Here's the sneak preview for "The Lord of Winter" that's available on Smashwords. I've put a page dedicated to it off my My Writing page, but for some stupid reason I can't get the links to it to work on that page. I blame me.
At any rate, you can buy the entire story
here.
Enjoy the excerpt.
Whether due to death or desertion, half of them never reached the castle.
For the ones who did, their triumph only came after miserable weeks of
struggling through deep snows, battered the entire way by the frigid
winds of the northern plain. They made their slow way over ice that rose
in a sheet a league thick, uneven underfoot and cold. It seemed
endless, broken only by cracks and fissures that forced them to detour
around wide, dark chasms. Even when it looked safe, the ice was fragile
enough in places to open without warning beneath them.
After the disaster that killed three of their members and all their
horses, it would have seemed madness to continue, but it could be argued
it was just as much a risk to go back, given how far they’d come and
how many of their supplies were on those animals. Six of their group
decided to take the chance anyway, making the painful return to Tygate
with their fellows' scorn sounding in their ears. Another nine died,
whether from accident or cold or the increasing attacks of the creatures
that served the Lord of Winter. Born of ice and wind, they were lethal
and relentless, and it was only the determination of the survivors that
kept them going until finally they reached the castle, a stone
monstrosity rising above the ice. It would have seemed an impossible
thing, or perhaps an illusion made into a trap, but they’d based all
their hopes on this. Their entire mission was born from the legend that
the castle still existed, built as it was atop a stone cliff taller than
the glaciers that came south to surround it.
"There it is," their leader gasped. Porl was a burly man, heavily
bearded and short three toes from frostbite. He shaded his eyes and
studied the dark edifice, his face nearly hidden in the furs of the
massive, thick coat he wore. "The castle of the Lord of Winter."
Exhausted and at the end of their stores, the remaining survivors from
Tygate stared. The castle was tall and intimidating, its ramparts and
towers covered in snow. Still, the sight of it eased the growing worry
in Porl’s chest. Finding the castle had become more than a matter of
fame and wealth. When they lost the horses, they’d already been far
enough away from safety that they didn't have enough supplies for
everyone to make it back. Despite the half dozen men who’d taken the
risk of returning, Porl knew the castle and its rumoured stores was
their only real chance. If the legends of this place proved to be wrong,
they’d pay with their lives. They’d understood that possibility from
the start, but it was different to be starving to death because of it.
Still, the ones who hadn’t risked turning back had faith that the
histories were right.
For five hundred years, the Lord of Winter pushed his glaciers south,
burying the lands underneath endless snows and killing their people,
sending monsters made of wind and snow against them when they tried to
fight back. It was said that if the Lord of Winter so much as set a
single foot off of the glacier and onto plain ground, ice covered it.
Humanity had gone to war for centuries, learning the magicks locked in
fire in order to fight back and survive. This castle had once been that
of the High King, lost along with him and his entire family during a
battle that had been humanity’s greatest defeat. Many of the histories
of the time spoke of the despair and hopelessness of those who fought
back, until the war abruptly ended a hundred years ago, when the ice
retreated and warmth returned to the world. Now the glaciers, while
still farther south than they’d been before the war, no longer moved and
the Lord of Winter's monsters stayed with them.
"No one’s seen this place since General Daigal led his army here a
hundred years ago," Janelle finally breathed. “Everything’s still here.”
She was a tiny thing, but tough as any of them and more useful then men
twice her size due to the fire magic she controlled. Without her and
her sister, they would all have frozen to death long ago. Porl nodded at
what she said but didn’t reply. It was only after Daigal led his ten
thousand men onto the glacier that the ice withdrew and he was credited
as a hero for saving them all. Still, not one of his men ever returned
and the adventurers looked at the immense, silent castle on the empty
plain before them as if expecting to see their frozen bodies scattered
around it. There was nothing, just an expanse of flat ground with gusts
of wind idly blowing the snow above it. The glacier had bent around the
castle and the cliff it stood on, but devoured the city that used to
exist below it. Vague shadows deep in the ice were all that remained of
the long buried streets and buildings. The sky overhead was clear and
the cold intense. Mountains in the distance were so pale as to be nearly
invisible.
"Let's go while it's still light enough to see," Porl said at last and
started forward, his little band following him with excitement stirring
them again. The castle, while even bigger than they’d imagined, was
abandoned, with nothing stirring at their approach. What had drawn them
on this adventure so far into frozen lands was the very fact that no one
had come here for such a long time. The stories of the five hundred
years’ war against the Lord of Winter spoke of how, at first, the
southern cities tried to buy his mercy with offerings of gold and gems.
That worked for several centuries, until the Lord of Winter decided that
the only offerings he wanted were ones of frozen blood that he would
take himself. He’d swept south, consuming towns, farmlands, and the High
King’s city, until the General finally stopped him.
Since no one ever returned with any of those centuries of tribute, Porl
reasoned that the riches were still here, in the castle Winter took as
his own. Since no one else had ever dared to take the risk, Porl
gathered the men and women with him now in order to seek it out. Even if
only a tiny percentage of the tribute the Lord of Winter was given were
here, it would be wealth past counting. Even the pittance they'd be
able to carry out by hand would make them rich beyond any of their
wildest dreams.
They crossed the last stretch of plain, fifteen men and women who'd
become closer than family after the pain of their long ordeal. Nothing
attacked them. No frost dogs, no icemen, not a single snow demon or
banshee at all. The castle was dark, its tower windows empty above the
high walls as they approached, and Porl found himself grinning at the
sight. He'd brought together the best people he could, but he'd never
imagined they could fight the kind of forces Winter was said to control.
This entire trip was based on the supposition that the Lord of Winter
was destroyed in that last desperate battle and his castle and treasure
abandoned.
The castle was stone, covered in a lattice of frost with snow piled high
in the corners of the courtyard. Statues of elegant women and noble
warriors rose out of the snow and lined the road that led up the shallow
side of the bluff to the castle, most of them covered in ice. The only
thing that moved were the drifts of white snow and Porl and his group
walked unnoticed right up to the front gates, which stood open and
twisted, broken down by Daigal's army.
They walked through, weapons and magic ready just in case, and the wind
that had been cutting into them despite their heavy furs and the fire
mages' warming spells suddenly died, stopped by the high walls.
They were in a wide courtyard, piled high in the corners by snow but
otherwise untouched. Except for the shattered gate, there was no sign of
the battle that had been fought here a hundred years before.
"It's so quiet," Janelle's sister Morah whispered.
"Be glad of it," Aliston growled. "It would be a lot worse if it
weren't." That was one of the only things the ranger had said since his
wife was lost to a fissure that opened underneath her. Porl had expected
the man to give up and try the risky trip home with the others, but
Aliston wanted to see if they could find the Lord of Winter's corpse,
just so that he could spit on his face.
Morah nodded, shuddering a bit, but Porl was pleased. It was exactly as he hoped. The castle was deserted.
"There better be food," Silthe muttered, always the pessimist.
They crossed the courtyard. On the far side were steps leading up to a
door, both closed and locked. Matas was able to pick the lock despite
his cold fingers and they went inside.
Within, it wasn't nearly as cold. It was hardly warm, but there was no
snow and Porl pushed his hood back to get a good look. The walls were
bare stone, forming a corridor that led deeper into the castle. They
could see despite the dim light, but so far there was nothing to look
at.
"Seems like there's only one way to go," Porl decided and took the lead,
the heavy mace he always carried at the ready. They followed the
corridor until it branched, still seeing and hearing nothing. Halfway
down one branch, they could see the arched opening of a stairwell.
A small, beautifully detailed chair sitting against the wall across from
the stairwell decided them on that direction. Janelle and Morah ooed
over the fine carving of the chair, but Porl paid it little attention.
It would be immensely valuable back in Tygate, but they had no way to
carry it.
They walked through, weapons and magic ready just in case, and the wind
that had been cutting into them despite their heavy furs and the fire
mages' warming spells suddenly died, stopped by the high walls.
They were in a wide courtyard, piled high in the corners by snow but
otherwise untouched. Except for the shattered gate, there was no sign of
the battle that had been fought here a hundred years before.
"It's so quiet," Janelle's sister Morah whispered.
"Be glad of it," Aliston growled. "It would be a lot worse if it
weren't." That was one of the only things the ranger had said since his
wife was lost to a fissure that opened underneath her. Porl had expected
the man to give up and try the risky trip home with the others, but
Aliston wanted to see if they could find the Lord of Winter's corpse,
just so that he could spit on his face.
Morah nodded, shuddering a bit, but Porl was pleased. It was exactly as he hoped. The castle was deserted.
"There better be food," Silthe muttered, always the pessimist.
They crossed the courtyard. On the far side were steps leading up to a
door, both closed and locked. Matas was able to pick the lock despite
his cold fingers and they went inside.
Within, it wasn't nearly as cold. It was hardly warm, but there was no
snow and Porl pushed his hood back to get a good look. The walls were
bare stone, forming a corridor that led deeper into the castle. They
could see despite the dim light, but so far there was nothing to look
at.
"Seems like there's only one way to go," Porl decided and took the lead,
the heavy mace he always carried at the ready. They followed the
corridor until it branched, still seeing and hearing nothing. Halfway
down one branch, they could see the arched opening of a stairwell.
A small, beautifully detailed chair sitting against the wall across from
the stairwell decided them on that direction. Janelle and Morah ooed
over the fine carving of the chair, but Porl paid it little attention.
It would be immensely valuable back in Tygate, but they had no way to
carry it.
They walked through, weapons and magic ready just in case, and the wind
that had been cutting into them despite their heavy furs and the fire
mages' warming spells suddenly died, stopped by the high walls.
They were in a wide courtyard, piled high in the corners by snow but
otherwise untouched. Except for the shattered gate, there was no sign of
the battle that had been fought here a hundred years before.
"It's so quiet," Janelle's sister Morah whispered.
"Be glad of it," Aliston growled. "It would be a lot worse if it
weren't." That was one of the only things the ranger had said since his
wife was lost to a fissure that opened underneath her. Porl had expected
the man to give up and try the risky trip home with the others, but
Aliston wanted to see if they could find the Lord of Winter's corpse,
just so that he could spit on his face.
Morah nodded, shuddering a bit, but Porl was pleased. It was exactly as he hoped. The castle was deserted.
"There better be food," Silthe muttered, always the pessimist.
They crossed the courtyard. On the far side were steps leading up to a
door, both closed and locked. Matas was able to pick the lock despite
his cold fingers and they went inside.
Within, it wasn't nearly as cold. It was hardly warm, but there was no
snow and Porl pushed his hood back to get a good look. The walls were
bare stone, forming a corridor that led deeper into the castle. They
could see despite the dim light, but so far there was nothing to look
at.
"Seems like there's only one way to go," Porl decided and took the lead,
the heavy mace he always carried at the ready. They followed the
corridor until it branched, still seeing and hearing nothing. Halfway
down one branch, they could see the arched opening of a stairwell.
A small, beautifully detailed chair sitting against the wall across from
the stairwell decided them on that direction. Janelle and Morah ooed
over the fine carving of the chair, but Porl paid it little attention.
It would be immensely valuable back in Tygate, but they had no way to
carry it.
They walked through, weapons and magic ready just in case, and the wind
that had been cutting into them despite their heavy furs and the fire
mages' warming spells suddenly died, stopped by the high walls.
They were in a wide courtyard, piled high in the corners by snow but
otherwise untouched. Except for the shattered gate, there was no sign of
the battle that had been fought here a hundred years before.
"It's so quiet," Janelle's sister Morah whispered.
"Be glad of it," Aliston growled. "It would be a lot worse if it
weren't." That was one of the only things the ranger had said since his
wife was lost to a fissure that opened underneath her. Porl had expected
the man to give up and try the risky trip home with the others, but
Aliston wanted to see if they could find the Lord of Winter's corpse,
just so that he could spit on his face.
Morah nodded, shuddering a bit, but Porl was pleased. It was exactly as he hoped. The castle was deserted.
"There better be food," Silthe muttered, always the pessimist.
They crossed the courtyard. On the far side were steps leading up to a
door, both closed and locked. Matas was able to pick the lock despite
his cold fingers and they went inside.
Within, it wasn't nearly as cold. It was hardly warm, but there was no
snow and Porl pushed his hood back to get a good look. The walls were
bare stone, forming a corridor that led deeper into the castle. They
could see despite the dim light, but so far there was nothing to look
at.
"Seems like there's only one way to go," Porl decided and took the lead,
the heavy mace he always carried at the ready. They followed the
corridor until it branched, still seeing and hearing nothing. Halfway
down one branch, they could see the arched opening of a stairwell.
A small, beautifully detailed chair sitting against the wall across from
the stairwell decided them on that direction. Janelle and Morah ooed
over the fine carving of the chair, but Porl paid it little attention.
It would be immensely valuable back in Tygate, but they had no way to
carry it.
"This is creepy," Matas said at last. "I kind of expected bodies, but not like this."
"I know," Porl muttered, staring at the man. It was obvious he hadn't
been a stranger to violence, but there was no obvious sign of what
killed him. Porl reached out, put a hand on his cold shoulder, and
pushed him onto his back. The man fell over, his head turning towards
the women.
Then he sighed.
Janelle and Morah both screamed, Aliston and Lestal jumped and cried
out, as did Porl. Matas howled and bolted over to the doorway, staring
back in at them with his eyes wild as he barely held himself back from
fleeing. "It's an iceman!" he shouted. "Kill it!"
An iceman. A human taken by the Lord of Winter and turned into a slave,
unstoppable in battle and merciless, cursed with ice powers weaker than
those of the Lord of Winter but still deadly. Porl saw the man take
another breath, his blue-tinged chest rising with every invisible breath
he took while theirs puffed white before them, and with a curse, Porl
swung the mace up and over his head.
The iceman opened his eyes.
Porl should have struck right then and crushed his skull before he could
act, but the expression on the iceman's face stopped him. He stared up
at Porl in terror, his ice-crystal eyes wide and his entire body rigid.
Porl hesitated, surprised by that reaction as he was still shocked by
this whole encounter, and the man’s eyes moved to look around. His fear
only became more obvious when he saw the rest of them, Lestal and
Aliston with their swords drawn and Janelle and Morah with their glowing
hands. He scrambled back against the headboard, far enough that they
could see he'd been sleeping in the nude.
"Kill him, Porl," Aliston growled, glaring from beyond the foot of the bed.
"He's not armed," Porl protested. He was no murderer.
"He doesn't need a weapon!" Aliston shouted. "He is one!"
So the histories said. They were filled with stories about what the
icemen could do. Unstoppable, unreasonable, unkillable by anything but
overwhelming damage or fire. Porl shot a look at his two fire bringers,
both with flames wreathing their hands...
