Prologue

"The Ice Lords will pronounce your doom," said the man, bound by the wrists by shackles of iron. "To thus take what is mine is an insult to their loyalty to me ! You have wrought your own damned fate."

The old queen sneered at him, then she laughed as she drove a shard of ice into his heart. He felt the cold fire of his soul flare for one moment brighter than any ice star, and then it faded, taking with it all the magic he had left. But there was one place she could not reach, where the ice could not go, a place Troll-magic could not touch.

"Well, well, king of vagabonds !" she smirked, as the iron that bound his wrists fell to the floor, shattered by the ice, "go then; I release you into your kingdom !"

He knew what had been done, and knew that only in the Wastes could he find the key to it being undone.

"I will bring you ruin," he vowed, and deep in his blood the oath was heard. He flung back his head and howled. "I swear revenge ! I swear I will break every chain you have forged, and I will forge you new ones !" With his oath ringing in his ears, bitterly he left his castle, and turned his face to the North.

There, he crossed the last river, but he found no release, but the Ice Lords placed upon him a condition to counter the curse: that unless he could find a girl to love him without seeing his true form for a year and a day, then his aunt would win the land and he would be bound in marriage to his cousin.

"This is a condition I cannot agree to," he told them, "is there no other way ?"

"Arnoth has woven the web," said the Ice Lord, towering above him with a crown of stars on his head, "and what Arnoth weaves cannot be undone. But this condition which I place upon you may change your fate. It does not have to be final."

He had known that would be their answer. He bowed his head. "Thank you," he said, well aware of what angering the Ice Lords meant. The Lord smiled.

"Go, then," he said, "carve yourself a new destiny."

The man did not think it possible.