He did not dare to look behind him, to examine the blue ice. He knew that Baldruk Dinmaker was watching, together with Stariz, the king, Thraid and the rest. But it helped when he imagined that it was only for Thraid’s benefit that he spoke. Still the names rolled and tumbled off his tongue. He continued, through the kings of the Whaleslayers, the Goldcrowns, the Manreapers. He noted the short and tragic reign of King Dracomaster who, it turned out, had taken his name quite prematurely. He passed through the Glacierlords and, finally, he arrived at his own clan.
“The Bane Dynasty was born, in 4370, with Grimword Bane ruling until 4426. His son, Grimstroke Bane took the throne, and was king until 4502 …”
Now he was speaking of his own family, and each name came with a face, and the memory and words that much clearer.
He reached his grandfather and spoke firmly. “Grimsea Bane ruled until the year 4875.”
He paused, and he sensed everyone drawing a breath, waiting for a grand conclusion. He would now speak of the last king to sit upon the throne of Suderhold. But the words, the name, suddenly caught in his throat, refusing to emerge. His frustration, his fury built up until finally he spat the words, in tones that might be mistaken for contempt, ringing through the hall.
“Grimtruth Bane, King of Suderhold from 4875 until now.”
The blue ice surface was slick and wet, water pouring down the shimmering face, pooling and splattering on the floor. The great window sagged visibly until, abruptly, it trembled and fell away like shattered glass.
“Gonnas hears and is pleased!” cried Stariz exultantly.
The prince was assailed by frigid wind, stung by particles of icy snow. The gale swept into the chamber, and all the ogres reached for their furs as they watched, awestruck. The humans in the higher reaches huddled miserably together but they, too, appeared rapt. Grimwar Bane stepped forward into the gale, then turned to watch as the king, accompanied by two warriors and a human slave, hurried forward. Baldruk remained at the table, but the dwarf’s face was lit by an expression of exultation.
“Do you mock me?” growled Grimtruth as he passed his son. “If so, your insult will not be forgotten.”
Grimwar’s own temper flared as he and Stariz followed the procession. The slave to be sacrificed this winter was a strapping human male. Certainly the slave knew that he was doomed, all the more reason why he showed little spirit.
The wind howled now as the small group made its way to the very brink of the Ice Wall, where the dam of frost met the solid stone of the mountainous balcony. This place, where the great dam merged with the mountainside of Winterheim, was a precipitous shelf poised over the surging Snow Sea.
Stariz held the golden axe, while the two guards stretched the human slave over the rim of the balcony. Grimtruth Bane stepped forward and took the hallowed artifact.
“O Great Gonnas!” cried the priestess, the roar of her voice carrying into the wind, rising over the gale in power and force. “Grant us your blessing and share your might! Let this blood sanctify your pleasure, and open the Ice Wall! Let your Sturmfrost surge forth and scour your enemies from the world!”
Now the human seemed finally to grasp the inevitability of his fate. He began to scream and struggle, to kick and thrash. The big ogres held him without even straining. Grimtruth Bane took the axe and stepped up to the man, holding the golden blade above the terrified human’s chest. The victim was stretched prone on the rim of the Ice Wall, a thousand feet above the face of the dam.
The king twisted about to cast a scornful glance at his son. “This is the mark of power!” he roared. “
The slave made one last, desperate attempt at escape. With a frantic effort he pulled one arm free and twisted outward. The king, his mind foggy with warqat, chopped, but the blade missed the slave entirely, cutting into the top of the Ice Wall and quivering in the grip of frost.
Then the human was swinging free, dangling below the balcony, suspended only by one wrist held by the second ogre guard. The Snow Sea surged and raged below, black tendrils of gale reaching upward, hungrily, pulling at his feet, coiling about his legs.
“Hold him!” roared the king.
The guard’s grip slipped. With a hideous scream, the slave vanished into the tumult, twisting in the air for a moment before disappearing.
“Fools! Wretches!” roared the king, spittle flying, eyes bulging. He wrenched the axe free and swung first at one, then the other of his guards. The first one fell after the doomed slave. The second screamed and clawed as he also plummeted into space down the long, barren cliff.
Grimtruth whirled upon his son. “See what you made me do?” he roared, advancing with the axe upraised.
“Wait!” screeched Stariz, though she made no move to step between the two ogres. “We will get another slave.”
The prince was in no mood to give ground. The Barkon Sword was in his hands now, no longer merely a ceremonial weapon. Baldruk Dinmaker’s word-
“You dare to draw steel against your father, the king?” snarled Grimtruth, taking another step forward. “You worthless spawn, you are your mother’s milksop, a disgrace to my line!”
Before anyone could say anything else, metal clashed, and sparks flew. The weapons met again and again, propelled by all the strength of two bull ogres. A haze settled around the prince, and he hacked and charged, parried and smashed. The king was a huge ogre, and his axe was formidable, but his son was fast, and he felt driven by years of pent-up rage.
The great hall fell silent, the ogres gaping in awe and the humans in fear as the king and the prince battled. Thraid’s cheeks were flushed, her white-knuckled hands clenching the table. Baldruk Dinmaker licked his lips, stared, drew his breath in a great hiss.
Axe met sword in another ringing clash, and both ogres strained. The king’s weight and his huge weapon bore down on the prince, who suddenly backed away. The Axe of Gonnas cut deeply into the stones of the mountain balcony. Grimwar stabbed, his sword grazing the king’s shoulder, and Grimtruth roared in fury as he pulled his weapon back and struck anew. The younger ogre barely dodged.
Again and again they clashed and broke apart. First one held the advantage, then the other. Grimwar’s thigh bled from a deep gash, while both of the king’s wrists and arms were scored with cuts. Each wound seemed to drive his father into a wilder rage, while Grimwar, for his part, found himself growing calmer and more determined. Strangely he found himself thinking of the beautiful queen watching this fight, of the dwarf, and the masked high priestess. He knew what would happen, what he had to do.
Cautiously Grimwar circled his opponent, pressed him back against the rim of the balcony at the very edge of the Ice Wall. There was a measure of fear in the king’s eyes now as he lost strength and flailed wildly, no longer pressing the attack, merely holding his son at bay. He parried desperately, and Grimwar stabbed at the monarch’s exposed hands, driving the blade deep, forcing the axe out of the royal grip. The king sprawled backward, shrieking, to lie fully across the wall.
“The axe-you must draw blood with the axe!”
Grimwar heard the words over the gale, knew that his wife was speaking to him, uttering the awful truth that he already recognized. The rite had been sanctified by Gonnas, but the axe was needed to fulfill the ritual. The prince dropped his sword and picked up the artifact, raising it high over his head. The king, his father, this monstrous drunken cur of an ogre, was blubbering pathetically, trying to scramble away.
Grimwar Bane chopped down with all the strength of his powerful body, angling the blade toward his father’s bulging gut. The Axe of Gonnas sliced royal flesh, and Grimtruth gazed stupidly at the crimson liquid spurting from the great, gaping wound. The blood gushed across the ice, sinking into the white frost. The prince stood numb, watching, until Stariz grabbed him and pulled him back through the melted window, into the shelter of the Hall of Blue Ice.
More of the fallen king’s blood soaked into the frozen dam, and the power of the Sturmfrost surged and exploded, while all Icereach quailed at the threat of killing cold.
