mantle meant that Crystalia now cared about each of Winter’s creatures. Perhaps that was why the White Wolf no longer made her muscles quiver.
The cold walls closed in upon them as they penetrated deeper into the crack. The heat seemed to sap right out of them. Energy pulsed through the walls, making one feel small and puny. Crystalia wanted to speak with Traven, but she could not get her voice to rise. The oppressive atmosphere squelched your very spirit. Corpse moaned behind her, and his steps fell short. Without thinking, Crystalia grabbed his hand and pulled him close to her, sharing her heat. The dead man gave an odd grin, then kept his eyes to the floor. It seemed this place could dampen even Corpse’s glib mouth.
***
Ornery scrambled into yet another hiding place. His ankle complained each time he put weight upon it, but the joint held underneath of him. Miss Emmert had distracted the Griffin, giving her son enough time to flee, but the beast was not so easily dissuaded. Each time his mother had let down her guard for even an instant, the Griffin had turned on Ornery.
The creature seemed bent on his destruction, and in this icy hall there was not much room to hide. The blue torches that lined the long passageway glistened off of the slick ceiling. Besides small niches for delicate ice sculptures and doorways with no doors, the hall was barren. Ornery had to rely on scrambling just out of the Griffin’s reach in the small stoops. If he did not circle back to his mother and flee this place, there would be no escaping the Griffin’s claws.
The Eagle’s cry echoed off the icy walls and nearly deafened Ornery. The Griffin roared its response, and the two mythical beasts engaged in battle. Miss Emmert leapt off the Arctic Eagle and joined Ornery.
His mother pointed to the right. “We must use this cover.”
Ornery did not need any encouragement. Together, he and his mother skirted the fight.
“Sniff out Glacial,” Miss Emmert urged.
Obeying his mother, Ornery searched the air for any whiff of the Ice Princess. His nose was not as sharp as it had been yesterday, but still he could pick up the sharp taste of Glacial’s blood in the air. “That way.”
The two hurried towards a large archway that appeared to lead deeper into the Citadel. Behind them, the Arctic Eagle gave a startled cry. Ornery turned to find the Griffin at the great bird’s neck.
“Run!” Miss Emmert screamed as the Griffin turned its blood-soaked face in their direction.
With his injured ankle, Ornery could barely keep up with Miss Emmert’s pace, which was not nearly fast enough to outrun the winged Griffin. The beast flew over their heads and landed squarely in front of them. It seemed to delight in its show of power. They were but so many mice to this great creature.
“Escape while I distract it,” Miss Emmert whispered to Ornery as she prepared a spell.
Ornery knew what his mother really meant. Her magick was near spent. He could see it on her face. Miss Emmert did not mean to distract the Griffin. She meant to sacrifice herself as the Eagle had. Ornery could not allow that.
As his mother chanted under her breath and gathered her energy, Ornery desperately searched the room for some kind of weapon, anything that he might use against the Griffin. Not that he had much skill in that area, but he would not let her die without a fight.
His mother gave him a shove as she began her incantation, but Ornery held fast. Energy surged from Miss Emmert’s mouth and slammed hard into the Griffin. For a moment, the beast stood there, perfectly still, stunned by the force.
Unfortunately, it shook off the magick’s effect and bellowed its pain. The creature seemed hardly fazed by the spell.
“Go! This might be my last chance,” his mother hissed at Ornery.
As she mumbled the words of power, Ornery ran to the nearest wall and grabbed one of the torches. The flame was a sparkling blue flecked with white, but the fire gave off no heat whatsoever. Ornery had no idea what damage the flame could do, but he might be able to back the Griffin off just enough for them to flee down a side passage.
The beast must have sensed the woman’s intent, for the Griffin launched itself into the air just as Miss Emmert released her spell. The creature avoided the brunt of the energy, but not all of it.
Ornery leapt forward, ignoring the searing pain in his leg. In midair the Griffin hovered, captured by his mother’s spell. Ornery lunged with the flame and buried it in the fierce beast’s mane. Instead of setting the fur on fire, the torch froze the Griffin’s mane and all along its back. Realizing the power of the flame, Ornery swiped the torch across the length of the creature’s body.
Before Ornery could reach its head, the Griffin recovered from Miss Emmert’s magick. Screaming in agony, the beast tried to use its wings, but one was frozen solid. Crashing to the floor, the parts of its body that were touched by the flame shattered on impact. The beast did not seem to realize what had happened to it and tried to crawl forward with its front paws. Finally, it growled one last time and collapsed, dead.
Dropping the torch, Ornery actually felt sorry for the Griffin. No creature should have to endure that type of torturous death.
A scream echoed off the walls, coming from deep within the Citadel. Both Ornery and Miss Emmert shouted, “Glacial!” in the same moment.
At best speed, they ran past the mangled beast and through the archway. On the other side of the hollow chamber, a lone Griffin dragged the Ice Princess towards a glittering threshold. Ornery tried to rush to the girl’s side, but a yawning chasm stood between them and Glacial. The Griffin must have flown over the gaping ravine. Ornery peeked over the edge but could not make out the bottom.
“Where are they taking her?” Ornery asked.
“The Icy Throne is just beyond that threshold. We must reach the other side. Perhaps I can conjure a bridge...” Miss Emmert’s voice faded as she concentrated on her magick. From her fingers flowed a bit of twine, but it was more like a child’s toy rather than a bridge that would span this great divide.
Ornery realized they could no longer rely on his mother’s magick — she was failing. By the bluish tint to her lips, his mother was failing fast. Ornery knocked her hands down and broke the spell chain.
“Son! Never interrupt —”
“Mother, you must save your energy. There must be another way across.”
Scanning the side walls, Ornery could make out tiny footholds in the smooth ice. It would take great care and skill, but Ornery was certain he could scale the wall and cross the fissure. But what to do with his mother? Picking up the twine, Ornery tied it around his waist and then began tying it to Miss Emmert’s hips.
“Ornery, what has gotten —”
Tugging the last knot tight, Ornery answered as he maneuvered them to the wall. “Try your best to cling to the ice. I will show you where to put your feet and hands.”
For a moment, it seemed his mother was going to argue, but she did not. Nodding, she followed his lead. It was strange to have Miss Emmert obey him so. Strange, but agreeable. The Way could not be worried if his mother was going to scold him at e
ach turn in history.
*****
CHAPTER 34
The Winter Citadel is a place no mortal should visit. It has all manner of creatures with hearts of ice. They know not of love or affection. They live to protect the Winter King’s abode and feast on the flesh of those that dare disturb their god’s sanctuary.
Traven’s mind raced with all of Granny’s stories, but he could not remember a single one about the Citadel’s staircase. The spiral pathway looked like it was never-ending. Despite the illusion, they charged up the steps with great purpose, but the Hero was queasy about what they would find at the top.
Without his Granny’s story to prepare him, how could they survive the gauntlet he was certain to face?
Pale relayed Glacial, Ornery, and Miss Emmert’s scent to Traven. The rest of their party was above, somewhere in the Citadel. At least they knew the three still lived. The wolf was certain the aroma was fresh, and from the stench of fear and pain, the others were most certainly still alive.
This knowledge urged the Hero’s feet even faster. Crystalia and Corpse lagged a bit behind, slowing them again. Thoughts of leaving the dead man behind, and letting him freeze solid, had crossed Traven’s mind, but he could not do that to his companion.
Corpse had earned his right to take his place amongst them when he had rescued the Snowy Maiden. So no matter the Hero’s sense of urgency, they kept the pace of the dead man.
The wolf stopped in his tracks and twitched his ears. Traven halted and opened his mind to Pale. There were sounds, very faint, but noises nonetheless. And they were not the wind or any other natural phenomena. It was the scraping of many a boot against ice. As the sound neared, the more obvious it became that an entire army was descending towards them. Traven looked around, but there was nowhere to detour, nowhere to hide. The walls rose tall all around them.
They either retreated down the stairs and back into the mountains or faced the legend that advanced upon them. To flee would garner them nothing. Even if they avoided the assault, Glacial would surely be sacrificed, and this group would still be the first to die by the Winter King’s hand. No, they needed to stand and fight.
Turning, he found Corpse had already drawn his sword. That left only the Snowy Maiden unarmed.
Traven pulled the small knife hidden in his boot and handed it over to Crystalia. “Use this.”
The Hero had to steady himself after he said those two simple words. The sense of déjà vu hit him so powerfully that his head swam. He did not need to hear the Snowy Maiden’s response of “I shall,” for he already knew her answer.
Buried somewhere in his brain was one of Granny’s tales. It must have been one of those sticky love stories, for he could not remember the details. Shoving aside his mixed emotions, Traven turned back to the threat at hand.
Slowly, they crept up the stairs, one step at a time. The stairwell turned so sharply that you could not tell what was before you until you made the turn. Now, even his human ears could make out the clang of armor approaching. Traven’s grip tightened on his sword as he climbed another step. Around another bend and they were face to face with their enemy.
Frigid Knights. Every fierce combatant that died in Winter’s embrace came to the Citadel to act as the King’s personal guard. In this moment, the Knights seemed as surprised to see Traven’s party as the Hero was to encounter them. They were not supposed to join in battle, here in the stairwell. This meeting was supposed to occur at the Icy Throne itself.
Taking advantage of the Knights’ confusion, Traven let out a battle cry and charged forward. He shattered an arm off his first victim, but was not so lucky with his second. The Warrior fended off Traven’s attack and pared with his own dirk. The Hero pivoted away but tripped over Pale. The close quarters made the fight nearly impossible.
How were they going to battle their way through this thick host? Above them, Traven could see that the staircase had straightened, leading to a landing.
Unfortunately, the entire stairs were packed with Frigid Knights. They were easily outnumbered ten to one, and there were no tricks, no magickal slight-of-hand that could beat this enemy. If they wished to emerge victorious, they would have to hack their way to the top.
***
Crystalia watched the battle. All this fighting was getting them nowhere. It wasn’t that Traven, Pale, and Corpse were not skilled with their weapons.
Quite to the contrary, they were striking the enemy with great efficiency. The problem was, even if they struck true and clean, the Knight would just rise again to fight again. These Frigid Knights seemed immortal. Sometime soon, their group would simply be overrun by the sheer mass of the enemy. Even now, Traven and the rest had to retreat several steps.
It was odd, but the Snowy Maiden felt no sense of panic. The battle flowed and ebbed as Crystalia watched it with a bizarre sense of detachment. Ever since the Hero had placed the dagger in her hand, Crystalia knew she would be instrumental in this fight. In what role, she had no idea, but Crystalia knew the exchange of the knife was no little thing. Her sexton burned with the feel of the handle in her palm.
How she wished Madame Hesper could have taught her more about the Snowy Maiden. Crystalia knew so little about her powers and strengths. It was a mystery what she could and could not do with her magick. Quickly, Crystalia ticked off the skills she already had. Seeing far with her tears seemed completely unhelpful in this situation. The Snowy Maiden was certain her voice could carry to the farthest Knight, but these were unnatural creatures with no obligation to heed her words. There was a chance Crystalia could reach out to the walls of the staircase and alter their appearance. While that might make the place a bit more attractive, she did not see how it would help their situation.
No, she needed to tap into a deeper power — something that could alter the course of this battle.
“Cut off my hand!” Corpse shouted as he joined her.
“What?” Crystalia backed away from the dead man.
“This fight will never be won as long as I have my hand. It is preordained. Do you not feel like hurrying Fate a bit?”
Shaking her head, Crystalia let the knife’s tip lower. “No. You may yet —”
Traven’s shout caught both of their attention. The Knights were close to running over the Hero and Pale.
“Do it, Snowy Maiden. I beg of you. We must somehow turn the tide,” Corpse said, his face uncommonly sincere.
Grabbing his right hand, Crystalia felt a spark tingle up her arm. They were on the right course, but the dead man pulled away. “The left, m’dear. I might still need that one,” Corpse said as he jiggled his sword in his right fist.
Crystalia took his left hand, and in a single swipe, severed it from the dead man’s arm. Corpse gasped and shook his arm violently. “One would think after death, things such as this would not hurt nearly as badly.”
“What have you done?” Traven shouted, drawing the girl’s eyes back to the line of battle. The clash had momentarily stopped. The Frigid Knights stared at Crystalia and the severed hand.
Instinctively, the Snowy Maiden raised it above her head, for all to see. The Knights took a collective step back. Crystalia decided to press the advantage. But what could she say that would sway them? What was their deepest desire?
“I have the power to free you from your servitude!” she shouted to the mass of enemy. Crystalia had no idea if she truly could or not, but it sounded dramatic and brave.
The foremost Frigid Knight’s voice was that of a nail scraping ice. “It is our duty to protect the Winter King.”
By just talking to her, Crystalia knew the Knight was not quite sold on that idea. She needed to find a way to turn these warriors against their captor.
“He has enslaved you. Once you lived. Once you were proud swordsmen, fighting for the cause you believed in. Now what do you do? Mindlessly protect the very god that snatched your life away.”
“It is our duty.”
Crystalia puffed up to her tallest he
ight and waved the hand. “No longer.” She had to pause, though, for she had no idea what else to say.
Corpse jumped in. “I was once like you, but she transformed me. The Snowy Maiden can do the same for you!”
A murmuring rippled through the crowded Knights. It seemed most of them had great respect for her title. Crystalia’s mind spun, desperately trying to think of a way to dispatch this host and get her party to Glacial’s side.
“Take me to the Icy Throne, and I shall free you.”
***
Traven had no idea what Crystalia was up to, but he welcomed the rest. He was out of breath, and his whole body ached with the strain of battle. Yet the Hero was loath to leave the stairwell with these Knights. At least on the steps, they had the advantage of a bottleneck. The Knights could only attack one or two at a time. Outside those confines, his group could so easily be overwhelmed. Was this a ruse of Crystalia’s or the Frigid Knights’?
“The Winter King would want to punish these trespassers himself,” the Frigid Knight said to his comrades. “We shall escort them to the Icy Throne.”
The Hero squinted and tried to read the enemy’s mood, which was a little difficult, since they were nearly frozen solid. The Knights seemed a simple lot, though. The warriors’ minds were a fraction of what they once had been. Traven did not believe them capable of calculating the advantage to themselves. Pale’s thoughts agreed with the Hero’s.
The Frigid Knights might slice them down if the Winter King ordered it, but for now, their party seemed relatively safe in the Knights’ custody. Traven lowered his sword as the Knights backed up the stairs. Each side was still wary of the other, and rightfully so.
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