Iceblade

by Zenka Wistram

  Wyntan was holding his own though onerously beset, bolstering the High King's men with his own, offering the beleaguered and exhausted soldiers a chance to fall back a bit and catch their breath.

  Samar at last laid eyes on her rapist, her torturer, and I saw her face contort into an expression of rage that struck fear through the heart of me. Her blades whirling too fast for me to see, she cut a swathe of crow soldiers aside, fighting to reach Tirith. Jansen bounded beside her, helping to clear her path of enemies with his claws and teeth. Tirith saw her coming and stood ready, grinning wolfishly, teeth very white in his black painted face, his long black hair blowing in the wind in mimicry of his helmet-less brother. Teeth bared in a feral mask, she finally reached him, the battle raging on around her but outside of her awareness. Tirith was arrogant, disbelieving he had anything to fear from what was obviously a woman, though she was hideously scarred. He recognized his own handiwork, I could see the satisfaction with what he'd done on his malicious face.

  Jansen kept back any who would interrupt their fight, though few attempted to. Daltorn saw Samar reach Tirith and began to fight his way to her side, tossing opponents out of the way like too many dogs blocking the door of a house.

  Tirith was unprepared for either her deft skill or her hell-fueled fury, and for a moment was caught off guard by it, falling back before her deadly spinning blades. He gathered himself quickly though, and defended himself with the precision of a man who'd spent his life preparing for war. They clashed and clashed again, steel against steel, Tirith's one heavy blade and his malicious soul against Samar's swift saber and long dagger and her terrible wrath. She struck at him so hard she broke his shield and the arm holding it, shattering her saber. Tirith howled in pain and rage, then laughed when he saw her standing there with only her long dagger. The ebon-haired woman jumped up and snapped a kick across the face of her prey. Nose and mouth bleeding, he raised his sword to fight her off and finish her; she caught part of the ornate cross guard with the point of the dagger and flung his weapon away from him. Furious and perhaps finally frightened, Tirith raised his fist. Without any difficulty, Samar blocked his assault and spun him around, her blade coming up and slamming into the vulnerable underside of his exposed jaw, right into his brain.

  She wiggled the blade viciously around inside his head as he fell, convulsing. As he lay on the ground, dead, she spat on him and punched him in the face. For a bare moment she kneeled beside him on the bloody field, her shoulders heaving. Finally pulling the dagger out, she cleaned it on the grass, then presented it to the eastern sky, to the Goddess. I heard Daltorn howl "No!", then Samar turned her dagger on herself, opening up her throat with the same swift dexterity she'd used against Tirith. Blood spouted from her neck and she dropped forward. There was no way to help her now.

  Daltorn reached her at last, gathered her up and kissed her hair. He had loved her, but there had been nothing left in her to give to him, only the vengeance that had kept her alive for days, staked out in a destroyed village. I wept for them both.

  Daltorn was immediately assailed by crow soldiers. Jansen leapt in to help defend him. They fought their way through the crow soldiers to the banks of Laren's Lake, Daltorn cradling Samar's body in one arm while swinging a bastard sword in the other. The great warrior gently lay his love down on the shore where the water lapped, then turned to protect her body.

  "Find your peace," I whispered. I turned my eyes away.

  I fought to obscure myself from Iceblade's senses, though I knew he was deeply aware of me, even to the point of knowing which direction I stood in. Inside my skin I felt every movement of his muscles, every fleck of sweat on his body, as he fought his way toward me. My soldiers fell before him like toys scattered by a grown-up's foot. He didn't care about them, they held his attention only as irritating obstacles. Sooner or later, I would have to step out from my honor guard and face him.

  And if I had any strength of soul in me, kill him.

  My Savanne helper wheeled about in the sky, sweeping over the battlefield. Again I saw Nefen. He and Selas had become separated, the old man was nowhere near him. I felt danger near Nefen and the knowledge that Selas was not close enough to help profoundly worried me. As the Savanne turned about for another circle over the battle, I saw who was near Nefen.

  Iceblade.

  My adversary saw Nefen in that same instant, and his eyes darkened to black. His face still, his lip curled just slightly, Iceblade moved toward the man he perceived to be his hated rival for the love of his bride. I shouted a warning to Nefen, a plea to Iceblade, but neither heard me. Pushing my honor guard aside, I looked out on the battlefield with my own eyes, searching for them, to somehow stop them from this fight.

  I couldn't find them. My teeth ground with frustration and fear, I shouted to Mark of Luckham. "Where is Nefen? Do you see him?" Mark shook his head.

  Ruck's piercing cry caught my attention, I looked up and saw the hawk circling over a hill covered with battling soldiers. The hawk dipped low in one area at the top, circled, and dipped over the same spot again. Lifting my mace and shedding the blue robes that hindered me, I tore off for that spot.

  People parted before me almost as if tossed aside, whether they were crow soldiers or my own I did not know. As I ran I tossed aside my shield and my helmet. My racing feet were unimpeded. Every fleet step brought me closer and closer to the nemesis whose very touch could cause me to weaken and swoon, to beg for his kiss even as I cursed his name.

  I caught sight of them just in time to see Iceblade propel his hand-and-a-half sword into Nefen's chest, with such furious force he split Nefen's armor apart. Nefen dropped Raven's Beak, his hands coming up to grip Iceblade's sword, blood pouring from his mouth.

  "No!" I screamed. "Please, no!" Iceblade lifted one foot and used it to shove Nefen's body off his blade. I made it to their side as Nefen fell onto the ground. "Not like this, your life the cost," I whispered. "I never wanted this." I dropped to my knees beside Nefen, gently closing his unseeing eyes, Iceblade standing to my left.

  "Ada," Iceblade said, joy in his voice. His exultance sang through my veins. "Here you are, my Ada." I shuddered with pleasure, with revulsion at my own pleasure. My hand lifted, holding my mace, then my fingers opened, letting the weapon fall to the ground. Desire owned me even now, kneeling over Nefen's bloodied, lifeless body. No tears came for my grief and guilt, nothing to ease the devastation of my surrender. "Come with me, beloved," my enemy said huskily. "Let us leave this place behind." He reached his right hand out to me, I saw it out of the corner of my eye. Trembling, I placed my left hand in his, touched his hot and enrapturing flesh that so long I had only imagined. He spoke again and his voice impaled me. "My sweet love, the time has come."

  "Yes," I whispered. Gripping the fallen Raven's Beak in my right hand, I swung it up and around with all my might, smashing it into Iceblade's chest right below his breastbone. The weapon sank like a fang through his light armor, through his flesh, nearly all the way in to the cross point. Finally I turned to look up at him, shaking so hard I could not steady myself.

  He held the weapon with both hands, his face wracked with pain and ashen. Tirk sank down beside me and I put my arms around him, guiding him gently onto my lap as he fell, turning him so the weapon would not jar inside of him.

  He lay face up on my lap, in my arms. My tears finally came, falling unhindered onto his face. His light violet eyes found mine and at last I held his gaze with my own eyes. At last I could see him and touch him and hold him close to me. I sobbed openly, touching his face, his hair. With one unsteady hand he reached up and traced the line of my tears.

  "I love you," I cried brokenly. "I do, I love you."

  He smiled, his mouth stretched thin. "I know it," he managed, his rough voice failing, then slid his hand into my hair and pulled my head down. My lips found his and he kissed me gently, sweetly, with all the lost promise between us. I felt him die against me and carefully, tenderly let him fall onto the grass
.

  I kneeled there between the bodies of Nefen and Tirk, with one hand on each, my head bowed and my tears falling out of me as if my grief could wash the blood from the field. The battle carried on around me, not touching me, not even a part of my awareness.

  Wyntan and Selas came after some time and assisted me off the field. My anguish was so terrible I could barely see, let alone walk. Wyntan too was haggard with grief, his brother had fallen over Samar's body. We found seats side by side, our hands gripping together as if we could keep ourselves somehow sound by clinging to each other. Selas promised me he'd see to the bodies, that Daltorn, Nefen and Samar would be laid out with honor awaiting a proper burial so we could all pay them last respects. Tirk, Iceblade no more, would be removed and buried secretly, where none could pay homage to the destruction he'd wrought and none could defile his grave.

  I did not have to explain my grief to Wyntan, looking in his eyes I saw that he had known all along and had never thought any worse of me. That alone brought all the tears back, and I flung myself into his arms to be held and to hold and comfort him as well.

  The Good Queen's army had prevailed. Some crow soldiers had fled when Iceblade had died, but most stayed and fought to the death, following the will of their God to spread destruction and chaos. We could find no survivors among them. We had lost more than half our army, and near another hundred was wounded. Declan took a spear in his left arm, but would regain most of the use of that arm. Wyclif was injured so badly Fiona feared for his life, of his company of twenty-eight thieves and villains, only three remained including him, the rest having valiantly given their lives without fear or complaint or hope of reward. Felan the Trailfarer, the co-captain of the archers, had also fallen into the Goddess' arms. Ceilan lived yet, though barely, and Fiona believed he'd recover. Jansen had disappeared as completely as if it had never existed, there was no body of the great cat to be found, and no tracks in the sand of the beach leading away from the bodies of Daltorn and Samar.

  Gronwon had passed on as the battle at last finished, content to know his Goddess had triumphed. Wind was completely distraught by the loss of his teacher. I hugged the young priest tightly, soothing him as best I could by telling him that Gronwon truly was with the Goddess now, I Saw it, and that the elder had been so very proud of his student, and honored to teach him.

  As evening fell and Wyntan and I finished overseeing the winding down, the doors of Lalinth castle opened and a party rode out to meet us. At the head of the party rode High Prince Gunnolf and his mother, the High Queen Hyndla, followed by guards and courtiers. My honor guard assembled around me, led by Wyntan, and we moved to meet them.

  We bowed low to the High Queen, and she bid us rise. With the help of her son, she dismounted and stepped forward to meet us. There was a gruff sound of a throat clearing, and Selas came forward.

  "Your High Majesty, allow me to present Ada of Berowalt, Galiena's Chosen," he said. "She is Bevin's daughter."

  "Thank you, Magnus Selas," she said, her eyes showing recognition of my mother's name. "Well met, Lady Ada," she added to me, taking my hand and bowing before me. I squeezed her hand, holding back my shock that she had called Selas by rank of Magnus – an elevated rank in the High King's army, someone who had earned high honors on the battlefield and reported directly and only to the High King. Selas himself ignored my sideways look.

  "I am honored, Your High Majesty," I said, copying Selas' address.

  "Thank you, but I ask you to call me Hyndla. Before the Goddess' Chosen I am no more than any here," she said. The High Queen was only in her thirties, an ethereal beauty. Her son beside her bore his father's look and turquoise eyes, and a resemblance to Tirk, though he had his mother's white-blonde hair, a hallmark of the people of Holden. High Prince Gunnolf, who would be coronated High King within days, was only fifteen years old and had not yet even grown real facial hair.

  "If you will follow me, Your High Majesty," Selas said, "I will take you to where Guin and Prince Gymir lay." When he mentioned her husband and son, I could see a mother's deep grief in her eyes, though her face remained composed. She placed her hand in the crook of Selas' arm, and we followed them to the camp of the crows army.

  Guin and Gymir lay on tables draped with black, serving as biers for the High King and his son. High Queen Hyndla pressed her forehead to her dead son's, unable to hold back her sobs any longer. I felt like an intruder in a private place. At last she straightened, assisted by High Prince Gunnolf. The living Prince looked devastated by the loss of his father and older brother, and by his mother's grief.

  Wandis sat in a chair beside the makeshift biers. The young woman was subdued, still regaining her mental clarity. When her aunt stood before her, holding out her arms, the young princess flew into them and the two women comforted each other as best they could.

  There was time later for Wandis to tell her story, of how Edwald had come visiting her in her home in Holden and had put some concoction into her drink, of how she had known little more until I had freed her. Her hands, so important to a mage, necessary for casting spells, had been broken when I had freed her to prevent her from casting against the crows army. She held them up for us to see, they were still badly swollen and hadn't been set properly. I sent for Fiona immediately. The elder priestess told me she'd have to re-break Wandis' fingers after giving her a strong sleeping draft, in order to set them right, but that it was possible Wandis could regain full or nearly full use of her hands. Between the injuries to her hands and her mind, it was unknown to any of us if Wandis would ever again know her full power as a mage.

  Time passed. The teenaged High Prince became the High King and High Queen Hyndla became the Queen Mother. Six year old High Princess Adora was named the Heir Apparent, until such a time when Gunnolf would marry and produce heirs in his direct line. Life in the kingdom began to find its lost footing, a slow and painful process. The accounting of the dead ran more than a hundred thousand, nearly a third of the population of Dragon's Tooth by the reckoning of the High King's taxmaster.

  The low-kingdoms of Banbrigg, Kenway, and Osgood were gone, not enough royalty, nobility, or peasantry remained to people them. All lands were re-divided between the remaining four low-kingdoms; Athdara, Laidley, Saeltun, and Oeshia. The remains of the village I was born in were now in the domain of the kingdom of Laidley, once our customary rival.

  Wyntan and I made the trip back to Goskia's hut. As promised, I brought both a rose and live healing herbs from the Queen Mother's garden. Queen Mother Hyndla sent five of her rosebushes, rare species bred by her alone in Dragon's Tooth, and dozens and dozens of specimens of her healing herbs in paper pots, as well as several human helpers – a huntsman and a couple servants for Goskia to put to work as she saw fit. Goskia ordered them to sleep outside of the hut, she wavered between being pleased and peeved by their presence. As night fell, feeling badly for the servants setting up to sleep on the ground, Goskia showed them to the latched cave where at least they need not fear an animal attack, and brought them blankets and pillows to supplement their bedrolls. I knew not long would pass before Goskia found work for them to do. The servants were a man of no more than thirty years and his wife, childless and clearly eager to dote on Dera.

  Dera was ecstatic to see us, but deeply saddened to hear of the deaths of Samar, Nefen, and Daltorn; especially Daltorn who used to give the very best pony rides and Samar whom she had cared so carefully for. Her leg had healed over without even a scar, looking as if she had been born without a leg. With a simple touch she healed Wyntan's face so well his scar was visible only if one knew just where to look. Wyntan and I spent the night on the floor in front of Goskia's fire, just like we had at the beginning, mindful of all the empty places. Wyntan felt his brother's absence heavily, and for once I could feel what was inside of him. I woke up in the night feeling his grief, and dragged my bedding over to lay next to him. He hesitated as if considering the propriety of it, then wrapped his arms around me and let me share his
burden. We lay together in a sibling's embrace, finding comfort in each other's close presence.

  Dera woke us up in the morning. "Goskia has chores for Wyntan," she said, smug in the knowledge that she was exempt from some chores after all. The wood-witch set Wyntan to making a wooden leg for Dera, to help her get around better. The job gave Wyntan something to do and he enjoyed it, simple but precise handiwork that consumed his attention for more than a week. The little girl was overjoyed with her new limb, though Goskia reminded her it might take some time before she could use it well.

  I was offered Bendwillow, but I had no interest in being Lady there without Nefen. Instead I accepted a much smaller holding of lands on the southern shore of Dragon's Tooth, not too far from Dera, surrounded by peaceful woodlands. Wyntan came with me to serve as my Knight Protector, he had been knighted by High King Gunnolf soon after that one's coronation. Ethan joined us as Wyntan's squire, a perfect situation in Ethan's eyes as he was able to remain protectively close to his Lady and close as well to his hero.

  Ethan told me he was the first of the group hiding in caves in Queen Redh's Mountains to feel my call when I arrived in Reckonwood. He said I had come to him in a vision, my hair loose, wearing a one-shouldered burgundy gown. In his vision I was the most beautiful human being he had ever seen, and I had told him to come to the Wood and bring his people to safety.

  "I wasn't quite that beautiful in the flesh, was I?" I asked wryly.

  The boy hesitated, not wanting to offend me, and I laughed.

  "No one could be," he said at last. "But I still see it when I look at you," he added. I rubbed his head, thanking him for the compliment and his valorous protection.