Agility: 14
Physicality: 12
Endurance: 10
Focus: 13
Archetype: Spellblade
Special Classification: Ice Caster
Armor: Augmented Chain Mail, Tier 5
Mana: 91
Frost stared at the outer walls of Castle Astarda, studying them for the hundredth time. The night was deep and dark, with the moon momentarily hidden behind the ever-present orb that was the black sun. It would reemerge within a few hours. Frost was hoping to be long gone from the city by then.
“You don’t have to come with me,” she said as Violette joined her side. The pair were in a shallow dip of the plains stretching out toward the gateway through the Frostbound Mountains into the lands beyond, known as Inner Emden. They were far from the road, lurking in the dark recesses of the northernmost wall at the exact point where the wall ended and the sheer ascent began.
“But you need my help,” Violette said, as if it were simple.
“If I die, I’ll come back. You won’t.”
Violette crossed her hands behind her back. “It’s not so easy as that, is it? There’s no pain from your dying, no suffering?”
Frost pushed away a memory of lying on a cold tiled floor, vomiting blood.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “I’m strong enough to endure. But what about you? You don’t like killing, but there’s no avoiding that, not if we’re to rescue Nick.”
The other woman nodded toward Castle Astarda and the soldiers patrolling its western wall.
“You and Nick are the first people I’ve met who aren’t frightened of saying and doing things that might be considered heretical. Neither of you is beholden to any gods or kings, not of Alder, nor the Sinifel or Majere. Whatever you are, visitors or demons or something worse, it means nothing compared to how you’ve helped me. And call it crazy, but I think you two are destined to accomplish something wondrous in this frozen, decaying world of Yensere.”
“And you really think that’s worth risking your life for?” Frost asked. “That it’s worth killing for?”
Violette watched the patrols, their faces lit by the torches they held.
“The two of you are special,” she said. “I have to see just how special. Yes. I think it is.”
The strength of Violette’s resolve surprised Frost, and as if on instinct, the woman’s truncated stats appeared above her head.
Violette: Level 10 Human
Archetype: Scholar
Special Classification: Fire Caster
Potent as her fire magic could be, Violette would be hard-pressed in a prolonged battle. Did she know that? Without numbers and statistics from Cataloger, did Violette sense that power disparity? And if she did, did she care?
Frost clenched her left fist, a bit of ice sealing around her knuckles.
Her foes were a higher level than her as well, and yet she was still about to leap into the heart of their keep. So what if the challenge wouldn’t be fair? It was the right thing to do. Despite waiting and hoping Lord Frey would execute Nick, unknowingly freeing him from his prison, two days had passed without its happening. Cataloger had shown her the nearest ring of stones, and Nick had never stepped forth. He was trapped somewhere in Castle Goltara, and if the treatment he’d endured at Baron Hulh’s hands was any indication, he was suffering tremendously.
Which meant that tonight, she and Violette were going to break him out.
Frost knelt before her travel pack, which she’d set on the ground beside her. A quick riffling through it and she found two thin vials, their containers crystalline, their contents a pale blue liquid. The topper was shaped like a dove, for reasons Frost did not remember.
“Here, take this,” she said, handing over one of the two bottles.
“What is it?” Violette asked.
“Think of it like a bottle of sleep. Drink it, and your head will feel clear and all your spent mana will return to you.”
“Sleep in a bottle?” Violette gazed upon it like it was a miracle realized. “If only we had such things during my time at Silversong.”
Frost winced, remembering how much it had cost at a market far, far from Yensere.
“They’re not cheap, nor easy to get,” she said. “Use it only if you must, but given how badly the numbers are stacked against us, we’re going to need my ice and your fire to even the odds.”
Violette pocketed the vial, stood to her full height, and then nodded. Frost almost told her to remain behind. She could throw her life away several times trying to rescue Nick, whereas Violette had but the one. Only…there was something about the look in Violette’s amber eyes. This was a woman who had undergone hardship and given up so much of her life to pursue knowledge in defiance of censorship and accusations of blasphemy. No matter her easy smile or the joyfulness of her personality, a strength lurked within her. How else could she be so defiant to the cruelties of the world?
“All right,” Frost said, wrapping her arm around Violette’s waist. “Stay still, and keep your trust in me. Kill any soldiers who see us.”
“I will.”
No more waiting. Time to do this. Frost pointed to her feet and let her magic flow.
Spell: Ice Pillar
The pillar grew beneath their feet, flat on the top and perfectly circular on all sides. It shot them into the air as it rose, carrying them above the outer wall of Castle Astarda. Two guards, one stationary near the mountain rise, another walking a lazy patrol from the south, both saw and froze in place upon the ramparts. Frost did not waste the opportunity. An
Spell: Fire Burst
The fire charred into his flesh and melted portions of his armor, easily taking his life.
Frost prayed the soldiers protecting the inner keep were as low-level as these outside guards, who were mostly levels 4 and 5. She knelt on the pillar, picturing the desired effect of her next spell.
“Ever ridden a slide before?” she asked, magic building underneath her fingertips.
“What do you mean?”
As answer, she enacted the spell
The ice connected the pillar to the wall, the surface gently curved and sloping downward. Frost went first, straightening her cloak so its smooth surface would slide instead of her chain mail. A half second later she landed atop the wall and spun to catch Violette. The other woman landed clumsily in her arms, then grinned.
“My thanks.”
“That’s the easy one,” Frost said. With a thought, she banished both the pillar and the slide. The ice shattered without the slightest noise, instantly melting into vapor that faded to nothing. That done, she focused her gaze on the inner keep.
Nick is in there somewhere, isn’t he?
I cannot answer
Frost expected as much from Cataloger. Useful when it didn’t matter, a helpless bystander when it did. She glanced to her right, checking the wall. In the distance, she saw another soldier sprinting toward them with his torch held aloft.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“Time to go,” she said. It was foolish to think they could reach the keep without attracting attention. Her hope was to outpace the alarm and, by the time reinforcements arrived, have already completed their rescue.
Frost eyed the keep doors, two thick slabs of oak reinforced with iron. Hands touching the bricks of the rampart, she envisioned a second slide and used her magic to make it real. Ice shot out, crackling and hardening across the thousands of feet between her and her target. Thin little supports of ice stretched down from underneath the slide, connecting to whatever was below, be it the street, walls, or rooftops.
“Incredible,” Violette said when Frost finished.
“Hold nothing back,” she said, shaking off a bit of ache in her head and drawing her sword. “Overwhelming power is our only hope.”
Frost hopped onto the slide, whose angle was much sharper than the last. She sped feetfirst toward the entrance, her sword lying flat upon her chest and clutched tightly. Halfway there, she extended her left hand and unleashed an enormous
The ice slide pitched sharply at the end, and Frost grabbed her sword and readied for battle. Two soldiers stood guard on either side of the door, and they pointed and shouted in a panic. Their levels hovered over them: 7. Higher than those on the wall. Worrisome. How could regular soldiers without magic be so threatening?
The ice slide ended in a sudden pitch, and the moment her feet touched ground, she kicked, propelling herself straight at the guard to her left. He wielded a sword in two hands, his face half covered by his helmet. A torch burned above him, casting light on his pale red tabard. She noted these details clinically, analyzing her foe as she sought to cut him down. Her sword led the way, its tip aimed for his throat. Not worth striking his ring-mail armor, given how solid it looked.
Tier 3, to be exact
Thanks, Cataloger, she thought as her sword was parried aside. The soldier’s weapon was heavier than hers, and he threw all his weight into that parry so her sword went flinging wide. A grim smile stretched his lips as he pulled his weapon back. He thought her vulnerable. Cocky fool. His slash aimed to cleave her in half at the waist. Her own blade was too far out to block in time, but she did not need the protection of steel.
Ice would be enough.
Frost pivoted, her left hand punching toward his arms. Her palm struck his forearm and enacted the magic of her spell.
Spell: Shatter
Both parts of the spell happened near instantly. The first was a layer of ice built around the soldier’s forearms, spreading out from her touch. The second was a slamming impact, as if her palm were a massive piston. Ice, flesh, and bone shattered. One of the soldier’s arms was severed with the blow amid a spray of blood. His health dropped by half, again confusing Frost. Such a blow should have killed an average man.
Her foe’s sword went flying, released from his grip so it sailed behind her. She continued her pivot, putting her back to the wounded man so she could face the other soldier rushing to stab her. Her sword shifted the soldier’s weapon aside, then came up to block the immediate overhead chop that followed. Their weapons interlocked.
“Eiman give us strength!”
Frost gasped as her sword rattled and his own blade drew nearer. So that was why they were so high-level. They were blessed with accursed Sinifel magic.
Blessed or not, it meant little to a sudden barrage that smacked his face and sides.
Spell: Flame Darts
Four fiery little darts thudded into him. He screamed, staggering away from Frost. Another barrage of darts struck him in the back as Violette came sliding down to join them at the broken entrance. The darts made a mockery of his ring mail as their heat sank deeper to char flesh unseen. Frost twisted again, instincts screaming warning. The soldier she had disarmed attacked with a frenzy, no plan, no hope, just pain and panic driving him to try to bash his helmet toward her head.
A quick slash of her sword across his throat ended his pain—and his life. She turned to the broken door and saw four more darts char away the other soldier’s remaining health. He dropped, a burning corpse in the keep entryway. Beyond him was the opening hall of the guardroom. Doors on either side opened, and soldiers in various states of disarray emerged.
“Where to?” Violette asked, fire building across her hands.
Show me the way to Nick, Frost ordered Cataloger.
Doing so is an invasion of a fellow visitor’s privacy
“Then ask him!”
Frost leaped into the room, knowing that with her armor and sword, she would need to take point over Violette. The other soldiers charged while screaming for help, the ruckus certainly waking other portions of the keep. Frost flung another
As much as she liked to pretend with Nick, her skill with a sword was still fairly new, and born of only six months of training before coming to Yensere. These soldiers, though, had spent years learning to wield their weaponry, and it showed as she engaged the nearest. Their swords clashed, both her initial slashes easily blocked. Frost kept up the attack, for she had two advantages these soldiers did not: One was that the systems of Yensere, and of the Artifact empowering it, had come to believe her strength was far beyond what should have been humanly possible.
The other was that her sword was blessed with magic from a faraway land.
Two more good blocks, and the soldier’s sword cracked along the edge. Her own blade continued, striking his shoulder and puncturing through his ring mail. Frost pivoted closer, painfully aware of the other soldiers nearing, and struck his chest with her palm.
Nick has granted me permission to lead you to him
“Thanks,” she muttered, parrying another hit, retreating two steps, and then waving her hand. A
Spell: Flaming Whip
The whip lashed across all three of them, moving with such speed and accuracy it seemed like a living thing. The first soldier cried out, burned across his chest by a lash. The other two suffered far worse, the whip curling around their faces and necks. The damage came in rapid succession, continuing to burn away at their health until they collapsed, their health bars fully depleted. Seeing it made Frost shudder. Violette might dislike killing, but she was exceptionally good at it.
“Frost, behind us!”
She spun at Violette’s warning to see soldiers rushing toward the entrance from outside the keep. On patrol, perhaps, or brought running by the alarm sounded by the guard on the outer wall? Didn’t matter. They needed to be dealt with.
“Sorry, door’s closed,” she said, lifting her left hand and pretending her head wasn’t a pounding cacophony of sharp pains. Her
“Lead on, Cataloger,” she muttered. Cataloger obliged by creating a faint gold outline around one of the doors near the far end of the guardroom.
But before that…
Frost pulled her mana vial from a small pouch on her hip, popped the winged cork, and then drank. The pale blue liquid slid down her throat, lighter than air and colder than ice. It was deeply foul to the taste. There was an acrid feeling to it, and she had to fight off an immediate desire to vomit. It was like swallowing bitter moonlight. The momentary unpleasantness was worth it, though, for her head cleared, and all her 91 mana returned.
“All right, let’s go,” she said, darting for the door while beckoning to Violette. “Follow me!”
One of the side doors burst open when they were halfway across the guardroom. Two soldiers dashed out, heavy swords clutched high above their heads. Frost spun, her panic rising. They were so close to Violette, and the scholar had no armor, no weapons, just her fire to wield on foes bearing down on her.
“Violette!”
Frost need not have worried. In a panic, Violette flung
“I’ve never tried that before,” Violette said in the sudden silence that followed. “I can’t burn myself. Good to know.”
Frost blinked in shock, then burst into grim laughter.
“Indeed, good to know,” she said. “But let’s not try that on me or Nick.”
“I won’t be trying anything until after this.” Violette reached into one of her many pockets, withdrew Frost’s mana vial, and opened it. She sniffed it quickly, then took a drink. Her face made clear her opinion of its taste.
“Better,” she said, coughing once. “Lead on.”
The door revealed a slender stairway leading downward, its steps lit by little lanterns, half of whose candles had burned out. Frost dashed down them and their gentle curve, until they ended at a plain door guarded by a lone man in ring mail. He pressed his back to the door and lifted his sword in both hands, his eyes wide with fear.
“Begone, both of you,” he said. “This room is off-limits by Lord Frey’s decree.”
“Is it, now?” Frost asked, angling her sword. The two attacked simultaneously, moving as if given a secret signal.
His sword scraped across her chain mail, drawing blood along her side. Her sword struck the center of his breast and punched inward in retaliation. He screamed, then again, louder, when she shoved the sword in deeper. When Frost ripped her sword free, she bashed aside his attempt to cut her legs off at the knee and then kicked him in the face. He staggered, his head snapping back to strike the closed door. His eyes crossed, and amid his daze, she shoved her sword right into his mouth.
The soldier collapsed, and Frost pushed his body aside so they could check the door. Locked.
“Can you open it with your ice?” Violette asked.
“Don’t need to,” Frost said, pulling a key off the dead guard’s belt. “Got to conserve a bit of that mana for the dramatic escape.”
She slid the key in, turned it, and entered the pitch-black room of Nick’s imprisonment.
“A moment,” Violette said, lifting her hand. Soft flame wrapped about it, granting them light. The room was dark, foul, and cursed with a statue of Eiman lording over all, casting his cruel, faceless gaze. Nick hung from chains bolted to the wall. He was naked from the waist up, his body covered with angry red wounds carved by a slender blade. Blood stained his skin. When his health bar appeared above him, she could barely see the faintest hint of red within it. His head sagged low, his eyes closed as he hung there.
“Nick,” she shouted, rushing toward him. His head rose. Even given how broken and tired he looked, he still gave her his best, most sincere smile. She shoved the door key into the slot of one of his wrist manacles and was immediately relieved to see it pop open. She undid his ankles so he could stand, unsteadily, then finally unlatched the other wrist, freeing him.
“Hey, Frost,” Nick said, his words slurred as he collapsed. She caught him and gently lowered both of them to the ground, his head and upper body cradled in her lap. His pathetic health bar failed to adequately convey how weakly he moved, nor how shallow his breaths. She stroked strands of his brown hair away from his face.
“Lesya,” she corrected, and smiled back despite the dark, the threat of soldiers, and the looming statue of Eiman. “My name’s Lesya Koval.”