The Frostfire Sage

by Steven Kelliher

  Linn felt that stab of fear rekindled, but then she saw Baas send Tundra sprawling with a well-placed blow. She saw Tundra rise and shoot forward, leveling the Riverman across the jaw. Baas hit the ground and slammed the side of his fist down, stopping the charging Landkist in his tracks and sending him up—higher than Linn could have thought—as the ground itself rose like a miniature plateau and sent him with it.

  “Thank you,” she said to Baas, though the Riverman couldn’t hear her.

  As the queen sent those blue, frost-covered suns ahead, Linn abandoned all thoughts of flight. She saw the southern bowl light up as Jenk and Misha stood and brandished their Everwood sword and spear, fearing what the duel had become. They couldn’t reach her in time. Linn was on her own.

  She dropped her bow with a dull and dusty thud and called to the wind and storm. She felt a violent torrent strike her in full and then bore her up. Linn put her rage into the swell and the storm responded, the wind crackling with its blue and building charge—a charge it needed to unleash. A charge that Linn needed to free.

  As she rose and then sped forward in a bowed arc, Linn stretched her arms out to her sides, palms up, fingers splayed. She felt the wind that wasn’t bolstering her rush past her and hit the clay she had left behind. She heard a sound like chimes as the wind met the glittering shafts Gwenithil had conjured, then heard the ripping sounds as they tore free.

  It all happened so slowly, Linn’s eyes seeing it all in vivid, striking detail. She saw Baas standing over a prone Tundra, shield poised. The Riverman was looking up at Linn as if she were some sort of demon. She saw Kole out of the corner of her eye. He had caught up with the Blue Knight and had cowed her into a kneel with little more than the threat of immolation, one flickering amber blade pointed toward her throat. He, too, was looking skyward. They all were.

  It almost seemed as if someone else were doing it; as if the White Crest still lived, and she was nothing but a vessel. No. Not a vessel. Linn wanted this. Linn intended this. An heir, then. An heir to the wind and lightning. An heir to the skies.

  An heir to the storm.

  Everything sped up as she collapsed into the moment. Linn streaked up above the roiling meteors of Frostfire and watched them pass her by, heard them shatter some of the spikes she pulled along in her wake and then bury themselves with a flash that touched the bottoms of the black clouds above. But there were many more.

  Linn reached the zenith of her arc and found some small measure of satisfaction in the look of awe and even ecstasy on the face of the Frostfire Sage as she hung there, suspended like a falcon between gusts, as if the sky was an ocean and she its minder.

  She pushed her palms down and heard the tinging like brass mugs raised in toast as the Nevermelt spikes she had pulled up started downward, slow at first and then with startling speed. The queen marveled as long as she could, then called upon the dancing footwork she had employed against Jenk and spun between the hail of bolts.

  One scraped against her armor just as it had against Kole’s and caused her to lose her footing, and Linn felt her heart skip a beat as her murderous bolts of silver-blue arced toward the prone queen.

  She should have known better. The Sage held a palm up toward the violent rain and a white circle painted itself around her. Just before the sickles struck, a dome of rough Nevermelt encircled her and the sharp hail shattered where it struck the unyielding surface.

  Linn began to float, and then to fall. Her head felt like it was going to burst. Blue light sprang from her palms and traced the outlines of her fingers, sparks leaping from one to the other. She wrapped herself in a tight hug, gritting her teeth against the pain as she fell from the sky, the wind she had gathered only sparing her the worst sort of fall as she struck the clay with a jarring jolt.

  “Linn!” She heard Kole calling out to her but couldn’t see him. Heard Shifa barking but couldn’t orient herself. Her body was racked with painful spasms. She opened her eyes and saw the black clouds looming like witnesses. It felt as if their entire storm was in her, threatening to tear her apart.

  “Impressive.”

  She heard the queen’s voice, muffled, as if it was coming from a distance. She heard something shatter and heard the metal-booted footsteps and the crunch of frost underfoot as the Sage began to walk toward her, having dismissed her shielded dome.

  “I would have thought you Uhtren himself,” she said, her voice and her mockery doing nothing to ease Linn’s pain or dispel the growing anger. “But you must not try to master that which has no master. You may ride the windy currents, Linn Ve’Ran. You may even call the lightning. But to hold the storm itself is to court a most violent death.”

  “Help her!” She heard Jenk shouting. She heard footsteps as her friends broke from their private contests and ran toward her.

  No.

  She thought it but couldn’t give voice to the word.

  “No,” she whispered between jolts. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

  “Poor girl,” the queen said, closest of all. “Let it go. Let the storm go, or it will consume you.”

  Linn listened to the words. She tried to guide the burning blue fire that ricocheted off the walls of her veins and beat against the bones in her chest. She tried to harness it, to raise her shaking arms and send it back into the wanting sky. She was done with it.

  “Let it go,” the queen said, firm and without pity. “Fool! Let it go!”

  Linn did just that. She screamed and rolled onto her side, facing the direction of the Sage before she knew what she was doing. She locked her arms and fingers, rigid and unyielding, and felt the storm of light pass through her, blinding her too-keen eyes for a spell.

  She heard Gwenithil scream and Tundra roar, and even heard the Frostfire Sage gasp before the bolt—the hail of bolts—struck.

  The world went white for a long blink, and thunder followed that shook the bowl and echoed from the surrounding ridges. All else was quiet in comparison.

  When Linn’s vision cleared, she saw a black, burnt path atop the clay that mirrored the jagged spine of frost. Ahead, a section of the wall of black stone below the crystal palace had crumbled into ruin, a crescent cut from the base twice again the height of Baas. The Riverman, along with Jenk, Misha, Cress and Pirrahn, stared at the lightning’s path, shocked.

  Tundra was looking toward Linn. Or, not toward her, but to her left. Linn blinked and turned, halting, in that direction, expecting to see their host burned to a crisp.

  Instead, she saw Kole. Rather, she saw his discarded black blades, smoking atop the clay. He stood before them, one hand balled into a fist at his side, the other tight around the throat of the Frostfire Sage. He had lifted her from her feet, and Linn could see her hands glowing with that blue-white light as she squeezed his forearm. Where his bare hand met the pale skin of her slender neck, Linn saw that light as well, but she saw an amber light to match it as Kole called upon that fell, heat-sapping power he had first used on the Emerald Road.

  “Kole!”

  He dropped the queen and stumbled away from her. She did not cough or wheeze, but rather touched a hand to her throat, which was red where Kole had held her. She looked up at the Ember with uncovered fear mixed with what Linn could only describe as fascination.

  “Enough,” Kole said. He did not meet the Sage’s eyes or Linn’s, as if he was afraid of what he might see there. He sounded on the verge of breaking, and Linn had only just gathered her wits enough to question how he had covered the distance between his own private duel and the madness hers had become.

  He paused and snatched his Everwood knives from the scorched clay. Linn and Queen Elanil watched him as he sheathed them in the straps across his back and moved off, the hiss of hot air trailing him as the scales of his black armor remained open despite his dissipating heat. Linn looked toward the Sage, fearing what she would see, but the eyes she met were kinde
r than she had expected. It made her angry to see control like that.

  “Well done,” Queen Elanil said. “Well done indeed.”

  It was Jenk who came to fetch her. The light-haired Ember watched the queen suspiciously as she moved back over to her weary knights. He helped Linn to her feet.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No,” she said, almost not believing it herself. “Somehow.”

  “That was too much,” he said, still following the Sage’s retreat.

  “I’m sorry,” Linn said, feeling ashamed.

  Jenk swung his head back to her, frowning. “Not you, Linn. I don’t know what she was playing at. I don’t know if I much care. But this went too far. It went too far from the moment it started.”

  “Well,” Linn said with a heavy, tired sigh, “now we know what our friends can do.”

  “And they know what we can do,” Jenk returned, sounding uneasy.

  “I’ll take the trade,” Linn said. She watched Kole’s retreating form. “Besides, I’m not so sure the last is entirely true.”

  Kole walked right between Baas and Tundra, the only two combatants in the bowl who seemed willing—even curious—to renew their recent acquaintance. He didn’t flinch or spare a glance at either of the hulking men. Baas swung his great shield over his back and nodded curtly at the Blue Knight, who couldn’t hide his relief as he let the coating on his fists melt and splash the clay. That strange semi-darkness Linn imagined around him like some sort of fell aura was nowhere to be seen.

  “Baas was holding back,” Linn said, feeling certain of it. It made her feel a bit better to know it, allies or not.

  “You never know with that one.”

  They started back toward the others. Gwenithil strode past them nervously, but they didn’t spare her a second glance as she grabbed Pirrahn under one arm as Cress took the other and helped the Ember Misha had burned to the base of the trail.

  “No more?” Misha said as they rejoined the others. The Ember smiled as she leaned against her Everwood spear, still steaming as the air grew thick with moisture.

  “I don’t think it would do any of us any good,” Jenk said, watching the queen, who seemed to be waiting for them midway up the slope as Tundra stalked past her.

  Linn moved to stand beside Kole. He was stroking Shifa intently, the hound looking up at him worriedly.

  “You okay?”

  He winced before turning to look at her. He showed her a smile, faint as it was.

  “Getting dark,” Baas said from behind.

  “Getting hungry,” Misha said. “Think they’ll still feed us?”

  “This whole … experiment was her ask,” Jenk said. “Can’t hold it against us that we got the better.”

  “She didn’t show us everything she’s got,” Kole said.

  “Neither did you,” Jenk said and Kole didn’t respond. He started toward the bottom of the stony trail and the others exchanged glances before following. Linn paused to look up at the cliff once more and found Elanil’s waiting gaze. She winked, and Linn couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it.

  But then, Linn had done her part. That and then some.

  Linn rounded the black spur that separated the cliff trail from the flat and found Shifa waiting for her at the bottom, tongue lolling and tail wagging.

  “Let’s go,” she said, smiling at the loyal hound as she started up. It wasn’t long before she heard commotion ahead, and she groaned as she looked up at the clutch of Landkist. She imagined Baas launching one of the Blue Knights to her death, or Kole bathing them all in an amber bath of fire.

  But as she neared, she heard a familiar voice up ahead. Captain Fennick.

  She reached the top, where the cliff trail met the wider trench of crystallized brown rock that would take them back into the courtyard.

  Fennick looked pale. Seeing the state of them, their scorched armor, wounded Blue Knight and undoubtedly haggard dispositions made him hesitate.

  “What is it, Captain?” Queen Elanil asked.

  He blinked at her, trying to put as much distance between himself and Tundra before he answered.

  “The Quartz Tower,” he said, breathless. Linn only now noticed the sweat pouring from his scalp despite the cold. “The Quartz Tower has fallen.”

  Instead of feeling the grip of fear or the jolt of shock, Linn felt a surge. It was nearly upon them, the confrontation they had been chasing. The battle they sought, and the answers that would come with it.

  She remembered Fennick, remembered the soldiers who had been at the Quartz Tower. By his look, it hadn’t gone well for them.

  “Yana?” Linn ventured. Fennick grimaced and Linn felt suddenly sick for having such an easy reaction to the captain’s proclamation.

  All eyes turned to the queen, to the Frostfire Sage.

  “Let him come.”

  She left the words like dropped stones at Fennick’s feet and moved past him with a purpose the Blue Knights were quick to match.

  Fennick stood there in the trench, not even following his queen’s path with his wide eyes. Baas laid a hand on his shoulder, and, when he didn’t respond, helped to turn him around and led him from the wind-blown confines, the others trailing, each lost in his or her own thoughts.

  It was cold when Iyana woke, and the freshness of the air stung her nose and dried her eyes. She sat up in bed, hearing the twittering of birds. It was dim in the musty confines, and she remained there for a time until the soft morning light came in through the high, glassless windows and painted the contours of the room.

  Ceth was gone. Either she had slept more deeply than she had thought, or he had slipped out silent as a vole before dawn.

  She pushed aside the heavy blankets of soft fur and swung her legs over the side of the bed, bracing for the shock of cold as she touched them to the smooth, grooved surface. The dawnlight—dark as it was for this time of year—was pleasant, and Iyana traced the paths of the swirling motes of dust for a time, but as she rose in the same clothes she had traveled in over the course of the preceding day and a half, she felt the stiffness of her travels catching up with her.

  Iyana raised her arms over her head and bent from side to side, and then smiled as she turned her mind to all the little aches she found in the process. She might not have an Ember’s fire to warm her, and the fire in the grate had long since gone out, but she had something of her own that would get her through all the cold mornings to come, just as it had Mother Ninyeva.

  She closed her eyes and searched for that flicker at the corners of the black. She imagined it was different for other Faeykin, but that was how Iyana always found her fire. She felt it before she saw it, the torch of emerald green.

  The greenfire moved through her veins without warming her skin. Each knot of tension or loose section of joint it passed over tingled and buzzed. This was the healing gift of the Faey.

  Iyana’s smile dropped, clattering to the floor like an empty cup.

  That was the problem with healing. It always reminded her of hurt.

  She sighed and snatched her pack from the floor, placing it on the bed so she could more easily comb through it. She glanced toward the door and decided to chance it, feeling her heart beat faster as she changed from the previous day’s traveling clothes into a fresh pair of more fitting brown pants and a looser homespun blue shirt she hadn’t worn since she was a girl. It reminded her of waiting for the fishing boats to return, legs hanging over the dock, feet brushing the tops of the shallow waves.

  She moved to the front door, which was framed on three sides by the soft white of daylight. Before she could press her hand to it, it swung open and left her blinking. When her vision cleared, she felt a little more than foolish, standing at the top, hair disheveled, feet bare and clothing more than likely pinching in all the wrong places.

  Ceth stood with one foot on th
e top step. Tall as he was, he stood with his face even with hers. Behind him, Iyana could see several of the Faey young standing with their big eyes and pointed ears, paused in the midst of whatever games they played with one another.

  “Daylight,” Ceth said.

  “I can see that.”

  The children, mercifully, gave up their examination of her and seemed to think nothing of her appearance, though they did have to work to tear their eyes from a shirt that was a good sight brighter than the dirty cloth they had first seen her in.

  Iyana and Ceth stood there, awkwardly looking at one another before Iyana arched her eyebrows. “Seen Kenta?” she asked, remembering where the older man had stayed the night before and wondering how he’d managed without her.

  Ceth only shook his head, and where Iyana had at first held the impression that he had come to fetch her, now she thought that it was Ceth who felt out of place. She hadn’t spared it much thought before now, but as new as the Faey realm was to her, she represented Ceth’s only anchor to the Valley, where all was new to him.

  She smiled at him, amused at his obvious discomfort. “Shall we find him, then?”

  Ceth nodded and stepped off the front stoop, making room for Iyana. They retraced their steps past the stone well and onto the moss and balding paths between homes. There were few of the Faey around, and Iyana thought it might be because there were few of them remaining. She thought she remembered something about them having few children and over long periods, but it was always difficult to know where the truth ended and supposition began with the Faey.

  The children shadowed them. Iyana could see Ceth twitching to turn around. She almost reached out to steady him, but refrained.

  “This was the way, wasn’t it?” Iyana asked, speaking more to herself than Ceth. The Northman nodded stiffly, and then bristled. Ahead, a tall figure with long, black hair clad in leather garb and carrying a brilliant bow took the lane.