Frostgrave_Second Chances

by Matthew Ward

  Mirika glanced at Azzanar, still crowing at the unresponsive Szarnos. ‘We’ll both go.’

  They kept low, careful not to disturb the scattered bones, and doubly careful to give a wide berth to the single remaining liche-corpse that lay in their path. Serene led the way. Mirika kept glancing back over her shoulder at what had once been her sister.

  Another soul-wrenching scream echoed around the burial chamber. Liquid gold dribbled onto the ground.

  ‘Three left, deadling,’ mocked Azzanar. ‘Don’t you care? Won’t you avenge them? Won’t you offer yourself in their stead?’

  The chant of resurrection guttered and died.

  ‘I’ll be damned.’ Serene squatted at Kain’s side. ‘She’s still breathing.’

  Mirika scutched into the lee of the now-empty plinth and peered down. Kain might have been alive, but she was a mess. Her face was a mess of swollen and torn flesh, the entire left side of her body locked in ice. ‘If I can get her free of this ice, can you carry her out of here?’

  Serene scowled. ‘I could, if I had any intention of leaving. I’ve a score to settle over there.’

  ‘We’ll argue about that part later.’

  Mirika laid her hands on Kain’s frozen pauldron, and reached into the timeflow. She didn’t ease herself in as she had before, but dived deep, hoping her momentum would bring results before fatigue snapped her back into reality.

  As before, tiredness set in at once. The Clock of Ages wanted her gone, but why? Had she truly overtaxed herself so badly in the temple above? Mirika shook her head. It didn’t help to think that way. She’d work to do. She tied her tempo to the ice, flinging it into acceleration. Already melting beneath the heat of her hands and the fading warmth of Kain’s flesh, it dwindled away as if beneath the summer sun.

  Mirika held the tempo steady for one… two… three relative breaths. Then the Clock pushed back, hurling her clear.

  ‘You alright?’ asked Serene, her attention split between Mirika and the confrontation beyond the dais.

  Mirika shook her head. ‘My connection with the timeflow. It’s not right, but I don’t understand why.’ She stared down at Kain. ‘I hope it’s enough.’

  The ice cocoon exploded, flinging a thousand razor-sharp shards across the chamber, leaving a frozen mist in its wake. Azzanar’s wings whipped around, shielding her face and body from the worst of it. Serene cried out as a shard tore a bloody furrow across her forehead. Mirika hunched deeper behind the tenuous cover of the plinth.

  Szarnos charged through the frozen mist, fists encased in ice and the familiar white light crackling around his fingers. He screamed as he came; not the wailing death cry of the phylacteries’ spirits, but the raw bellow of a being driven to madness out of loss and rage.

  Azzanar’s wings unfurled. Blood dripped from her face and from rents in her clothing. The tip of one horn ended in a ragged stump. Szarnos had hurt her, despite the desperate precautions.

  ‘Now that’s the spirit!’

  Again she belched fire at the liche. Szarnos came on, robes alight, hair ablaze. An ice-encased fist clubbed Azzanar to one knee, the blow landing with more force than Cavril Magnis’ spare frame should have ever possessed. As she could rose, his hands tore at her throat, the telltale spicules of frost creeping across her jawline and up her cheeks. Not to be outdone, Azzanar locked her hand around Szarnos’ throat, the talons cutting deep. Blood sizzled as it hit burning flesh.

  For a long moment, demon and liche stood locked together in their murderous embrace, neither moving, neither uttering a word. Then Szarnos sagged, his hands slipping free of Azzanar’s throat as his burning corpse crashed to the ground.

  ‘Winter doesn’t last,’ Azzanar sneered. She pressed a palm to her frost-clad cheek. Steam rose, the ice melting away at her touch. ‘No one should know that better than a ruler of Frostgrave. Sooner or later, the fire always wins and the ice recedes.’

  She opened her mouth wide, and fire flooded forth once more, reigniting the dying flames of Szarnos’ body. The tortured flesh blackened and shrank as the bones twisted, a single charred arm seeming to reach up out of the flames before collapsing into ashen dust.

  * * *

  The heat of the flames receded, the hearth diminishing. Yelen leaned against the mantelpiece, breathless and dizzy.

  ‘It’s done, poppet. I keep my promises. You should be pleased.’

  Yelen stared at the mirror. She didn’t feel pleased. This wasn’t a triumph. Too many had died, and died needlessly – many of them at Azzanar’s hands. Cavril was the worst. Had anything at all of him been left when Szarnos had perished? Even enough to realize that his sacrifice had paid off? It almost didn’t matter. It wasn’t as though she could apologize for her final words to him.

  She braced her hands on the mantelpiece, and stared deep into Azzanar’s eyes with all the conviction she could muster. ‘That’s not all you promised me.’

  Azzanar laughed. ‘I’ve no quarrel with your friends. I’m having a very good day. But if they pick a fight…’

  ‘No,’ snapped Yelen. ‘I won’t let you.’

  ‘You don’t have a choice. You’ve no power here anymore, poppet. That was the agreement.’

  ‘That’s not fair!’

  Yelen knew the words sounded childish, just as slamming her fist against the mirror’s glass was a petulant, powerless act. But an older, wiser thought gathered behind them. No, it wasn’t fair. But then nor was it necessarily true, either. In their time together, Azzanar had claimed so much, but all of it had begun because Yelen had begged the demon to grant her access to the timeflow. And if that had been a lie, then what else?

  She stared through the mirror. Mirika was too far away, and there was no suggestion she even realised what Yelen needed of her. That was the problem with having a voice in your head – it made conspiracy impossible. But there was still a chance.

  Yelen looked again at the mirror, and noticed something she hadn’t before. A slim crack, barely more than a hairline, ran from top to bottom. It wasn’t just that she hadn’t seen it before – she was damn sure it hadn’t been there before.

  She wasn’t powerless. And she certainly wasn’t alone.

  * * *

  Azzanar scattered Szarnos’ ashes with a booted foot, and strode towards the nearest plinth. She cracked open the reliquary, and scattered the molten contents across the floor. The now-familiar death scream shrieked across the chamber.

  ‘What a vile sound.’ Mirika glanced down to see Kain’s swollen eye flicker open. ‘I have the memory of attempting something noble, and failing at it,’ said Kain, her voice little more than a dying breath.

  ‘Foolish, more like,’ muttered Serene. ‘Yelen took your place, in more ways than one.’

  ‘Don’t you believe it,’ breathed Kain. ‘That girl’s smarter than you think.’

  Another phylactery melted in Azzanar’s grip. Mirika threw a disgusted look in the demon’s direction. ‘No. Not this time. My sister had a plan, but it was all about tricking us, not Azzanar. The demon’s won.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Kain. ‘Have a little faith. She’s…’ She petered out, the rest lost beneath the soft rasp of breathing.

  ‘You should go,’ Serene told Mirika, ‘before she remembers we’re still here.’

  Azzanar spun on her heel, the molten gold of the last phylactery spilling from her fingers. ‘Oh, I’ve not forgotten. I promised to spare you, that’s all.’

  Serene put a hand to her dagger, and climbed to her feet.

  Azzanar tapped the side of her head. ‘She’s shouting at me now, reminding me of the bargain. But if you raise a hand against me – if that dagger even comes close to touching my skin – then all bets are off, my poppets. For all of you.’

  Mirika’s blood ran cold. ‘Yelen’s still in there?’

  ‘Of course. It’s my turn now. That’s how it works. We’re going to have such fun. Maybe you’d like to join us?’

  Azzanar’s demonic countenance dissipated,
like a river’s reflection dispersed by a sudden pebble. The red-skinned monster vanished, and once again Yelen stood before Mirika, her clothing charred and torn, her eyes still blazing red. ‘I’ve never had a sister,’ said Azzanar. ‘I wonder what it’s like.’

  The idea was so abhorrent Mirika couldn’t begin to find the words to reply.

  Serene circled around to Mirika’s right. ‘I still owe you for Kas, demon.’

  ‘Please,’ sneered Azzanar. ‘As if you never killed anyone. You’ve washed the blood off your hands, but I can still smell it. Truth is, you loved cutting throats more than you ever loved him. Kas was holding you back.’ She tapped a finger against her breastbone. ‘I freed you.’

  Serene tensed, ready to spring.

  Mirika held out a warning hand. ‘Don’t do it, Serene. She’s trying to provoke you.’

  ‘Maybe I don’t care.’

  Mirika bit back an angry retort. She was going to die, didn’t she see that? ‘Yelen wouldn’t want this.’

  ‘Should’ve stuck around then, shouldn’t she?’

  Mirika glanced at Kain. No help there. The knight was still unconscious. Still dying, for all she knew. If only she’d been right. If only Yelen really had worked out how to beat Azzanar as well. But she hadn’t. Her sister had accepted her fate, and had spent the last of her soul to see Szarnos defeated. Not that she had any right to judge, Mirika decided. They were all in this mess because of her, and now – if she was lucky – she might just have the strength to dip into the timeflow long enough to stop Azzanar’s first pass burning Serene to a crisp. That, more than anything else, made matters worse. The connection to the Clock of Ages was still there, but it was muted. As if…

  Oh gods, it really was that simple, wasn’t it?

  ‘Yelen,’ muttered Mirika. ‘You crafty…’

  Serene sprang, dagger flashing.

  ***

  Yelen recognized Serene’s intent before she even left the ground. Recognized it, and was ready. The fires kindled, rising through her, begging for release.

  She denied them.

  The flames in the bedroom’s hearth leapt to new heights, setting light to her nightclothes and searing her skin. Pain wracked Yelen’s body, hot and cold all at once. She gripped the mantelpiece and screamed. But she held tight to the flames, kept them in her bones where they belonged.

  ‘What are you doing! Stop it! Stop it! At once!’

  Yelen raised her head as her hair caught light. Azzanar stared back, face twisted in fury.

  ‘Me?’ gasped Yelen. ‘I’m doing nothing. I’ve no power here, remember?’

  Then she laughed.

  ***

  Mirika reached into the timeflow and flung herself at Serene. Her tempo responded sluggishly, but it was enough, speeding her into collision with Serene’s shoulder just as the first flames spilled from Yelen’s – from Azzanar’s – lips. Both women went down in a tangle of arms and legs beside Kain. The fires flickered over their heads.

  Mirika lost her grip on the timeflow in the same moment she hit the flagstones. It was less disorienting now she knew the reason – not that it’d help her survive the flames already tracking towards her.

  Except they weren’t.

  Azzanar stood stock still, the last dribble of fire spiralling upwards from her lips with none to replace it. Her face was frozen in a look of fury. Her outflung hands trembled.

  ‘I can’t hold her for long,’ Azzanar cried.

  No. Not Azzanar, Mirika realised, scrambling to her feet. The voice was wrong.

  Serene gathered herself. ‘What’s happening?’

  Mirika’s heart swelled with a sudden flush of glee. ‘Yelen. She’s fighting her.’

  ‘Then I’ll finish it.’

  ‘No!’

  Serene shoved Mirika aside and started forward, only to stagger immediately to a halt.

  ‘Stay put, or I’ll break your damn leg,’ gasped Kain. Mirika glanced down. Kain had Serene’s right boot held tight in both hands. ‘She’s your sister. You finish it.’

  Azzanar’s arms shook. The first tongues of flame trickled across her teeth. ‘I’ll send your ashes to the frozen hells for this!’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Mirika. ‘Turns out Yelen’s smarter than both of us.’ She flung her arms around Azzanar, drawing her into an embrace. ‘Time to come home, little sister.’

  Azzanar ranted and raged, her speech a litany of curses. Mirika closed her hand around her sister’s, and let the pulse of the Clock of Ages sweep her up.

  Everything vanished in a swirl of reds and blues, the dimensions and confines of the natural world falling asunder as the time walk took effect. Mirika closed her eyes and clung tight to Yelen’s hand, afraid to hold on in case she’d guessed wrong, but more afraid to let go and risk losing her sister forever. She thought back to days before, when the time walk – their shared birthright – had saved her life. Now it would save Yelen’s soul.

  Or so she hoped.

  The world settled. Up and down regained their meaning. Cold stone formed under Mirika’s knees. Hesitantly, she opened her eyes. They stood on the burial chamber’s upper level, in the very spot they’d witnessed Kain’s fall – the last place they’d touched, giving their birthright purchase on inconstant time. The room itself was unchanged, strewn with bones, ashes and spatters of once-molten gold. Serene stood in the hollow, ankle still tight in Kain’s grasp, expression torn between anger and disbelief. But Mirika had eyes only for the face before her.

  ‘Yelen?’

  Eyelids fluttered open. Blue eyes gazed back. Blue. Not red.

  ‘It’s me.’ Yelen smiled. ‘You saved me.’

  ‘You saved me first.’

  Ignoring Serene’s confused look and Kain’s rather more enigmatic one, Mirika flung her arms around her sister and wept for joy.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The blizzard howled through the darkened streets of the Broken Strand, promising a night cold enough to see the trolls confined to their lairs. Cracked glass rattled in the fourth-storey window. Yelen shuddered, and drew her blankets tighter around her shoulders.

  Across the street, the Temple of Draconostra lay as silent as when she’d first laid eyes on it. And yet it was different somehow. Forlorn, almost. As if its hour of purpose had come and gone, all for nothing. Szarnos the Great had returned to legend. The Hidden Court were banished to rumour and hearsay. And that wasn’t all.

  Yelen bared her wrist, and peered at the clock face tattoo, half-expecting it to have changed. It hadn’t. The dial was no longer dark. There were only the numerals of the clock, dark against pale skin. For the first time in months, Yelen couldn’t even feel the demon coiling in her thoughts. No visions. No whispers. No laughter. Azzanar had retreated. But for how long?

  ‘Is she bothering you?’

  Mirika stood in the doorway, firelight at her back and a concerned frown on her face. She’d hardly slept since Serene had finally found a clear passage back to the surface. None of them had. No one had wanted to pass a night in Szarnos’ domain, whether he was languishing in the frozen hells or not. And so they’d staggered on through the rime-crusted chambers of slumbering dead, Yelen feeling like little more than a numbed corpse herself. Nothing in her life had felt sweeter than the first caress of the cold night air.

  Yelen hastily covered her wrist. ‘How’s Kain?’

  ‘Sleeping like the dead. I nudged her tempo enough to heal the worst of her injuries, but she won’t let me do more. Says she doesn’t want to wish her life away.’

  ‘And Serene?’

  ‘Keeping watch outside, and don’t change the subject,’ said Mirika. ‘Is she bothering you?’

  Yelen sighed, but decided she wasn’t getting off the hook. ‘No. I can’t even hear her.’

  Mirika drew closer and slipped an arm around her shoulders. ‘Then why don’t you sound happy? Perhaps you’re free of her.’

  ‘I’d feel happier if I understood why.’

  ‘You stood u
p to her. Broke her hold. From what you told me, the bargain was all lies and incense anyway. Her strength came from making you believe you were weak.’ Mirika shrugged. ‘Does it need to be more than that?’

  Was that it? Yelen wondered. Had her own belief in the consequence of thirteen o’clock been the only real power Azzanar had held over her? Hells, she’d all but pleaded for the demon to take over, at the end. She’d surrendered, given in. By her attitude, Yelen had made herself a slave. Without Azzanar’s confession… Without the time walk pulling Yelen back to her earlier state, clutching tight to the secret the demon had unwittingly shared… The darkness of the tattooed clock face had once foretold inevitable damnation. Maybe like a page unwritten, the newly pale dial promised a life now Yelen’s to shape.

  ‘Then why can’t I touch the timeflow?’ said Yelen. And she’d tried. Gods, how she’d tried. In small ways at first, when Mirika’s attention was elsewhere, then with increasing desperation. ‘If Azzanar was all that was holding me back, I should be able to if she’s gone.’

  ‘Maybe it’ll come in time.’ Mirika offered a lopsided smile. ‘If you’ll pardon the expression. In the meantime, try to cheer up. You’ve earned a little happiness.’

  Yelen scowled. ‘Easy for you to say.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Mirika. ‘I reckon sharing my soul with Szarnos gives me a little more perspective than I had before.’

  Yelen pulled away. ‘So we’re back to you-know-best, is that it?’

  ‘No! Gods, no. Honestly, I don’t know how you kept her captive all this time. Szarnos all but swallowed me. I wasn’t strong enough. You were.’

  Yelen shook her head. ‘It’s not the same thing.’

  ‘Maybe not, but I’m proud of you, little sister, and I want you to be happy. Kain said something about rebuilding the Gilded Rose. She’d like us to be part of it. But if you want to go back to Karamasz, then so be it.’

  ‘And what do you want?’

  Mirika shrugged. ‘I’m staying in Frostgrave – at least, if I can pay off my debt with Flintine. Kain told me about Cavril’s bargain, but I doubt Flintine will settle for twelve per cent of nothing.’