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The winternorn magic gave Feal-Thas power over others, but it also proved to be a curse. As an elf, an outsider, Feal-Thas should have never been taught the secrets of a winternorn.

Feal-Thas had been proclaimed a dark elf—one who is cast out of the light—and banished from his homeland over three hundred years ago for the crime of murdering his young lover. He had been taken in chains by elven warriors to the land in the south known now as Icereach. Though not the frozen wasteland it would become after the Cataclysm, Icereach was a barren and unforgiving land, with short summers and extremely long winters. The elven warriors left Feal-Thas to die and he might have, but he was rescued by the native humans, who took pity on the handsome young elf (he was only eighteen at the time) and saved his life.

Angry and embittered at his exile to this terrible land, he had taken a human lover, who was a winternorn. He persuaded her to take him as her pupil. Though it was forbidden to teach outsiders the magic, she succumbed to his persuasion, to her everlasting regret.

His soul’s own darkness cast a shadow over what he saw in the souls of others. When he looked inside their hearts, he looked to the very darkest corners, and thus he came to believe his fellow men were self-serving, conniving liars. Believing he could trust no one, he had abandoned his lover. And, armed with his power he traveled to the Tower of Wayreth, there to take the dread Test and continue his studies. He had fled the Tower shortly before the Cataclysm, when it seemed likely that the Kingpriest would attack. Returning to Icereach, he had, eventually, made himself useful to Ariakas and had, at the same time, taken his revenge upon the elves by betraying them. Now he lived alone in his Ice Palace, his only trusted companions his white wolves.

Feal-Thas smiled sourly to himself as he wrote a report he knew the emperor would never read. Still, writing these monthly reports was part of his duties as a Highlord, and he would never let it be said that he was remiss in his duty.

The wolf trotted to him and dropped the canvas bundle it carried at his feet. Feal-Thas glanced down at it without interest and went back to his work.

The wolf pawed at the bundle. The wolf made a daily run to Ice Wall Castle, picking up dispatches and messages and relaying orders from Feal-Thas to the commander of the small force of kapak draconians who had taken up unwilling residence.

Feal-Thas smiled at the wolf and rewarded the animal with a ruffling of its fur and a strip of caribou meat. The wolf accepted the treat and swallowed it in a gulp, then sat back on his haunches, waiting to see if the master had further need of him.

Feal-Thas ceased writing. He unwrapped the bundle and removed the message. He glanced through it, frowned, and perused it more closely. His thin lips twisted in anger. He crumpled the message and tossed it across the room.

The wolf, thinking this was a game the two of them often played, went to fetch the “ball,” and, bringing it back to Feal-Thas, dropped it at his feet.

Feal-Thas could not help but smile. “Thank you, friend,” he said to the wolf. “You remind me that I, too, serve at the pleasure of my master. Shall I tell you what my master wants of me? Listen to this.”

He spread the missive out on the desk, smoothed the wrinkles, and began to read aloud. He had fallen into the habit of speaking to his wolves, holding one-sided conversations with them, imparting his thoughts and discussing his plans. Feal-Thas liked to say he found wolves far more intelligent than people, mainly because they never answered him.

“‘The Emperor Ariakas sends his respects to Dragon Highlord Feal-Thas of the White Dragonarmy…’ and so on and so forth.”

The wolf regarded the winternorn with bright eyes and fixed attention.

“‘Dragon Highlord of the Blue Wing, the Blue Lady, will arrive shortly to meet with you to discuss certain plans I deem vital to the war effort. This is to let you know that the Blue Lady has my complete trust and confidence. You will obey her in all things as you would obey me.’ Signed Ariakas, Emperor of Ansalon, etc., and so forth.”

The wolf gave a great, gaping yawn, then leaned his head down to lick his private parts.

“My thoughts exactly,” Feal-Thas muttered.

He picked up the second missive, opened it, glanced at the contents. The writing was large and scrawling. The signature was bold and dashing and almost illegible.

I am here. I look forward to our meeting—soon!

Kitiara

The word “soon” was underlined three times.

Feal-Thas rose to his feet and began to pace the snow-covered floor. His long white furs, worn over thick white woolen robes, brushed the snow behind him. Although he was a Black Robe wizard, the winternorn always dressed in white: white robes, white furs, white leather boots. He was tall and slender with delicate features; his skin was pale, almost as translucent as ice. With his white clothing and his white hair and his eyes the gray color of snow-laden clouds—Feal-Thas viewed himself as the living embodiment of winter, at one with the icy realm to which he had been unjustly banished as a youth and which he had unexpectedly and most astonishingly come to love.

“This bodes ill for us, my friend,” Feal-Thas remarked to the wolf. “Ariakas wants something from me, something he believes I will be loathe to give. Thus he sends this Highlord to bully me. I know of this Blue Lady. He thinks I will allow her to walk all over me because I am a lowly elf and she is human and therefore a superior being.

“As to what Ariakas wants, that question is easy enough to answer. He wants the one thing I value. Drat the dragon anyway-meddling, ass-kissing beast. She was the one who told Takhisis the orb was here and Takhisis told Ariakas. It was just a matter of time, I suppose, before he decided he wanted it.”

Feal-Thas glanced around his surroundings and sighed in annoyance. He had been anticipating a quiet evening, drinking hot spiced wine and studying his spells. Now he would have to travel to Ice Wall Castle, there to meet with this Highlord and listen to one of Ariakas’s inane schemes.

“Fetch the team,” he ordered the wolf, who left immediately, ears pricked and tail wagging.

The winternorn, cloaked in fur, left the palace. His wolf team awaited him, all the wolves standing in front of the sled, each wolf in his or her own place. A she-wolf was the leader and she ranged up and down the row, exerting her dominance over them and snarling at a couple of young males who were snapping at each other instead of concentrating on business.

Feal-Thas harnessed the team, then settled himself comfortably in the sled. Bundled warmly in furs and hides, he practically disappeared from sight. He gave the command, and the she-wolf broke into a loping run, setting the pace; the other wolves dashed along behind her. The team pulled the sled rapidly across the snow and ice. Feal-Thas had no need to guide the wolves. They knew where they were bound.

The dying sun’s claws raked the sky, leaving long, bloody streaks above his destination—the ice-coated walls and lone standing tower of Ice Wall Castle.

Far above, a blue dragon circled the tower several times; then, dipping its wings, it took off, heading north.

10

A case of frostbite. Hip deep in wizards

The journey to Icereach had to be one of the worst either Kitiara or Skie had ever experienced. Kitiara had never been so cold in her life. She had never known such cold as this existed. The air was painful to breathe, lancing her lungs with sharp needles. The very hairs in her nose froze, as did the moisture of her breath, coating her lips and mouth with ice. She knew now what the term “frozen stiff” meant. When Skie finally landed, Kit might yet be sitting on the dragon’s back, shivering, unable to move, if she had not been discovered by several kapaks out hunting. The draconians hauled her off the dragon’s back and carried her into Ice Wall castle. Kit could not walk. Her feet were so numb with cold she could not feel them.