Fire and Frost (Seven Realms Book 1)

by Goodner, Allen

  Why, though, didn’t the monsignor merely start striking down the knights and Igni? Alaric felt certain, based on what he had seen, that the man – or whatever force had possessed him – could do exactly that. With the battle well in hand until the Frost Fiends or the monsignor attacked, Alaric decided he had some time to study the man he had been seeking for so long.

  Physically he looked like a clerk. His body was thin and his skin was pale. His hands had the look of an academic’s hands; mostly soft with calluses on the fingers. Those shifting patterns and the purple fire in his eyes, ranging from violet to a deep indigo, had to be related to whatever being now inhabited that scholar’s body.

  As he watched, he noted that the speed of the shifting patterns had increased. It looked as though his skin was a multi-hued river. Shades of green and brown would flash by so fast they could not be distinguished. Before the eye could even begin to pick out a pattern, the colors would change to shades of red and orange or blue and purple. Was it simply a sign of agitation, or was it more?

  Alaric decided on a desperate test. He found the wall of the prison again and heaved. This time, he forced himself to use all of the strength he could bring to bear. Once more that lightning danced around and enveloped him. Once more his muscles started firing at random and he found himself flung to the floor of his prison cell. The expectation of the reaction combined with sheer willpower allowed him to keep better control of himself. He watched as the monsignor’s eyes flared once more, and the patterns sped yet further.

  Through his clenching jaw he forced out an order, “Heavy horse, squadron one, fall back and prepare to charge! Squadron two, hold the line!”

  He kept his eyes on the monsignor. He trusted his men to follow his order, and he wanted to make sure the monsignor’s attention was fully on the battle. Alaric watched as the possessed man’s eyes narrowed. Good, let him be suspicious, he thought.

  Once the men had gathered some hundred yards behind the line, Alaric signaled them to hold. Then he focused on where the true strike would have to come. He sorted out the lines of battle and found Kahji and Martin together.

  “Kahji, open the center!” before Kahji could acknowledge or the enemy leaders could begin to react he ordered the charge, “Squadron one, to the center! Charge!”

  Only eight of the first squadron were still on their horses. Alaric had to hope it was enough. Almost as one they reared their horses and leaped into a gallop. They had discarded their lances early in the battle; they would rely on swords.

  As though they had practiced it a hundred times, the second part of the Igni line shifted to the left, bolstering the second squad of knights. As they slid to the side, the eight knights in the first squad charged through the gap, slamming into the confused line of Fueren. Men and beasts roared their defiance. Swords rose and fell, steel-shod hooves flicked out, claws ripped and teeth flashed.

  Within moments, more than a dozen of the beast-men lay dead or maimed on the ground. Combined with their other losses, perhaps half of them were now unable to fight. Alaric knew the time had come.

  “Kahji! The leaders, now!”

  Kahji and Martin leaped forward as one. The center of the Fueren force was now a hole several yards wide. The knights had rolled back to the left, trapping the Fueren there between themselves, the second squadron, and the Igni who had moved to bolster that end of the line. Those Fueren were dead and just didn’t know it yet.

  Before they had covered half the distance, Gyire met the great war-leader and the baron-to-be. His sword flashed at them, dancing between them. Though he wounded neither, he effectively stalled their advance. Now the Silverbacks started to move to assist. If they reached that fight, Kahji and Martin would have no chance.

  Before he could issue a warning, Martin solved the problem. Using his horse’s shoulder, he shoved into Gyire’s mount, and forced him to one side. Suddenly the two were locked in a battle as furious as any Alaric had witnessed. Their swords flashed in the late morning sun. Sparks flew as the blades collided one, two, three times. They worked their horses, their shields, and their swords as only experts could.

  That freed Kahji to face the three Silverbacks. Overmatched and vastly outnumbered, Kahji charged ahead anyway. With a roar he slammed into the largest Silverback, and the two went to the ground in a ball of fire and frost. Kahji unleashed wave after wave of flame, only for it to be thrown back by similar waves of super-cooled air. They matched each other snarl for snarl.

  It couldn’t last. The other two Silverbacks waded into the fray. Their claws swept in, and Alaric heard Kahji snarl in pain and rage. Kahji was forced to one knee; Alaric held his breath.

  Then Marin was there. Blood ran down one leg, but Alaric saw that Gyire had fallen and was not moving to get up. Martin charged into the three silverbacks. His sword and horse’s hooves flashed. He spun through them like a dancer. Within moments Kahji had regained his feet. The two of them began pressing the Silverbacks. They could gain no ground, but with the knights and Igni warriors now cutting through the Fueren like a hot knife through butter, Alaric hoped it would be enough.

  Most of the Fueren were down, now. Perhaps twenty were left; victory looked sure. The knights were forming up to ride to the aid of Kahji and Martin. Then the monsignor let his presence be felt. With a contemptuous gesture, Manitoc swept his hand forward. Purple-white lightning jumped from his fingers, blasting into the melee where Kahji and Martin fought for their lives. All five combatants were blown from their feet, lightning dancing along their bodies.

  Manitoc strolled forward. The knights, seeing the new threat, shifted their aim and charged at him. The monsignor gave them a flat look and gestured again. Once more, lightning danced forward. Man and horse screamed and fell.

  In desperation, Alaric drew the dagger from his boot and slammed it into the floor of his cell. He grit his teeth as lightning danced around and through him. He fought the muscle spasms, and kept the pressure on the dagger. Down and down he pushed, and he slowly felt the floor of the prison begin to bend.

  With renewed hope, Alaric lifted the dagger and again drove it home. By this time, Kahji, Martin, and the Silverbacks had regained their feet. The five fought more slowly, as though the lightning had sapped some of their strength. The monsignor scowled and began to gesture again. Martin saw it, and kicked Kahji’s feet out from under him. The massive Igni fell just before the lightning struck. Again the Silverbacks were bowled over. Kahji’s snarl died on his lips as he realized what Martin had done.

  Martin sprung sprang back to his feet. Manitoc howled in rage and lifted both hands. Time slowed. The translucent prison flickered and disappeared. Alaric and Jehan fell fifteen feet to the ground. Dazed, Alaric could only watch. Purple-white lightning built up around the monsignor’s hands; a corona of eldritch fire surrounded them. As he leveled them to unleash that constrained hell, Martin flew, almost gracefully, into him. The blast struck Martin full in the chest. The concussion was so great it sent everyone in the ruined city to the ground.

  Martin fell, dead before he hit the ground. Alaric stared uncomprehending for what seemed an eternity. Manitoc flopped on the ground. His eyes were vacant and tired. The Silverbacks had reached their feet, and were taking the time to begin a chant and gestures of their own.

  Alaric forced himself to move. He lifted his dagger from where it had fallen, flipped it in his hand, and drew himself up to one knee. With the accuracy only cold rage can provide, he snapped his hand forward and sent the blade spinning toward the monsignor. It slammed into his chest, where it stuck.

  Manitoc screamed. It was not a scream of death, or even of pain. Pure rage and frustration poured out of his throat. He regained his feet and again gestured, this time with no effect. He screamed again, drew the blade out of his chest and threw it to the ground.

  “I will crush you for this insolence! Your world will burn and all you love will be destroyed. Then I will kill you slowly over the course of a thousand years!” Blue and purple flame
danced around the monsignor’s form, consuming it, and then he was gone.

  Alaric ran to his fallen brother, “No, no! Martin, why?”

  “He begged your father to let him come. He said he had to make it right.” Kahji’s voice sounded as though it were miles distant. “But we must leave; the Silverbacks are summoning their Frost Fiends, and we are too badly wounded to stop them.”

  Alaric gently lifted his brother back onto his horse, finally recovered from the first blast of lightning, and then swung up as well. He noted that someone had similarly lifted the still comatose Jehan.

  With tears in his eyes, Alaric turned the horse and fled.

  CHAPTER 31

  Alaric rode recklessly for several miles. For the first time in many years, he did not even notice his horse’s exhaustion. He lashed himself for his weakness, for his inability to help. Logic and reason were lost to him; the devil take the facts, Martin’s death was his fault. He replayed the scene in his mind a thousand times in those next hours. He could almost see the accusing look on Martin’s face just before the blast stole the life from them. The proximity of his body and the smell of his charred flesh did nothing to help Alaric’s state of mind.

  Alaric only finally noticed his horse’s exhaustion, let alone that of his own men who he had forced to keep his break-neck pace, when the poor animal faltered and stumbled. Even in his self-loathing reverie, Alaric was able keep the saddle. Forced to think of something besides his brother for a moment, he called a halt.

  As soon as he slid down from the horse, he cursed himself some more. Looking at the horse and the men, he could tell they would not be up to any further travel today. Some of the horses would be lucky ever to be ridden again. Even the Igni showed signs of weariness from the pace and duration of the ride.

  “Make camp,” he ordered tersely. “And post a double guard; I don’t want to be caught unaware if Frost Fiends come up behind us.”

  With that done, he gently lowered his brother’s body to the ground. Taking some of the precious water the troops had brought with them, he wet a rag and began washing Martin’s face. The dirt of the march became mud as his tears fell on it, only to be wiped away by the cleansing cloth. Once that was done, Alaric grabbed a blanket and began wrapping it tightly around his brother. The ride to the castle would take too long; there was no hope of preserving him until then, but he could at least make him recognizable for burial. He felt he owed his brother that much.

  “It is hard enough to lose men.” Kahji’s voice was gentle. “Harder still when they are dear friends. It is yet harder to lose a sibling. Pray to your God that you never lose a child.” His voice was thick with remembered sorrow.

  Alaric’s own voice came thick and heavy. “It’s my fault. He wanted to come with me, but, no, the Law had to be satisfied. I couldn’t even give my own brother a chance at redemption; I had to obey the law. What kind of brother does that?”

  “One who is a representative of the law. But say you had allowed him to come, what then? The likelihood is that you both would have been captured. Had he not been at the castle when my warriors and I arrived, there would have been no one to lead us to the camp. Had there been no one to lead us, you would still be imprisoned, or worse.”

  Alaric refused to be mollified. Part of his mind knew it was stupid and even childish, but he lapsed into a pouting silence. He stared into the distance and tried his best to ignore the kind presence of the Igni war-leader.

  Kahji sat beside him for several long minutes. Despite himself, Alaric was glad of the company and comforted by his friend’s presence. After a time, Kahji stood, patted Alaric gently on the back, and then moved to check on his own men.

  Deprived of that comforting presence, Alaric’s head dropped and he began to weep again. His shoulders shook with his sobs and his eyes flooded with tears. Somewhere in the storm he realized a truth: he wasn’t weeping for Martin. At least, he was not weeping just for Martin. However much he wanted to believe that he had accepted his friends’ deaths, those wounds were still open and raw. Now, compounded by his brother’s death, and his very real feeling of guilt, the emotional wounds were simply too much to bear. Alaric collapsed under the psychological weight and lay there, not moving except for slight tremors as his body shook from the bitter tears.

  It was only mid-afternoon when he finally lay still, exhausted. He felt depleted and empty. Finally, against his own better judgment, he fell asleep. Even that was no escape. Without the waking world to distract him, his mind was able to replay the scene even more vividly. His self-recriminations had no competition; there was no friend to offer support or condolences. To describe the phantoms of his sleep as mere nightmares would prove inadequate.

  After an eternity, struggling against the bonds of sleep, he woke. The moon’s cold and pale light illuminated the ground around him, but he could not see the stars. After a moment, his brain caught up with what his eyes were seeing; someone had erected a canopy of some kind above him to shield him from the sun. His lips burned for moisture and his throat was parched; he rolled carefully out of the impromptu shelter and went seeking water.

  As best he could, he avoided the men. When he did see them, it seemed each one held contempt or accusation in his eyes. Alaric hunched his shoulders to better avoid their glares, a task made easier by the fact most of the men were asleep. Only those on guard duty or just off the pickets were awake. He found a water-skin as quickly as possible and drank quickly but sparingly. He then moved a little way away from the main camp to stare up at the stars.

  “My lord?” the hesitant, quiet voice made Alaric start, “My lord, the men all want you to know you have our deepest sympathies. We know that things have been… strained… between you and your brother, but most of us can only imagine what it would be like to lose a brother. If there is anything we can do, please let us know.”

  Alaric looked up, surprised at the tone and the words. In the young knight’s face he saw only concern and compassion. “How? How can you be so kind to me after that… that failure?”

  The knight paused, as if puzzled by the question. After a moment his eyes lit up with comprehension, “My lord, what happened there was no failure. None of the men believe it to be such. And even if we did; it was your orders that turned that battle. It was your orders that are letting most of us go home to our families, and gave us enough time to collect the dead so their own families could say farewell.

  “My lord, you do not, cannot, know how deeply touched all the men have been at your actions. We all know about your leading the men out of the Border. We all know about your leading the men against the Frost Fiends’ siege engines. We have all seen you work tirelessly with the wounded. Even if this was a failure, which, begging my lord’s pardon, I do not grant, it was but one failure. Your successes far outweigh a single failure, however painful.”

  “Thank you, sir knight. I cannot tell you how kind your words are. Now, if you do not mind, I think I need some time alone.” The halfhearted smile on his face was the first he’d had all day as he amended, “More time alone, I suppose.”

  “Yes, my lord,” the young knight accepted the dismissal with good grace.

  Once more, Alaric turned his face to the sky, but his sight was all directed inward. For long moments he rethought everything he had done that day. He thought of all the decisions he’d made, and the actions he’d taken. It did not lessen the pain. The wound on his soul was still open and raw. The guilt, though, that was lessened. For the first time since he led the men on that desperate flight reason began to be a balm.

  “Dominus regit me,” he half quoted and half prayed, “et nihil mihi deerit: in loco pascuæ, ibi me collocavit. Super aquam refectionis educavit me; animam meam convertit. Deduxit me super semitas justitiæ

  propter nomen suum. Nam etsi ambulavero in medio umbræ mortis, non timebo mala, quoniam tu mecum es. Virga tua, et baculus tuus, ipsa me consolata sunt. Parasti in conspectu meo mensam adversus eos qui tribulant me; impinguasti in oleo ca
put meum: et calix meus inebrians, quam præclarus est! Et misericordia tua subsequetur me omnibus diebus vitæ meæ; et ut inhabitem in domo Domini in longitudinem dierum.”

  Then, again, “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

  CHAPTER 32

  The sun bathed the world in its harsh, white light. After his reckless and irresponsible flight, Alaric decided that the men and horses needed at least one full day of rest. He hoped they had brought enough provisions, or that supplies were on the way. Tents and pavilions had been erected to protect both men and beasts from the harsh heat of the day. Only the Igni seemed unaffected by the oppressive weather.

  Alaric sat in a tent with Kahji and Sir Rodick, who had joined them early that morning. Alaric and Rodick explained to Kahji what had happened before the rescue force arrived. Kahji stiffened at the names “Rajack,” and “Fueren,” but otherwise simply listened. After they finished their tale, Alaric asked, “How did you get to us so quickly? For such a force to have arrived when you did, you would have had to have left no later than midday the same day we left.”

  “Actually,” Kahji began, “we met your brother and his knights after they had left. From what I can tell, your father woke shortly after you left. Your brother threw himself on your father’s mercy and begged to be allowed to follow you; he was insistent that you would need more than three men. So he and his knights were already travelling when my warriors and I met them later that evening. I actually brought one hundred and twenty warriors; the other twenty continued on to the castle to inform them that we had joined forces with your brother, and to provide some additional defense should the Frost Fiends return. When we saw your predicament, your brother did not hesitate even to think; he called for the charge, so we charged.”