Ice and Dark - Chapter One

Chapter One

Ice lashed out lacing against the smooth panes of the glass window.  Crystals latched onto the sleek surface weaving its delicate fingers - etching designs of obscure complexity.  A slight slip of a boy narrowed his eyes following closely as a particular ice crystal spiraled and curled on the pane of glass he had his nose pressed to.  Thick misty clouds coated the window for a few passing seconds distorting the crystal before clearing back into the hard cool sheet it had been.  His emerald green eyes mirrored back at him with penetrating intent as if he was the one responsible for willing the ice crystal to move.  Screwing his eyes, he focused on the reflection that stared curiously back at him.
Nothing out of the ordinary struck the boy - what did he exactly expect to see?  There was nothing intense or handsome about the skeletal, pallid face contorted with deep depressing shadows clinging to his contours.  A mane of cream colored hair - normally wild and unmanageable - was pulled back into a cruel top knot at his crown allowing loose strands to sway down kissing his thin neck.  He was allowed the free flowing hair only to hide the hideously twisted ears of his.  Elven his mother had called them.  Elven from the father he had never known.  Elves were creatures borne out of hatred and fear.  The Northerns made sport hunting down the creatures he resembled and that was why he was put into hiding.  That was the reason for his birthright to be revoked from him and given to his human half brother.
Fingering the silver silk cuffs of his doublet, the boy fought hard to banish the memories but even as he chewed his lip he could still remember his mother's harsh words to him.  Iandriel, she had called him - an Elvish name given solely to unwanted bastards - and replaced Isenthor, his royal surname, with Greymaker - Elvish for he who walks the shadows.  Ian, as he liked to be called, knew that Greymaker suited him far better than the Imperial Isenthor for he did walk much of his life in the shadows.  Darkness had become his friend, sustained him through the bitter years, and now, Ian coveted the coolness of the shadows more than all else.  He reminded his mother of another person reclusive in shadows - Malvek the Hated One.  Ian shuddered thinking about the terrible god who dwelt in the mountains of Ras'Gosgoran.  No one dared venture in those caves for there were creatures far worse than even the Elves.  The Demierians, Malvek's Children, once were Elves but according to the Book of Kaldek, now served the evil that dwelt in the caves of Ras'Gosgoran - bidding their time for when the world was to be torn asunder for the third time.
Ian rubbed his eyes.  These thoughts were too troublesome for his weary mind.  It was hard to stop from thinking.  The snow and ice gave Ian much to muse over.  As a prince - though stripped from the Royal Roster - Ian had access to any and all the books in the library so most of the days were spent inside one dusty cracked manuscript or another pouring over vast quantities of history and education.  He was very proud at himself for self-teaching his mind to recognize letters, symbols and for willing his hands to gently etch each stroke of a symbol simply by taking one year out of his young life to study and hand copy one manuscript.  Even now, as he continued his tedious stare into the greying void of the world, the warmth of the library fireplace and his plush satin chair stacked with monstrous volumes, beckoned to him, tugging at his doublet sleeve, begging for his every attention.
Pulling his face away from the window, Ian grabbed his thick blue brocade tunic and wrenched it over his doublet.  With skillful fingers, he laced up his prized coat until his collar clasped firmly to his throat.  The tantalizing tug of the library's warm hearth set him on edge and he set off toward the safe haven.  Knee high soft calf-skin leather boots moved softly over the hard marble stone floors.  Ian was grateful that he managed to turn the tops down so he could watch the intricate silver runes embroidered on the inside lining as he walked.  It was these minor details that fascinated him, keeping him satisfied in his self-made world.
The dark mahogany double doors came into view and Ian increased his pace.  Grasping firmly on the gold filigree handle, he lifted it and gently pushed against it.  To his will, the door swung open revealing the largest room in the castle aside from the throne room.  Hundreds of bookcases crammed tightly with manuscripts - bound and unbound - in all various sizes and thickness, greeted Ian with warm eyes and cheerful whisperings.  Once at home in his surroundings, Ian quickly latched shut the door and made his way to the plush chair.  His mother had always told him to always bolt the door when he spent his time inside the library.  No one - save the Queen and the Royal Family - was allowed to know of Iandriel Greymaker's existence.  According to the archives, Iandriel Isenthor - Crown Prince of Winterwick - died a few short hours after his birth due to unfortunate difficulties caused by mixing Elvish and Human blood.  But the truth was, by hiding Ian, his mother, Queen Eva Isenthor, was able to cover up her mistake by taking an Elven lover before marrying the present ruler, Emperor Tolendran.
He sunk into the chair and pulled out his new project, the Book of Kaldek.  Flipping through, Ian sought the place where he last stopped.  Crisp black print scrawled every page mixed with diagrams, maps and illustrations significant to the history the manuscript spoke of.  As his hands scanned over the multiple pages, various stories - starting from the Creation beyond - flashed through his mind.  Illustrations might have been inked on each page but Ian's own mind supplemented enough to slake his imagination.
Hours upon hours passed with the firelight finally dying after Ian had used up the rest of the wood presently placed inside.  He placed his book down on the mahogany table -beside his chair - as if a mother would put down her child.  In a way, these books were like his children, his parents, his siblings and even his playmates.  They never let him down or judged him because he was half Elven.  Slowly, he stood up and crept across the room.  Unbolting the door, Ian poked his head out and scanned the hallway.  Many times he remembered his mother standing over head of him making sure he looked around just right. 
We can't have anyone, even the guards, spy you here...you must NOT be ever seen alive.
Hearing her voice echo deafeningly in his head didn't help Ian concentrate on securing his arrival in the hall but he managed to push it into the background of his mind long enough to deem it safe to creep into the dark hallway.  Because of the many years secluded in the shadows, Ian was able to see through any amount of darkness.  Sometimes, he even suspected that something in his blood equally played a part in his being able to see better than full-blooded humans.  Hugging the wall, Ian sauntered toward where his bedchamber was located.  Cool wind nipped at the exposed flesh on his nose causing gooseflesh to rise along his forearms.  His thin hands grabbed his thinner shoulders and held tightly greedily keeping the warmth in his body.
Turning the corner he stopped abruptly.  Two figures in slate grey cloaks spoke together in hushed tones.  A dying candlelight held close to their bodies - at their waist - barely illuminated the iron pummels fastened securely in sheathes attached to their leather solider girdles.  While they spoke, they fingered daggers in their opposite hands.  To humans, their voices would be too hushed to catch a single word, but to Ian with his keen hearing thanks to the slender points of his ears, heard every word as if they spoke right in front of his face.
"It has to be done tonight or Lord Elthren will take our heads as payment." The one man holding the candle stated.  Ian flinched hearing his gravelly voice grate against the tips of his ears.  He slit his eyes watching the sly movements of the two men.  Where are the guards?
Two bloody heaps caught his eyes off to his left answering his question and he swallowed hard trying to wet his parched throat.  Noises flitted toward Ian - the sound of coarse canvas scratched over the smooth marble flooring.  Faintly, he could hear the jingling of mail as the two figures moved down the hall opposite of him - toward the Royal Chambers.  Ian's eyes widened - pupils shrinking - until his eyes were almost just the whites.  Waiting just a few minutes - giving the two men a few feet - Ian took from his hiding spot still clinging to the wall.
The stone blurred as he picked up his pace to keep the two men in sight.  Ian flew up the stairs fear clutching his heart, even though he was not fond of his family, he didn't find it pleasing to watch these two men plan murder.  They stopped at the first door - his brother's door - and gently creaked it open.  Their swords slid from the sheaths without so much as a clink and they retreated into the dark room.  Now it was Ian's turn.  Before the door could close, he dove into the room tucking his knees to his chest and rolling into the nearest corner encased with deep shadows.  The two men were too occupied with their conquest to even acknowledge their new stalker. 
Now what?  Ian berated himself for not formulating a plan.  But how could one boy who had never left the sanctuary of the stony palace hope to know what to do when his home was breeched?  Spying a heavy lead candelabrum on a bedside table, Ian gently nudged it from its spot and hefted it in his hand.  He grunted from the weight before realizing that he was still far from being clear of the present danger.
One of the men lifted his head and analyzed the room.  Ian sucked in his breath sharply and pressed himself flat against the wall praying to the gods that the shadows would do their job to mask the rest of him.  Crouching low, the man wrinkled his nose making snuffling noises and raised his sword poised for an ambush.
"Drédor, I think someone is in here with us."  The man grunted shuffling over to where Ian crouched.
"Of course, Jeth, the Crown Prince is and he's sleeping in his bed."  Scowled the other man at his partner's sudden jitteriness and stalked toward the damask draped canopied four-poster bed.
This was going badly.  Ian cursed under his breath and edge closer to the bed out of his protective corner.  His brain fired active solutions to the task at hand but they seemed too simplistic.  There was no hope that these men would just give up, they were probably hired assassins, trained in their craft of killing men.  But loyalty to his family would not yield Ian to creeping out and hiding cowardly in his own room.  Chances of these two men coming to seek his death were slim at best but Ian could not live when the potential deaths of his family could have been avoided even by his slight hands.
It's now or never.  The choice was made before Ian could process a thought.  Leaping from the shadows, Ian cleaved the candelabrum smartly on the unprotected head of the man named Jeth.  The man grunted crumbling to the floor paralyzed.  But it also alerted the other man.  Drédor whirled around slashing his sword in the air missing Ian by the breadth of his hair as the boy fell to his knees.  Swinging his hand forward, Ian slammed the lead projectile into the man named Drédor's kneecap.  The man dropped as well and Ian let out a shriek of joy scrambling to his feet.  He looked over to where his brother, Gareth Isenthor, slept soundly, not effected even the slightest by the small tussle.
"No you don't kid."
Whirling around, Ian met with the flat side of a blade smashing against his temple.  Dots danced along his vision and he fell into the wall trying to right himself but the two men were at his sides, their swords pointing to him.  He didn't understand why they hesitated and he brought his hand up that held the candelabrum only to find that it was no longer there but across the room where he threw it after being bashed in by the sword.
"You picked a bad time to enter into the room, servant boy."  The man named Drédor growled flashing chipped, half-rotted teeth.  Deftly, he pressed the sharp side of his hand-and-a-half sword against Ian's throat.
"We were only instructed to slay the Royal Family but since you have caught us, we must, unfortunately, give you a swift passage to your god." Jeth hissed pressing his own blade against Ian's stomach.
How am I going to get out of this?  Ian furrowed his brow and chewed on his lip.  Like a book, his mind scanned through the thousand upon thousand pages he had read hoping for a way, a technique, to unravel his predicament.  Vaguely, he remembered some fighting techniques he read about in a battle manuscript that the warriors and guards used to use.  They were outdated forms but perhaps they would work against these two men.
Sucking in his breath again and clenching his jaw tight, Ian slipped down and lashed out his foot to trip the two men.  Grunts told Ian that the two men fell for it and they flew a few feet away from him but not before Drédor suddenly raised his blade up.  It swept through the boy's fair hair and Ian screamed - this time jostling his brother awake - and grabbed the side of his head.
A stream of free-flowing sapphire colored blood fled down the side of Ian's neck as he clasped the fragments of his once pointed ear.  The ear, itself, had been cut in twain with the tip hanging on solely by a thread of fraying tendons.  All of his fervor drained from his face as he cradled the broken flesh.  The shroud of the determined fighter fled to reveal a frightened child seeing death for the first time.  It paralyzed him.
Drédor was the first to rise to his feet.  He smiled cruelly enjoying the purge of the young boy's bravery.  After seeing the many frightened faces of his victims before he slaughtered them thrilled him to continue on assassinating.  Lifting his sword - this time only to the height of his waist - he plunged it into the unsuspecting boy's stomach laughing as he watched more of the sapphire blood spill to the floor.
"He's a Royal."  Exclaimed Jeth - taking to his feet - ignoring the pathetic cries of the Crown Prince.  "Kill him Drédor."
Ian crumpled, all of his strength flowing fast out of his body as did his blood spreading on the floor around him.  His breathing reduced to short gasps and his heart deafening in his throbbing ears as it pumped to replenish what he was losing.  A heavy boot kicked Ian onto his side releasing more blood from his gaping wound and he cried.  His brain reeled wildly not knowing how to deal with what was going on with his body.  Iandriel Greymaker had never been wounded before.
"He's as good as dead and I want to watch him squirm."  Drédor purred, a sated kitten next to his prey.
Shouts outside pulled Jeth's head towards the door.  He grunted and turned toward the bed where the Crown Prince Gareth Isenthor sat up wailing.
Run... Ian coughed and watched in horror as Jeth rent the damask curtains unveiling the frightened prince.  "Run."  He choked out barely in a whisper.
More dots crowded in his vision stealing his sight and the room swirled mixing into a multi-hued collage of colors.  No.  Ian cried deep inside and fought to rise but his body refused to even budge.  Gareth's screams reached ear-piercing and the sound of splintering wood sent Ian spiraling into an eerily calm darkness.