Rozati GoDh's Arc

Chapter 1 of 3

Rozati GoDh walked toward the glacier that stole his family's throne, and the blizzard arrived to kill him first. He had crossed four ridges since dawn. The ice crown his bloodline once ruled lay somewhere beyond the white wall of snow ahead. His grandfather died in exile cursing that throne. Rozati meant to sit on it. But a king who freezes in a snowbank claims nothing. The wind drove ice into his white hair and crusted his pale lashes. His ice-blue eyes could barely open. He had no fire, no tent, no cave. His fingers stopped bending an hour ago. He stumbled, caught himself, and knew he would not rise a second time if he fell again. Then a weight dropped onto his shoulder. He twisted and saw a raven, black feathers marked with tawny spots like a wildcat's coat. It gripped his cloak and tugged, hard, toward the north. It cawed once, then launched into the storm and hovered, waiting. Rozati had nothing left to lose. He followed the strange bird. It flew low and slow, a dark shape he could just track through the snow. Each time he slowed, it circled back and screeched until he moved again. His legs burned. His teeth cracked together. He did not stop. The bird led him over a final rise. Below stood a castle of green stone, its walls wrapped in moss and vines. A huge mushroom spread above the tower like a roof, sheltering the keep from the worst of the snow. Firelight glowed in a lower window. Rozati's chest heaved. Shelter. Warmth. Life. He half ran, half fell down the slope. The great doors stood shut. He pounded them with a fist he could no longer feel. "Open," he croaked. "Please." Something brushed his boots. A white cat sat in the snow, watching him. Pale wings rose from its back, thin and ribbed like a dragon's. The cat pressed a paw against the doors. They swung inward without a sound. Rozati crawled across the threshold. Heat struck his face. He lay on warm stone and gasped as feeling crawled back into his hands like fire. The spotted raven settled on a beam above him. The winged cat curled near his chest and watched him with calm eyes. He was alive. He would not freeze. But as his sight cleared, he saw the hall around him. Old banners hung from the walls, each marked with the same ice crown he carried in his memory. The sigil of his exiled house. This keep was not empty, and it was not an accident. Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Slow. Certain. Someone had sent the animals. Someone had been waiting for him. Rozati pushed himself up on shaking arms and faced the dark stairway, because whoever ruled this place already knew his name.