King frostwalker's Arc

Chapter 4 of 6

The crown burned brighter than ever in Frostwalker's paws. Its runes pulsed white, faster and hotter with each beat. Eric had fled Spingland days ago, but he had not gone far. He struck again at dawn, and this time he did not come alone. Frostwalker felt the heat before he saw them. Eric stood in the snow with his crown crooked, his cape scorched. Beside him crouched his fire dragon, one wing still stiff with old frost. And ahead of them both walked a dark red cat wreathed in flame. "Jack the Destroyer," Eric said. "Clear him out." Jack stepped forward. Fire dripped from his paws and hissed in the snow. He looked at Frostwalker without hurry. "Give it up," he said. "You lose either way. I'm just here to make it fast." His voice was flat, like he read it off a list. Frostwalker's royal guard planted himself in the snow. Ice crystals jutted from his shoulders, glowing pale blue. "Point me at it, my king," the guard growled. But Frostwalker heard something new in the crown. It did not want to be aimed. It wanted to be loosed. Frostwalker pressed both paws to the crown and pulled cold into it. The runes screamed white. This time the power did not wait for his command. A wall of freezing air exploded outward in every direction. Jack raised his flaming paws too late. The frost slammed him back and crusted his fur with ice. The dragon shrieked as both wings locked solid. Eric hit the ground and slid. But the crown did not stop. Cold poured out of it and would not be reined in. Frostwalker felt his own paws going numb. Frost climbed the citadel walls and froze the well. The guard staggered as the power ripped through him harder than he could hold. "My king," he gasped, "it's too much." Frostwalker tore his paws from the crown. The blast died. Silence fell over the frozen street. Eric dragged himself up, beaten. Jack cracked the ice off one shoulder and said nothing. The dragon could not fly. Eric spat blood in the snow. "Keep it, then," he snarled. "It'll kill you before it crowns anyone." He limped away, hauling Jack with him. The frozen dragon crawled behind. Frostwalker had won the street again. But he stared at the crown in horror. Its runes still glowed, and the cold had left his front paws white and stiff. Muffin Hensley crossed the ice toward him. She knelt and looked at his frostbitten paws. Then she looked at the crown, long and steady, the way she looked at anyone she meant to outlast. "Okay, so here's the thing," she said. "You didn't aim that. It aimed itself." She met his eyes. "You keep this up, it stops being your crown. It starts being your master." Frostwalker looked at his ruined paws and knew she was right. He could not use the crown again.