Soul of Fire - Heart of Ice

by

Djuva and Red

Special thanks goes to our beta DarkLady


Prologue

A caravan made its way laboriously through the jagged terrain of Khi'liqua — the black Fang Mountains of Iridonia. The mountains certainly lived up to their name: here millennia of sun, rains and wind had not polished the rocks down, but gnawed them into sharp, jagged, sabre-like teeth rising towards the violet skies, intersected by deep ravines where wild mountain rivers roared, and only a narrow precarious road winding its way through this post-apocalyptic scenery. No land transport could cross that terrain, only the dainty-footed local equines were reliable enough — and, of course, the feet of the local inhabitants, the Zabraks.

The sun beat down mercilessly, fiery air danced above the black rocks, and all living creatures who had no death wish had sought shelter a couple of hours ago. All except a score of fierce Zabrakian warriors, escorting a covered sedan hoisted on the back of an equine. Sharp stones crunched under their heavy boots, and the clinking of their weapons echoed from the rocks on the other side of the ravine. Suddenly the leader of the caravan stopped, with others nearly running into him before they saw the obstacle, a dark shadow against the painfully bright sky. A warrior, clad in tan and black, his crown of horns proudly bared to them in challenge. It was not easy to determine his age, due to the warrior tattoos covering his face, but his horns weren't yet darkened, suggesting a man not much beyond his twentieth season. No affiliation markings on his clothes — a Loner.

"You are trapped," he announced in a smooth voice. "Hand Lady Faa over to me, and you may yet die honourably."

A lone wayfarer stood perched on a cliff, high above and unseen by the caravan of fugitives and their enemy. He stood motionless, almost blending in with the rocks, black against black, and watched. Nothing escaped his notice from the bloody fight that went on below. Finally he lowered his electrobinoculars, nodded with satisfaction, muttering to himself: "Not bad. Not bad at all."

***

Days later, the castle was aswarm with rumours of Lord Algin's young wife's shameless attempt to escape to her lover, her recent return and imminent execution. A solitary warrior with no allegiance was said to have trapped her entourage, and had come to gather the bounty. The gossip was that she had been caught in the Fangs, but older men shook their heads at that in disbelief. It was possible for a warrior to hold off any number of attackers there — if he managed to keep his eyes and feet from the sheer ravine — but it was survival that was the real challenge. The Lady must have been desperate to venture there at all. But nobody ever went there alone, let alone to fight with twenty seasoned warriors. And none of the Lady's bodyguards had made it back alive. "This Sarin man's crazy," the seasoned men stated with full conviction. "He's got no heart. A man who doesn't know fear has apparently nothing to live for."

Some young men, driven by illusions of glory and fame, envied the lucky man. But they never let it show. This man was a Loner. Loners were poor, filthy, degraded and utterly amoral. Nobody in their senses would side with a Loner. So, to stay on the safe side, they were his fiercest criticisers. But their eyes turned to follow wistfully when the hero of the day calmly made his way through the courtyards, proud and dignified despite his somewhat drab appearance, walking with measured steps and guiding the equine by the reins.

The subject of all this uproar was seemingly oblivious of the attention he was getting. He stopped at the stairs and reached up to help the lady down. But the dainty hand that appeared from between the curtains was promptly pulled back. "Don't touch me," the lady hissed. The young Zabrak shrugged. "As you wish." When she had jumped down, he grabbed her painfully by the forearm, leaving bruises. Lady Faa pressed her lips together, but didn't want to make a show, so she followed him.

"Why did you do this?" she snarled when they were finally left alone in the anteroom.

"Did it give you some sort of perverse pleasure?" The warrior raised his golden eyes for a moment, then lowered them again in silence. But the lady wasn't shrugged off so easily. "It did, did it? I know, I know what you were thinking, you filthy...." She broke down into hysterical sobs. "Why didn't you just kill me?"

"If you truly wanted to die, you needn't have gone that far."

"Oh, shut up! I love him! You know nothing about love!"

The man shrugged coldly. "You've made yourself into a whore. Whores don't know love.

"

She screamed, pressing her nails into him, so that his tattoos took on an even angrier red hue. "Your struggle is pointless, lady," the man said, forcing her hands away from his face, so that piercing wails of frustration remained her only weapons.

Still on the verge of a hysterical outbreak, the lady pulled away from him as if he were impure. "And you – Loner! How cheap do you sell your services?" she hissed through clenched teeth.

The Zabrak warrior preferred not to reply.


Meanwhile Lord Algin was sitting at a dinner table with his guest, a man with long hair as white as the snow-caps of Bar-Bahadur mountains, and deep-sunken icy green eyes, ringed in shadows. The subject of their conversation was the same young warrior. "Khameir Sarin, the nephew of General Sarin Machta Khamri," the Lord gesticulated with his golden fork. "Yes, he is talented. He's done a couple of services for me. An unfortunate affair that the General died so early, the boy could have gone far under him! I was planning to offer him a lieutenantship."

"That is unusual." The guest had a cultured voice that rolled smoothly over the guttural sounds of the Zabrakian language. "He has no allegiance. Nobody would vouch for him."

"His deeds speak for themselves. He is young, true, but I must say, I find his record quite impressive."

"If all that is true—" the guest made a meaningful pause, and suddenly doubts began to creep into Lord Algin's mind, "If all that is true, why do you think no other warlord has offered him allegiance?"

"Blind prejudice?"

"Ah, but my Lord, don't we often find that prejudices are well founded? Think about it: how would a man without allegiance find livelihood?"

"But he is paid for his services."

"Is that enough? What if he's a robber, a thief?"

Lord Algin laid his fork on the table. "What is your suggestion then, my friend?"

"Wait. Watch him for a while. Collect information. How he lives, what he does. What are his manners. Would he be loyal." He smiled, raising his glass. "If what you say is true, and it is only blind prejudice that stands in his way, he will still be there for you then." And, when the lord of the house had turned his attention elsewhere, the white-haired man muttered: "Yes, Lord Algin; wait, to be safe. Meanwhile, we shall make a closer acquaintance with this Khameir Sarin."

So Khameir Sarin was handed a pouch of gold for restoring His Lordship his property — his wife. He bowed and waited hopefully for a moment for an offer he knew he had long since earned. But that did not come. Khameir bowed again, turned, and left.

***

The house was huge, as befitted the residence of one of the most influential families on Iridonia. And yet it seemed awfully quiet, bereft of all life. The hallways were deserted, there were no servants bustling about, no merry banter filling the kitchens. There were people, yes, and they might even have been called servants, but they seemed always to be watching the shadowy corners of the palatial dwelling, as if a ghost were haunting it. In fact, as he neared the iron-wrought gate that would permit him entrance, he remembered the discussions and the gossip quite vividly. But what was more, he remembered the truth.

Old Patch Undan and his wife had died in short succession, a matter of twenty seconds, as he recalled, leaving their not so small business to their only daughter. Undan had had a hand in every part of the small planet's economy, but his major source of wealth had been slaves. Solay had served for a time as Patch's second, before the madness had taken her, and now the servants tiptoed around the house daintily, trying to avoid their unpredictably moody mistress and especially her lover.

He liked it that way, especially since it kept them from asking inconvenient questions. Rounding the corner and stepping into the beautiful courtyard he looked up to see her stand on the balcony, smiling down at him, that certain smile he knew oh so well. She had looked at him in the same manner when she had straightened from her father's corpse, the man's blood still hot on her hands. That questioning look seeking his approval. At that time he had given it with some satisfaction. Her madness was a mask he had looked through straight from the beginning, and he knew that his knowing made her feel attracted to him. Here was someone she could almost trust, someone like herself. Someone to teach her. And he had worked hard on letting her believe that this was actually true.

He had moved in shortly after her parents' death and gossip had it that he had had something to do with their untimely demise. How right they had were. Yet no one dared to express this opinion aloud, and especially not in Solay's presence. Without his appearance the government would undoubtedly have assigned her a legal guardian. But now they looked benignly upon his endeavours in Solay's name. Ever since the tall stranger kept Solay Undan company, the trade was running smoothly. There was even talk of expansion and very slowly Undan built up her influence, her lover's deft manipulations keeping her ahead of any competitors. And his skilful negotiations had attracted even off-world investors, a chance for the government to help the economy along and to give Iridonia a new image, that of a trade world instead of a backwater planet.

Presently that mysterious benefactor had just come back from a visit to Lord Algin and a faint smile lay across his features. The trip had been quite successful, in a great many ways. Lord Algin was head of the most powerful family on Iridonia, and he had been frowning at Solay Undan's steady progress with some concern. Calming him down had been first priority on this visit, but there had been another reason too. That young warrior, whom Algin was so quick to praise and even quicker to dismiss as unworthy, had intrigued him. Sarin was an adept fighter, but that was not all. He was fairly glowing in the eyes of those who could see such things. In short, he would keep a tight watch over him.

But in the meantime he had other things to attend to, important too, and much more imminent than Khameir Sarin. He had invited his new-found investors to Iridonia for negotiations, and there was a lot to prepare before their emissary arrived. First of all he had to prepare Solay for the stress ahead. She was so unstable at times that he had to spend more energy on controlling her than he liked. After all, trade negotiations were never easy. And if she distracted him, he might be forced to use less pleasant methods than he had planned. Unfortunately she owned the business, and he had no intention to take it from her just now, which meant that she had to attend the meetings too, if only for show. He would be leading the deal, on any account.

Smiling to himself he opened the door to his study. Who could have known that Iridonia would prove to be so interesting?