THE DRAGON'S RETURN

The Ice Gate

Blood dripped from Thorn’s stone jaw and froze into red beads before hitting the snow.

He stumbled forward, his right knee giving out against the steep incline. The wind screamed through the high peak, driving ice needles straight into his face. Beside him, Lyra drifted through the whiteout, her silver glow dimming down to a weak ember.

"Get up, Thorn," Lyra said, her voice shaking inside his mind. "If you sit down now, you will never stand up again."

Thorn shoved his right hand into the drift, forcing his body back onto his feet. His left arm hung heavy and dead at his side, entirely solid granite up to the shoulder. He tried to speak, but the hard stone covering his left cheek pulled his jaw tight.

"How much further?" Thorn asked, his voice coming out as a rough, broken rasp.

"Not far," she replied, circling his head to shield his eyes from the ice. "Past the ridge. But there are men ahead. I hear steel and heavy boots."

Thorn pulled his iron sword from his sheath. The cold metal stuck to his skin. "How many?"

"Four," Lyra said. "They are guarding the narrow choke point. They have torch fire."

Thorn dragged his feet through the deep snow, coming to a halt behind a thick outcrop of frozen rock. He peered around the edge. Four guards in thick fur coats stood around a iron brazier, their spears resting against their shoulders. Behind them sat a massive iron gate built into the living rock of the mountain wall, thick ice locking its heavy bars together.

"That is the path to the spring," Lyra whispered. "They locked the main entrance."

"They cannot lock me out," Thorn said. He stepped away from the rock and walked directly into the light of their torches.

The nearest guard turned, his face pale under his leather hood. "Who is there?"

The other three men snapped their spears up, pointing the steel tips at Thorn’s chest.

"Look at his face," one of the guards said, backing away a step. "It is the stone monster from the lower pass. The sect said he was coming this way."

"He is alone," the leader said, pulling a heavy horn from his belt. "Blow the alarm!"

Thorn did not give him the chance. He lunged forward, closing the distance before the man could raise the horn to his lips. He swung his right hand, driving the pommel of his sword directly into the leader's jaw. The man groaned and dropped into the white drift.

"Kill him!" another guard yelled, thrusting his spear straight for Thorn’s throat.

Thorn brought his petrified left arm up. The steel spear tip struck his stone forearm with a loud, ringing clatter and bounced off, leaving not even a scratch on his dark skin.

"What is he made of?" the guard screamed, stumbling backward in horror.

"He is cursed!" the third guard shouted.

Thorn stepped in close, grabbing the third guard's spear shaft with his right hand and yanking it out of his grip. He kicked the man hard in the kneecap, sending him sprawling into the snow, then turned his attention to the last guard standing by the iron gate.

The last man dropped his weapon entirely, his hands shaking violently as he pressed his back against the frozen bars. "Please! I am just a hired guard! I have a family in the lower valley!"

Thorn stopped three feet away, his chest rising and falling in heavy, ragged gasps. "Where is the key?"

"The key?" the guard stammered, his eyes darting to Thorn's half-stone face. "There is no key! The captain froze the lock with spell water before he went through! It is solid ice inside!"

"Step aside," Thorn said.

"What?"

"Step aside!" Thorn growled, his voice thick with gravel.

The guard scrambled out of the way, throwing himself into the snowbank beside the braziers.

Thorn walked up to the heavy iron gate. A thick block of clear ice filled the keyhole and wrapped around the massive iron chain binding the doors shut.

"Thorn, wait," Lyra warned, hovering close to his neck. "You used the relic on Julian's sword only a few minutes ago. If you force it again right now, the petrification will spread to your chest and heart."

"If I do not break this gate, I freeze out here anyway," Thorn said.

"We can find another path," she pleaded. "There must be a ledge or a climb."

"There is no time," Thorn said.

He raised his dead left hand and pressed his granite palm flat against the frozen iron chain.

For a second, nothing happened. Then, deep beneath his skin, the dark stone began to pulse. Faint, jagged lines of purple light flared beneath his knuckles, crawling up his arm like liquid fire. A strange, humming vibration shook the air around them.

The ice around the lock cracked first, turning into fine white powder. Then, the heavy iron chain began to lose its color, turning dull, grey, and brittle.

Thorn gasped, a sharp surge of pain shooting straight into his chest. He felt his lungs tighten as the cold granite skin on his neck crept upward, hard stone locking his collarbone and creeping over the left side of his throat.

"Thorn, stop!" Lyra cried, her light turning a frantic, bright red. "It is moving toward your throat! Stop it!"

Thorn grit his teeth, forcing his hand to stay glued to the iron. "Almost... done!"

With a loud, resounding snap, the iron chain crumbled into a pile of useless grey dust. The heavy doors groaned and swung open an inch, unlocked by the decay of the metal.

Thorn pulled his hand back and fell to his knees, clutching his chest with his right arm. He choked, trying to draw air into his lungs, but his neck felt stiff, like it was bound in tight iron bands.

"Look at me," Lyra said, dropping down to his eye level. Her silver glow wrapped around his face, pushing away the cold wind. "Breathe slowly, Thorn. Focus on my light."

Thorn took a shallow breath through his nose. His jaw was nearly locked shut now. He could barely open his mouth to speak. "Did... did it reach my throat?"

"Yes," Lyra said softly, her voice filled with a rare gentleness. "It covered your neck. You cannot use the relic again, Thorn. If you use it one more time, your heart will stop."

Thorn pushed himself up using his right hand, leaning heavily against the open iron gate. He looked down at his left hand. The dark stone was entirely smooth now, devoid of any warmth or life.

"We are through the gate," Thorn rasped, his voice barely a whisper. "Where is the spring?"

"Just past this tunnel," Lyra said, floating through the open entrance. "I can feel the heat from here. Warm air is coming from inside."

Thorn dragged his dead foot behind him, stepping into the dark stone tunnel behind the gate. The roaring wind of the blizzard instantly died down, replaced by the quiet, heavy drip of melting water. The air grew noticeably warmer with every step he took.

"See?" Lyra said, trying to sound cheerful. "We made it past their guards. We made it past Julian."

"Julian is not dead," Thorn said, his eyes fixed on the dim light at the end of the corridor. "A drop like that will not kill him."

"He lost his weapon," Lyra pointed out. "And he is at the bottom of a ravine in a blizzard. He will not catch us tonight."

"He will come," Thorn said. "He always comes."

They reached the end of the stone tunnel, stepping out onto a wide, natural stone balcony inside a massive cavern. Far below them, glowing under the natural light of luminous blue moss, sat a pool of clear, steaming water. White mist rose from the surface, filling the vast cave with heat.

"The spirit spring," Lyra whispered, flying out over the edge of the balcony. "It is still alive."

Thorn looked down at the steaming pool. "Will it cure the stone?"

"It will not cure it," Lyra admitted, turning back to look at him. "The relic is too deep inside you now. But the spirit water will stop the spread. It will thaw the curse and keep your heart beating."

Thorn did not waste another second. He started down the steep stone steps leading to the water, his boots clicking against the wet rock. Every step felt like dragging an anvil, but the warmth in the air gave his shivering body new strength.

"Halt, Prince Thorn," a quiet voice called out from the shadows near the water.

Thorn stopped on the third step, his right hand instantly going to the hilt of his sword.

A figure in long black robes stepped out from behind a steaming rock formation near the edge of the pool. The man was old, his hair stark white, and his face covered in intricate gold tattoos that glowed faintly in the dim cave light. In his hand, he held a wooden staff capped with a polished glass sphere.

"Who are you?" Thorn demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

"I am the keeper of the northern waters," the old man said, bowing his head slightly. "And you bring corruption into a sacred place."

"I do not care about your sacred place," Thorn said, taking another step down. "I need the water."

"The water is for healing," the keeper said, raising his staff. "The dark chaos living inside your chest is not a disease, young prince. It is a force of destruction. If you step into this pool, your relic will poison the spring forever."

"I am stepping into that pool," Thorn said, drawing his steel blade. "Try to stop me."

"Look at yourself," the keeper said gently, pointing his staff at Thorn's face. "You are already half stone. If you force your way in, the magic of the spring will fight the chaos in your heart. The pain will tear your soul apart."

"I have survived worse pain," Thorn said.

"He needs this water to live!" Lyra shouted at the keeper, her light flaring bright yellow with anger. "If he does not enter the spring tonight, the stone will take his heart!"

The keeper looked at the silver spirit hovering in the air, his eyes softening slightly. "I know who he is, spirit. I knew his father. King Alden was a good man."

Thorn's hand tightened on his sword hilt at the sound of his father's name. "Do not speak of my father."

"Your father sought peace," the keeper said softly. "You seek only blood."

"My father was murdered by the people he trusted!" Thorn barked, his voice ringing harsh against the cavern walls. "Peace got him killed! Peace destroyed my home!"

"Vengeance will not bring them back," the keeper said.

"It will bring them justice," Thorn said. He stepped off the final stair, standing on the flat stone shore just ten feet from the steaming pool.

The keeper raised his staff high, the glass sphere glowing with a soft, blue light that matched the moss on the cave walls. "I cannot let you ruin the spring, Prince Thorn. I am bound by oath."

"Then you had better draw a weapon," Thorn said, raising his iron sword. "Because I am not leaving this cavern alive without that water."