Ice and Dark - Chapter Three

Chapter Three

    The pound of the Zayle's hooves set the rapid pace of Ian's heart.  Many times he tried not to look back, fearing to witness the demise of his fellow companions.  He had only just met them but to lose them - in his present condition - he would die.  His head rang, vibrating from the sound of the relentless dull thud - but whether it originated from his heart or the ground - Ian had lost all sense to differentiate.  Numbly, he turned in his saddle - before he could stop himself - and sweat beaded along his brow.  No hide nor hair of either his companions or his enemies galloped behind him - the piercing screams of the Kedrils were lost in the wind - and a forlorn darkness loomed vastly behind him.
    Leaning down, Ian tired to spur the horse - to get control - but the horse refused to even acknowledge his presence.  It did not slow its own gallop, keeping in the same direction it had carried him all along.  Memories of Kheldren whispering something to the warhorse flashed over Ian's mind.
    So long as you are with your horse, it will bring you back to me.  Kheldren had said but what if he was dead?  Or worse, what if the enemies knew as well and were waiting for him when his horse obediently went back to its master?  Either way the possible outcomes were not pleasant to Ian who felt innocently caught up in something far bigger than him - solely because he was the Prince and only survivor of the Winterwick Royalty.
    A piercing shriek sounded above him and the ground behind him gave way.  The Zayle shot forward trying to maintain its grip - digging its sharp cloven points into the ground.  Ian shot back in his saddle twisting around to see the creature called a Kedril.  It had sprouted spiny black wings as long as two widths and curled them - folding them flat - to its sides.  Now the jaws were inches from his Zayle's haunches.
    The mount under Ian bunched its muscle and surged forward - exuding another uncanny burst of speed.  White foam seeped along its sweat drenched coat, and frothed at the edges of its mouth.  All Ian could do to keep him aloft was to grip fiercely to the horn of his saddle.  Thankfully, the reins wrapped about his wrists held true.
    He screamed with all the power in his lungs.  The rider perched atop the Kedril hunched forward - his muscles taut - his scimitar dangerously curved toward Ian.  Will I live through this?
    The saddlebag was bare save for packs and bundles - presumably the supplies the twins and dwarf brought but no weapon, sheathed or unsheathed, lay upon the saddle or along its side.  Pain shot through his spine and he crippled forward in his saddle.  His hand fell upon the bandages along his stomach under his clothing and felt warm liquid.  Pulling his hand away some of the sticky liquid came with it.  He brought his hand to his face.  Blue hues sparkled still wet and hot, draining the color from his face.  His wound had broken open.
    The tell-tale pounding of his heart returned with a vengeance in his ears.  He flattened his body against the back of his mount and closed his eyes.
    "I don't think I can hang on."
    Ian's eyes shot open at the voice from below him.  What was that?  Keeping his hands securely to the horn, he slid to the side and stared at the smoldering red eye of the Zayle Warhorse.  Did he speak?
    "Yes, I did speak."  The horse spoke as if hearing Ian's question.  But its mouth didn't move; only its eyes glimmered in profound intelligence capable of speech.
Staring at the horse - now that it appeared intelligent - felt wrong though it was all Ian could do.  None of the books he read in the library prepared him from this.  Silver flashed at his side drawing him from his thoughts and he barely managed to duck as the scimitar blade whipped passed where Ian's neck had been.  Sweat dripped in his eyes - stinging them - free flowing as the blood down his sides.
    "Hang on Prince.  I will do all I can to save you."  The Zayle let out a shrill whinny and launched into the air.
    Feathers brushed against Ian's cheek and his saddle shifted forward.  Ebony wings unfolded and pumped powerful even strokes, cutting through the wind clean.  Daring a glance down, Ian watched the ground below run from his being, minimizing itself to obscurity.  The Kedril - also left behind - screeched and unfurled its wings.  Two powerful wind currents battered against Ian and he sucked on his lip feeling the wind tear at his swollen ear.  Another gush hit Ian and he whirled around to see the Kedril and rider behind.  They had recovered the distance between them.  Ian cried out.  They had not lost their pursuers and he could feel the Warhorse tiring underneath him.  How are we going to escape?
    A shift in the wind almost threw Ian over the head of the Zayle causing him to fear that his mount's heart had finally given out and they were descending to inevitably crash onto the ground.  He was yanked backward as the mount's wings caught the wind thermal.  They were descending but at a slower rate - in complete control.  A shrill cry sounded again from the Zayle and Ian clapped his hands over his ears clenching down on his teeth as his palm met with a sharp pain from his wounded ear.
    Another cry, similar to his mount's, answered then another and a third until ten cries total resounded through the air.  Ian swayed feeling nauseous, overloaded from all the noise.  Then ten sleek black Zayles emerged from the clouds straight toward Ian.  Glancing only briefly, they passed Ian and sailed toward the Kedril - brandishing long ebony horns atop their brows.  The Kedril's screech climaxed followed by the death cry of the rider.  Black dots danced along Ian's vision and he slumped forward in his saddle, passing into the oblivion beyond pain's threshold.

    Snuggling against warm soft fur, Ian slid his eyes open.  A wall of black rose from the ground spreading out to form a ceiling.  He placed his hand against it and realized that it was not a wall but fur - the side of a body.  It heaved as the creature breathed.  Rolling onto his back, Ian stared up at the ceiling blocking out the majority of the sun rays.  Hundreds of feathers billowed with the slightest breeze.
    "Zayle?  Please say it's you."  Ian whispered hoping that the creature would decipher his hoarse words.
    "I am and you may call me Honrei, my Prince."  The Zayle's deep voice boomed over Ian's head.
    "You may call me Ian."
    "Very well, Ian then."
    Ian sat up, brushing his head against Honrei's feathers.  He laughed as they tickled his cheeks.  "Where are we, Honrei?"
    Lifting his wing, Honrei let the light stream in.  He gazed down at Ian smiling with his eyes.  "We are resting upon Mount Gaujo.  The Kedril is dead."
    Memories of the moments before he passed out came back to Ian.  He sprang to his feet and whirled around.  "That's right!  We were saved by the other Zayles weren't we?"  Honrei nodded.  "Then this is where you live?"
    Honrei nodded again, getting to his feet.  "Yes, we are born here, raised here.  Only when a Fair Child comes and makes a pact do we leave to go into the world of man."
    "Fair Child?"  Ian turned to face Honrei.  He had to lift his head to fully look in the beast's eyes.
    "Yes, an Elven, in your terms."
    "What type of pact?  I thought Zayle were born and bred for the sole purpose of men.  Why even Zayle are sold at the Palace in Beldrig."  Ian never thought the possibility of the Zayle having a pact system much less intelligence.  His head rattled feeling his secure world crashing down on him.
    Honrei snorted, stamping his right hoof into the ground.  "I was not aware that some pacts were being broken.  This must be brought to the Palace immediately."
    "Palace?"  Ian narrowed his eyes.  These creatures have Palaces too?
    "No time to explain.  Please get on my back."  Honrei turned to bare his side to Ian.
    Ian walked up but stopped short.  The saddle was no longer on Honrei nor was it anywhere around either of them.  Looking down, he saw that only fragmented strands of the reins remained tied around his wrist - frayed as if someone or something had chewed at it - breaking it off.  "Where is the saddle?"
    "It was lost during the flight after you blacked out.  I used my horn to cut the reins and carried you with my mouth.  Now please hurry and mount."  Honrei stamped his right hoof again growing impatient.
    Numbly, Ian took a few more steps forward and struggled atop the Zayle.  It proved more difficult without a saddle or reins to hold onto but - with Honrei's help - he was able to get onto his back.  Before he could secure a good perch, Honrei took off.  Grabbing two fistfuls of Honrei's mane was all Ian could do to keep from falling to the ground.  The ground fell away in multi-colored blurs and Ian closed his eyes.  It was giving him a headache on top of his throbbing right ear.
Instead, he turned his attention to the smooth way the Zayle moved.  The wind on either side melded with the beast's muscles participating in a lively dance.  Honrei's haunches undulated with every step, creating a relaxing rhythm.
    The wind stopped as quickly as it started and Ian felt Honrei slow his pace.  Opening his eyes, Ian froze ridged on Honrei's bare back.  They walked upon a wide cobblestone street swept meticulously clean with sewage troughs running alongside it.  Most buildings on either side of the street were wood and three stories high.  Every window had glass, a rarity even in Winterwick.  Only the Palace had glass that he knew of - every other building had wooden shutters and curtains - just like the Black Lion Inn.  Here and there Ian glanced buildings made of large bricks and stone.  Even from the outside of each building - wooden and stone - it was evident that the roofs were high and the rooms spacious.  These buildings were as clean as the street and neatly painted with elegant, even regal, colors.
    As they followed the street it widened making its way around a small neatly tended garden with a fountain as its centerpiece.  Tents lined the outer most side of the road bearing goods of various natures.  Some Ian recognized from either the books in the library or from the people in the Palace - silks, pots, spices, even exotic birds.  Most of the goods he did not recognize but he noticed that no fur or meat were among the goods and - save for the merchant's mounts - no other mountable creatures were being sold.
    People milled around these tents and carts.  Their skin was the palest Ian had seen more so than his own, yet they weren't of a pallid color rather milky as the moon.  The various shades of hair and hues were particularly outlandish - brilliant variations of blues, reds, and ambers even some greens.  Only a few had black hair but Ian noted that these people were only guards - no one outside of armor - had black hair.  Even more peculiar was that all of these people - save the merchants - had crimson hued eyes.
    Two of these black-haired guards stood on either side of an ornate gate gleaming silver in the sun.  Beyond that gate rose a sheer white mountain.  Even from their distance, Ian could make out a part of the mountain cut clean away where two pillars of the purest gold jutted up stabilizing the crevice between the mountain halves the mountain.  It was cut exactly in the center with half the mountain supporting it earthward and the other half hiding whatever was carved from it heavenward.
    Suddenly, Ian noticed Honrei moving toward the guards next to the gate.  He panicked.  "Are we going up there?"  Ian asked leaning forward so the Zayle could see where he was pointing to.
    "Yes we are.  That place is called Ronkei Palace or Crystal Palace as translated into human tongue.  The Queen lives there and that is where I must go, where you will accompany me."  Honrei grunted under his breath.
    As they approached, Ian was afraid they would be denied entrance.  The two guardsmen stared stone-faced at the two.  But Honrei's pace did not change and when they reached the gates, the two guardsmen saluted crisply and pushed the gate open.  It slid smoothly forward without the rusty squeak that so often accompanied when the gates at the Palace in Beldrig upon being opened.
    With the quickened pace, though not enough to cause the hills to blur together, Honrei trod on.  Inside was a stone building where more black-haired guardsmen came to and from.  Foreign symbols etched regally across the top of an intricate metal door.  When these men saw them, they all snapped to attention saluting in the same fashion as the two guards at the gate.
    Ian looked around fascinated, though the saluting bothered him; he suspected it was a necessity when Honrei was concerned.  Whoever he was.  But what captured his eye was the spacious garden all around them.  Nothing was yellow or dying and there was not a speck of snow in sight.  He had never seen anything without snow for it never stopped snowing in Winterwick.  The lush greenery soared to the clear blue skies.  For a few minutes he just stared up at the sky.  There were no clouds, nothing but an endless expanse of blue.  Benches carved elegantly out of something akin to ivory lined clean ornate cobblestone paths not as wide as the main road but comfortable for four people to walk side by side one another and still let someone pass.  Ian saw a stream so clear he could see the smooth rocks below and fish swam in its shallow depths their golden scales reflecting the sun's rays, and out of the left side he heard a waterfall splashing onto the rocks somewhere in the distance.  It was so close he could taste the pure water yet he could not see it.
    They continued down the street unhindered by either guards or the garden and soon they stood at the foot of the White Mountain.  It blocked out the sun and rose disappearing into the only soft white clouds Ian could see dotted the blue skies.
    A gush of wind brushed against his cheeks and two black wings lifted them effortlessly into the sky.  Honrei's muscles bulged and Ian could see that the Zayle moved in the air the same he had moved on the ground.  It was as if he were cutting the air with his hooves.  They reached the middle of the mountain and landed on a white marble floor before Ian could blink.  Three people dressed in elaborate pale green silk kimonos greeted them with slight bows.  Ian immediately dismounted and stood near the three people who were actually men once he was close enough to tell.
    Their appearance caused him to pause mid-step.  Unlike the people down below, the three of them each had brownish-red hair though different in hues and striking crystal blue eyes.  Their skin was also a shade darker than the ones down below and unblemished as if they never worked a hard day's labor in their lives.
    "Please follow us."  The tallest one - incidentally standing in the middle - gestured behind him toward a pale green door ornately designed and unusually pleasant surrounded by the blinding white rock.
    Ian took hesitant steps.  The events pertaining the deaths of his family - though only a day or two passed - felt decades, in his mind.  He had never set foot outside his world, the Palace, and now he was faced with entering a foreign Palace he never knew existed.  The door opened at the middle and Ian faltered a second time in mid-step feeling a warm draft ripple up his back.
    Statuesque golden sentinels burst in multihued flames of color - intimidating any who entered with ill-intent in their hearts - and a pale green filmy silk curtain was pulled to the side, revealing ten marble pillars lining down a lush green carpeted hall.  A hand pressed lightly upon Ian's back and he looked behind to see the two other men gently motioning him forward.  Taking a deep breath - counting slowly to ten - Ian slid a foot forward, then another, never averting his eyes from the open doors.  As he passed the golden carved sentinels, Ian noticed that one resembled a plated man while the other, a Zayle Warhorse.  The doors closed with a soft click and Ian whirled around.  Honrei was still out there.
    As if reading Ian's mind, the tallest man turned around.  "Honrei will meet you in the throne room after you bathe and dress."
    Without word, Ian followed the three men into a chamber that appeared larger on the inside than the door foretold.  Inside, the walls and floor were the same white marble stone but the ceiling was jagged, giving the impression of a lived in cave.  In the middle was a pool with steaming water already bubbling, fed by a trickling waterfall on the back wall.  The water itself was clear enough to reflect an exact replica of the ceiling and walls.  Along the walls, Ian noticed, etched delicate veins of silver and the same pale green as was from the doors.  It had a natural feel, unlike the stuffy over-decoréd bath houses in the Palace of Beldrig and Ian relaxed his sore muscles.
    "This is..."  Ian breathed.  "...I have never seen anything like this before."
    "Does His Majesty find it pleasing?"  The tallest man whispered striding to Ian's side - a white plush towel in his hands.
    "Majesty?"  Ian raised an eyebrow.  How many people knew who he was when he never set foot outside the Palace?
    The man chuckled and clicked his tongue.  His eyes surveyed the room.  "Her Majesty, Queen Issa, found this spring welling deep in the mountain where her family first came here.  She discovered that - unlike most mountains - the water in Ronkei Palace grew colder the deeper down and more earthward it ran leaving the middle and higher streams steaming with clear water - perfect for bathing.  It is one of the many reasons why the Palace is called Ronkei or Crystal."
    Ian nodded and shed his ragged clothing; the day's flight caused tears along the sleeves and body of the tunic.  At the edge of the pool, he slowly slid a toe in the water.  Warmth shot up through his body wracking along his spine.  He sighed happy to feel warmth again and slowly lowered his body - fully immersing and wetting his hair.
    "May I bathe alone?"  Though he had neither saw nor heard the three men, Ian had a feeling they were still in the room.
    "Are you sure Your Majesty?"
    Ian nodded and waited until he heard the soft click of the door.  He found it easier to relax being alone.  It wasn't because he did not trust these people - fact was he did - he just hadn't grown accustomed to being around a significant amount of people.  The warm water curled around him and he wallowed in its depths.  With the pool as large as this, Ian could swim and he did - gently flexing his muscles.

    After bathing, Ian was led into another room to find that new clothing had been placed on an intricately designed table.  No beds were in the room only a few pale green plush couches and padded elegant chairs lined along the walls.  In one corner was a single screen embroidered with intricate silk floral design.  It's a dressing room.
    Neatly folding the towel, Ian took up the new clothing and quickly dressed before he could catch a chill.  The clothing consisted of soft lambskin pants and a silk brocade tunic - pale green with floral designs embroidered along the cuffs and collar.  As he dressed, Ian noticed that his hair was noticeably lighter.  He would have to do another coat of dye before he left the Palace.
    "Queen Issa is ready for you now."
    Ian jumped hearing the familiar voice and turned to see the three men again.  He nodded and walked out of the room with them.

    They traveled up a sky-scraper's height of white marbled stones until they reached the summit yet surprisingly, Ian had not grown fatigue.  In fact, he still had the same energy he possessed before he even reached the bottom of the same staircase.
    He passed another short corridor where two guardsmen - this time in white plate armor - opened a set of golden double doors.  Silk tapestries - pale green - with noble horse-like beasts embroidered in pure gold, furled lightly in the breeze accompanied with the opening of the doors.  A plush green carpet, slightly darker than the pale color, skirted gracefully stopping at the bottom step of the throne.
Ian's eyes rose counting each step, twenty slender carved steps in all.  The throne rose up, an impressive statuesque alter.  It was long enough to let a ruler lounge or sit - wherever he or she chose - and there were velvet cushions suited for just that decision.  The back rose twice Ian's height etched in intricate designs, along the gold paneling.  The most impressive was the banister on either side of the stairs.  It was made of solid marble that helped create the shelf the throne sat upon.  It was smooth on the top and all sides leaving the banister part slanting to the floor.  A pair of rearing unicorns - one etched on either side of the banister - faced each other holding their heads high - horns raised to the throne.
    Ian's lungs burned and he breathed feeling foolish for forgetting to do so while marveling at the astonishing sight.  Though the throne room was made to house maybe a thousand occupants, only two others aside from Ian and the three men were present in the room.
    The woman, Ian presumed was Queen Issa, was dressed in an elaborate emerald colored silk kimono.  Her scarlet hair was bound at the crown of her head and a golden swan headdress fanned out from her brow to the base of her ponytail.  She was the most beautiful women Ian had ever seen.
    The other was a man standing a head taller than Ian with skin the same pale color the other people in the village possessed.  Silk black hair was tightly braided down to the small of his back, and he wore a black velvet doublet simple in design yet noble still.  As Ian walked up, the man turned, staring down at him with deep scarlet eyes.
    "Pardon but...where is Honrei?"  Ian asked gesturing at the three men behind him.
    The man beside him cleared his throat.  "I am Honrei."
    Snapping his head around, Ian's eyes widened.
    Honrei!