Ferrian's Winter

The prize is found: a silver bow

The hall shall stage the Redwicks' show.

"I will not have blood on my floors!" a voice declared, from the top of the stairs.

Flint and Gastan raised their shocked gazes to the landing. Three tall windows edged with red and yellow stained glass were set into the back wall. An aristocratic figure stood in front of them, silhouetted against the frosted light. He was dressed in a long, finely tailored crimson coat over-burdened with gold and black embroidery. One ring-festooned hand rested on his hip, the other on a polished ebony cane. Long, rust-red hair curled down to his chest, the sides tied back with black ribbon, and a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles glinted upon his nose.

Behind the nobleman, and to the left of him, stood another man; dark-haired, short and slim, his hands behind his back, dressed immaculately in a black uniform edged with red trim.

Beside Flint, Gastan's shoulders slumped, his head bowing as though he had been prescribed a death sentence.

Another one of the Redwicks, Flint surmised. He didn't know enough about them to know this man's name.

Jewels did not remove her dark, burning eyes from Flint, nor lower the Eliminator. "This is none of your business, Mal," she replied. Her smile had gone now, her voice tinged with irritation.

"I should think it is my business, Jamille," the man pointed out. "Considering you are about to murder a man in the middle of my hall!"

The Bladeshifter leader's eyes narrowed. "My name is Jewels."

"Oh, yes, of course it is, ever since you decided to run off into the Outlands and lead a bunch of…" he waved a hand at the Bladeshifters, "whatever this detritus is, instead of helping your brother to run the city!"

"I was bored!" Jewels hissed. "Did you expect me to stay locked up in this stupid house forever like you are, all safe and cosy, counting your coins?" She snorted.

"I expected you to have more respect for our legacy!" the nobleman admonished. "Our family fought hard to win this Bridge, and hold it for generations, and now I am the only one left who gives a damn about it!" He sighed dramatically. Then he started down the stairs, slowly, his cane tapping, the only sound in the sudden silence.

His black-clad attendant followed at a respectful distance.

Flint risked a glance over his shoulder. The other two Bladeshifters were still there, but they had straightened guardedly, their amusement wiped away, their hands close to their weapons. They weren't looking at Flint or Gastan any longer, but past them, to the lord of the house descending the stairs.

Huh, Flint thought curiously. Was that… fear, in their eyes?

He looked back at the red-coated nobleman still making his way, awkwardly, down the marble staircase. He was not old, but seemed a little fragile, with a stiffness to his right leg. Flint could see no obvious weapons on him, apart from the smooth black cane. He thought that anyone in the room could knock him over with a poke to the shoulder.

Jewels, on the other hand…

She had not removed her gaze from Flint, and the Eliminator was still depressingly in place in her hands. He didn't know how willing she was to disobey her brother's order, but she had already revealed a rebellious attitude…

Flint knew that she was deadly serious. The Bladeshifters had already tried to kill him once, in the desert. The Eliminator's safety catch was off, he could see; her finger rested on the trigger. If she chose to pull it, there was nothing anyone could do about it.

Flint returned her look with a faint, ironic smile of his own.

But she hadn't done it, yet. The arrival of one of her disapproving family members had made her hesitate.

Flint was still standing, his heart still beating, albeit very fast.

There were no sorcerers with miraculous healing powers here to rescue him, this time.

His hand felt sweaty, and he tightened it on Ferrian's Sword, wondering if there was some way to distract Jewels, just for a second. If she released the bolt accidentally, it would take several seconds to wind another one on, and she didn't appear to be carrying a supply of bolts with her.

She's got one shot.

I've got one, final chance to live or die.

No one moved, however, apart from Lord Redwick and his shadowy attendant. His cane continued to click, punctuating the tense silence until he finally came to a halt beside Jewels.

"Ja… Jewels," he corrected himself. "I somewhat understand your desire to show off this… hideous new toy that you have acquired, but must you do it in here? That bolt will make a ghastly mess of this man and put an enormous hole through the front door! Do you have any idea how expensive those doors are? They are at least a hundred years old! They had to be imported all the way from—"

"Malvern!" Jewels turned her head finally, her eyes wide as she glared at him. "I. Don't. Care!"

Malvern huffed. "Well, that's quite evident!" he replied sulkily, pushing his glasses further onto his upturned nose. "You know the rules about violence!" He waved an exasperated hand. "If these people have committed some crime, can you not simply… toss them off the Bridge, like a civilised person?"

Jewels returned her gaze coolly to Flint. "No," she said simply.

Then she pulled the trigger.

The recoil kicked her like a mad bull, sending her staggering backwards. One of the front doors exploded, shards of antique wood flying in all directions, light puncturing a cold hole into the hall.

The silence that followed was littered by the pattering of wood. Near the doors, a vase full of roses wobbled on a side table, then smashed onto the floor.

Flint found, to his astonishment, that he was still alive, though kneeling now on the floor, with his heart in his mouth. He let a breath out in shock, meeting Gastan's gaze.

The thief had yanked hard on the rope, pulling both Flint and himself off balance, enough that the bolt had just missed.

Gastan had saved his life!

Realising that Flint was not dead, Jewels screamed. She came at him with the Eliminator raised in her hands, as though to smash it into him…

Flint shoved himself to his feet, Ferrian's Sword gripped in both hands…

"NO!!" Lord Malvern shrieked.

And then the third impossible thing happened.

An invisible force slammed into Jewels and the Eliminator, sending them both flying across the hall and crashing into the opposite wall.

At the same moment, every single lamp and candle in the hall burst aflame, along with the chandelier overhead, filling the hall with blazing orange light.

A painting came loose from its hook and fell onto Jewels' head, speared on her hairpins. A soft groan came from beneath it.

Everyone looked at Lord Malvern.

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

He was standing with one hand outstretched, quivering. The gemstone rings on his fingers twinkled in the newly-illuminated hall. His face was round, youthful, almost childlike, his fair skin flushed. Behind his glasses, his reddish-brown eyes were bright with panic.

As though in sudden embarrassment, he lowered his hand and fussed with his clothing, unsure what to do with himself, avoiding the numerous stunned stares aimed in his direction.

"Well," he said finally. He looked around at everyone with a forced smile. "Well! Why… why don't we go upstairs and have some breakfast? It has been a… a difficult night and I am sure we are all starving, yes?" He waved his still-trembling fingers at Gastan. "And… and someone untie this poor gentleman, please. There are no prisoners in the House of Redwick; only guests!"

Then, completely ignoring the destruction to his hall and his semi-conscious sister in a pile against the wall, he spun on his good heel and hobbled away up the stairs, very quickly.

His black-uniformed servant cast a hard, dark stare at everyone in the room, then moved over to see to Jewels.

Flint looked at the Eliminator, lying gleaming where it had fallen on the red and white tiles a few yards away. Then he turned to Gastan, sliced his bonds, and helped him to his feet. "Cheers, mate," he muttered, "I owe you one." He paused. "Did you know that Lord Malvern was—"

The thief shook his head quickly, looking white and terrified.

Flint looked around the room. The Bladeshifters were crouched to one side of the main doors like frightened, angry black cats, huddled in the corner, conflicted as to whether or not to flee or kill someone.

They had known that Malvern was a sorcerer: Jewels must have warned them.

Flint shook his head. She had known too, of course; she was his sister, and had still chosen to defy him, just for a chance to get at Flint…

"I think we'd better do what the man says," Flint said in a low voice.

Gastan massaged his wrists. "What about your crossbow?"

Flint eyed it again. Just beyond the Eliminator, Jewels was recovering. Ripping the painting off her head, she shoved the attendant roughly away and used a chair to push herself, with a great deal of effort, to her feet.

Flint handed Ferrian's Sword to Gastan. Then he walked over, hands in his pockets, and stood staring down at the giant silver crossbow at his feet. The servant rose with a questioning look.

The Freeroamer nodded to him. "This crossbow belongs to me," he said.

"Like hell it does!" Jewels snarled. "I bought it from the smith! It is mine!"

The servant raised an eyebrow.

Flint crouched down and ran a hand over the crossbow, watching the lamplight flicker across its flawless silvered surface. He forced back a sudden swell of tears at the familiar sight of it, at the relief that it was here, at the price he had paid – and almost paid – to get it back. The Eliminator wasn't just a huge lump of welded-together metal parts. It was more than a unique, expertly-crafted weapon. Nor was it meant to be a beautiful, expensive plaything.

It was him, it was a part of him. He hadn't felt right ever since it had been taken away.

Like the Justifier before it, the Eliminator was his identity: it was his past and present and future forged in silvertine. It represented everything he believed in, everything he chose to fight for – and there was precious little of that left, these days. No one else could own it; no one else had the right to. It was everything to him, and that was why he had risked his life – and Ferrian's – to see it returned to his hands.

"Stolen property," he replied, grunting to cover his emotion as he hefted the giant crossbow into his arms and straightened. "Too bad."

The servant regarded Jewels with sharp, dark eyes. The Bladeshifter leader returned a furious glare.

The servant turned back to Flint, raising a finger. "One moment, sir," he said, then slipped away into a nearby side room.

Jewels' hands were balled into fists. Her eyes narrowed dangerously. She looked as though she was about to come at Flint again, but the servant returned within seconds. He walked over to Flint, holding out a quiver of oversized silver bolts. "My apologies, sir," he said, bowing. "The Redwicks accept full responsibility for this… mishap. Please accept my Lord's hospitality."

"Valen, you miserable traitor!" Jewels fumed.

The servant bowed to her. "My Lady," he said, smiling slightly.

Flint nodded at the servant, smiling as well. "My thanks," he said. With a tip of his hat to Jewels, he left her trying to decide whether to smash the servant's lights out or Flint's, and returned to Gastan. The thief remained standing in the middle of the hall, nervously watching the other Bladeshifters, who had not moved, though their eyes had narrowed almost to slits.

Flint paused and arranged his gear more securely, buckling the quiver around his waist and swinging the Eliminator onto his back with practised ease, tightening its leather straps. Then he took Ferrian's Sword back from Gastan. "C'mon," he said, heading for the stairs.

"But, but," the thief stammered in dismay, "you have your crossbow back! We could just… leave!"

Flint paused on the stairs, looking down at him. "D'you want a free knife in yer back from those goons over there, or d'you want a free breakfast?"

Gastan turned to look at the Bladeshifters, then the wrecked entrance door, then Jewels glaring daggers at him, then back to Flint. With a mournful sigh, he hurried after the Freeroamer.

Continuing up the stairs, Flint smiled.

* * *

Sunlight and tree shadows dappled the quiet, rocky shelf. No sound disturbed the sad hush save the gentle rustle of damp leaves and the buzz of waking insects. The rising sun had burned away the mist, but a breeze swished over the ridge from the east; though they sat in the lee of the hill a lingering chill pooled in the clearing – the last remnants of the terrible Winter night.

Lady Araynia sat by Ferrian's side, holding his hand in both of her own. His skin was very cold and very pale: like a corpse. His eyes were open; sightless and eerie, the leafy canopy reflected in their mirror-like depths. She found herself staring into them, desperately trying to find some trace of him, some tiny flicker of the life she knew was there, just swallowed up now in a very deep, very dark place.

Poor Ferrian, she thought. He had tried so hard to help everyone, but ultimately he had tried to do too much.

She closed her eyes against her own despair. What was that monstrous Sword he had been carrying around with him? What had he tried to do with it? Had he attacked Hawk, despite insisting that he would not, despite all of their careful planning?

She swallowed against the tightness in her throat, and the ache in her chest. She had to try and remain strong.

Araynia had done what she could to heal Ferrian. It was nowhere near enough, of course, but she had closed the wound and stopped the bleeding. Ben had helped her to remove his blood-stained clothing and they had carefully cleaned him with water, then wrapped him up in a blanket. But they could still see, in their mind's eye, the ugly dark blotch that lay beneath it, the mortal brand upon his shoulder, the black veins radiating outwards from it, crawling spider-like across slowly greying skin.

At some point, Ben had quietly taken himself away into the bushes and vomited.

Araynia had been close to doing the same.

No one felt like eating anything, but she insisted that they all drink a little water.

Ben sat now opposite Araynia on Ferrian's other side, Tander's spear gripped in his lap so tightly that his knuckles were white, as though expecting to have to use it at any moment, though there was no immediate danger, now that the dagger was gone. His face was almost as pale as Ferrian's.

Li sat off to one side, apart from them, her knees hugged against her chest, her face buried in them. She had stopped crying; she had been silent for some time.

"You can heal him, can't you?" Ben asked suddenly. "When you have your Sword back. You're going to heal him?"

Araynia looked up into his young brown eyes, full of fear and desperate hope. She took too long to reply, and the eyes glimmered, the fear deepening. Not waiting for an answer, saying nothing more, the boy got up, taking the spear with him, and walked to the end of the rock shelf. He sat down, legs hanging off the edge, staring up at the blue, cloud-tattered sky.

Araynia buried her face in her elbow, trying to smother a fresh wave of tears.

The truth was, she didn't know. Back in the desert, she had promised Ben that she would heal everyone – everyone – and she had meant it at the time.

But now she was not so sure.

Things had become… complicated.

Lord Requar.

Curse him! His presence was an inseparable part of the Sword of Healing, and when Araynia was eventually reunited with the Sword and tried to use it on Ferrian, he would know then, straight away, what had happened.

And it would destroy him.

And if Araynia was successful in purging the trigon, when Ferrian woke up, he would be devastated all over again. He had only just found out that Requar still existed.

No, no, Araynia shook her head in furious helplessness. There has to be another way! Perhaps she should talk to Requar after all, before attempting any healing; explain what had happened. Maybe she could convince him not to sacrifice himself again; plead with him not to. He was in a peaceful, rational state of mind now, after all. He would listen. Perhaps she was assuming too much…

She tried to reassure herself with these thoughts, but was not successful.

Her hand went to the pendant upon her chest, her fingers folding around it, feeling its cold facets press into her palm.

How did he do it? she thought. How had Requar managed to defeat trigon? His emotional ruin had been significant, far worse than Araynia's, and yet somehow, something was born from the dark tatters of his psyche to become a being of pure, beatific light, of perfect self-belief.

How could Araynia achieve such an impossible state?

She stared down at the blue gemstone, filled with a longing to escape into it, to detach herself from the horrors of the world for while, immerse herself in a cool, soothing sanctuary instead.

But she would find no peace there, she knew, because it was connected to Requar, by his own design.

It was his sanctuary; his Sword.

His magic.

She still didn't truly feel that the Sword of Healing belonged to her; it was as though she were merely borrowing it.

I am not a replacement for him, she thought unhappily. How could I possibly be?

Araynia released the pendant, letting it thud back against her chest, taking a deep breath and letting it out again. She realised that she was still clutching Ferrian's hand, a little too tightly, and eased her grip on it, tucking it carefully beneath the blanket, then hugged herself.

The day slid on, in tree-whispering silence. An occasional flute-like call of a bird could be heard in the distance, or the screech of parrots as they tried to return, only to realise the Dragon was still present. They flapped about the treetops in an agitated white flock, then wheeled away again.

"When is Tander coming back?" Li said after awhile.

Araynia moved over to sit beside the Angel girl. "Soon, Li," she said. "He will be back soon."

He has been gone a very long time.

She looked over at Ben, who was still sitting motionless on the edge of the rock. She found herself searching the sky with him, but there was nothing to be seen but clouds scattered upon a swathe of blue.