Winter snow twinkled like starlight as it fell near torches place on either side of her. She was sitting outside on a cold stone bench, and for good reason. It was the stone upon which Tregar the Terrible united their people by executing the last traitor to stand against him. That was over a thousand years ago. Now, it was used as a throne, and all those who seated themselves on it wielded the power of the highest hoverstone in all the land.

 Khara Tregar watched as the Knights under her command gathered together. Under their steel armor they were no doubt shivering, but not one man dared to take a single piece of his kit off. She pursed her lips, showed a hint of a smile. Not only would their skin stick to the frosty metal, but she would have the first one to try it killed.

 She, on the other hand, was wearing nothing more than a thin deer’s skin blouse and tight leather pants. Deer-skin boots. Yet, she did not shiver. She did not feel the cold. Like Tregar the Terrible, her blood was frost and ice.

 “Bring him!”

 Upon her shout, her Knights raised their shields and beat their fists against them in a steady heart-beat. One started the chant, “Whoooo, Whoooo,” and all picked up after him. Her lips widened into a true smile as the jailers threw their prisoner before her throne.

 She held up a hand.

 The chanting cut off.

 “You’re a long way from home.” She stood and walked lightly around the prisoner in loose circles. “The East Shore is--how far, would you say?”

 The prisoner whispered.

 “What was that?” She was not surprised he was soft-spoken. Most who traveled this high among the hoverstones could not fill their lungs completely--the air was too thin. She fluttered her eyes. “I couldn’t quite hear...”

 A jailer kicked the prisoner in the small of the back. He sputtered, “Two weeks.”

 “By horse,” Khara said, sounding bored. “Yet, you made the trip. Why?”

 The man said nothing.

 Her voice sharpened. “Why?”

 Another kick. “Egg. The egg.”

  It was nice to see he was so forthcoming. Torture had a way of loosing the mind to influence. That and Tregars were well aware of how to deal with elves from the East Shore. Or any kind of elves, for that matter. There were once many, many more. Now, they were hardly a threat at all.

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 She went down on a knee next to him. Her coal black hair shimmered under torch-light; her green eyes glistened, shone. Reaching into her pocket, she brought out a glass bulb filled a single curving green leaf. She held it in the palm of her hand. Put it inches from his face. “Familiar?”

  His head hung to his chest, but she saw his eyes grow to the size of shields. She stood up. Reached into her pocket, turned to her Knights. “This is the pendant of the last elf to come near Frostfight.” She tossed it to her prisoner’s knees. “And the one before that.” She tossed another. “And before that.” Tossed another. “And before that.” The last pendant smacked against ice-slicked snow. “This elf’s pendant is still on his neck. It means he cannot be made to bleed.” She looked around her Knights, glittering in the snow. “Shall I take it?”

  A roar went up, more fists thumping against shields. They began to change again. She smiled brilliantly at them and held up her hand. She strode to the elf and snatched the pendant from around his neck. She held it up for all to see. Her Knights cheered once more.

 As the noise continued to build, Khara whispered into the elf’s ear. “You shouldn’t have come.”

 “I had no choice.”

 “Everyone has a choice, elf. You simply made the wrong one. You meant to steal my egg.”

 “Not steal. Watch.”

 “Watch in order to steal.”

 He said nothing.

 “I grow tired of this.” Khara stood up.

 She looked the jailer and said, “Cut his throat.”

 Rough cheers exploded from her men as the jailers slammed the elf against Tregar’s throne. Once his blood had flowed across it, looking like a river delta, she went to throne and nudge the elf’s lifeless body aside. It slumped away. She smiled, her eyes alight, as she sat on the throne, in the middle of elf’s blood. She wondered what Tregar would have thought of that.

 The men started to sing of deeds done over the centuries by men and women of Frostfight’s hoverstone. And as they did so, she reached behind her, brought out a pale, blue egg, large as both her hands put together. She set the egg beside her, set it within elf’s blood, and began to caress it with her lovely, long fingers. Her fingernails glowed bright blue.