Whitest steed and blackest night

In Winter's eye a shocking sight.

The darkness roared. Like an enraged beast, silver claws flashed from the black sky, cutting everything in their path, beating the once-parched earth into silty submission. Lightning punctuated the madness, splitting trees like twigs, sizzling in the drowned air. Through it all a fierce globe burned and streaked through the night, its blue-white light reflecting off the flooded ground and glistening leaves.

Suddenly, out of the darkness in the ghostly lingering wake of the light lunged a great white mare, hooves shattering the stream. Sleek neck and long legs fully extended, mane streaming water, she pounded up the mountainside as though the storm was a real beast snapping at her tail. Upon her back, a rider in a blue cloak crouched close over her neck, guiding her, urging her onwards with whispered arcane words that only a horse's ears could hear. Not far behind her a second, darker horse galloped, struggling to keep up. Both horses should have broken their necks at the insane pace they were racing over the treacherous ground, but bright runes glowing on their hooves saw that their footing was safe and sure.

Requar and Flint had been riding for hours. The weather had dropped on them suddenly, violently, halfway through the Valewood Forest, as though they had passed through the leading edge of a wave into a chaotic, freezing world. There they found themselves following forest trails turned to rivers, and trees and rocks slick with ice. The darkness in the sky over the mountains held a foreboding presence that both men felt as a heavy weight in their stomachs, but neither of them spoke of it. They did not speak at all as they rode: Requar intent on getting them to their destination as quickly as possible and Flint content merely to trust and follow.

Requar was sure that the ex-Bladeshifter was having plenty of misgivings about his decision to tag along, but he had not voiced them, as yet. They had stopped only once, at the base of the mountains, to rest and eat and cast a few protective spells on the horses, and Requar had caught the unmistakable glimmer of doubt in Flint's shadowed eyes then. Perhaps it was pride or stubbornness that kept the stocky man struggling doggedly after him, towards an uncertain and probably dangerous future. Perhaps some unknown agenda. There might even be some remnants of his original assassination plot still floating around in his head.

Or perhaps he was simply afraid of being alone.

Requar knew what that felt like.

They were now well into the pass that led to the valley, only an hour or two away from the castle by Requar's reckoning, though he had only his own instincts to judge the time. Moon and stars were a forgotten memory, and even his seeking spell was just an indistinct haze in the distance. The rain had thickened into a heavy curtain of sleet that slanted directly into his face, freezing his eyelashes and skin, coating clothes, harness and horse in slick frost. He was forced to keep wiping his eyes to prevent them from sticking shut and blinding him.

He scanned the darkness periodically, but nothing leapt out to attack them except the rain and wind. There was a high likelihood that many of Arzath's minions still resided in the valley. Requar didn't think any of them would dare to attack with magic blazing all around, but it didn't hurt to be watchful.

But the leaden snake of unease that had twisted itself around his gut ever since he made his first stunning contact with Ferrian was constricting further with each stride of his horse. He could not determine the source of it, and that made him anxious.

Surely, Ferrian is perfectly safe within the castle? Nothing could pass in or out without his knowledge, and he had felt no further disturbances in the shield.

Why then was he so convinced that something terrible waited to welcome him home?

His thoughts plummeted with the temperature, and before long the sorcerer was lost in a semi-conscious daze, lulled by penetrating cold, and weariness that sank even deeper. His grip became slack on the reins, and his seeking spell drifted further and further ahead. His beautiful white mare, Serentyne, continued galloping loyally through the near pitch blackness, though fatigue was laying claim to her, too, as she strove for footing on the steep mountain path. Water gushed over her hooves, trying to sweep her legs out from under her, but the fading agility spells etched on them still held her steady.

Suddenly she crested a rise and leapt downwards through a narrow break between a clutch of boulders, and there upon the other side would have plunged into catastrophe if Requar's instincts had not snapped him out of his torpor at the last second. With a gasp he yanked heavily on the reins, bringing her to a sliding, panicked halt.

A few moments later Flint's horse came barrelling down the same break, nearly colliding with them, but Requar's hasty intervention spell turned it aside, throwing them both backwards against the boulders. Flint would have fallen from his saddle, except the defile was so narrow that the boulders caught his fall. Instead, he was left wedged between a squirming horse and an icy rock wall.

Requar leapt from his seat and part ran, mostly slid down to his companion. "Are you all right?" he yelled, grabbing the reins of Flint's frantic mount before it crushed its rider into the wall.

Flint responded with a curse and Requar felt relief flood through him. In Flint's language, that was as good as a 'yes.'

As Flint righted himself, Requar stroked the horse's nose and whispered to it, trying to calm it down. The animal was terrified, shivering, and seemed to be limping on its left front leg. Igniting a small glow of white fire in his fingers, he crouched down to examine it. He could not see any obvious injuries, but it was hard to be certain in the darkness. He traced over the all but vanished spells on its hooves, reinforcing them, and felt a little more of his own energy seep away as he did so. For a moment, he remained crouching, seeking comfort from the slight shelter of the horse's warm body. Sleet pounded on his back like hammers and trickled off his hood and nose. He wanted desperately to close his eyes and rest, but was afraid that if he did so, even for a second, exhaustion would take him completely.

Above him, Flint was still muttering and cursing, obviously not thrilled with how the journey was turning out. "What's the hold up?" he called down. "Why did we stop?"

Requar pushed himself to his feet with an effort. He summoned his seeking spell back from where it had wandered off and it came blazing around the cliffs to halt, hovering over the seemingly impassable obstacle before them.

What was usually, in the summer months, a gently trickling series of rapids was now nature at its most wrathful. The valley above them was disgorging its flooded river into the pass. The spray leapt to shoulder height, even atop a horse.

"Ah," Flint said. "That'd be a good reason…"

Requar did not reply. He walked back to Serentyne and mounted.

"You ain't seriously considering crossing that… are you?" Flint shouted.

Requar looked at the thundering mass of foam leaping and lunging over the rocks like a living thing. Like a great fist ready to grab him and scatter his bones and Serentyne's all the way down the mountainside.

I don't have a choice.

Ferrian is waiting for me.

"We can make it," he said.

But Flint was shaking his head. "No way."

Requar turned to stare at him. "You don't trust me?"

Flint stared back through the rain. Icicles were dripping off his hat. The Justifier was an almost unrecognisable piece of ice sculpture stuck to his back. "Look," he said. "I'll admit that I'm curious about the Winter kid, but I sure as hell ain't gonna break my neck for him. All this magical business, it's got nothin' to do with me!"

He lowered his head for a moment, then seemed to make a decision. He turned his horse back to the break. "Shoulda stuck to my original plan and gone to Sunsee! All that sun, all that sea! All this–" he waved around at the storm, "I don't understand any of it! It ain't right, it ain't natural, and it ain't my problem! You don't need me: I'm just bogging you down!"

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Requar continued to stare at him for a moment, then nodded slowly and looked away. "I wish you luck," he said.

Winding his hands in Serentyne's reins, he edged her towards the raging river until her nose was almost touching the foam. She obeyed his commands without panicking. She was a good horse. He reminded himself to thank the Freeroamers, when he could, and return her to them safely.

Or failing that, perhaps the Gods would someday thank them on his behalf.

Taking a deep breath, he withdrew his Sword of Healing from its sheath. He placed the flat of the blade firmly against Serentyne's flank. The blade rippled with blue light like water in a crystal pool as he began to augment her energy with his own. The Sword of Healing could be used not only to heal damage, but also to increase vitality far beyond natural levels, if need be. Requar did not use it for this purpose very often, as the after-effects could be detrimental, but in this circumstance he needed to give her every chance of survival. With his free hand, he began to construct a shield around them both.

When he was satisfied that all his spells were in place, he guided Serentyne into the stream.

"Wait!" Flint cried suddenly. He was stumbling over the rocks towards Requar. "You're really gonna do this?"

"It is not my choice, Flint. I promised Ferrian that I would help him, and I don't intend to let him down."

Flint shook his head. "Why do you care about this kid so much? It's not just his magic, is it? You know somethin' about him, don't you?"

"I…" Requar fell silent. Wind and sleet mingled with the tumultuous roar of the flood, a deafening wall of sound. Such fury, he thought. Such terrible power. This pass should have been cool and dry and silent under a pale moon, but here it was, streaked with howling ice.

Ferrian's Winter. It was as though the boy was beating on Requar's back with his own fists.

His hand tightened on the hilt of his Sword. "I need to do this," he replied. "I have my reasons." For the first time in a long time, it was he who could not meet another's gaze.

Flint squinted at the raging torrent, then back at his own horse, then back at Requar. Finally, he sighed. "Listen. Uh… my horse has a lame leg. It's not gonna survive that crossing, magic or no." He hesitated. "I'll be lucky if it even makes it back down the mountain…"

Requar switched his Sword to his left hand, and held his right out to Flint. This time, he did meet the other man's eyes. "You were wrong before, Flint," he said. "Everyone needs a friend."

Flint stared at the offered hand, at the water dripping off the long fingers. Then a sudden gust of freezing wind seemed to make the decision for him. Wordlessly, he reached out and took it, and Requar helped him climb up onto Serentyne's back.

"Have a little faith," he called to Flint over his shoulder. "I don't die easily."

"Yeah," Flint grumbled. "You don't need to remind me."

Despite himself, Requar smiled a little as they stepped out into the rapids.

Any other rider would have been smashed to pieces in an instant, but the white mare kept her feet. Requar's shield absorbed the impact of the waves and deflected them over their heads in great cascading arcs. Like a ghost passing beneath a shimmering curtain of water, Serentyne crossed slowly and delicately, oblivious to the chaos. Then suddenly they were through, clambering over the rocks on the opposite shore and without further hesitation galloped away on the final stretch of the journey home.

"At least he left a fire on for us," Flint said, huffing his breath out in a cloud. Hugging himself against the cold, he peered at the column of smoke drifting invitingly upwards from one of the chimneys. There was no need to shout any longer, the wind and rain had died away completely, as though they had entered the eye of the storm. The clouds still flashed around the mountain peaks and thunder boomed like a ring of giant drummers encircling them, but the Sorcerer's Valley was wrapped in a cocoon of eerie silence. Even the night sky had reappeared: diamond stars winking awake between the clouds and a three-quarter moon spilling its light throughout the valley. Only a few gentle snowflakes continued to float down from the cold heavens.

Requar was too tired for conversation. He slid from his saddle to land beside Flint, ice crumbling off his cloak as he did so. Taking Serentyne's reins, he led her through the deep drifts of snow to the stables abutting the north wall of his castle. They had not been used in some time; he had once owned a few horses and other animals, but Arzath had slaughtered them all in one of his countless senseless attacks and he hadn't had the heart to replace them. The building was clean and dry, however, and it was better than leaving the mare standing outside in the unpredictable elements.

Snow showered over him as he tugged the stubborn doors open and led his horse into the nearest stall. He lit a couple of torches and took a few minutes to unharness and brush the ice off her. He fetched the rainwater bucket from outside and used a little magic to melt the crust of frost off the surface, then filled her empty trough. Then he let her be and walked back around to the main entrance where Flint was poking curiously at the castle shield, watching the air ripple.

"Don't do that," he said, and walked into the shield without pausing. It melted aside as he approached, Flint hurrying quickly through as it closed again behind them. Requar stepped up to the doors, turned the handles and went inside.

And then he stopped.

And stared.

"Whoa…" Flint breathed, entering behind him and staring around.

Requar walked quietly into the middle of the hall. The moon cast a hazy glow through the frosted-over stained glass window above the doors, bathing the interior of the foyer in dim blue light.

Like an ice cave.

Everything was frozen. The walls, the floor, the ceiling, the staircase, the furniture, the chandelier. Everything was covered in a thick, glistening layer of ice. The castle was still and silent: even the grandfather clock was dead within its frosty encasement.

"Something's wrong," Requar murmured.

"No kidding," Flint remarked.

"No," Requar shook his head slowly, frowning. "Not the ice. I expected as much. Something else…"

He turned in a circle, examining every corner of the hall, concentrating on the shadows. His gaze lingered on the dark balcony for a long moment, but nothing moved there.

And yet… something was ominously out of kilter. He had felt it the moment he opened the doors, as though someone had dropped a leaden mantle upon his shoulders. He had built this castle; he had lived here, when not on other sojourns, for half a century. It was his home. He knew it like his own skin. Something in the fall of the shadows and the chill of the stone was whispering to him to be cautious.

His behaviour was making Flint nervous, as well. "Could someone else have gotten in here?" the ex-Bladeshifter asked.

"No," Requar said abruptly. He shook his head again. "No one could have breached the shield without alerting me to their presence, and I would have discerned their identity straight away. There is no one in here besides ourselves and Ferrian." As though determined to prove his point, he strode towards the closed door at the far end of the room, from beneath which a dim orange glow leaked onto the icy floor.

He paused for a moment with his hand on the handle, listening, but there was nothing to be heard from the room beyond. Slowly, he turned the handle and pushed the door open, although it required several hard shoves as it was iced shut. "So much for subtlety," Requar muttered to himself as he finally broke through.

The dining hall beyond was empty, save for a fire blazing brightly in the hearth at the opposite end of the room. It filled the room with warmth and light – the frost ended at the edges of the glow – and the walls were alive with dancing shadows. Requar walked slowly around the long table and down the length of the hall, looking around carefully. Nothing seemed out of place, everything was exactly how he had left it. The tall windows on his left mirrored the movements of their lord as he passed them.

Then he reached the end of the table, and stopped.

Ferrian was sitting on the floor in front of the hearth, legs drawn up to his chest, staring into the fire. He did not move or look up at the sorcerer's approach.

"Ferrian?" Requar said.

The boy did not respond.

Very slowly, so as not to startle him, Requar moved towards Ferrian. He crouched beside him and drew back his hood. "Ferrian, it's me," he said softly. "Lord Requar."

Ferrian continued to stare unblinkingly into the fire. There was frost in his hair, despite the heat. His skin was shockingly pale, his lips bloodless. Requar placed a hand on Ferrian's forehead.

Cold. Cold as stone.

Behind him, Flint slumped against the dining table. "We're too late," he sighed in dismay, and shook his head. "Poor kid…"

Requar ignored him. I think I'm dead… The boy's frightened words ran once again through his head.

He took Ferrian's face in his hands and lifted his chin off his knees so that he could stare into his eyes. Deeply he delved into their mirror-like depths, searching…

You're still in there, aren't you? You don't need to be afraid any more. You don't need to run, or hide. I am here to help you. I am sorry I took so long to find you…

Still Ferrian did not respond. Switching to Mind Vision, Requar reached deeper with his magic, beyond the eyes, into Ferrian's mind, searching for the little sparkles of light that were his thoughts…

Suddenly a bright white light flared out of the darkness, obscuring his Vision. Rapidly it intensified until, like a freezing whip, it lashed out of Ferrian's mind and into Requar's own, causing him to recoil in shock.

He picked himself up off the floor a few moments later, when his eyesight had returned, in time to see the white glow fade from Ferrian's eyes. Then the boy collapsed.

"What happened?" Flint asked in alarm.

"Ugh…" Requar clutched at his head and clenched his eyes shut to try and ease the throbbing pain. The backlash of magic had cut through his mind like an ice cold knife. "He is dead… in a sense," he answered finally. "His magic appears to be the only thing keeping his body alive. His consciousness may or may not still be intact: I cannot be certain without a more thorough examination." He winced. "And a great deal more protective spells."

He stood up, then gathered Ferrian in his arms and picked him up off the floor. "In the meantime, I need to move him away from this fire. It's doing him more harm than good." He turned and began to stride back down the hall.

"Can't you use that healin' sword an' fix him," Flint asked, hurrying after, "like you did with me an' Nightwalker?"

Requar shook his head. "I only wish it were that simple. The Sword of Healing requires a life force to work on. Without one, its magic is unfortunately useless."

"So, what are you gonna do?"

"I'm not–" Requar stopped dead, the remainder of the sentence fleeing back down his throat.

They were halfway across the foyer when Requar realised that he had been terribly, terribly mistaken.

Someone else had entered his castle.

Someone now standing at the top of the staircase, dressed in familiar dark clothing, staring down at him.

Someone that he had never, ever expected to see again.

"Hello, Requar," Arzath said, grinning. "Welcome home."