Then the screaming began. The goddess’ gleaming face twisted into a scowl, and her painful wailing penetrated every corner of the Citadel. Crystalia backed away from the Vortex as it began to throb and warble. Crystalia began to cry. She had only made the situation worse and doomed Ekoli to an eternity of torture. It was only her body’s survival instinct that caused her throw herself out of the Vortex’s range.
***
Everyone was knocked from their feet as the Vortex began spinning on its axis. The room thrummed with unstable energy. The force-field that had once kept the Hero’s group trapped next to the Icy Throne burst in an ear-splitting explosion. The Vortex shattered into a thousand tiny shards. Traven tumbled down the steps, his dirk knocked from his hand.
Bouncing to his feet, the Hero grabbed the limp form of the Ice Princess and yelled to Crystalia. “Run!”
The Hero’s warning must have penetrated the Snowy Maiden’s shock, for the girl turned on her heel and chased after Traven. The Vampyr was nowhere to be seen, so the Hero made a path to the rest of his companions, praying that it was not too late. Even the Winter King seemed shocked that the portal to his Icy Kingdom was destroyed.
There might be hope yet. The Winter King was severed from the vast reserves of power that lay in the Blizzard Realm. He was still a god, and mad beyond reasoning, but the Winter King was no longer master of this Citadel. The old god began grumbling and mumbling to himself as he rummaged through the remains of his Vortex.
The room was suddenly quiet. The wind seemed to be hiding away, fearful of what might happen next. While the air could not be called warm by any means, the frigid cold that sapped one’s soul was gone. The Fire Toad’s damage now became a serious problem. Without the fuel of the Blizzard Realm, the Icy Citadel was now vulnerable to heat. Tiny puddles became deep ravines in the ice floor. The entire room was rapidly crisscrossed with streams of water.
Traven leapt over a small channel and rejoined his companions. Crystalia was not far behind. Carefully, the Hero laid the Ice Princess down next to Miss Emmert. Both were still blissfully unconscious. Pale and Ornery looked relived to have the party reassembled. Holt, though, was nowhere to be found.
From the look, the Frigid Knights had taken the Snowy Maiden at her word and had rent the Drakol priestess into a thousand pieces and were literally bathed in her green blood. The once pristine white warriors were now soaked in the demon’s blood. One Griffin lay dead, and his injured mate had retreated to the back of the chamber, holding up a wounded paw. Even the Voltaics had stopped their wave of destruction. The tentacled trio stood motionless in the center of the room, their antennae waving frantically in the still air.
Everyone waited — waited for the Winter King to declare himself.
***
For a brief moment, Crystalia hoped the old god would come to his senses. Perhaps the loss of his Blizzard Realm and the destruction of his Icy Throne would shock some sense into the Winter King. Almost immediately, the Snowy Maiden’s hopes were dashed. The old god rose from the remains of his Icy Throne. He pointed a sharp finger at her party.
“You must all die!” The Winter King’s eyes flared with blue madness. By now, the old god towered over the room. His white crystal crown scraped the towering ceiling. He turned to the Frigid Knights. “Kill them!”
“No!” Crystalia screamed and held up Corpse’s hand again. The gesture seemed feeble against the Winter King’s might, but she could not let everyone die because of her failing. The Knights surged forward, but the sight of the hand held them back. Still, almost against their will, their sword arms raised in menace.
The leader of the Knights neared Crystalia, torture clear in eyes. “Free us now, or it will be too late.”
How Crystalia wished that she could, but the Snowy Maiden was without a clue as to how she might help these Knights and herself.
Ornery nudged her. “Look at the floor. Some of the Knights are at rest.”
Crystalia tore her eyes from the mighty host standing before her and scanned the floor that was littered with bodies. Most of the damaged Knights, no matter if they still had a head or not, still tried to rise and fight. A lucky few bodies scattered amongst the rest seemed to be at true peace. The icy shell that encased them was gone, and blood seeped from the wounds. But why those and not the others? What was the key?
“Now,” the Frigid Knight implored, both hands now gripping his sword, ready to bring it down upon her head.
In the bright glare of the Winter King’s presence, the cold steel bands that encircled the Knight’s wrists glinted. Without thinking, Crystalia raised the Hero’s knife and hacked at the metal bands. They were rings of confinement, the Snowy Maiden finally realized. The steel bound their spirits to their frozen bodies. Those on the ground, now freed of their servitude to the Winter King, had lost both their hands. Their bondage to the King was severed. But the metal ring was too sturdy. Crystalia did not think, given a hundred years, that she could break through the bonds.
Suddenly, it came to the Snowy Maiden. It was not The Hanged Man’s hand they needed to sever — it was the Frigid Knights’. Only then could the warriors be put to rest. Shoving Corpse’s severed hand in her pocket again, Crystalia grabbed the Knight’s arm. “Trust me.”
The warrior’s face clouded, but he did not flinch from her touch. “Hurry. I cannot hold back much longer.”
With a great swipe of her blade, she cut off the Knight’s right hand. As the steel band fell to the floor and clanged against the ice, the warrior fell to his knees. Red blood oozed from the wound. Dropping his sword, the Knight held out his other wrist. “Thank you.”
Swallowing hard, Crystalia took another blow, but this time did not cut the hand off cleanly. “I’m sorry. Oh, I’m sorry,” the Snowy Maiden said as she chopped away at the frozen flesh.
“Here, allow me,” Traven said. In one clean arc, the Hero severed the hand. A look of sheer joy passed over the warrior’s face as the second confinement ring slid from his wrist. With their leader down, the other Knights milled. Though still dangerous, hope shone very clear in the frozen warrior’s eyes. If their leader was freed, could they be?
Traven raised his sword high above the throng of warriors. “Take your comrade’s hand and —” The Hero did not have to finish his sentence. The Knights readily cut off each other’s hand. “Now the other.”
***
It was strange to watch these fearsome warriors face off against one another, but Ornery was glad for it. He had watched them tear the Drakol to pieces and did not wish to have their swords turned on his party. It was bad enough that both Miss Emmert and Glacial were near death. He could not imagine taking on this host and having anyone survive.
In one swipe, the entire army of Frigid Knights fell to the floor, their spirits free to enter the Cloudy Kingdom. Ornery breathed a sigh of relief, but realized he might have been premature. All eyes had been on the Frigid Knights. Ornery had nearly forgotten that the Winter King still loomed behind them.
The cold air became quite still, except for the old god’s breathing. For each inhale, the room seemed nearly drained of air. With the exhale, you were nearly bowled over. The Voltaics’ antennae waved frantically, then balled up. In a single instant the three gruesome creatures dove back into their fissures, fleeing the Throne room. Ornery took it that this was not a good sign.
***
The moment had come, Traven realized. They had danced around this event, but finally he must face the Winter King. Grabbing the fallen Knight’s sword, the Hero lifted the weapon in hand. Perhaps this cold steel could pierce the old god’s form. Even though the Winter King was cut off from his Blizzard Realm, power and strength still flowed through his being. Thick white eyebrows were knit together in fury. Deep was the Winter King’s rage. Before the old god could gather himself, Traven whisper to Crystalia, “No matter what happens, try to flee with the others.”
The Hero could not turn to see if the Snowy Maiden obeyed him. Instead, Trav
en crossed his swords in front of him and charged forward, a war-cry upon his lips. He was half way across the room when the Hero knew, deep in his gut, that this was not going to be effective. The Winter King took in a long breath, then blew it out. The wind that ripped from the old god’s lips whistled with a deafening pitch. The frigid blast froze Traven’s boots to the icy floor. With a single finger, the Winter King reached out and flicked against the Hero’s weapons, shattering the metal. If Traven had not released his grip, he was certain his arms would have been equally destroyed. Firmly stuck in place, the Hero could not run as the Winter King’s form pulled in close. The cold was sickening as the old god neared Traven.
“You will make a worthy plaything,” the Winter King sneered as he examined the battle-weary Hero.
Plaything? Traven’s mind spun. What had Loplop said? Not waiting for his mind to catch up with his mouth, Traven blurted, “I challenge thee!”
The old god’s laugh was tainted by lunacy. “Go ahead, little man.”
Traven dug through his pockets and pulled out the game pieces Loplop had given him. “A game of...” Traven stalled. What had the boy called the damn game? Pale sent a single word, and the Hero repeated it. “Conquest.”
The Hero nearly pitched forward as the Winter King reeled back, sucking all the air with him. Traven coughed a bit and tried to catch his breath. The old god towered over the Hero. Blue fire in his mad eyes. “You think yourself my equal?”
Traven pulled himself upright and tried to sound as brave as Granny had said The Man Who Did Not Know always sounded. “The game will decide.”
The Hero tumbled backward as the Winter King hissed his discontent. Traven was pleased to see that he had unsettled the old god. It was about time that the Hero actually made an in-road.
“Begin.”
Putting the pieces down into a pile, Traven rolled the die. With no surprise he obtained a two — the only number on the die. Tentatively, the Hero reached out to the pile. He could pick any two game pieces, but which two? Back at the Shaman’s room, Traven had simply grabbed willy-nilly. He had no real idea how to play this game. How he wished Loplop would appear, but try as he might, the Hero could not reach the imaginary little boy. Traven was on his own. Closing his eyes, the Hero picked up his pieces — a small bit of dried apricot and a miniature vase. By the Winter King’s wicked smile, Traven assumed he had not picked as well as the Hero would have liked, but there was no pressure. Only the fate of the entire world rested on his selection.
***
Holt clung to the shadows and watched the proceedings. The Vampyr’s lust was nearly all-consuming. The winged creature could make no sense out of the strange game that the Hero and Winter King were playing. If it did not involve blood and gore, the Vampyr had no interest. He only wished the frigid god would leave and allow the Vampyr’s wings to defrost so that he might fly away to find more prey.
“Holt,” a familiar voice whispered. The Vampyr frowned. He was Holt no longer. The human had died with Ekoli.
“Holt. I have need of you,” the voice implored.
An itch in his leg became insistent. Scraping his skin with his claws, the Vampyr found a shard of the Vortex lodged in his muscle. Pulling it out, Holt went to throw it down when the fragment spoke to him again.
“I am here. I need you to look with human eyes.”
It was a furious struggle, but Holt reclaimed his vision. In the tiny shard of the Vortex, he could make out the blurry image of Ekoli. Only she was no longer in human form. The goddess’s skin once again glowed with the beauty of the night sky. Only her face was contorted in pain.
Holt caressed the fragment as if it were her skin. “What is wrong?”
“Holt.” Ekoli nearly moaned his name as she reached out with her hand. Their fingers could almost touch through the magickal interface, but not quite. “It is too great a story for now, but know that all is not as it seems. The Winter King cannot help himself. This Realm is infected, infested with...” The goddess paused. “Someone means to destroy the seasons themselves.”
“How can we stop them from—”
“Nay. That must come later. You must return the Winter King to this Realm, or it will collapse. We will have lost Winter. The other seasons would topple shortly thereafter.”
Holt looked over towards Traven and the old god. The Winter King had shrunk from his towering height down to the size of a large man. Still the old god would not go back willingly. How were mortals to drive him back?
“Ekoli, how —”
“It is all I can do to keep this fragment of the Vortex active. Make the Winter King touch this shard and force him back through. Once he has passed into the Blizzard Realm, destroy this shard. It is the only way.”
“But what can we...” Holt’s voice faded as the image of Ekoli drained from the shard. Had she already lost the Vortex? Was it completely closed? There was only one way to find out. As the Winter King leaned over the game pieces, Holt unfurled his stiff wings and took flight. He would make sure the old god touched this fragment — and in the most painful way possible.
***
Traven was concentrating so hard on his accumulated pieces that he barely noticed the Winter King’s next roll. Instead, of the usual two, the old god had rolled a five. The Hero’s head snapped up. “You have cheated!”
The Winter King’s eyes were fierce and defensive. “The dice changed on its own.”
Traven jumped to his feet. “Nay! You tainted the die! The game is forfeit. You have lost.”
The old god did not look like he was going to take losing gracefully as he raised his hand to strike the Hero. Traven ducked, but not from the Winter King. Out of the corner of his eye, the Hero saw the Vampyr streaking towards them. The old god let out a howl that nearly deafened the Hero. Holt was thrown clear, a wing shattered.
Slowly, as if the old god could not imagine being harmed, the Winter King felt his back. From deep in his form, the old god pulled out a tiny sliver of glass. The Winter King frowned, then bellowed at the party. “You shall pay!”
Before the old god could make good his words, the shard bloomed to life, becoming a narrow, shimmering doorway.
“No!” the Winter King cried out and threw the fragment from his hand. The piece skipped across the ice. The doorway still stood open, but the Winter King was nowhere near it.
“You must force him into it,” the grievously wounded Vampyr lisped.
But how? Traven thought as the old god turned back to finish meting out his punishment. The Hero cringed as the Winter King once again raised his hand in fury.
***
Crystalia could watch no longer. She knew the Hero had implored her to flee, but she could not. The Winter King howled his rage and charged towards Traven. Not knowing how she was going to do it, Crystalia sprang forward to halt the old god’s progress. The Snowy Maiden was so scared and so upset that she could feel heat radiating through her body. The ice melted beneath her feet, making it difficult to run quickly.
“Stop!” she cried as she cut across the Winter King’s path. To her surprise, he did. Not only did he halt, he backed away from her. Flushed with excitement, Crystalia felt her palms burn. Her lifeline wavered and pulsed. “Get back to where you belong!”
The Winter King seemed to recover from his initial startle and edged closer to her. “It will take more than a little warmth to drive me back.”
Crystalia realized he was right. Pouring all of her energy into her body, the Snowy Maiden felt herself burn with heat. Just as she had done to warm herself after the Quicksnow and the avalanche, the Snowy Maiden radiated a near baking heat. The Winter King stumbled back. “You cannot...”
Pushing the warmth in front of her, Crystalia erected a heat shield before herself. “I can.”
The air jumped and shimmered before her as the waves of heat pounded outward. The Winter King cringed from her heat’s touch. Crystalia backed him further and further towards the open Vortex. The old god howled his rage, but
took no steps forward, only backward. Finally, his back touched the glowing doorway.
“This is not over. I will rule this world! I will —” the old god was cut off as Ekoli’s spirit hands grabbed the Winter King by the hair and jerked him back into Blizzard Realm. Wind screamed and shrieked around them, but the Winter King crossed the threshold back into his own Kingdom.
“Destroy the shard.” Holt’s weak voice carried over the now thick silence.
Crystalia ran over and picked up the tiny fragment in her hand. Despite the intense pain, she dumped all the heat she could generate into the sliver of Vortex. Soon it warped and melted, making a puddle of useless glass. Lightheaded and weak beyond imagining, the Snowy Maiden swooned to the ground.
***
Traven was first to Crystalia’s side, beating even the fleet-footed Pale. The girl’s hands were a bright red, and already they had the look of blisters. As carefully as he could, the Hero took ice chips and bathed the Snowy Maiden’s hands. The girl sobbed softly as he worked.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured.
Crystalia shook her head and tried to look into his eyes, but her damp hair covered her eyes. She tried to push the hair away, but even the backs of her hands were scalded by the magickal heat.
“Here,” Traven said as he brushed the locks aside.
A little smile came to her lips, even though her eyes were brimming with tears. “I did it... I really did it...”
7 Folds of Winter Page 53