Fire and Frost (Seven Realms Book 1)

by Goodner, Allen

  “What can you tell me about the fight? Who is Rajack, I know you recognize the name, and what thing has possessed the Monsignor? For that matter, what happened to it?”

  “I’m not sure how much I can tell you. Obviously you saw the fight yourself. Had it not been for your voice of reason, we might all now be dead. Those beasts, you called them Fueren, are something we have never encountered before. That term, however, is one I remember from my childhood. It meant an Igni who had completely lost control, much like when one of your dogs goes mad in summer. The only option we had with them was to kill them; it was best for them and for the rest of us. We haven’t had an Igni go fueren in centuries.

  “Rajack is a myth. We Igni use the name Rajack to scare our children. We wean them on stories of Rajack. If you are certain that is the name that was used, we are in deeper trouble than I thought. Rajack was supposedly the first of the Frost Fiends. He had been an Igni, but joined forces with the Enemy when we still fought alongside the Ancients. He took his whole clan with him. The stories say he was defeated, cast into some prison. If those stories are true, and if Rajack has somehow won free of his imprisonment, then a force even we Igni may not be able to oppose walks your Realm.

  “As for your monsignor, I do not know. The fact he asserted himself as Rajack’s master is not good. At best we can hope it is some minor spirit which served the Enemy in the Before Days. If it is the Enemy itself, then even the whole of the Five Realms united might not be able to defeat it.”

  They sat in heavy silence for long minutes. After the events of yesterday, Alaric was not sure he was ready for this new challenge. With this new information, he knew that the danger to his family and his people was too much for him to comprehend, let alone combat. His mind spun in a dozen directions at once. Self-pity and self-loathing battled responsibility and commitment for his soul. How could he lead men again after yesterday’s debacle? Yet he knew, intellectually, that he had done everything right.

  With effort, he brought himself back to the present. He could not afford to let himself fall into that vicious cycle of despair. He focused on what he knew.

  The Frost Fiends were obviously invading; that is, whatever else they wanted, they also wanted to take the land. That should be enough to get the duke to mobilize his vassals. The monsignor was a wild card. Did he already control the Frost Fiends? If so, that meant he, and not they, should be the primary target. Was he a later addition trying to take control of the situation for his own ends? In that case, the duke could afford to wait to track him down. That was assuming he hadn’t really been consumed in that ball of fire.

  “Very well,” he said after a moment, “It is clear that the Frost Fiends mean to take my father’s castle, probably as a first step to conquering the entire duchy and possibly the kingdom. Whatever else is playing into that we do not know, and anything we said would be speculation at best. We will rest for the remainder of the day. Sir Rodick, you and your mount are not in need of the same rest; please go ahead of us to my father. Tell him what we know and ask him to send a formal request for aid to the duke.

  “I want the camp broken and packed before sunup tomorrow. We will leave as soon as it is light enough to see. Thanks mostly to my own break down, we will be reduced to walking much of the way. Kahji, I want you and your warriors to go ahead to the castle. I do not believe this force is in any particular danger, and I suspect that the castle will need your support quickly. I do not think the Silverbacks will give us as much time as they have in the past.”

  With that, the three rose and began their tasks. Rodick gathered a few additional supplies and set out immediately. Alaric and Kahji began giving their orders and making their preparations. Alaric found himself almost detached from the scene, as though he were an onlooker to his own actions. Almost without thought he moved through the camp checking on his men and their condition. By the time the sun set, everything was ready for the morning. Most of the tents were struck that evening; it would be a short matter to finish packing the rest of their gear in the morning.

  True to his word, Alaric had the men packed and mounted before the sun rose. As soon as the light was adequate he began the march. Kahji and his warriors set out at the same time, but quickly outpaced the knights.

  Alaric kept his pace slow. The horses were still not fully recovered, but it looked like they had survived their ordeal well enough. With a slow pace for one day, Alaric believed they could go more quickly the next. The men walked as often as they rode, but when they finally settled in for the night, Alaric knew he had made the right decision.

  They travelled at an increasing pace for the next two days. By the end of the second, they were in sight of the castle; Alaric decided to ride into the evening to reach the security of its walls. There was also his cargo.

  He had treated Martin’s body with all the care they could manage in the field. The tightly wrapped blanket and some of the first aid supplies the men carried had at least allowed him to stay recognizable. Alaric insisted on riding beside the body the whole way; he felt that was the least he could do.

  When they reached the castle gates, they were not challenged; the gates were thrown open and several of those in the castle came pouring out. Among those was Baron Boores. He rushed to his sons, hugging the one and weeping over the other.

  Alaric and the knights were swept into the castle. The reception was a strange mix of jubilation and sorrow. It was apparent that Rodick had told the story, as best he could, of what had happened. Ladies were greeting their husbands, knights and soldiers their brothers-in-arms, and all were mourning for those who died. Even those who had lost a brother or a husband or a father were at least relieved to have them returned so they could say goodbye.

  After a brief time with the survivors, their families, and the families of the dead, Alaric slipped through the crowd, into the keep, and up to his room. There, he simply sat upon his bed, staring at nothing. With time to think and no vital duties to perform, his mind again began racing. What could he have done differently? He had felt so useless; there had to have been something more he could have done. He lashed himself mentally for his failure, his weakness.

  “Did I ever tell you about your uncle?” Boores’ voice was quiet and gentle. Alaric had not noticed him enter the room.

  Alaric stared at him uncomprehendingly, “Not beyond telling us he died when you were younger.”

  Boores paused a moment to collect his thoughts, then began, “Your uncle and I were not the best of friends when we were young. Oh, as children we were, but once I was awarded my spurs, things were different between us. He was only four years my junior, but he so wanted his spurs. He was better than me at most things. He could ride better, he was better with sword and lance. About the only thing I was better at was politics. At the time, that did not seem like such a great skill. I was jealous of him in everything. If he didn’t win Master of Tourney, he was never placed any lower than third. He was so good that Father, my father, that is, your grandfather, considered sending him to attempt to reestablish Far Gate. Ultimately he was not given the choice.

  “You see, that summer, the Igni had been raiding more than was normal. Not quite like the raids by the Frost Fiends, but more than usual and with more than normal force. Your grandfather decided that something needed to be done about that; he sent me to parley with the Igni in the hopes that open battle could be avoided.

  “While I was better at dealing with people than your uncle, I could not get past my own prejudices to deal with the Igni. I issued ultimatums and they all but laughed. I allowed myself to go too far, and attacked the Igni emissary. He quickly showed me why we use very strict battlefield discipline, and quickly had me subdued and tied. I was told I would be a prisoner until my father paid tribute, both a ransom for me and the things they desired from our villages.

  “My father, of course, could not agree- not even for his son. So I sat there, a prisoner in the Igni camp for several days. I tried to escape several times and was thwar
ted every time. Eventually they simply resorted to the expedient of tying me to a tree.

  “Then, nearly a week after I had allowed myself to be captured, a rescue force came. Your uncle was at the lead. They poured into the Igni camp like a flood. For a moment it was glorious. But my brother had forgotten something: battlefield discipline. Rather than riding in and using surprise to his advantage to achieve his goal, my rescue, he rushed the Igni as though he could eliminate the entire force. Many good knights paid for that mistake, your uncle among them. He didn’t die in the battle, but he was severely wounded. That wound became septic and killed him several days later.

  “The point of this is that I know what you’re going through. I blamed myself as surely as I know you are blaming yourself. At least I had good reason. From everything Sir Rodick told me the three of you did everything right. Yes you were captured, but that was not due to arrogance or a mistake on your part. Sometimes the other side wins. Kahji and the knights have all told me how vital your direction was in the battle. It is something I have seen over and over from you. You need to know that this is not your fault. What happened to Martin was tragic, but it was not your fault.”

  Somewhere during the story, Alaric had begun weeping again. These were not the body-shaking sobs of several nights previous, but rather the ragged tears of someone who still cannot deal with his grief. He felt his father pat him gently on the shoulder, and then he collapsed on his bed. Again he cried until unconsciousness carried him away.

  CHAPTER 33

  “How many can we expect, Prince Kahji?” the baron asked. Alaric, Kahji, Boores, and the recovering Sergeant Jehan were gathered around a table covered with maps and charts of the area. Most of these were duplicates of the same areas with different notes on them. The room was illuminated by a combination of candles and torches. The four were deciding how best to defend the castle when the Frost Fiends returned.

  Those in the castle had buried their dead the day before. The service was simple and hasty, but no less heartfelt for all that. The people of the Firemarch were not strangers to group funerals. Alaric had planned on speaking his brother’s eulogy but found he could not. He was rescued by his father. Even his presence at this council of war was at Boores’ insistence rather than his own desire.

  Everyone in the room knew he had lost something more than his brother. They all hoped he could find it, or navigate around it, before the Frost Fiends returned. None of them wished that more fervently than Alaric himself. The depression which had consumed him was unnatural, but he found himself unable to shake himself from it.

  “Perhaps fifteen thousand,” Kahji answered after a moment. “With three Silverbacks, they will each have their own troops. If the large one really is Rajack, then there could well be more.”

  “Fifteen…” the baron trailed off. “That many Frost Fiends could overwhelm the castle in a matter of hours.”

  “I don’t think it would take them that long. Your only hope is to prevent them from assaulting the castle.”

  “How can we do that? We would have to assault them in force to have any hope of getting to the Silverbacks, and then if we failed there would be no defense left at the castle at all.”

  “It would be a gamble, but I can see no other option. Perhaps your duke will arrive with his forces. That would increase your chances of success considerably.”

  “Yes, from a snowball’s chance in Infierno to that same snowball’s chances here in the Firemarch. Not exactly a comforting thought.” Boores’ caustic response proved that Alaric came by his own sarcasm naturally.

  “My lord,” the sergeant interjected, “I do not believe we would need to assault them in force. As you mentioned, such assault would stand little chance of success at any rate. However, a smaller force could hide in ambush. With luck, they could get close enough to dispatch at least one of the Silverbacks. If they hold true to form, and if Kahji is correct, that would reduce the force coming against us by about one third. We wouldn’t be able to survive long, but perhaps long enough.”

  “You may not have noticed, sergeant, but our last small force didn’t do so well.” Alaric’s voice sounded hollow.

  The sergeant leveled a flat gaze at him, “You pardon, my lord, but that last small force is the only reason we have any idea what the Frost Fiends will be bringing against us.”

  Alaric opened his mouth to retort, but his father cut him off. “Be that as it may, I am loath to send a group of men off to near-certain death without knowing that their sacrifice will be of value. That is an option, but it is one I would prefer not to pursue.”

  Kahji, Boores, and Jehan traded ideas for another hour or so. Alaric barely participated, and when he did it was almost always negative. Kahji and Boores did their best to ignore the sullen young man, but the sergeant grew ever more perturbed with every acerbic comment.

  Finally, he’d had enough. “My pardon my lords, but could we perhaps recess? We have been at this for a couple of hours now, and I believe we would all benefit from some time taken away from this particular problem.”

  Seeing the baron’s nod of agreement, Jehan then turned to Alaric. “If you would be so kind, my lord, I would speak with you privately for just a few moments.”

  Alaric nodded stiffly and followed the sergeant into the courtyard. The sun was beating down, and most of the castle’s inhabitants had found work to do indoors. Only a few guards stood on the walls. Everyone was fairly certain that even Frost Fiends would be slow to move in the numbers they were expected.

  The two friends stood silent for a moment. The sergeant seemed to be contemplating something; Alaric merely continued to sulk and scowl. With a sidelong glance at the young knight, Jehan sighed. Then he spun and punched Alaric in the stomach.

  Alaric nearly retched from surprise and pain. The blow knocked the air from his lungs and sapped the strength from his knees. He fell to the ground, catching himself in a squatting position with one hand. He looked at Jehan uncomprehendingly.

  Jehan punched again. In truth, his injuries prevented him from getting much force behind the blows, but they were enough. The sergeant’s fist swung in and smashed into the side of Alaric’s face. Alaric went the rest of the way to the ground.

  “Get up, you coward, get up and fight me,” Jehan spat.

  “What? I don’t understand?” the bewildered Alaric said as he began to regain his feet.

  That motion was arrested and reversed as Jehan punched him again. As Alaric fell, the sergeant followed up with a kick which sent Alaric rolling. He clutched his stomach as he slowly tried to stand.

  “Coward!” Jehan snarled as he stalked in. “You worthless, weak, coward!”

  “Sergeant? What are you doing?” Alaric’s voice was filled with despair.

  Jehan punched him again. Alaric’s body began responding. His brain might have been confused, but his body knew when someone was trying to kill it. When the sergeant’s leg began to follow through, Alaric latched on like a vise and twisted as he rose. Jehan stumbled off balance, and then let himself fall. On his way to the ground, he brought his other leg up and over to kick Alaric again.

  No longer caring about why the attack was occurring, Alaric snarled. Jehan began to rise only to be met with the younger man’s fist. The blow was like a hammer, and the sergeant was barely able to get his arm in the way of the other fist as it also descended to meet his face.

  Jehan forced himself to his feet and blocked two more blows before responding with a right cross that rocked Alaric’s jaw. The younger man snarled again, lowered his shoulders, and tackled the sergeant. They both went to the ground in a flurry of hands, feet, elbows, and knees.

  Finally, Jehan scrambled away. “That’s enough, lad, that’s enough.”

  Alaric climbed to his feet, huffing to catch his breath, and shot a look of anger at the older man. “Why? Why did you attack me?”

  “To see if you were still alive, boy. You’ve shown more life in these last four minutes than you have in the last fou
r days. You of all people should know that life on the Firemarch is hazardous. It’s even more so for those of us who live, as the Good Lord said, by the sword.”

  As the reality of what Jehan was saying sank in, Alaric began to retreat again. “Martin…”

  “Fuck Martin!” Jehan interrupted. “This isn’t about him! If you’d be honest with yourself for five minutes, you’d realize this is about you. You lost a brother. You felt helpless. Your pain. Your mourning. Your guilt. And, perhaps most importantly, your friends. You had barely spoken five words to Martin in the last couple of years. It was no secret the two of you didn’t get along. Most of us didn’t get along with the spoiled brat. You were closer with Ettienne than with Martin, and Ettienne was the friend you were ashamed of!

  “No, this is about you and the fact that you haven’t dealt with their deaths. You’re blaming yourself for Martin’s death and for your friends. Get this straight: none of their deaths were your fault. Not one of them. And all of them would be ashamed to see you like this. So get a grip, focus, and make them proud. You want to make up for mistakes you’ve made? Make these Frost Fiends regret the day they ever set eyes on the Firemarch.”

  CHAPTER 34

  Alaric strode into the council room, ignoring the looks his father and Kahji gave to his fresh bruises. He moved to the table with the maps and started looking at them fresh. When Jehan followed, similarly bruised, the others decided not to pursue the subject. Boores was just glad to see some life in his son.