Frostfell w-4

by Marc Sehestedt

  "that was before she sought Hro'nyewachu. Lady Amira is chosen." "She does not bear the… the uwethla," said one of the Vil Adanrath women. "I am sorry, Lady Amira, I do not know your words for this."

  The woman stood, pulled back her cloak, and much to Amira's shock lifted her buckskin shirt to display her torso and breasts. Like Haerul, her skin was a mass of black, blue, and green inks, but over them were red runes that seemed to drink in the light of the fire. She sat back down. "Lady Amira is not omah. Are you saying she is belkagen?" Her cheeks burning, Amira glanced down at her son. If the sight of a comely woman lifting her shirt before him disturbed him at all, he didn't show it. He simply stared into the fire, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings. The belkagen nodded as if considering the woman's words, then said, "I hear you, Turha. No, Lady Amira is not omah, nor is she belkagen. In truth…" He paused letting his words hang. "In truth, I do not know what she is. Not in all my years, nor the times of my greatest grandfathers, has an outlander sought Hro'nyewachu and lived. Yet here she is. The omah nin himself bore witness to her journey. Would any here doubt the word of the omah nin?" There were several gathered who had arrived lately and had not been there at the Mother's Bed. They looked to their high chief. He did not return their gaze but fixed his stare on the belkagen. "The belkagen speaks the truth," said the omah nin. "Lady Amira entered the cave in darkness and emerged at dawn." "But do we know she saw Hro'nyewachu?" asked another omah. The omah nin gave him a hard look but said nothing. "You doubt the word of the omah nin?" said Leren.

  "Of the belkagen?" The elf looked at Amira and shook his head. "I do not. But as you have said, this is most strange. Never in all our days have we heard such a thing. It is a hard bite to swallow." Another opened his mouth to speak, but the belkagen cleared his throat. The younger elf shut his mouth, and all eyes turned to the belkagen. "I hear you," he said. "Turha spoke truly. Lady Amira does not bear the uwethla. Such was not the gift of Hro'nyewachu. But do not think that Amira left giftless." He turned to Amira. "Lady, stand and present the staff." All eyes turned to Amira. Her heart hammering in her chest, she reluctantly peeled Jalan off her side and stood. The staff was longer than she was tall, but she had kept most of it huddled inside the cloak with her. She thrust off the side of her cloak, a blast of cold hit her, and she raised the staff before her. The light from the fire caught in the gold-red wood and flickered along its length. The runes etched along the staff's surface blazed, and Amira heard several of the gathered elves gasp. "What is this, Belkagen?" said the omah nin, and even his proud voice held a tone of awe. "When Hro'nyewachu gave this to Amira," said the belkagen, "these were her words: 'It will sharpen the bite she gives her enemies.' Thus I name the staff Karakhnir. It was Hro'nyewachu herself who counseled us to take Amira's son to the Witness Tree in Iket Sotha, and it was Hro'nyewachu who gave Amira this staff to hurt those who would hurt her son. Do we doubt the word of our people's most sacred heart?" That silenced all argument. Feeling suddenly exposed and on display, Amira lowered the staff and sat back down beside her son. "We make war upon the Fist of Winter and their minions," the belkagen continued. "Hro'nyewachu bids us to do so and gives to Amira the weapon to lead us." He glanced around the gathering, then said, "I have spoken," and sat down. All eyes turned to the omah nin. He sat in silence a long while, looking at no one. When he looked up, his gaze fixed on Amira. "We will attack Iket Sotha as Hro'nyewachu commands. We will bring fear to our enemies. And Lady Amira will lead us. The omah nin has spoken."

  "Wait!" said Amira. "No one has asked me what I think of this." Turha frowned at her. "The omah nin has spoken." Amira thought of a half-dozen ways she could point out that omah nin or no, she was not Vil Adanrath and no matter how many oracles this man consulted, he was not her lord. Instead, she said the one thing she meant most. "I'm not leaving my son. Not again. He's been taken from me twice already.

  Until we've dealt with this… this monster, Jalan isn't leaving me."

  The belkagen said, "Lady-" "No! Don't you 'Lady' me. You said it yourself. This staff, this Karakhnir is our best defense against these fiends who want nothing more than to take my son. I'm his best hope of staying safe." "Lady Amira, I-" But this time it was the omah nin who cut him off, simply by raising one hand. Haerul waited for silence, then said, "Your son's best hope is to kill those trying to harm him, and your best hope for doing that is to attack them before they attack you. Do you truly wish to take your son into battle?" "No, of course not, but…" The omah nin raised his eyebrows and nodded. It was the same expression her brother used to make at her when besting her in some argument, and Amira almost threw her staff at the high chief.

  "Lady Amira," said the belkagen, his voice mild, "will you hear me?"

  Amira looked at him, her mouth a razor-sharp line, and gave one stiff nod. "Remember the words of Hro'nyewachu. Jalan must go to the Witness Tree. Whatever is going to happen there, we must buy Jalan time. We must keep the Fist of Winter distracted at all costs. You and Karakhnir will do this like no other. The Vil Adanrath will fight, but it is you and your staff that the Fist of Winter will fear. You know this." Amira did know it, though she hated every bit of it. Sifting through the oracle's words, she grasped the last tattered string of the unraveling cloth of her argument. "I will give you the staff, Belkagen. Lead your people to victory. I will take Jalan to this Witness Tree and do… whatever must be done." The belkagen shook his head and sighed. "I cannot. The staff is for you and you alone. I will not desecrate the gift of Hro'nyewachu." And so it had been decided. And so it would begin any time now-Amira leading the first strikeforce upon Winterkeep while other packs came in from every direction. The plan was simple: Keep the enemy's attention fixed on Winterkeep. The belkagen and Lendri would take Jalan to the Witness Tree. By sunset tonight, all this would be over, one way or another.

  Amira swore to her gods that Jalan would be free today, or she would be dead trying to free him.

  The belkagen and Lendri came to her not long after. Amira's heart lurched, and she swallowed. The elves stopped near her fire. "It is time, Lady," said the belkagen. Amira looked down at her son. "I don't know if I can do this," she said. "You must." "Please, Belkagen," she said, her eyes welling with hot tears. "He's just a boy." "This is a cruel world, Lady," said the belkagen. "You now face what all mothers face. Your boy can be a boy no longer. You cannot protect him forever.

  He must stand on his own." "I don't fear him standing on his own," she said, and the tears fell, freezing on her cheeks. "I fear him falling alone. He's not ready for this. Not yet." "He will not be alone," said Lendri. "The belkagen and I will watch over Jalan. If anything tries to harm him, it will have to take our life's blood first. If it is the will of your gods and ours that Jalan die today, he will die beside friends. That is the most anyone can ask of the gods." Amira sniffed, trying to contain her tears. She did the one thing she'd learned to do at a very young age: She turned her grief and heartbreak to anger. "I hate the godsdamned Wastes," she said. "I hate them." "She is a hard land," said Lendri, "and she breeds hard children. Take heart and give grief to your enemies." Something that was half-sob and half-chuckle shook Amira. "Ah, Lendri. Someday I'm going to introduce you to my mother. You'll learn hard then." She stepped forward, twisted a brass ring off her finger, and handed it to Lendri. "Here. Take this." The elf took it and studied it, turning it in his fingers. "What is it?"

  "Something a dear friend once gave me. It's magical." "I am no wizard, Lady." "You need not be, not with this ring," she said. She explained to him what it did and how to use it. "It will work only once, so don't waste it. It may not be much, but it helped me escape from that lecherous bastard Walloch when all my best spells were spent." Lendri put the ring on the middle finger of his right hand and bowed. "Thank you, Lady. I will use this gift in service to your son." The belkagen cleared his throat and said, "Amira." "Yes?" Only a slight flutter shook her voice. "It is time. We must wake Jalan and go."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

&nbs
p; Winterkeep

  Late morning. The low, slate-colored sky threatened overhead, and Amira looked down for the first time upon the ruins of Winterkeep.

  Only the seven pillars-all broken at various lengths-were visible. The piles of broken stone and boulders that the belkagen had told her littered the ground were now only great drifts of snow. But Amira had seen it all before. In Hro'nyewachu she'd seen Iket Sotha die, and in her mind's eye she could still see the seven-pillared colonnade, the wooden mansions and outbuildings, and the wall of finished logs painted in the royal colors of Raumathar. The air was so cold that the snow seemed more of a frozen mist coming off the sea. From where she crouched on the slight rise of land, Amira could see the ruins, but beyond that was only a constantly shifting canvass of white and gray.

  She turned around. Leren and two massive gray wolves crouched behind her. Panning out behind them were more Vil Adanrath, both elves and wolves. Some of the elves carried weapons, but a few had stripped down to loincloths so that they could change to their wolf forms in battle.

  Even with the small bit of kanishta root wedged in her jaw, flooding her body with warmth, just watching the nearly naked elves crouched in the snow made her shiver. "Any sign of the enemy?" asked Leren. Amira found it an odd question, elf eyesight being far superior to her own.

  But then she realized that she could sense something. Through the thick hide of her gloves, she could feel power pulsing through the staff, connecting her to their surroundings, almost as if the staff were a young sapling with thousands upon thousands of roots spreading throughout the ground. To the north, scattered throughout the ruins of Winterkeep, that life seemed to twist and warp, as if shunning something there. "Something's down there," she said. "I can't see it, but I can sense it." "Iket Sotha is very old," said Leren. "Terrible things happened there long ago, and many foul creatures lurk in its depths. Perhaps that is what you are sensing?" "Perhaps," said Amira, but she didn't believe it. Off to their right in the distance came a long howl, plaintive and ending on a low note. It was the signal to begin their advance. One more off to the south would be the signal to the belkagen to get Jalan to the Witness Tree. They set off at an easy trot, Amira leading them. The wolves fanned out, flanking them but slowing their pace so as not to outdistance the others. Two-thirds of the way down the slope, they were approaching a series of humps that Amira had taken for snow-covered boulders. But as they drew close, the mounds erupted, and a half-dozen Frost Folk threw off their blanket of snow and the cloaks under them. Axes and swords raised, they charged Amira and the Vil Adanrath. Amira raised her staff, and a wave of elves and wolves swept past her. She cursed as an elf and his wolf-brother leaped between her and her intended target. But the Frost Folk turned and ran, heading for the ruins. A Vil Adanrath arrow sent one crashing into the snow, and three wolves fell upon him, rending and tearing. The tall men were surprisingly swift, not outpacing the elves but matching their speed. When they reached a large snowdrift they stopped and turned. A pair of winter wolves came round one side, three round the other, and two climbed the crest of the drift. Upon the topmost wolf-a great white beast larger than a stallion-a figure hunched inside an ash-gray cloak. Amira screamed and charged. The Frost Folk and winter wolves held their ground and waited for the Vil Adanrath to come to them. To Amira, the battle was a cacophony of growling and shrieking wolves, shouting men and elves, the clash of steel on steel, and the cries of the dying. Once the forces met, all was chaos, but Amira kept her focus on one thing only: the sorcerer.

  He came down at them, his winter wolf charging the smaller wolves, teeth bared and a growl coming from its chest that caused the air itself to tremble. Amira saw one of the black-feathered arrows of the Vil Adanrath pierce its side, but so great was its battle-rage that it didn't seem to notice. Three wolves and an elf stood between it and Amira, but they scattered as the great wolf bore down upon them. Amira held her ground-she could feel it trembling beneath her feet-and raised her staff. The winter wolf was coming so fast. She knew she'd only have one chance at this. She thrust her open palm at the wolf's head and shouted, "Dramasthe!" The bolt of yellow energy shot from her hand. It struck the beast full in the face, and in the moment of clarity that often came to her in battle, when moments seemed to stretch out to days, she saw bits of scorched flesh and skin shower outward, and the wolf's left eye exploded. Its growl rose to a shriek, and the animal tumbled into the snow face first, sending up a great cloud of frost mixed with bits of smoke and blood. The rider in the ash-gray cloak went down as well, and Amira lost sight of him in all the flying snow and debris. The winter wolf jumped to its feet and ran off northward, shaking its head in agony. Amira saw the ash-gray cloak rising, perhaps even shaking a bit, and she thrust her staff forward with a cry. "Keljan saule!" The runes etched into the staff flared, bathing Amira and the surrounding snowfield in a warm glow, and a shard of light shot out. It struck the ash-gray robes, and the figure flew backward as if struck by a giant's club. He hit the ground several paces away and fell into a smoking heap. Amira watched, ignoring the carnage around her and preparing another strike, but the sorcerer did not move. She ran forward, her staff ready. Out of the corner of her eye. she saw one of the Frost Folk fall, a black wolf's jaws locked around his throat. The sorcerer still had not moved. The mass of gray fabric smoked from her strike, and the surrounding snow steamed as it melted. She slowed as she approached, and still the figure had not moved. Keeping the point of her staff aimed directly at the dark mass, the words of the spell ready on her lips, Amira stepped forward. The stench hit her-a foul odor of burned fabric and flesh.

  One hand, pale as the snow in which it lay, was flung outward, almost like an orator's motion in mid-speech. Amira put the tip of her staff inside the cowl and pulled. The fabric came away, and a lifeless head fell backward against the outstretched arm. It was not the emaciated face she remembered, the corpselike visage covered in pallid skin.

  This man's features were white, his hair whiter still, long and healthy. It was one of the Siksin Neneweth, one of the Frost Folk, and he was quite dead. The knowledge hit Amira, freezing her insides.

  They'd been fooled. Only one thought came to her mind, and it passed her lips unbidden. "Jalan!"

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The Isle of Witness

  Nothing moved on the Isle of Witness. The island itself was really just a huge pinnacle of rock breaking the surface of the Great Ice Sea. Nothing but moss and a few shoots grew there. The soil was too rocky and the wind was too harsh. Even the great dead tree at the island's summit stood implacable, as it had for hundreds of years.

  Only the thickest boughs remained, and they were hard as iron from the countless ages of bitter cold and salt-tinged air. A stone stairway-once decorated with many signs both sacred and arcane, but now weathered and broken-descended from the base of the Witness Tree to the northern shore of the island. At the base of the stair the air rippled, almost like a heat mirage, then darkened and solidified into the folds of a greatcloak. It was made from the skin of some great animal, and bits of fur lined the hem. The arcane symbols upon it glowed briefly, a warm green light. The great hump of a cloak rose and billowed. Straightening, the belkagen drew back the folds of his greatcloak, and Lendri and Jalan emerged. The trio straightened.

  Lendri's eyes were wide with uneasiness, and he flinched at being exposed to the wind off the sea, snow and sleet striking his face.

  Their breath steamed for an instant before crystallizing and joining the snow, and even Lendri, who was seldom bothered even by intense cold, shivered. Only the boy seemed unaffected, and his eyes had a dullness to them, like resignation or even drunkenness. The belkagen's brow creased. Cold was to be expected, but this… already his hair had frozen to bits of ice, and even blinking hurt. Realization of what this meant hit him. "No. Oh, no!" He turned. On the hill above them, emerging from behind the thick trunk of the Witness Tree, stood the Fist of Winter-all five of them, and they looked down at the belkagen and his two cha
rges. "Back!" shouted the belkagen, throwing the folds of his cloak around Lendri and Jalan. He held them tight and ducked under his hood. One of the sorcerers stepped forward, laughing. He lowered his tattered hood. Pallid skin and dead, black eyes seemed unconcerned as he smiled into the full force of the storm. It was Erun. He motioned with his hands and mouthed the words of a spell. The belkagen froze. His cloak wasn't working. Erun-or what had once been Erun-had used his own foul arts to nullify the power in the cloak.

  "Give us the boy," said Erun, shouting to be heard over the wind and waves. His voice was harsh and subhuman, as if his will forced his throat to utter sounds strange to it. The belkagen stood and pushed Lendri and Jalan behind him. He held his staff up, shielding them.

  "You cannot have him," said the belkagen. "Not again." But the belkagen stumbled forward as Jalan pushed past him and rushed up the stairs. Lendri lunged after him, but Erun drew a single-edged sword with one fluid motion and shouted, "Silo'at!" Biting frost tunneled outward against the gale and struck Lendri full-force, sending him flying back into the rocks, frost and ice coating him from chin to waist. He hit hard then rolled over, groaning, trying to rise only to have his body betray him. Jalan ascended the last few steps on all fours, then fell and hugged Erun's legs. While the belkagen watched, dumbstruck, Erun placed one emaciated hand on the boy's neck and spoke an incantation. Jalan flinched as if he'd been slapped across the face, then collapsed. "What-?" the belkagen spoke his thought aloud.

  Erun smiled. There was no humor in it, merely the baring of teeth. "My hold on him is no longer necessary." "All this time…" "I let you take him, old fool. You think that wench could have beaten me so easily? I let him go, and through him I watched you. Heard you. And so when I knew you'd be bringing him back to me, I… let you." He shrugged, though coming from the sorcerer it seemed an obscene gesture, unnatural. The shoulders moving beneath the tattered cloak and robes reminded the belkagen of a dung beetle flexing its carapace.