"The gift of a child is precious, even more so when the child is of one's 
own flesh and blood.  The favored child can lift the spirits at almost 
any time; the unfavored child still is looked upon with a secret pride 
of creation and love.

The loss of a child is misery, and when the child is of one's own flesh 
and blood it is pain in its purest form.  The hole left by the favored 
child leaves one hollow and barren; the unfavored child's absence is even 
more wrenching, shining a glaring light upon the new-found emptiness 
of a lonely soul.

If children are the legacy of a man unto the world, a man with no children 
is a poor man, but a man who has lost his children is worse than poor; he is 
a poor man who once lived in greatest splendor."

Petroyv lowered his head and closed the book, pushing it away from him.  
The book was called "Consolations," but provided him very little of what 
he sought.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

The North 
A Tale of High Adventure 
And Low Temperatures 

Part 11: Icy Reflections

Created by Schneeble (Brian Stubbs) 
Written by Sharyna Tran

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

King Petroyv of Sala was a man twice undone.  In one day, the two proudest 
accomplishments of his life had been ripped from him, within his own 
domain--his very castle!  He had tried, at least, to keep secret the shame 
of the truth behind their deaths.  Although there were those that suspected it, 
he had tried his best to cover up what a dead certainty in his chest had told 
him when he had learned of the deaths.

The guards that had been assigned to Dmitri had been found unconscious a 
few hours after his death was discovered.  When questioned by investigators, 
they claimed that they had not known the identity of those that had left them.  
As well they should have; Petroyv had seen them first and made it quite clear 
that their memories of several goons under the gaze of Prince Tiroth beating 
them senseless were quite, quite false.

The cause of Tiroth's death was easily--to Petroyv--discerned; the public 
was not as well-informed, but that was the way it should be.  Knowledge of the 
ward placed on the Salian throne was restricted to the royal family only.  
Out of necessity, he had told Princess Ann the truth about it; she was far too 
intelligent to be duped the same way the public could be, and her presence 
at the scene only augmented that.  He at least knew that he could trust her 
in this situation; admitting that her husband was a murderer and oath-breaker 
would hardly benefit the Isharanti woman.

As if mourning the death of two sons wasn't enough, there was news of rebellion 
from the outlying regions, probably due to separatist suspicions of the foul 
play behind Dmitri's death.  Petroyv's policy of keeping Dmitri away from the 
palace--more to stop Tiroth's whining than from any actual reason--had meant 
that the charismatic prince spent much of his time traversing the vast expanse 
of the North.  One of the few inhabitants of the desolate region that actually 
enjoyed traveling from city to city, small village to small village, Dmitri had 
become quite popular not only among the people of Iso.  Petroyv shared his 
daughter-in-law's disgust and outrage at Tiroth for being too blind to have seen 
the repercussions of his coarse act.  

A more disturbing possibility presented itself; what if Tiroth had not been 
blind to the consequences after all?  Had it been his intent to foment rebellion, 
playing on the very charisma he had envied his brother for having?  A frown 
wrinkled Petroyv's brow.  In the days since the boys' deaths, he had been laid 
low by grief; it had taken till now for him to be able to think with any 
semblance of clarity.  

What purpose would a rebellion have served the late crown prince?  Surely it 
had not been to secure Tiroth the succession; the throne would have been his 
in due time, that had been settled years past.  King Petroyv let out a rumbling 
sigh and slumped back in his chair, washing away the discord in his mind with 
a stiff drink.

-- -- -- -- --

A shade walked the plains.  In and of itself, this was not unusual; in the North, 
the spirits of the dead seemed to be able to anchor themselves to the living 
world with greater ease than their counterparts in the rest of the world.  Of 
course, most of the spirits of the dead were, well...dead.

Christov was not dead.  How he knew this, he was not entirely sure, but he 
was quite certain of it all the same.  He was, however, cold.  So it was that, 
as he trekked across the desolate terrain, searching for 
something--anything--that could help him, a spark of warmth from the 
west attracted him.  Curious, and desperate to relieve the gnawing cold that 
refused to leave his body, Christov changed directions and headed towards 
the beacon.

-- -- -- -- --

His lure complete, Vadesh knelt back and watched the slight figure trudge 
through the flames of his meager campfire.  The boy's form, not large by 
any means in real life, was at this scale barely visible.  

Intriguingly enough, he had tried summoning the boy's spirit to him, 
to see just what was so powerful about him, but had failed.  That alone 
had been enough to pique his interest.  Further research had yielded...well, 
very little, but enough for him to realize that what the ice devils had 
told him had been merely the tip of the iceberg.  What information he 
could glean, along with several suspicions and fragments of memories, 
had melted together into an extremely interesting theory.

The astral equivalent of the North was littered with spirits.  Most 
never gained the strength to break through, but peasant folklore 
suggested that the strongest of these spirits manifested themselves 
as "snow-devils."  Until now, he had never put much stock in 
peasant myths, but this time it provided him with a stepping stone 
to bigger theoretical fish.

A soul without a body; a spirit not yet dead, not fully alive, yet strong 
enough to keep itself whole.  In this, he surmised, lay the promise of 
power the devils had alerted him to--the untapped energy of raw 
*being*.

Vadesh admitted quietly to himself that, as a theory, it was far from 
concrete.  Yet the possibility itself was enough to make his mind reel 
at the sheer number of opportunities it opened up.  Laughing quietly 
to himself, he rocked back on his heels, waiting for the young boy to 
reach him.  It was certainly more interesting than trying to control 
his empty shell some more; no one was talking to the "comatose" child, 
and the girl who had been watching him (Brandt's new apprentice?  
*Really*?  Hmm....) hadn't been doing much of anything lately except 
angsting.  It was really rather banal.  Perhaps if--

The sharp crack of a branch behind him disturbed his thoughts.

-- -- -- -- --

The various aches and bruises Shalnay had suffered seemed to be 
highlighted with pain.  In a vain attempt to fall asleep, she burrowed 
her tear-streaked face deeper into the nest of pillows on the bed that 
was still, for now, hers.  Shalnay didn't know what was to become of 
her now, but it wasn't too hard to issue a conjecture.  She had heard 
the whispers from the servants.  A farmer girl, a former prostitute, 
a favored bauble of the late bastard prince...Now that Dmitri was dead, 
she was certain that her time as a welcome guest of Sala would come to 
an abrupt end as soon as someone remembered her.  Luckily, she supposed, 
she hadn't received many visitors lately aside from her nurses--maybe 
she would be able to stay a bit longer, at least until she was well again.  
That way if she couldn't stay, she could at least attempt to take care of 
herself afterwards.

Someone knocked at the door, jerking her out of her reflections.  
"Who is it?"

"Katria," came the response.  "Do you remember me?"

"Oh, of course!  Do come in."  It would have been difficult to forget the 
fiery girl.  Shalnay had not been able to interact much with her, but 
what she had seen of the runesmith's apprentice had impressed her a 
great deal.  Now, Katria would have no problem living alone; if not for 
her new duties as caretaker to the boy, Shalnay suspected that the 
girl from Iso castle might even prefer to be out on her own.  It was 
easy to see why her foster brother had been attracted to the dark-haired 
girl.

Katria opened the door and quietly walked in, shutting it behind her.  
Even grieving, as they both were, her face was composed in the 
semblance of calm, and the remnants of her habitual confidence made 
a brave effort to keep her moving as self-assuredly as she had before.  

"Please, have a seat," Shalnay offered, indicating one of the chairs. "I 
apologize for not being able to greet you properly."

"Thank you, and of course I take no offense, I understand."  As soon as 
Katria sank down into the proffered chair, her shoulders slumped 
and her face took on an even more melancholy cast.  Shalnay waited 
patiently, curious to see what Dmitri's love had to say.

After a few moments, the girl in the chair cleared her throat.  "So...how 
is your recovery?"

"I'm...doing a little better.  Physically, at least."  Katria's lips quirked 
in response; they both understood.

"That's good.  That's...good," Katria nodded.

Silence, broken at last by a sigh from Katria.  "Well," she began, "the 
reason I came here today...the thing is, you see...well, I feel I owe you 
an apology."

Shalnay shook off a brief sense of deja vu.  "An apology?  Whatever for?"

"When I heard that Dmitri had brought back...someone...I was incredibly 
angry at him.  I hated you because I didn't know the truth between the two 
of you, and even after I did I was still a little angry because he hadn't told 
me.  I wasted so much time being angry at him-" she shook her head, and 
continued, "-at any rate, I'm here to say that I'm sorry for thinking so 
badly of you."

Shalnay blinked.  "But Katria, is there really anything for you to apologize 
for?  You could hardly have known; we weren't back at Iso for very long 
before...the incident that took us away."  Her face darkened at the memory.
"And in any case, I understand perfectly.  I doubt that I would have done 
much better if someone I loved brought back another woman."

"Thank you for understanding."  Katria looked toward the door, fidgeting.
It was clear that she was uncomfortable, but for some reason unwilling to 
leave.  

Shalnay studied the other woman compassionately.  "Are you all right?" 
she asked softly, unsure of how to express her own sympathy.

"Yes, I--oh, who am I kidding?"  Katria leaned forward in her chair, 
burying her face in her hands.  "No, I'm not.  I keep feeling so guilty; if 
only I'd gone to see him earlier, if I had...I don't know."

"I understand, believe me, I do."  Shalnay sighed.  "I actually feel the 
same way."

Katria's head jerked up.  "You?  But...aren't you still practically 
bedridden?  There was nothing you could have done."

Shalnay nodded.  "I know, but that still doesn't make me feel any better."

Katria snorted self-deprecatingly.  "Yes, I can relate to that."

=====
Author's Note:

Many thanks go to Calculus for the slightly prolonged extension.  I would 
apologize for the shortness if the ideas that I didn't have time to write 
would have extended it considerably, but yeah.  Hopefully it's at least 
a little coherent; the only time I've had to write lately has been 
late-night, after homework's kicked my butt.  Such is life.

=====
Sharyna