Shield of Winter Read online

  Mist clung to the ground, creeping across the forest floor, though there was no cold, no wind, no movement. Alana spun, looking around and around, trying to recall how she had come to be there, but the memory was lost.

  A cold fear gripped her then. Her father’s enemies must have come for her, stealing her from the citadel. But they had made a mistake, left her alive. She would make sure they lived to regret it.

  Alana set off through the trees, though without any sense of direction, she had no way of knowing where she was headed. The mist seemed to follow her, billowing across her feet, obscuring the ground below. Though there must have been branches and leaves on the ground, there was no sound as she moved. Crouching down, she tried to sweep the fog away. The movement did nothing to pierce the white, and she changed tact, thrusting her arm deep into the fog. It was stopped abruptly by what she presumed was the ground, though it was cold and smooth as glass.

  “What is this place?” she whispered, fear gnawing at her stomach.

  “My domain,” came a girl’s voice from the trees.

  Her heart racing, Alana sprang back to her feet and reached for her sword. Only then did she realise she was unarmed. Weakened as it was, she turned instead to her magic, and felt it come to life inside her. To her surprise, a green glow lit the forest, seeming to come from her chest itself.

  “You would use my own power against me?”

  Movement came from the trees, a young girl appearing between the endless trunks. She walked forward, her soft brown curls bouncing with each footstep. A strange light lit her face, revealing a tiny button nose, a smattering of freckles, and dimpled cheeks. She wandered through the trees, no more than a child, a smile on her youthful face.

  Alana lowered her arm, as the girl looked up at her, revealing violet eyes. Looking into those eyes, it seemed as though the universe were staring back at her, infinite and terrifying. The strength went from Alana then, and she stumbled, a cry on her lips.

  “Who are you?” she gasped.

  “The Goddess of the Earth,” the girl replied. “Antonia.”

  Alana shook her head. “No, that isn’t possible!” she said. “The Gods are dead!”

  “Only our bodies,” the girl replied, her eyes aglow. “Our spirits remain, as they always have, and always will. We are a part of the land, a part of the magic within you.”

  Alana’s hand drifted unconsciously to her breast. “My magic?”

  “Yes, child. Your power comes from the Earth—but then, you knew that.” Alana shivered as the Goddess’s eyes hardened. “You have been a great disappointment to me, child.”

  Alana’s anger flared. “I didn’t realise you had expectations. I thought you left.”

  The Goddess looked up, her eyes catching Alana’s and holding them. She found her heart suddenly beating hard against her chest, and she sensed in that moment the vast power in the girl before her. Not just that, but an anger, a yearning to reach out and tear Alana’s heart from her chest.

  Then Antonia blinked, and the moment passed.

  Alana swayed on her feet, then sank to her knees.

  “I am sorry,” Antonia said gently.

  She waved a hand, and the towering trees seemed to retreat. Rocks cracked and a boulder lifted through the mist. Moving to it, Antonia seated herself cross-legged atop it, and gestured for Alana to join her.

  Still on her knees, Alana sucked in a breath. Unable to summon the will to speak, she shook her head.

  “You are not beyond redemption, Alana,” the Goddess said, looking down at her from the boulder.

  “Who says I need to be redeemed?” Alana hissed, rage giving her courage.

  Anger returned to Antonia’s face. “I do,” she growled, and Alana reeled back before the force of her words.

  For a moment the child seemed a giant, with the power to reach out and crush her beneath one thumb. Alana gasped, her will crumbling, and she threw herself flat against the ground.

  “Please, don’t hurt me!” she begged, and hated herself for it.

  Laughter came from the Goddess. Looking up, Alana saw she had returned to normal, though the dark gleam remained in her eyes. “I thought you were strong, Alana. Is that not what your father taught you, to show strength before mercy? Could it be, your strength comes from the part of yourself you seek to crush?”

  “No!” Alana yelled, standing now. “She is the weak one!”

  “She is only the girl you wished yourself to be—one free of your father’s manipulations.”

  “You lie,” Alana snapped. “I would remember.” Comprehension came to her and she stumbled back. “I know why you are here!” she gasped. “You seek to be reborn, to usurp my father and rule Plorsea in his place.”

  The Goddess looked sad. “My siblings and I have no wish to return to your mortal world. We never wanted a part of it in the first place. But you are right—it is your father who has drawn us back, forced me to interfere once more in the lives of mortals.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Antonia sighed. “Matters beyond your understanding, my dear Alana.” There was a sadness in her face that made Alana shudder. With an inexplicable feeling of shame, she looked away.

  “Tell me, girl. Do you wish to know the truth?” Antonia asked.

  “The truth?” Alana asked suddenly.

  “The truth about what has happened to you. The truth about how you lost your memory.”

  The breath caught in Alana’s throat. She stared at the youthful Goddess, sensing the trap. If she allowed this creature into her mind, who knew what damage she might do, what would happen to her? Would she feed strength to her other self, allowing the girl to bury her back in the darkness?

  “I will not harm you,” Antonia said, as though already reading her thoughts.

  Alana shivered. Despite her suspicions, she believed the girl’s words. Still she hesitated, an unknown fear lodging in her throat. What was so important about the month she’d lost, between her brother’s birthday and the moment she’d woken in the stepwell? What had changed?

  Yet Alana could not allow the fear to rule her. She had learned that lesson once, long ago when she’d first mastered her power. Her father had trained her well, breaking her spirit, crushing her soul, only to reshape it, allowing the Daughter of the Tsar to be born. It was that woman who had first faced her magic, who’d overcome her terror and conquered the force within.

  Her decision made, she looked at the Goddess.

  “Show me.”

  Chapter 27

  “Enala!”

  Braidon spun as the Queen’s voice echoed down the tunnel, his eyes widening to find her standing on the path behind them, her chest heaving, hand clutched at her breast. Without her guards and crown, she no longer looked like the intimidating woman who’d ordered his capture, but vulnerable and human, her eyes shining with emotion.

  “Merydith, what are you doing here?” Enala asked.

  “Please, Enala, you can’t leave us. Not now, when we need you most,” the Queen gasped, the words rushing from her in a torrent.

  A lump lodged in Braidon’s throat. Around the corner ahead, the light of a new dawn beckoned. There, the dragon Dahniul waited to fly them south, deep into the Tsar’s territory. Enala had thought to leave in secret without causing upheaval, but apparently the Queen had heard of their plan.

  Yet she had come alone, without guards or advisors, to beseech the ancient Magicker to stay, when she could have brought an army to stop them.

  “Merydith,” Enala murmured, stepping forward and placing a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “You do not need me. You are a brave, intelligent woman. I believe in you. If anyone can lead Northland through this turmoil, it’s you.”

  The Queen swallowed, a tear streaking her cheek. “Through all our short history, you have stood beside us, Enala.” She broke off, swallowing hard. “You served my father, and his mother before him. You are the only thing that stands between Northland and chaos.”

  �
��That’s not true!” Enala said, both hands on the Queen’s shoulders now. “For decades I have watched you grow, Merydith, and barely needed to lift a finger to aid you. Northland has its own spirit, its own soul, and you are the heart of that. I am but a remnant, a shadow that holds you back. That is why I left the first time, all those years ago, to return to my homeland.” She smiled, reaching up to stroke the woman’s cheek. “You have outgrown me, girl.”

  “What if I make a mistake?”

  “You won’t,” Enala insisted.

  The Queen took a great, shuddering breath and nodded. Braidon watched as her shoulders straightened, her face settling back into the familiar mask. For a moment, he’d glimpsed the woman behind the crown, seen her humanity, her vulnerability. But now it was the Queen who stood before them once more, regal, untouchable. She sighed, gesturing to the way ahead.

  “You would take our most powerful weapon as well?” she asked.

  Enala sighed. “You know Dahniul is not ours to command. She has chosen this path—it is not our place to question her.”

  “Very well.” She looked at Braidon, and he shivered as she approached him. To his surprise, she knelt to meet him at eye-level. “I wish you would stay, young Braidon,” she said, her voice soft, “but I respect your decision to search for your sister. I pray it does not prove the end of you.”

  “It won’t,” Braidon replied. “I know her.”

  “We can only hope,” the Queen replied, drawing him into an embrace. “Good luck.”

  Braidon nodded, surprised at the warmth in the Queen’s voice. “Thank you,” he said. Then, as the Queen drew back and stood, he added: “Good luck to you as well. I hope your decision to refuse the Tsar’s emissaries does not prove too costly.”

  The Queen’s face hardened at his words. “I am sorry, Braidon, for how I acted. It was wrong, I see that now. Do not concern yourself with us. If the Tsar comes, at least we will meet him as a free people.”

  “He will come, Merydith,” Enala said, moving alongside them, “with all the forces at his command. You must prepare yourselves.”

  “We have already begun,” the Queen replied, a sudden weariness coming over her. “After a century of peace, Northland rises once more. Did you think you’d live to see it, Enala?”

  The old woman chuckled. “It is the way of things. The wheel turns, comes full circle. Only now it is your people who fight for freedom, the Three Nations the conquerors. Oh, how my brother would laugh to see it.”

  With her words, Braidon sensed an awful sadness in his mentor, and for a moment it seemed the weight of all her years had caught up to Enala. Her shoulders sagged, the folds of her aged face deepening. He swallowed, unable to imagine what it must be like for her—over a century old, all her friends and family gone, the last of a golden age of heroes. Reaching out, he squeezed her arm, and the old woman seemed to shake herself free of her melancholy.

  “I’m sorry, Merydith, but we must be on our way. Time is short,” Enala said.

  “Very well,” the Queen replied, “but please, be careful, Enala. You have been like a mother to me all my life. I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

  “Of course you could, child,” Enala chided, “and if it comes to it, I will die with pride, knowing you will carry on the fight.”

  The Queen smiled wryly. “Fine, just, do your best to avoid it, okay? The Tsar knows you’re alive. He will be waiting for you this time.”

  Enala waved a hand. “The man isn’t half as smart as he thinks. Braidon and I have his number.”

  “I hope so,” the Queen replied with gusto. “If not, I fear we will not be able to stand against him.”

  “We will never be able to stand against him,” Enala replied sadly. “Not unless the Three Nations rise as one against him. We can only pray that the Gods have a plan.”

  “The Gods are gone.”

  “No, Merydith. They never left.” Enala tapped her chest. “When she was within me, I saw things, felt things…an eon’s worth of knowledge. I remember but a fraction of it now, but they were watching over us long before our priests made them flesh. They will continue to do so long after I’m gone. They may be spirits, but their power flows through all of us now.”

  The Queen looked unconvinced, but she nodded anyway. “I pray you are right.”

  Enala smiled. “I usually am.”

  Chapter 28

  “Your friend is dead, Devon,” Quinn announced as he stopped outside the squalid cell.

  He smiled as he looked through the bars and saw the three men sitting within. Only a few hours had passed, but already their clothes were stained by the grime within, their skin filthy with it. Lifting the lantern higher, he watched the rats go scuffling into their holes. Devon sat on one side of the cell, Kellian on the other, alongside an old man who looked like he’d been in the dungeon for decades.

  Blinking in the harsh light, Devon looked up at him. “Quinn,” he said, “I might have guessed you’d come.”

  Grinning, Quinn hefted the bundle he held in his other hand. Pulling back the cloth, he lifted kanker into the light. He watched the pain flicker across the hammerman’s face, savouring the sight.

  “I thought you might be missing this,” he said.

  Devon glared back at him. “So you killed the Trolan?”

  Quinn shrugged. “Didn’t need to.”

  “Tsar did the dirty work for you, did he?”

  Chuckling, Quinn leaned against the bar. “Still playing the hero, I see. You think your little act fools me? Look at where you are, man! Food for the rats, while I stand free, a hero in the eyes of the Tsar...and his grateful daughter.”

  “Bastard!” Devon surged to his feet and threw himself at the bars. “If you touch her…!”

  Quinn stepped back quickly and laughed in the man’s face. “Me, touch her?” he said, though he hadn’t talked to her since their fight. “I can barely keep her hands off me!”

  “Liar!” Devon roared, straining uselessly against the steel bars.

  Shaking his head, Quinn sneered. “You’re pathetic, Devon. To think I once considered you a rival. You were a hero, a warrior, and what did you do with it? You threw it all away! How a man descended from Alan could be so weak, I don’t understand. Your ancestor would be ashamed, to know his progeny betrayed the nation he gave his life to defend.”

  Devon fell back, his shoulders heaving, teeth bared. For a moment, his eyes seemed to glow, and despite himself Quinn shivered as he met the fiery gaze. He swallowed, suddenly glad for the bars between them.

  “Alan stood to protect the weak from evil,” Devon murmured.

  “You are the weak one,” Quinn hissed. “You could have had it all!”

  “Is that why I’m here, then?” Devon asked. “Because I refused to use my strength against those who could not defend themselves?” He let out a long breath. “If that’s the case, so be it. I’d rather be in here, standing on the side of good, than out there with you, allied with evil.”

  His anger flaring, Quinn stepped back up to the bars. “Who are you to accuse me of evil?” he snapped. “Was it not you who led the charge against the Trolans, who cracked open their defences, slaughtered their people?”

  “Ay, and I’ll hold that guilt in my heart to my dying day. But what of yours, Quinn? Does your guilt burn you?”

  “There is no guilt!” he yelled. He pointed a finger at Devon’s chest. “And you’d best close that mouth of yours, lest I decide to shatter every bone in your body.”

  Devon did not move, but a soft laughter came from behind him. Inside the cell, the old man lifted himself from the ground and wandered across to join them. Blue eyes glittered as the prisoner stopped and leaned against the bars.

  “Quinn, is it?” he asked, his voice rasping with untold age.

  Jaw clenched, Quinn nodded before he could stop himself, and the laughter came again.

  “I’ve heard of you,” the old man continued. “The guards talk. Nothing much else to do while on duty down her
e, I suppose. I hear you’re a great man: lieutenant of the Stalkers, renown warrior…a Magicker with powers over the wind.”

  “What of it, old man?” Quinn growled.

  The old eyes flickered to the stone ceiling. “Not much of the Sky element this far underground, I think you’ll find, lieutenant…”

  Quinn bared his teeth. “Let’s find out shall we, old man?”

  Within, his magic stirred, its blue light seeping out to fill him. There was a moment of resistance, as it sought to break free, but he was no apprentice and quenched it in an instant. Then he was reaching out, extending his consciousness beyond himself, searching for the wind, and finding…nothing.

  The ancient prisoner’s laughter came again. Quinn’s stomach lurched and he felt his cheeks grow hot.

  “Guess you’re not so great after all, lieutenant!” the old man taunted him. “Next time why don’t you bring some wind with you. I could use the fresh air.”

  Still cackling to himself, the prisoner retreated back into the cell, leaving Quinn staring impotently after him.

  Grinding his teeth, Quinn gripped kanker tighter in one hand and reached for the door to the cell, ready to crush the insolence from the feeble man. But as he touched the bars, he froze, sensing Devon’s eyes on him. The hammerman was watching him, his hands clenched into fists. Beyond, Kellian was crouched on the ground, poised to spring.

  His hands trembling, Quinn slowly let out his breath. He turned to Devon and forced a smile. “Enjoy your stay, old friend. I suspect you’ll be here a long time.”

  With that, Quinn turned on his heel and fled up the corridor, his blood still boiling at his embarrassment by the old man. Silently he raced up the winding stairs, repeating the conversation over and over in his mind, seeking where it had gone so wrong.

  The stairs opened out into a small room that served as the entrance to the dungeons. Here, two guards quickly stood to attention and saluted on Quinn’s approach. He slowed his stride to speak with them.