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“Your Majesty, may I have a word?” Bertram did not wait for permission before entering the room. She didn’t mind. The man knew more about ruling a kingdom than she ever would and she was grateful he had consented to stay on as her advisor. Of course, there was that pesky matter of him having murdered the previous ruler, but he had done it for her, and it wasn’t the first time he had saved her. Still she was grateful that Heztus, Granlor, and Gillen were close at hand just in case.
“Of course you may.” She sat up straighter in her chair and smoothed her dress. She hated the thing, but she was expected to dress a certain way in public. Of course, this place was not exactly public. She spent most of her time in this small room adjacent to the throne room. It was decorated with simple yet comfortable furnishings and the single window offered a view of a walled garden just outside. As was often the case, Heztus kept her entertained. The dwarf was a delight, full of funny stories and inappropriate jokes, but he was also intelligent and she trusted his judgment.
Bertram dropped to one knee before her.
“Stop that this instant,” she snapped. “It’s bad enough that people bow to me out there.” She gestured toward the throne room. “I won’t have it in private, at least not when there are none but friends present.”
“Am I a friend, Majesty?” Bertram asked.
“I don’t know what you are, but you’ve behaved as a friend to me so the term suits you as well as any. What is it you’d like to talk about, and don’t say a word about choosing a husband and producing an heir.”
“It is not that, I assure you. I fear I have grave news.”
“Is there any other kind these days?” Heztus asked.
Indeed, since she had ascended the throne, the news had gotten progressively worse. One of the bone women in her service was familiar with the seekers’ odd method of communication and had, after much effort, made a connection with a seeker in Archstone. Since then, news of the world had poured in.
The war between Kyrin and Galdora had ended, but only because the second Frostmarch had begun. All along the western border war had broken out. The worst of the fighting seemed to be happening in the north, where vast hordes of wild men invaded from the mountains. Lothan, however, had not been spared. Word had come to her from the clans who had returned to their lands of raids by ice cats and shifters, the fiercest of the Ice King’s minions.
Meanwhile, the eastern nations were busy quelling revolts of coldhearts within their own ranks. Somehow, she knew this was only the beginning.
“As a matter of fact, I do have some good news too. Which would you like first?”
“Let’s have the good news first for a change.”
“Prince Lerryn has returned to Archstone. He and his brother Larris managed to defeat the invading Kyrinian force.”
Shanis’ heart skipped a beat at the mention of Larris’ name.
“Prince Lerryn has assumed the throne and is marshaling his remaining forces for war. Or should I say, for the next war?” Bertram managed a small smile.
“Is the fighting in western Galdora not so severe?” Shanis asked.
Their situation is similar to ours. Some minor skirmishes along the border.” Bertram shrugged. “Are you ready for the bad news?”
“No, but you’re going to tell me anyway.”
This time, Bertram did not smile. “This has not yet been confirmed, but I have it from reliable sources that the order of the saikurs is broken.”
She clutched the arms of her chair and leaned forward slightly. “What does that mean, exactly?”
“There has been a revolt. Prelate Denrill has been overthrown and the survivors who were loyal to him have fled or have been imprisoned. The rumor is, the man who now leads there is a coldheart.”
“Coldhearts among the seekers?” Heztus sprang to his feet. It was not an impressive sight given the dwarf’s lack of stature. “How can that be?”
“I would assume that any man, or woman,” Bertram added, his eyes flitting toward Shanis, “can fall under the Ice King’s sway. It is our ill fortune that the most powerful group of magicians and sorcerers in Gameryah seems to be under his control. Of course, we do not know how many remain. With luck, it is only a small contingent who have given themselves over to that particular vileness. In any case, that is another problem for the government of Cardith to deal with.” He grimaced. “And now for the worst of it.”
“There’s something worse?” Shanis asked.
“I’m afraid so. Spies have returned from Salgo. Karst has amassed a sizable army and has joined forces with a contingent of Galdoran troops. They intend to march on us any day.”
“That makes no sense,” Heztus said. “Karst is a Galdoran rebel. How could such an alliance have formed?”
“The Galdoran force is led by Orman Van Altman. King Lerryn’s uncle. He is a coldheart.” Bertram fixed Shanis with a level stare. “The temple in Salgo, using dark magic and the power of human sacrifice, has raised a god. They spread rumors that they were raising a minor, almost forgotten god, but the truth is much more terrible.”
Shanis sank back in her chair. She thought she was going to be sick. “Tichris.”
Everyone reacted immediately. Heztus cursed, Gillen gasped, and Granlor drew his sword and looked around as if the Ice King were somewhere in the room.
“The Ice King is close to his full power and he can bend men to his will. He now has a massive army under his sway and they will fight with a mindless unity of purpose. We must assume they will neither succumb to fear nor fatigue. We will have to kill them to the last man in order to defeat them.”
Shanis placed a hand on the hilt of the Silver Serpent, which rested against her chair. She looked down at it, a grim sense of determination filling her.
“Or I will have to kill him,” she whispered.
“You can no do that, can you?” Granlor asked. “I mean, it do be a god.”
“Do you have a better idea?” She asked. “He was beaten once before. He can be beaten again.” She stood and began pacing back and forth.
“If I may,” Heztus began, “we should go out to meet him. If we hide behind these walls, his armies will ravage our lands and then lay siege to our city. If we meet them in the swamps in the east, we have the advantage. The Malgog know that place better than anyone, save those of their own who have turned their coats. We will make them bleed.” He uttered the last declaration with cold ferocity.
“I agree.” Bertram nodded. “Recall the clansmen who have returned to their homes and meet them with our full might on the ground of our choosing.”
Shanis nodded. “Send word to King Lerryn and tell him the battle for which he has been preparing will be fought in Lothan. Ask him to come to our aid. I don’t suppose we can expect much help from the other nations?”
Bertram shook his head. “Not while they are all on the defensive and not knowing where the next coldheart rebellion will spring up.”
“I’ll bet that was the Ice King’s plan all along.” Heztus pounded a fist into his palm. “Keep the nations of the north occupied while he wreaks havoc in the south.”
“But why the south? What makes us so special?” Shanis asked.
Bertram fixed her with an incredulous look. “You are special. You are the bearer of the Silver Serpent. He will see you as the greatest threat in the world, perhaps the only threat.”
“Well then, if he’s coming after me, I guess I’d better be ready. Summon the Council. Tell them we are going to war.”