“He’s a fool!” roared Grimtruth Bane, rising from his chair and lunging around the banquet table. The young prince stood paralyzed, speechless. For a long time he had been standing there, silent, unsuccessfully willing the names from his subconscious. He looked back, saw his mother, Queen Hannareit, looking at him with an expression of pleading … then Grimtruth Bane filled his vision, storming toward his son, face twisted by fury and warqat.
The high priest, Karn Draco, tried to stop the king, but Grimtruth would not be deterred. “Give me that!” he demanded, snatching the Axe of Gonnas from the priest’s hands.
“No-the window must melt before the Names!” protested Draco.
With a single blow from the golden axe the king shattered the blue ice. Shards of glassy frost exploded, and instantly winter’s vortex had swept into the hall. The first gust sucked Karn Draco into the frosty wasteland. Tables were tossed about, humans and ogres swept away by the lethal force of wind.
Grimtruth Bane seized a nearby slave, one of the hapless servers who had been working at the royal table, and, still carrying the Axe of Gonnas, marched out to the brink of the Ice Wall. Throwing the blubbering human down, he killed him with a single blow of the axe, so that his blood soaked into the dam as required by the ancient ritual.
That sacrifice was made without the full ceremony, however, without the blessing of Gonnas. When the Sturm-sea erupted that year, it did so capriciously, tearing away a great part of the city and burying a valuable gold mine in the process.
Everyone blamed Grimwar Bane. His father arranged the marriage to Stariz, whose tutelage, it was hoped, would see that the prince maintained a properly studious, devoted outlook on life. She came to Winterheim and replaced the fallen high priest and, for the past three years, it had been she who had recited the names.
Now, again, had come the time for the prince to prove himself.
“O Gonnas the Strong, Gonnas the Mighty, the Willful One …” Stariz intoned the names of the god. “Grant us your favor. Melt the Blue Ice, and let the king of Suderhold come forth to unleash your Sturmfrost upon the world!”
The watchers, ogres and humans alike, held their breath as Grimwar Bane took a step forward and began to speak.
“King Barkon, Barkon I, brought the clans to Winterheim, in the first year of Dynasty,” Grimwar began, “and reigned until year 63. It was then that his son, Barkon II, took the throne, until the year 91. Barkon III came next, in dynasty, to year 147. These were the Barkon kings, the founders of Suderhold.
“The Icetusk dynasty commenced in 150, with Garren Icetusk, who ruled through 212.…”
Surprisingly, the names seemed to burst forth with a will of their own. The Icetusks were easy-they had ruled for more than a thousand years, and it seemed that each date was inextricably attached to their name. When Grimwar said Icetusk VII, for instance, the years 503 and 571 loomed clearly in his memory. So, too, with the rest of that hallowed line.
He did not dare to look behind him, to examine the blue ice. He knew that Baldruk Dinmaker was watching, together with Stariz, the king, Thraid and the rest. But it helped when he imagined that it was only for Thraid’s benefit that he spoke. Still the names rolled and tumbled off his tongue. He continued, through the kings of the Whaleslayers, the Goldcrowns, the Manreapers. He noted the short and tragic reign of King Dracomaster who, it turned out, had taken his name quite prematurely. He passed through the Glacierlords and, finally, he arrived at his own clan.
“The Bane Dynasty was born, in 4370, with Grimword Bane ruling until 4426. His son, Grimstroke Bane took the throne, and was king until 4502 …”
Now he was speaking of his own family, and each name came with a face, and the memory and words that much clearer.
He reached his grandfather and spoke firmly. “Grimsea Bane ruled until the year 4875.”
He paused, and he sensed everyone drawing a breath, waiting for a grand conclusion. He would now speak of the last king to sit upon the throne of Suderhold. But the words, the name, suddenly caught in his throat, refusing to emerge. His frustration, his fury built up until finally he spat the words, in tones that might be mistaken for contempt, ringing through the hall.
“Grimtruth Bane, King of Suderhold from 4875 until now.”
The blue ice surface was slick and wet, water pouring down the shimmering face, pooling and splattering on the floor. The great window sagged visibly until, abruptly, it trembled and fell away like shattered glass.
“Gonnas hears and is pleased!” cried Stariz exultantly.
The prince was assailed by frigid wind, stung by particles of icy snow. The gale swept into the chamber, and all the ogres reached for their furs as they watched, awestruck. The humans in the higher reaches huddled miserably together but they, too, appeared rapt. Grimwar Bane stepped forward into the gale, then turned to watch as the king, accompanied by two warriors and a human slave, hurried forward. Baldruk remained at the table, but the dwarf’s face was lit by an expression of exultation.
“Do you mock me?” growled Grimtruth as he passed his son. “If so, your insult will not be forgotten.”
Grimwar’s own temper flared as he and Stariz followed the procession. The slave to be sacrificed this winter was a strapping human male. Certainly the slave knew that he was doomed, all the more reason why he showed little spirit.
The wind howled now as the small group made its way to the very brink of the Ice Wall, where the dam of frost met the solid stone of the mountainous balcony. This place, where the great dam merged with the mountainside of Winterheim, was a precipitous shelf poised over the surging Snow Sea.
Stariz held the golden axe, while the two guards stretched the human slave over the rim of the balcony. Grimtruth Bane stepped forward and took the hallowed artifact.
“O Great Gonnas!” cried the priestess, the roar of her voice carrying into the wind, rising over the gale in power and force. “Grant us your blessing and share your might! Let this blood sanctify your pleasure, and open the Ice Wall! Let your Sturmfrost surge forth and scour your enemies from the world!”
Now the human seemed finally to grasp the inevitability of his fate. He began to scream and struggle, to kick and thrash. The big ogres held him without even straining. Grimtruth Bane took the axe and stepped up to the man, holding the golden blade above the terrified human’s chest. The victim was stretched prone on the rim of the Ice Wall, a thousand feet above the face of the dam.
The king twisted about to cast a scornful glance at his son. “This is the mark of power!” he roared. “This is the deed of a king! By Gonnas, you have shown that you will never be worthy!”
The slave made one last, desperate attempt at escape. With a frantic effort he pulled one arm free and twisted outward. The king, his mind foggy with warqat, chopped, but the blade missed the slave entirely, cutting into the top of the Ice Wall and quivering in the grip of frost.
Then the human was swinging free, dangling below the balcony, suspended only by one wrist held by the second ogre guard. The Snow Sea surged and raged below, black tendrils of gale reaching upward, hungrily, pulling at his feet, coiling about his legs.
“Hold him!” roared the king.
The guard’s grip slipped. With a hideous scream, the slave vanished into the tumult, twisting in the air for a moment before disappearing.
“Fools! Wretches!” roared the king, spittle flying, eyes bulging. He wrenched the axe free and swung first at one, then the other of his guards. The first one fell after the doomed slave. The second screamed and clawed as he also plummeted into space down the long, barren cliff.
Grimtruth whirled upon his son. “See what you made me do?” he roared, advancing with the axe upraised.
“Wait!” screeched Stariz, though she made no move to step between the two ogres. “We will get another slave.”