by T L Drew
‘–You admitted from your own mouth that you murdered your father; how can I trust that you will not do the same to me?’
‘Because you are not Kodran,’ Andor stated boldly. ‘He deserved his death. Since the Great War, I dreamed of killing him for what he did, to Ragnar–’
‘–Don’t say his name,’ she ordered, her eyes flaring with antagonism.
‘I saw him die. I was there,’ Andor began, his voice laced with bitterness, his body growing tenser by the minute. ‘All of these years I have done all I could to see fit that Kodran paid for what he did to Ragnar, for what he did to you, to us.’
‘You are still a Grey. The Grey family is my enemy, and that will never change.’
‘I am not Kodran; there must be a way I can convince you that I would make a worthy ally.’ Andor said, his voice laced with desperation, his guards growing closer to his side as Caeda stepped down each stone step, closer and closer to Andor, her body calm, but her voice was bitter.
‘Foxes are sneaky and cunning. That is why you cannot be trusted.’
Andor attempted to remain as calm and collected as his desperate body would allow. ‘I granted your family freedom in my realm. An unpopular decision to say the least, but I gave them freedom and I buried Ragnar’s bones. I learned that Rob is still alive. He is fighting in his own war against Vilkas Whitehall; I have sent men to aid him in his struggles. Rob, Alysia, Jofthor and Gerda Lienhart are all alive from what I hear, and all residing upon the Frozen Isles. I have done all I could to help them, to help the cursed bloods, you have to listen to me, to believe me–’
‘–Enough!’ Caeda Lienhart shouted, her voice growing fiercer, carrying through the throne room with fury. ‘If your words are to be believed, then you killed my greatest enemy and you have done what you can to help my brother, and for that I thank you, but I cannot allow a Grey to leave my palace alive. For vanquishing Kodran from my realm, I will grant you a quick, clean death.’
‘You do not have to do this,’ Andor insisted with worry, his guards drawing weapons at the sound of her words. Andor Grey was pushed back behind several men. ‘You’re making a mistake.’
‘I will do what I believe to be right, for my realm.’
‘Jorgen Black would tell you that killing me would be your greatest mistake,’ Andor said, a last desperate attempt as his guards tried to push him backwards towards the great stone doors, only to see they were blocked by cursed men with spears pointed towards the king and his men. Caeda’s eyes quickly narrowed.
‘Jorgen?’ She almost choked his name from her rosy coloured lips.
‘Your husband is alive,’ Andor said with certainty, pushing away from his guards. ‘He is a dear friend of mine and he would not wish for my death.’
Caeda’s words were barely a whisper, her eyes laced with fury, sadness and confusion, and yet so full of love and fear at even the mention of Jorgen’s name. ‘If it’s true, and he’s alive, why has he not come to me, when you stand before me?’
‘He fights his own war, against those you wish to see perish! He wished to come, but I urged him to fight my own battles in the south, to take back my capital. I spoke with him only a short time ago; it was the first moment he knew you were alive after all these years and I promise you, he was desperate to come, to find you after all this time. You have to listen to me!’
‘You know my weaknesses,’ she almost whispered, taking careful steps backwards towards her throne and up the sandy steps. Caeda sat back upon her throne, her eyes dancing with hatred. ‘You’re a fox. You will always be a fox, and I know foxes. Sneaky little men who lie and cheat, and tell you exactly what you wish to hear. Jorgen is dead. He died in the west, only a few months past,’ she chocked, like she did not want to admit it. ‘He was killed by a man in your House.’
‘You did not even know that Kodran had died until just now, and Kodran died months before this moment!’ Andor shouted desperately. ‘Jorgen did not die in Solvstone! He’s alive and he will come to you once the war has been won!’
‘Enough!’ Caeda screamed at the top of her lungs, spitting as she spoke. ‘You’re a liar, like your father was, like your brother is, like your uncle is! Grey’s cannot be trusted!’
‘Please, there is something more I must tell you before you condemn me to die!’ Andor shouted, desperate, his guards with their swords drawn and prepared to fight.
‘I have heard enough of your voice for a lifetime.’ Caeda Lienhart’s lips closed, and her eyes moved to William. They looked at each other quietly for a brief moment, and Caeda gave him a silent command. Her guards surrounded her with raised shields. Will moved down the steps from the throne quietly, threateningly.
‘Caeda, please, listen to me–’ Andor begged as William’s silk ripped from his hips as his body began to break and distort in a series of loud, haunting crunches. He grew and grew and his skin turned from a light tan to golden and scaly before their very eyes. A tail grew from his back and giant wings ripped from his skin. They could hear everything bone in William’s body breaking into a thousand pieces and healing back together again as his body distorted and became something entirely different. It was hurting him; he was shouting as his skin ripped and began to transform into scales, as his face broke and distorted into a long, toothy creature. His human screams twisted into a dragon’s roar. Andor had never seen anything like it – he had seen Ragnar turn many times before his death, into that of a great wolf bigger than any of the southern wolves, a creature on his hind legs, twice the height of a normal man with eyes as red as blood, but William was not from the south, not from Askavold, but from the Isles of Mór, where the blood of the cursed was fiercer, more dangerous.
Andor Grey realised he had led his men into a slaughter – he knew in that moment he should have listened to his council and never left his beloved city. For the first time since he had become king, Andor felt a trepid fear he could not control. He drew his long sword, Snow, and braced himself, preparing himself for death, but he was keen to not go down without a fight. His men pushed him further back and readied themselves for the slaughter. Man had defeated the cursed bloods before, Andor told himself.
William roared a dragon’s roar, and Andor’s blood ran cold. The dragon’s head lurched forward towards Andor and his men. The soldiers leapt backwards, avoiding the beast’s giant teeth and snapping jaw and the spears of the cursed bloods which lined the doorway, blocking their exit. Andor almost tripped as he jumped backwards on one leg. He heard the clunk of his metal leg hitting the stone coupled with screaming. Andor’s eyes moved back to the dragon; he watched as it grasped Andor’s soldiers in his powerful jaw and crunched them between his sharp, bloodstained teeth. Men were screaming in William’s mouth as the teeth pierced the steel armour and punctured their flesh. The creature spat the dead men from his mouth and their bodies smacked against the stone before Andor and his soldiers.
Caeda was watching from her throne behind the shielded protection of her men. Several of Andor’s men drew their bows and pointed them towards the young woman. ‘Not her!’ Andor shouted over the screams of the men who were grasped between William’s teeth. ‘Shoot the dragon!’ Arrows began to soar through the throne room and men ran towards the dragon with blades drawn, trying to cut at the scales.
The dragon whipped his giant, spiked tail towards Andor and his men. It knocked them off of their feet, breaking and splintering their legs as they fell, but not Andor. Andor feel to the floor in pain as the tail of the creature crashed against his metal stump. For the first time since he had lost his leg, Andor was grateful for the metal that was in place of the leg he missed so much. Snow slipped from his grasp across the sea of blood that stained the stone. He could hear his men screaming, the men who had not been knocked to the sandy floor stood at the back of the giant throne room, shooting arrows towards the giant scaly creature. The arrows flew off of William’s tough skin and landed upon the floor in quiet clatters as the guards with spears began to stab for the men with
the bows and arrows.
Andor clambered back to his feet with difficulty. He saw William crash his spiked tail into a soldier’s head. The power in his tail battered the man’s head into a thousand bloody splinters, exploding in a burst of blood, brain and shards of skull fragments.
‘Run!’ Andor screamed, commanding his men as he tried to bolt towards the door, to fight against the men with the spears instead of the dragon, to fight their way through the doors. Andor could see there was no chance his men were going to defeat a dragon, not in a confined space. His men were trying to fight William and shoot at Caeda despite his orders, but arrows rebounded off of Will’s skin as he stood between the men and his queen. ‘Get back to the ships!’ Andor shouted again, but his men continued to fight the dragon instead of the speared soldiers at the door. They could barely hear their king over the sounds of the dragon roaring in the throne room as William killed more and more of Andor’s men. Andor twisted his head towards the dragon and saw his jaw open, swirls of orange and yellow colours dancing in his mouth at the back of his throat. He could see the flames forming between the dragon’s giant, bloodstained teeth.
It was as though time stopped for a long moment when the king saw the fire begin to erupt from William’s toothy mouth. It burst into the room and clung to the bodies of his soldiers. Screaming pierced through the throne room, men running wildly as their bodies were engulfed in flames scolding their skin. Will’s head spun slowly and caught as many men as his fires could reach. Andor tried to move as the flames neared him. He could feel the heat of the fire nearing his skin.
Andor was blinded by the flames, and his body was engulfed.
The fire did not burn him. He felt it surround him, dancing on his skin; he felt the heat of the flames but his skin didn’t melt, scar or even redden. The flames engulfed him, seeing only orange and yellow before his icy eyes, but it didn’t leave a mark. He could feel his body trembling as the fire moved painlessly over his pale skin, dancing upon him, gliding over him. He could still hear his men burning alive in the dragon’s fire, flailing in agony, burning to a crisp, and yet they did nothing to the king, moving around him, surrounding him without pain or burning. The flames left him as quickly as they shrouded his body.
I’m alive, I’m still alive, he thought to himself as the fire pulled back from his body, leaving him standing amongst a pile of burnt, ashy bodies. He touched his body to make sure he was fine. There wasn’t a single mark upon him, even though he had been caught in the dragon’s fire. He felt as though he was dreaming; everything was a blur, a confusing, frightening blur. The world was distorted around him, and the king could barely keep his thoughts together. He wondered whether it was all a horrific nightmare. The smell of burning flesh told him that it was real, and that he was lucky to be alive, even though the odds were against him. I shouldn’t be alive, he told himself. Andor’s eyes frightfully locked with Caeda Lienhart’s blue eyes; she was more confused than Andor Grey was.
William’s body twisted back into a man’s body as his bones crunched and broke back into his man form. He gazed at his queen with confusion as he stood naked in the throne room. ‘I tried to kill him...’ He defended, his eyes darting back and forth from Caeda to Andor.
‘The fire did not burn you,’ she said to the king with her eyes wide. ‘You should be dead. You will be dead. You’ll join my army of the dead.’
‘Wait, please…’ Andor tried to speak, to tell her what he knew, what she would want to hear, his body shaken and bewildered, but his words came to a quiet as death swept into the throne room on sinister air. Black ink began to drip from the walls as Caeda came to a stand from her throne. Black smoke shattered the windows into a thousand shards. The piles of bones rose from their sandy, open graves as the smoke filled them. Bony fingers scratched and clawed at the sand as the bones of the dead fused together by black smoke oozing into their hollow frames. Their eyes came alive with the smoke. The dead rose to a stand, limbs twitching and violently jerking as they moved to the queen’s side, possessed. Caeda Lienhart was pleased with herself; she had the most powerful army behind her, the army of the dead.
‘This is your curse,’ Andor whispered to himself frightfully as the dead came alive before him, their skeletal frames fuelled with black smoke. He could barely trust what his eyes saw. Jorgen had warned him of what she could do, but Andor hadn’t quite believed him, until that moment.
‘My army will cleanse this realm of all who betrayed us. You will join the army of the dead, Your Grace.’
Andor Grey knew that pleading with the Fire Queen would not spare his life. He prepared himself to die, but he wouldn’t go down without a fight. Andor moved himself slowly, painfully, to his long sword that lay in a sea of crimson blood. He lifted the blooded handle from the irony liquid and readied himself, eyes upon the undead that surrounded him in a threating circle. He raised Snow and took his stance. He knew that Caeda would never let him leave alive. The remainder of Andor’s men readied themselves. They stood in front of their king.
‘Kill them, all of them.’ Caeda Lienhart ordered to the army of the dead. The bony creatures descended upon Andor’s soldiers who stood in front of their king, protectively. Within a matter of minutes, the dead had killed any of his men who had survived William’s dragon fire. Andor was alone, and the dead were around him. He took a deep breath, and prepared himself for death.
But death didn’t come. The undead stared at the king for a long moment, and walked away. They moved back to their queen’s side.
‘What are they doing? Why aren’t they killing him?’ Caeda shouted at William. Her eyes darted back to the undead. ‘Kill him!’ She screamed, but the dead didn’t move.
Andor stood there silently, bewildered, still grasping his long sword, his body shaking.
‘He’s cursed,’ William said surely, his eyes staring at Andor Grey with confusion and fear. ‘They won’t kill their own. Our fire does not burn the cursed. He’s not a Grey at all, and cursed blood flows through his veins.’
Caeda’s eyes fell upon Andor, her gaze narrowing, truly looking upon his face for the first time. The young king was beautiful, like her father had been, with the same sharp cheekbones and rounded face, the same cobalt blue eyes like ice floating on water that seemed to contain the same fire that burned inside them, and the same dangerous smile lased with an irresistible charm – and she hated it. She hated how Andor Grey looked like her father had done; the way Andor stood as though he was the tallest man in the room, although he was far from it, the way his dark hair fell rough and unruly underneath his bony crown, and the way that his porcelain skin was as white as snow, like her father’s skin had been, despite the desert they had dwelled in. As Caeda Lienhart gazed bewilderedly upon the young king that had come before her, swathed in blood, she just saw her father staring back, a picture of what he had been, before his head had been struck violently from his shoulders on that dark day ten years prior.
Andor’s smile was feral and untrustworthy. Her father’s smile had always been the same. Andor straightened himself rigidly, brushed off his burnt furs, and took a menacing step towards her with icy eyes. ‘If you had just let me finish,’ he spat the words with fury, gazing at his men who had died around him, gazing at the undead, and then back to the cursed queen. ‘Then perhaps you might have thought twice before trying to kill your own damn brother.’
JORGEN
Through the snow and the weighty wind, the dragon Anduin flew with all of his might, the dragon’s king struggling to keep his grasp firmly upon Anduin’s scales, feeling himself slipping as the force of the wind and the snow was hitting him harder and evermore painful, the speed of the dragon’s flight increasing. Jorgen lowered himself upon Anduin’s back, so low that his frozen cheeks were pressed again the beast’s scales, his eyes sealed shut, his ears ringing, his mind full of fret. He could only picture what was happening at Whitehold; the ring had warned him, and the ring had never failed him before. Jorgen quickly wondered whether t
he wolf attack on his camp had been nothing but a diversion as Hakon retook Whitehold from the western king, and Jorgen prayed that his frets were not true.
He had been on Anduin’s back for what felt like an eternity, his body so frozen to the bone he could barely move, with only the ring’s warmth coursing through him, warming his bones – and then the painful flight slowed, and Jorgen’s eyes reopened and his head rose from the dragon’s icy scales, peering over the beast’s shoulder, and his worst suspicions were quickly confirmed. Jorgen’s eyes fell upon Whitehold – the dragon had stopped his flight in the sky near the city, so close that Jorgen could see every steel-armoured man on the wall, and every dead western soldier inside. The Grey banners had been re-hung on the outsides of the wall, white and grey, the mark of the white fox. ‘No, no, no...’ he uttered, gazing down with black eyes, a lump in his throat and his heart pounding wildly inside of his pained chest. Jorgen quickly noticed a hundred wolves patrolling in the snow, under Hakon’s control, like Anduin was under his.
A soldier shouted from the wall. ‘Dragon!’
Another Grey soldier interjected. ‘It’s too close, my lord! We have to shoot it down!’
‘Shoot it, and the dragon kills us all!
‘Do not waste your arrows!’ A familiar, haunting voice carried on the wind, and Jorgen could feel the close presence of another ring, with a similar power to his own. His eyes glossed over every man, but he couldn’t find Hakon, even though he could hear his voice. ‘They will not penetrate the beast’s scales!’
‘Then what do we do, my lord?’
‘Send them outside the castle walls – it’s him,’ the skeletal man seethed.
The gates swung ajar with a loud creak, so loud it could be heard over the dying storm. A man – sat beautifully upon a dark stallion – rode from beyond the open gates, darkness shrouding all around him, a smile on his face so cold his lips appeared to be plagued with frost. Jorgen recognized this man, only a single eye upon his face and covered by a leather patch, last seen by the king’s eyes during battle, where he fought to save his father’s life. It was not Hakon Grey.
