And The White Witch Spake, And He Did Reply

Cathal lay within his tent. He and his warriors, who had taken to calling themselves the Band of the Black Wolf, were but a day gone from the Wyrmrest Barrow, and from Queen Authild. They had left the barrow promptly, as demanded by the Queen of Rjuvik, but injury and fatigue demanded they make camp far nearer Viborg's walls than Cathal would have liked. Still, his bones filled his bedroll wearily, and the act of just laying down had felt as though he were bathing in the light of Haelyn himself.

Sleep took him quickly; a deep, lightless slumber that covered him like a deep tide. The moment consciousness left him, he was alone in a dark space, blackness roiling above and below, all around him. Not frightful, but warm and encompassing; a place of pure solitude. He stood upright, in a simple tunic and breeches he had left back at Fulcairn.

The shadow realm? His first thought. If so he was ready to face it. He had entered that cold place before and it had offered nothing he could not surpass. There was magic at work at least. He peered into the black as an image began to resolve.

"Cathal Fulcairn. I've been watching you." The voice was breath, light and cold, and when it came a chill but not unpleasant breeze seemed to brush past him, caressing his cheek.

A woman, breathtakingly beautiful, pale-skinned and dressed in a flowing gown of white samite, strode out of the dark to stand before him. Her eyes were bright and pale, like chips of ice, her hair a long, silken mass of spun white-gold. Potence radiated from her, surety in her every stride.

"I know who you are," Cathal replied, forcing his voice out from low in his stomach, as though an order on the battlefield. He tried as he could to match her presence, hoping his voice did not crack. "I think I have heard your voice before. You've found me, sorceress, after your fashion. What is it you desire?"

She smiled then, a smile that made his heart lurch with want. He recognized the falseness of it though, and it left his stomach and mind roiling. Something passed behind those icy eyes and she spoke.

"You entered the barrow at Wyrmrest and found a thing within it that has not seen the sun in some great time."

"The crown?" Cathal asked.

"The same. I want it, and you will want to give it to me."

"Will I? What reason would I have to want that?"

She strode toward him, her hands clasped at her waist. She grew close, her presence suffusing the air around him. "You said you know who I am, my lord," she said, with a coy half-grin, "Then you must also be aware of what I can do. I can offer you the power you need to claim all of Hogunmark. All of the North. You would be a king, and strength would be yours to do with as you will. You could even save your home. You could even save your family."

A vision flashed in his mind, barely cognizable; Mara and Cuinn in pain, hunted. Elena, Medwyn, Dolan, his home awash with sorrow. It tingled through his veins, sour and cold. The White Witch watched him, standing close as a lover, her bright, frozen eyes seeping into his. He wanted to rebel, to move away, but was frozen in place, his stomach a tight knot. He fought it down, and forced out a small laugh.

The Witch drew slightly away, sliding as though she floated inches above whatever floor was beneath them. He shook his head, and his mouth turned up in a grin of his own.

"You do not know me well at all then, do you?" he sad.

"What mean you?"

"That I would wish to supplant my friends? To rule in their stead? I have supped my fill of rulership and the meal sat ill with me. And even were I to desire such, even were I to take your aid and free my homeland from the encroachments of greedy lords, such power would surely turn to poison. With respect, lady, you are simply them writ large. Those who would usurp Taeghas and its people. You choose power over life. Nay, I say, I will not give you this crown, though my soul be rent asunder and left to wander this shaded place."

The Witch drew further away, an inscrutable expression upon her unearthly face. Then she smiled, and counter to all thought, it seemed genuine.

"Very well, Cathal Fulcairn. Return to your brother, 'King' Fulgrim. For as long as he remains such. We shall not parley again."

And she receded, back into the dark fog of that place, and true sleep finally took him.