Authors: Larry Kollar
B00B15Z1P2 EBOK
Acknowledgements
First, as always, thank
you
for taking a chance on my stories. I hope this one is worth your while.
Next, all the people who helped, directly and indirectly. Andi Ferguson’s photo of an ice dragon’s bones floating in a stream, along with her quip about an ice spider, sparked the story to life. An offhand quip by John Wiswell inspired the title. A writing prompt from Eric J. Krause gave me the incentive to continue the story. My blog readers, and the #TuesdaySerial community, encouraged me to keep writing. Beta readers, Angela Kulig and my nephew Lucas Kollar, provided critical feedback. Mrs. Harris, my editor, stepped up at the last minute and took care of some lingering issues. Angela Kulig did the awesome cover art, and she and all my friends at Green Envy Press cheered me on to the finish line.
Of course, I can’t move on without a nod to my wife, Margaret, who let me write even when there were other things she wanted me to do. Mason, my grandson, got me out of my chair for breaks and kept my perspective (and banged on the keyboard when I wasn’t looking).
Finally, advance thanks to those who write reviews and spread the word. Every little bit helps!
— “FAR Manor”
January 2013
Chapter 1 - Accidental Sorcerers
The wind carried loose snow and the thud of cannon fire. Two ghost-like figures followed the creek bank, stopping, moving on, stopping again.
“Where’d it go?”
“It’s around here somewhere. I saw it yesterday. It couldn’t have thawed already.”
“Why are we doing this?” The first speaker pulled back a white sheet, revealing a girl’s face. She looked over her shoulder.
“Keep covered!” her companion rasped. “My uncle said the soldiers are close. Some of them might even be around here.”
“Stay cool, Mik. We’d see them first.”
“I’m more than cool enough.”
“So why are we out here?”
“Duh, Robi. The grownups won’t try this. You have to be pure to make an ice dragon and not have it turn on you. Why do you think they let us come out here, instead of making us help pack up to evacuate?”
A string of cannon fire rumbled across the distance, and Robi flipped the sheet back over her hood. “
Pure
is a pretty big word,” she said. “Is anyone pure? I bet the priest would say no.”
Mik stopped again, searching the bank. “I think it means virgin in this case. So we’re safe. At least I am.” He turned to Robi, grinning a question, then blushed and looked away. “Don’t answer that. I’m doing this anyway.”
“Mik, that’s…” Robi was both annoyed and relieved. She hadn’t done
that
, of course. But did Piet’s clumsy groping count? Just that once? It didn’t matter. She and Mik had been friends all of their thirteen years, and if he admitted to virginity, she believed him. He’d just started noticing girls anyway.
“There! I think.” Mik’s excited cry startled her out of her thoughts. She followed his finger to the stream’s edge and saw it etched in the ice: skull, part of a spine and tail, a leg, some of it covered by snow. More snow swirled around them, hiding the skeleton for a moment.
“Careful, Mik. Don’t step on it,” as Mik eased down the bank.
“Give me your hand, in case I slip.” Hands in heavy gloves clasped, then Mik reached a flat spot and helped Robi down.
“You brought the spider, right?”
Mik gave her a horrified stare for a moment, then laughed. “Of course!” He took a stoppered bottle out of his coat pocket, the bottle he’d shown her yesterday. The frost spider webbed his window for a week of nights, until Mik managed to catch it in the first light of dawn—the only time it could be seen. A piece of paper blundered out at his feet, and Robi stooped to catch it before the wind did.
“Thanks. That’s the needle.” Mik hoped his mother wouldn’t miss it; she’d kill him, ice dragon or no.
“We’re here. Now what?”
“What, you don’t remember the rhyme?” He recited:
When winter winds moan,
The ice dragon’s bones
Can be found alongside the river.
The blood of the pure
Shed without fear:
The ice dragon comes to deliver.
The frost spider spins
A white snowy skin
And blood brings the dragon awake.
But impure blood burns,
The dragon shall turn,
The bones of the wicked to break.
Robi joined him as he spoke. “Just from other kids. I guess my parents thought it was too scary.”
Mik nodded, then knelt next to the skeleton. He held his bottle over it, then opened the stopper and shook the bottle. They couldn’t see the spider, but it began to knit: slowly at first, then gaining speed.
“It’s not going to be a very big dragon,” said Robi. “It’s what, four feet nose to tail tip?”
“Better than nothing.” He slipped off his gloves and jabbed with the needle. “Missed.” He tried again, then again. “I keep missing!”
“You keep closing your eyes! Here, let me.” She rubbed a little snow on his fingertip and squeezed his finger, turning it red before poking it with the needle.
“Huh. I barely felt that.” He watched his blood drip onto the dragon. “Seven drops should be enough. It’s lucky, anyway.” He thrust his finger into the snow to make the bleeding stop, then donned his gloves. “Look!”
With a crackling noise, the ice dragon pulled itself free of the river ice and clambered onto the bank, facing the children. Its gaze fixed on Mik as he pushed Robi behind him.
Why have you awakened me?
The ice dragon’s voice was chattering teeth, cutting wind, crunching of crusty snow. Robi thought it looked a lot bigger than it really was… or was it growing?
“An enemy has invaded our lands,” said Mik. “Will you make them leave?”
The dragon looked down at them now—it was growing, alright.
Make them leave? Why not kill them all?
Mik thought a moment. “No. We just want to be left in peace. You don’t have to kill them if they go away.”
Yet some will die.
“Well…” Mik tried to find the right words. “Our own soldiers would have killed more of them. It’s not right to want them dead, but soldiers die in wars.”
The huge head cocked over. Its eye was a ball of ice, fixing them in its glare.
I judge you pure of heart. It shall be as you desire.
The dragon leaped over them, making them duck, then glided away, gathering more snow to itself. It seemed to grow as huge as winter itself as it departed, playing tricks with perspective.
“You did it,” Robi whispered. “You’re a hero.”
“I hope it’s enough. Huh. I guess
pure
didn’t mean virgin after all.”
She laughed and nudged him. “I bet you won’t be a virgin by spring, not if you don’t want to be. All the girls will want you.”
Mik stared into the flying snow. “I doubt it. No one will ever believe I awakened an ice dragon.”
But everyone did.
• • •
“Look,” said Toivo to the others. He pointed to a column of swirling snow, skirting their flank, approaching the Laughing River. It crossed the water into the Two Rivers district, and approached the invaders from Westmarch.
“A trick of the wind,” said Mikhile, Mik’s father. “Too bad it can’t carry the reinforcements here.” Several of the men laughed.
The local militia, a handful of regular soldiers, and snow were all that stood between the invaders and the Wide River. Reinforcements were said to be coming from Queensport and Port Joy, but it was anyone’s guess when they would arrive. It was a bold gamble on the part of Westmarch: the same snow that impeded their own army also held up rapid reinforcements. Had the Laughing River had not been so deep, Lacota may well have already been overrun like Two Rivers, before their families had a chance to evacuate. Where they would evacuate to was the question.
A series of booms and thuds across the river told them the shelling was beginning anew. A small group of men, led by Toivo, were dug in near the water, waiting to destroy Westmarch’s next attempt at bridging the river. It was likely a suicide mission, but perhaps it would buy enough time for their families to escape to safety. Fortunately, their little ice redoubt, built overnight during a heavy snowstorm, was undetected. The shot sailed overhead to land among the other defenders.
Toivo took a quick peek over their shelter, then stood. “Huh,” he said, “Have you folk seen blizzards on only one side of a river?”
The others stood. “No,” said Mikhile, “but blizzards do have an end. Why could the end not be on one side of a river?” Toivo shrugged, having no answer. “But it looks intense on that side,” he continued. “I admit, I’ve not seen a blinding snowstorm
there
and bright winter sunshine
here
.”
“They’re blinded over there,” said Toivo. “We need to get word to the Commander!”
“Uncover the cannon!” the Commander ordered. While soldiers and militia poured powder and tamped shot, mathematicians plotted angles and elevations based on the last known enemy positions. It seemed to many that Old Man Winter himself had risen to fight for them, and a rush of hope spurred them on.
“For Stolevan and the Queen! Fire!” Cannon roared to life and sent vengeance hurtling across the river.
Across the river, the soldiers of Westmarch saw the snow-devil cross the river and approach their right flank, looming larger and larger. Their cannoneers were well-trained, though, and kept up their random shelling even as visibility dwindled to barely the length of their proud guns.
Then, the blizzard struck. Cannoneers struggled to pour powder into their muzzles, as the wind carried away most of it. Heavy snow soon buried their shot and left them groping in drifts.
Then the first volleys fell among them. Cannons collapsed into the blinding snow, powder depots exploded, scattered shot killed or maimed some of its own soldiers. Successive volleys landed nearby, many finding their targets—for in their confidence, the Westmarch cannoneers had not moved their positions in days.
One cannoneer lay in the snow, stunned by a near-miss. In a daze, he thought he saw a dragon of ice fly overhead, whipping wind and snow with its wings, creating and intensifying the blizzard that blinded and confounded them. Was it only his imagination, or did it roar,
Leave this place! Return to your own lands!
?
Forward observers returned word that the blizzard only reached to the river’s edge. The Westmarch Commander ordered their troops to dig in and await the end of the strange storm—but after two days of blizzard on their side and relentless shelling from the other side, and many hearing the repeated demand
Leave this place! Return to your own lands!
he ordered a retreat. Storm and cannon fire harassed them all along the way until they crossed the Weeping River, and stood once again on their own land.
• • •
Mik and Piet flanked Robi, walking to school on the snowy street. The evacuation of Lacota had been short-lived, a day and part of another, then word had come that the Westmarch invaders were in full retreat. The reinforcements from Port Joy arrived, and made sure Westmarch continued the retreat. Their fathers would soon be home safe with the rest of the militia, and all were in good spirits.
“Can you believe it?” Robi asked them, her hand in Piet’s. “Spring’s only a month away. No more school, forever!”
“If you don’t count being ’prenticed as school,” Piet laughed.
“I hope Mattu takes me on,” said Mik. “At least a merchant gets to travel—” A gust of wind whipped his hood back, and he pulled it up. “And maybe I’ll find a warmer place to live.” He laughed, then stopped and turned. “Hoy, what—”
Piet looked terrified, trying to pull Robi out of the street. She stood her ground, but pointed. “Mik! It’s back!” They had mistook the ice dragon for a huge snowdrift, but now it stood watching them in silent regard. Mik approached, and the dragon turned its clear eyes on Mik. He pulled his jacket tighter around him, feeling the chill of that regard. The dragon watched him, saying nothing.
“Is something wrong?” Mik asked at last.
The enemy has departed your lands
, it said in its frigid voice.
“Thank you.”
I have done your bidding. Now dispel me.
“Dispel? How?”
“I
told
you!” Robi gave Piet a playful punch.