The howling chill of Solisgard stabbed at the black knight’s flesh through his bloodied plate mail and ragged cloak. He ached in his bones. The vast, frozen landscape sapped his strength with every step he took. His march had been long, and it would be longer still, with two days more to reach the Scattered Peaks. Beyond them, home.
He held his pack close, protective of the artifact he carried within it, a thing more precious than his own life. Having felled his quarry and stolen away with his prize the day prior, he knew the hardship would be worth it. But while victory bolstered his vigor, he couldn’t stave off his base necessities forever.
He was uncommonly grateful to whatever gods were watching that he discovered a nearby cave. Eager to escape the cold, he dismissed a cautionary approach, even as he noticed a fire already lit within. He found a pale elven woman inside, who jumped to her feet at the sudden sight of him. She was hauntingly frail, even for an elf. The knight focused on her cobalt eyes, glinting behind a mess of snow-white hair.
“Peace, stranger,” the elf said, her hands held open at her sides. She had little more than a pack of sparse supplies, a bedroll, and the tattered rags on her back. “Please, I wish no ill will here. I am but a weary traveler. The giants of these lands took everything from me.”
“I mean you no harm,” the knight said, smiling coolly and wiping his matted black hair away from his face. His other hand gripped the hilt of his sword resting in its sheath. “I only seek shelter. May I share in your fire?”
The elf eased herself back down to the floor. “Please,” she said, offering a seat opposite her. She kept a calm composure and wore a soft smile on her face. “It will be nice to have some company here. I am called Gwen.”
“Kalros Alodax,” the knight replied, nodding in thanks and moving closer to the fire. Relief came in waves as he dropped his equipment, freed himself from his armor, and finally collapsed on the floor. “Exhausted” couldn’t begin to describe his condition.
“How long were you out there?” Gwen asked.
“Long enough,” Kalros said with a chuckle. As he warmed himself by the cozy flame, he caught Gwen grinning and stealing eager glances at him. Not that he minded the attention. Her company was a comfort, indeed, and Kalros gladly offered her some of his provisions. As they conversed, he detected no falsehoods in her and found she enjoyed listening to his tales of foes vanquished and trophies taken.
“What brought you to the Frozen Wastes of Solisgard?” she asked.
Smirking, he answered, “I came here to slay the greatest of evils in all the realms, the Lich Queen Fenrathia.”
“I’ve heard tales of the Lich Queen. None of them end well.”
Kalros’s smile grew wider. “Well, her own story had a similarly ill-fated ending. I made sure of it.”
He was so confident, so proud of himself, and it seemed like Gwen approved. As the evening carried on, Kalros drew nearer to Gwen—or perhaps she drew nearer to him—until they sat shoulder to shoulder. Their hands intertwined on their own. Friendly camaraderie melted into something more sensual. Raw, primal passion warmed the cave. Seeking refuge from the storm, the two found it in each other.
Kalros had lain with elves before, but none tasted as bitter as Gwen. It caught him by surprise, but he figured anyone who could survive the Wastes had earned such flavor. It was off-putting, then oddly enticing. He wanted more, and so he took it.
He was very good at taking what he wanted.
Eventually, lust gave way to sleep. Visions of a promised future filled Kalros’s dreams. Everything he wanted, and everything he deserved. Wealth. Women. Power—real power. The world in the palm of his hand. His ultimate destiny was within reach.
Or so he thought. He awoke to a shrill cry from Gwen, their naked bodies still tight together, and her taste still lingering on his tongue. “Gwen? Are you all right?” He rested a hand on her shoulder.
The elven figure vanished from existence.
A frostbitten dagger pressed against Kalros’s throat, and a gaunt hand lifted a beautiful little thing before his eyes. It was a silver, sapphire-bejeweled barrette—the very item that brought him to Solisgard in the first place. Twisted giggles filled his ears.
“My only remaining possession from a former life lost to time,” Gwen’s voice whispered. “You should have destroyed it. You knew it was the only way to destroy me forever. Why didn’t you?”
Kalros realized all too late whom he was truly dealing with. “Hubris,” he answered, admitting his failure. “I would be the realm’s champion—the hero who slew the Lich Queen Fenrathia. Then, I would become their conqueror. I’d be like a god. But I needed the power—the dark magic—housed within your phylactery to make it so.” A defeated chortle escaped him. “To think, so much potential locked within such a fickle trinket.” He grunted as the dagger dug into his neck.
“Foolish mortal. Another boy playing at godhood. That’s all you are. Your kind never learn.” Wicked laughter echoed all around. “Still, your true colors are alluring, and your ambition shows promise. Yes, you will be most welcome in my court.”
The blade slid along Kalros’s throat, and his body fell.
The Lich Queen Fenrathia rose to her full height and donned her traditional visage of magnificent undeath. With a wave of her skeletal hand, her gossamer hair curled into a braid, which she clipped into place with her barrette. Whole once again, she marched back into the dead chill of the night. Behind her, she dragged the already-cold body of Kalros Alodax, her soon-to-be undying knight in obsidian armor.
He would have an eternity to rue that day.