Iceblade

by Zenka Wistram

  Nefen dished me up a bowl of stew and handed me a biscuit. The food was absolutely lovely, even if it was camp food. I couldn't eat much, it had been too long since I'd eaten last, but I forced myself to eat enough to satisfy Selas' watchful eye. After I'd eaten and seen to my other needs, we all had a meeting around the fire.

  "Have you seen anyone yet?" I asked, after being told how long I slept, and being regaled with stories of eerie noises and sights they had encountered over the past few days here in Reckonwood. So far nothing dangerous, they were relieved to tell me.

  "Not directly, but they're here," Daltorn said. "I hear them moving around, sometimes we find things they leave behind when they watch us, like footprint and bits of cloth caught on the bare branches."

  "I heard a couple of watchers whispering the first day we were here, I'd swear it," Wyntan said. "The ghost voices sound different than a living human voice."

  "Hollow," Daltorn agreed. "The ghost voices."

  And clear, Samar signed. The ghost voices are clear, the human voices are hard to hear. They whisper. And they are hushed soon afterward.

  "They haven't attacked, that's a good sign," Selas said, looking impatient with all the ghost talk. "We set your armor up in plain sight in case any of them know what it is. They can carry the message back to whoever's leading them."

  "It's time we took a message to them ourselves," I said. "Let me finish this tea, then I think I can show us the way to where they are camped." Selas did not have to bark orders, everyone just moved to get the camp taken down and the packs loaded up the way he would like, without any verbal cues. He gave a curt nod of satisfaction. I finished my tea quickly and set to work, like the others. When all was packed, Selas and Nefen strapped me back into my armor, setting the shield on my arm and hanging the mace from the loop at my waist. We took the donkey with us, my pack strapped to his back, but left the sledge for the time being. Selas felt I would make a better impression if I arrived unburdened, as if I were of higher station than the others. He dismissed my arguments against making that impression with a nearly bored wave of his hand. As for the weapons and armor on the sledge, he intended to send others back for them after we were settled, or as he put it, took our place, in the hidden camp.

  We traveled through the Wood for several hours. The underbrush was thick, and it was clearly better that we'd left the sledge. The trees and underbrush were mostly bare, but still concealed any living creatures, human or otherwise, from our view. As we walked, I couldn't help but notice a few skulls poking out of the ground, only partially revealed. Some were human. Shivering, I stopped looking at the ground and marched with my chin protectively high. I felt the nearness of the camp in time, and not long after that, we were stopped by an armed group of six, in mismatched or no armor and ragged or archaic clothes. Holding crude spears point forward at us, they yelled at us to halt.

  My companions reached for their weapons. "Hold fast!" I ordered. "Leave your weapons sheathed!" They obeyed instantly.

  The ragged group moved closer, spears held ready. "Who are you?" shouted a red haired pony-tailed man, obviously the head of this small group. He had a well-used face, the large nose having been broken more than once, his skin swarthy and scarred. His green eyes flashed a warning, though I could see he knew my companions could have his group spread in pieces on the ground in the space of a few breaths. I held my hands toward him, palms up and empty, in an attempt to calm him and show him we meant him no harm.

  "Who we are is a matter for all those gathered in Reckonwood. My name is Ada of Berowalt, and these are my companions." I introduced them one by one, ending with Selas, identifying him as my general. The old man showed no outward sign of surprise at my statement, and in truth I sensed no inward surprise either.

  "Who are you what needs a general?" the red haired man asked. His face was amused, but his hold on his crude weapon tightened.

  "As I said, that is a matter to be brought before all those who've taken refuge here in the wood. I ask that you take us to your camp. If you don't take us willingly and peacefully, we will take you there." I stood serenely, holding my hands together at my waist.

  "If we had a camp, if there were more here than what you see, you couldn't find it without us," the leader said with a little swagger.

  "I could find it in the dark, Wyclif," I said. He tensed. I raised my right hand, palm up, and every spear as one pulled from the hands of the ragged group and piled neatly on the ground at my feet. My companions stepped between the strangers and their weapons. "We have not come to harm you, but to save you," I said. "You may gather up your spears if you wish, then I ask you to come with us to your camp." With that, I pushed past them, and my friends followed. I knew when the ragged group picked up their spears, and after some discussion, did as I requested and began to follow us at some distance.

  Selas, walking at my left hand, said very quietly, "Good bit there. Very Chosen-like."

  "Well, I try, but it's quite a reputation," I murmured back.

  The camp lay before us within the hour. The sun was low over the Wood, casting deep warding shadows over the camp. There were hundreds of people here, sheltered in some fewer hundreds of shelters. The shelters were made from whatever materials the refugees could find, from hides to cloth to wood and sod. There were children who ran into the shelters at the sight of strangers, women cooking at fires, and many men – more grown men than any other group of people. Movement and conversation halted as we walked into the center of the camp.

  Wyclif hurried to the forefront as we came to a stop in the center, a cleared meeting area with a large space for a bonfire. An older man stood to meet us, he had brown eyes and curly brown hair shot with grey. His face was lined by time and stern, even forbidding, but I could see a latent kindness in his eyes as well. He was followed by a group of about thirty others, men and women alike.

  "Declan, I bring you Ada of Berowalt, her general Selas, and her protectors," Wyclif said, breathlessly. He gave me a quick bow as he introduced us. Seeing him bow to me, a field worker, I felt my brows knit together, then forced my face to untighten.

  "Who are you?" Declan asked, seeming relaxed, but I knew he was ready to attack hand and fist if he had to. Though his pose was loose, the muscles holding him in that pose were hard and tense, and the feelings radiating from him included suspicion and readiness.

  "She is - " Selas began in a carrying voice, but I held up my hand to stop him. He bowed his head in acquiescence, giving me a look that seemed submissive, but I, who knew him well, saw that he was being just a bit sardonic. I smiled wryly at him before turning my attention back to Declan and the refugees.

  "I am Ada of Berowalt, Queen Galiena's Chosen. I am here to lead you into battle against the crows army."

  Several dropped to their knees before me, but Declan eyed me with a cynical laugh.

  "You may have noticed that we've already been quite decimated by the crows army," he said. "Forgive me if I don't bow to you, if your only proof you are the Chosen is that you wear pretty armor and and you've named an old man your general."

  Selas held up his hand to stop whatever angry words my friends were about to say.

  "The armor she wears is the Chosen's Armor," Selas said sharply. "None but the Chosen may wear it." A couple of the elders in the gathering crowd nodded, murmuring to their neighbors.

  "So say you," Declan said. "But that is not enough for me to risk any more lives! If you are the Good Queen's Chosen," he shouted over the growing noise of talking behind him, "then surely She can show us some sign that what you say is true!"

  There were assenting noises from the crowd and voices that argued, some horrified, with those who assented. I raised both my hands for silence.

  "If a sign is what the people need, She will grant it. Stand with your eyes open, and look around you."

  A light like the sun poured into the overcast camp, illuminating each shelter like mid-day. As the light spread across the ground, the snow melted away, disappe
aring into the ground as water, leaving the ground fecundly moist but not flooded. In place of the snow rose flowers and vines, the underbrush filled with green, and the trees began to bud. A tall rowan tree overlooking the meeting place filled in with red leaves, the color sacred to the Goddess. The leaves were new and healthy, but as red as cherries. Fruit-bearing trees did, starting with flower buds, then small fruit, then growing to fullness in front of our eyes. Nut trees lay their bounty on the ground at their feet. We heard birdsong erupt joyously all around us. Slowly the light faded, leaving only the gold and red light of the setting sun. The temperature was now warm as spring.

  A deep, reverent hush lay over the camp. One by one the refugees fell to their knees, bowing their heads. Declan kneeled last, slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. In his face I saw wonder, and a bright and jubilant hope. I smiled softly at him, at all of them, overwhelmed by love for them and seeing the broken edges of their hearts beginning to glow with the same newborn hope I saw in Declan.

  "Rise," I spoke into the silence. They obeyed, some reluctantly. "I am not the Good Queen, but only Her messenger, only the Hand She turns against the Dark God, incarnated in the crows army. He sends Iceblade into our land, to cause chaos and death, to tear down the homes we have built, to burn the fields we have planted. Iceblade comes for the High King, intending to destroy him and take his place. He will burn and destroy as long as he lives, with no care for what lays in his path. We will not be ruled by the Hand of Dagar!" Shouts of agreement answered me.

  "Queen Galiena has blessed us with the power to fight back, and with Her favor, we will rise, and we will destroy those who came to destroy us!" This time they cheered.

  Declan stood before me soberly. "What can we do, this small band hiding in rags in the terrible Reckonwood?"

  I went to him, grasped both of his hands. "We can fight. Every one of us who is healthy and of a good age can lift a weapon against this terrible pestilence. We may not have much to give, but what we have, no one may stop us from giving. My companions can train you to use weapons of steel, those among you who have no experience."

  "We have few weapons of steel," he said, holding my hands tightly, bowing his head as if this lack were a mark on his character. "We did not know you would come to us, we did not hope to ever have the chance to fight back."

  "I do not fault you, Declan," I said. With a squeeze, I released his hands and stepped back.

  Selas pushed forward. "We have weapons. Give me twenty strong men, and we will bring them back here. We've brought armor. And if more is needed, I'm sure the Good Queen will provide." I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He met my appraisal openly, with a look of complete confidence. Selas had little enough faith in Galiena, but I knew that he had little doubt in me, or himself. If we were short of weapons, we would find them.

  While Selas returned to our first camp with a large group of strong men, Declan and Wyclif settled my group into Declan's shelter, a huge tent intended for some corpulent, wealthy military leader. "Got it from the lord's manor, back in Hartleton, where I come from. I survived by falling into the cellar, struck unconscious by a black painted club. The top floors of the manor burned, but the cellar held, and I found this tent in there. I'd be honored if you and your protectors took this as your shelter here."

  "The honor is ours," I said. "Thank you, Declan. But will you have shelter?"

  "There's plenty of room for me and Wyclif to move in to another shelter. We only took this one to use for smaller meetings that don't require the clearing there."

  "I got my eye on a certain shelter," Wyclif added with a wink. "Got better looking company than this ugly old sod here." He gestured at Declan. Declan gave him a pained look, and Wyclif chuckled.

  The tent was about forty feet long by twenty feet wide, made of gold colored canvas, faded in spots from the sun. There were flaps along both sides that could be lifted to let in light and fresh air, and two braziers for heat with odd looking collapsible metal chimneys to carry smoke out of the tent. The tent floor was tied on about a foot up along the inside of the tent walls, and was a darker gold. Several large and unique chairs, made from bent willow with hide cushions for comfort, surrounded the first brazier, with a rough table and four stools placed in the middle third of the tent. The stools were made of log stumps, roughly planed to provide flat surfaces and carefully sanded for a minimum of splinters in tender areas. The back third of the tent had bright silken curtains hanging down, separating it into a bedroom once made to hold a large, lordly bed. Now it held two peeled log beds with rope tied onto the frame to hold the mattresses, each meant to hold a single person.

  For the size of the tent, the furniture was sparse. The crude furniture looked jarring next to marvelous tent, with its chimneys and windows and colorful curtains dividing the rooms.

  "How did you get this humongous thing back here? It must be too heavy for one man to carry," I said.

  "We had horses," Wyclif said. "We had five of 'em. We all rode one and had two for carryin' our stuff, but they run off the second night in the Wood and ain't come back. Haven't seen hide nor hair of 'em since, anywhere in the Wood."

  "I apologize for the furnishings, Lady," Declan began, and I stopped him with a look.

  I itched to deny the title he gave me, but knew that it was the due of the Chosen, and that had fallen to me. "It looks comfortable, especially after our travels. I'm sure we'll be quite at our ease."

  "There's six of you, so I'll bring more chairs and stools. And we can make more beds what you can all rest on comfortably," Wyclif said.

  "That is kind of you," I said. I forced a smile onto my face for him. He beamed back, as happy as a puppy who had pleased its master, and I felt bad for not feeling more gracious.

  "I can show you to the facilities, such as they are, for... you know," Wyclif said, his cheeks as red as his hair. I stopped myself from snapping at him to stop blushing, I occasionally peed just like a normal human too. There wasn't a problem with his courtesy or his embarrassment over mentioning a less than sublime subject, but my skin felt abraded by the adoring attention, given not just by Wyclif or Declan, but by all the refugees, including those who even now were gathered around the open tent door peering in at me and murmuring to each other in wonder. This summer past I lived alone in my cottage, a part of my community but at the same time separated from it by their memories of my mother and perhaps my own belief of isolation. Now I sensed I would become the center of this community, and the thought made me uncomfortable. I resolved not to take my discomfort out on any of them.

  We followed him to the facilities, several pit toilets likely dug with great difficulty as the ground froze. The reek was what one might expect. There were two large sheds covering the pits, each had a few seats in it giving access to the relevant area. Certainly the facilities were more sophisticated then where we had been going lately.

  When we returned to our tent we found gifts had accumulated in our absence. First, a new perch shaped a bit like a bow on a stand, with the wooden perch where the bowstring would be facing toward the sky, waited outside of the front door for Ruck. There was a small basket tied on to one of the perch ends to hold raw meat and other goodies for the hawk, and a water bowl attached to the other end of the perch. Someone had placed some meat into the basket already. Ruck seemed satisfied with his new accommodations, settling onto his perch with a look of regal indifference to the comings and goings of the humans around him.

  Inside the tent were piled heavy blankets, thick pillows, more chairs, some sling-type cots, food, and clothing. Samar eyed the dresses with disdain but pointed hopefully at some suede pants and a navy wool shirt with white leaves embroidered around the neck. I nodded and she gathered them up, glaring at the men as if to challenge them to deny her. Daltorn guffawed.

  "Oh, I doubt any of us want them bad enough to fight you for them," he said. She draped the clothes over her shoulders and swaggered around the tent, hand on her saber as if daring someone to try for
them, giggling noiselessly.

  For myself, I was happy to see dresses, something to wear to help me feel less manly while also not chafing more tender areas. I found pants practical, but not pleasing, and reflected this suited much of my person as well – like pants, I was practical if not pleasing and delicately feminine. The thought caused me to grimace. It would suit Galiena's Chosen better to be as pretty as the descriptions of the Princess Hyndla – someone who caused men to fall speechless at the sight of her. My mouth twisted into a half smile as I held back a snicker – I figured I could probably cause a man to fall speechless, if not at my astounding beauty, perhaps with my powers. I caught Wyntan looking at me with a question on his face, so I signed my thoughts to him, and he laughed, shaking his head.

  It worked with me, he signed back, still chuckling.

  Three women were bustling around the tent, putting things in place. They spread the beds in the back room with extra feather tickings and fresh warm blankets of deep jewel tones. A rush mat was laid on the floor between the beds and new candles placed on the bedside tables against the back wall. Trunks had been placed at the ends of the beds.

  Another table had been brought in and butted up against the first to make a long table suitable for making war plans. Now about twelve log stools sat around the tables. More willow chairs had been set around the forward brazier to make six, enough for each of us, with more hide, cloth or leather cushions. The other brazier back in the partitioned-off bedroom also had a couple new chairs near it, these just log stools with part of the log left on for a backrest and soft sheepskin added for comfort.

  One of the women turned her attention to setting plates on the table, while the second unloaded pots of food from a sled out in front of the tent onto the table as well. The third set to sweeping out the tent, tidying up the dark gold canvas floor cloth.