Cryo Knight

by Tim Johnson

  “You’re going to hit me with as much Blight as you can and then I’m going to stab you through the heart with my blade.”

  Alexia took a breath. “Oh god, is this really what we’ve come to?”

  Christian placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry Alexia, it’s our only way of getting out of here.”

  Alexia nodded. “Okay, let’s get this done. It will be easier without our armor.”Christian removed his armor; he was shirtless with just his breeches covering himself.

  Alexia unequipped her armor. She was even more striking out of it. Her underclothes clung to the curves of her body.

  This feels so wrong.

  He equipped his sword and they stood a few feet apart, staring at each other, nearly naked. It was perversely intimate.

  Christian nodded. “It’s going to be okay.” He took a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

  Alexia held out her palm and in it the Blight magic began to swirl; the smell of it wafted up his nostrils, like rotting, poisoned flesh. The steaming red ball grew in her palm and then she pushed out.

  Christian had to fight every urge to block it with his sword. The Blight spell hit him square in the chest. He gasped as his health plummeted.

  “Again,” he managed through gritted teeth. The Blight had taken over a third of his health, which was continuing to tick down as the effect ravaged his body.

  He looked up to see Alexia already had conjured a second ball of Blight. It sailed through the air and hit his chest with a wet slap.

  It felt like his organs were boiling inside his skin. He gritted his teeth, only to feel them crack in his rotten gums.

  His health was all but gone, the health bar floating in his vision depleting rapidly into the red as the spell sucked his life away.

  “Christian, look at me,” Alexia said.

  He managed to look up. Alexia’s eyes were full of tears. “You can’t leave me here. Please. Think of that,” she said.

  She lifted his sword and pressed the tip against her chest.

  The sword felt like it weighed a hundred pounds and Christian’s arms shook as he held it.

  I won’t leave her here alone.

  With a grunt, he shunted forward with all the strength he had. The sword pierced Alexia’s chest and she fell backwards.

  Christian crouched over her; his sword stuck out of her chest at a horrible angle.

  “I’m sorry,” he managed.

  Alexia’s health was decimated.

  He crouched over her, holding her face as tears fell down her cheeks. She gurgled; blood was in her mouth.

  She managed to look up at him. She tried to speak out but couldn’t.

  Then with a swing she stabbed him in the neck with an arrow. The arrow punched through his neck like his flesh was made from old rotten wood.

  Christian collapsed onto Alexia, falling into his sword, tearing her heart open.

  He heard her exhale a final breath.

  Inside her chest, he saw the glimmer of a rusty red gem.

  A heart given willingly.

  He reached out towards it, pushing his bloody hand into her chest cavity and clutched the gem.

  His health fell to zero and his vision went black.

  Gold script traced across the dark.

  You have died.

  29

  Christian blinked back into existence. He was on his feet, un-poisoned and alive. The Darkstar Blade was in his hand.

  The stone-flagged room he was in was dark and empty, the light emitting from a flickering torch outside.

  Christian crept forward in the dark.

  How much time had passed? An hour? Two?

  Ahead, he heard footsteps and flattened himself against the wall of the room. His sword was at the ready as the footsteps got closer.

  He saw the silhouette of a female archer with her bow pulled taut.

  “Alexia,” he whispered.

  “Christian.” She threw her arms around him and pulled him close. “Let’s not ever do that again,” she said into his shoulder.

  Christian managed a half-laugh, “Agreed. Are you okay?”

  “I’m alright,” Alexia said, her hand went to her heart.

  “Alexia, the sword that Tarquen gave me, it had a quest – three gems to finish it. One was from a heart given willingly. When you were dying, I saw a gem in your chest.”

  “How morbid.”

  “I took it, it’s in my Inventory, I—”

  Alexia cut him off. “Christian, let’s worry about this later. The plan worked. We are alive but time is running out. Let’s go release the witch and get out of here.”

  “Okay.”

  They silently explored the sprawling dungeons of Sark’s fortress. They passed the strange halls belonging to the Dark Brotherhood, passed twenty dorms for servants, halls for storage, some with provisions for winter, and another hall filled with great barrels of liquor. Slowly the dungeons got older and the odor of mildew clung to the air.

  “I’m sure it’s this way,” Christian said. Prisons were typically kept in the worst part of the building.

  The echoes of rough voices ahead gave them something to follow.

  They reached a prison gate, guarded by a group of three guards. They were sat in a circle on the makeshift seats of an upturned mop bucket and some old crates they’d dragged in; there was the scent of tobacco and the rattle of dice.

  The guards had lit their game with several torches, while Christian and Alexia stayed hidden in the darkness of the corridor.

  On the belt of one of the guards was a giant bunch of jailer’s keys.

  Christian checked them out. Three level seven guards and we have the element of surprise. We can do this.

  He looked back at Alexia, who gave him a firm nod. She was ready.

  Alexia was already drawing another Blight spell in her palm. Ahead, the guards had no idea what was coming.

  Christian pulled on his mana, forming a Frost Bolt in his hands.

  Beside him was the ripe stink of the Blight spell.

  Alexia shared a glance with him, then, as one, they released their spells. Ice and Blight shot through the air, smashing into the unsuspecting guards. Notifications overlaid Christian’s vision. He sprinted forward, activating his Ice Armor as he lifted his sword.

  The first guard stood, looking up at Christian, terrified. He went to pull his sword, but Christian had the jump on him, and a hard blow using Ice Strike finished him.

  The second guard threw himself at Christian, a dagger in his hand. Christian caught him by the throat and aggressively channeled his ice mana through his palm, freezing the man’s neck, when his head snapped to side, an arrow sticking out his skull. Christian threw the dead man at the third guard, who was trying to charge , and plunged his sword through both of them.

  They had slaughtered the three level 7 guards in seconds.

  We are becoming a real fighting force.

  He heard the sound of trumpets ring in his ears.

  Level up!

  Congratulations you are level 11!

  +5 Stat points to distribute.

  I’m finally level 11. The Ashana blade is mine.

  Christian reached down and pulled the keys from the corpse. Alexia stood over the others, palm outstretched, looting them as Christian used the keys on the gate.

  “I’ve leveled up,” he said.

  “Me too,” Alexia said. “I’m level 11.”

  “Same.”

  Alexia gave him a second look. Christian had caught up with her. He opened his Stat Screen. He knew where he was lacking. He thought again of how he hadn’t managed to pull Sulfur’s hands off him up in Sark’s solarium. Strength. He dumped all five stat points in Strength and then equipped Ashana, which gave him an extra boost of +15 Strength, +10 Intelligence and +5 Willpower.

  He immediately felt the extra power flow though his veins. What a rush!

  Christian Lawson

  Level 11

  Build: KnightAffinity: Ice

>   Health: 320/320Mana: 350/500

  XP: 4375/4800

  Stat Points to Distribute: 0

  Strength 37 – Stamina 16 – Intelligence 30 – Dexterity 12 – Willpower 25

  Ashana [0/3 Heart Stones]: +15 Strength +10 Intelligence +5 Willpower

  He searched his inventory for the gem he thought he had seen in Alexia’s chest but couldn’t find it. That’s strange.

  “You good?” Alexia said.

  “I’m fine,” Christian said. “Let’s go and rescue our witch.”

  Together they pushed the gate open and together they strode into the prison.

  Side-by-side they stepped forward in the gloom. There was one torch burning at the end of the corridor, with forty or so cells on each side.

  Some of the prisoners whispered at them, other’s cackled in the dark. Some it seemed had lost their minds and were talking in jumbled-up sentences. They passed one cell from which two feline eyes refracted in the gloom and a deep rumbling growl echoed. An old toothless man with a long beard and white, blind eyes stretched his skinny arm out at them as they passed another cell.

  A few cells were empty, only holding old straw scattered on the ground. The corridor stunk of shit, piss and mold.

  They continued to the end of the corridor where Christian could see the sparkle of the chain as it traced its way into the final cell, secured from a metal loop on the wall. The flickering torchlight made its shimmer dance against the filth that caked the cobblestones.

  Christian stared into the blackness of the cell.

  “Witch?” he whispered.

  A growl clicked in the distance.

  He brought out the jailer’s keys and slowly placed the key in the door. With a twist, the door clanked open and he pulled it open with a squeak, which served to whip up the rest of the prisoners into a fervor. All at once their shrill howls and cackles multiplied.

  He could feel the crackly static of powerful mana. He stared ahead to see the witch suddenly move towards him, floating vertically like a thing from a nightmare, her toes scraping trails against the filth of her cell.

  Christian almost went to attack her, her grotesque form stirring a natural fight response. She halted before him. Her dark eyes staring at him through matted black hair. The two punctured holes in her face where her nose should be dripped with mucus down to cracked lips. Her whole face was scabbed up, she had been horribly beaten.

  The rags she wore had been cut to ribbons and burnt from where the chain had lashed her skin. Christian could see more of her scarred naked body underneath them than he wanted to, the curve of a scarred breast clear.

  The witch’s stench was so deep, every breath felt like Christian was slurping on feces.

  She lowered herself to the ground in front of him.

  “You have the Golden Shears,” she said; her voice was thick and dehydrated.

  “We do,” Alexia said, stepping forward. “And you can fix my portal stones?”

  “Cut my chain. Set me free,” the witch demanded, her voice like the sound of two stones scraping together.

  “Witch, we will leave you if you don’t tell us the truth,” Alexia said. “Can you fix the stones?”

  The quest description replayed in Christian’s mind. A powerful ally, or a terrible foe.

  The witch spoke. “Yes. But not inside the fortress. We must be free of this place for my magic to work.”

  Satisfied, Alexia gave Christian a nod.

  He withdrew the much-tarnished Golden Shears and put the blade against the shimmering chain where it was attached to the witch’s collar.

  He pulled the shears tight with a snap and cut the chain.

  The chain fell, one moment sparkling with its own iridescence, the next it dropped down, old thin and rusted.

  In Christian’s hands the shears disintegrated to dust. He brushed their remnants from his fingers.

  The witch took a moment, her hands exploring her neck. “I’m finally free.”

  “Not yet. Can you run?” he asked the witch.

  “Run? Child, I can fly,” she said, with a sparkle in her eye. “And I can fight.”

  We will need the help.

  They turned and went back the way they came, when a rumbling growl from one of the cells caught Christian’s attention again.

  A sabretooth limped to the front of its cell, baring its teeth.

  It can’t be…

  “Sark’s men dragged it in,” the witch said. “They were trying to train it, but it tore a man’s throat out. They plan to bring it to heel.”

  Christian stepped towards the creature, which snarled up at him through the bars. Its face had a few new scars. He moved his bare hand through the bars towards it and it snapped its massive jaws at his fingers.

  “Christian, we don’t have time for this, we have to go,” Alexia hissed.

  “I know this animal,” Christian said.

  It’s the sabretooth that helped me with the fire demons.

  He pushed the jailer’s key into the lock of the creature’s cell, unlocking the door, while Alexia nocked an arrow.

  The creature stayed where it was. Its blue eyes watched Christian’s every move with menace. That’s when Christian saw a cruel bear clamp was secured around its hind leg.

  In the Altai Mountains, wolves would gnaw their own legs off to get free of these traps.

  Christian slowly edged forward, into the cage. The creature let out a low gurgling growl as Christian passed its flank. He slowly reached down and using all his strength pressed down on the pad which kept the mouth of the trap closed. The trap clicked open and the teeth retracted locking back. With both hands Christian gently pulled the great animal’s paw out of the trap.

  The sabretooth whipped it’s paw out and with a feline quickness turned to face him. The Sabretooth’s teeth were inches away from Christian’s face. It let out a deep growl that rattled Christian’s spine. Christian slowly stood and backed against the wall, side-stepped out the cell. The huge sabretooth followed him out. It gave its fur a shake, licked its lips and then looked at Christian as if to say, “What’s next?”

  Christian looked over to Alexia and the witch, and back to the Sabretooth.

  This is my team.

  The old man with the white eyes pushed his skinny hands out the cage of the cell.

  “Pleassse,” he lisped through a toothless mouth. Christian threw the keys at the poor creature and the old man deftly snatched them out of the air.

  Not as useless as he looks.

  “Set the rest of Sark’s prisoner’s free and try to cause as much chaos as possible.”

  “Oh, I will,” the old man said as he fiddled for the right key.

  Christian turned back to his war party. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Christian strode ahead and pushed the iron gate of the jail open.

  He could feel the crackle of mana from the witch and turned to see her palms facing down. She lifted once again from the ground, suspended an inch above its surface.

  For a moment, he was reminded of his fateful run into the forests of Altai; the last time he had soldiers, he had led them to their death.

  But he was ready now.

  He brandished Ashana. He was sure the way out of Sark’s castle would be filled with enemies.

  As a team, they ran ahead.

  30

  Together, Christian, Alexia, the witch and the sabretooth were a force to be reckoned with. They tore through the corridors of Sark’s dungeon and hit a pair of guards on patrol. In a blur of spells, teeth and the zip of arrows, the guards were dead.

  They continued up and up, killing another lone soldier. They rounded on the dark priests from Christian’s first time in the dungeon; the ones who had seemed so strong when he had first arrived in Valeria. Christian cut them down.

  Again, they followed the flagstones up. In the distance, he heard a great horn being blown – the alarm.

  Someone has warned Sark. It’s going to get tougher.

  Ch
ristian stopped the witch from killing a servant. The young man cowered on the ground, unarmed. “We are not your enemy,” he whispered to him as they passed, though it was unlikely the boy would understand.

  They had found their way up to the iron gate that led out to the castle keep. Christian wrenched at the handle.

  It was locked.

  The alarm – they’ve locked everything down.

  A dark figure was moving towards the gate on the other side of the bars. Christian recognized the gait. The man’s small feet left tracks in the brush of first snowfall. The air crackled around Christian with spells for their new foe. He held up his fist to signal them to stop.

  Kit pulled his hood down and surveyed their crew through the bars of the locked gate, his milky skin bright in the moonlit night, and his elongated ears sticking up from the hood.

  “Smart,” he said his breath showing against the cold in a great cloud. He looked over the witch. “But can you really trust her?” he said softly.

  Christian didn’t reply.

  Kit continued. “Everyone is looking for you. Some of the other prisoners ran straight to Sark.” He produced a key. Then to Christian’s amazement, he unlocked the gate and stood aside.

  Christian led the team forward. “Come with us.”

  Kit smiled sadly. “Not after what I’ve done. Perhaps yours is a world worth saving, but I doubt it. If I see you again, it won’t be as friends. Go Christian.” He pulled up his hood and melted into the shadows.

  Above, Christian could see men running across the ramparts; there were hundreds of them. Someone had tripped the mechanism for the main gate, and it was coming crashing down.

  Christian sprinted forward. Arrows sparked against the cobble stones as he pounded across the keep.

  He got under the gate just in time. In a half-squat, he held it up as the chains went slack. The weight was crushing, but he stalled the gate long enough for Alexia, the witch and the sabretooth to make it under. Alexia helped free him from it and the gate slammed closed.

  We are out, was his first thought and, something’s wrong, was his second. Up on the turrets above, archers pulled their bows taut, the arrow points aimed down at them. They didn’t let them fly.