Shield of Winter

by Aaron Hodges

  Letting out a long breath, Quinn pulled himself back to the present. He nodded to the royal guards stationed outside, and one pushed open the doors. Squaring his shoulders, Quinn marched after him, while inside the throne room the guard announced his arrival.

  “Your majesty, Lieutenant Quinn has arrived.”

  Beyond the doors, the throne room was empty but for the ring of guards surrounding the dais. Ignoring the man who’d announced him, Quinn strode across the room, his footsteps muffled by the line of red carpet leading up to throne. The guards at the base of the dais parted as he approached. Striding up the steps, he dropped to one knee.

  “Lieutenant, Krista tells me you have been showing my daughter her former pupils.” The Tsar’s voice came from the throne, soft and dangerous.

  His mouth dry, Quinn swallowed. “She was…upset. I thought it best to show her some of her former life.”

  “Did I not tell you she was to be left alone?”

  Quinn climbed to his feet. He stared into the Tsar’s crystal blue eyes, seeking some hint of emotion, but the man’s expression remained unreadable. Though not a tall man, the Tsar was powerfully built. His jet-black hair was streaked with grey, but he showed no other outward sign of aging. He had first been crowned King of Plorsea some fifty years ago, yet he looked no older than forty, and not for the first time, Quinn found himself wondering at the man’s true age.

  “With respect, sir,” Quinn began, clearing his throat, “if I had not acted, she would now be dead.”

  The Tsar did not move, but Quinn thought he detected a slight tremor to the man’s brow. “Explain.”

  “She…threw herself from the balcony,” Quinn said in a rush. “I was just in time to catch her with my magic. But afterwards, I thought it best to…take precautions as to her state of mind. I showed her the gardens and children, then took her to the Magicker’s quarters, introduced her to some of her former students. She…seemed to…take the new…information well.” He stammered to a stop beneath the withering glare of the Tsar.

  A strained silence hung in the air, and Quinn found himself shrinking before the man on the throne, as though his very essence was being drawn from him. Clenching his jaw, he forced himself to look into the icy eyes.

  “You overstep yourself, Lieutenant,” the Tsar said. He paused, and a smile spread across his face. “But you have done well. Again, I find myself in your debt.”

  Quinn bowed his head. “It was my pleasure, sir,” he said. “You know I have always been…fond…of your daughter.”

  A soft chuckle echoed from the tall marble walls. “If she can be saved, perhaps she will finally return the affection.”

  Heat spread across Quinn’s cheeks, and clearing his throat, he changed the subject. “What about your son? Have you heard anything from the Queen?”

  “My spies tell me he lives,” the Tsar replied, “but my emissary has not yet reached their capital.”

  “He will be returned,” Quinn said. “She will not dare risking war for a single boy.”

  “No, though she would dearly love to defy me.” The Tsar chuckled. “How are preparations proceeding for the invasion?”

  “You have a force of ten thousand foot soldiers and two thousand cavalry gathering on the northern shores of the lake. Half the guard have already been shifted into their wartime regiments. In addition, you have a force of almost a hundred Magickers trained in warfare, and a dozen demons at your command. As you know, only three Red Dragons remain under your control. They have not fared well in captivity.”

  The Tsar waved a hand. “Should we need more, I will fetch them from Dragon Country,” he growled, though his smile did not waver. “So we are ready to march?”

  Quinn hesitated. “Within the week, I think,” he said. “Your generals tell me they still need time to organise provisions, and restore war time discipline to the troops.”

  “No matter,” the Tsar replied, “it gives us time to secure the release of my son. Once he has been returned, Northland will fall, and there will be nowhere left for the treacherous Magickers to flee.”

  “What of the priest who attacked me? If the Queen has more Magickers of such power–”

  “There are no more like her,” the Tsar said, cutting him off. He rose to his feet. “And I will see her dead before the end. Now be gone, Quinn. After her…adventures today, perhaps it’s time I visited my daughter.”

  Chapter 7

  Alana paced across her room, her thoughts far away, lingering on memories that hovered just beyond reach. Fog swamped her, but through it she could sense the truth, taunting her with its unseen knowledge. Without it, she felt helpless, forced to trust Quinn’s words. And trust had never come easily for her.

  Or had it?

  Confused and frustrated, she slumped down onto a velvet sofa.

  “It’s impossible,” she murmured to the empty room.

  Anger flared in her then, feeding strength to her weary body. Determined, she sat up, seeking another way. Quinn had told her that only she could unlock the secrets of her mind, but without her power she had no way of doing so. She gritted her teeth at the impossibility of the task set before her.

  Yet she knew there had to be a way.

  Then she remembered the ancient Tillie, and how she’d begun teaching Braidon meditation to control his power. Alana had attempted it herself, and found herself surprisingly adept at the exercise. An image flared in her mind, of the angry ball of red she’d discovered within while in the trance. She shivered, imagining it inside her, its twisting tendrils tied in unending knots, and the secret hidden within.

  Could that be where she’d hidden her memories?

  Alana sucked in a breath. Meditation was dangerous for those with magic—she had seen as much with her brother. Tillie had warned them what happened to those who lost control, that magic could overwhelm its user and take control. But what other choice did she have but to try? There was no other way—she had to find what lay hidden within that ball of light.

  Besides, she knew now how she’d mastered the exercise so quickly, why her brother had progressed much faster than Tillie had expected: they had done it before, in another life. When they’d entered the trance, their subconsciousness had taken over, propelling them into the depths of their minds as they had apparently done so many times before.

  Lowering herself to the floor, Alana closed her eyes. She focused on the rise and fall of her chest, the soft whistle of each inhalation, the thumping of blood through her veins. Memories drifted in and out of focus: of Devon, kanker in hand, as he fought the demon; then his face in the darkness, as they spoke of their past, and future, on the plains south of Fort Fall; and finally, the racing of her heart as his arms wrapped around her in the midnight pools.

  Alana released her breath. The air slowly emptied from her lungs, and with it the thoughts of Devon drifted away. Darkness swelled, before her brother’s smiling face shimmered into view. Terror gnawed at her stomach as she watched him fall, a crossbow bolt in his stomach. Quinn insisted he still lived, that the wound had not been fatal, and had been healed. Despite her mistrust, she clung to that hope. The thought of her brother free gave her strength.

  Concentrating, she turned her thoughts back to her breath, imagining the air flowing through her, filling her chest and arms, her legs and head. Strength flowed into her weary body, swirling and growing, even as her consciousness expanded. Beyond herself, she sensed tremors of power twisting on the air. Instinctively she knew it was the workings of other Magickers within the citadel.

  Her curiosity was piqued, but there would be time for that later. Turning from the vibrations, she forced her mind inwards, and suddenly found herself floating amidst an infinite darkness.

  Alana shivered as she looked around, utterly alone amidst the black. Not a spark shone amidst the dark, not a star or candle to light the way—until she turned and saw the distant spark of red.

  The sight did nothing to quell her fear. Instead it grew, swelling until it was
all she could manage not to go fleeing back to the confines of her body.

  Are you ready, Alana?

  Quinn’s words echoed through the void, and she saw again the way he’d looked at her in the dining hall.

  I was your teacher, Alana.

  His words had rung true, yet she sensed there was more, something he had not revealed. A part of her yearned to scream at him, to demand the answers he continued to withhold. Yet she knew now the only way she’d ever unravel the lies and half-truths was to restore her memories.

  To do that, she would need to face the terror within.

  Releasing a breath, Alana concentrated on the speck of red. Fear still clung to her soul, but gathering herself, she drove towards it, racing through the darkness like a fish through an endless ocean. The light appeared before her, growing larger, clearer, until it loomed like a sun, flickering from red to orange to raging blue.

  She hovered before it, sensing the emotions radiating out from the tangled knots, the hidden thing lurking within. She touched her spirit hand to a thread. A wave of hatred swept through her. For a second Alana thought she would drown in it, but closing her eyes, she allowed it to wash over her. Slowly it dissipated, like a wave crashing on a sandy shore.

  As the hatred faded, Alana took hold of another string and sent it whirling out into the darkness. This time it was fear that touched her, piercing her core, adding fuel to her mounting terror. She clenched her teeth and fought on, turning the ball with her mind, determined to unwrap the convoluted emotions and reveal the mystery inside.

  Time passed, and the ball grew smaller, spinning faster. Flecks of light shot off into the darkness, where they drifted like stars, flashing red and orange before finally vanishing as though they’d never been.

  Finally, she sensed the end was near. Only a few strands remained now, though when she reached out to pull them clear, she felt a new wave of terror strike her. More powerful than anything that had come before, it overwhelmed her. With a scream, her spirit turned in the darkness, preparing to flee.

  Are you ready, Alana?

  The question came again—and this time, she found her answer.

  Yes!

  Crying out in triumph, Alana pulled the last strands clear.

  The red bindings went flashing out into the void, and a new light bathed Alana. In that second, Alana knew she’d made a terrible mistake. It was not her memories hidden amidst the tangled emotions, nor the woman she’d once been; it was the magic that had stolen them away.

  Now it reared up before her, its glow not the red or orange or blue of her emotions, but the deepest green of the Earth. Terror froze Alana in place as the magic reared back on itself, twisting and morphing, its cries of release echoing through the darkness.

  Alana watched as a dread Feline took shape, its giant maw open wide, its claws stretching out to engulf her tiny spirit. Pain sliced through Alana at their touch, unlike anything she’d ever experienced. She opened her mouth to scream, but in the void her cries went unheard. Agony engulfed her, driving away her strength, crushing her spirit. She found herself falling, even as the beast rose, tearing her soul from her body and flinging her into the darkness.

  Back in her room, Alana’s eyes flickered open, but it was no longer Alana who looked out. A soft glow bathed the carpets as the grey of her irises gave way to green. As though by a will of its own, her head turned, the magic within gazing out at its surroundings. An awful smile touched her lips, and laughter whispered from her throat.

  Slowly, tentatively, her body stood, the magic in control now. Finding its balance, it strode to the outer doors and threw them open. Two men stood guard outside. Their eyes widened at her appearance, the green glow of her eyes lighting the corridor.

  “Princess?” one asked.

  The magic did not reply, but stepped in close and placed a hand to the man’s chest. At its touch, his eyes glazed over, and before his companion could react he drew his sword and drove it into his comrade’s chest. Crying out, the dying man fell back, clawing at the bloody wound.

  The magic laughed as the guard died, his screams echoing loudly in the narrow corridor. Then the magic turned its gaze on the other. Immediately, the man reversed his blade and drove it into his own stomach.

  Elation swept through Alana’s body as the magic started down the corridor. Within, its power was spreading, harrying the spirit of the girl who’d dared command it. Power burned through the girl’s veins, magic joining with blood. Within, it could feel the girl’s strength fading, the flames closing on her spirit.

  In the corridor, two men came running, drawn by the screams of their fellow guards. Seeing their princess, they staggered to a stop, mouths wide as they stared at the dead men behind her.

  A touch to their chests, and the two began to hack at each other with their swords. They died screaming as the magic continued on, its power growing, spreading out beyond its mortal host. When the next men came into view, it no longer needed to touch them. One look into the girl’s emerald eyes, and they turned and leapt on the guards who came close behind them.

  “Alana!”

  The magic spun as a voice came from behind it. A man stood in the corridor, a glowing sword in one hand, his face hard as granite.

  “Alana!” he called again.

  Somewhere deep within, Alana heard her name echo through the void. Turning, she saw a blinding light shining in the darkness. At its touch, her fear fell away, and she saw the awful green retreat. She shuddered, clinging to it like a lifeline in stormy seas. Her name came again, echoing through her consciousness, feeding her strength. She clambered upwards, fighting back the claws and teeth of the awful Feline.

  In the hallway, the man advanced, glowing sword held tightly in one hand. It flashed once, then again, the glowing green of Alana’s magic falling back before it. His jaw was set, his blue eyes flashing with untold power. Yet still the green light shone from Alana’s eyes.

  “Alana!” he called again, despair in his voice now. “Come back to me!”

  Within, Alana heard the call. Gathering her strength, she tore her herself free of the last bindings trapping her in the dark. With a scream, she shot towards the white, as the beast roared its frustration. The green flickered around her, its grip on her body loosening. She could hear her name echoing from all around her now, and she followed it like a beacon, reaching out, grasping it with all her strength…

  Alana gasped as she found herself suddenly back in her own body. Shuddering, she staggered sideways into a wall. The strength went from her legs and she slid to the floor, her eyes falling on the bloodstained carpets, on the broken bodies lying nearby. Her throat contracted as she struggled to breathe. Slowly, she toppled sideways to the floor, unable to even lift a hand.

  Staring up at the gold inlaid ceiling, Alana groaned as agony spread through her limbs. Darkness swirled at the edges of her vision, as from somewhere nearby she heard her name called once more.

  Teeth clenched, she fought to remain conscious. Overhead, the face of the Tsar appeared, his brow creased in concern. “Alana,” he said, his voice shaking. “You’re back. You’re safe.”

  Alana tried to reply, to ask what had happened to her, but her mouth would not open. The pain spread as her muscles cramped. Her vision turned to red, and she would have screamed, had any part of her body been able to move.

  “Be calm,” the Tsar said, sounding calmer himself now. Reaching down, he gently closed her eyelids. “You’re safe now. Sleep.”

  At his words, a soft white swirled in Alana’s mind. The pain faded and the darkness rose to claim her. This time, she surrendered to it without a fight.

  Chapter 8

  Braidon shivered as he followed Enala out into the shimmering light of dawn. Blinking, it was several moments before the world clicked back into focus. The air outside was crisp and cold, and he found himself standing in a narrow box canyon, stretching only a few hundred feet in either direction. Behind them, the familiar stairs wound their way up the
granite cliff-face to the other tunnels.

  On the cliff facing them, however, there was only one opening, though it was as large as all the others combined. Huge marble columns lined the entrance, supporting the intricately carved façade. Three small ledges had been cut into the stone surrounding the cave mouth, each supporting a statue of blue marble. In the centre stood a towering man, hair long and eyes distant. Another man stood alongside him, while on the right stood a woman, her face strangely familiar.

  Braidon frowned, studying the statue, trying to place the woman. But Enala was already disappearing into the cave mouth, and shaking himself free of his curiosity, Braidon followed her.

  Inside, he paused again, though the darkness wasn’t as great as he’d expected. A thousand candles sparkled within, and he couldn’t help but marvel at the size of the cavern he found himself in. A scarlet carpet stretched down the centre of the polished stone floors, terminating some fifty feet away in three large alters.

  On either side of the cavern, the rows of stone columns from outside continued, holding up the vaulted ceiling, where an artwork of stunning scale had been painted. At the end of the room he recognised the three figures from the statues outside. Here though, they were bathed in light—green and blue and white—and he realised now they were depictions of the Three Gods. Light flew from their outstretched hands, over hordes of painted men, women, and monsters, to strike a singular figure depicted above the entranceway.

  Braidon swallowed as he looked on the figure of Archon. Black magic swathed his slim body, his pale face and dark eyes looking across at the Gods, alight with hatred. Averting his eyes, Braidon looked around the rest of the room, glimpsing tiny alcoves and other statues. Rugs covered the stone floor, and here, men and women knelt in silence, their eyes fixed to the altars at the front of the room.