Love Will Thaw

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Carnage

The main corridor inside the palace was the epitome of a disaster area. The hall was filled to the brim with bodies, both alive and dead, the living men doing their best to repulse their formidable assailants, the dead gazing sightlessly upon the carnage, their unmoving forms serving as a testament to the horrific nature of warfare.

Above the din, Jurgen's voice rang out. "Anlerusk! We can't hold them back forever! Some are getting past us! Your men have to stop them!"

"I see that!" the irritated drømme weaver retorted, ducking as a blade narrowly missed severing his neck from his body. Without thinking, Anlerusk held out his hand. The shadowy figure attacking him suddenly dropped his weapon, clutching his hooded face in agony, horrific screams emanating from his throat. No longer trying to attack, the shadowy figure rushed to the nearby window, shattering the glass as he hurled his body through it, his screams continuing as he ran into the distance.

It's not enjoyable to suddenly think your face is melting, now, is it? Smirking at the effectiveness of his illusion, Anlerusk turned toward the staircases behind him. "Erdren! I know you can hear me up there! Why aren't you doing your job?!"

Erdren's voice rang out faintly from far above the corridor. "I'm sorry, sir! We are doing our best, but there are too many of them! Some of them are slipping past us!"

Anlerusk's face twisted into a look of pure malice. Idiots! Why must I be surrounded by such incompetence?! "Then hunt them down, one by one, and eliminate them! I don't care if you have to make them think they've forgotten how to control whatever bodily functions they possess! You—"

"Watch yourself!"

Anlerusk felt blood drain from his face, as he saw a blade intercept the weapon intended for his heart. As quickly as it had arrived, his savior's sword knocked aside his attacker's, then quickly severed the shadowy figure's hand. Screaming in pain, the shrouded form fell back, clutching his stump of an arm, no longer eager to attack the drømme weaver.

For the first time in ages, Anlerusk felt unsure of himself, unsteady. Turning toward his rescuer, he groaned inwardly when he saw who it was. "I suppose this means I owe you now, doesn't it, Captain?"

A thin smile tugged at Jurgen's lips. "Don't worry about it. I am certain you would have done the same for me. Correct?" He raised an eyebrow at the slightly-humbled drømme weaver. "Well?"

Oh, how I hate this! Setting aside his pride, Anlerusk nodded begrudgingly. "Why, of course, Captain. Frankly, I am insulted you would doubt my honor."

Jurgen looked beyond Anlerusk, shaking his head at the devastation that surrounded them. "We cannot win this battle," he murmured. "There are too many of them. We have too few men."

Desperately, he turned back toward the end of the corridor, toward Andersen. The Chief Minister of Arendelle was doing a surprisingly effective job of holding his own against the assailants for a man of his age. "Minister!" Jurgen called out, rushing toward the older man, taking down three shadowy figures with a single swing of his blade. "Do we have any resources? Any at all?"

"I . . . don't know," Andersen confessed, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fought to steady himself. "Elenórathem . . . She was supposed to get their help. But she has not returned . . ."

Jurgen frowned in concern. "Who? Whose help, Minister?"

"It doesn't matter." Andersen could no longer stand, so exhausted was he by the strain that had been placed on his aged body. Sinking to his knees, he covered his eyes in despair. "I have failed Her Majesty, Jurgen. I swore I would keep Arendelle safe in her absence. I . . . I . . ."

"Oh, no, you don't!" Jurgen pulled the Minister to his feet, supporting the older man by letting him lean on his shoulder, forcing himself to demonstrate confidence in their chances he knew he did not possess. "You haven't failed anyone yet, Minister. We're still in this fight. And fight we will, down to the very last man."

Glancing toward the hallway high above him, he offered a silent prayer to whatever Almighty power might exist. If there is anything that can be done, please help us. Don't let them win. Please, forgive me. Please, give me a sign . . .


"I do not understand, my brothers . . . my sister. Why? Why are you unwilling to aid them?"

Deep within the palace, in a chamber only a handful of people knew existed, Elenórathem stood before the legendary Jewels of power that had been acquired by Arendelle four years earlier: the powerful Tritastónende.

Before the trio of stones stood three figures—the guardian spirits of the Jewels. Their gazes fell upon Elenórathem, their faces passive, not betraying any hints of emotion.

The tallest among them stepped forward, placing his hand on Elenórathem's shoulder. "It is not a matter of us not wanting to assist them, sister," Vandránavish, Spirit of Earth, said. "Believe me. We do not wish to see Arendelle fall. But—"

"But this is not our battle." The blue Water Spirit that was Elenórathem's twin moved toward her, taking her hand. "Do you not understand, sister?" Elenóreweth asked, looking at her sister intently. "The Men of this world must take responsibility for their own actions. We cannot interfere in every conflict that may arise. You recall what happened the last time we were forced to do so . . ."

Elenórathem's eyes narrowed, her patience beginning to dwindle. "This is nothing like last time! The Enemy attacking Arendelle is the Ancient Evil himself! This is not some conflict between two kingdoms of Men! This is a battle for the very existence of this world . . . and all worlds as well." She looked at their faces, her eyes silently imploring them to understand. Her attention fell upon the youngest among them. "What say you, Vinderdrómethen? Do not tell me you are as stubborn as your siblings."

The Wind Spirit closed his eyes, as if struggling with what to do. "I understand your position, sister. I truly do. But, like they said, this is not our fight. Better to let the Men of Arendelle handle this conflict on their own. If they are truly meant to be victorious, they will be so without our assistance."

Elenórathem threw up her hands in consternation. "Then what is the point? What is the point of our continued existence if we do nothing to ensure this world survives when every living thing upon this Continent is under threat of extinction?" She thrust a finger toward the trio, her eyes narrow in judgment, a terrified scream from somewhere in the palace serving to emphasize her point. "Do you not hear that? Are you so willfully ignorant that nothing will sway your opinions?" Elenórathem shook her head, a look of derision upon her countenance. "I thought better of you. All of you. If this is how you act when those we were created to serve need us most, I no longer wish to be called your sister."

The three Spirits glanced at each other, a look of defeated acceptance falling upon each of their faces. Vandránavish shook his head as he spoke. "Very well. Your words ring true, sister. You remind us of our purpose. If you are convinced these Men are acting not in their own interests, but in the interests of all . . ."

"I am." Elenórathem's response was succinct, to the point, certain beyond any doubt.

"Then," Vandránavish continued. "Then, we will do as you ask. We will do our part to drive back this Enemy."

Elenórathem's reply was little more than a whisper. "Thank you. All of you. I—"

Her response was cut short by a bestial roar that tore through the thick walls of the palace. The chamber trembled as, in the distance, something large moved through the palace.

Vandránavish's face filled with dread. "Whatever this is, we must move quickly." Turning to Elenóreweth and Vinderdrómethen, he nodded grimly. "Let us go. We have wasted enough time as it is. From the sound of it, the time of the Men of Arendelle upon this Continent may already have passed . . ."


"Fall back! Defend the stairwells! Do not let them deeper into the palace!"

Jurgen's voice was filled with desperation, his weapon swinging about the corridor as he and his men were driven back by the relentless assault. No matter how many assailants fell beneath his blade, more continued to press, to force themselves within the palace. Realizing the corridor was lost, he had ordered his men back, hoping that the larger space of the room beyond the palace entrance would give them space to regroup.

He gestured to the men on his right and left. "You! Block the halls! Keep them confined to this room alone! If we cannot hold them here, we are finished!"

The Captain turned to Anlerusk. "Is there anything you can do? Can't you make them hallucinate that the palace is flooding, or something? Anything to drive them away?!"

Anlerusk laughed in amazement. "I'm afraid it doesn't work that way, Captain. Do you realize how much effort it takes to make just one normal man believe he is experiencing something that is not real, let alone one of these things?" He shook his head in dismay. "Perhaps if there were only a half dozen or so I could do something, but to make every member of this army simultaneously hallucinate? Impossible!"

"Then there is nothing any of us can do." Andersen quickly raised his sword, blocking an attack, allowing Jurgen to cut through his attacker's throat. The Minister turned to Jurgen. "Thank you, Captain. As I was saying, the situation appears to be increasingly hopeless."

"We are not giving up, Minister." Unconsciously, Jurgen looked toward the ceiling. Now would be a good time. Please. If there is anything You can do. I don't even know if You exist, but . . .

"No." Andersen's voice was firm, certain. "Your men have done all they can, Jurgen. Order them to retreat into the western mountains. I need you to go with them."

Before Jurgen could protest, Andersen held up his hand. "This is a direct order, Captain. You have proven yourself to me once more. I return to you your full authority, provided that you take the Prince and the Princess with you into the mountains. Guard them with your life, Jurgen. Keep them safe until you are able to return them to their mother."

"No!" Jurgen shouted. "I will not abandon Arendelle. I swore—"

"Arendelle is lost!" Andersen's eyes were filled with sorrow. "There is no reason for more men to die needlessly. Please, Jurgen. Do as I ask. Take your men into the mountains, gathering as many citizens as you can. I—"

Without warning, a brilliant golden light burst filled the corridor, blinding all within.

Shielding his eyes, Anlerusk tried to make sense of what was happening. "What in the—"

A man's voice erupted in a wild cry, cutting through the silence. "ATTACK!"

Despite the blinding light, Anlerusk, Andersen, and Jurgen could make out a new group of forms rushing through the door. But they did not bear the shape of the hooded figures they had been fighting. Rather, they looked like—

"Well, I'll be damned!" Anlerusk laughed as he suddenly understood. "They made it back, after all."

The light dimmed slightly, revealing Underthen cutting down numerous shadow warriors beneath his weapon. Behind him, joining in his assault, were Anna, Kristoff, Alúvelin, Valanda, Dernethbain, the freemen, and the skygge folk.

The shadowy figures in the foyer turned back toward the corridor, unwilling to allow this new threat to go unpunished. One of them stepped forward, taking on the mantle of leadership. "What are you waiting for, you fools? Attack!"

The corridor once more filled with the sounds of battle as the shadow warriors rushed toward the small group that dared to challenge their supremacy. With strength previously unknown to her, Anna met their attack head on, her sword driven by the primal desire to drive these beings that threatened her children's safety from their lands. Kristoff, Alúvelin, and Valanda fell in behind her, with the rest of their party close at hand.

Turning back, Underthen lowered his sword, a look of concern crossing his face. "Are you all right?" he asked as the source of the light fell to the floor, her countenance filled with exhaustion.

Élenway allowed a pain-filled smile to cross her face, the light that emanated from the center of her being slowly fading away. "That . . . took a lot more out of me . . . than I thought it would." She looked at Underthen in admiration. "See? You're not a coward . . . after all. You rushed right in, knowing . . . you could easily be killed."

"That was damn stupid of you." Underthen glared at Élenway in anger. "You didn't tell me it would hurt you to blind them like that. Why did you go ahead with it?"

The Maíreth shrugged. "Because . . . it needed to be done. Don't worry. I just . . . need to rest, to recover . . . my strength. That's why . . . I couldn't do that before. It takes a great deal . . . of energy . . . of concentration . . ."

Her face suddenly filled with fear. "Underthen!"

Acting on pure instinct, Underthen turned around, his sword meeting his attacker's just in time to prevent his certain death. Underthen immediately recognized his assailant as the self-styled leader who had spoken minutes—had it really only been minutes?—earlier.

"You are a fool!" the leader snarled. "Why did you send your small, pitiful band in here to die? We clearly outnumber you. Even with all your strength, with all your power, you are no match for us." He laughed, his voice cold, completely lacking in sympathy. "We . . . I will enjoy slaughtering each and every one of you—"

His smug demeanor instantly shifted to one of panic as a wave of agony cascaded over him. In horror, he realized that one of his arms was ablaze, while the other was encased in frigid ice, as were his legs.

"What is this?!" the leader screamed. "What is going—"

Alúvelin and Valanda were suddenly before them, their faces filled with contempt. "If you're going to kill someone," Alúvelin said, her voice even, calm. "If you're going to kill someone, just do it. Don't waste time talking about it."

Despite the overwhelming pain coursing through his body, the leader scoffed. "You still think you can defeat us? Look around! We are legion! You have no possible hope of success! NONE!"

The Empress of the brann wielders raised her eyebrow, casting a knowing look at her mother. "Really?" Stepping aside, she moved to the palace doorway. Raising her hands to the sky, she sent a stream of flame skyward from her right hand, while an arctic blast of ice burst heavenward from her left. In a voice unlike any she had ever used before, full of power, authority, all her majesty, she cried out:

"Brødre! , vil strømmen av brann wielders og ice baerers bli kjent. Med all din kraft og av all din styrke, forsvare våre brødre i Arendelle. Attack!"

The village square suddenly exploded with activity as from every corner, brann wielders and ice bærers rushed forth, flame and ice flying from their hands as they surged toward the palace. The shadow warriors were unprepared for such resistance. Caught off guard, they struggled to regain control, but were cast aside, until the throng of assistance reached the corridor. Letting out battle cries in their ancient tongues, the brann wielders and ice bærers overwhelmed the corridor, pressing into the foyer, sending the shadowy figures into a state of pure panic.

Élenway looked up at Alúvelin in amazement. "I . . . I can't believe . . . it actually worked. You . . . You truly are . . . their Empress, even after everything . . ."

The Empress knelt beside her, smiling. "It was your plan. It was brilliant, too. I wouldn't have thought of it. Now, you need to rest here. Let the rest of us do the fighting."

"No!" The Maíreth struggled to stand, frustrated by the weakness in her limbs. "I can't . . . I must . . ."

"You're not going anywhere." Underthen's voice was firm, his eyes filled with concern. "Now, it's time for me to take care of you. Just rest."

"That's right." A soft voice spoke, its owner taking Élenway's hand. Maíreweth smiled at the raven-haired woman, her presence a golden light in her world of black. "You've done so much for us . . . for me already." She looked up, her heightened senses helping her determine Underthen's location. "Go ahead and fight. I'll stay with her. I . . . I feel like I need to, for some reason . . ."

"Alúvelin! Valanda!"

The two rushed back into the corridor, Underthen right behind them, responding to Anna's call. The Princess of Arendelle was ecstatic, her eyes filled with excitement. "It worked! We're getting the advantage! Everything's going to be—"

Her voice was cut off as something heavy struck her at the base of her skull. Groaning in pain, she slumped to the floor.

"Anna!"

Kristoff, Alúvelin, and Valanda rushed forward at once.

"CEASE THIS AT ONCE!"

The solitary voice rose above the mayhem, catching the attention of all with its power, its desperate madness. Even Dernethbain and the skygge folk, flush with anger in the heat of battle, ceased their struggle against their attackers.

The shadowy figure holding Anna hostage looked wildly about the corridor, moving slowly into the foyer, making sure all eyes were upon him. "Now, here is how this is going to work. We are taking this palace. You will not resist. All of you will leave Arendelle and never return. Is that clear? If anyone attempts to fight against us, I will execute the Princess without hesitation. Do you understand?"

Andersen felt his heart sink into his chest as he saw the Princess was barely conscious, her eyes struggling to stay open.

"Don't . . . listen to him," Anna murmured. "Kristoff! Don't you dare—"

"That's enough from you!" The shadow warrior pressed his weapon against Anna's throat, hoping to make his intentions perfectly clear. "All of you. Leave this palace immediately. NOW!"

Before any in the corridor and foyer could move, an inhuman roar burst forth from upstairs. All eyes fell upon hallway above as screams of pain filled the air. Sickening crunches were heard as the bodies of several shadow warriors were hurled against the wall. Loud, massive footsteps grew closer and closer until—

"Mama! Papa! You're back!"

Through the haze that was her barely-coherent vision, Anna looked up in amazement. This . . . This is impossible! They couldn't have . . . It's can't be . . .

Célebron and Élsaweth beamed with pride as they sat astride . . . something massive. It was a large creature made of snow, its hands capped with icy claws, its large maw filled with unbelievably long icicles for teeth.

The twins looked eagerly toward their parents, seemingly oblivious to the serious nature of what was taking place below them. "Mama! Papa! Look what we made!"

Kristoff was flummoxed. "I . . . It's . . . It's . . ."

Élsaweth frowned as she noticed her mother in the clutches of the shadow warrior. "These people in our home aren't very nice. Not very nice at all." She leaned toward the side of the snow creature's head, where its ears would be, if it had ears at all. "I think we need to teach them a lesson. What do you think?"

All within the palace felt a tremor of fear course through their hearts as the snow creature let out a massive roar. Leaping from the hallway above, it landed before the shadow warrior holding Anna captive. Without missing a beat, it picked him up, hurling him down the corridor out the palace door.

Still astride the creature, Célebron and Élsaweth looked about the room, mischievous grins forming on their lips. "Now, does anyone wanna play with our new friend?"


AN: More to come.

Translation:

Brethren! Now, the power of the brann wielders and ice baerers will be known. With all your might—with all your strength—defend our brothers of Arendelle. Attack!