The Successors

by Portmeirion

13: Open Insurrection

Ragnar Blacktalon’s skill lay in seizing the opportunities that presented themselves and exploiting them to their fullest potential. This was something that had attracted Frostbane to him in the first place; he seemed like the kind of leader capable of building a nation that was wealthy, powerful, and secure, despite the limited resources at his disposal. His territory was not very wide, his army was small, and, despite the rich diamond mines he held within his domain, Gloomhold was not exactly an economic powerhouse. But every so often, a golden opportunity would come along, seemingly through sheer serendipity, and Blacktalon would seize it and use it to such great and terrible ends that he seemed less like the king of a small principality and more like some dread overlord of legend.

First had been the Windigo Stone. Frostbane and her renegade band had found it while wandering in the mountains years ago, before they had ever sought refuge in the castle of Gloomhold. She discovered it in the heart of an ancient mountain cave where her small company was taking shelter from a winter storm. Whether the stone was a natural phenomenon or the work of some ancient sorcerer, none knew, but its unique magical properties granted its wielder a small measure of control over those horrendous winter-spirits known to history as the Windigos. Long thought to have fled beyond the circles of the world, they lived on, barely, in the mountainous northern wastes, far from any civilization on which they could feed.

Blacktalon couldn’t wield it himslef; his own natural hatred was too fierce, and the added power of Windigos threatened to overwhelm him. But Frostbane, with her steely composure and frigid demeanor, mastered it with ease. At the king’s suggestion, they covered the lands surrounding Gloomhold in an everlasting winter, driving foreigners away and ensuring his subjects’ total dependence on the king’s rations for sustenance. More importantly, it reinforced in the minds of the denizens of the north a sense that the present government was unchanging and eternal.

Their second windfall had been the discovery of Kyrie the Songbird. Unlike the Windigo Stone, Blacktalon was able to hold Kyrie entirely within his grasp. His pride and rage, the very characteristics that made him unfit to wield the Windigos’ power, were so great that they burned through the Songbird’s spell whenever she tried to cast it on him, leaving her completely, hopelessly unable to make him tell her where he was holding her precious hatchlings captive. For their sake, she hypnotized not only many of the king’s courtiers and subjects, but also hundreds, then thousands of griffon peasants into serving their ruler with tireless bliss. Then Blacktalon set them to work in the mines. Productivity rose tenfold.

Between the endless winter and the hordes of happy miners, there was no possibility of revolt or unrest, a steady supply of income through mass diamond exports, and borders so safe that no power dared assail them. Gloomhold was secure, impenetrable, self-perpetuating, eternally unchanging. And that suited Blacktalon just fine.

---

General Frostbane shivered. The cold mountain air was nearly unbearable, and though the cave partially sheltered her from the wind, stray frigid blasts still nipped at her torn, ragged ears. The long, bitter hike from the castle into the mountains had nearly worn her out, hardy though she was, and with great effort of will she fought the urge to lie down on the cold, bare rock of the cavern floor and sleep. Narrowing her eyes into slits, she glared out of the mouth of the cave into the storm and steeled herself, summoning all her willpower. She reached up, placing a gentle hoof on the small, blue crystal she wore on a pendant around her neck. Then, after taking in a lungful of icy air, she bowed her head and began to chant under her breath.

“Boreas… Caisias….”

The blue stone flashed like lightning, and a crystalline ring resounded among the rocks. Moments later, a high-pitched whistle began to run through the air, accompanied by an electrical thrill that made the hairs on Frostbane’s back stand on end.

“Thraskias… Aparctias….”

The wind picked up, whipping her blue mane about her face, growing slowly and steadily from a stiff breeze to a fierce gale to a near-hurricane. A strange, animalistic howling echoed down from the north, growing louder and louder with every passing second as the air grew chillier. The crystal now burned with an icy, blue fire. The pegasus chanted on.

“Skeiron… Argestes….”

The wind howled and moaned horribly. Frostbane could feel granules of ice forming on her brow. Cautiously, she opened her eyes and looked up: ghostly figures raced in mesmerizing circles through the swirling snow above her, pale-white and translucent and vaguely horse-shaped. Their eyes glowed with an unearthly light. They lingered, circling like carrion birds over Frostbane’s head, as though waiting for some word of command.

The general shut her eyes again, blocking out the cold and noise, reaching out with her mind to seize the otherworldly presences in her grasp. “Now… you will listen… to me….”

Slowly, mechanically, without opening her eyes, she moved her legs – left, right, left, right – and began to walk from the mouth of the cave and followed the long, rocky path that led back down from the mountains. Though she couldn’t see them, she knew the Windigos followed her; she could hear their howling voices, and feel their frigid presence sending chills along her spine. Crackling ice began to form on the ground beneath her hooves, but she treaded carefully and kept her balance. Soon she found it necessary to open her eyes again, lest she stumble on a stray rock or patch of ice.

For half a mile the path led along the side of cliff, sloping constantly downwards, until Frostbane found herself at the edge of a tiny cliff-dwelling settlement. It was not much to look at, consisting of a few small huts and gryphon eyries, nestled cozily in deep, sheltered niche in the mountainside. The road led through the niche and on downwards to the castle of Gloomhold about another half-mile distant. She knew the place well: it was an outpost maintained by Blacktalon’s loyalist soldiers and guards. And it would suit her purposes perfectly.

Once again, she closed her eyes and lowered her head. With her mind she reached out to the Windigos, instilling in them a single thought, a single command. They resisted, bucking about wildly, snorting and howling. Frostbane could feel their rage coursing through her veins, but she gritted her teeth and strove against them with all her willpower.

“No… I… am in control…."

At last they gave way. There was a sudden, terrible rush of freezing air, blustering around Frostbane like an express train, ruffling her feathers and frosting the tips her wings. It barreled past her into the outpost, and for a few dizzying, terrifying moments, a piercing, ghastly wail filled the air, like a thousand timberwolves raising their voices in agony and fear. Frostbane trembled, shaken to her core, as the noise resounded along the cliffs and the mountainside shuddered along with her.

Then silence settled on the mountains like a heavy blanket, and all was ominously still.

Frostbane breathed in, and out. She opened one eye, then the other. The houses and eyries of the cliff-dwelling were frosted over, buried beneath impenetrably thick layers of ice. Jagged white icicles hung from open doorways, and here and there a griffon warrior stood, trapped from head to tail in a block of solid ice, their faces frozen in ghastly expressions of fear. Whether they were dead, or merely preserved alive within the ice, Frostbane couldn’t tell.

But the test was a success. It had worked.

She heaved a heavy sigh of relief, her breath misting in the cold air.

She could do it. She control the Windigos on a fine-tuned level, but just barely; the amount of willpower that it required pushed her nearly to her limits. There had been so much hate, such an overpowering sense of loathing and contempt and unbridled rage, and the more strongly she tried to master the spirits, the more she felt it flooding into her, flowing through her, washing over her like a tidal wave. If her concentration had slipped, even for a moment, she would have been overwhelmed. It would be at least a day, she was sure, before she could muster up the strength of will to attempt controlling them on that level again. But, for now, the knowledge that she could do it was enough. It would serve as a tool for securing power. If Kyrie’s mind control were lifted from the populace of Gloomhold, only fear of being frozen solid would keep them in line.

And – if worst came to worst – it might be her only weapon against the princesses of Equestria.

Based on what Somnambula had told her, Frostbane knew there was no chance that the Equestrians wouldn’t put two and two together. Surely, they would assume their princess was taken as a political hostage; surely, they would notice Gloomhold’s proximity to the Everfree Forest; surely, their magicians would have ways of locating their missing monarch, and confirming that she was being held prisoner by the griffons. If their wrath came down upon this little kingdom, old Blacktalon would have neither the strength nor the subtlety to keep them alive. By the same token, even if she employed her power over the Windigos to protect Gloomhold, it would only strengthen the soldiers’ loyalty to their triumphant king. She would have lost her chance at seizing power for good.

“It’s not quite ready,” she murmured to herself, setting off down the path again towards Gloomhold. “But it’ll have to do.”

She proceeded through the frozen outpost and never once looked back.

Though Frostbane could hardly bear to admit it to herself, she was afraid now, genuinely afraid. Was she really going to go through with this plan? Not long ago it had seemed like a mere pipe-dream; even when she had told her daughter about it yesterday, she had barely believed in it as anything more than a distant aspiration – something she meant to do eventually, perhaps soon, but not yet, not now. And now here she was, setting it all into motion today, and a part of her was desperately afraid that it might actually happen, and there would be no stopping it, no turning back if things started to go wrong. Doubts began to assail her mind, and her exhausted willpower could barely keep them at bay. She picked up her pace down the mountain path.

The gates of Gloomhold received her in silence. The word had already been given, and her closest followers had been ordered to make ready and wait for her instructions. With the Equestrian ambassadors arriving tomorrow, she had no more time to prepare: it was now or never. The moment the castle gates boomed shut behind her, Midnight Tempest, her favorite lieutenant, was at her side, inclining his head in a respectful bow. He was a black-coated pegasus with a long, free-flowing mane of sky blue, and a stern face that looked as if it had been carved in wood.

“Is it time, General?” he asked.

“It’s time,” she answered coolly, not allowing her voice to betray her inner turmoil. “Is everypony in position?”

“All of them, ma’am. We have agents in place from the Upper Spires to the Underhold. If panic breaks out, we’ll keep things under control.” As he spoke, a small guard of seven or eight armored pegasi emerged from the shadowy alcoves that surrounded the gatehouse. There were a few griffons among them as well, former loyalists to Blacktalon who were perceptive enough to know that the tides were turning. They bore spears and crossbows. “We’re ready to move when you are,” said Tempest, speaking for the whole troop.

“Where’s Quila?”

“In her chambers, ma’am. I’ve dispatched Sundiver to look out for her. When it’s time for her to take the throne, she’ll be ready.”

“Good.” Frostbane nodded, and began striding across the stone floor towards the throne room. Quila’s safety was of vital importance: while the griffons of the north would never accept a pony as a ruler, they would gladly follow the daughter of Blacktalon, despite her mixed heritage. “Make… make certain she’s safe,” Frostbane added after a pause. She was surprised at the sound of her own voice; mixed in with the uncertainty and fear was a slight tinge of tenderness. Tempest didn’t notice it.

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered. He and the other ponies and griffons followed the general, their armor clanking quietly in the quiet, torch-lit halls.

“Have you found it yet?” Frostbane asked Tempest as they walked.

“Not yet, ma’am. It’s possible he’s not keeping it in Gloomhold. There are a number of catacombs and abandoned mines in the mountains where it might be hidden. I don’t think we’ll likely find it without the king’s assistance.”

“As I feared,” said Frostbane, sighing. This necessitated another, potentially troublesome stage of her plan, though in truth she hadn’t expected any less. She was prepared. “Well, then,” she said, stopping before the throne room. “Let’s… let’s get this over with.”

Frostbane raised a hoof and silently pushed open the great wooden doors.

A small griffon came scurrying out, coughing quietly. “Ah! General,” she said, noticing Frostbane and her retainers. She bowed slightly.

“Opinicus?”

“He’s – er, His Majesty has something he wanted to show you.” She coughed again. “He’s just inside.”

Frostbane’s troop backed away, crouching in the shadows as Opinicus scurried on down the hall and out of sight. Tempest and the general shared a curious glance. Then she gave him a nod, a silent order to wait outside until her signal when the crucial moment came. Cautiously, Frostbane proceeded into the throne room, letting the great heavy doors shut behind her with a boom.

Blacktalon was within, as Opinicus had said. He stood a little distance from his throne, gazing at a hanging tapestry on the south wall, wearing a familiar smug grin on his face. In the center of the room, a red fire glowed and crackled in its wide circular pit, sending hazy smoke up into the high ceiling. And beyond that, two dark, burly griffons stood on either side of the dais, armored and spear-armed, their faces steely and expressionless. At this Frostane raised an eyebrow: in all the years since Blacktalon had been using Kyrie’s enchantment to control his followers, he had never seen it necessary to keep guards in the throne room. Why this sudden increase in security?

“Welcome again, dear,” Blacktalon said, not even bothering to look her way. His eyes were still fixed on the tapestry. “You do seem to go into the mountains an awful lot these days. Trouble with the Windigos?”

“No, no trouble,” Frostbane answered cautiously, making her way over to his side. “Just some heavy weather in the south. I wanted to be certain it wouldn’t disrupt our enchantment.” She glanced up at the long, narrow tapestry. It was a luxuriant, richly detailed depiction of the court of some mythical griffon monarch. Though she had lived in Gloomhold for nearly two decades, her knowledge of griffon culture was still spotty in places, and she couldn’t identify the figures depicted.

“You like it?” asked the king, noticing her interest. “The weavers completed it just this morning. Exquisite, don’t you think? It’s the legend of King Singold Firebrand.”

The pegasus looked the tapestry over. At the top was a huge black griffon with a heavy golden crown, seated on a granite throne, and below him were many soldiers and courtiers. Red fire blazed from the king’s eyes, setting some of the smaller griffons aflame, and they were writhing about in torment. Frostbane furrowed her brow. “I don’t know that one.”

“It’s a fascinating tale,” said Blacktalon. “Singold’s people were proud and greedy, and they sought to overthrow their king, usurp his throne and plunder his rightful wealth. But he was craftier than they were, and stronger, and in the end, those who threw in their lots with the traitors were all granted the privilege of burning together.”

“Interesting story.”

“It should be.” Blacktalon smirked. “They say all myths contain a fragment of truth.”

There was a short, heavy silence. Blacktalon’s orange eyes looked down at Frostbane with his usual smugness and contempt, but now she could sense a certain unease and doubt in them as well – a kind of searching, probing look. It unnerved her.

Frostbane coughed. “Actually, Your Majesty,” she began, “there was something I meant to speak with you about. Something rather urgent.”

“Hmmm?”

“With the Equestrian ambassadors arriving tomorrow, it seems… well, there are likely to be many changes – political, military, and so forth – I was wondering if it might be a good time for some internal changes as well.”

“Changes, hmm?” The king stroked his chin thoughtfully with a long, black talon. Frostbane couldn’t tell whether or not his interest was feigned, but when he spoke again, there was a tiny hint of knowing mockery in his voice. “What sort of… changes did you have in mind?”

“Well, one in particular, really,” Frostbane began, but she could feel her voice wavering. She suddenly felt very unsure of herself. Something seemed to be tugging at the corner of her consciousness, something other than simple worry, but she couldn’t quite put her hoof on it. The feeling of Blacktalon’s eyes crawling over her nearly made her squirm, but there was something else….

Clearing her throat, she continued, “I thought it might be beneficial if we both knew the location of Kyrie’s nest – for security purposes, of course. In case something ill befell either one of us, it would ensure that there’s someone still holding her leash.”

“Mh-hmm,” Blacktalon nodded. “Sounds reasonable, I suppose.” He fell silent for a moment. Frostbane’s discomfort deepened, but now she sensed that it was more than just her own anxiety. She felt as though some force, some outside power, were assaulting her exhausted will. When the king spoke again, his words froze her to the core. “Are you quite certain that’s your only reason for suggesting it?”

“Y-yes,” Frostbane stammered out with great effort, now quite surprised at herself. Why had it been so difficult for her to lie? A powerful dizziness began to overtake her, but she fought against it with what little strength she had left. “W-why do you ask?”

“Well. You seem a little discombobulated.” By now Blacktalon’s voice had dropped any pretense of interest and descended into sheer mockery. “You’re not worried about something, are you? A little out of sorts? A little uncertain about the future?” His smirk deepened into a dark, scornful glare, and he lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. “A little scared that your harebrained coup won’t work out as you had hoped?”

Frostbane gasped, trembling. Whatever was taking control of her mind had robbed her of all her composure. Her muscles were turning to water, and her legs shook beneath her. “What – what makes you say that?”

There was a soft rustle of feathers. “A little birdie told me,” the king chuckled darkly.

It was Kyrie. She fluttered down and perched on Blacktalon’s muscled shoulder, singing her low, sad song so quietly that Frostbane hadn’t been able to make it out over the conversation and the crackling fire. She could already feel the music at work, more clearly now than before. It was warm, intoxicating, soothing, the very opposite of the freezing hatred she had felt in the mountains. Her mental resistance crumbled and her fear and anguish slowly boiled away into nothing….

“You think I didn’t notice, did you? The endless trips to the mountains, the changes in the weather, the chatter amongst the soldiers. Our small, yellow friend here was kind enough to indulge me and… eavesdrop here and there on your conversations. She’s really quite the useful little tool.”

For an instant, Frostbane’s instincts told her to run, to fight, to do anything at all, but, now… strangely… it just didn’t bother her that Blacktalon knew. On the contrary, she felt very much at peace and happy now that her secret was out, as if an unimaginable burden had been lifted from her back. This wasn’t bad at all, really. What had she been so worried about? She could simply tell the king everything, her entire plan from beginning to end, and everything would work out just fine, everything would be fine….

Then the throne room doors opened. “Pardon – *cough* – pardon me, Your Majesty,” rasped a familiar voice, “but the weavers sent me back to ask which side of the tapestry you wanted to – ah!”

There was a great bustling and clanking of armor as Frostbane’s small troop rushed from their hiding places into the throne room, knocking the lowly servant out of their path. Opinicus’s timely interruption and surprised gasp were the only cues they needed to know that something was amiss. All together they stopped short, shocked to see their general frozen in a mesmerized stupor, but wasted no further time moving into action.

Two crossbows twanged. Before either of the king’s guards had time to so much as raise their spears, thick steel bolts struck their unprotected throats with two muted thwucks. They slumped over, their steel armor crashing loudly on the stone floor.

Blacktalon’s smug face fell into an expression of shock, and Kyrie’s song ceased abruptly. Frostbane shook herself, coming back to her senses. The sensation of having her will overridden by magic left her with even less mental stamina than before, but she fought back the weariness in her mind and turned to face Blacktalon, cold anger burning in her eyes. Behind her, her soldiers moved into a semicircle around the king, cornering him against the wall. The crossbow-bearing griffons all trained their weapons on him, and the ponies raised their hoof-axes, preparing to move forward and strike if duty called.

“I – I had hoped we wouldn’t have to find out this way,” Frostbane said, doing her best to recover some semblance of authority, “but I need to know. Where’s Kyrie’s nest? Where are her hatchlings?”

There was a pregnant pause as Blacktalon’s eyes moved across the scene, making scornful contact with the eyes of every one of his betrayers. Then he let out a dark, sinister chuckle, and his beak curled into a smirk again. “Kyrie,” he said, addressing the bird, “Why don’t you put on another concert for our gathered friends? All of them, at once!”

Kyrie looked back and forth – first at Blackatlon’s confident smirk, then at Frostbane’s cold, determined eyes, then at the soldiers and their spears, hoof-axes, and crossbows, all pointed at the king.

Then she turned and flew away, darting through the doorway and vanishing from sight.

“What?!” roared Blacktalon. “How dare you? Get back here!”

“Looks… looks like she’s ready for your reign to come to an end,” said Frostbane. “As are we all. Where is her nest?”

The king eyed Frostbane with contempt. “They won’t follow you,” he said, ignoring her question. “My subjects will never bow to a little pony.”

“No, they won’t. But they’ll follow Quila.”

“Quila? Oh, of course. Her.” The king laughed. “The little whelp. How old is she again? Fifteen, sixteen? I’m sure our fair realm would rather see her on the throne than me. And I don’t see what you hope to achieve, trading one Blacktalon for another, dragging my legacy into the next age of our kingdom. Hardly seems like a proper revolution.”

“She’ll be my legacy.” A harsh, icy edge crept into Frostbane’s voice. Something in Blacktalon’s words stung her deeply. “Your legacy will be a long, dark chapter of cruelty and contempt in our record books. Now, where’s Kyrie’s nest?”

“If this is how you with for our relationship to end,” Blacktalon continued, “then so be it. But I’ll tell you nothing.” He took two slow, almost unnoticeable steps forward, and his eyes began to dart about, but his contemptuous voice remained steady. “When your precious little Quila falls to pieces from the strain, when the peasants rise up against your half-breed ruler, when your rebellion is consumed by the very fires you yourselves started… then you can all burn together.”

Frostbane glowered at him. “I thought you said the wise king plans for tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow.”

“The wise king protects what’s rightfully his!”

What happened next happened too quickly for Frostbane’s tired, sluggish reflexes to prevent. In a swift, sudden movement, Blacktalon’s huge claws seized her by her mane and dragged her body between himself and the soldiers. Another set of his black talons clasped her hind leg, his nails sinking into her flesh, holding her in place with an iron grip. She gritted her teeth and fought back a scream as the pain shot through her limb. The crossbow-wielding griffons lowered their arms, unsure how to proceed, and Frostbane’s fellow pegasi, unwilling to risk harm to their general, stood in furious impotence and glared daggers at the king.

“You chose her over me, did you?” Blacktalon snarled, glaring back fiercely at the would-be revolutionaries. His right hand released Frostbane’s mane, then closed around the nape of her neck. His grip tightened. “Well, I will offer you no such choice. One move, any of you – and I’ll snap her neck like a – GAH!”

The huge griffon let out a cry of pain as Frostbane’s sharp back hoof came down up his unprotected tail. Instinctively he released his grip, and the general hobbled away from him as quickly as she could with her injured leg. The griffons took this for an opening, and squeezed their triggers.

Responding with demonic swiftness, Blacktalon leapt up with one beat of his huge black wings. The colossal gust of air knocked the crossbow bolts from their courses, and they clattered against the walls and floor. With another swift motion he seized the long, narrow tapestry behind him with his beak and tore it from the wall. While the griffons reloaded their crossbows, the king flew over their heads and let one end of the tapestry fall into the fire-pit at the center of the room. He pulled it out again, brandishing the flaming strip of cloth in his right talon like whip. Now he was armed.

Frostbane cursed herself for not donning her armor beforehoof. She hadn’t expected a fight; now everything was falling apart. Blacktalon was huge and fierce, and if he escaped the throne room he would surely find support from his countless loyal guards and brainwashed slaves. The revolution would be over within the hour, and she and her pegasi could look forward to days of torment and gruesome executions in the Underhold. Hobbling, she rose to her feet, eyeing the battle that was beginning overhead with an almost panicked desperation.

Midnight Tempest and the other pegasi took flight, brandishing their hoof-axes for aerial combat, but Blacktalon’s great strength and speed and his cunning, clever use of his improvised weapon kept them at bay. One soldier took a blinding stroke to the face, and another had his wings scorched, forcing him to land in searing pain. Two more took deep slashing wounds from the king’s iron-hard black claws. Opinicus, who had stood observing the whole spectacle in silent terror, now turned and fled from the throne room.

At last Frostbane made it into the air, her mane whipping about her face from the fierce winds the battle was generating. Her eyes fell immediately on the two royal guards who lay dead on either side of the dais, their unused spears resting at their sides. Quick as lightning she shot across the room and picked up a spear between her teeth, gripping it about halfway across the shaft. It was unwieldy, and made it difficult to balance in flight, but it was better than no weapon at all.

As Blacktalon prepared to catch Tempest’s wings with his flaming whip, Frostbane rocketed back across the room, executing a spinning, downwards turn at the crucial moment to allow the broad-bladed spear to slice his right wing right at the base, tearing through muscle and sinew with a spurt of red. Issuing another loud cry, the griffon king’s wings seized up in pain, and he fell, crashing to the stone floor just beside the fire-pit.

Frostbane touched down in front of him, panting heavily from the strain of battle, letting the spear fall to the floor at her hooves. The other ponies landed nearby, keeping back and watching in breathless anticipation as Blacktalon began to pick himself up.

He didn’t speak. He only looked at Frostbane, and something she saw in his eyes made her stop short. Gone were the scorn and contempt and smugness that had always infuriated her; now, she saw only feebleness, cowardice, pleading. He was afraid to die, perhaps for the first time in his life. But it wasn’t the sentiment in his eyes that stopped her. In those deep black mirrors she saw her own reflection, her scowling face, her bared teeth, her own violet eyes burning with a cruel, cold fire. She could see in her own face the same monstrous hatred that had nearly overwhelmed her in the mountains.

Frostbane hesitated. Something, some alien sensation was slipping past her defenses and into her heart again, as it had the day before when she spoke to her daughter. She looked again at Blacktalon’s face, at the fearful, pitiful creature trembling before her, and wondered whether she really had it in herself to end his pathetic life.

Then, all at once, a voice echoed in her mind, a faint, howling whisper, uncannily similar to the cries of the Windigos, as though heard from a hundred miles away. But the voice was unmistakably Blacktalon’s, and its words struck her to her very core, stirring her rage and hatred into a sudden, overpowering frenzy.

Quila? Oh, of course. Her. The little whelp.

The little whelp.

Frostbane did not speak. She simply wheeled around and bucked the king in the chest as hard as she could. He staggered on his hind legs, wavered on the brink, lost his balance, and tumbled backwards into the fiery pit.

More crossbows twanged, silencing Blacktalon’s agonized screams. Moments later, a thick, dark smoke that reeked of burning flesh and feathers filled the throne room to the roof.

“We… we can all burn together,” Frostbane murmured in a feverish daze. Her bleeding leg was screaming at her in pain, her fears and worries boiled over in a sickening nervous surge, and her weary, worn-out will slipped quickly and quietly out of her grasp. She swayed and stumbled. Her harrowed mind finally caved in on itself, and everything went black.

Ten minutes later, Frostbane stood in the hallway, staring sullenly at the floor while a medic wrapped a bandage around her wounded leg. Tempest, the only one of her followers who had survived the scuffle without injury, trotted over to her side.

“Any more orders, ma’am?”

Slowly, Frostbane raised her tired, aching head to look back at him. “Lock up the Witch, for one thing,” she said, her voice quiet and oddly serene. “She’s too much of a variable in this equation. We can’t have her interfering with tomorrow’s business.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And keep searching for the bird’s nest. Search everywhere. The Underhold, the catacombs, the mines, the king’s bedchambers. No one will hinder your search now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And – and make certain Quila is all right.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He trotted briskly away, and Frostbane went back to staring at the floor. The frenzied jitter of combat had worn off, leaving only a dull, muted emptiness in its place. She heaved an exhausted sigh – partly of relief, and partly of some other feeling which she couldn’t quite put a name to. It was done now, it was over, and power over Gloomhold was securely hers. And yet, in some deeply buried part of her soul, she felt utterly defeated. She had set her plan in motion; there truly was no stopping it now.

In less than an hour, the word was out, spreading like wildfire through the castle and the surrounding countryside.

Ragnar Blacktalon was dead. Quila Warwing was the new queen of Gloomhold.

Kyrie the Songbird, however, was nowhere to be found.

Comments

[FinalFan]

The very picture of a doting mother.

[Darkdragoon]

Oooooh! A Coup d'état with false freedom as the spear and ancient arcane over Windigos magic and vengeful spirits as their shield. Great combo, yet can be their greatest downfall if one slip up is made with such elaborate plan running like clockwork this is proving to be interesting as the chapter yet. The story and plot-line thickens as be enraptured with your spellbound storytelling. Keep up the great work! This one should be a book on its own honestly, but oh bien! I cant wait for the tale to continue!

[Portmeirion]

4511120 Well, don't be too hard on her. She wants to care, she really does. But politics and evil magic and just generally being a jerk kind of get in the way.

4512811 Thank you! I'm really glad you're enjoying this, and that you still find the plot interesting and coherent even now that it's gotten so complicated. I shall endeavor to keep up this level of quality as the tale progresses!