Iceblade

by Zenka Wistram

  The city was deserted, but there were a small few frozen dead to be found as we made our way to the castle. There was no way to move them, to lay them to rest, until the ice and snow melted. The streets were clogged with snow, in life they would have been cleared by work and traffic. We trudged our way through, dragging the donkey.

  Remanil castle and many of the buildings in Remanil town were made of a deep rose-colored stone, and roofed in black slate, it would have been a beautiful town when it lived. I had the sense of viewing a body about to be interred, standing around the bier with no one of the deceased's family, only strangers to offer what remote grief they had. Near the castle was a blacksmithy, sides open around the forge, the fire long cold. An inn with the doors hanging open and the main room reduced to splintered debris stood near the castle, as well as stables obviously empty, and homes fallen silent. We were quiet as we walked through, mindful of the loss here. I did not cry, though the quiet wanted tears – if I started, I might never stop, and the void was too enormous to be filled by the salt of my weeping.

  "Where are all the dead?" Daltorn asked when we reached the castle. "Where is everybody?"

  "Pressed into service, no doubt," Selas said. "He's got the power."

  "Some fled west to the Wood," I said. "Thousands were slain, any who wouldn't go north with the crows army, to make an example. The rest – any who couldn't fight were taken hostage, and the ones who could fight, now must or their families will die. He needed very little magic to accomplish this. As for bodies, eaten, by Dagar's pet. A beast named Cur." I lifted my hand away from the stone wall I'd placed it on. "Iceblade used up most of these stolen fighters in another heart-city to the north, he took it by force. The women and children he released with orders to go east and wait for spring. His soldiers, after all, will require wives when the High Kingdom is his."

  "How many of the women and children could survive a winter trek? And what about the elders?"

  "Destroyed. The elders had no use to him. The children were useful in keeping the mothers compliant."

  "He's building a stockpile of unwilling brides?" Nefen asked in disgust.

  "At least they're alive," I said. "And they won't have to be a bride to anyone against their will if we stop Iceblade and his army."

  Selas tied the donkey to a wooden rail just inside the castle walls. We searched the castle, room by room. I'd never been in a castle before or even seen one close in person, and I could see this was a beautiful way to live in good times. Gorgeous tapestries, soft and silken to the touch; so much heavy and comfortable looking furniture; great pantries of food, and several kitchens; indoor privies; light filled upper rooms. Everything was adorned in some fashion, much of it with the dark green and white standard of Banbrigg, an argent stag salient – a white stag with its front hooves in the air. Furniture was carved or painted, none was plain; every piece of cloth on display, from pillows to table runners to curtains, was embroidered or appliquéd or painted. Though this tempest of decoration could have become gaudy and overwhelming, everything was matched or carefully contrasted, and the result was very pleasing.

  I followed the tugging of my spirit, and the three of us found ourselves in a vast and half-emptied armory. Pausing, I tried to bring to mind what it was that called me here while Selas and Wyntan began searching. In a far corner lay a pile of metal debris, twisted and bashed up. Selas found something in this pile, and pulled it out, piece by piece.

  I inspected his find. It was some sort of archaic gold-plated armor, appearing light in weight and small in form. The tunic and legs were made of thin golden chainmail, there were silver plate-mail pieces to cover the neck, shins, and chest. The breast plate – or cuirass, as Selas explained in exasperation at my ignorance, was dirtied by what looked like excrement, in the center of the chest was a gold oak leaf. The shin-pieces Selas called greaves, and the neck armor a gorget. Wyntan, following Selas' lead, found a matching helmet, open faced, with silver plate for the top half and the golden chain to cover the neck area. In the center of the forehead of the helmet was another, smaller gold oak leaf, the bottom of which hung down slightly to cover part of the wearer's nose.

  "They tried to destroy it, but only managed to dent and dirty it a bit!" Selas said triumphantly. "It was beyond them to wreck it, so they shit on it and threw it in the corner. Fools. They should have at least buried it or thrown in down a well." He looked smug.

  "What is it?" I asked uncertainly.

  "Why, of all the-! This is the blessed armor worn by Galiena's last Chosen, a thousand years ago when Dragon's Tooth was nothing but scattered tribes! She was from Remanil, back when this was a tribal holding, and on her death, the armor came here. It has been cared for as a sacred object ever since. Until now, anyway." Selas was still grinning his victory over the junk heap, obviously full of good wind at beating Iceblade in something the old man felt was so important. I looked more closely at the armor, it looked pretty battered to me, but whole. Hesitantly, I reached down to touch a chain arm with one finger.

  I opened my eyes. Wyntan helped me up. "Do you ever do anything that doesn't involve flashes of light and being flung to the ground?" he said, and grinned. "Come on, you have to see!"

  "I've seen her get flung to the ground after touching something, without a flash of light," Selas told the younger man. "You think she'd learn not to touch anything of interest unless she's firmly seated!" He was grinning too, and I was surprised by what was for him an unusual expression.

  The armor, clean and whole, lay on the ground. Before it had been small, too small for me, and now it looked like I could fit it. Selas and Wyntan were already lifting the pieces and pushing me into them. They helped me into the chain first, then went to work settling the helmet on my head and strapping the plate pieces into place. The armor was barely heavier than my clothes. Testing the maneuverability by twisting from side to side, I found that it made little difference in my range of motion.

  Wyntan was staring at me with open mouthed awe. "Now she looks like the Chosen. What all does this armor do?"

  "Well," Selas said, stroking his beard. "It casts a light in dark places and at night, for one thing." With that they began pushing me backwards into a large closet off the armory. Selas herded me back while Wyntan turned and closed the door behind us, thrusting the room into darkness. As soon as the darkness touched the armor I wore, it began to cast a dim light but still strong enough to make everything in the closet visible. Though it didn't glow, it was clear it was shedding the light we saw by the way shadows fell away from my direction. Laughing, they hurried me back out into the main armory.

  "If legend is correct, it should also keep her from feeling fatigued, and will hearten anyone on the side of the Chosen who sees it in battle. And it's as strong as full plate," Selas said.

  "Is there a weapon?" Wyntan asked.

  "There was a spear," Selas replied. "But it was destroyed in the Chosen's last battle. There may still be a shield, we should search."

  "I think I can call it," I said in surprise.

  "Well, give it a try," Selas ordered sharply. I spared him a smile, knowing his curt tone was only a part of his excitement at finding the armor. Concentrating, feeling the metal of my armor, I felt something like a humming deep inside of it. I focused on the vibration. Somewhere within the castle I felt an answering vibration.

  "It's in a trunk," I said at last. "Two floors up, in a tower." Selas and I went to find it while Wyntan remained in the armory, digging through the stockpile of weapons and armor for whatever reason left behind by the crows army. The shield, when we found it, was oval at the top, tapering to a point on the bottom. It was as light in weight as the armor itself was, polished silver in color, banded by gold, with four connected gold oak leaves adorning the front. Selas hung it from my arm, and we headed back down to show Wyntan.

  Wyntan found a finer mace, worked in gold and silver so it somewhat matched the armor. Instead of oak leaves, it was etched with tiny dragons. It was longer an
d heavier by about half again than the mace I was already carrying.

  Poking around some more, we found a slim set of half-plate that would fit Samar, as well as armor large enough for Daltorn, and some for Wyntan and Nefen as well. Selas loaded all these heavy pieces into burlap bags, and the three of us hauled it all down into the courtyard to wait for the others.

  "Can't you send them a message or something?" Selas grouched after we waited nearly an hour.

  "I'm sure I can, but if it gives them headaches, it's on your conscience," I told him smartly. I sent out thoughts of Selas' impatience and our location. It wasn't long before the others found us there. All three spent a moment admiring my new armor.

  Nefen carried upon his arm a living hawk. "We found him in the mews," he said proudly. "A fine creature indeed. All his fellows were long gone, but he has stayed, hunting nearby and nesting in the mews. Perhaps waiting the return of his owner, but he came to me well enough." I noticed Nefen now wore a thick leather glove on the arm where the hawk, gold and brown with sharp eyes and a pointy stare, perched. It seemed years ago, but I remembered seeing Judge Tally and a party of his peers leaving the manor to go a-falconing, all wearing similar gloves to protect their arms from the sharp claws of their animals. Unlike those birds, this hawk was not wearing a padded hood on his head and his legs were not bound with jesses. He looked fat and healthy, obviously well fed on mice or whatever else a tame hawk might hunt.

  "You've gone falconing before?" I asked. I had known from his clothes that he had been wealthy, but falcons and hawks were mainly the domain of nobles. Though it shouldn't have mattered to me what his background was, it did. For some reason it seemed to me that if he were noble, he became unapproachable, alien to the rest of us, and perhaps me in particular.

  He looked at me with assessing eyes for a moment, then nodded. "Once or twice, with people my grandfather knew." I could see he didn't want any of us to form a feeling of separateness from him, though his gaze stayed on me.

  "Of course he has, girl," Selas grunted. He gave off thoughts of impatience at what he felt akin to subterfuge, though Nefen did not lie, would not lie. "I know of Bendwillow. Nefen's grandfather was the lord there, and his father a judge. Now they're gone, Nefen is Lord of Bendwillow, likely."

  "I can't be Lord of something that no longer exists," Nefen said gravely. "I am merely Nefen."

  "How different we are," I murmured.

  "Perhaps once. Not so different now." He watched me as if no others were in the courtyard, and my opinion was all that mattered.

  Wyntan cleared his throat. I blushed and looked away, hearing Iceblade's voice – "He may not touch you".

  Selas began opening his bags and tossing pieces of armor at the group. "Try these on, will you. I need to know what fits."

  We took several hours fitting the others with proper armor. Samar now owned a rare set of woman's armor – the cuirass formed for a woman's narrower and curvier chest, just like the Chosen's Armor I wore. Selas said it was ceremonial armor, but it was well-made, not flimsy like some ceremonial pieces. Her armor was green copper-plated with bright silver lilies winding down the arms and legs and the middle of the cuirass. She also acquired a superbly crafted long saber, and a matching dagger with a blade narrow as an eyebrow and as long as her forearm. Selas helped her test them out, and she was a sight, both weapons whirling in the sunlight. There would be no need for her to carry a shield while she carried that dagger, slim, strong and dangerous as she herself was. Though it was clear Selas wasn't pressing her with all his might and skill, she held him off without breaking a sweat, the spinning dagger used in defense while the saber whipped out to score mock hits against Selas.

  Nefen desired no weapon but Raven's Beak, but he clearly liked the armor and shield we had found for him, shining steel as light and bright as his grey eyes, with no extraneous adornment, but of the most modern design. Though it was half plate, it was lighter in weight than older sets and afforded him a more dexterous range of motion. The small buckler shield was painted dark green with a white stag and three small gold roses, indicating it had once belonged to a member of the royal family of Banbrigg. No crown or other device indicated the rank of this family member, so Selas and Nefen agreed it was likely a low-ranking cousin of some sort. He would have been uncomfortable carrying the shield of someone of a higher rank than he himself was.

  Wyntan had outfitted himself in chainmail and a scale helmet, a fine quality long sword with an ivory hilt and a round iron shield plated with bronze. Over the chainmail he wore a heavy leather brigandine, like a large jerkin that pulled over the head and tied under the arms, but with small plates of steel butted close together and bolted in between the two layers of leather. For his brother, he had chosen full plate, and a huge great sword with a flamberge blade, as Selas had called the wavy blade. Selas told us the blade was formed that way to be used against pikes and other pole-arm weapons, to break them. Daltorn's size suited the massive weapon, but he could hold no shield while wielding it.

  After we were done getting everybody outfitted, we went down to the stables, taking the donkey. There we found a sturdy sledge, and long into the evening we hauled steel weapons and armor, mainly leather, down to load onto it under Selas' sharp eye. When he was satisfied, we went back to the inn with the wrecked main room, the donkey hauling the sledge through the icy streets.

  The fireplace was still serviceable, and we used it to cook an evening meal. The donkey was fed as well and tethered just inside the inn, where the bar used to be. There was some ale and wine to be found in bottles in the cellar, untouched by the crows army, and we took some time to enjoy the refreshment they offered. After we filled our bellies and drank our fill, we found our way upstairs, to separate rooms. There were no bodies upstairs, and this part of the inn was in good condition.

  Selas helped me remove my armor, then left me for his own bed. He had dragged a mattress down before the fire in the main room, and this is where he slept his light warrior's sleep, easily awakened by any impending harm. I undressed in my own room, the small hearth blazing merrily and certainly warm enough to forgo wearing clothes to bed, happy to sleep without clothing for the first time since Berowalt burned. It was good also to be in a bed I didn't have to share, even with Samar. When we'd shared the bed at the cottage in the snowstorm, I'd been edgy all night, sleeping only fitfully if still enough to dream. I had been so worried I would jostle her and wake her into terror again or that I would once again experience her rape and mutilation if my skin touched hers.

  I didn't always pick up memories or feelings from touching someone's skin, usually only if I intended too. What had happened with Samar in the cottage had been a blinding shock, not only to me but to all of us. She carried no memory yet of her life before the crows army descended on her village, and all that emptiness created plenty of room for her wrath. Shivering, I wondered what would become of her after our final battle, when Tirith would be dead, and the land at peace again. I remembered the image I had once seen of her, part of a dancing troupe, holding a tambourine high, her bare feet moving with swift, sure grace.

  I huddled further down into the bed. Banning slept, and I wondered drowsily if he would waken again before spring. There had been no further dreams of Iceblade since he'd told me he knew my name, though I'd felt him calling me a couple of times. So far I'd been able to avoid him. At least that was a kind of victory, though I could feel him becoming more provoked the more I danced away. With a smile, I slipped down into slumber.

  And dreamed.

  Iceblade waited for me at a table lit by fat ivory candles. On the table were two wineglasses and a bottle of red wine, two chairs were set up to the table. Iceblade sat in one, the other was pulled out as if for a guest. He was grinning.

  "Welcome, spirit," he said. "I cannot see you, but I sense your presence at last." He closed his eyes. "Now I can see you, your body, your face." Breathing in deeply, he said, "I can smell your sweet scent. My Ada." I ached with the stra
nge, desiring heat I had never experienced before seeing him. He opened his eyes. "Sit, love." He gestured to the empty chair. I remained where I was.

  "I am not love to you, Tirk." He paled for a moment at mention of his name, and I smiled with satisfaction. "Tirk the destroyer, Tirk the murderer."

  He stood, smiling again. "My destructiveness is my gift to you. Everything I tear apart is a pledge for my beloved, for isn't everything I make into chaos and death an opportunity for you to bring life and order? By fulfilling my destiny, I assure you the right to fulfill yours. We shall fulfill them together."

  Without conscious thought I found my self closer to him, a mere hands-breadth away. "Perhaps our destiny is not the one you think it is."

  "Our destiny can be what we make it. Look around you. Look what I can lay at your feet." He spread his arms out. I did as he asked and looked around the room. There were rose petals strewn everywhere, candles scented with flower petals burning, the bed drawn back as if awaiting us.

  "Seduction?" I whispered.

  He laughed. "Yes, and more," he said. "I can give you the world. I will destroy every nation for you, and you can rebuild, renew, recast at your pleasure."

  "On the bodies of the dead?" I cried.

  "That is how all kingdoms are built, for good or evil, Ada."

  "There will be no seduction," I said at last. I looked into his face. Though I could see his anger at my words, his mouth was curling into a satisfied grin.