Abruptly, the lines drawn by the sled rails disappeared. The tracks of the team still indicated that they were pulling a burden. Somehow, she'd managed to levitate the sled while her beasts lumbered along giving it forward motion and direction. Such a feat was an accomplishment compared to Ashlan's own magic. So far, only he and his mother had any gifts among the people of this land. His mother, who was fair as any native and a rare beauty as well, was revered. Ashlan, with his night-dark skin and tangled black hair, was reviled despite the fact that he was the only person he’d ever met who could light a fire without a flint.
What other spells will I have to face?
Alle knew of magic and had some training, though she never would tell where she learned. When they were alone, she’d conjure creatures out of ice to amuse him. When Lyrell’s children were born, she shifted to making shadow animals with her hands against the tent walls like other mothers.
The trail ended at a high tower on a crooked finger shaped peninsula on a field of ice that could be a substantial lake when it warmed up. Smoke drifted from the top of the tower offering warmth and heat.
This is a useful steading, Ashlan realized. The tower would house at least one large family and their servants. The lake would provide water perhaps even fish. The crooked finger of land was an easily defensible area with three sides of the tower backed by water. And, the keep was undefended. Ashlan only saw one set of small tracks that led to the tower. Lyrell should have claimed this for his steading long ago.
A house of stone, Ashlan marveled. The tower rose to an amazing height. Scarcely, had he ever seen a large house of wood. The warlords were far too busy fighting amongst themselves to build any permanent dwellings. Cautiously, he touched the walls, running a curious gloved finger along the mortared veins. Chiding himself for wasting precious time, he continued forward, seeking the Witch who held his brother. Having no other clues about her location in the tower, he followed the warmth.
Ashlan cautiously entered the door, shielding himself with his magic and his sword against attack.
"Welcome, Dark One." Arctic winds blew down Ashlan’s spine at the sound of the voice. Momentarily, he considered turning and fleeing. Older and wiser men than he had not deigned to take the path he had chosen. Still, it was Ayrn she had.
"What do you wish from me?" The voice and the warmth led him to a circular room in the center of the tower near the top. The warmth was almost as uncomfortable as the cold outside. Dominated by a huge bed, curtained with scarlet velvet, and a roaring fireplace, the room obviously was meant for sleeping and other pleasures. Balls of bluish flame from the same flickering light as Ashlan’s own poor magic, suspended in midair, provided brighter illumination than candles.
Cautiously, Ashlan stepped across the threshold. Keeping his weapons within reach, he tried to match his posture to her own. She showed no defensiveness, but Ashlan suspected the witch did not need to.
"I came to retrieve my brother, Ayrn," Ashlan answered simply, coming to face the silvery wraithlike creature that stood before him. He marveled at the harsh planes of her chiseled form, which was beautiful as a spear of ice carved by a Northern wind. The normal round softness of a woman was not there. Even her nipples seemed as though they would be sharp and painful to touch. Her face was what fascinated him the most, though. Her wide nose and full lips were similar to his and her hair was twisted in locks like he wore in the summertime to keep himself cooler.
"How novel," a short, amused laugh parted the Icewitch's lips. "You would hardly qualify as a replacement. You have been with a woman."
How did she know that? Ashlan wondered. Unbidden the memory of his first woman returned to him. He'd not understood when his mother delivered him into the hands of the coarse woman who lived at the edge of the camp. Like many of the children, he'd snooped around the outside of her tent wondering at the animal grunts and laughter emitting from the men who visited there, including his Lyrell, his reluctant adoptive father.
Ashlan had been unprepared for the way the woman’s hands and mouth moved across his body, summoning feelings it would take years for him to recognize and understand. Ashamed, he'd hung his head afterwards as the woman regaled the whole camp with tales of his scarred, dark flesh from Lyrell’s early beatings. One by one, he outfought the jokers.
His mother's only explanations for her action was that she wished to protect him. Now, Ashlan understood she’d made him unfit for a sacrifice. It would have been far too easy for the camp to give up an oddling to the Icewitch. Indeed, according to his mother, it was their custom. Only his mother would’ve missed him if he was gone. That, he could not understand, since his dark face and foreign features had to be a daily reminder of the rapist who fathered him.
"You may have him back, if you wish." Elegant silvery fingers pointed towards a pile of covers in the corner furthest from the scarlet bed at the foot of a tapestry woven in rich yellows, greens, and reds depicting animals Ashlan believed were the true form of the ice creatures his Mother created to amuse him. He paused, startled to see a bear with what looked like a snake for a nose, a big cat with a long mane of twisted fur, and a winged beast above them.
Firewing Dragon? Ashlan now saw the true shape of the creature his Mother crudely drew.
Surprised at the ease of her acquiescence, Ashlan made his way to the side of the bed hesitantly pulling the covers aside.
Despite his warrior's training, Ashlan gasped
