HEART OF ICE

CHAPTER 7

Jarek Frius had barely noticed the distance he'd traveled until he paused at the top of an icy snowpack. The almost endless desert of windswept snow and frozen soil was interrupted by a unique landmark. His father considered it a trophy. For Jarek, it was simply the place he was forced to call home.

He stared at it for a long moment. It was a half-crumbled fortress built by the elves centuries before. It was not a structure the Claus that lived at the time had called home. He had been too much of a wanderer to take up residence in such a fixed spot. Santa Claus was a nomad, following his instincts and his faith to the places he was needed. The iced-over ramparts and rotted courtyards had belonged to those who had been looking for shelter. Jarek breathed silently into the wind, thinking of the tragic irony of the place. The Santa Claus of the age had given the space freely as a gift to a race he felt a strong kinship with. He had wanted them to have a new beginning. The once tall towers and reinforced rooms became the place where the powerful saint had made his last stand.

Jarek listened to the crunch of the snow under his boots as he started his descent down the frosty dune. There was no choice but to continue heading back to the ruined palace his father had claimed as his own. The sharp crimson and orange light of the approaching dawn silhouetted most of the stone structure. As he drew closer, he could see the icicle sheets sparkling faintly in the rising sunlight. The dull, dark shapes of the windows of his private chambers were barely visible in the cold, heavy shadows blanketing most of the fortress facing him. If there were only a more direct route to the quiet peace of his part of the old place, Jarek's mood might be more improved. He didn't want to risk having to talk to his father or any of the guards. He didn't want to have to explain where he'd been. Most of all, he wouldn't have to worry about his father trying to get involved.

Jarek stared ahead of him as he continued walking closer to the old palace. The sun was creeping above the horizon as Jarek made his way around to the front of the fortress. A dense curtain of sparkling ice covered the great archway leading into the sprawling courtyard beyond the main wall. The still cascade of frozen water descended from the wrecked summit of the tall barrier to sharp, jagged points that hovered just inches above the tundra. A narrow channel just big enough for two people to stand shoulder to shoulder was cut through the ice. It could have been a beautiful sight, especially in the day's first light. Jarek, however, was wholly unimpressed by the all too familiar scene.

The other side of the looming archway was no different. Jarek could hear the temp of his footsteps echoing off the waterfall standing motionless in time. The passage cut through the crystal-like ice opened into a deathly silent and barren courtyard. Jarek used to imagine what the wide, open space must have looked like during the age of the elves. Trees with trunks as thick as Jarek's legs once stood flowering in the mild breezes, their shadows stretching in the shifting sunlight over soft swathes of dark green grass. Now, Jarek beheld only wind and frost-blasted terrain that barely hinted at the lush turf that had covered it. The few trees left were bent and gnarled. They were more like the rotten skeletons of trees than the actual, leafy plants.

Jarek didn't linger in that place. He was tired after his journey to the boundary place and back. And the longer he stayed out, the more Jarek knew he risked being seen and having to explain himself. Between the courtyard and his private chambers, there was a flight of cracked, dark, stone steps which he ascended quickly. The rounded walkway leading away from the stairs was lined by a tall colonnade. Most of the columns were still standing. Their surfaces were left scarred by the battle fought so long ago and tattooed with the graffiti of the idle hands of his father's guards. Beyond the corrupted pillars to Jarek's right, the courtyard was surrendering to the walls and ramps of other buildings. To his left, the rounded, stone path encircled a dank, half-frozen pit. A wrecked base of stained and smashed marble marked the scant remains of a once beautiful fountain.

Jarek was looking at it again. He always looked at it. The spot never failed to pique his imagination. He didn't realize how distracted he was until a razor-sharp blade suddenly bit into the stone beside him. The deadly weapon had cut through the air just inches from his face. He stared at it with surprise and then anger.

Jarek shifted his attention, grimly eyeing the guard whose thick fingers were still wrapped around the handle of the heavy weapon. The burly man was blocking his path. The two stared at each other over the long, thick hilt. The jagged, crystal-blue blade of the brute's scythe was still ringing sharply where it had bit into the dense, darkened stone of the column next to Jarek. The bitter air hissed across the blade's curved, razor edge. It was like every icy particle was being sliced into smaller and smaller pieces as the steady wind swept over the deadly surface.

"Am I in trouble," Jarek asked flatly.

"Your father wishes to speak with you."

"Does he? I suppose that answers my original question, then." Jarek narrowed his eyes, his gaze becoming more angered and intense. "What does he want?"

"To speak with you."

Jarek breathed deeply. Just then, the sound of feet shuffling slowly over the frosted, stone walkway echoed between the pillars and past Jarek's ears. Another of his father's guards was moving closer. A shadow, hazy and subtle, stretched across the floor under Jarek's feet. The appointed meeting with his father did not seem optional. Jarek knew he could take one, likely even two of the guards with no problem. They were big and muscular without being very smart or strategical. There would be very little challenge for the agile prince. A skirmish with three or four, however, was going to start to get ugly.

Jarek shifted his eyes rapidly. He could count six guards that he could see surrounding the spot where he stood. "Very well," he said quietly with a sigh.

The guard blocking the prince's path watched the youth without moving for a tense moment. Finally, when Jarek's posture stayed unyielding, his eyes never blinking, the bulky guard at last lifted his deadly blade away from the wall. He stood it stiffly at his side, keeping his eyes locked on the young prince.

"This is all a bit much, don't you think," Jarek asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "I am suddenly to be treated like a traitor in my own kingdom?"

The thick-armed guard stepped aside. "You been up to noo good, Jark," he said to the prince as he moved.

Jarek bristled at the sound of his name stumbling off the bulky man's tongue. He was used to it by now, but he still didn't like it. Most often, it sounded like the guards around the ancient place were calling him "Jack". Jarek didn't want it to bother him, but it did.

The young prince scowled at the guard who had blocked his path. "We live in a place that we stole, under a king that fought for the banner of dark lords. We are all-always-up to no good." He started to walk past the oafish figure, adding at a volume loud enough for all six guards to hear, "I know my way around. I won't be needing an escort."

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