The night of the long Ice

The workshop had many places that even old Nicholas was unaware of. Such oversight had always been the cost of his overweening pride. The man, if indeed he could still be considered such, knew nothing of the series of underground grottos that riddled the ice beneath him. This was to Aelle’s benefit. The old man didn’t think to question where his people had long lived before he had decided to build his temple here. For his people were old - as old as the heartfrost lying in the deepest levels of these caves -and they remembered.

The region had never been settled successfully by men, his people had seen to it. People went missing, children in particular. Such was their way, they had always culled the invasive species. Folk soon gave up, despairing of the blighted land, speaking of the blue-faced demons that stole their babies and the sharp-faced elves with coal-black eyes. For a time they were left in peace, none would dare trespass. “That land is touched!”, they would say, “Only a fool would go there! Nothing, there for a Godfearing man!”.

Only one day, a fool did come. A young prince and his retinue had heard of the giant herds that were to be found, in the absence of men. That the land was cursed only added appeal to the idea, in the eyes of the youths. Despite his father’s pleas, the prince was resolute, and so the King reluctantly blessed the hunt. However, he asked his wisest sage, a man of great virtue and beloved of God, to guard his son against the evils that might assail him. Nicholas agreed...

Unseen eyes were on the company the moment they crossed the border. Black ice was a window to his people, and also a door. So it was that they tracked their journey, as they came closer and closer to the heartfrost. His companions were foolhardy, and easily waylaid. For many days they wandered the forests, stark white trees imprinting patterns on their weary eyes, unable to progress. Each night the men would get more restless and, as they drank, more violent. Nicholas sat apart from them, away from their fire. He never slept, and watched the darkness as though it held no secrets from him. The next night he led the party, and no trick or illusion impeded him.

So his people called upon the beasts of the forest, whose fealty was long ago sworn. There was no illusion in the teeth and claws that prowled their campfires. Grinning wolves snapped at their heels, wearing them down, seeming to feed on their exhaustion. The howling was continuous, and they were unable to sleep. After several nights, one of the Princes closest friends, bleary-eyed and on the edge of madness, ran out into the dark to silence the creatures. The Prince tried to follow, but Nicholas stopped him, pressing his hand against the young man’s chest. “Outside of the circle of this fire, I cannot protect you!”. The sage’s eyes were a cold blue that cut through to the Prince with their intensity. He turned, and went back to sit by the fire. After a minute they heard their friend’s screams, which were soon cut off like a gutted flame.

Despite this, they grew closer to the heartfrost. No man had been so close before, and Nicholas seemed to sense it like a bloodhound, and would not be swayed from his path. So his people decided to treat with these outsiders. Aella was the obvious choice, and as a lord amongst his people he had a duty to see these intruders off. That night a great storm hit, and under its cover Aella came before the Prince and his men, coming towards the fire’s light from the howling darkness beyond. He paused on the threshold, as he could step no nearer. Nicholas knew he was there but said nothing, and so when Aella’s sharp reedy voice cut across the screaming winds, the Prince and his retinue stumbled and drew their swords.

“Prince!” Aella said ” you are not welcome in these lands! Why do you trouble us?”

The Prince, wide-eyed, summoned up a reply. But, before he could, Nicholas, cape swirling, entered the circle of the fire. “Do not answer Sire! To speak with this creature would be an invitation.” Nicholas rounded on Aella, who lingered at the dark edges of the light, and pressed towards him, staff raised. The light seemed to follow him, clinging to him like rain on blade of grass. Aella moved back, through old instinct, wary of this man. “It is right that a creature like you should fear the light, even as you are drawn towards it!”. Aella turned to run, but the light drained him, sapping his strength like a lapping flame.

Nicholas grew closer, leaning over Aella, looking into him with his sharp blue eyes. “I see you wear a crown, but you are no king.” He said this without any anger, but a cold certainty. Reaching down he took Aella’s crown.“This is an old work, and not of men.” he said inspecting its runes with a practised eye. “Do you know what I can do with this?” a smile cracked the old man’s cold features, and Aella’s icy heart suddenly knew fear. He ran, Nicholas let him, where could he go?

Deep underground, the workshop had many places that even old Nicholas was unaware of. In these grottos, Aella had dwelt for millennia, but soon it would be time to take back this land. The heartfrost groaned, its deep movement slow and inexorable as the ages. Ice was the most pernicious of the elements, the smallest gap in a tower might be worked away over a time, with slow incessant weathering. Until at last, one night, the whole edifice collapses. This time, in the deep darkness, it was Aella’s turn to smile.