As they neared the door that seemed to be the node of all the freezing gust of wind that blasted down the hallway the air became increasingly biting. Darien had made a wise choice when he hid the coldlings deep in the bowel of the mansion. No one spent any time bellow the Broken Heart Estate if they could help it. There were many tales told of the prisoners the previous Dukes had condemned to torture under the damp halls of this dungeon. Quivern�s father was the third generation of Dukes who had refused to take up the gruesome title of Supreme Inquisitor of the First Kingdom. It was the Inquisitors job to protect the kingdom by rooting out conspiracies and getting information from criminals and traitors. Quivern found it amusing that the conspiracies stopped popping up once there was no longer an Inquisitor. A shiver of disgust racked him to his core as he remembered some of the stories he his father had shared with him.
�How long have they been down here?� He hoped not too long. A short visit may go unnoticed but too many trips up and down the spiraling stairways would appear suspicious to the servants.
Darien pulled his hand away from the doorknob, shaking his hand. The metal was glazed with frost. �They just arrived tonight.�
Quivern didn�t have a chance to reply. The door flew open with the sudden rush of a freezing gale. The force was powerful enough to knock both young men off their feet and shatter the door when it hit the wall it was hinged to.
When the wind abated Quivern lifted himself up onto his elbows and glared through the empty doorframe at the occupants inside.
�Who are you?� The voice was ice itself. It had the same quality as shattering glass. Although foreign, it still had the ability to express a slight amount of emotion. Quivern was sure that it sounded as least mildly worried. �Where is Darien?�
He threw a thumb over his shoulder and sat up. He was able to get a better look at the thing. The cold air it seemed to give off stung his eyes, but he didn�t look away. It was very short, maybe three feet tall, no higher than his waist. Very squat as well. Its hands and feet were oversized along with its huge melon like head. Quivern was afraid the poor little thing would topple under the tremendous weight of its own skull. Blue skin the color of a clear winter sky, stretched over the angular bones that made up its neck and shoulders and hugged its sinewy little arms and legs. The coldling wore no shoes or shirt. Only a plain pair of brown, short trousers that fell just above his knees offered covering. Long pointed, blue ears stretched several inches above the smooth surface of its hairless head and beady, coal black eyes were placed narrowly over the bridge of its long, hooked nose.
Darien stumbled up beside him and offered a hand of assistances. �Bjover this is Quivern, the Duke�s son. I asked him for help. He means no harm.� He spoke to the creature with a particular kind of reverence and respect that Quivern thought would normally be reserved for members of royalty and very old, very wise men.
The coldling visibly relaxed and the storm engulfing him ebbed slightly. �Thank you Quivern, Son of Duke MacKain.� A curious idea entered his thoughts. Could the magic be intensified by his mood? A rather dangerous experiment came to mind and he was about to test his theory when the uneasy feeling suddenly returned and peeked. Despite the cold a hot flash of panic washed over him.
�We don�t need his help.� The female voice was coming from behind him. Quivern guessed by the strain in the statement that whoever she was she was gritting her teeth. � You are endangering yourself by bringing him into this. He�s the son of the enemy.� Her accusing hiss made Darien wince dramatically.
Without turning to face her, Quivern tested her temper. �How is it that you are so sure you aren�t the one in danger?�
She didn�t answer and he continued. �Well, you are either very selfless or very confident.�
�What are you suggesting?� She was genuinely confused.
�That your first concern should be for you own safety and the safety of your charges. I have been known to be a very dangerous man.� It wasn�t exactly a boast. He was one of the finest swordsmen in the First Kingdom, if not the finest. Violence was sort of a hobby of his. He took a certain amount of pleasure from the pain involved in giving and receiving it.
He had been expecting anything but the soft, lilting laughter that followed his statement.
Darien glared a warning at him. �Face her, Quivern. In the name of all things sacred, face her.� He struggled to keep the plea to a whisper.
Confused and a little less certain of himself, he turned his back to Darien and the source of the blizzard.
What met his gaze was nothing short of a myth come to life. Before him stood not only the most beautiful creature he had ever imagined, but the most deadly he had ever heard of existing.
He guessed she was no more that five and half feet tall, but somehow she towered over him with nothing but her menacing glare to add to her height. Unruly wisps of dark chocolate brown hair fell just bellow her ears reminded him of a dark halo. Each strand of silky hair demanded to be noticed and examined, not one fell straight and most of them found a way to curve out away from her face. Her pale skin and lips made way for intense silver-gray eyes that embodied the strength of steel and the power of a thunderstorm. Milky satin smoothed, flawlessly, down over her soft jaw, her neck and bare shoulders and arms. The impossibly white skin peeked out again between the brims of her knee high black dragonhide boots and her mid thighs where her exquisite, but obviously effective, obsidian dragonhide armor ended.
It appeared to be in two pieces. A stiff black bodice that tapered and smoothed over her right shoulder, leaving the left shoulder bare and the skin above her left breast exposed. Something pulsed black on that patch of skin, in the back of his mind he knew it was very important, but it was too far for him to make out just what it was. A fitted leather kilt of sorts formed itself to her hips and upper things. Slits in the leather armor made way for her movement.
In the fascinating armor alone the woman would have been ominous, but with the addition of the gleaming gold scabbard attached to her hip she was overwhelming.
Quivern realized that this woman was the cause of the stomach-twisting fear that had been visiting him all night. The warning bells were louder than ever just looking at her and he could feel bile rising in his throat. The urge to run was stronger than it had ever been. With a deep breath he suppressed it. He knew he had cause to fear but he had to be sure it was the right one.
�You are a�you�re a��
�A Shyra.� She finished with the lifting of a brow.
As much as he knew he should be, Quivern was suddenly unafraid. The feeling in the pit of his stomach had mysteriously shifted when she had looked at him with those innocent questioning eyes. By all means he wasn�t saying she was innocent. But perhaps her youth was enough to soften the frightening nature of her title. Shyra was the name given to the women of an age-old sisterhood called the Tan u Tae. Their name and their reputation of being fierce warriors was all that he knew about them.
With a muffled curse Quivern realized he was staring. He dragged his eyes to the floor.
