Winter Reign: Rise of the Winter Queen

by N. M. Howell

  I see images of a people, fair-skinned and white-haired. They live in a land of perpetual winter. But it is soft and bright and full of peace. They are happy in this place. Above their heads gold thunder runs the sky, but it is silent, benevolent, harmless and stunning. There are all manner of strange creatures here. Beautiful pale-haired children play in the streets, between ice buildings that stretch to the sky. And there in the center of this glorious city is a castle. A castle all in white.

  When the images stop I am calmer. Almost content. What he has shown me has moved some part of me, assuaged some corner of my soul.

  “Was that the Winterlands?” I ask.

  “Yes. And your people. But you must focus now, Nevena. Do not think of all you have seen and learned tonight. Think only of those you wish to save. That will give you strength. I did not wish this for you, but I will go with you. I will be at your side always. I am yours in every way and after nearly four centuries I am finally at peace.”

  We have only the space of a moment, but that is long enough for a kiss.

  And then the whole of Moerdra Castle trembles. We are under attack. The Helkar have come. Eduard and I take to our feet and run for the Castle’s entrance. We run out into the night and they are waiting for us. Three men stand and at first glance they seem ordinary, but as we near them I see that they are pure monsters. Their hands are normal size, but their fingers are as long as arms. Where their heads should be there is merely a ball of black smoke; where the eyes should be there are two holes in the smoke, from front to back. They are hovering. The one in the middle moves his smoking head.

  “Koriannestguna. Abul un hannadstruge.”

  “Grandestor!”

  “Winter Queen!”

  And all three rise in the air and transform. Before us now are a chimera, a galing ball of red wind, and a great falcon made entirely of flames. They are all large, but the falcon is the greatest of them all, its flaming wings spanning from one side of the Grey Pasture to the other fifty yards away. The Chimera charges me and the red wind moves for Eduard.

  The chimera is fast, almost too quick for me to see. I am casting spells as fast as I can, but I can’t hit him. The lion’s mouth gnashes at me and I must keep my eyes on him. He bends to put the goat’s head and horns forward and charges me. I cast a spell at its feet, hitting the front paw and it howls in pain. I move to cast again and it leaps into the air over my head. But I’m prepared and I hold out my hand to cast a spell on the ground where it will land. The earth there disappears and the beast falls into the gaping chasm.

  Immediately, I cast a spell to close the hole over, but the creature leaps back up and I see now it doesn’t need the ground. It is running on the air, circling me. Its serpent-headed tail spits its smoking venom at me and I block it with a spell. And then a ball of fire explodes on the ground next to me and I feel myself being hurled through the air. I collide with a pillar. I have only moments to raise my hand and cast as the chimera lunges for me. It breaks its teeth on the barrier I make. The falcon circles me high above, belching great balls of fire down on me. I have to erect another barrier above me.

  And now the chimera alternates between charging me with its massive, monstrous horns and whipping its serpent tail at me. I am quickly losing energy, I cannot fight the chimera and the falcon at once, and I cannot see Eduard. I scream his name, but there is no response.

  The only answer I get is the serpent biting into my leg with its forceful jaws. The pain makes me drop my barriers. The falcon rushes up into the air, no doubt preparing to dive. The chimera flicks its tail and the serpent’s jaws fling me through the air. I smash into the ground in agony. I see the falcon turning back on high for its dive. The chimera rushes me. I’ve no defense left and no energy for magic. I finally see Eduard, trapped in the ball of red wind.

  Suddenly I feel a power rising within me, threatening to explode. My body is healing. It is the Winter magic writhing within me and I know I must use it if I wish to survive. The chimera is almost upon me when I unleash the power. A white aura explodes from my body, striking the chimera in mid-stride. The beast falls, but quickly regains its feet and resumes the charge. I wait until it is close and then I focus the winter magic into one sure burst. I unleash my magic and within seconds the chimera freezes, falls, and is dashed to a thousand pieces. I turn to Eduard ready to come to his aid, but just as I turn in his direction I see him casting a spell. A storm cloud comes into being a hundred feet above him and sends a terrible bolt of lightning straight at him. The red wind is utterly destroyed. Eduard is unharmed. I rise and we run to each other.

  Above us the falcon has slowed its descent and is circling again. It now knows our power. It opens its great mouth and sprays a pillar of fire across the Grey Pasture. It is still too high for us to cast at and it spews its horrid flames all around us. The heat is stifling, too great, and I must use my inner magic to ensure we don’t burn. Eduard is frantically casting at the sky, but it is futile. The falcon hovers in the air above us and this time it takes both of us to put up a barrier strong enough. When the flaming beast shuts its mouth Eduard takes me in his arms.

  “We’ve only one chance, Nevena. I can bring us within striking distance, but you must be ready.”

  “I am. Let us finish this.”

  Eduard holds me close and points his open hand toward the ground. We take off from the earth at a terrific speed, soaring straight for the falcon. The great bird is startled and moves its wings to evade, but we are moving much too fast. It begins to open its jaws for fire. With a last burst of magic, Eduard heaves me up at the beast.

  “Now, Nevena!”

  As I soar within mere feet of the bird, I call forth every ounce of winter magic I feel within me and I throw open my arms to release it. Thunder and frost and fantastic chill rush out from me in all directions, a great globe of freezing magic. The falcon is obliterated, and Eduard and I are falling through the air. I turn and go into a dive. I must reach Eduard. As I near him, falling faster and faster, we hold out our arms to each other and catch one another. I use my magic to slow us and we reach the ground harmlessly. That last burst of magic has healed me completely and Eduard holds me safe in his arms in the midst of so much destruction.

  Hours later, I am in his arms. We lay in my bed.

  “There is much I wish to know,” I say. “There is much you should’ve told me.”

  “These things cannot simply be revealed,” he says. “Or perhaps they can. Perhaps I was simply afraid.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “Of losing you to so great a future. You are a Queen, Nevena, destined to be one of the greatest of any age. Even as a great sorcerer, I am beneath you. Perhaps I just wasn’t to let you go.”

  “You are a fool, Eduard, Grandestor, if you do not know by now that I love you beyond rank and propriety, beyond thrones and magic. We are bonded in a way that even your great mind cannot understand.”

  “Then you love me still?”

  “Never ask me that again.”

  I take his head in my hand and kiss him with the passion of a thousand lives.

  The castle is half destroyed, the realm is in panic, destruction is impending, and yet Eduard and I have made a heaven here for us. Only us.

  And then a terrible noise cuts the air and the castle shakes. Even worse than the first time. Eduard and I race to put on our clothes. As quickly as we can, we leave the room and run for the entrance, but we haven’t gone far before we see that the entire front half of Moerdra Castle is gone. Before us is a terrible giant with hands made of water. Another Helkar. With a great swipe the waters of his hand explode and spread against the castle, taking down a tower and the entire east side, washing it all away. But what frightens me is Delara. She is standing in front of the Helkar, barely on her feet. She has lost her mind.

  “Delara!”

  She does not hear me. Or does not listen. She raises her hands, her fingers curled. The giant cease moving. And then it begins to convulse. Delara
’s power is far greater than I imagined. She brings the creature toward her and brings it to its knees mere feet from her. With a turn of her hands, the beast collapses in on itself and shrivels to a morbidly shaped creature half its size. And Delara kills him. It is not her destroying him that worries me.

  She has killed him with a black star.

  Chapter 5

  Few nights in the memories of history have been as dark and bloody as that night that passed in the bitterest, angriest winter of them all. It was the final night of the War of Four Heavens, a murderous campaign so vast and so determined it took untold millions of lives, wiped whole races of men and beast from the face of the earth. It was a time older and wilder than the Hundred Kingdoms.

  It was the night the Almighty shook the earth with thunder a thousand times brighter and hotter than any bolt that ever was. The worst of the battle raged in the Winterlands, where the people of that place worshipped Traega, warrior of the Almighty and his sworn enemy. Throdenos had already been slain some twenty years before and the traitor who would come to be called the Empress had fled a month previous, leaving Traega the last standing enemy of all that was good and true in the land.

  The Almighty mounted a most devastating assault across the land. His people fought a gruesome battle against the people of the Winterlands. Traega beat the land with a terrible force, magic and might and death, searing the world in such a way that where she stepped the land would never heal. So many died: men, women, babes only just born of their mothers’ wombs. All the weapons and stratagems of the greatest commanders and kings of the realms clashed in this winter-clad land where the snows had begun to run red.

  Among those fighting for the Almighty, there was a young lord named Nethlamas, a most terrible man. Lord Nethlamas was a zealot, but also a traitor, for though he fought on the side of the Almighty, his true allegiance lay with Traega. For the last forty years of that century long war he had followed her will and seduced people across many kingdoms.

  Wherever his schemes faced opposition, he left a trail of carnage and misery in his wake: they would either join him or die unimaginable deaths. This night, when battle was thickest and deadliest, he revealed his true nature, for with a mere touch Traega had given him one of her most powerful weapons: mor’lumière. Dark magic. It was a weapon thought impossible to contrive, for how could such things be done by mortal men? As the battle reached climax, evenly fought and still undecided, Lord Nethlamas unleashed his ability across the Almighty’s army.

  He laid waste to so many men than night, men who had trusted him and fought for him. Even as they gazed on him in horror and terrible awe, he continued to murder any and all who bore the mark of the Almighty. He was merciless and unstoppable.

  Traega laughed a hideous laugh as she watched Lord Nethlamas ripping across the land, leaving only death at his footsteps. The battle quickly turned as the final army of the Almighty were being stricken down; they were of the bravest men to ever tread those plains, but they were no match for mor’lumière. But there was yet a last turn for the war. The Almighty, realizing Traega’s ultimate betrayal, reached down and touched one man. King Aavon. The king was still locked in bitter combat with a commander from the Winterlands, but at the Almighty’s touch he was instantly filled with power and the knowledge of its use. Soufflumière. Good magic. He blasted the commander away from him and headed straight for Lord Nethlamas.

  The fight was long and hard. As the Almighty and Traega struck and broke the heavens above, Lord Nethlamas and King Aavon scorched the earth below. Fire and thunder raced the sky. Black stars and frost exploded on the earth. The armies of men stood at bay, ceased fighting and watched as the fate of their world was decided. With a mighty rush of that great, destructive force within him the Almighty obliterated Traega and erased her heaven. Seeing his ruler slain, Lord Nethlamas hurled a horrible black flash of mor’lumière at young King Daovon, the younger brother of King Aavon. While King Aavon sought to save his brother, Lord Nethlamas fled the battlefield, a coward without a leader.

  King Daovon died, but the War of the Four Heavens was done. A century of fierce battle ended and the realm knew peace once more. The Almighty, seeing that some of his strength had seeped into the stones at his feet, decided to hide them, where some worthy man might one day take them up in a time of need. With his left hand he dug a great valley in the earth and with his right hand he cast the stones into it. Over the valley he raised the Doomed Mountains, so named for the many men who died in that land. He appointed a group of people to watch over the mountains and guard the stones until the chosen man came for them. The Thraenns. His task complete, the Almighty vanished. King Aavon mourned his brother and to honor him, King Aavon sent the remainder of the greatest knights of the battle to his young brother’s kingdom, to forever protect it. The land of that kingdom was renamed in honor of the slain king. The land of Dao.

  King Aavon was celebrated as the savior of the realms, for had it not been for his wielding the power of the Almighty the world would have fallen. He returned to his land and was crowned the first High King. He would rule fair and kind all his days, but there remained a final, necessary cruelty. For their betrayal of the Almighty and of all living things, King Aavon ordered that the civilizations of the twenty strongest enemies of the Almighty be razed. And so they were. Afterwards, the king arranged a most beautiful and touching funeral for the eight Kings, including his brother, who had been slain on that last night of battle.

  It was the hand of Lord Nethlamas that slaughtered those kings. When he fled the battlefield, he went into hiding. Caves, jungles, wolves’ dens were his homes. He grew thin and angry, but always he had mor’lumière to comfort him and ensure his survival. When he was an old man he wandered into the Land of Dao and beheld a handsome and powerful lord strolling among servants in the market. King Aavon vowed that no King would ever claim his brother’s throne and so he installed lordship in that land instead and decreed that the lord of the land would always walk in that market among his servants, homage to his brother’s kind heart. This was the Lord Bartholomew, the husband of King Daovon’s only daughter, Nal. Nethlamas had heard of this young man and woman, but on seeing them he became enraged and so he began to plot.

  One cold evening at twilight, while kind Lord Bartholomew stood alone at the edge of his land, Nethlamas murdered him from behind like the coward he was. He slit the lord’s throat to the bone and then, with a wave of his withered hand, a black star burned the body into nothing. Nethlamas used mor’lumière to disguise himself as the young lord and went back to claim his lordship.

  Nethlamas’s disguise worked and he took control of Moerdra Castle. He changed the symbol of the house to an eight-throated lion, homage to the eight kings he felled. Time passed and news came to him of King Aavon’s giving the gift of magic to others and teaching them to use it. Nethlamas wasted no time in doing the same and as his final revenge he lay with Nal and beget children with mor’lumière in their blood. He trained them as they grew, named them royal sorceresses and protectors of the land, and sent three of them out into the world to spread his evil. One of his children was a son and though he had his father’s magic, the boy refused to do Nethlamas’s will. The boy killed his father to protect the land and threatened his sisters with the same if they didn’t change their ways. So ended the evil of Nethlamas.

  Time passed. History became legend and legend fell from memory. Soufflumière spread far and helped to heal and rebuild the destruction of the war. Mor’lumière spread slower and only among the truly wicked, but it never died. A new age of the world dawned. The House of Daovon forgot the meaning of its name and became the House of Eaynfall. The Hundred Kingdoms were decreed. Contentment took the earth and new histories eclipsed old. The realms forgot. Evil remembered. And Delara of the House Thriscea was born with the blood that would not forget, the blood and the mor’lumière of her ancient ancestor Nethlamas.

  “’Wizard’ is a derogatory term for magical men, as ‘witch’
is for magical women. Not terms one usually hears in civilized conversation,” Eduard says. “When the sorceress called me that, she meant to be quite cruel. I’m happy to say that I haven’t been called that in centuries. Not since I last faced the Empress.”

  “And I see you still won’t name her,” I respond. “As if some evil might descend upon us this very moment should she find form by nomenclature.” I ran my finger along the trim of his cloak, eagerly listening to him recount the histories of our past.

  “You’ve yet no idea how near your words are to the mark, for to speak her name in the old days was the highest, most lethal folly. She could instantly appear wherever man, woman, or child dared utter her name. I do not know that her magic is still that strong, but still…”

  “So much you have told me these long weeks we’ve been away from Moerdra Castle. What’s left of Moerdra Castle. I still feel myself stumbling over the ruins, still smell the charred flesh and stone. Sheer horror. So much you have told me to pass the time and yet so much you hide. Am I so fresh as to warrant circumspection? I assure you, my curiosity is not the worst of things. I want to know everything, all the secrets of the world, but first and foremost where I come from and how I might return. I’ve spent my life in service to Moerdra Castle and the House of Eaynfall. I’ve had no family but the servants and though they were of good stock, that they weren’t my blood was always somewhere in my mind. I want a mother and father. Grandparents. Great uncles and aunts whose names I forget. Now that I’m free of servitude and on my first voyage, I find I selfishly want more than I ever dreamed possible.”