Lord of Snow and Ice

by Heather Massey

  “Run, Lionel!” urged one of his men.

  Lionel risked a quick look back. His companions stared at the monster with a mixture of fascination and disgust–here was a creature unknown to any of them. But Lionel only allowed his horse to retreat several feet. Such an abomination, he thought. An animal this horrid must be destroyed. With slow urgency, he drew his sword.

  “Steady,” he whispered. But the horse, an intelligent creature now convinced more than ever who had the better sense, inched timidly back.

  The hideous beast growled again. Its putrid breath washed over Lionel like a wet, suffocating blanket. The animal’s heavy jowls flopped back and forth while a blackened snout peeled back to reveal what was left of its large white fangs.

  With a snarl, it attacked.

  Lionel roared and hoisted his sword, but he was too late. Lumbering forward, the beast raised one of its filthy paws and swiped away, knocking him from his horse. The ground rushed toward him at a ridiculous velocity. He bounced upon landing and heard a sickening pop as his right arm bore the full force of the impact. Intense pain racked his body within moments.

  The earth shook beneath him. Raising his head, he watched in a daze as the beast singled him out and began to accelerate.

  “Bloody sword, where are you?” he mumbled. Consciousness threatened to slip away. Vaguely, he heard Edward shouting something and was aware the men were regrouping. Did they mean to save him? “You’ll never make it in time,” he said hoarsely. “Just get away!”

  The air about the beast began to sing. Arrows filled the sky, but it was all for naught, ineffectual. Shooting the creature seemed much like shooting into a pile of mud. The arrows merely glanced off, or hung loosely in the beast’s thick hide. The creature might as well have wandered into a cluster of windborne dandelion seed. Rocks and other sharp objects launched from slingshots were none the better. Nothing slowed its advance, nothing.

  Lionel groaned. The bloated monster seemed intent on plunging its decomposing gums into his neck for sure. He tried to crawl away, but his arm had lost all motivation to cooperate. He thought back to the red-haired wench. She’d believed him to be “quite striking–breathtakingly so.” Was this to be his epitaph?

  Then seemingly out of nowhere, another rider appeared, dark as shadow. Lionel watched groggily while a black horse leaped into the gap between him and the monstrous beast. The mystery rider drew and fired a number of arrows in quick succession, succeeding in piercing the hide in several places where Lionel’s men had not. The creature halted, bellowing out its pain and swatting clumsily at the points of contact.

  Astride his horse, the stranger glanced over his shoulder at Lionel. His head was ringed with the hazy aura of the afternoon sun, and the effect obscured his features. “Now would be a good time to run,” he urged.

  Even through the fog of pain, Lionel discerned the confident, resonant tone of the man’s voice. Who in the Five Lands are you? A bout of snarls and barks erupted on his right. Lionel stared in amazement as a large white wolf joined the fray, its face twisted into a menacing grimace. Fur stood on end as it slowly circled the mutant animal like some sort of perimeter guard.

  Calmly, as if it would be a sin to rush, the mystery man pulled an object from a well-worn sack and affixed it to an arrow tip. He raised his bow, then fired. The arrow landed in the center of the creature’s gaping maw.

  The animal stopped. It advanced toward the stranger a few feet and then stopped again. Confusion plagued its movements. The monstrosity began to sway. Its angry wail ripped through the air, one filled with the haunted, choking gasps of a being meeting its mortality. Lionel watched in fascination as the creature cascaded to the ground in one stinking, sordid heap.

  The beast that smelled like death was no more.

  Three sets of eager hands clutched at Lionel and dragged him back a good twenty feet from the spectacle. But the show was not over, and he watched in avid interest.

  Nudging his horse forward, the mystery man approached the corpse and dismounted. He withdrew more items from the sack and knelt. A long black cape shrouded his actions, but he obviously had further intentions with the carcass.

  Some of the men shifted closer, appearing curious. But they were ordered back not only with the rider’s fierce glare, but the bared fangs of the white wolf.

  Edward knelt by Lionel, brushing back sweaty locks of his thick, brown hair. “I don’t like the looks of him,” he muttered.

  Lionel shushed him with a hand.

  A crackling sound punctured the silence, and the smell of sulfur wafted through the immediate area. The corpse burst into flames, but not with the warm yellow light of a hunting lodge fire. Tinged with green, this one seemed to burn inwardly, as if burrowing into the creature’s flesh. The pyre assaulted the men’s nostrils with a suffocating smell as it burned.

  Lionel had to see more. “Help me sit!”

  Edward obliged. Lionel tossed back his cape and inspected his injured arm. It hung in his lap at rather an odd angle. He also felt weak. Whatever you do, be a man and don’t faint. Most definitely do not faint! The pain gnawed at him, the likes of which he had never experienced before in his twenty-two years. How long would he have to bear the horrid anguish? None of his companions were proper healers. And the ride home would take hours. Lionel sucked in his breath hard, as if stiffening his insides would offset the pulsing throbs. Do…not…faint! His eyes begin to involuntarily close. Darkness drank his soul.

  Then, something changed. He experienced a presence like no other. Lionel opened his eyes. When next he glanced up, it was into the face of the stranger.

  The man knelt and reached toward Lionel’s arm, but Edward intervened and pushed him back roughly. “No one touches the duke without permission!”

  The two men glared at one another. Edward slowly reached for his hunting knife, secured by his side. This movement did not go unnoticed by the stranger, whose eyes gleamed with preternatural menace. In the background, the wolf steeled itself with a low, treacherous growl.

  “No!” Lionel exclaimed. “We’ll have none of that!” He admonished his cousin with a look and declared, “I’m the one in excruciating pain here, so humor me.” Reluctantly, Edward backed off. Lionel gave a quick nod, inviting the stranger in for a closer examination.

  The man laid gentle fingers upon his twisted limb and then sprinted to his horse for more items from another sack. He returned and began to administer aid at once.

  Lionel studied him openly as he worked, but he seemed oblivious to the attention. The pale stranger was handsome, in a raggedy sort of way. He was tall and muscular, but somewhat thin. Glossy, raven black hair shorn into uneven locks framed an angular face with high cheekbones and lips set in a determined line. Exquisitely etched brows lined emerald green eyes. Their lashes were thick and dark, but not overly pronounced.

  Lionel made particular note of his clothes. Every last stitch screamed black, but the careworn material looked faded. By the number of visible loose threads, this was either the man’s preferred outfit, or his only one. One detail in particular caught his attention over everything else–an embroidered, multicolored patch covering one elbow. Good heavens! Does he seriously think that’s acceptable fashion? But the outfit’s classic tailoring hinted of something noble, something…regal?

  As the stranger set his shoulder back in place, Lionel was literally snapped out of his reverie. “Ouch! You might have warned me,” he told him, attempting a graceful smile through gritted teeth. Lionel swore he saw the hint of a smile in return, but it disappeared as quickly as the thought itself had come. Perhaps he was mistaken. The stranger did not seem one to often part with a grin.

  Lionel was quite the opposite though, for soon he felt better–much, much better. The man had rubbed some kind of ointment into his skin. It soothed the pain completely away. What healing skill is this? I must know more about this man. After his arm rested in a makeshift sling, Lionel spoke. “Well, friend, may I know the name of my hero and
savior?”

  The stranger glanced uncertainly to one side, and then resumed packing his belongings. Wordlessly he stood, and his cape flicked smartly behind him as he walked to his horse.

  “Oh, but I must know!” Lionel rushed to his feet, ignoring Edward’s glare of disapproval. Arriving breathlessly at the stranger’s side, he reached out his good arm and thrust his hand into the stranger’s for the firmest handshake he could manage. “A good…no, a great deed such as yours will be acknowledged as loudly as I can shout and as far as I can ride.” He flashed his most charming grin, and continued to shake the stranger’s hand. To his delight, the man clasped his in return. “You must join us for the evening repast. It’s the least I can offer in return for your services, Sir…ah…?” Lionel cocked a brow and continued to pump his hand, waiting for a response.

  “Stellan,” said the stranger.

  Lionel interpreted his averted gaze for shyness. I would feel shy too, if I had a patch on my elbow. “Well, Stellan, what brings you to the hunting fields of Aldebaran?” He leaned in conspiratorially, sweeping his lips into a half grin. “Something tells me you’re not from around here.”

  “How very astute,” Stellan responded in a low voice. He busied himself with securing his pack.

  Lionel laughed. “And my reputation precedes me! Come, my kin and friends will feed and warm you.” He stared reproachfully as Stellan began to mount his horse. “You’ll pain me greatly if you leave now. You could have simply minded your own business, but instead saved my pitiful neck from that godforsaken hellion. One does not forget such a deed. I will be tortured until the end of my days if you don’t allow me to grant you even a single drop of gratitude.”

  Stellan regarded him with lips parted in surprise. He searched Lionel’s face for a long moment, ignoring the other men who had gathered around. His guarded mien dissolved ever so slightly, like an icicle being kissed with day’s first sunlight. “All right,” he said, releasing his grip on the reins.

  “Splendid!” Lionel swiveled his head to and fro. “Well, what are you all standing around for? Stellan’s hungry, I’m hungry, an adventure comes to a close–now to feast!”

  * * * *

  During the evening meal, as dusk surrendered to night, Lionel fixed his gaze on his new companion by the light of a blazing fire. He had never seen an appetite so voracious or seemingly bottomless. Stellan consumed the food with candid gusto. Long, slender fingers swept each morsel up in a graceful arc to his mouth. Nary a crumb made its way to either his lap or the ground. It’s as if he hasn’t eaten in days. Lionel dumped another half platter of roasted meat and root vegetables onto Stellan’s plate and poured wine to overflowing in his goblet.

  They sat slightly apart from the others. Lionel was fully aware Edward occasionally shot a suspicious glance in their direction from the other fire. Lionel acted as if he hadn’t noticed. Cousin, will you ever stop being so desperate for control? I’m not one of your sisters.

  He sipped from his own drink while waiting for Stellan’s gorging to abate. Twenty minutes or so passed before he saw an opening to speak. “So, my friend,” Lionel began, “where do you hail from?”

  A sliver of meat flapped from Stellan’s fingers as he gestured west. “Beyond the plain.”

  Lionel maintained a polite expression. A gentle coaxing was in order. This man represented a world of mystery, and he was determined to uncover every last clue. “I see. But where beyond the plain?”

  Stellan eyed him over his goblet’s rim, and then swallowed heartily. “This is good wine.”

  Lionel chuckled. “Agreed. But again I put the question to you–where beyond the plain? Regardless of what you may have heard, I don’t bite.” A curious eyebrow arched upward.

  Stellan’s answer was in the form of a noncommittal expression. He was obviously weighing his options. Finally, he answered. “You know of Dungeon Forest?”

  “Of course.” Lionel had heard the legendary tales of the dark place since childhood.

  “It separates my home from Aldebaran. I hail from Vandeborg Castle.”

  “Ahh,” Lionel said, leaning forward. Intrigue made his heart beat faster. “Can it be… You are the Dark Prince? We’ve heard so much about you for years, but quite frankly I didn’t know if you truly existed. Amazing! Strange tales are whispered about you, my friend, not to mention your wintry kingdom.”

  Stellan paused midchew, then shrugged.

  “Nevertheless, it’s an honor to meet you.”

  Stellan nodded and then resumed eating.

  “So tell me about that, er, the mons–”

  “A moment, Lionel, if you please!” The voice cutting him short belonged to Edward, who gripped him tightly by the uninjured arm and pulled him up.

  “Uh, yes, hmm…pardon me,” he muttered, confused at the sudden interruption. Edward dragged him out of their guest’s earshot.

  “I wouldn’t advise you to get too friendly with that…with him,” Edward stated, his features locked in a troll-like scowl.

  Lionel arched a well-manicured brow. Whenever Edward bandied about phrases such as “wouldn’t advise” it was actually code for “This is an order.” Lionel, however, was no servant. “Really? On what grounds?”

  Edward’s gaze darted to their guest, who was still feasting away. His furrowed countenance left no doubt as to how he felt about their visitor. “How do we know the rascal did not guide that monstrosity here?”

  Lionel snorted. “Ha! That’s ludicrous and you know it.” He swept back a lock of hair from his face. “I had just begun an interrogation when you so hastily interrupted. Did you know he lives in Vandeborg Castle? Stellan is the very Dark Prince himself. Remember when Old Man Griffin used to tell us stories about him? ‘A magician with powers most macabre!’ And to think, you used to doubt his existence as a child.” Lionel grinned. “I seem to recall how you once wagered a full week’s chores against ever laying eyes upon him. Well there he is!” He stroked his chin. “I fear my larder has grown frightfully dusty of late. Do you think you can start on it tomorrow?”

  Edward gave Lionel a rough shake. “This isn’t a game. Think, man! Why is he here? His behavior is suspicious. Don’t forget–he’s trespassing on the King’s lands. My father will not be pleased.”

  Lionel flashed his eyes. “Is that how you plan on reporting this to the King? That he’s hunting on–oh, dare I say it?–on hunting grounds?”

  “Rubbish! The beast was cursed. This ruffian is not hunting for pleasure. I say we arrest him now and transport–ack…what?”

  Lionel had gripped Edward’s collar with his good fist. He drew him closer until they were nose to nose. “You will do nothing of the sort. This ‘ruffian’ saved my life, and probably the whole lot of us.” He gave his cousin a flabbergasted look. “And you want to arrest him for it?” Lionel shook his head. “That’s bad politics…very bad politics.” He sneered as his competitive streak reared to life again. “Let’s see how many of the men support you on this.”

  Edward pried open Lionel’s grip and took a step back. “Fine,” he retorted. “Play with your little friend if you must. But I’ll be watching his every move, and if he trespasses again, he’s mine!” With a final warning look, Edward stalked back to his seat.

  “Not if I invite him first,” Lionel called after him.

  Edward shot back his most withering glance, but Lionel merely laughed. Straightening his tunic, he resumed his seat next to Stellan.

  “He doesn’t have to like me, you know.”

  Lionel wasn’t surprised Stellan had so accurately discerned the topic of their conversation. He waved a dismissive hand. “Edward may be the King’s son and heir, but he can also be incredibly boorish and shortsighted. Don’t worry about him.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “That makes two of us.” A yawn seized Lionel as the day’s events suddenly took their toll upon his tired body. He clapped Stellan’s shoulder and regarded him kindly. “I fear exhaustion claims me. Here we must part. O
nce again, I am incredibly grateful for your help today. I am in your debt, and I always repay what I owe.”

  Stellan put down his empty goblet. “It was nothing.”

  “So says you. Listen, we hunt here the last two days of every month. I invite you to join us whenever you wish as my guest.” Lionel then leaned in with a smile and added, “And as my friend.”

  Stellan nodded in thanks. “You should get some rest.” As he stood, his horse emerged from the surrounding darkness. The steed’s flowing dark mane whipped about burning blue eyes. Lionel stood in awe of its gargantuan size as Stellan deftly mounted it.

  The Dark Prince turned to Lionel with a thoughtful look. “One other thing, mind what you hunt. A scourge is upon the game you seek, and it’s quickly spreading.” After delivering his warning, Stellan whispered something into his horse’s ear. Then rider and horse took off–faster than candlelight snuffed out in a cold winter’s wind.

  Lionel, perplexed, now stood alone with his thoughts. “Scourge?” Now what exactly did he mean by that?

  Chapter 3

  “Thanks for inviting me.” Sarcasm dripped in torrents from the woman’s statement and seemed to slide down Lionel’s bedroom walls only to congeal onto the floor below.

  Lionel started; he hadn’t realized anyone was in his room. He pulled aside the nearest blue velvet curtain. Late afternoon sunlight rippled across the interior, revealing a petite figure propped against the matching brocade pillows on his bed. She wore a shimmering gold gown, but her mood didn’t match the luxurious fabric. Her arms were crossed and she stared petulantly up at the ceiling.

  “Fancy meeting you here, Clarysa.”

  “You know why I’m here,” she growled.

  Lionel smirked. “Well, fair Princess, like I explained before, you can’t come along on every expedition. It’s for men only. We do a lot of, you know, manly things and such.” He tossed his cape onto the bed and opened his mahogany wardrobe.