The Ice Storm
Chapter Twenty-eight
Wendell stared down at the crushed mess that had been the Ice Queen. In many ways, it was a disappointing scene. He had expected some great last display of ground shaking magic, perhaps a curse laid or a final threat. But none of that had happened. Certainly she had been formidable and threatening to watch, but in the end she had died just as surely as any woman would when crushed beneath a dragon's foot.
Seconds more passed, each like an hour. Scarlett, still held in the circle of his arms, her back pressed against him, turned now so that he could see her face. She looked thinner than he remembered, dirt smudged and hair astray, but her eyes positively glowed with life and vigour. Whatever had happened to her, he found himself approving of it. Even down to the tiny little fangs that now protruded from her upper jaw. They were delicate, nothing really when compared to others he had seen, but they were unmistakeble. Almost as if she was noticing them for the first time herself, her hand flew up to her mouth in shock. Wendell grabbed her hand and kissed it.
"We have some stories to tell, you and I" he said.
"You have no idea" she replied, proud and defiant now in her stance, as if she dared him to make issue of it. Wendell knew better, and besides, these were the last moments of their lives, were they not?
The commotion outside the ruined Hall, which had been mostly silent during the dragon exchange, now began again in earnest. Within minutes they would be through, and Wendell did not need to do a headcount of his remaining men to know they were vastly outnumbered now and likely to be attacked by an army avenging it's Queen. He sighed and kissed Scarlett again, on the mouth and with none of the decorum expected of a King.
They were interupted long before he was ready. The heavy sliding sound of a dragon moving about on land made them both turn their heads back to the dias. The male dragon Zorn had returned to his mates side, head low with exhaustion. Both of them looked dead on their feet in fact. They had expended a great deal of their strength in destroying the Ice Queen and her magic. They would not last long against the men now breaking through. In answer to his thoughts a small figure made it's way forward. Wendell recognized Alice as she put her hands to the gaping jaws of the dragons. She was pushing at them, shooing at them like they were common house cats.
"Go on sillies, fly, hurry before they come..."
"Yes, go, save yourselves" Wendell heard himself saying. He went to stand next to Alice. It was as close as he ever thought he would dare come to something so magnificent and dangerous. The dragons fixed him with their baleful stares. "Go, please, with our blessings. You have already done so much for the Kingdoms. You deserve your chance to bring your people back to them. Fly now, be free". Braver than he thought, he reached out to lay a hand to the rough scaly skin. The dragon dipped it's head as if in response and then they backed up, stretching their leathery wings so that the tip of each brushed the farthest walls. Slowly, then with a rush that looked almost painful, they beat the air. What wasn't tied down or already destroyed was now, as debris rained all around. With ponderous beats, the dragons took to the air. For a moment, the dragon Zorn faltered, and Wendell knew he wasn't alone when he shouted out his encouragement to the ailing beast.
"Go on, go on you beauty!" he shouted. The wind blew and wolves howled, men ducked for cover and then suddenly there was silence in the Hall. They were gone. At that moment, Wendell made a decision. He would live to to see them again.
He glanced a few feet over, to where Wolf stood, half cradling Virginia in his arms, half carrying her. "We need to make a plan".
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Huff puff, but what plan? Wolf thought to himself. He wiped the dust from his eyes with his tattered sleeve. He had all but been blown completely off his feet by the massive winds stirred up by the dragons flight. Even though it had warred with his protective instincts to send away their only real hope for survival, he also knew that Wendell had been right. The dragons might have afforded them some protection, but in the end they would have been overwhelmed and destroyed. And no man, nor wolf, truly had the right to command the oldest of folk in the world. Wolf glanced up at the hole in the roof from where the dragons had made their escape, hoping that they would at least make it to a place of safety, where they could recover, and with luck, start the repopulation of their kind. Picturing the looks of horror of the face of the Dwarf nation made him laugh quietly though.
But right now, yes, they had to think, make a plan that would somehow ensure they escaped this place. He tried to think about the few things he had learned about Eigth Kingdom folk. They were hardy, strong willed, living in a hard land with few resources. They were also the only land in the Kingdoms where wolf and human mingled their bloodlines freely and without predjudice. Were it not for their feared defences of their territories, Wolf knew that a great many of the wolfen families in the other Kingdoms would have migrated here. Some had gone, but no one had ever heard from them again.
He looked at the dead Queen before her tumbled down cauldron. How had she come to power? Had she killed her predecessor and expected her people to allow the natural succession, the rule of pack to go to the strongest? Would these people, who were even now gaining entrance to the hall, would they follow whoever was responsible for the death of their Queen? Or would they simply avenge her and choose a new leader from amongst themselves? Watching Wendell, standing proudly and without fear, it seemed to Wolf that he would be the logical choice, seeing as how he was the one who had lead the attack on the Palace. But then again, he would also likely be the first one killed in revenge.
Blood scent flooded his nose, reminding him all too painfully on yet another unknown. Somewhere in this place was his daughter. Dead or alive, he knew not, but he knew he had to find her. Virginia stirred in his arms and he relaxed his hold a bit. She seemed to be recovering from the daze she'd been in the past few minutes. She stood wearily on her feet, looking around at the ruined Hall.
"Where...?"
"Hush, sweeting. We're in the Ice Palace. The Queen is dead, but I fear her people are not going to be very happy with that" Wolf said in her ear. Virginia struggled in his hold.
"No, no, my baby...I mean our baby. She's here somewhere...down below, we were there, Will and I. He helped me, he had her in his arms when I fell"
"She's alive? You mean, she's really alive?" yelped Wolf. "But, isn't she too early?"
"Yes of course she's alive" Virginia replied, a little of her old spark in her voice. "And yes, she is early, but she is full size and weight. Believe me, I know"
"And she is with Will?"
"Yes yes, I told you. We have to go down, we were captive together, a long way down in the ice, somewhere Rhoswen had made...no, wait...where is she? Where is Rhoswen?" Virginia said in a rush. Wolf did not know who she meant.
"Who is Rhoswen, Virginia?"
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Who indeed, am I? The words flashed through Rhoswens mind as she entered the Hall from the stairwell. Words that ought to be clarifying but now only produced confusion and bitterness. Nestled securely in the crook of her arm, the infant stared with all too knowing eyes, boring into her soul. That gaze made her dizzy and her skin feel like a thousand insects crawled over it. A part of Rhoswen wanted to dash the child away in horror, but she had never been one to cast away what was needful. Frightful or not, this child was her ticket for survival, and perhaps more. For a moment, she wondered if Neva had ever had this strange sensation of cradling a child not hers when Rhoswen had arrived in the Palace. She forced herself to stare back at the babe, noting the pale skin and miniature features of the mother. If only those eyes were her mothers too. I'll be your mother now, she wanted to say to the child, enchanted even as you may be.
Rhoswen took a moment to survey the wreckage of the room. No one had spotted her yet, it seemed, and that was a good thing, for what she saw shook her to the very bones. Something had destroyed the Hall. A huge something, to judge from the scraping trail and long gouges in the floor that looked just like talon marks. With a sickening realisation, Rhoswen knew what had made those marks. Had she not knelt before those claws before, using her will to shape the magic potion that had flowed forth? All the time convincing herself that she did no harm, for surely the creature was dead? Just an old, old dragon, mired and buried far from the surface. And her dreams, full of flight and fire, surely they were chance things only, weren't they?
Trembling, Rhoswen drew herself together. Whatever it had done, surely it was gone now from the Palace. It had freed itself finally, it would have only stopped perhaps to wreak revenge on whatever was closest to hand...
Neva was dead. Her eyes had finally come to rest on the crumpled figure. The cauldron lay on it's side, the precious magic vanished. Rhoswen could see the channels the magic had left in the floor as it had returned to the earth. All gone, all gone away, and so therefore, was the Ice Storm. They had failed.
A silent wail began in her mind. Neva, dead and crushed, how? How could such a one as she be defeated? And yet for Rhoswen, who had imagined her step-mothers death on so many occasions, now she felt only grief. True, Neva had been a hard and unforgiving parent, a harsh tutor with little love to be shown to her headstrong 'daughter', but she was all Rhoswen had had. As a foundling, a random child abandoned, Rhoswen had clung to what had been her only family. Neva had abused that bond, no doubt, but that did not make it any less real, or strong. Rhoswen found her feet moving towards the dias.
It was a mistake. They had seen her. A dozen pairs of eyes followed her as she approached the remains of Neva, but Rhoswen scarcely acknowledged them. Enemy or not, alone or not, she knelt at the edge of the dias. She wanted to howl the death song, to sing her grief as wolf folk will do, but nothing came forth. The sounds of men labouring to break into the hall were dim to her ears, but close now came footsteps. Out of the corner of her vision came the heavy walking boots, like those of a man but much smaller, and behind them a pair dainty ladies shoes that looked much the worse for wear. Rhoswen clutched the infant closer to her body. Almost without thinking, she drew her sharp belt knife to hover close, menacingly over the baby. There was a collective intake of breath in the room.
The person with the boots sat down awkwardly at her side. Rhoswen did not need to look up to know it was Virginia. The other woman sat quietly, hands clasped on her lap as calmly as if waiting for the sun to rise.
"I haven't thought of a name yet, you know" said Virginia suddenly. Rhoswen heard the smile in her voice and dared a glance sideways. Virginia looked tired, as any woman might, and she did have that certain glow of new mothers when looking at their newborn children. And she was gazing at the baby as she spoke, with such love on her face that it made Rhoswen weep inside. Would that anyone have looked on her with that expression!
"She should be nameless, as a foundling ought to be" she said, not caring if the bitterness dripped through her words.
"Ah, but my daughter will never have cause to know herself a foundling" replied Virginia, "for she will never be given up, nor cast away for another to pick up and make of her what they wish. Not like..."
"Not like me, you mean"
"No, not like you, Rhoswen, white rose" Virginia answered quietly. Rhoswen startled at the old meaning in the name Neva had given her. Without warning, fear swept her. What did this woman know? Did it matter? She raised her face finally to meet Virginia's eyes. Behind her, others stood, a tall fair man who she recognized as King Wendell, a dark haired half-wolf who glared at her with red rimmed eyes, an older man at his side. And now the owner of the dainty shoes, a woman with a long sweep of red lined cloak in tatters around her, leaning down with a mass of pale gold hair and a face just like...
"She, she's all I have" Rhoswen barked at them. "You don't understand, what it's been like for me. I have no one. No family of my own. I care not for the profit of war. I care not that my mothers people will never accept me as her heir and that they will probably kill me now just for being an outsider. I just don't...want to be alone!". Tears were threatening, she could feel them gathering. The ring of people seemed to waver and close around her. The baby mewed as she clutched her ever closer. The tiny heart was thudding against her ribs.
"Give the child to her mother". Someone else was speaking now, a feminine and kind voice. "You would not raise a child in the way Neva raised you, as a tool to be sharpened and used at will, a child that will love you, yes, but also fear you and one day, rise up against you. Please, Rhoswen, I beg you"
"Who, who are you to ask this of me? You know me not..."
"It is true, but that is a discussion for another day, in the presence of the one who brought it about I hope. But, look into my face now, Rhoswen. Do you not know me?". The command in the woman's voice was irresistable. Rhoswen looked up into her own face. The woman smiled at the hidden question on her lips, and in that smile, Rhoswen knew the truth.
"I...you"
"Yes and yes" the woman laughed, before extending a hand as casually as two ladies meeting on a stroll through the gardens. "I am Scarlett, Queen of the North Second Kingdom. And you are my long lost sister...Rose"