by J. K. Barber
The woman wore tight, black leather armor. She ran a hand through her glossy black hair, cut flatly at the ends and across her bangs. The darkly clad woman was deadly calm as she stepped just inside the far side of the room, her hand on the hilt of a jeweled rapier on her hip and a smile on her attractive face. Mistress Mala filtered to the front of her soldiers to address what she assumed was the enemy regent.
“It took you long enough to get up here,” the woman said, her smile turning into a mocking sneer. Mala said nothing at first, her eyes darting nervously from the female in front of her to the room in which they all stood. Katya watched her closely as well as Jared and Sasha; all three seemed to be doing the same thing, waiting for some unseen force to accost them. The curvy leader looked Mala up and down appreciatively, a sense of satisfaction touching her features. “My name is Roane. As the Ice Queen’s Chancellor, I must inform you that you are not welcome here. Lay down your weapons now or your lives will be forfeit.” Mala did not budge, but her eyes focused on Roane as if trying to read her. She surely isn’t alone, the sorceress thought. Mala straightened and cast off her fur cloak. Using just her fingertips she untucked another thinner cloak from her belt, kept there to keep the cloth from being soiled. It billowed down her back, sending ripples in the crisp white cotton across the King’s intertwined dragon crest embroidered in red and blue on the back. The Master Swordswoman’s body relaxed and she raised her swords her still drawn before her.
“I am Mistress Mala, Master Swordswoman of Snowhaven’s Warrior School. I have been commanded by order of His Majesty, King Morgan of Illyander to capture The Ice Palace in his name and apprehend its regent. Am I to understand that you are the Ice Queen’s Regent, Roane?” Katya had never been prouder of her surrogate aunt than in that moment, the older woman’s regal confidence inspiring. The sorceress grinned. Roane’s pretty face lost its amusement and her eyes took on a darker, more feral characteristic.
“Such bravado from a rag tag group of wounded, pathetic imbeciles,” she mocked. “I am regent, and I only answer to one Mistress,” Roane spat, as she pulled her rapier from its sheath and pointed it at Mala. The regent cocked her head to the side and in a clear loud voice said, “Kill them! Kill them all!”
Orcs and enemy men poured out of the side alcoves, tearing the curtains clear off their rods, and in from the stairwell behind Roane. These were some of the scariest looking men and fiercest orcs Katya had seen yet. There were also more of them than Illyanders; they were outnumbered two to one, at least.
Mala wasn’t able to even signal for them to attack before the Ice Queen’s force was upon them. Sasha let forth a battle yell so loud that Katya was taken aback, and the sorceress stared strangely at her sister for a brief moment. The shout had the opposite effect on the Illyanders who surged forward with Mala in the lead into what the dark-haired twin hoped was the Ice Palace’s last defenders. Katya’s mind sharpened as she quickly fell in beside her twin, cracking her staff’s end against the floor. The air filled with static and the sorceress’ tight battle braid flicked like a cat’s tail as her body filled with the charge of magic. She struck an orc in the chest with her staff, its runes flaring white hot, as he swung at Sasha while the redhead was blocking an attack from a human defender with her shield. The orc was tossed in the air, and while the blow was by no means deadly or threw him very far, it still caused him to collide with two other charging orcs, impeding their advance. The two forces collided with the ring of metal on metal. Jared neatly spun as he ducked to into a crouch and drove his curved Eastern blade up into the gut of a blue-skinned brute and then used his momentum to trip the orc back into his allies. It was in this way the orcs’ size worked against them in the enclosed space and also hindered their ability to fully wield their large weapons. In an open field the orcs would have had a greater advantage, but in this crowded room, the smaller and more maneuverable Illyanders had the upper hand. However, the human attackers aligned with the Empress of Ice were not having much trouble at all slipping in between their larger allies.
A man with a chestplate made from various-shaped bones shoved a pair of daggers into Matthew while the Illyander fought an orc, one dagger into the side of the young soldier’s neck and one in between his ribs. Blood sprayed from the throat wound, covering all around them. Johnson bellowed at Matthew’s side and with a forceful mace swing crushed the scoundrel’s face. Martha closed the space in their circle where the younger man had stood, rolling his body away with a foot so no one tripped on it. Her action may have appeared callous, but all gathered knew it was necessary.
The trio that was comprised of Jeremy, Sam, and Charlie slammed their shields as one into the rushing enemies, dazing the newcomers so that the Illyander men could then strike them down easily. They repeated this effective strategy over and over until there was a pile of enemies at their feet. One orc, wearing the skull of a large wolf as a helm, was cleverer than his fellows; he held back a moment, watching while his comrades were bashed and then cut down. Jeremy was dispatching a man who had rushed the trio and had been knocked back with a sword through his gut. He turned to Charlie, his beard full of blood, with a high-spirited grin before they engaged the next wave. Charlie met his gaze with excitement, but his eyes widened in horror as a spiked maul ripped into his brother-in-arms’ face. Jeremy’s body fell limply into a heap, the orc that had hung back jeering over the ruined-faced corpse. Charlie did not scream or cry out his anguish; he simply attempted to separate the orc’s ugly mug from its shoulders. The orc was cut down, his neck becoming a fountain of blood. With a grunt, Sam realized that Jeremy had gone down. He motioned to Charlie, and the two Aeirsgians locked their shields together again, changing their strategy to a more random series of shield bashes and strikes.
Isabella fought off two men after Jeremy fell, trying to close the space in the circle where he had stood. She parried their blows easily, and managed to wound one with a deep cut to his side. However, the man continued to fight. The two men together were slowly wearing her down, waiting for her to make a mistake. Isabella saw another orc closing in behind the men and cursed her luck. Martha fought an orc of her own to Isabella’s right. The older soldier, her duel-wielded swords a blur of motion, was attempting to close the gap in their line. The younger woman knew she would have to dispatch her current two quickly if she wanted to live to see her home again. Isabella caught Martha’s eye, and the two women closed the distance between them. Isabella feinted with a wide strike, seemingly leaving her side open for a strike. One of the men took advantage of the weakness, thrusting forward with his sword only to have it parried by Martha’s sword that then arced backwards with amazing speed slicing deeply into the man’s chest. He cried out in pain and fell to the floor. Isabella reversed her axe, thrusting it handle-first into the remaining man’s jaw and knocking him out. She then swung over a ducking Martha, burying her axe into the older woman’s opponent’s chest. Isabella thanked Martha with a nod and the two braced themselves for the approach of the orc that was trying to get to the younger woman earlier.
The Illyander’s tight circle had finally broken, and they fought mainly in two’s against the Ice Queen’s remaining force. Mala had finished off half a dozen orcs as she fought side by side with Jared, both trying to stay near the twins. The fight appeared to be nearing its end with the Illyanders, but as to who would win was still to be decided. More orcs came down the stairs, flowing into the room like a never-ending sea of blue with the occasional human defender thrown into the mix. Sam and Charlie had continued to cut down anything that came their way. Sadly, Johnson stood over Isabella’s cooling corpse fighting off two orcs that had used their bulk to run headlong into the group, separating Martha from them all and trampling the younger woman. When Isabella had been knocked down, an orc had stomped on her neck, breaking it like a delicate twig. Katya and Sasha fought as a warrior-sorcerer pair should; they moved and fought as if they were dancing, Sasha’s graceful strikes complimenting Katya’s staff thrusts
and spells perfectly. The Ice Queen’s men seemed baffled by the pair and at a loss as how to defeat them. The twins left very little exposed between Katya’s deflecting staff and Sasha’s shield, and anytime they started to get overwhelmed the sorceress would blast the way clear with a bolt of lightning. The room reeked of burned flesh and the floor was sticky with blood from the bodies of orcs and humans alike.
Mala had suffered a shallow cut to her stomach and a deep stab wound to her thigh, but she ignored the blood that oozed from the wounds as she searched for Roane in the chaos. With a flash of glittering gems, Mala caught sight of the regent’s ostentatious weapon by the far doorway. The older swordswoman caught Jared’s eye who nodded to her, reading her intentions after following the woman’s gesture in Roane’s direction. Jared broke from the Master Swordmistress and fell in beside Katya, knocking aside a thrust meant for the sorceress’ calf. Katya nodded her thanks as Jared fought by the twin’s side, staying close enough to assist them but also keeping enough room between them as to not interfere with their complimenting motions. Mala spared the three one last glance. The twins and Jared were holding their own with the woodsman and Sasha keeping their attackers at bay while Katya launched bolt after bolt of white lightning into their dwindling foes. It was an impressive sight, the three of them, one that made Mala proud. Returning to her own goal, Mistress Mala pushed her way over to Roane.
The slender, dark-haired woman’s skill with her rapier was impressive, and she was quickly outmatching Martha, who bore a surplus of shallow cuts all over her body. Mala realized, as she shouldered a man fighting Johnson out of the way, that Roane was merely toying with the older woman. Roane’s eyes met Mala’s and the dark-haired woman smiled, the grin’s purpose purely torturous and falsely sweet as she pierced Martha through the heart with a simple flick of her wrist. Mala hissed in protest, slicing through the midsection of the last orc in her way, but she was too late to save her soldier. To add insult to injury, Roane wiped the blood from her blade on the dying woman’s sleeve and retreated up the spiral stair through the doorway from which she had initially emerged. Mala cursed, glancing back at her troop that was still battling a large amount of enemies, and made her choice. Roane could not be allowed to escape; they needed her to show them to the crystal. Mala launched up the stairs two at a time, her swords dripping with blood and her mind focused on her task.
After what seemed a hundred steps, Mala came upon another door. It led into an empty room, this one big and circular. It contained scattered tables and chairs. The walls were lined with foodstuffs and large barrels set against the lower portions. She ran through the room and continued up another set of stairs. There was another door halfway between levels that opened up to the outside and a higher interior wall, which also appeared to be empty. Mala kept going, getting more frustrated as she went, thinking she had lost the Ice Queen’s Chancellor.
On the next floor was a much nicer sitting room, starkly clean and furnished with fine furniture upholstered in green velvet. Tapestries embroidered with lush purple grapes and frolicking animals decorated the walls. This room even had a few narrow windows, filled with stained glass in a diamond pattern. A thick white bearskin rug in front of a fireplace finished off the decor. Mala heard a door slamming closed farther up. She passed through the room and circled the last series of steps that led to an ornately carved door with a brass handle. The swordswoman turned the handle and swung the door open. She entered an enormous bedroom decorated in the same green velvet fabrics as below. A four poster bed was positioned against the far wall and was covered in luxurious silks and furs. Roane stood patiently waiting in front of the bed, her hair blowing gently in the icy breeze coming from the enormous balcony off the side of the bedroom. The balcony’s doors had been fixed open with decorative weights and its curtains tied back. Mala squared off with Roane, her weapons raised. Roane’s rapier blade was bare before her as well.
“Your elite really are quite under-skilled,” Roane teased while running her fingers through her hair with her free hand where it had become disheveled. “I had thought better from King Morgan’s lot.” Mala growled, the sound that of a large feline and far from human. Roane’s interest was further captured, and her head cocked to one side as she regarded the Master Swordswoman. The growl had given her away. “Oh I didn’t know Illyander had therianthropes too. Most excellent,” the dark-haired woman purred, sneering. “Here, kitty kitty.” Leading with her rapier, Roane launched herself at Mala, but the older woman had expected as much and parried easily. They traded blows for several tense seconds before the therianthrope woman realized that the Ice Queen’s Regent was testing her.
“Why don’t you stop fooling around and fight me, you snide whore,” Mala vented, her face red with irritation. The master swordswoman redoubled her efforts and pushed Roane hard, trying to outmaneuver her way past Roane’s cunning blade. Roane beamed, finally showing excitement and returned her blows with matched intensity. The two women exchanged a series of ferocious attacks and defensive maneuvers that carried them out onto the balcony and left them both with several superficial cuts. Roane heard footsteps coming up the stairs, but Mala was tiring and didn’t seem to notice as she stayed concentrated on her opponent.
“You are the best I’ve fought, Mala of Illyander,” Roane said, short of breath as she backed from the fight a moment, grinning mischievously and wiping blood out of her eye from a thin nick over her brow. The sun was rising in the East, its red and orange rays illuminating a cloudy sky. Roane’s eyes caught the light, giving them an eerily red tint. The lithe woman had Mala’s skill but the advantage of youth as well. Mala’s swords had slowed and her attacks were weakening; her previous wounds also putting her at a disadvantage. They engaged in a furious series of thrusts, parries, and ripostes before separating again. The Ice Queen’s Chancellor saw four Illyanders enter the bedroom out of the corner of her eye. Roane quickly continued, “It’s time I end this. My mother did always tell me not to play with my food.”
Cackling, Roane danced backwards towards the balcony rail and Mala followed, just as Jared, Sasha, Katya, and Johnson were striding with deadly purpose across the bedroom towards the dueling women. When Mala closed the distance, her swords slicing toward the leather-clad woman’s midsection, Roane tumbled back, ducking under the strike and kicking the swordswoman’s feet from under her. Mala pitched forward, her face slamming into the rail. She moaned in pain as her world erupted in dancing lights; her nose was shattered. Roane lowered her rapier and used her free hand to wrap Mala’s braid around her wrist, grasping the thickly-bound hair like a rope. She flicked her sleek black tresses out of her face and hauled Mala’s head back, pulling the disoriented swordswoman to her feet. Mala teetered dangerously close to the balcony’s edge. The four Illyanders skidded to a stop in the doorway to the balcony. They immediately saw the perilous position Mala was in. Still holding the swordmistress’ hair in one hand, Roane placed her blade’s point at the swordswoman’s throat.
“Please… don’t,” Sasha begged, lowering her sword. “It is the four of us against you alone, Roane. Let Mistress Mala go and surrender. We promise not to kill you.”
Roane seemed to consider Sasha’s proposition a moment, but then her face contorted in a cruel grin. “For my Mistress, for SALAMASCA!” she screamed, slashing her rapier across Mala’s throat and then brusquely pushing her over the balcony rail. Jared and Johnson stood still in utter shock. The twins cried out, Katya dropping numbly to her knees and Sasha rushing to the rail. The red-haired woman watched as Mala’s body fell, her cloak fluttering about her, and landed with a dull thud in the courtyard below. Tears streaming down Sasha’s face, the swordswoman didn’t see Roane thrusting her rapier toward her until she heard a whistling and then the woman cried out. Sasha looked up. Jared stood with his hand still extended, and Roane’s rapier fell from her bleeding hand, where a throwing knife had pierced it clean through. His sword at the ready, Jared closed in on the Ice Queen’s defenseless regen
t and kicked the rapier away from her. Katya, her own face lined with tears, regained her wits somewhat and went to her sister’s side, hugging her close. Johnson went to where the regent’s rapier came to rest by the opposite balcony rail and picked it up. Roane, still grinning madly, stepped back away from Jared’s murderous stare as he placed his sword roughly to her throat, drawing a drop of blood from her pale skin that slowly dripped the length of the woodsman’s blade.
Without warning, a light exploded from the main tower of the Ice Palace, so bright that all present were blinded by its radiance. When the light faded, a terrible sight chilled all but Roane to the bone. A dragon with veins as black as night under pale white scales spiraled into the air and turned his attention to the large balcony where they stood exposed, the rising sun’s rays having burned away the morning fog. Jared backed up immediately to the twins in an attempt to somehow shelter them, his sword raised defensively. Johnson joined him. Jared studied the dragon for a moment. The giant creature had scorch marks on one of his wings and along his flanks, but did not appear to be hampered by either wound. Roane began laughing, softly at first but then raising in volume to a hideous cackle. The dragon was upon them in no time, alighting on the balcony’s end. The terrace strained loudly, as though it was going to give way upon his landing, but it did not fall. A few stones did tumble away as the dragon’s monstrous claws crushed the wrought iron rail as he settled. The dragon lowered its spiked head, revealing a rider. She wore black leather riding pants and thick white fur boots under a black velvet robe. Around her shoulders she wore a stole of dappled white fur. Her face was beautiful with her marble-like skin and snow-white hair. She looked statuesque, a piece of art embodying a time-lost muse. She was very much alive though, with her piercing black eyes that appeared to be as cold and timeless as the onyx and icicle staff in her hands. She seemed genuinely amused at Johnson and Jared’s protective stance before the girls.
