Ferrian's Winter

In crimson halls a story told

Warmth has not fled, but rooms are cold.

The dining hall was… red.

Very red. The same crimson and gold wallpaper that lined the Redwick Manor's entrance hall paraded opulently around the room, behind tall pillars made of polished redstone, with its distinctive orange-red shimmer. The floor was a sea of redstone tiles, as well. Heavy maroon-coloured drapes framed square windows on both sides of the hall. The sun hadn't yet moved to a suitable angle to pierce the frost-dusted glass; only chill, silvery light seeped through. A huge black marble hearth dominated the far end of the room, but, bafflingly, was not lit.

Nor were there, in fact, any lights on in the hall. Oil lamps lined the walls upon ornate sconces, gilded candlesticks stood upon the table, and chandeliers hung in sad, subdued glitter overhead – but none of these had been lit, either.

Shadows crowded everywhere, dark as dried, old blood.

Why does Lord Malvern keep this place so damned cold and dark? Flint thought, frowning. He was a sorcerer. He could create heat and light from nothing, with a mere snap of his fingers.

Flint shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He had been given a backless stool to sit on, as he refused to unhitch the Eliminator in order to sit down. The others sat upon high-backed upholstered chairs, made of gleaming dark wood and red velvet. Ferrian's Sword rested against Flint's right knee – he didn't have the sheath for it and wasn't inclined to put it on the table or anywhere within reach of the Bladeshifters, or anywhere out of his sight. The servant named Valen had offered to put his weapons somewhere safe for the duration of breakfast, but Flint had perfunctorily declined, with a curse word added for emphasis.

As far as he could tell, the Bladeshifters had all retained their weapons, as well.

Things are gonna get interestin' all over again, he thought, when we leave this house…

But he would cross that bridge – so to speak – when he came to it.

Jewels was seated directly opposite him. Her eyes seemed to be skewered to him permanently, as sharp and deadly as those black hairpins. She had tidied herself up and seemed little worse for wear after being flung against the wall like a dish cloth. The biggest bruise appeared to be to her pride.

But that was dangerous.

If Jewels was anything like Nightwalker – and Flint guessed she was – then damage to her pride was the worst possible thing that could be done to her.

And just like Nightwalker, she would never leave him alone; she would hunt Flint down relentlessly until one of them, eventually, lay dead.

Flint met her gaze, his own eyes like stone, hoping that she could see in them what he had done to the previous Bladeshifter leader.

He hoped that she was smarter than Nightwalker had been.

Beside him, Gastan hugged himself, shivering, trying to keep his teeth from chattering, gazing desperately at the food on the table. Laid out before them was an exquisite breakfast banquet; warm bread, dishes of butter, sliced cold meats, exotic fruit, spiced morning cakes, jugs of ale and pots of hot, fragrant tea, all of it artfully arranged in fancy ceramic dishes. Flint, too, felt as though he could engulf everything in front of him, crockery and all. Beside Jewels, the other two Bladeshifters slouched in their chairs, giving Flint and Gastan predatory looks, as though they were the real items on the menu.

No one had started eating, yet.

They were all waiting for Lord Malvern.

Two young servants, a boy and a girl, clad in black-and-red uniforms stood unobtrusively at the sides of the room.

Nobody spoke. In the silence, Gastan's stomach growled loudly.

Flint gave him a look.

Then the doors at the end of the room opened at last, and Valen entered, standing neatly aside for his master.

Malvern limped through, leaning more heavily on his cane than he had done before, as though weary. He was wrapped now in a thick red fur-lined cloak over the top of his embroidered coat. He did not look at anyone as he approached the head of the table. Valen helped him settle into his chair.

"Please," Malvern said quietly, gesturing at the food.

The word had barely passed his lips before Gastan began lunging at everything within reach, as though it was about to disappear before he could grab it.

Jewels, too, began loading up her plate.

Flint and the Bladeshifters hesitated. Flint wondered if he ought to wait until Gastan dropped dead before touching anything; although the thief seemed more in danger of choking himself to death. Then again, Jewels was taking no particular care with what she selected to eat or drink…

Lord Malvern noticed. "I assure you," he said, "that if I wanted you dead, I could have simply allowed my sister to… ah… finish what she started."

Flint thought he had a fair point, and began helping himself.

Jewels slammed a piece of meat onto her plate as though to make sure it was really dead. Then stabbed her fork into it to make doubly sure. "You could have killed me, Mal!" she fumed.

Malvern picked at the one little cake in the centre of his plate. "You attempted to murder someone in my hall," he replied, "after I explicitly asked you not to. I was forced to take—" he waved a hand, "measures."

Jewels turned her glare on him. "Those measures could have burned the entire house down! Or me! Or yourself," she snapped, "again!" She waved an angry hand at Flint and Gastan. "And now they know what you are!"

Malvern turned away, looking deeply unhappy.

An awkward silence fell, filled with the sounds of – mostly Gastan – eating.

Flint broke the uncomfortable hush. "How?" he said, with a mouth full of cake. "If you don't mind me askin', your lordship… how'd you learn sorcery?" He finished chewing. "The School of Magical Studies hasn't bin around fer… I dunno, a hundred and forty-odd years? An' I knew the only two sorcerers who survived it, and neither of 'em ever mentioned you."

Malvern looked up at him, eyes going wide behind his glasses. "You knew…?!" His voice trailed off into a deep, shocked breath. "Oh, well, they wouldn't," he went on, shaking his head in disbelief. "I am certainly not old enough to have attended that esteemed School, and have never met another sorcerer. I am merely a novice. And I have never set foot outside this city."

Flint stared at him. "Never?"

Malvern shook his head.

Flint frowned. "I thought magic was outlawed?"

Malvern wrapped his cloak more tightly around himself. "In Daroria it currently is," he replied. "And Arkana, Remast, Enopina. In Siriaza, it is not. Bridgetown belongs to no country; we are an independent state. The Redwick family makes the law." He gave Flint a crooked smile. "I am the law. Although admittedly, magic here is considered… controversial. Which is why my… 'abilities'… are known only to a privileged few."

Jewels snorted. "Not any more."

Malvern fell silent. He sat back in his chair, pushing a few cake crumbs about on his plate. "It was not my decision," he said softly, "to learn sorcery." He closed his eyes. "Father liked the idea of having a sorcerer in the family. He was obsessed with the old ways, the ancient noble houses who once ruled Daroria with their immense magical power. They were a romantic ideal, to him." He shook his head. "But he did not want to commit to learning magic himself, of course."

Malvern looked aside at the windows. "So I, as the youngest Redwick child, was chosen for this sacrificial 'honour.' Materials were brought from Grath Ardan for me to study, in secret. And our family possesses a certain magical artefact which I may not disclose for… diplomatic reasons—" he gave Flint a swift smile "—which provided the source of power; the texts provided the knowledge. And so that is how I came to learn magic."

He sighed. "There is an inherent problem with that, of course; the reason why I was chosen instead of my first or second-born siblings…"

Flint nodded. "You can't have kids."

Malvern nodded back. "That is correct. I shall never produce heirs. And my sister—" he gestured at Jewels, "has no interest in them. Or, indeed, being a part of this house at all. Thus, the responsibility for that remained solely with our elder brother, Stellan."

Jewels snatched the last of the cakes, which crumbled in her clenched fist. "Except the idiot got himself killed."

Another deep, uncomfortable silence fell. Flint regarded them both. "So, you an' Jewels are the only Redwicks left?"

Malvern sniffed. "Yes, since Father died three years ago. I have been left to run this entire damned city on my own!"

Jewels stuffed the cake crumbs angrily into her mouth. "Only 'cause our fool brother tried to steal a Grik child!"

Everyone stopped eating, even Gastan.

Malvern had gone bloodless.

"Why don't you go ahead and tell them everything, Mal?" Jewels sneered viciously. "They know too much already: might as well tell 'em the rest!"

"I don't think—"

Jewels slammed her goblet onto the table, sloshing ale everywhere. "TELL THEM!"

Malvern jumped, and shrank into his chair like a scolded child.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"We… we think it was a drunken dare," Malvern explained miserably. "Stellan had been out drinking with his friends. A Grik tribe was passing through the city at the time; about ten of them. They had bothered no one and paid the toll like everyone else.

"My brother was passing on his way home and noticed that they had a small child with them. For whatever ridiculous reason he just… walked up and took it.

"The Griks did nothing; apparently they simply stood there and watched him do it, as though too stupid to understand what was happening."

Malvern took a deep, steadying breath. "Or that's what everyone thought.

"Stellan brought the child home and locked it in the wine cellar. Then he came to me and asked me drunkenly what to do with it; whether he should sell it or butcher it himself. I told him to stop being stupid and to give it back or there would be trouble. He just laughed and went to his room and collapsed on his bed and passed out."

Malvern swallowed. "I thought to release the Grik myself, but it was late and I was tired from practising magic all day, and didn't feel like dealing with Stellan's nonsense, so I went and told Father. But he didn't care, just muttered something about Stellan 'messing around' and that he would deal with it in the morning, and that I should go to bed.

"So I did.

"But I was roused from sleep only an hour later and told by Father to go and find my brother. He was not in his room and the Grik child was gone. We all thought he had sobered up and gone to return the child to its family.

"I went out with a party of Guards to find him. We caught up with the Griks about to pass through the Eastern Gate. The child was indeed with them, safe and sound. At first, there was no sign of Stellan, but then…"

Malvern's voice quavered. "He… he was there too. Or rather… his head was. On… on a pike."

He was quiet for a moment, staring at the rings on his trembling, clasped hands. "The Guards were incensed. They ordered the portcullis closed, and then attacked the Griks with unrestrained fury. I stayed out of it, too shocked to do anything. I stood there as stupidly as the Griks had when their young one was snatched.

"The fight did not go well, and was over quickly. All of the Guards were killed. Then the Griks, in their bloodlust, turned on me."

He shook his head. "I was only fifteen. I had never fought before; I did not even know how to fight. I should have fled, but… something happened, something… instinctive, and terrible…

"My magic simply burst out of me, unexpectedly, in a billowing torrent of fire. It set everything alight – the Griks, the surrounding buildings… even myself.

"Everything disappeared in a blazing inferno. Magic poured out of me, far more than I thought possible; it was burning everything and I did not know how to stop it…"

He took a shaky breath. "S-somehow, I managed to extinguish the flames from my body before it consumed me, but…" He gestured at his crippled leg. "I did not escape unscathed.

"The Griks were all destroyed; burned alive. All of them, except for the Grik child.

"He crawled out from under the flaming bodies of the Griks who had been shielding him. His back was covered in redstone spikes worth a fortune; I expect that was what had triggered Stellan's foolish greed. He stood there looking at me. He was small, but he could have crushed my head in without much effort. I was writhing on the ground, clutching my leg in pain, thinking that I was going to die.

"But he did not attempt to kill me. Perhaps he was too young for such thoughts. He turned and waddled up to the gates and stood there looking through.

"Another team of Guards arrived to put out the fire. I screamed at them to open the gates, to let the Grik child go free. They did as they were told.

"The Grik walked away, alone, without looking back, and was never seen again."

Malvern blinked away tears. "Since that day, I have feared that the red Grik would return and enact revenge.

"Father apparently thought the same. He declared that I was never to leave this city. I was never to use magic in public. And no act of violence would, from that day forth, be tolerated in Bridgetown. Not by anyone, for any reason. No questions asked, no answers given; punishment effective immediately.

"Father did not forbid me from studying magic further, as I expected. Quite the opposite: he insisted that I learn how to control it better. He locked me in my room with my books and magical paraphernalia, and that was my existence, until I became an adult, and was required to help him with the running of the city. Jewels was not here to witness any of this – she had already disowned us years before, and Mother…" He shook his head. "In her grief over Stellan, she threw herself into the Chasm. Father thought it a fitting punishment for all those who disobeyed him to follow her."

He lapsed into silence. The sun had risen high enough now to sparkle through the windows. It glinted off Lord Malvern's glasses. His head was bowed, eyes closed. His hair glowed like the flames of his own magic that had once nearly claimed him.

Flint's chest felt tight with horror. He empathised with Malvern's pain. He knew what it felt like to be near burned to death.

Flint had only avoided permanent disfigurement because Requar had shown up with the Sword of Healing.

Forcing the image of the burning barn from his mind, he cast a glance around the gloomy hall with renewed understanding. "You're afraid of fire," he said quietly.

Malvern looked up, smiling weakly. "Astute observation," he said, and sighed. "I cannot even look at a candle's flame…" He dropped his head into his hand, a shudder passing through him.

"Well!" Jewels said, leaning back in her chair, causing it to creak, and folding her arms. "Now we all know how dangerous my brother can be!" Her gold-toothed grin returned. "And now we will have to kill you."

"Jewels," Malvern sighed, without looking up. "Please."

Ignoring her, Flint turned back to the sorcerer. "There's somethin' you ought to see, your lordship," he said. Moving some dishes aside, he took up Ferrian's Sword and swung it onto the table.

Lifting his head, Malvern stared at the sunlight dazzling off the silver blade, his eyes travelling to the hilt, then widening. "Oh… my…" he whispered. He reached out a tentative hand. "May I…?"

Flint nodded.

Carefully, Malvern slid the Sword towards him along the tablecloth until the hilt was within reach. His fingers passed over the handle, the elegant curved guard, the black and white snakes, then took up the blade and held it balanced on his hands. "This is a Sword of the Gods," he breathed in awe. "A real one. Where did you—?"

"His name is Ferrian," Flint interjected, anticipating the question. "He controls the Winter."

"Rat's arse!" the blond-haired Bladeshifter cursed suddenly, throwing a piece of bread onto the table. "Not another one!"

"How many of these bloody sorcerers are there?" the brooding, spiky-haired woman growled, boldly considering she was sharing a table with one.

"Apart from his lordship here…" Flint answered, then hesitated. Does a dead one trapped in a Sword count? "Eh… two," he decided finally, and looked at Jewels. "Her ladyship met one of 'em."

The Bladeshifter leader's eyes narrowed. "Yes, and she was about as competent as you are, Mal," Jewels said scathingly. "She roasted three of my men and burned my hand with her blasted pendant!" Her fierce gaze turned to the thief. "Thanks, Gastan."

Gastan put a hand to his chest in feigned innocence.

Lord Malvern stared at them all. "Would someone care to explain to me exactly what is going on?"

Flint considered his perplexed expression curiously. "You, er, didn't see what happened last night?" he said in surprise.

Malvern frowned. "Two days ago, Valen informed me that there was some sort of unusual wraith wandering about the city, emitting a deadly light," he said. "And General Pine took it upon himself to shut down my city without consulting me, forcing me to go… outside, for the first time in years, in order to express my intense opinion about this to his soldiers.

"Considering such… unprecedented actions were being taken, I assumed that there was some truth and seriousness to all of this. So I had the servants close every drape and shutter in the house. It was abominably dark and cold, I must say. Incredibly inconvenient, when one cannot use candles." He sighed in disgust. "I have no idea what is going on out there."

Let's hope someone clears away those bodies before yer look out the window, then, Flint thought darkly.

"Ferrian was here," Flint told him. He gestured at the frosted windows. "That's where this Winter's come from. An' what you're callin' a wraith is his friend Hawk." Flint shook his head. "Ferrian fought him. Knocked the light outta Hawk, but I dunno where he's gone. Prob'ly still wanderin' around the city, if yer Guards haven't chucked 'im over the parapet by now."

He sighed, rubbing his face, suddenly feeling incredibly tired.

Malvern was staring at him, looking appalled. "A sorcerer was here? Here, in Bridgetown, outside the Redwick Manor? And no one invited him in?!" He set Ferrian's Sword on the table, suddenly agitated. "Well… this won't do!! Go and find him! Bring him here!"

Flint was silent. He didn't have the energy to explain. He didn't want to.

Gastan decided to speak instead, perhaps only to fill the painful silence. "Ah. Well. You see… there is a little bit of a problem with that," the thief said, delicately. "There was a… rather nasty black dagger attached to that Sword, and… well… it sort of… jumped out and stabbed the unfortunate young man."

Malvern looked horrified. "A black… dagger?"

"A trigonic dagger," Flint said through gritted teeth, staring down at the red tablecloth in front of him. "You can't speak to him. He's infected."

A terrible silence fell. Malvern looked crushed, speechless.

Flint lifted his head. "But there's a Lady out on the hill, to the east," he said. "She claims to be able to heal him if she gets the Sword of Healing back."

Malvern was quiet for a long moment more, staring at Ferrian's Sword, at the dagger-shaped recess in the hilt. "Please extend my invitation to the Lady," he said finally, his voice subdued. "And if there is anything I can do to help…" his voice trailed off; he didn't seem to know what else to say.

Flint sighed. "Just let us get out of your damned city alive," he muttered.

Malvern nodded absently.

In the bleak pause that followed, the servants came and began to clear away the dishes, and the door to the hall opened again. Valen stepped swiftly through and walked up to Lord Malvern, murmuring something in his ear.

Malvern looked up at him incredulously. "In his tent? Outside the city?? Does he think that just because I went to the extreme effort of leaving my house to scream at him once, I am inclined to do it a second time? What does he take me for??"

He straightened indignantly. "Absolutely preposterous! General Pine will bring himself here, and I will scream at him in the parlour, over glasses of brandy, as is proper!"

Valen bowed. "Yes, my Lord."

Jewels scowled. "You shouldn't be screaming at anyone, Mal," she told him pointedly.

The sorcerer waved a hand dismissively. "Nonsense. This isn't an emotional situation, merely…" his hand made circles in the air, "… politics." Reaching for his cane, he pushed himself to his feet. "Excuse me, I must go and prepare myself for the General's arrival." He paused, rolling his eyes at his sister's look. "I will not burn the house down, Jewels!"

He extended a hand to Flint. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, ah…?"

"Sergeant Flint."

"Sergeant Flint. Your arrival here has been most…"

"Enlightening?"

Malvern laughed. Flint was pleased to see that the nobleman appreciated a bit of dark humour. "Quite!"

He shook Gastan's hand as well. "Good day to you, gentlemen," he said. "Valen will escort you out. I apologise for my sister's… improper behaviour. You are free to pass through Bridgetown as you please – I will inform my Guards, or what is left of them. I shall endeavour to find out what has become of this wraith-like being known as Hawk.

"But the rule against violence still stands. I do hope you will honour it."

He hesitated. "And… your sorcerer companions are more than welcome to seek respite here. I can assure you all discretion will be taken with Lord Ferrian's condition." He sighed. "And yes, I am well aware of the agreement with the Emperors regarding allowing infected persons into the city, but this is an extraordinary circumstance, and I am sure exemptions may be agreed upon. Besides, General Pine seems to be taking matters into his own hands, so I dare say I am entitled to as well." He gave them a smile.

Flint nodded, more grateful than he knew how to express. "Much appreciated, your Lordship."

With a final nod to the two men, and not even a glance at the Bladeshifters, the sorcerer limped away.

Valen followed him up to the doors and then paused, allowing his lord to go on ahead. He turned and cast his gaze over them all.

"It seems to me," he observed, "that our guests haven't quite concluded their breakfast." He snapped his fingers at the other servants, who stopped what they were doing and hurried like silent mice from the room.

Valen addressed Jewels. "Perhaps your Ladyship would like to accompany Lord Malvern to the parlour?"

Jewels regarded him for a long moment. Then she glanced at the Bladeshifters, then at Flint and Gastan.

Then she grinned.

Pushing herself up off the table, she brushed crumbs off her chest, and straightened her robes and hairpins. "So, you're not completely useless after all, Valen," she commented. Leaving the table, she nodded at the Bladeshifters as she swept past them and out of the hall, her red and black robes swishing until she disappeared out of sight after her brother.

Flint exchanged a look with Gastan, then glanced at the Bladeshifters, who seemed far too relaxed for his liking, smirking back at him. The blond one was twirling a butter knife in his fingers.

"What about the law?" Flint murmured, eyes narrowing.

Valen stood in pristine servant's pose: one hand behind his back, the other upon his chest. There was a faint smile upon his angular features. "We have another law in Bridgetown," he replied smoothly. "Anything the Redwicks do not see, did not happen. No questions asked; no answers given." He gestured at the table. "Do finish your breakfast, gentlemen and lady. I will return in ten minutes to escort you from the Manor, and to… clean up the mess."

And with that, still smiling, he whirled and strode from the room, pulling the polished wood doors closed behind him. They heard the distinct sound of a key turning in the lock.

Four remained seated at the table, amid beams of pale sunlight melting the frost from the window panes, illuminating the stone-cold, glistening red hall.

Flint, Gastan and the two remaining Bladeshifters.

They all looked at each other.