Black Frost

by John Conroe

  “That’s a sasquatch!” I hissed to Greer, who was watching as well.

  “Is that what you call them? Your ancestors knew them as trolls. They have a unique ability to travel the Paths between worlds, not needing the same energy to get to your world that we do. So they move back and forth, even when the Veil is strong. They mostly live alone, but sometimes in family units. It’s rare for one to be associated with my people, but Mother raised Torg and he is to her what Coel is to me.”

  The giant raised its heavy browed head and looked carefully around, its actions uncannily like a human bodyguard’s would be. Apparently satisfied, it strode forward, revealing Neeve and her goblin just behind. The elven princess was wearing a white wrap around robe thingy that showed how lean she was. Her long platinum hair was unbound and flowed around her neck and shoulders, cascading down her in waves. The robe left her muscled arms bare and unadorned…till you saw the twin Frost blades wrapped around her forearms in miniature dragon shapes. She moved gracefully forward, her feet sheathed in silver sandals that matched the color of her exotic eyes. The elven princess slid over the ground like she was floating, her ugly white ape-goblin shambling beside her. An off color patch of some type of poultice on his shoulder was the only sign that I had wounded the ugly goblin. A moment later another woman appeared in the tent door. At first I thought her a cousin to Neeve, a slightly older cousin, as there was an unmistakable resemblance, but a glance at Greer showed a mixed expression of respect, fear and resignation. He glanced my way and nodded. “Queen Morrigan…mother.”

  She was almost the same height as Neeve, maybe an inch shorter. Her hair was the same bleach platinum blonde as her children, piled in thick twists on her head in an intricate style, but her eyes were black, inky pools in her dark skinned face. She didn’t look much older than her son or daughter, but if Greer was to be believed, she was over fifteen centuries old, maybe more. Queen Morrigan, Ruler of the Winter Court, wore a diaphanous gown of crystal that sparkled and shone in the reddish light. It should have been see through, but try as I might (and I did try) it wasn’t. Still it hinted at the shape underneath, tantalized till it was impossible to glance away. Her face reflected no expression, just a regal aloofness and when her head moved slightly in our direction I caught sight of a single massive gem surrounded by smaller grape-sized gems, all woven into her hair, forming an integral tiara. The twin guards stepped up behind her forming the precession’s rearguard as they all moved toward the open ground where the Hunt Lead waited with my daughter.

  The mottled green tent of the Summer Court twitched, then its flap was pulled aside by a flying troop of the insect-like venomous fairies. Eirwen and her big cat came through first, the Summer Princess wearing a short, tight fitted gown of sky blue that showed how much curvier she was than her northern cousin. Gold sandals that wrapped around her calves and a thin tiara of glimmering gems were her only accessories and her hair was carefully styled to leave her long neck and pointed ears bare. The overall effect reinforced my mental image of elf-maid Barbie, right down to the impossibly small waist. She wore a smile that was almost shocking in its wattage, but never touched her green, green eyes.

  The woman who followed was obviously her mother, Queen Zinnia, Ruler of the Summer Court and sister to Morrigan. Her gown was the exact shade of newly grown leaves and her hair was worn short, in a shockingly contemporary Earth-type style, cut to hang around her face, the strands longer in the front and shorter in back. I had seen human women wearing the same cut and style, but none that I had seen matched the Green Queen’s shocking beauty. An honor guard of elves formed up around the Queen and Heir, the warriors each sheathed in a crystal-like, form fitting suit of almost organic looking armor. It looked like it had been grown on them and I could see it flexing with their movements, hardly impeding their motion in any way.

  Both royal parties moved, almost at the exact same time, toward the Hunt. Representatives of both Courts had been talking with Gwyd and his lieutenants. The elven ambassadors or whatever they were, bowed lowed as their queens approached, then backed away to allow them to come directly before the antlered bastard who was holding my daughter. Actually, an armored elven woman was holding Ashley by her upper bicep in a grip that looked painful. Ash looked overwhelmed and exhausted; the sight of her leaving me equal parts enraged and painfully sad. I wished there was some way to let her know I was coming.

  A small dark form flashed over Ashley and her captor, moving so fast it was just a blur. The woman guard swore and slapped her free hand to her neck. When she pulled her hand away, she was holding a thorn and a thin trail of blue blood ran down from a tiny puncture wound. Ashley’s mouth quirked in a small, quick grin as the elf bitch yelled at the guards around her. Pancho (at least I assumed it was him) was long gone by the time the Hunt troops looked around, most shrugging and flashing nasty glances at the elf woman, who snarled and swore at them.

  So, at least we had a few small allies among the horde surrounding my daughter.

  “As I said, most of my race tend to underestimate the pucks, which is a mistake. Their loyalty, once given, is almost a match for your beast’s,” Greer commented with a nod at Charm, who was pressed up against my legs.

  “How many do you think there are?”

  He shrugged. “No way to know, but I would guess that at least a handful survived.”

  That made me think about the little flyers families and young. Unaccountably I was saddened by the idea that some of the little ones had met their deaths trying to help my Ashley.

  Greer glanced back my way. “They are a fierce race, the pucks. Most young do not make it to adulthood. Too many natural enemies.”

  Gwyd glanced back at the ruckus, narrowing his eyes at the female guard, who straightened up, grabbed Ashley by the arm and returned his gaze cooly.

  The leader of the Hunt turned back to watch the Queens sweep up to the ring of onlookers, which had grown as members of both Courts followed their respective queens.

  Eirwen and Zinna greeted Gwyd with blinding smiles, the kind that dull men’s wits. Neeve and Morrigan simply tilted their heads and gave regal nods of acknowledgement. Gwyd, for his part, swept into a courtly bow, like something from an old Errol Flynn movie. But the smile on his face was calculating and smug. They spoke, in what I presumed was Elfish, then the Hunt leader turned and indicated Ashley, who became the immediate object of intense scrutiny. After that the haggling started. I couldn’t understand it, but I knew without a doubt that’s what it was.

  “They’re done with the pleasantries, now they’re bartering for your daughter,” Greer said. “This will go on for a while, but it won’t work out. Not for as big as prize as Ashley. Once his price is reached, they will both agree to it, then it will come down to a fight. No one wants a war, sooo, a Challenge will be issued. Then a fight…which Neeve will win. At that point things will be tickley?”

  “Ticklish,” I supplied.

  “Yes, that’s the word…ticklish. Anyway, that will be the best time to attack. With any luck at all they will suspect each other of trickery and a real fight will start. So here’s what we do..” he said, then went on to explain his plan in detail. We went over it twice, then he slipped out of the riverbed and moved in a circular path around the back of the Hunt and into the fringes of his own Court. Even watching him, it was hard to follow his progress. He would evaporate into the vegetation, then reappear much further on, pause for a moment, then do it again. All the while the Queens and Gwyd were deep in negotiations.

  Charm whined softly against my leg, so I gave her more water from the Camelback unit in Dad’s vest, while I made some preparations of my own. One of the HK mags in the vest had a clamp on it that allowed a second mag to be fastened to it upside down. Once I had rigged it to the mag already in my gun I would be able to reload by just pulling the empty out, spinning it around and sliding the full one in. Then I prepped my last two flashbangs along with one of Dad’s surprises, drank a little water myself, split a gr
anola bar with Charm and waited.

  Twenty or thirty minutes later I heard the Hunt Leader voice change from clipped contentious tones to something that sounded congratulatory; it sounded like an agreement had been reached. Looking at the scene of the negotiations, I saw him nodding and bowing to Morrigan, who smiled in victory. Zinna’s beautiful smile twisted into an ugly snarl and she rapidly spat out words that made Gwyd smile and bow. The antlered elf then bowed and backed away, watching as the two Queens and their daughters squared off. The troops assembled behind each tensed up, gripping weapons and lowering helmets. Flights of poisonous fairies and shark-jawed pucks swarmed into the air, ready for aerial combat.

  Morrigan swept her arm across in front of her and a cold wind blew over the assembled armies, getting everyone’s attention. The blast of icy air was strong enough to move my hair when it finally reached my position, and the smell of it reminded me of snow.

  Morrigan spoke loudly, her words carrying as if she had a microphone. I guessed it was something along the lines of ‘I challenge for single combat!’

  Queen Zinna drew herself up and nodded once, then both sides drew back into separate huddles, like high school football teams.

  The Summer Court ranks parted, allowing a giant of an elf to stride through. He was well over six and a half feet, armored in blue crystal with a white sword whose gently curving blade reminded me of a Japanese Katana. He swung the gleaming weapon with fluid ease and if his armor weighed on him it wasn’t noticeable.

  The Winter group opened to reveal Neeve, stripped to what looked like a white sports bra and shorts made from leather, her hands empty but twin frost blades wrapped around her wrists. Her sudden appearance gave the Summer Court pause, although from my angle it looked like a ridiculous match up. A giant armored warrior versus a small, athletic woman. But looks were deceiving. Greer had said that his mother rarely chose to risk Neeve in Challenges, but when she did, the slim Guardian always won.

  If Eirwen looked like elf-maid Barbie, with all the requisite curves, then Neeve looked like an Olympic athlete elf. Her midsection was extremely defined, arms and legs jacked with lean, functional muscle. Through the monocular I could make out a curving scar on her right thigh; one that wrapped around from the inside up to the leg-hip socket. Like someone had tried to clip her femoral artery, if in fact she had one. She had a series of slashes on her left forearm and what appeared to be tooth marks on her left bicep.

  Gliding out to the open area that would apparently serve as the fighting circle, she first stretched lithely, then flowed into some type of empty hand kata; something that looked like fast motion tai chi mixed with gymnastics. Her flips and airborne twists seemed weightless, as if she were lighter than air, the impact of her feet landing on the ground hardly making the dust rise.

  She had yet to draw her blades, yet I could see the elves recalculating the odds and not liking the results. Finally, she came to a slow stop, raised her head then moved nearer her mother; her warm up completed. The giant she faced twisted a sneer on his face when she sketched an open handed salute in his direction, but I could see the uncertainty that was now lurking in eyes of his fellow Summers.

  The surrounding elves, with goblins, steeds, hell hounds and one bigfoot-troll, were assembled by affiliation in rough thirds around the circle. The soldiers of the green realm were all boisterous, cheering on their champion, the white elves quiet and self-assured. The members of the Hunt, were the loudest, calling out short sharp sounding words in Neeve’s direction and making strange hoots like a band of demented owls. It was alien and familiar at the same time. Inhuman and, strangely, humanlike as well. The goading and catcalling (owl calling just doesn’t have the same ring) would be expected of humans, yet the odd stiffness and strange tones made it very, very weird. A sudden moment of culture shock hit me – the realization that I was standing on a strange planet of aliens watching two of them fight for possession of my daughter. The cold pit in my stomach hardened to titanium ice and I locked away the disorientation. Then I rechecked my weapons, patted my dog and generally got ready to kick ass. Greer estimated a fifty percent chance of success, my own estimation was much lower, but I would give it everything I had and probably die trying. How Charm would react, if she would live, I didn’t know. Ashley would probably ask why I hadn’t tied her up to wait for us, but I couldn’t do it. Charm was a hundred and fifty percent Ashley’s dog and she deserved the chance to help her as much as I did. Leaving her tied up where she would likely get killed by the first hell hound or goblin to come along wasn’t right. Let her go down fighting like me.

  Chapter 22

  By now both Champions were in the makeshift arena, a circle that was about sixty or seventy feet in diameter. The Summer warrior was buckling on a wicked looking shield, which was also made of crystalline looking material. A long straight spike protruded from the center of the disk, giving the round sheld an offensive aspect. It was at least three feet in diameter, but looked right in scale when wielded by the giant elf. Between the broad coverage of the shield, the long reach of the sword and the tank-like protection of the big warrior’s armor, it appeared to be a one-sided fight.

  Neeve , still stood with empty hands, looking relaxed and calm, tiny in comparison with the Green Court’s champ.

  Despite the uneven matchup, the Summer crowd didn’t seem too certain of the outcome; the onlookers studied the athletic looking Guardian with serious expressions. The black clad Guardians and troopers of Neeve’s Court seemed professional and unconcerned as they stood quietly behind her.

  Suddenly, heads from both courts began to turn, looking back in the crowd where a disturbance moved forward, parting the elves like Moses and the Red Sea. Stepping between the gap that marked the division of Winter and Summer, came a little old lady elf, by far the oldest I’d seen. Every elf in the vicinity treated her with respect, bowing and backing from the tiny crone, who for her part, pretty much ignored them all. Instead, she moved directly between the groups to the center of the circle and waited, head down.

  Both queens, with attendants and their chosen fighters hurried to the hunched figure in the center. When both had arrived and bowed to her, the old elf raised her head, looking at neither side, but straight ahead at the Hunt Leader and Ashley.

  Gwyd sketched a bow in her direction, but she ignored him, instead studying my daughter with green sparkling eyes that were bright with life and intelligence. Then, oddly, she turned her head slightly to look my way, almost as if she could see my head across the hundred and fifty yards or so that separated us, through the scrubby plant that I was using as cover and right into my open right eye where it peered through the monocular. But that wasn’t possible.

  The moment passed before I could more than draw my breath, and the old woman spoke, first in Elfish, then in English.

  “You agree that the outcome of this Challenge will decide your respective claims?” she asked.

  Morrigan and Zinna glanced at each other in puzzlement, then Morrigan spoke, using the Elfish language. She asked a question from the sound of it.

  “Yes, I speak her language,” the old elf answered with a hand gesture in Ash’s direction. Her voice carried easily to me, which seemed odd, but maybe there was some natural acoustic effect from the ring of little hills around us. “You fight for possession of her life, you should at least speak in her language,” the wizened female said.

  “Very well, Caillach, we will speak the humans language,” Morrigan agreed.

  “And you both agree to abide by this contest?” the crone asked.

  “Yes Mother,” “Yes, Mother” the two queens intoned within a split second of each other.

  Mother?

  The old elf was the mother of the Queens? Maybe that was the reason for all the respect and bowing the onlookers had shown her, although talk about dysfunctional families! Two daughters that each had their own countries and armies, always at the edge of war. Even Dr. Phil wouldn’t be able to help this crew.

&nb
sp; “Be it so,” the old one intoned, then retreated from the circle with a grace and speed that belied her obvious age.

  Without any further ado, the Summer elf leapt forward, his sword slashing horizontally at Neeve’s middle; a fight ending blow that would leave two halves of one princess…if it had landed.

  The lithe female warrior simply bent backwards in a Matrix-like move, letting the huge blade flash by overhead.

  I bet she never met a limbo contest she couldn’t win!

  Instead of using either hand to touch the ground and stabilize herself, she simply shoved her right hand forward, a flash of liquid black filling it and forming a gaff-like hook that she used to snag her opponent’s leg. With a sharp pull she sent herself spinning horizontally over the ground, while causing the giant elf to almost lose his balance. Her move landed her to his right side, which was still twisted to the left in the follow-through of his strike. Her left Frost blade stabbed out into a long thin spear point that the Summer elf just barely deflected with his shield.

  The two pulled apart and circled, the big warrior glancing down at the newly scarred surface of his shield. Neeve looked unruffled, but both hands were now filled with black blades that were slightly blurry to the eye. The blades seemed in a state of constant change as she swung both arms in easy graceful arcs.