Winter's Crown

by Alexandra Little

  I leaned against the railing. He was a pinprick at this distance, and yet if I reached out to him I was almost certain that we could touch. I expected an attack; I waited for him to summon his twisted army, and I reached for the strength to summon my own guardian. Would she be enough? Could I summon more? Could I bring back my mother to help me?

  For a moment I felt the weight of the crown on my head, and the cries of the souls of those who Adhannor could command, and the souls of those dead who I could command if I could find the strength, and my lady guardian standing next to me, leaning forward, as if a dog on a leash waiting for its master’s command to attack.

  You cannot take the crown from me, Adhannor’s rasping voice echoed in my head.

  “It was not yours to have,” I replied, and knew it to be true. “Do not meddle in powers that were never yours.”

  A great cry went out across the landscape, a booming mixture of a screech and a man’s screaming agony. It echoes into the mountains, and I thought I felt the stones beneath me shake.

  High in the mountains to my right, I saw Adhannor’s colossus. In one smooth motion it raised its arms up and then brought them hard to the ground.

  A great swath of snow fractured off from the rest of the pack. It slid down the mountain, the swath breaking and cracking apart until it was a tumbling, cloudy fall of snow and ice. It roared as it came down. It caught the first rays of the sun, and in that blinding moment it seemed to swerve towards the outpost. I braced for a crash, for the ice to hit the base of the tower and either knock it down, or for the ice to careen up it like a wave against a cliff, and strike at me.

  “No,” I said. “If you want me dead, you’ll have to come do it yourself.”

  I held out a hand, and took a deep breath. I filled with the power of the dead city. I called upon my guardian, and though she did not appear I felt her inside of me all the same. I reached through the ancient stones of the outpost, and found an old magic that I had not felt until now. And in the avalanche, I felt the oily taint of the apparition.

  “You will not come near me and mine,” the words roared inside of me again, as if I was back in the ruins and facing the apparition for the first time.

  “You will not harm me and mine,” the words filled me with power, and I pushed that power towards the avalanche. The power and the avalanche collided. The tendrils of darkness I had summoned at the Fort came to me now, sprouting from the ground in front of the avalanche, punching through the avalanche and breaking up its power. My body seemed to vibrate as I fought against the momentum of the snow. I wasn’t going to be able to stop it.

  But maybe I could turn it.

  Push it aside, my creatures. The slickness of Adhannor’s dark power churned my stomach, but I refused to let go. Slowly, the avalanche started to slide sideways, my creatures’ dark tendrils sliding and twisting with the snow. I forced it over a hill on the mountainside; as the snow passed over the fold, it began to turn away from the outpost of its own accord.

  Adhannor pushed back. It was too late to send the whole of the avalanche against the outpost, but there was just enough left for Adhannor to push towards us.

  My head spun, and I lost my focus on my guardian, and my power. My creatures faded away. The remaining half of the avalanche gathered speed before slamming into the base of the outpost.

  The tower rumbled. I lost my balance, and staggered back. I fell against a man, who wrapped his arms around me. It was my father; Dalandaras was behind him, and Firien was coming up the stairs.

  The avalanche boomed and rumbled. The rumbling slowed and quieted, until the stones of the tower stopped shaking, and everything calmed.

  “Are you satisfied now, Firien?” Dalandaras demanded.

  I found my footing again, and pulled away from my father. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  I shrugged, but my hands were shaking.

  “Satisfied for the moment,” Firien replied as he approached the railing and peered over at the now-still avalanche. “I have alerted the others, but where is Adhannor?”

  “In the city,” I replied. There was a tremor in my voice, too.

  Firien produced his own spyglass. “So that is Adhannor,” he murmured.

  “In the flesh?” my father asked.

  “No fully flesh,” I said. “Not yet. But soon.”

  “We killed the men who were feeding him,” my father said.

  “We killed the ones we found,” I corrected. “Maybe there are more. Maybe we’re too late.”

  There were more footsteps on the stairs, and Lorandal appeared. “I have given orders to abandon the outpost, Dalandaras. We cannot trust that Adhannor or his servant will follow us and leave Lady Alid and the others alone.”

  Dalandaras nodded. “And did she agree with the order?”

  “Hardly.”

  Dalandaras sighed.

  The sun came over the mountains, and cast the dead city in its golden glow. But the shadows in the city were still long, and while my strength had flagged after the avalanche, I could still see Adhannor, unmoved from his spot.

  “What is he waiting for?” I asked.

  “Perhaps he saw our arrival,” Firien replied.

  “Or perhaps it is I,” Singael’s voice came from behind us.

  He had changed overnight. His wiry, brittle hair had been oiled and combed and braided, and now was in the same style of Dalandaras’. The age had not left his face, but he stood straighter, taller, and held his head high. I could see the prince in him. He had changed out of his old robes, and was equipped for travel in the cold, with sturdy, slick boots, layers of clothing, warm gloves tucked into his belt, and a white fur-lined cloak. I still doubted his physical strength—even Dalandaras was starting to look tired—but in this moment I could feel the hum of power within him. It was faint, but ran deep. Maybe he truly knew what he was talking about.

  “Help me, Evalandriel,” he said, holding out his hand.

  I took it, and could feel that combination of frail flesh and the undercurrent of the powerful magic running through him.

  “Where is Adhannor?” he asked.

  I led him to the railing, my eyes nearly blinded by the rising sun.

  “Adhannor, my old friend,” he said to himself. “If only you had found peace.”

  “Do you think to reason with him?” I asked.

  “No. I was mourning him. Thousands of years have passed, and yet the urge has never gone away.”

  “Can we defend against him here?”

  Singael shook his head. “No. We must get to Tal Anor.”

  “I do not think we will make it,” Dalandaras said. “Not with him this close.”

  “Not once we leave the protection of the outpost,” Singael replied. “No, I must use you, Evalandriel.”

  “Why not?” I asked. “Your grandson already is. What are we going to do?”

  “We are going to put a little time between ourselves and Adhannor.” He stood behind me and grasped my hands, an intimate position that made me shift in discomfort. “Find that stillness, Evalandriel. Find that place between the world of flesh and the world of spirit.”

  I did, but it was different this time. A thread of cold wound its way through my body, the same kind of cold of the deep sea that could curl its way around your heart long after you had left the water. The kind of cold that came with fear of what swam beneath you that you couldn’t’ see with your own eyes, but could only identify by the deep scars on a whale’s skin, proof that even those huge monarchs of the sea had enemies the size of themselves. Was this Singael’s doing, or mine? Was the magic of the inheritor reaching into my mind to find a fear that I understood, or had Singael guessed from the salt air and the seagulls? Or was it both?

  And then, like sea-worn cliffs emerging from a fog, I could see the old magic that infused the outpost. It was the magic of Singael and Firien, and a little of Dalandaras. It ran deep into the foundations of the outpost, and into the rocks beneath that, and into the deep caverns far ben
eath our feet until I found the warmth of the world. I knew that the magic must be old indeed, and Singael much more powerful than he appeared. If Singael was so powerful to reach so deep, what could Adhannor truly do if he had his strength back?

  “Breathe, Evalandriel,” Singael’s voice whispered in my ear.

  I did, and I found myself in front of Adhannor. His gaunt face was twisted in hatred and fury.

  I panicked and scrambled back, tripping over my own feet and landing in thick snow. We were in the dead city, and yet not – we were in an in-between place, bounded by mist and shadows. Far behind Adhannor, half-hidden by the darkness, was the cloaked figure I had chased after.

  “Evalandriel,” Adhannor rasped, and reached out to grab me. But something blocked him from doing so. “You have grown in power.”

  I stood as Singael’s words fill me. “I forbid you from entering this place. Set no foot here. Work no magic here. This place is not yours.”

  “Singael!” Adhannor said.

  “I am not yours,” I said, without Singael’s assistance. I was being controlled by far too much –– some long-ago ancestor who passed me these powers, by Adhannor’s need to kill me, and now directly by Singael. I was going to get my own words in one way or anotr

  “Do you think that you are free of me because you wear a crown?” he demanded.

  I felt the heavy weight of the five-pronged crown on my head. “I am free of you because I am myself,” I replied. “You are not in control of me, and Singael is not in control of me.”

  “You can barely understand yourself,” Adhannor countered. “How can you control yourself as well?”

  “Watch me,” I said.

  I knew what Singael intended me to do, as sure as if I had thought of it myself. But I didn’t need him in order to do it.

  I could feel the deep-reaching veins of the dead city, and of the outpost. It was of the old magic, of the kind that Adhannor and Singael had dared to mess with. They were almost like ley lines, reaching deep under the earth and out into the distances, connecting the outpost and dead city with the warmth that seemed to come up from deep underneath my feet.

  I moved swiftly away from Adhannor, and found myself back at the outpost. Yet still in that foggy place. Singael and the others were there, but were distant and unclear. It was no matter. I reached out for the ley lines, and found those that surrounded the outpost.

  “I am not yours,” I repeated, and the words of the ruins came to me and filled me with their power. “I forbid you from entering this place. Set no foot here. Work no magic here. This place is not yours.” And I could feel the dark warmth of the magic spread out of me and into the ley lines. Like a wave of water rising up, the ley lines flared and rose above the ground in an ethereal shield that I could sense more than I could see. Adhannor screamed a hoarse, piercing scream as his oily taint struck at the barrier, and found he could not pass it. But I could feel his oily taint, and recoiled from it. I found myself back in my own body, the wind an icy sting against my skin, my legs weak beneath me. I pulled my hands from Singael’s, and fell against the railing. It was a long drop to where the snow of the avalanche still groaned against the outpost.

  “Here,” my father grabbed me, but I pulled away. I was getting awfully tired of being manhandled – and of needing to be manhandled.

  I looked to Singael.

  “It is time to leave,” he said, his voice impassive but his eyes on mine. Had he seen what I had done? Did he know that I had done most of it without his help? Or maybe that had been his plan. He—and Dalandaras—knew more about being an inheritor than I did, and it wasn’t a comforting thought.

  “Then let’s go,” I replied. I passed by them all and went down the stairs towards our rooms. I woke Zarah. She was stiff, and said little. I told her about Adhannor’s appearance, and helped her dress and pack. I rechecked my own pack before slinging it over my shoulder. My mother’s sword was a reassuring weight at my side.

  It seemed that the order to leave had already been given to the entire outpost. Other elves emerged from the depths of the halls that I had not ventured down. A few women and men dressed in robes like Alid’s, and a few other soldiers, carried their weapons and belongings down the stairs and out the entrance. It was a solemn parade.

  “They are going to Tal Uil,” Dalandaras said as we joined up with the others.

  “Will they return?” I asked.

  “If it is safe to do so.”

  We encountered Alid. She was cloaked in furs and had a bag slung over her shoulder, and carried a small chest in her arms. She offered no word or glance to her brother as she passed us. I opened my mouth, ready to say something to hurt, but thought better of it.

  It was a near-silent evacuation. As we left the outpost. We didn’t follow the path we had taken before; instead we swung left outside of the entrance, and made our way carefully down a narrow, zigzag stairway. It had only been cleared of snow where others had stepped there, and it was a precarious walk down.

  At the bottom, there was a small harbor that had been cut off from the sea by two well-aged stone walls. Two boats that looked like they could only hold about twenty people each were there. One was tied to the moorings on the narrow wooden dock, another beached on the narrow pebbly shore. Both were one-masted with shrouds on either side, leading up to a wooden platform that must serve more as a perch than a crosstree. There were two sails on each; one lashed to a bottom beam, another attached from the top of the mast to the front of the boat. On the whole they were sleek, solid, and blended in with the snowy landscape. I was a little more certain of our plan to Tal Anor if this was our vehicle that would get us there.

  Those stationed at the outpost worked on pushing their boat into the water. I handed my pack to Zarah, and Aerik and I gave them a hand. The feel of the smooth white wood beneath my fingers and the splash of water against my boots pleased me. But the light spray whipped up by the wind was like ice shards against my face.

  We got the boat aligned with the dock, and the elves from the outpost boarded. I followed our group onto our boat, led determinedly by Singael, and we boarded.

  One of Firien’s companions, who I think had been called Diriel touched the mast, whispering something under his breath. Up the length of the mast flared a line of runes. The magic of the ruins came from them. They were runes of good wind and calm weather and stability. The elves, apart from Dalandaras, Lorandal, Eliawen, and Singael, set about hoisting the sails and untying us from the dock. The light wind filled the sails with ease; even in the canvas fabric I could see the faint etch of runes. The boat bobbed reassuringly beneath me. My legs took a moment to remember what it was like to be on the sea, and I found myself smiling along with Aerik.

  But Dalandaras was not smiling. He stood at the prow, following the direction of Alid’s skiff until it was past the harbor breaks and into the choppier waters of the bay. Alid never once looked back as the wind caught their sails and they were carried off into the distance.

  “They will be safe,” I said, taking his hand and surprising myself by doing so. “Adhannor will follow us, not them.”

  He squeezed my fingers in return before letting them go. “I know.”

  “Do you think that you will never see her again?”

  “Do you believe any of us will survive this?”

  “No,” I said lightly. “I just try not to think too much about it.”

  He smiled, which was what I intended, but it was a faint smile.

  I gave his hand a last squeeze before turning away, and saw my father. His eyes had been on our hands.

  I could feel irritation rising in me. I tried to quash it, and failed.

  “Eva,” father said as I walked around him.

  “Oh don’t,” I cut him off. “Not here. Not now.”

  “Then where?” he demanded. “And when?”

  “Seven years ago,” I suggested sweetly.

  The elves seemed to studiously ignore this. Nogoriel helmed the rudder handle, a
nd we drifted gently away from the dock.

  I went to sit along the railing, between Zarah and Aerik on the port side. There was little shelter if the weather grew bad, only a small cabin that could be crouched in. Firien and his company stowed their packs in there.

  Aerik leaned close to me. “That Firien elf has been staring at me,” he whispered.

  “You’re getting rather good at reading them,” I replied.

  Firien’s eyes met mine from the helm, and he murmured something in elvish that I could just barely hear.

  “He says that he has never seen a bearded human before; he is fascinated by yours.”

  Aerik flushed red, and ran his fingers over his graying hairs.

  Zarah laughed a little laugh before stifling it. Then it came out again. I smiled at her, and squeezed her hand.

  We made a swift exit from the harbor. The waters of the bay were mostly calm, and the journey passed in silence. Singael kept his gaze towards the mountains, and the sun rose high above. We gained momentum, until we were going at a full clip. We cut through the gentle swells with ease, and the elves did little trimming of the sails. The northern mountains rose up ahead of us. They were much steeper on this side of the bay, and I could see no beach or outcropping or path through them. But as we came closer the elves moved into action, and we came about until we paralleled the shore. A split started to form between two of the towering peaks – first it seemed only a crevice, but the crevice widened until I could see that it was the mouth of a river.

  It was a narrow entrance, but there were no rough waters. I wondered at the depth, but Firien seemed to have it well in hand. We tacked towards it, and in a few minutes were sailing upriver between nearly-sheer cliffs.

  Our speed started to slow as another hour passed. Mist came, faint at first, just as the land started to open. But it grew thick, and in the mist I could see shadows of tall trees of a type I had not seen before, and heard the faint call of unfamiliar birds.

  The elves trimmed the sails until I could have walked along shore and still have kept pace with the boat. But it was difficult to see the shore in the mist.

  “We are coming up on the boundary,” Firien said in a half-whisper.