Plight of an Empire

Chapter Thirty Seven- part 2: Arkayus

The blur at the edge of his vision faded.  The world came into focus.  How could he die while the man who killed his parents lived?  The strength came back to him in pulses.  He bent his arms, breaking the ice that had frosted over the fur and leather.  The pain was fading fast.  He had to continue and finish what he started.  He pushed his numb hands into the red ice.  His legs tingled as he tried to move them.

Inch by inch, he pushed himself up.  On his feet he wobbled, his legs still tingling.  The glint of cool blue steel in the red sea caught his eye.  His vision blacked out as he bent over to reach it.  For a moment he thought he might fall, but a hand caught him by the arm.  His head shot back.  Behind the red glisten and black armor, he saw the face of the Grandmaster of the Brotherhood of Dawn.

“Where’s Audriel?” he demanded, his voice little more than a croak.  “Where is she?”

Arkayus dropped his head.  “Dead.  I saw her perish in the light.  Then the Behemoths attacked.  She has to be dead.”

Ronan’s hand fell away.  He shook his head.  “No,” he said.  “That can’t be.  She has to be alive.”  He stumbled back, his eyes gazing off to the north.  He fell to one knee.  “I can’t have failed her too.”

Arkayus grasped his shoulder.  “We have to finish this.  We have to finish what she started.  What she gave her life trying to do.”

It was the look in his eyes that sent a shudder down Arkayus’s spine.  The look of utter desolation was etched in every wrinkle and pore on his face.  He was a man lost.  His words were but a whisper of the wind.  “There is no empire without her.”

He looked upon the lost man with pity.  His job was to protect the high king and he failed.  Then to protect his daughter and he failed.  He wiped away the frost on his sword and turned north.  The Behemoths were still attacking and he intended to finish what he started.

His mouth felt dry as he walked his dead legs north.  At that moment, he wished more than anything that he hadn’t finished that wine.  He needed a drink now more than ever.

As he approached north, he felt a chill in the air.  He looked to the sky and saw the grey snow clouds had returned.  White flurries whipped around man and beast alike.  A few noticed the sudden change in the air.  They, like Arkayus, looked to the north.

The snows conglomerated into a storming ball of white on the horizon.  The winds blew past Arkayus towards the orb.  Behind the white, it seemed to glow.  The walls of the White Keep sprang to mind and how they glow beneath the rays of the sun.  But there was no sun to be seen.  The glow came from within.  A white tentacle whipped out from the orb and crushed the nearest Behemoth to it.  In the glow of the white, he thought he saw the silhouette of a figure inside.

A second tentacle appeared.  And a third, then a fourth.  They wiggled around, swatting at the Behemoths that dared venture near.  Ever so slowly, the orb began making its way south, destroying the Behemoths along the way.  Arkayus heard a few men cheer, but most only screamed as they fought against the beasts.

Of Arkayus’s three remaining golems, only one stood near him.  It threw off the Behemoth hanging on its back.  Before the beast could ride, the stone golem stomped on its chest.  The beast screamed.  It was cut short by a club to its head.  It charged to Arkayus, determined to stay by his side as he pushed north.

Bodies littered the red sea.  He saw corpses ripped off at the waist with its torso or legs nowhere to be seen.  Arms and legs poked out of the snow, giving a stiff salute to those passing by.  The fingers of the exposed hands were black with the frost.  Whether the owners received the black before or after losing their arms was unknown to the crownless king.

Ahead, the tentacles pulled back into the orb.  The glow faded away and the size shrank.  The flurries fell and the wind came to just a whistle.  Without so much of a warning, the falling snow stopped.  Giant flakes held suspended in the air.  The battleground grew silent.  Even the Behemoths ceased at the shift in the air.  They all felt it.

A figure, dressed in all black and with long flowing hair, white as snow, shoved away the remaining pieces of the orb.  The white faded into nothing.  But there she stood—still and hard as ice.

Whispers filled the wood.  All spoke the same words.  “The queen is alive.”

Arkayus watched as dozens of men fell to their knees at the sight of their high queen, alive.  It worked, was all Arkayus could think.  She did it.

Her arms slowly raised, with it a wall of ice.  When the wall rivaled the height of the trees, she thrust her hands outward.  A shower of ice spikes rained down on them all.  Men and Behemoth alike screamed.  The spikes pierced the flesh of every Behemoth there.  They fell.  But not a single spike touched the flesh of man.

He didn’t know how she had done it, but it worked.  He fell to his knees as he watched the white haired high queen glide across the top of the snows.  All around her, the snows flurried.  But outside her bubble, the snowflakes hung suspended in the air.  He saw beauty in its truest form.  He remembered what his father had once said about her.  “She could never live up to the beauty of her mother,” the dead king had said.  If only you could see her now, Father.

She fell among the ranks of her men.  Each man fell to his knees before her, pushing their face in the snow.  Her feet didn’t even seem to touch the ground.

The closer she came to Arkayus, the faster his heart began to beat.  The cool air froze his sweat, but he hardly noticed.  All he saw was her.  As she grew closer, he saw that it was her skin that glowed.  A layer of frost covered it, shimmering in the light.  But her eyes were still that same hazel that he remembered.  Her bright red lips smiled when she saw him.

He bowed to her, pressing his face against the snow.  He couldn’t look upon her.  Such beauty should not be looked upon.

“Rise, Arkayus.”  Her voice was soft and melodious.  Her words were a song.  He had to obey.  He rose, keeping his eyes down.  A man such as him should not look upon a woman such as her.

“My queen,” he said.  She placed a hand on his shoulder.  He couldn’t resist.  His eyes met hers.  And what he saw chilled him more than the swirling snows ever did.  Fear.

“Find her.”  Her voice was the wind whispering through the trees.  “Adrianne Tisley.  You have to find her.”  Her hazel eyes rolled into the back of her head and she fell into the snow.