Lord of Snow and Ice

by Heather Massey

  In response, Patrulha raised her enchanted sword with both hands, raised high to shoulder height. Then she began to run.

  Ploddingly at first, for as a corpse her limbs still creaked with stiffness. Exhausted though he was, Stellan redoubled his concentration. He drew magickal power from every fiber of his body. As a result, Patrulha’s speed increased as she headed straight for Sada.

  Faster and faster she ran. Her feet became a blur as she practically glided across the snow. Shimmering with an iridescent glow, her spirit transcended her earthly form, expanding to over five times her normal size. Anything or anyone in her path was knocked to the side.

  Almost there, thought Stellan. Sweat poured from his shaking limbs. I’ve got to keep it going!

  Patrulha reached Sada’s position. The dead warrior lifted her sword for a final attack.

  Sada’s last remaining knights rallied to protect her. Her stance indicated she was already initiating a counterspell. She raised a hand, one sparkling with blue fire.

  Patrulha struck her with the force of a hurricane. Her sword arm arced in a swift, deadly maneuver, leaving a colorful rainbow in its wake. Electricity crackled and rent the air with a deafening tearing sound. Smoke exploded from the spot, obscuring the actual contact. Stellan dared not break his concentration yet, but looked with narrowed eyes to discern if Sada had been hit.

  Nothing could be seen, save smoke and fire.

  A bright flash mushroomed into the air. After several moments, the smoke began to dissipate.

  All around Stellan, the corpses besieged what remained of the Pestilence army. Upon defeating the last mutant, they sank back into the earth.

  Stellan collapsed, the white world before him growing black. The cold, hard embrace of Death rushed toward him.

  Then there was only silence.

  Chapter 41

  As the fourth hour past midnight approached, Clarysa lugged her tenth bucket of water to the throne room. Sleep had eluded her the past two days, so while Stellan and Lionel lay unconscious in their respective rooms, she had dedicated herself to cleaning. Given the sacrifices so many others had made, it was the least she could do.

  At the arched entrance, her arms trembled with the effort of holding the bucket. She set it down and paused to rest. The great hall contained four long rows of gravely injured soldiers. They lay on thin pallets and mounds of sheet-covered hay. Scores of candles lit the area and fires burned in all the grates. The air felt warm but stuffy. Pungent scents of medicinal ointments mixed with the odors of blood and unwashed bodies.

  After the battle, Edward had sent for the top Aldebaran healers. While the women in red robes attended to the patients, Clarysa, Gretchen and a handful of uninjured soldiers cleaned the floors, clothes and bedding.

  Clarysa had been shocked at the amount of blood and bits of human flesh she’d encountered, but braced herself nonetheless. It wouldn’t do for Stellan to awake and discover his castle in shambles. So she had set to work.

  She picked up her bucket and resumed her trek across the chamber. One last corner remained. Some of the patients were awake, talking quietly. Clarysa nodded and smiled to those she passed, trying not to flinch upon witnessing truncated limbs, swollen faces, and bruised skin.

  She placed the bucket down and retrieved a worn brush from a cavernous skirt pocket. Gretchen had somehow found the time to adjust one of her skirts for Clarysa to wear during the cleaning phase. The baggy shirt she wore belonged to Ghyslain. But Stellan’s family shared freely, no matter how little they possessed. It was simply their way.

  Clarysa poured a splash of water onto the floor and began to scrub away dirt and stains of blood. Her sisters would probably faint at the sight of her laboring like a servant, but Clarysa welcomed the distraction. Keeping busy had helped her cope with the aftermath of the battle. And she wanted Stellan to know she considered no task beneath her. She would help him rebuild Vandeborg Castle until her hands fell off, if necessary. Tears rolled down her cheeks. He’d been unconscious for so long. Would she ever have a chance to tell him?

  Clarysa scrubbed harder–and then harder still. As soon as she finished, she would check on Lionel and Stellan.

  The hall was quiet save for her scrubbing. A half hour later, Hunter Red appeared, arms full of clean rags. No doubt Gretchen was responsible for his timely intervention. He helped Clarysa mop up the remaining grime.

  Cleaning the rags in boiling water and hanging them up to dry in the kitchen stole away another hour. Needing respite, Clarysa quenched her thirst with a mug of icy water. Gretchen insisted she eat a thick slice of hot, buttered toast slathered with apricot jam. Clarysa knew better than to refuse her.

  As soon as she swallowed the last bite, she rose. I’d best check on Lionel now. Her cousin’s room was closer, so it made sense to go there first. Clarysa wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and left the kitchen. The trek through the corridor was as cold as ever. She shivered and quickened her step. At least Lionel’s room would be warm.

  Several yards ahead, soft amber light spilled through the partially open door. Clarysa eyed it with appreciation and hurried forward.

  She slipped through the opening and closed it behind her. “Good morning, Lionel,” she said softly, though she didn’t expect a reply. Then she froze.

  Lionel was not in his bed. Clarysa whipped her gaze around the room. In fact, he was nowhere to be seen at all.

  Sheets covered the bed haphazardly, even trailing onto the floor. Sharp dread constricted her heart. The scene looked as though Lionel’s body had been dragged from the bed. Which could only mean–

  Her ragged sob pierced the air. Clarysa had trouble drawing her next breath. Her knees wobbled and she stumbled on her way to the bed. Kneeling before it, she fisted the sheets. They felt cold to the touch.

  “Oh no. Oh no, oh no.” It was horrible. Unimaginable. How could Lionel have died so suddenly? And why had no one told her? Or perhaps they were looking for her now. She should leave the room, find the person who had the unwelcome task of delivering the bitter news. But her grief paralyzed her. She couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. The Duke of Belleressort–dead. Was this the kind of macabre sacrifice true love demanded? Now she regretted having involved Lionel in her mad schemes. Oh, my darling cousin, can you ever forgive me?

  Clarysa felt too numb even to cry. A nightmarish thought came–what if death befell Stellan as well?

  An urge to be with him took over her body. Clarysa pushed herself to her feet. As she rose, she detected voices coming down the corridor. Two men were talking. Their footsteps slowed and she speculated they were heading toward the chamber in which she stood. Clarysa shut her eyes, as if blindness could stave off the next moment in time.

  The door flew open. “And at the risk of sounding vain–which I admit is already a lost cause–if you could please send for my tailor. Keeping up appearances is important if we are too– Clarysa! What are you doing up at this late hour?”

  At the sound of her name, she opened her eyes. Ghyslain stood in the doorway, a concerned expression on his face.

  A man stood next to him, dressed in a plain linen shirt and dark breeches.

  Lionel.

  Alive.

  “My dear cousin, are you all right? You’ve gone dastardly pale.” Lionel rushed forward.

  Clarysa clutched his hand as he eased her into a sitting position on the bed. Her breath came in short, rapid gasps.

  “Easy, now. It’s all right. I’m here.” Lionel glanced up. “My good man, would you kindly fetch her some water or tea?”

  Ghyslain nodded and sprinted away.

  Clarysa leaned hard against her cousin’s chest as he draped his free arm across her shoulders. “I thought you were dead!” she cried. “I couldn’t bear it!” She held his hand between hers, digging into his flesh for the reassurance it provided. Her flood of tears quickly soaked the front of his shirt.

  “Clarysa, I didn’t mean for you to enter and find me gone–I’m s
orry to have frightened you so.” His hold upon her shoulders tightened. “Stellan’s medicine worked wonders. I awoke refreshed and with little pain.”

  “I’m so relieved,” she whispered. “But where had you gone?”

  “Ghyslain came by soon after I awoke. I insisted he take me to Stellan.” Lionel’s voice caught. “I can’t believe the state he’s in. Are you sure the healers have done all they can?”

  Clarysa nodded. “They say we must wait, and be strong.”

  Ghyslain entered the room, bearing a tray filled with a pot of tea, mugs, bread, bowls of jam and dried meat. He set it down on a nearby table. “Tea for the Lady and Mum said you should have a bite or three to regain your strength, sir.”

  Lionel kissed her forehead. “Come join me. We’re no use to Stellan if we starve to death.”

  Clarysa nodded. She joined Lionel at the table. Ghyslain served them despite her protestations, hovering like a mother hen. She sipped sparingly at her tea, her stomach in knots.

  Lionel pestered her and Ghyslain with questions. He wanted to know every minute detail of the final battle. Clarysa let Ghyslain do most of the talking.

  Halfway through Ghyslain’s second recount of Patrulha’s heroics, Clarysa heard a murmuring in the corridor. And it wasn’t the sound of a wailing ghost. She sat up straighter. “Hush! Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?” Ghsylain asked.

  “That sound. Listen.”

  She strained her ears. The muffled sound came again. A voice.

  Clarysa shot Lionel a look.

  “Hurry,” Lionel told her. “He might be in pain. Go to him!”

  Her heart pounding, Clarysa raced from the room.

  Chapter 42

  Stellan awoke to the sound of a fire crackling. Turning, he saw a hearty fire burning in the hearth. Where was he? His bleary gaze registered only stone walls and shadows.

  He tried to stand, but discovered his muscles lacked the required strength. Collapsing back, he rubbed his eyes. The sound of muffled voices drifted through the walls, which meant they were close.

  “A-any…” The words caught in his dry, raw throat, but he forced them out regardless. “A-anyone…there?” He repeated his question two more times.

  The clopping of running feet down the passageway was his answer. Clarysa burst into the room. A relieved expression lit up her face as her gaze met his. “Oh, thank heavens!” She ran forward and threw herself against him.

  Stellan groaned in pain as she made contact, but he welcomed the feeling. It meant he was alive. Gazing into Clarysa’s shining eyes, he gently stroked her hair back from her face. Her cheeks were smudged with dirt and she was dressed in rags, but she was still the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. “What happened? Is everyone–”

  Clarysa put her hand to his mouth. “Shhh. It’s over. Sada…is no more. The Pestilence army is gone.” Tears flowed down her cheeks. “It’s over, it’s truly over.”

  Stellan leaned back against the pillow. He wanted to believe those words, but they were premature. News of this battle would inevitably reach his father. But by defeating Sada, he’d created a significant dent in his father’s plans. In time, he’d find a way to stop the threat for good.

  He would cross that bridge later. Right now, he just wanted to drink in the moment of being alive and reunited with his one true love. “How long have I lain here?”

  Clarysa wiped at her tears, and then held up five swollen fingers.

  “Five hours?” But then why did he feel so exhausted?

  Clarysa shook her head. “Not five hours, dearest, five days!”

  Stellan was speechless, unable to fully absorb this information. He didn’t try. Instead, he grasped her hand. “What’s wrong with your fingers? Are they injured?”

  Clarysa shook her head. “I’ve been helping with cleanup while the healers attended to the injured.”

  Stellan swallowed hard. Lionel! It all came back to him. Her cousin, his friend, now savagely injured. “How is Lionel?” Stellan asked, fearing the worst.

  “He pulled through. And now you have as well–oh, I’m so happy you’re both alive!” She leaned forward and soundly kissed his cheek.

  Stellan relished the feel of her warm lips, but a wave of guilt chased it away all too quickly. “Clarysa, I apologize deeply about Lionel’s ordeal, and everything you’ve suffered as a result.” He paused to gather his thoughts. “If the recent events have been too stressful and you want to return home to the safety of your father’s palace–well, I understand. You deserve so much better than a life of pain and grief.” He gritted his teeth, bracing for her response.

  Clarysa grasped his shoulders. Her fresh tears reflected the flickering of a nearby torch. “What are you saying? I am home!”

  They gazed at each other, ignoring the sounds of footfalls and whispers as Lionel and Ghyslain peeked in to check on them. After they had gone, Clarysa stepped back and wiped her eyes. “You should eat something to regain your strength. I’ll fetch you a meal from the kitchen.”

  “No.” Stellan braced an arm against the bed frame. “I should move around. I’ll come with you.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  Leaning on her shoulder, he accompanied her to the kitchen. Gretchen was curled up on a chair before the roaring hearth, tucked beneath a colorful blanket and snoring.

  Stellan sank his weary bones into a chair. Clarysa placed a bowl of steaming soup on the table before him. Hunger sparked fiercely in his gut, and he gulped the sustenance down as quickly. “Did you make this?” he asked.

  Clarysa nodded.

  He sighed. “I have reduced you to a common scullery maid.” He grasped her hand tightly across the table. “But I’d like some more, please.”

  Clarysa smiled brightly at him, and the aches in his bones lessened. She served him again, and then thrice, and in that way, so passed the remainder of the night.

  Chapter 43

  Eight days after Stellan awoke, he, Clarysa, Lionel and Edward led a procession of their folk through the Snowflake Kingdom, past Dungeon Forest, and across the western border of Aldebaran. They brought with them the bodies of the deceased Aldebaran soldiers for burial.

  Patrulha’s remains had been recovered and now lay in a coffin deep under the snow beneath the great shadow of Vandeborg. A small, private funeral had been all he and Gretchen wanted. After a period of repair and cleanup, the survivors had turned to other matters.

  Stellan had sent word ahead by messenger of their journey to Aldebaran, as well as to announce the coming nuptials. He and Clarysa wed in a morning ceremony under a canopy of cherry trees. Afterward, everyone celebrated the union as the bright sun shone overhead. The feasting and dancing lasted far into the afternoon.

  Before Lionel returned to Belleressort, he took Stellan and Clarysa aside in a huddle. “Listen closely, because what I have to say is extremely important.”

  Stellan nodded solemnly. Clarysa stared at her cousin, an unreadable expression on her face.

  Lionel’s grip upon Stellan’s shoulder tightened. “I want both of you to promise me something.”

  “Anything,” Stellan responded.

  Clarysa raised a delicate brow.

  Lionel moistened his lips. “I want you to have many children, and you must promise to name at least three of them after me.”

  Lionel’s earnest expression left Stellan dumbfounded. Was the request some kind of Aldebaran tradition? What have I gotten myself into?

  Clarysa grinned and punched her cousin on the arm. “As full of yourself as ever, I see!”

  Stellan chuckled. “Well played, my friend.”

  “Indeed. You should have seen the look on your face!”

  As Lionel doubled over with laughter, Clarysa patted Stellan’s back in a sympathetic fashion. “Welcome to the family.”

  * * * *

  Clarysa had insisted that her and Stellan’s first night together be spent at Vandeborg, so after a brief rest they prepared for the return journey
. Servants packed several wagons’ worth of goods and amenities, with more to be sent in the following days. As the couple made a final check, Stellan took note of the soldier guarding one of the wagons. He called Clarysa to his side.

  “What’s all this?” he asked, fingering the gold clasp of an ornate chest. Several more like it filled the wagon’s interior.

  “See for yourself.” She withdrew a set of keys and opened one. It brimmed and sparkled with gold, jewels and all kinds of precious metals.

  Stellan took a step back. “What is this? What’s it for?”

  Clarysa looked at him in amusement. “It’s my dowry.”

  “What?”

  She giggled. “Didn’t you know?”

  Stellan shook his head. “No. No, take it back. All of it.” He shot her an anxious look. “I didn’t marry you for your wealth. I’ll not have them think that.”

  Clarysa smiled. “Stellan, it’s all right! This is completely routine.”

  “But I can provide whatever you need. Make them take it back!”

  “Here, now, listen.” She bade him to sit on the wagon’s edge so his face was level with hers. “Husband, let me make one point very clear.” She kissed him, firmly and quite long, ignoring the attendants who tittered in the background.

  After a minute or so, she paused to speak. “Stellan,” she whispered, “you could be the wealthiest king in the Five Lands, and I’d still bring a dowry. It’s tradition. Besides, even if you don’t care about it for yourself, think about Gretchen. Think about Ghyslain and Froll and the others. They’ve sacrificed so much for you.” She stroked his cheek. “Never again will they have to worry about where their next meal is coming from. Never again.”

  Stellan nodded, unsure of what to say. But even if he had known, his throat had choked up with a knot of eternal gratitude.

  He and Clarysa departed. Their procession included Gretchen and her family and Stellan’s modest entourage. The King and Queen, along with sundry attendants and citizens, waved farewell from the castle gate, but Edward rode with them as far as the border. Stellan thought he might actually learn to like this new Edward, less quick to judge and more humble. Along the way, they discussed plans for future visits and hunts.