Cryo Knight

by Tim Johnson

  “It’s been a long, long time since someone resisted my spell.” Her claws clacked against the ice as she stalked around him. She spoke each word slowly, her voice like cracking ice. “How did you find my cave?”

  Christian glanced over to see Alexia and Sulfur frozen solid. I need to get Alexia out of this. Sulfur she can keep.

  He needed to build some trust with this thing. Luckily for him, that started with the truth.

  “I felt drawn to your lair,” he said. “Something inside guided me here: my ice mana.”

  Tarquen drew herself up, towering over Christian. “You have a gift with the ice. And it drew you to me, only for you to try and take my treasures.”

  “No. Sulfur wanted you to serve him. But you froze him solid. He is no friend of mine. However, the girl is my friend. We want no part of Sulfur’s plans. Let us go and we can help you.”

  Tarquen let out a low chuckle. Her bright blue eyes scanned Christian.

  “Why would I do that? You have a place with my ice children.”

  Unless I can prove her otherwise.

  “You can’t have left this dungeon in a long time,” Christian said. “There is now a whole world ripe for you. Instead of claiming what could be yours, you hide in this little cavern.”

  “Enough!” Tarquen shouted, her voice so loud it made the collection of swords rattle on the wall.

  “The Demon Lord Arnook has been woken and now serves Sark,” Christian continued. “We explored his dungeon and it was huge. His army a hundred times larger than this. Yet Sark now holds his flame. Sulfur is right, they will come and find you and, not in dribs and drabs, but with the largest army you’ve ever seen. Wielding fire. You’ll be killed or become a slave to Sark too.”

  He let that sink in for a moment.

  “Or, you can let me help you.”

  “Explain,” Tarquen spat and edged closer. She held the long, icy sword up, ready to cut him down.

  “My life has always been entwined with ice,” Christian said. “It took everything I held dear. Then I was frozen for two years. Now, the ice runs through my veins and serves me. The ice took me to you. A coincidence? No. The only man in this world that can help you is standing in front of you. Here I am – extending my hand to help you become a great Demon.”

  Tarquen circled Christian with a low hiss.

  “You would serve me, human?”

  “No. We both serve the ice.”

  She laughed. “You have a little power and much bravery. But you reach too far and talk of things which you know not.” Ice began to swirl around her palm.

  Christian had a feeling he was about to become the latest addition to Tarquen’s ice army, unless he could think of something fast.

  He summoned his own ice storm in his palm, the swirling ice matching Tarquen’s own. He wouldn’t go down without a fight.

  He stared up at Tarquen as their ice storms meshed. “This is how you stay weak, Tarquen, trapped in your cave. Think about it. Someone you can trust on the outside, not as a slave, but to help you grow. Or else you will face Arnook’s army of fire alone and without warning.”

  The Demon hissed again and let the ice retreat into her palm, closing it into a fist. “I have heard your words. You claim to serve the ice mana that flows through our world. But there is a simple way to test you and gain the truth. I shall grant you a quest.”

  Quest: Survive the Ice Trials.

  You may not survive, for unbeaten fears await inside, you must prove your ice affinity or go to your death willingly.

  Reward: Three gifts from Tarquen.

  Tarquen pointed, extending a long claw while the ice army snapped and spun like a revolving chain of spinning chessboard pieces. They framed a path, becoming a human fence to a large door, which framed the far side of the cavern.

  “If you pass the trials beyond, you will return as a little brother. If not, you will die.”

  Christian looked at the path and back at Tarquen. “If I return, will you release the girl?”

  “That is not so easily done. It is the same spell that binds them. If you return and I undo the spell, it will release them both.”

  I have no choice.

  Christian nodded and strode forward, towards the door, past the crystalline carved faces of Tarquen’s ice army.

  He reached the door, which creaked open upon his approach. Beyond was darkness. He turned to see Tarquen staring at him through the row of human ice-soldiers. Christian turned back to the tunnel and walked into the black.

  Glowing icicles lit the way. Christian pulled out his sword and the gem in the pommel glowed an icy blue. A low moan echoed along the corridor.

  Let’s get on with it then.

  The tunnel ended with a door that creaked ajar as he approached. He went to push it open further but had to jump back. The door opened out onto a ledge, dropping down into a great circular bowl. Everything was formed from ice. In the center of the icy bowl was a huge round hole which fell away into black. Across from him, on the other side of the cavern, was a matching door, the mirror image of his own.

  However, there were no steps and the ice walls were sheer and curved. If he jumped down, even using the curve of the bow wall to slow his descent, he would have to be careful not to slide into the gaping hole in the center.

  And that would not be good.

  The door to get to was suspended around 15 feet up the wall, a copy of the ledge he was on. He could see the door was open, extending out into the cavern, and inviting him in. The wall to climb up to it was solid ice with no handholds.

  Christian walked forward to the very edge, eyeing the rest of the walls. The room was like a giant sink with no plug.

  The first test.

  At the top of the sides of the cavern were a series of round holes like the portholes of a ship, indented at even spaces.

  What are they for?

  He didn’t like any of it. But didn’t have much choice. Taking a deep breath, he jumped down. He slid against the edge of the bowl, his boots cut grooves into the ice and brought him to a halt just at the rim of the massive hole which dominated the center.

  Christian pushed himself to his feet and in several powerful bounds was across the bowl, the icy surface crunching under his boots as he made it to the other side.

  He immediately smashed his sword against the far wall’s edge, trying to create a handhold. Some ice chipped away, and hope sprung up inside of him.

  He used the sword’s decorative pommel to smash another handhold out. Then he heard a creak. The door above swung and snapped shut. Another bang rung out as the door he had come from snapped shut as well.

  He turned back.

  I’m locked in.

  That’s when he heard the low moan again; a gurgle, which morphed into the sound of rushing water.

  Water shot from the round holes at the top of the cavern.

  The water swilled around him, tugging at his ankles, the hole in the center dragged the water away.

  He waded back to the wall and tried to smash another handhold, but slipped forward, splashing face-first into the ice water, knocking the breath from his lungs. He tried to leap up and grip the handhold he had made, anything to free himself from the crushing cold of the water.

  His fingers slipped and he splashed back down.

  Behind, the whirlpool was picking up speed as the cavern was filled with water as more cascaded from above.

  One false move and he was in trouble. He wouldn’t be able to swim against that current, it was too strong. He looked back at the hole in the center.

  Could I plug it?

  Christian pulled his mana into his palm and used Artic Gale against the water in the center, pouring his mana into the spell, the roaring water swirling around his thighs already.

  But while ice cracked and formed, it was immediately washed away.

  There is too much movement.

  He looked up at the ledge instead and shot Arctic Gale against it. He focused everything on his spell, ig
noring the water that was swilling around his middle. Slowly ice began to gather on the edge, building out a decent handhold. But it was still far too high.

  He unequipped his Darkstar Blade and reequipped the old silver sword from his Inventory, and flung himself forward, striking it into the wall in front of him. The point stuck into the wall. With his other hand, he channeled his ice mana around it. Wicking moisture from the water, the ice around the blade in the wall began to build up.

  Christian reached up, using the icy sword like a tree-branch, and pulled himself up onto it. Balancing on the ice-encased sword.

  Beyond, he could see the water furiously gurgling as it spun around the cavern, waiting to wash him away.

  The ledge was still out of reach. He equipped the old iron dagger from his uncle, turning against the wall and slamming it into the surface, and repeating the trick from before, securing it with ice to create a solid handhold.

  The water had already passed his silver sword, weakening it. He felt it shift underneath his boots.

  He leapt up, using his dagger as another handhold. He flung himself upwards and his fingers found the ledge.

  For a moment he swung back, and his vision was filled with the swirling water. He slammed back into the cavern wall, banging his chest, but his grip held.

  Every muscle straining, he pulled himself up onto the ledge. Standing, he used the door handle to steady himself, gently pulling the door outwards and working his body through the gap.

  Finally, he was on solid ground and free.

  He saw a flash of silver as his sword was washed away down the whirlpool.

  Shivering and dripping, he continued down the corridor, following its slope deeper into the dungeon. He trudged down and down, freezing cold, until he was greeted by another door.

  It opened into another cavern. Pitch black.

  He equipped his Darkstar Blade and crept forward. The glowing gem in the pommel emitted light a few feet ahead, into a thick foggy mist.

  Christian continued to move forward into the nothingness. The texture under his boots changed. He was walking through frosted grass.

  Grass?

  In the distance, he heard someone whisper his name.

  “Hello?” Christian growled into the dark.

  I’ve heard that whisper before, he realized.

  It was Spencer. The memory flashed into his mind. Spencer sat in the snow, sucking in his last breaths, with a bullet in his belly.

  “Christian. Go to her,” he had said.

  Christian stepped forward. Looming up around him were the frozen shells of burnt-out buildings. He was back in the Altai.

  Back where it had all begun.

  Ahead was the all-too-familiar path, leading towards what remained of the shelled town-hall. They had hoped the old-world Soviet walls would offer some meager protection from the horrific Altai winter.

  Just months before, when everything was green, they had helped the town restore power and gather crops for the winter. He thought of Iryna. Thought of their limbs intertwined in her little cottage. He could almost feel the warmth of their happiness in his chest. Almost.

  The republic told him the enemy would never make war in winter. That they’d never release poison gas. The Altai winters were treacherous months, with freezing rain, then snowstorms; it would be insane to even try.

  Just in case, Christian had his men lay traps in the forest, stash munitions and supplies and dig hideouts. He and his men had helped rebuild this town and they would not see it fall.

  He would not see harm come to the first woman he had ever loved.

  In the dead of winter, the enemy had poured over the state lines, looking for a fast land grab. The town of Altai was the strategic point to own the whole range.

  Within a day they surrounded the town. Then they cut the power.

  Christian laid his palm against the blackened shell of a building as he recalled what happened.

  The people began to freeze, then it got worse. Memories of the first air-strike came to life. In the distance, there were great booms, his memories meshing with the reality of this place.

  His orders came through: to abandon the town and the people to the enemy. Allow the massacre to happen.

  Christian couldn’t do that. Instead they fought back. Moving from weapon stash to weapon stash, outmaneuvering the enemy, using their knowledge of the land to their advantage. Where the enemy was slow, they were fast.

  But there was always more. It was two hundred and fifty versus an entire army.

  Against all the odds, they had dug deep into the forest and located the enemy’s base of operations.

  They stormed it with a vengeance. The night was filled with gunfire and screams. But the defeated commander’s last act was to send poisoned rockets up into the sky.

  Then there was silence.

  Christian looked up the steps of the town hall as the memories slid into each other.

  Perhaps this time it could be different. Perhaps…

  Christian sprinted up the steps, shoulder-barging the door; it scraped along the ice with the sound of a sword being drawn.

  But it wasn’t different. The townspeople were there, laid everywhere, under makeshift tents, wrapped in blankets and sleeping bags, the remaining tins of provisions scattered. At first it seemed like they were all sleeping.

  Christian stepped into the hall quietly, so as not to wake them.

  But they were too still. Their faces ashen. Flakes of snow had settled on their mouths and on open eyes – just as it all had been.

  Christian swallowed heavily.

  He stepped through the bodies, past the thousands of faces he had spent the year with. The people that had become a family to him. They had gripped each other as they died. Their fingers looked like frozen twigs.

  He found her. Iryna, her face cold and blue like the rest. He gripped her cold body close to his, as though the warmth from him could somehow spread inside her and bring her back, but it couldn’t. He held her face close to his chest, her cheek resting on his chest-plate.

  She looked just like she did before. As beautiful as ever.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said.

  It seemed impossible, the woman who was so full of zest, of never-ending hope; the woman who brought everyone along with her dream of an independent mountain town, now still and lifeless. Their shared memories tore at Christian’s heart.

  Then there was movement back at the door.

  Christian watched in horror as a massive creature had to stoop under the doors to get in. Its shadow filled the door, its glowing red eyes cut through the gloom, and he could see the silhouette of the huge elk-like horns on its head.

  Arnook stepped into the town hall. His black hooves hissed as they met the icy ground. Behind him, Sark flitted in and out of the shadow, and then in walked Sulfur, his blue armor polished to a shine and his sword glowing a pale blue.

  They have found me.

  Christian set Iryna’s body down gently and stood, activating his Ice Armor and raising his sword.

  A cold anger rose in him like nothing he had felt before. Anger towards the republics, against their shifting politics and games. Anger against Valeria itself. Against the power-hungry Sark, spiteful Sulfur, the evil Arnook, and even his uncle for dragging him into this whole nightmare.

  With a roar he charged forward.

  Arnook pulled his sword from his back which burst into flame, lighting the hall.

  Christian ran at them, holding his palm forward. He pulled on his mana and fired a Frost Bolt at Arnook. Arnook stepped forward and parried it with his burning blade.

  Christian threw himself at the creature with all his might.

  Their swords met. Arnook’s fiery great sword flared and spat as it hit Christian’s own.

  The strength of Arnook’s counter sent Christian flying back, tripping over the bodies, and landing hard on his back.

  Christian stared up at them, seething.

  Sark slowly stepped forward,
his twin daggers out, barely visible in the shadows. Beside him was Sulfur, a smile on his lips.

  The end of Sulfur’s sword began to charge with energy as he stepped forward, the blade smoking against the cold.

  Christian pushed himself off the dead to stand.

  He looked back at Iryna. He would be joining her soon. Another frozen body to add to the pile.

  But there is someone else.

  The smokiness in his memories cleared for a moment.

  The image of Alexia – atop a horse, covering him with arrows; talking to him in the Goblin tunnels; her face lit by the moonlight in their cell.

  I can’t let her down too.

  He sheathed his sword.

  This is my nightmare. It must obey my rules.

  A flutter of concern passed over Sark’s face.

  Christian could feel his ice mana flow through the hall, more powerful than anything he had felt before. He could feel himself connected to everything that the ice touched. Everything that was cold. Everything that held moisture. He pushed himself out to it, like his tentacles of power could reach into everything in here.

  Just like Tarquen, I understand now.

  Sulfur stepped forward, his boot on the face of a frozen corpse, and aimed his charged-up sword at Christian. “This ends now.”

  My rules.

  The dead under Sulfur’s foot moved and Sulfur’s laser blast went wide.

  Christian didn’t move a muscle, but inside he was reaching as far as he could.

  All around, the frozen people of the Altai mountains began to move under Christian’s will, the people he had tried to save. Reborn, they stood. There was a savage beauty to it.

  Sark looked around, his daggers low. Sark, Arnook and Sulfur slowly stepped back, pressed together as thousands of the dead around them rose and began to circle in.

  Then as one, under Christian’s command, the frozen dead attacked. The three tried to hack away but more and more filled their place.

  Their screams echoed in the air and the scene began to melt away and became mist.

  It was over.

  Christian could feel where he needed to go next, it was the same feeling as being drawn to Tarquen’s lair in the first place. He walked towards one of the doors of the town hall which slowly molded into a gate.