by T L Drew
Jorgen heard footsteps approaching behind him as he stared out towards the castle, trying to remember every entrance, every corridor, every exit. He tried to remember how many soldiers that lived within Hakon’s walls. ‘So, this is Whitehold.’ Lord Caspian uttered from Jorgen’s side. ‘I thought a man like Hakon Grey would have built his Hold on a grander scale.’
‘It’s small, old and breaking, like he is.’ Jakub noticed, joining the men.
Lord Caspian’s eyes tried to find Jorgen’s. ‘So, how do we get inside, my king?’
‘I can only remember riding through the main gates,’ Jorgen told them, watching as the faint silhouettes on the Whitehold walls could be seen moving slowly on patrol, unknown to them that an entire army waited in the forest.
‘There must be another way inside,’ Jakub was certain as they watched Whitehold through the trees. ‘We cannot walk through the front gates.’
‘What other choice do we have?’ Lord Caspian asked. ‘We still outnumber them – there are thousands of us, maybe only a few hundred of them.’
‘They have their arrows and their walls to hide behind – they will pick us off one by one.’ Archer Rose interjected.
‘There must be another way inside...’ Jorgen pondered, his head pounding as he gazed upon the old castle, lost in thought.
Jakub placed a young, icy hand upon his king’s shoulder. ‘Our men are cold, hungry and weak. You could use your ring to help us, Your Grace.’
‘No.’ Jorgen said sternly. There were daggers in his eyes as he looked at the fourteen-year-old boy. ‘This ring is nothing but trouble.’
‘You can take this Hold without losing any men.’ Jakub assured him. ‘Just use it once, and then never again.’
‘Don’t use it,’ he heard Nora urge, interjecting, trudging through the snow towards them. ‘I’ve felt the ring’s power. I felt it coursing through my body. It’s a dark thing, a powerful thing, something that mankind wasn’t supposed to wear. It wasn’t meant for us. You have seen what it has done to Hakon Grey; he was a monster before he was gifted the ring, but now he has become worse. The ring twisted him further than he was already twisted. It will pull you down into the darkness, Jorgen, and there will be no helping you.’
‘I must agree with Lady Ostergaard, my king.’ Archer’s voice was in the western king’s ear. ‘I too have worn it, only briefly, but it’s a dark thing.’
‘Just once,’ Jakub’s voice lowered, desperate. ‘One time can do no harm.’
‘I am not so sure.’ Jorgen admitted, lost in thought, all of their voices blurring into one. His thoughts trailed back to those who had died in Solvstone; the king wanted no one else to die because of him, even if they were willing to fight for his cause. Their cause. If he could find a way to take Whitehold without losing any of his men, their chance at taking vengeance for those who had died in Solvstone would be more successful, but what if it were to do something to him, like it had Hakon? ‘I shouldn’t risk such a thing, but if I can save the lives of my men...’
‘Yes, Your Grace, use the ring!’ Jakub exclaimed.
‘Lord Caspian, what do you think I should do?’ Jorgen asked, speaking to the only man who hadn’t voiced his opinion on the ring.
‘See what it can do, my king. It may be what we need to save Balfold.’ The older man replied.
‘I don’t even know how the bloody thing works.’ Jorgen admitted, his eyes finding the ebony band, hot with dark magic, cursed magic, the kind that ran through Caeda Lienhart’s veins... ‘I suppose I’d better learn fast, before you and I, and all our men, are as good as dead.’
Nora stepped forward, wide eyed. ‘Jorgen, don’t–’
‘–I’ve made up my mind,’ he uttered, avoiding her gaze. ‘Just once…just once.’ He could feel himself succumbing to the ring’s power. He always succumbed, eventually – he was weak when it came to the ring. He suddenly wondered whether he could destroy it, and whether he was not trying hard enough, because he loved it, because he needed it to feel complete.
Jorgen removed his gloves. The King of Balfold twisted the ring onto his finger. He could feel the hot burning of it. He closed his eyes, letting his mind wander, and took a long, deep breath. Jorgen didn’t know how the ring worked. He didn’t know how he could bend the will of the ring to use its power, but he tried with all his might. He quietly asked the ring for help, and the ring listened. It appeared to help him, rather than hinder.
He thought about the plentiful dragons he had seen in the south since they had crossed the border. White and scaled, like giant chameleons in the snow, eyes like icy orbs floating on crystal water. He imagined the sounds of their powerful roars in the open air, giant wings flying over the tops of the mountains. He thought about Ragnar Lienhart and how he had bent the will of the dragons to help him in his time of need.
A short time passed, and there was a quiet roar in the distance. Jorgen’s eyes opened abruptly. In the moonlight, through the breaks in the tops of the snowy trees, a silhouette flew by over the glowing moon. He wondered whether he was still imagining the great beasts, but the men around him seemed to see, too. The roar grew louder, giant wings soaring through the moonlight and causing a dark shadow over the glistening lake between the forest and Whitehold. White scales in the darkness could be seen through the falling snow. Jorgen’s lips turned into a bewildered smile of disbelief. ‘Ice dragon!’ He heard his men shouting, drawing their bows and arrows, aiming into the skies between the breaks in the trees.
‘Shoot it down!’
‘Kill the dragon before it kills us all!’
‘No, don’t shoot!’ Jorgen shouted as the winged beast drew closer, the white beast turning to face his men, flying down towards the ground where the open air met with the first trees Jorgen and his men hid behind. ‘I think the creature is here to help.’ The King of Balfold said with uncertainty, even though he knew in his gut that the ring had listened to him. His men were fast to lower their weapons, although their eyes were uneasy, frightened, as the dragon’s feet touched the ground before them on the border of the forest, icy orbs staring through the breaks in the trees at the men who stared frighteningly back.
Jorgen Black took a deep, chilling breath, the ice-cold air filling his lungs and outstretched his bruised legs as he moved from the safety of the trees and into the open air, the giant beast blocking Whitehold from view. The beast stared at him as his giant feet sank into the snow.
‘Careful, Jorgen.’ Nora’s voice was laced with worry from the trees. She tried to pry him back, but he moved towards the creature, the ring burning, but in that moment, he trusted it, more than he had ever trusted anything.
A low, quiet sound erupted from the dragon’s throat. It lowered his head and the beast’s eyes softened. Jorgen shakily extended his hand, moving closer, a thousand eyes of his men watching as the western king’s hand met with icy scales. Anduin, he heard, like the ring was telling him the name of the dragon. The dragon’s eyes lowered to meet with the king’s as Jorgen ran his frozen hand across the beast’s scales; they felt like splintering ice, rough and sharp, cold like the snow. The dragon could feel the warmth of the ring against him. ‘Anduin,’ the western king said out loud, his hand trembling against the dragon’s scales, disbelief that he was truly touching a dragon, standing this close without being eaten whole or frozen by the creature’s icy breath. ‘Your name is Anduin,’ he said again, almost like a question. The dragon didn’t make a sound, but he blinked slowly, eyes gazing upon the master of the ring, his new master.
‘Anduin…I want you to kill all the men on the wall.’ Jorgen ordered with uncertainty, staring into the icy eyes of the dragon as he ran his hand softly over the dragon’s scales, feeling something, something he had never felt, something he couldn’t put into words. He did not know whether the dragon could even understand his words. ‘Kill the men, blow down the gates, but leave the castle standing.’
It appeared to listen, and if not to Jorgen, it listened to the will of t
he ring. The beast’s giant feet left the ground and it took flight the instant the words slipped from the king’s lips, the air lashing hard as the creature’s wings moved so powerfully that the wind took Jorgen from his feet. He fell backwards into the snow. Jakub and Lord Caspian bolted from the trees and helped their king stand, all a while their eyes were glued to the dragon as it flew high into the night sky towards Whitehold.
‘Are you okay, Your Grace?’ Jakub asked as they pulled Jorgen back into the safety of the trees.
‘I’m okay.’ Jorgen insisted, his breath taken from his body as he watched the dragon flying gracefully towards the castle, a black silhouette in the sky, roaring for the entire world to hear. He wondered whether the men guarding the Whitehold walls were aware that the dragon was coming; they would have heard the beast, but in the south, the dragons were not a threat, not since the fall of Ragnar Lienhart. They were mostly peaceful and dwelled most commonly in the Craghollow ruins, despite the occasional taking of men in the open when food was at its scarcest, but never did the dragons attack the cities or the castles, destroying them with their ice and fire.
Jorgen Black watched as the creature flew over the top of the dark Hold. In the distance they heard men begin to shout warnings. His heart was pounding in his chest as the dragon hovered, gazing down at Whitehold, watching the men as they ran along the walls and began to draw their bows, ready, if the beast attacked – something the Grey soldiers were not prepared for.
‘Do you think the beast will head your commands?’ Nora whispered in her lover’s ear, watching as the dragon hovered in the night’s sky, blocking the moonlight over the Hold.
Words caught in Jorgen’s throat. His ring was burning, scolding his skin. Hotter, and hotter, and hotter, until...the dragon’s mouth opened, white ice erupting from the beast’s throat, freezing all men on the walls of Whitehold in Grey armour and white furs, transforming them into lifeless ice sculptures.
Arrows took to the skies – Jorgen and his followers watched in awe and horror alike as the arrows rebounded off of the dragon’s scales, falling into the snow, as more and more men left the confines of Whitehold to shoot down the dragon that attacked the walls, without success, freezing in the dragon’s icy breath. The creature moved in the sky – the great beast lowered his giant body to the snowy ground with a loud thud that shook the earth beneath them; even Jorgen and his men could feel it from where they stood on the outskirts of the forest. More arrows flew through the bitter air and failed to penetrate the creature’s scales. Jorgen watched with his heart pounding in his chest and his ring burning on his finger as the dragon’s tail rose and fell with power unlike Jorgen had ever seen, crashing into the main gates that led into Whitehold, the wooden gates crashing into thousands of tiny splinters, exposing those who hid behind the walls.
‘Now we must ride.’ Jorgen uttered, turning his head and pacing towards his mount, heaving himself onto his horse’s back. His men were quick to follow. ‘Elinor, stay here, protect my brother and Nora. We’re going to take Whitehold.’
Elinor swiftly dismounted her horse. ‘Yes, Your Grace.’
‘Are you certain?’ Jakub asked, riding towards Jorgen Black as his sights were set upon Whitehold through the trees.
Jorgen nodded his head with surety and rode forward with speed, leaving the safety of the trees, riding into the open, snow catching in his eyes and his beard, his gaze still firmly on the giant dragon. His men followed swiftly behind him with weapons drawn, beginning to shout as they rode towards the Hold, watching as the dragon’s head twisted towards the entrance of Whitehold and once more opened his giant toothy mouth, white ice erupting from the creature’s throat and freezing to death all those who hid inside of the Whitehall walls.
Still with fear inside of them at the sight of the dragon – even though they knew it did as Jorgen commanded – the western army rode fiercely through the snow beyond the icy creature; it was fast to divert his haunting wintry eyes to the men as they rode past, but the beast’s attention was quickly diverted back to men upon the walls that had missed the creature’s icy breath, firing arrows, and shooting few at Jorgen and his men as they rode beyond the dragon and into the walls of Whitehold, blades drawn. They rode swiftly by frozen men that stood still like ice statues, cutting down men brandishing weapons and bows who had survived the first wave of the dragon’s breath. There were few left alive by the time Jorgen and his men penetrated the walls – frozen, dead inside of their icy tomb, several grasped in the beast’s mouth and swallowed whole.
Jorgen swung Night around his side and cut into a man wielding a sword. Only three men fell to the cut of Jorgen’s blade before the Hold fell into silence and the dragon’s mouth closed, sparing the western army his icy breath. ‘Is that all the men? There are not Grey soldiers or mercenaries remaining?’ Jorgen asked as Jakub and Lord Caspian rode towards him.
‘No – they’re all dead.’ Jakub replied with a gleeful smile although his face was painted with blood and his blond hair stained red.
‘Whitehold is ours!’ Lord Caspian roared, and the men roared with him.
‘What are you going to do with the dragon?’ Jakub asked as the giant creature perched on the wall, gazing into the confines of Whitehold, looking more peaceful than he had when he killed the men in Hakon’s Hold. The men continued to cheer and celebrate, dismounting their horses, but kept a wary eye upon the large creature that sat eerily on the Whitehold walls.
‘I think I’ll keep him around, for now.’ Jorgen said as he stared at the creature, the ring burning comfortingly at the base of his finger. ‘No one will dare to attack us with a dragon on our walls.’
‘What now, Your Grace?’ Lord Caspian was swift to ask.
‘Send word to the capital – tell Andor Grey that I am alive, and that Whitehold is ours. If he wishes to surrender, or talk terms, he’ll come to us with Hakon’s head, or we’ll bring war to him.’
ANDOR
The man who stood before the King of Askavold was a smaller, fatter man – Andor could see the pockets in his round cheeks and the twists and turns of his large, reddening nose. He had seen him before, many times over the years when his father was king.
‘My most sincere apologises, Your Grace, about your father. Such a terrible tragedy – let us pray to the gods that justice will come to your brother for his crime against your family. Who knew what Goran Grey would become? No one could have seen it coming, Your Grace.’ Lord Emery Steel of Hollow Keep came before the king with false apologises and fake ignorance. Andor Grey could see in the lord’s eyes that he knew the truth, that he knew who had dragged the icy blade across King Kodran’s throat. Andor tried to hide his smirk – they all knew what he had done, but still they came before him, pretending to know otherwise. Lord Emery Steel was not the first man to come before Andor with the same words, and neither would he be the last of them.
‘Thank you for your kind words, Lord Steel, but you and I both know the reality of what conspired within these very walls, and what happened upon the very spot that I sit on.’ Andor spoke openly, clearly, without fear, sat upon his new throne, simple and modest for a king, crafted from a fine ebony ore with carvings etched into the stone. There were the cursed men, and mankind, and all the creatures of Askavold and Balfold that he admired. ‘Kodran was no father of mine, and neither was he a good king. He was no king at all, for a matter of fact. This world, this realm, is better off without him, and as for my brother...he was not capable of doing what was right, nor will he ever be, but he did love Kodran with all his heart. Goran would have ruled as my father did – it is why the world continues on, and I sit upon the throne, no thoughts of Kodran Grey or my brother concerning the likes of mankind.’
Lord Emery Steel knew this well. He carefully nodded in agreement, but no words slipped from the fat man’s lips, sweat running down his forehead.
Andor leaned back upon his new throne. ‘Now, what brings you to the Stone Keep, Lord Steel?’ The king asked when he received
no words in response.
‘Your uncle it is, Your Grace,’ the Lord of Hollow Keep was careful with his words. ‘About what happened, in Solvstone – my men and I will always follow you, from now until the end of time, but if his crimes go unpunished–’
‘–What has he done?’ The King of Askavold sat forward on his ebony throne, icy blue eyes narrowing. ‘Solvstone? What about Solvstone?’
‘You have not heard?’ The lord’s eyes widened with shock.
The king shook his head and learned forward in his ebony throne with intrigue, his face set hard.
‘Lord Hakon has murdered the western king,’ Emery informed him. ‘Solvstone has been destroyed and almost everyone in the western capital has been butchered by Hakon’s men and mercenaries.’
‘Truly?’
‘Truly,’ the fat man repeated, his head nodding up and down.
‘Is this true?’ Andor quickly shot his gaze to Nazir, the second in command of the king’s royal guard, standing beside the King of Askavold, clad in steel armour which covered the nineteen-year-old boy’s bronze skin. ‘Tell me this isn’t true.’
‘This is the first I have heard of such things.’ Nazir informed his king, concerned like Andor was, for their western friend, Jorgen Black. ‘I shall leave this instant, learn the truth–’
