King frostwalker's Arc

Chapter 3 of 6

The awakened crown pulsed in Frostwalker's paws for three days. Then Eric came again. Frostwalker fled south with the crown, hoping to reach a safe vault. But Eric's dragon tracked the cold trail across the snow. Now Frostwalker stood at the gates of the Frostwalker Citadel, its pale towers rising over him. Eric and his fighters had chased him into the town of Spingland. He had nowhere left to run. Hooves and paws pounded the frozen street behind him. Frostwalker turned. Eric rode his fire dragon low over the rooftops. Its scales burned red, and heat rolled off it in waves. Melted snow ran down the citadel walls. "The chase ends here, kingmaker," Eric called. "Give me the crown, or my dragon burns this whole town." A broad-shouldered man in a fur coat stepped between Frostwalker and the dragon. His gray beard was thick with frost. This was Bjorn Frosthelm, a townsman of the ice kingdom, and he did not move. "You'll burn nothing," Bjorn said. "These are our homes." More townsfolk gathered behind him, shovels and axes in hand. They looked to Frostwalker, waiting. Frostwalker knew he could not fight the dragon alone. But he was not alone. He raised his voice. "Frosthelm. Get them behind the walls." Then he called for his own protector. The black cat came at a run. Ice crystals jutted from his shoulders and paws, glowing pale blue. He was Frostwalker's royal guard, sworn to shield him. "Point me at it, my king," the guard growled. He planted himself in the dragon's path. Eric's dragon dove and breathed fire. Frostwalker pressed both paws to the crown and pulled cold into it. The runes flared white. This time the power came faster, hungrier. A wall of freezing air burst from the crown and struck the flames. The guard drove his crystal fists into the dragon's chest as the frost hit. The dragon screamed. Ice crawled up its wings. Eric fought to keep his mount aloft. "Down! Get us down!" But the frost had locked one wing stiff. The dragon lurched sideways and crashed through a market stall. Eric spilled into the snow. He scrambled up, cape torn, crown crooked. His fighters saw him fall and broke ranks. "You won this street," Eric spat. He climbed onto the dragon's neck. It beat its half-frozen wings and rose, slow and clumsy. "But you can't hide forever. That crown will crack again." Then he was gone over the towers. Bjorn Frosthelm gripped Frostwalker's shoulder. The townsfolk cheered. Frostwalker looked down at the crown. The runes still glowed, brighter now, warm against his fur. He had driven Eric off and saved Spingland. But each time he used the crown, it grew stronger and stranger. He had woken something he did not understand, and now the whole town had seen its power. Word would spread. Every claimant would want it.