Snowflakes drifted down from the sky and joined the towering snowbanks lining the road. The sound of the horses’ progression was muffled by the mounds as the royal guard blazed a trail before the ornate carriage. The soldiers at the head of the formation scanned the bleak landscape, their trained eyes searching every shadow.
Suddenly, one of the men held up his arm and issued a warning as his eyes fixed on a shuffling figure emerging before them. The procession halted immediately as the two front guards rode on to investigate. As they grew closer, they discovered a withered old woman beneath thick layers of fur. Wisps of white hair had escaped her hood and whipped about as she hobbled forward. Her wrinkled face was twisted with fright. The soldiers relaxed, and their fists slackened on the hilts of their weapons as they addressed her. The blistering wind whisked the conversation away before the waiting guards could hear what was being said—it seemed to involve wild hand gestures and exaggerated facial expressions. After a few minutes, the two turned and escorted her back to the rest of the party.
“What is the meaning of this?” one guard called to the returning riders.
“This woman insists she has important news for the king and queen about the uprising,” the other called back.
The guards let the escort through the protective line around the carriage. They dismounted before announcing, “We have a visitor. She claims to have information about the death of the King of Sheni, Your Highnesses.”
He pulled back the velvet curtain on the carriage to reveal a strikingly beautiful woman. Her skin was the color of fresh snow, and her hair resembled pure gold. Her sharp green eyes looked down at the old woman with confusion and concern.
“What would you like to share with us?” the queen asked. “If it is a report of the king’s passing, we are already aware.” Her voice soft and kind despite the sad words.
“No nothin’ like that, Your Highness. Ya see, I know who killed tha king and why,” she rasped. A bearded man appeared in the window beside the queen.
“We were led to believe he was killed during a dispute with a rebellious nomadic tribe. Do you have news to the contrary?” the king asked.
The old woman nodded vigorously.
“Tha king was killed for his Kutsal Stone,” she declared, her face grave, "It was Nitiri from the royal house of Isálte who done it."
The king’s eyes widened, and the queen audibly gasped. The king was the first to regain his composure, but anger laced his voice when he spoke.
“That cannot be true. No one has seen or heard from Nitiri in decades. Such accusations are ridiculous and an insult to the crown of Lur Alava. What gave you such an idea?”
The old woman’s face transformed from troubled to malicious in a second as her lips curled up into a blood-chilling smile. When she spoke again, her voice had completely changed; it sounded like it belonged to a much younger woman.
“I was not making accusations, dear brother. I was making a confession.”
Before anyone could react, Nitiri thrust her hand into the air and muttered words in a foreign tongue. Immediately, bolts of blue light jumped from her fingertips and slammed into the guards closest to her, sending them flying. The smell of smoldering flesh filled the air instantaneously, followed by a battle cry from multiple soldiers’ mouths. The leftover guards swung around to find an army of outlaws had emerged from the snow. Arrows zipped through the air and sank into men and horses alike. The calm winter path fell into chaos. Blood stained the snow as the royal guard engaged the assailants and tried to protect the carriage, but their struggle was in vain. The attack had been too well planned, and the guards’ bodies soon littered the ground. Nitiri’s thugs quickly dispatched the remaining defenders before throwing open the carriage doors and dragging the king and queen onto the bloodstained road. She cast off her disguise to reveal her true identity. Her red hair contrasted the pale landscape like the blood in the snow as she glared at the couple with disdain.
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“Hello Iara,” she addressed the queen icily, “I don’t believe we’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. I hope you’ve enjoyed my position as queen all these years. It’s such a shame my dear little brother dragged you into this. I’m sorry you will have to die for his mistakes.”
“Neither of us have ever wronged you, Nitiri,” Iara said calmly, a quiver in her voice revealing her terror.
Nitiri spat out a bitter laugh, then directed her dark mirth at the king.
“You stole everything from me, and now I will do the same to you. Lur Alava is my kingdom, little brother, and I’m taking it back.”
With a quick hand gesture from Nitiri, some of the men grabbed Queen Iara and forcefully pulled her away from her husband. They pushed her to her knees and pressed a knife to her throat.
“Do not do this!” the king shouted as he fought the men holding him.
“Tell me where the Kutsal Stone is, or I’ll have my men slit her throat.”
“Nitiri, this cannot possibly be who you are. Let her go. Whatever you have done, we will find a way to fix it. Just come home,” the king pleaded.
Nitiri waved her hand. Iara took in a sharp breath as the tip of the knife bit into her skin. A thin line of blood trickled down her neck.
“This isn’t a negotiation, Simon. Nothing you can say will stop me from killing your precious wife except the location of Lur Alava’s Kutsal Stone.”
King Simon’s eyes grew desperate.
“Even if I wanted to tell you where it is, I could not. A few years ago, someone broke into the castle and stole-—”
“Stop stalling! Where is it?”
At that moment, Iara whispered something under her breath, and the men holding her were thrown backwards.
“Run, Simon!” she shouted as she bolted for a horse. Nitiri grunted angrily and, in one smooth motion, pulled a dagger from its sheath at her hip and threw it at the fleeing queen. It struck Iara in the back and she fell with a cry of pain.
“Iara!” the king screamed as tears filled his eyes.
“I should have known you would marry someone with magic,” Nitiri snarled. Behind her, some of the outlaws seized Iara and dragged her back.
“Gag her and bind her hands. We don’t want her escaping again,” Nitiri ordered before she turned her attention back to the king.
“I have had a lot of time to plot my revenge,” she said. “And I was simply going to torture her until you told me where the Kutsal Stone is, but her little stunt has soured my mood. I’m only going to ask you this one more time, and if you don’t give me a proper answer, I will kill her. Where is it?”
Simon glanced over at Iara hesitantly. The queen’s eyes were full of tears, but she shook her head, and her eyes begged him silently. His expression steeled as he faced his sister once again.
“Do whatever you want with us. I will never tell you where the Kutsal Stone is.”
Nitiri gave him an amused glance. She stooped down so her cheek was close enough to feel the heat emanating from his skin, and her lips were a hair’s width from his ear.
“You will live long enough to regret those words.”
Nitiri reached into her pocket and pulled out a green luminescent stone. Iara's eyes bulged and a muffled noise cut through the gag as Nitiri rubbed the smooth surface and whispered a few words in a harsh foreign tongue. The shadows from the forest gathered around her. They lengthened and wisps of black escaped the swelling inky gloom. Glowing eyes appeared in the pools of darkness. A formless being of swirling smoke emerged from the shadows. Iara emitted muffled cries potent with horror and tried to stand, but she fell back into the snow with a grunt.
“Feast on her,” Nitiri commanded with a casual wave of her hand.
“No!” King Simon wailed as the dark beast surrounded Queen Iara. A few potent seconds of silence passed before inhuman shrieks of agony echoed loudly across the frozen wasteland. Nitiri’s outlaws covered their ears and averted their eyes. Simon fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. Abruptly, the terrible noise ceased. The king sobbed and yelled the queen’s name as the shadowy creature slowly faded and left her lifeless body behind.
“You killed the one I loved, and now I have returned the favor. Unfortunately, you will not be around to witness me retake my throne and build my army.”
King Simon stared at his wife’s corpse with hollow eyes.
“Why, Nitiri? Collecting the Kutsal Stones is madness. The Demons are uncontrollable. They will turn on you and feast on the whole of Incari.”
Despite his morbid words, his voice was devoid of feeling.
“And what if they do? Let them. I have nothing left to lose.” she hissed, “But you do.”
The king looked up, anguish deeply etched in his eyes.
“You have done enough. Kill me. Let us be the fulfillment of your vengeance. Please do not hurt Elurra. She is only a child.”
Nitiri’s lips curled up in bitter amusement, and she motioned to one of her men. He nodded and pulled his sword from its sheath.
“How could you expect me to let her live? Any offspring of yours is better off dead. Goodbye, dear brother. I hope you find your wife again in the afterlife.”
She made a curt motion to her designated executioner, who promptly raised his sword. The king’s pleas filled the air for a moment, then ceased forever.