Frostfell

Arantar and the other, younger man, Khasoreth obviously-where had she heard that name?-stood in an empty hall. As she saw it more clearly, she realized that to call this a hall would be like calling the Trackless Sea a "body of water." Words did it no justice. Stone so white that it almost hurt the eyes made up the floor, the ceiling, and the great columns that joined them. Veins of gold and silver ran throughout the stone, fine as spider silk. The walls were of a darker, though no less smooth, stone. More the color of summer-sky clouds, heavy with rain, though not yet to the point of bursting. Artisans had carved scenes of battle into the very walls with such skill that she thought they might move at any moment. The grasses upon which heroes trod seemed to wave, and the blossom-laden trees through which they walked seemed to flutter in a unseen wind. Set between the great columns, brass braziers lit the room and filled it with warmth, their coals glowing with an almost golden radiance. Arantar stood a few paces away from one of the great columns, his arms crossed over his chest and his brows low and heavy over his eyes. He was dressed much as she had first seen him-in rough cloth and leathers covered by an animal-skin cloak. Before him stood Khasoreth, resplendent in clothes of linen and silk. The wine-red cloak draping his shoulders had threads of gold and gems woven into the hem, and his boots and gloves were of the finest lambskin. Arantar looked away, more intent on his own thoughts, and said, "It might be no mercy to let him live, my friend. His heart is dark as winter's heart." "Is he beyond redemption, then?" Arantar shook his head, then smiled down upon the younger man, but there was more sadness in the expression than anything. "The emperor has spoken, Khasoreth. Gaugan must die. You know this." "Yes," said the younger man. "And I know that the emperor's sister loves you, and you her. Were you to suggest-" "You would have me meddle? Question the word of the emperor?" Khasoreth laughed. "It's not as though you've never done it before. Were it not for Isenith whispering in his ear, he would have banished you dozens of times already. That business three years ago almost had him ordering your head brought to him on a spear. I'm not asking you to do anything you don't know to be right. 'In justice, remember mercy.'

Yes?" Arantar opened his mouth to answer, but what he said she did not hear. The world melted away again, and she felt herself falling.

Images swirled before her, ru

You are not ready." "I am ready!" said Khasoreth, more than a little anger entering his voice. "More than ready. Besides, my apprentices will be there to assist me." "Apprentices, Khasoreth. Apprentices!

They are less ready than you. You are endangering those four as much as you. This is madness!" Khasoreth's eyes narrowed. "Gaugan believes me ready. He said your jealousy would not allow you to see it."

"Gaugan?" Arantar looked as if he had been struck. "His whispers have poisoned your senses. Listen to me, Kha-" "I am through listening to you, Master." He spoke the last word in a sneer. "I thank you for all your years of teaching and counsel. But I am the master now." Again the world fell away-

Khasoreth stood upon the promontory, the Hill of the Witness Tree at his back, the Great Ice Sea at his feet. The wind from the north, bringing the season's first snow, made his cloak seem like wings behind him. The hem of the rich garment, a great cloak the color of ash-the royal winter colors of Raumathar-given to him by the emperor himself, slapped at the torso of his nearest apprentice. They too had cloaks like their master, though the clothes beneath them were not nearly so fine. Three more apprentices stood not far behind their master, the last standing upon the lowest step of the hill itself.

Gaugan stood off to the side, two arms' lengths away from Khasoreth's outstretched hand. Khasoreth looked to Gaugan, his face exultant. "I am ready!" he said. Gaugan nodded and smiled. "Let it be done." "Let it begin!" said Khasoreth, then began his incantation. His four apprentices joined in, their tomes held open before them. Khasoreth had no such need. He had long since committed the rite to memory. As the sun set behind the clouds in the west, he would leave these mortal coils behind and achieve the union he had long desired-to become one with the element of cold and ice rather than simply wielding their power. Arantar was wrong. Gaugan had once served dark powers, but upon swearing loyalty to Raumathar he left such pursuits behind. Without him, Khasoreth would never have achieved such power and knowledge so quickly. The wind increased, driving the snow into his face and eyes and bringing a harsh, stinging spray off the sea that froze before it hit him. Still he chanted, and the wind blew even stronger. Cold and ice came at his command, and the beings who knew them as their very nature came at his summoning, answering his call and joining their voices to his. He spoke in rhythm with the crash of the waves, and his apprentices wove their own spells around his, four melodies creating a harmony around his driving beat. Khasoreth felt ice forming on his skin, in his hair, freezing the water in his eyes, and he smiled. It was working. Then came the pain. Slight at first, building not in his body but deep within his mind. The spark of life, the fire of his humanity, flickered and for a moment faltered. Khasoreth's smile fell, and he added force to the incantation. The pain increased. He heard one of his apprentices cry out, heard the pages of his tome being ripped away by the wind. Within the howl of the wind, behind the song of the elements, he heard cold laughter. The pain hit him again, even harder this time. Khasoreth looked to Gaugan. "Help me!" Gaugan rushed forward and fell to his knees. "Release me!" He pointed to the collar round his neck. The runes engraved there, the incantations binding his power, seemed to glow as the frost thickened in their crevices. "I ca