In The Depths Of Winter

by Bradley Mitzelfelt

  Now she understood that freedom came at cost. The cost of bits of her soul being torn away by the actions of the one who made her.

  “He has to be stopped.”

  “He can’t be stopped, Persephone. Forget it.”

  “No. I will find a way. If I don’t, nobody will, and nobody will be left in this world.”

  That was the last thing she said as they continued on. Daedre didn’t speak either. The sky to the east was starting to lighten as they walked further in. The carnage at Nautil was now behind them, but what was ahead of them remained a mystery.

  Chapter Ten

  It took many days to make his way through the mountain range. He lost track of the time not long after leaving Pabila. With the constant snow fall and lack of sunlight it was consistently dark. When he’d gotten far enough away from the dwarven city that he felt safe, he’d started using fires at night to keep warm, making sure to build them in places where the light was largely blocked by the rocks or snow piles. Often times he would carve snow caves out of huge mounds. These kept him sheltered from the wind, and snow made a good insulator.

  As the dwarf had said, there wasn’t much for game to be seen anywhere. He hadn’t even seen many birds about, and the ones he did see were carrion eaters, no good for eating himself, even if he could have knocked them down. Without a bow, he didn’t stand a chance of being able to do that. His wrist crossbow was not meant for shooting birds out of the sky.

  In the afternoon of one of the days after his departure, he trudged through the snow around a mountain and came within site of the forest. The snow had lessened early in the morning, and was now barely more than a gentle drift of tiny flakes that fell lazily from the sky above. He could see the trees, swelling up out of snow covered ground, the tallest of them reaching further towards the sky than he would have believed possible. No trees in Brivan grew taller than the spires of the Palace, but these rivaled them with ease.

  As he looked over the trees he noticed something. A great column of smoke was rising to the north of him, just within the forest from the Frost Mountains, which turned north from the Ironbacks not far from where he was walking. He stopped and watched the smoke, wondering if this was the result of the orcs that he’d been warned about. It didn’t surprise him that they were resorting to such crude methods to try and get the elves to come out. Orcs had no need of trees except as kindling in the crafting of their tools and weapons. They would care little about burning down an entire forest to find their quarry.

  He didn’t think they would succeed, though. The Laradain Elves were gifted at the use of magic. He had no doubt that they would quash the fires soon enough, if they hadn’t already done so. It would likely turn into a battle of wills as the orcs continuously set more and the elves continued to put them out. No different from fighting any other war.

  The snow let up completely as he stepped into the tree line. There was no wind either. The forest floor had less snow than the mountains did, much of it resting on the tree limbs above him. It created a magnificent view, and he found himself feeling happy for once. As strange as it was, the peacefulness of the forest washed away the bleakness of the mountains in a matter of minutes. It almost felt magical.

  It was in that moment that he realized it was magic. The entire forest flowed with it. He couldn’t specifically see the magic itself, but he could feel it moving about him. It was strange, but it didn’t feel harmful. This is probably what’s making me feel so calm and peaceful. It’s a magic to keep those that enter from being hostile. I wonder why it doesn’t work on the orcs. He drummed fingers against his thigh, beneath the cloak, as he continued on further into the forest. He didn’t know much about magic, but he was certain he was right about this.

  The problem with being sent to find the Laradain was that he had no idea where to look. Somewhere out here they had a hidden city. Perhaps more than one hidden city. Nobody really knew because the elves never let anyone see the cities, they’d always come out to do their trading. Given that the Devan wanted to kill them, the precaution wasn’t unwarranted.

  As he walked through the trees he suddenly became aware that he wasn’t alone. Voices had reached out to him. Not orc or goblin voices. He could tell by the way they spoke that they weren’t, but the language they were speaking was foreign to him. It almost sounded like some stilted form of elvish. Curious, he crouched down some, and weaved his way quietly through the trees, using the powdery snow as a cover for his movements as he closed in on where the voices were coming from.

  Peering around one of the larger trees, he could see two humans standing about, and beyond them a grouping of tents and other humans. Could these be people from the Vale? Maybe they came here to hide. He examined them more closely and realized that didn’t seem to be the case. These humans wore strange clothing, had hair in strange patterns that made no sense, and carried things in their hands that reminded him of the weapons that the creatures with the golems had been carrying back in the Ironbacks. They were different, yet similar.

  In all of what they said, one name stood out. Gregor. They’d mentioned him by name. Given their difference, and the strange cut of their clothes, the strange tongue they spoke, and the mention of his uncle’s name, he was certain that these people were not in the forest to hide, but were probably doing the bidding of his uncle. That made them enemies.

  He kept low to the ground as his hand instinctively slipped to his rapier, fingers wrapping around the blade as he prepared to draw it should it become necessary. Despite the lack of doubt he had in his hypothesis, these people did not seem in a hurry to cause trouble. They, like he, seemed to be under the spell of the wood. The peaceful nature kept them from doing much more than sitting about and chatting. Perhaps it was because of them that this magic wafted through the area. The elves were trying to keep them subdued rather than harm them.

  These strange people were numerous. He did not wish to face them so he quietly crawled backwards away from the tree until he was sure he would be out of sight. Rising, he secured the cloak back around himself firmly. He wasn’t there to gawk at strangers, he was there to find the elves.

  The further he went into the wood, the better the chance he would have of finding them. So he walked deeper into the darkness, the shadow of the trees, not even knowing what to seek. In truth he expected to walk the whole of the forest, come out to the north, and find nothing at all. He’d probably run into the orcs before he ran into the elves. That would be his luck. He still didn’t think he had some grand destiny as people kept implying. He was nothing but an Ardour.

  As he passed around a tree, he suddenly found himself staring at an arrow point. He stopped immediately. Eyes trailed from the tip, down the shaft and to the face tucked at the other end of the arrow. It was narrow, angular much like a human woman’s would be. But it was not a woman. Peeking out from behind golden hair were the tips of pointed ears. For all of his wonder about whether or not he would ever find the elves, he’d just run right into one of them without even trying. More likely they had been watching him from the start.

  “I mean you no harm,” Dearic said, showing his hands as empty. “I come seeking knowledge.”

  The elf said nothing, and didn’t lower his bow. He waited, but what he was waiting for was not apparent. Just as Dearic was about to speak once more, everything around him suddenly shifted. It was as if he were pulled through the trees and everything else. He felt nauseous, everything blurring about him as he was suddenly not where he’d been before, but instead standing on a platform high in the trees. Instead of one elf, there were many, and they all had bows drawn upon him. Each one of them wore armor, but it didn’t seem as if it weighed them down at all.

  Dearic looked amongst them, waiting. He’d never seen anything like what had brought him there. Never mind the fact that he didn’t know where there was. It must have been one of their villages, but he could not explain how he’d managed to come there. It was magic, of that he was certain, but it was a power be
yond his knowledge.

  And then he saw him. Dressed in the most resplendent of robes, a crown of golden leaves upon his head. A brilliantly golden mane of hair descending past his shoulders. He walked as if the entire world waited for him, slow steps that seemed as if it would take him years to walk the short distance between them, and he was suddenly there, where moments before he had not been. Dearic couldn’t explain it.

  “You have entered the wood from the east, but you do not come seeking to harm,” the elven lord said, his hands resting at his side.

  Dearic noticed that the elves had lowered their bows.

  “I know why you have come,” the elf continued. “But the answers you seek cannot all be found here. Your trials will not be so easy.”

  “If you know why I’m here, then you must understand why I need to know what you can teach me.”

  “I do, but some of the answers you seek, the knowledge you need, can only come from yourself, and that will not happen here. We can show you knowledge, but we cannot open you to yourself.”

  The answers would come from himself? Dearic assumed that this was referring to his abilities, but he knew that his magic was expansive. He just didn’t know how much so and what it would do for him.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Walk with me.”

  The elf turned and began to walk away. None of the others moved towards him. Most turned away as their leader began to walk. They went back to whatever it was that they must have been doing before, leaving Dearic to watch them go before he turned and moved to follow their leader.

  “My name is Thromiel,” the elf said. “My brother, Thurmiel, is the one who brought you here. I trust the trip did not harm you?”

  Dearic shook his head before he said, “No. I was a little nauseated but otherwise fine. I’ve not experienced magic like that. Or heard of it.”

  “It is a deep magic that is one with the wood here. It cannot be done elsewhere, and can only be done by those of us that are in tune with the forest itself. If we had more time, I would teach you what that meant, but time is something that we lack. I did not wish to speak of this around the others because of what it means.”

  At this, Dearic looked around and noticed that they were on a path high above the forest floor, and all of the elf homes were far behind them. Either they had walked far without him noticing, or this forest magic that the elf spoke of was far more powerful than he knew. I would hate to be on the bad side of these people. Though they seem gentile folk, I am certain they are more than capable of dealing with threats.

  “What do you mean? What is so disturbing that nobody else can hear?” Dearic asked.

  Thromiel stopped and looked first out over the trees, and then turned his gaze upward. He stood like that until Dearic became impatient, and was about to step forward towards the elf, but then he turned and looked Dearic square in the eyes.

  “Everyone on this planet is going to die. Almost everyone, at least. Only one of my people will survive. This cannot be changed, and you must understand that it is a terrible secret to bear. Still, you must bear it quietly.”

  Dearic stepped backwards, fingers grasping at empty air.

  “What are you talking about? You’ve held off my uncle this long, I’m sure you’ll continue to do so.”

  “We hold him off because he sends his minions to do his dirty work. They are unskilled, uncivilized, and foolish. It is easy for us to hold them at bay. Even the newcomers, which I understand you saw, were easy to manipulate into a subdued nature. The problem is that we have something that he needs. Eventually, he will come himself.”

  “Surely he is not as strong as all of you, if that’s what you’re saying.”

  “That is exactly what I’m saying. He is far stronger than us. Your uncle is unnaturally gifted in the use of magic.”

  That caused him to flex his hands and look down at his arms. The bracers were meant to block magic from affecting the wearer.

  “What about these?” he asked, motioning to them. “Can we make more? He’d be useless against you then.”

  The elf shook his head.

  “So little you understand. The armor you wear can only be created by one who gives up their magic. That was a human tradition of Mythrea Vale. It cannot be recreated in such a manner. There will never be armor like that again.”

  “What if one of you takes it and uses it to fight him? He wouldn’t be able to harm you.”

  “He would not be able to harm us directly, but he could still do so through indirect means. A fallen tree, perhaps. It matters, little. What I have said will come to pass, and the bracers must stay with you or all hope is lost for the future of anyone in Amarand.”

  This couldn’t be right. Aiyana had told him that his destiny was important for all of Amarand. Dwemorin Ironshield had only confirmed that fact and then directed him to the elves. Now this elf, Thromiel, was telling him that everyone in Amarand was going to die except for a select few; and he was one of them, as he understood it. How could that even be possible? His uncle couldn’t be that strong. Nobody was strong enough to wipe everyone off of the face of the world. Even Chaos had tried that in the past and been defeated by the mages of the Vale.

  “How is my uncle so strong, Thromiel? Can I not beat him?”

  “It is not in your destiny to defeat him.”

  “Then why am I even here? Why would the Hallmaster of Pabila send me here if I could not learn the skills necessary to stop my uncle? Can you not teach me to be stronger?”

  “As I said, we do not have the time for such training. You have already nearly killed yourself, and all we have time to do is to find your focus, your center for casting your magic since you do so without speaking words.”

  This surprised Dearic. The knowledge that he used magic without incantations had been known amongst the dwarves, but he hadn’t used magic since leaving them. So for Thromiel to know that he casted without controlling words meant that he truly did know much more of him than Dearic would have believed. But surely he could still be wrong about the fate of Amarand and its people? Nothing was set in stone.

  “I can beat him.”

  “No, you cannot. If you face him now, he will kill you, and then the world will be destroyed. His power does not come from him, unlike yours or mine. It comes from Chaos. The beast is feeding him the power necessary to rule this world, to bring him back. That’s what he is after. That is what you lost to him. There are two pieces of a key. The first has been used, which is why the sky is now green and the strangers you saw are here. The second we keep guarded. He will come for it himself, soon.”

  Dearic lifted a hand and removed his helmet. Tucking the piece of armor under one arm, he ran his hand through his messy hair and sighed. No matter what options he offered to alleviate this issue, Thromiel kept coming back to the fact that he could not beat his uncle. If he couldn’t beat him, what was the point of all of this? If there was no hope of them defeating Gregor, why waste the time?

  “If we can’t beat him, why do we try to fight? Why train me in anything at all?”

  “Because the plan is not to beat him, it’s to flee from him.”

  “Flee?”

  In all of this he hadn’t thought to flee from a fight. Even in Pabila, when he’d wanted to go home rather than press on to anything, he’d known that he had to keep going and that to give up would not only be a failure of his belief in himself, but it would be a failure of his ability to atone for the people that he’d gotten killed through his errors of judgment. Most of all, how could he have looked Macullo’s family in the eyes and told them that he had gotten him killed through his negligence?

  Now he was being told that he was going to have to run away. But if he ran, where would he run to? And if only one of the elves was destined to survive all of this, who was it and why? None of this makes much sense to me and I don’t really know if I can believe everything he’s saying. Saving only one elf seems ludicrous. I should be able to save them all. He shook his he
ad.

  “We can’t just run away.”

  “We can’t, you are correct. You can, however. You will save lives that would otherwise be lost, Dearic Aven. In defeat you will be the salvation of the people of this world.”

  “But I don’t understand how that can be,” Dearic said, shaking his head and turning away from the elf. He threw his hand outward at the forest. “All of this cannot be gone. All of your people cannot perish. If I run, if I flee this fight, then he will win and Chaos will be brought into this world as you said. How is that a good thing?”

  “It is not, but it is unavoidable. When you flee, you will leave this world behind, and you will take our people to where they can be of most use. Your future is not in Amarand, and your greatest gift has yet to see the light of day.”

  Dearic slammed his fist into his armored thigh.

  “Your cryptics are infuriating.”

  “I apologize. It was not my intent to be cryptic. There are certain things in life that are better left discovered through natural means. You will understand in time. Come.” The elf turned and started walking back to the village. “We will feast and rest before we begin to search for your focus. When we have it, the next step of your journey will begin.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The food was exquisite, even for his taste. Growing up in a palace meant you got to eat some of the finest food around, but even that didn’t taste as good as what the elves prepared. Fresh venison was nothing new, but somehow they made it taste as if he’d never eaten it before. Flavors rolled down his throat, sending chills through this body, and then fire to cleanse it away. Not literal heat, the food wasn’t spicy hot, it was just delicious. Of course when you came off of days eating dried meat and bread, anything would really taste good to you.

  Some of the elves watched him eat, many of them whispering amongst themselves, but he paid them no mind. This was a feast and at a feast you were meant to eat your fill. He wasn’t eating in a ravenous hurry. Each bite of food was savored and he remembered his manners, as he’d been taught back at home. He was a guest, a human amongst elves, and he shouldn’t do a disservice to his people as he represented them.