The Messenger

clawed at the slick rocks, as the big woman leaned into the rope with all her might. Still Cutter was pulling away away toward the rocks.

Somehow Bruni lodged the anchor in between two stones on the shore, and the line, stretched as taut as a bowstring, held. The wind roared with implacable force, trying to pull the boat away from the Signpost, trying unsuccessfully. For now, she would hold in deep water.

“Coraltop!” shouted the elf. “He’s out here somewhere-we’ve got to find him!”

Another wave crashed over the two of them, and Kerrick’s knees buckled. He lay, shivering helplessly on the ground until Bruni hoisted him over her shoulder.

“Your friend is lost,” she said bluntly. “You will be too, if we don’t get you inside.”

The Sturmfrost churned across the vast concourse of the White Bear Sea. The surface of the sea froze quickly, often in the shape of grotesque waves, storm-tossed swells, and hardened spires. Cyclones of lethal snow swept down the mountainsides, moving across the landscape with brute force. Many creatures, whales, birds, and seals, had long since departed for temperate climes. Any animals that remained here cowered in snug dens, secure against the wind and snow if not from the deadly cold

Those people who survived had also taken shelter in dens. So it was with the Highlanders in their cities and castles, the ogres in the great fortress of Winterheim, the thanoi in their Citadel of Whitefish, the place the humans called Brackenrock. So, too, with the surviving Arktos and a lone elf, who cowered from the storm in the depths of a large, seaside cave.

“We will survive!” Moreen declared with renewed pride. “We have enough food here to last for half the winter. By that time, the Sturmfrost will have waned, and seals will come onto the ice. We’ll be able to hunt again.”

“This cave, in truth, is better than any hut I’ve ever seen,” Dinekki observed optimistically. “Where else could we gather like this, all together even while the Sturmfrost rages?”

The chiefwoman nodded. She looked around at the tribe, all seventy of them gathered in this great vault. A low fire, mere coals really, shed enough light to brighten each hopeful face. Nearby loomed an immense woodpile, timber gathered by Little Mouse and the younger children from the nearby grove.

Using charcoal, the shaman had sketched the image of Chislev, the bird’s head and wings upon the fishtail body, along one wall of the cave. She had just led the tribe in the rite of thanks, traditional among the Arktos when they faced another Sturmfrost with shelter, food, and companionship.

In stark contrast to the dark hair, bronzed skin, and rounded faces of the Arktos, Kerrick Fallabrine’s visage stood out in the firelight. He had combed his golden hair over his damaged ear, and his narrow face and large, almond eyes seemed to glow an almost supernaturally. He had lain, unconscious, for two full days after Bruni had carried him into the cave. Now he had awakened, though his eyes were haunted, his cheeks gaunt and hollowed. Little Mouse had helped him to sit up against the cave wall, and he had watched the thanksgiving impassively. Moreen thought she understood why.

“Bruni tells me that your companion’s bravery might have saved your boat,” she said, going to his side, kneeling next to the pallet upon which he sat.

His expression was desperate, and he clutched her arm with fingers that tried to tighten, then fell limply away. “He saved me as well as the boat,” he said softly. “I don’t think he even understood the danger. It was madness! But, yes, because he got the anchor ashore, Cutter stayed in the water. I don’t know for how long, though. I’ve never seen a storm like that. If the cove freezes, the hull will be crushed.”

“Well, you’re safe, at least,” Moreen said in irritation. “Five women of my tribe were slain in that same time!”

The elf looked stricken. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Yes, I am safe. And my boat is unimportant compared to lives.”

“I am sorry about your friend,” said the chiefwoman. She felt very tired and no longer angry.

“What can I do to help now? Anything?” Kerrick asked. He tried to push himself upright, but his strength failed, and he collapsed against the cave wall.

“Yes. You can rest until you get your strength back. After that, you can come to the mouth of the cave. We’re going to build a wall of ice blocks, closing off all but a narrow doorway. If the tuskers come for us, we’re going to give them a fight.”

“Fight,” he said numbly. His head slumped to the side, and only the weak rattle of his breath told her that he still lived.

18

Endless Night

Hail Grimwar Bane, king of Suderhhold!”

The cheers rang through the hall, and the newly crowned king allowed himself to beam with pride.

“I knew you could do it, Your Majesty. I knew it all along!” Baldruk Dinmaker, standing on a chair beside the ogre king, leaned over to whisper hoarsely in his ear.

“Knew that I could recite the names correctly?”

“No! Knew that you could, you would, take the throne from your father. Why, I’ve been working toward that end since I came here, nigh on twenty years ago. Surely you appreciate that!”

Grimwar Bane was about to snort skeptically but stopped to think. Perhaps the dwarf had been working toward this end for all these years. Certainly he had welcomed the prince’s ascension with manifest enthusiasm. Baldrunk’s pride in Grimwar was evident even now as he stood at the new king’s side, and they let the cheers wash over them, cheers that rumbled throughout the Hall of Blue Ice, proclaimed to all of Winterheim the dawn of a new era

Later, Stariz let her pride be known, though in a more cautionary fashion, as she spoke to him in their private chambers.

“You can be a mighty king of Suderhold, my husband, but you must be wary of threats on all sides.”

“Yes, the elf,” Grimwar said impatiently. “You have told me that the elf is due to come to Icereach. In the spring I will embark on a quest with my best warriors, and we will scour the shores of the White Bear Sea until we find this damn elf and kill him!”

“I pray that will be sufficient,” the new queen said. She wasn’t wearing her obsidian mask, but there was still a godly aura about her, although she was frowning, which Grimwar did not find reassuring. He sat and listened attentively because he dare not do otherwise.

“It may be, so far as the elf is concerned. But these is another matter, one about which my spells have raised a caution.”

“And that is?”

“The dowager queen, Thraid Dimmarkull,” said Stariz bluntly. Her small eyes narrowed to burning holes that bored into the king’s face. “She is a threat,” she said, startling her husband. “She has the power to bring your rule to an end.”

“What would you have me do?” asked Grimwar guiltily. Indeed, he had just been thinking about his father’s young widow, and not in the context of any danger.

“Perhaps she could be sent to Dracoheim … there to keep the Elder Queen company,” Stariz suggested casually.

Grimwar gulped. He could think of no more awful fate for the young ogress, than to send her where she would be wholly within the power of Queen Hannareit, whom she had supplanted in Winterheim.

“I will consider it,” he said noncommittally, rising to his feet and departing the room before his wife could make any other recommendation.

Soon thereafter, he met his protocol officer. Lord Hakkan bowed, then looked around to make sure that the two of them were alone. “Your father’s widow awaits you in her chambers,” he said coolly. “The slaves have been sent away.”