by David Debord
Orman’s face was a mask of determination or was he under the same spell as his soldiers? His strokes were almost mechanical in their precision. He was an accomplished swordsman and had won many a duel.
“Hello nephew,” Orman rasped as he struck out with his sword. “I understand you have usurped my position.”
“No, I have merely claimed my throne,” Lerryn said through gritted teeth as their swords clanged together again. “You shouldn’t have left your son behind, you know. My dear cousin now rots in the dungeon along with your cohorts.”
“It makes no difference. The Ice King has promised me the throne when the Frostmarch is over. My son and my loyal companions will be freed and we will rule while you and everyone you love lie beneath the ground.”
Their swords came together again. Lerryn deflected the blow and thrust, opening a cut on Orman’s shoulder, but his uncle didn’t flinch. Orman struck again and once again Lerryn’s counter-stroke found its target. But the wounds he inflicted were shallow and Orman continued to fight.
“Did I forget to mention?” Lerryn asked. “They are in the dungeon now, but they go before the headsman at sunrise tomorrow. You’ll be hard-pressed to win this battle and reach Archstone in time. Sorry about that.”
It was a lie, but it had the desired effect. The news of his son’s impending demise cut through the force that dominated Orman’s mind. Teeth bared, he roared and attacked with reckless abandon. Calmly, like a blacksmith at work, Lerryn turned each blow and gave back with vicious thrusts that left his uncle bleeding until, chest heaving and shoulders sagging, Orman managed one final swing that Lerryn easily ducked.
Smiling coldly, he drove his sword into Orman’s throat just above his gorget. His uncle had only a second to open his mouth in surprise before blood poured forth, his eyes rolled back, and he fell lifeless to the ground.
The world around him seemed to return to Lerryn in a flash and he was aware of silver shapes coming at him from all sides. Ice cats! He had scarcely raised his blade when powerful claws tore into his flesh.
Chapter 50
As if in a daze, Shanis watched as the Ice King approached, his sword raised. The force of his will was so powerful, so utterly dominant, that only the tiniest part of her reacted. He had promised to spare her. Why was he going to kill her now?
Somewhere within her a tiny voice cried out. There was no life in surrender. What good was it to surrender if it meant subjugation? Death on the altar?
Surrender or I will kill you like I killed your friend.
A spark blazed deep inside her, and she felt that familiar, welcome anger burn inside her again. He had killed Granlor. She could not let him kill anyone else. Her strength returning, she gripped her sword and rose unsteadily to her feet. The Ice King roared, the sound like a winter wind inside her mind, and he came forward.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something flash through the air. Heztus had charged into the battle, and hurled a knife at the Ice King’s head. On her other side, Gillen ran forward, flinging balls of fire.
The Ice King brushed both attacks away as if swatting flies. A mere flick of his finger sent the two tumbling to the ground.
And then the world exploded.
Somewhere nearby, a bolt of lightning burst from the clear sky, striking a tree and sending charred wood, scorched-earth, and the soldiers unfortunate enough to be standing in its vicinity, flying through the air.
It was all the distraction she needed. Shanis sprang forward, the power of the Silver Serpent once again coursing through her. For the first time, the Ice King fell back before the force of her onslaught.
Shanis fell into the familiar forms of swordplay she had studied all her life. She struck again and again, and now the Ice King was on the defensive. A strange sense of calm came over her. The sword had been a part of her for as long as she could remember and as she fought, she forgot the world around her. No longer did the Ice King’s will batter at her resolve. No longer did she hear his voice inside her head.
She struck at him again and again, her blade coming closer and closer as he struggled to parry her strokes.
“You will never...”
Their swords met and blue and white sparks flew
“hurt my friends...”
Her vicious downstroke knocked his sword to the ground.
“Again!”
She thrust the Silver Serpent through his chest.
White fire burned where the sword pierced the Ice King’s body. Ice shot along her arms and she wrenched her blade free and staggered backward. Cracks formed in the god’s blue flesh, radiating outward from the burning wound.
Before her eyes, the Ice King threw back his head and cried out in pain and rage as his body shattered into shards of blue ice.
Shanis fell to her knees, barely able to keep her head up. A mournful cry rose above the battlefield and she saw the enemy forces fall back and then break into full retreat. Bolts of lightning and balls of fire chased them back into the forest.
Shanis glanced back and saw to her surprise a line of men in brown robes standing atop the battlements. Seekers? All around them, men clad in crimson Galdoran uniforms had joined the defenders. Help had finally arrived.
She scanned the battlefield. A few of the Ice King’s soldiers continued to fight, but many had dropped their weapons and stood with their hands above their heads, their eyes wide with confusion as if they had awakened from a terrible dream.
Or, perhaps it was she who was dreaming. In the midst of the retreating forces, she saw Prince Lerryn, make that King Lerryn, lop the head off of an ice cat. And to her left, was that Larris riding toward her?
She wanted to call out to him, but then something whispered her name. Something dark and sinister. She slowly turned her head toward the sound.
Vapor rose from the melting pile of ice that had been the Ice King. Instead of dissipating, it formed the shape of her vanquished foe and stood over her.
It laughed.
You think you have won? You did not defeat me. You fought a mere shadow of me. Look.
Shanis’ blood seemed to turn to ice. Where the shattered remains of the Ice King had lain there now lay the body of a man. She recognized him at once. It was Arlus, one of the clanless who had refused to accept her leadership, and had gone to follow Pedric Karst.
My servant, the voice hissed. Possessed by a mere shadow of my true self.
Shanis wanted to cry out in frustration, but she lacked the strength. It could not be. She had thought she faced the Ice King but this... this specter had nearly beaten her. Hopelessness welled inside her, threatening to overcome her.
I am coming, and all shall despair
The final word echoed in her mind.
Despair
She tried to stand, but a wave of dizziness brought her back to her knees. As darkness slowly closed in on her, she saw a dark shape moving toward her. A bear of a man, his shaggy black hair drenched with sweat, rivulets of blood running down the blade of his sword. It should have been a fearsome sight but not to Shanis.
“Papa?”
Her consciousness fled as Colin Malan swept his daughter up in his arms.
Chapter 51
“My name is Pedric Karst.” For the first time in weeks, Pedric Karst remembered everything. His memories had returned in a painful rush the moment Shanis Malan had driven her sword into the Ice King’s heart. At least, he had thought it was the Ice King. Even now, he sensed the god’s presence, distant yet still powerful. And though his hold on Karst had weakened, the icy hand still clutched his heart. He sensed Shanis Malan somewhere behind the city walls and the desire to drive his blade through her still burned inside him.
But he remembered.
He remembered with striking clarity his mother who had died so many years ago. He remembered her face and he thought that perhaps he had been a different person while she lived. He remembered the first time his father had put a sword in his hands and warned him of a world filled with people
who wanted his blood. He remembered how he strove to please the man who grew more distant every day. And then other memories intruded. He remembered Calmut, Shanis Malan, and humiliation. He should kill her. Not for the Ice King, but for himself. For revenge.
He donned the cloak he had stolen from a dead Galdoran officer, pulled up the hood to shield his face, and stepped out of the shadows. The army, his army as he still thought of it, had retreated from battle, but already they were making preparations to resume the attack. The blank stares on the faces of the men he passed bore mute testimony to the return of the Ice King’s sway. He had not been killed, nor even defeated, only stymied. Karst knew that wouldn’t last.
No one paid him any mind as he strolled through the encampment. The men huddled around fires, tended the wounded, or sat staring off into space. As he moved among them, the presence in his mind grew stronger and along with it the urge to complete his task.
Angry words drew his attention and he ducked behind the cover of a nearby tree.
“You cannot do this to me!”
Karst knew that voice.
“I am the leader! You serve me!” Rimmic Karst, hands bound behind his back, stumbled past the spot where Pedric hid. He was escorted by a dozen warriors and behind them trailed a priest.
“We all serve our god,” the priest said. “He has decided that this is how you will best serve him.”
Pedric’s hand went to the knife at his belt. They were taking his father to be sacrificed. He should do something. The thought brought another wave of excruciating pain shooting through his head. He clamped his jaw shut and suppressed the wail of anguish that threatened to give away his position. It was not his place to interfere. He had his own task to complete.
But it’s my father.
Despite the agony, despite the compulsion to leave this place and go after Shanis Malan, he staggered to his feet and crept along behind the small group.
They laid Rimmic Karst on the stone altar and a group of priests circled around and began to whisper their prayers.
“But you promised me,” Rimmic groaned, his resolve breaking. “You promised me I would see my wife again. I have done everything you asked.”
“You will see your wife again. In the next life,” the priest said.
“But I did all that you asked.”
“You have been a faithful servant.” The priest laid his hand on Rimmic’s head and spoke in a soothing tone. “You must understand there is no greater power than that of sacrifice. The life of an ordinary person is worth very little. Aside from your son, yours is the greatest sacrifice that can be given to our god. Your spirit will be added to his and multiplied many times over.”
“Not my son,” Rimmic whimpered. “This is not his fault.”
“You made him our king, and therefore as our god’s highest adherent, his would be the greatest sacrifice of all.” The priest produced a knife and held it high above his head. The moonlight glinted on its blade. “But take heart. If your gift to our god is sufficient, we will not need him at all. In a way, you are saving his life.”
The blade flashed down. Rimmic Karst screamed. And then silence.
Pedric drew his knife and rose to his feet, but he got no further. The moment his father’s life fled from his body the power of the Ice King returned. He felt it envelope him, surge through him, and with it a renewed, unwavering sense of purpose.
He must kill Shanis Malan.
Chapter 52
It should have been a joyful reunion. In fact, it had been, for a while. Shanis had awakened in a small room inside the house of healing to the sight of her father seated on one side of her bed and Larris on the other. She had cried more tears than she cared to admit, but she blamed it on fatigue and the death of Granlor. To her relief, Heztus and Gillen had been rescued by Oskar’s friends, Dacio and Naseeb, and had suffered only minor injuries.
Over the next hour, while Hyda forced a series of bitter restorative potions down her throat, she enjoyed the company of her old friends. Hierm was now a father, and Oskar was barely recognizable with his seeker robe and a lovely girl seemingly attached at his hip. Allyn was still Allyn—dry and sarcastic.
And then there was Larris. The young prince refused to leave her side and he kept gazing at her so intently that she finally had to threaten him in order to get him to stop.
It had been delightful for as long as it lasted.
Now she sat clinging to Larris’ hand as Aspin and Oskar explained to her that she must die.
That wasn’t exactly the words they used, but it was a simple conclusion to draw.
“The Silver Serpent was not made as a weapon to fight the Ice King,” Aspin explained. “It was in fact made to defend us against the gods.”
“I don’t understand,” Shanis said.
“The wars between the gods nearly destroyed Gameryah. The gods didn’t care how many mere mortals they trampled underfoot as they did battle. Finally, the nations came upon a solution.” Aspen paused, cleared his throat, and glanced at Larris before continuing. “There is no greater power than sacrifice. The gods feed upon it.”
“Doesn’t sacrifice add to a god’s power? That is how Karst and his followers brought the Ice King back, is it not?” Shanis asked.
“Yes and no. The taking of a life in the name of a god gives that god power. How much depends upon the person who was sacrificed. The greater, the nobler, the more faithful the sacrifice, the more powerful, but a sacrifice made willingly is the most powerful of all.”
Shanis’ throat clenched. The meaning was clear. She squeezed Larris’ hand tighter.
“There is an ancient magic,” Oskar said, taking up the explanation. “The greatest sacrifice of all is that of a king or queen. That person is a god’s paramount subject. None stands higher. Therefore, no power can match the willing sacrifice of royalty.” He shifted uncomfortably and looked down at his hands. “The rulers of every nation of Gameryah gathered together and, one by one, willingly gave their lives, and in the moment of their deaths they turned that power, the greatest power there is, against their gods.” Tears welled in his eyes and he turned away.
“The Silver Serpent is not a weapon. It is a prison.” Aspin looked into her eyes and she saw deep sorrow there. “It has power because the gods are trapped inside it.”
“So that is why I can use it to heal. It’s not merely a vessel of life force, but a source of magic, since magic comes from the gods.” The pieces were beginning to fall into place. “And that is why I can do things without knowing what I’m doing or how to do it. The gods are reaching through the sword and touching my mind, taking hold of it.”
Aspin nodded.
“Then she should be able to defeat the Ice King with it,” Larris said. “The power of all the gods combined is greater than that of the Ice King. It has to be.”
“It isn’t strong enough,” Shanis said. “It wasn’t enough to destroy him during the first Frostmarch, and today I fought a mere shadow and nearly died.”
Aspin sighed. The seeker looked wearier than she had ever seen him. “It seems the gods can only touch the world in a limited way. Look at the way their absence affected things. Magic and sorcery are mere shadows of what they were when the gods walked the earth.”
“Then we must destroy the sword.” Larris let go of her hand and rose. “It’s the only way to bring the full power of the gods to bear against the Ice King.”
“No.” Shanis’ mouth was so dry, her throat so tight with fear, that she was surprised she was able to speak. “A battle between the gods and the Ice King would destroy the world. Besides, you know what the prophecy says. ‘The ultimate sacrifice or eternal winter.’ What greater sacrifice could there be than the bearer of the Silver Serpent?” She was proud that she managed not to choke on the words though every part of her body resisted.
“The snows take your prophecy!” Larris clenched his fists, looking as if he were about to fall upon Aspin. “A few lines in a single book that Oskar found tucked a
way on a shelf. How do we know that the writer even knew what he was talking about?”
“It all fits,” Aspin said softly. “I am sorry.”
Shanis took Larris’ hand. “Remember when this all started? Lerryn thought he could bend the prophecy to his will, but you knew otherwise. No matter what any of us did, the prophecy took control and things happened the way they were intended to. How long did that book sit on a shelf waiting to be discovered yet it was overlooked until the time of the Frostmarch? Oskar found it exactly when he was supposed to.”
“I won’t let you do it,” Larris said through a curtain of unshed tears.
Shanis pushed back the threadbare blanket that lay over her legs and climbed to her feet. Oskar and Aspin politely looked away as she wrapped her arms around Larris and laid her head on his shoulder.
“There is no other way,” she whispered.
Larris stood ramrod straight, and then his resolve broke. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “But what if you’re wrong?” he choked, the tears flowing freely.
“The prophecy won’t let it happen any way other than how it is intended. There’s still hope.” After a long moment, she drew away from him. “Who else knows about this?”
“Allyn, Hierm, Lizzie, Lerryn, Hair, Edrin, and your father,” Oskar said.
“Papa knows?”
“He thinks we should destroy the sword. They all do,” Oskar said.
“Then what that’s what we shall tell them we intend to do. No one else needs to know the real plan. They might try to stop me.”
“I think...” Oskar broke off, tears streaming down his face. He looked at her and nodded.
“That is the wise course,” Aspin finished.
The Silver Serpent stood in the corner. Shanis picked it up and slung it over her shoulder. “We should do it right away.”
“Now?” Larris asked. “Shouldn’t you at least wait until morning?”
