by J. K. Barber
After many long minutes of rumbling earth and screaming men the cacophony subsided. A second horn blast, similar to that which had issued from the horn next to Ra’thet, reported from the tops of the hills overlooking the valley stretching out in front of the walls of Snowhaven; hilltops that were now suddenly devoid of the snow which had until recently covered them. Luckily, for the captain, the warmer summer months had loosened the ice that normally held the snow in check, allowing his men to trigger the avalanche with relative ease.
Ra’thet turned to the man next to him. “Signal them to return.” Again the horn sounded, this time with three short blasts. For several days, Ra’thet had had man and orc alike hauling stones around the mountains and up the passes to the peaks surrounding the approaching valley. Peaks, that even in the height of summer, never lost their white caps; until now that was. All it had taken were several large boulders rolled into the accumulated rocks before snow and stone came pouring down the valley walls, crushing scores of men below.
However, the makeshift avalanche was only the first step of Ra’thet’s plan. The Empress’ warlord took off at a run down the crenellated southern Snowhaven wall and took his place beside the pale-skinned thugs and blue-skinned orcs under his command. Raising his hand over his head, he make a quick chopping motion, moving his arm through a full arc until his gauntleted hand pointed down to the bewildered Illyanders below. Ra’thet’s deluge of snow and stone had not crushed all the men beneath it. The buried men lay an arrow’s flight away from the southern gate. The surviving men were now cut off from the rest of their fellow soldiers by a thirty foot tall wall of ice and rock.
Ra’thet allowed himself a small horrible grin and then reached for the coiled rope at his feet. With one end already tied around the rampart before him, the plated warrior tossed the coil over the edge where the far end of the rope came to rest a few feet above the muddy ground below. A score of other ropes followed the captain’s over the wall and soon a small horde of orcish warriors descended the tethers to confront the remaining men of the King’s Army below. Ra’thet loosened the cruelly barbed greatsword that was strapped to his back by unfastening the tether that held the blade in its sheath and rapidly traversed the rope to the mud below. Slinging the two-handed blade from its casing with practiced ease, Ra’thet approached the remaining troops, a look of menace and triumph on his face. Beside him, the orc warriors bellowed guttural battle cries as they charged the hastily reassembling men of the King’s Army.
The sound of Fawke’s voice reached Ra’thet just as he drove his sword point into the wounded human soldier at his feet, finishing him off. “Captain Ra’thet, Sir,” the sellsword called. The leader of the Empress’ troops looked about him, seeing the carnage his plans had wrought, and was pleased. He had killed a hundred or more of the enemy with the rockslide itself and had isolated another two hundred between the pile of boulders and the walls of Snowhaven. In an effort to relieve some of the pent up aggression among the ice orcs and channel it against the Illyanders, Ra’thet had given the order to repel down the southern wall and engage the King’s Army directly, rather than feather them with arrows from above. In the short term he had lost a few ice orc troops with his unorthodox plan, but in the long run, it gave the brutes an outlet for their violent passions was better than letting it continue to fester until it boiled over, and larger incidences of violence broke out within the walls of the mountain town. Still, the fight had been a slaughter and not a single Illyander soldier remained breathing.
Looking at the blue-skinned warriors, panting with exertion and painted with the blood of their enemies, Ra’thet did feel a certain admiration for the creatures. They were strong warriors and never broke in battle, regardless of how the conflict was progressing. The warlord began to wonder if perhaps the ice orcs weren’t having other effects on him as well. Normally cold and methodical in combat, at certain points during the fight against the trapped Illyanders, Ra’thet felt himself warmed by the heat of battle. There were several times where the warrior had swung his barbed greatsword wide in an inefficient move, taking it out of line and leaving himself slightly exposed, simply because he knew it would cause his opponents greater pain before they perished. I shouldn’t let these beasts affect me so, he thought. Against a more skilled swordsman, I might have left myself open to a counter attack.
“Captain?” Lieutenant Fawkes repeated, uncertain whether Ra’thet had heard him the first time. Leaving his thoughts of concern behind, the Empress’ war leader turned to his Lieutenant.
“Yes, Fawkes, report.” Ra’thet’s demeanor was once again composed and direct.
“Her Imperial Highness requests your presence with all due haste, Sir.” A large warhorse stood beside the unkempt sellsword, the steed pawing at the muddy ground, flaring its nostrils wide at the intermingling scents of sweaty ice orcs and cooling blood in the air. Though the horse was anxious, Ra’thet had ridden the destrier into battle before. The large animal’s nerves were often as resolute as his own. It would remain steady.
Returning his greatsword to its sheath on his back, Ra’thet took the reins of the warhorse from Fawkes and swung up easily onto the creature’s back, despite the considerable weight of his plate armor and the exertions of the recent battle. Though his man had said “request,” Ra’thet knew that the Empress of Ice requested nothing. Her every declaration was a command to be obeyed and woe be to the one that denied her anything. Kicking at the horse’s flanks and turning its head towards the opening gate of Snowhaven, Ra’thet urged his mount into a gallop towards the Sorcerer’s Tower, within which the Ice Queen spent all her time these days. It was not in anyone’s best interest to keep her waiting.
Chapter 2
After leaving the wealthy inner island and crossing over the western bridge-gate, Sasha passed by dozens of shops with brightly painted signs above their doors. She was in a market area of the capital that was near the bridges that led to the palace. The buildings were of good quality wood or stone and their roofs were shingled instead of thatched. From silks to fish to horseshoes, these shops sold just about everything. She gaped at the sheer number of stores; Aeirsga was at least twenty times the size of Snowhaven. The red-headed warrior wore her set of formfitting, ivy-etched plate over leather-padded armor. Her sword and dagger were sheathed at her waist and buckled to her silver-chased brown leather belt. The summer sun was warm and heat radiated up from the cobbled stone of the streets. Her hair was neatly plaited, as appropriate to a woman of her age in Snowhaven. The braids signified an accomplished demeanor and represented an orderly lifestyle. Only children and the more eccentric wore their hair undone. Sasha caught more than a few young men looking her up and down appreciatively, their eyes lingering on the molded cups of her breastplate. Most didn’t even try to hide it, and a baker’s apprentice even whistled as she walked by. The baker slapped the back of his head, from which he recoiled but still grinned boyishly at her. Blushing slightly, she looked back down at the directions a palace guard had written for her on a piece of parchment. Please, Great Mother, say I am at least close to your temple, she thought.
As if in answer to her prayers, she turned onto the last street in the directions, and a giant building of white marble rose up before her so high it blocked out the morning sun. Statues of women in various stages of womanhood decorated the front of the large circular building, beginning with a babe in swaddling clothes and ending in a crooked old crone hunched over a walking stick. They were beautifully carved. Sasha’s eyes instinctively went to the young maiden statue that appeared to be dancing, a garland of flowers around her head. The young warrior thought of her sister, Katya, remembering her twirling in front of the mirror in their shared room at the palace. Sasha smiled at the memory but then realized how unlike the dancing figure in front of her she was. She carried a certain hardness in her warrior manner, a discipline that did not allow for frivolity. The swordswoman thought of the young men that had presumably “liked her look” in the market, but
her mind was fixed on her woodsman companion. Which kind of woman did Jared prefer, the dancer or the warrior? She thought.
An older woman in mail armor standing guard at the door smiled knowingly at Sasha, as if guessing her thoughts. “Can I help you find your way, Sister?” she asked, breaking the younger woman out of her self-reflection. It was then that Sasha realized how silly she must have looked, standing in the middle of the street staring up at the Temple of the Great Mother.
“Um, yes please. I am looking for a friend. His name is Talas. I was told he came here,” Sasha inquired.
The woman frowned a bit. “Brother Talas is busy at the moment. Who shall I say wishes his presence?”
Sasha nervously put her directions away and pulled another piece of paper from her belt pouch. It bore a wax seal flecked with gold in the shape of two dragons. The woman’s eyes widened upon sighting the seal. “King Morgan has sent summons to Tal… to Brother Talas,” the swordswoman said, remembering the title the guard had used for her friend. She handed the note to the other woman, who broke the seal and scanned the parchment for only a moment before handing it back and ushering Sasha inside the solid oak doors. A man in green linen robes looked up from a rustic looking desk just inside. He gazed at her not in admiration like the young men in the street but with great interest in her armor.
“Your name is…?” the guard asked the young swordswoman.
“Sasha Ironwright.”
“Brother Simon, Sister Ironwright here has a Royal Summons for Brother Talas. Please see that she is directed to him with all due haste.” The older woman went back outside, gently closing the door behind her.
“May I see the summons please, Sister Ironwright,” he asked, looking her over quickly.
“It is just Sash…,” she started but stopped at the man’s annoyed scowl. “Yes, here it is. Sorry.”
“A woman wearing the leaves of the Great Mother,” he said inclining his head at the etching on her armor, “is called a Sister within these walls regardless of her station or other titles.” Brother Simon took the parchment from her outstretched had with the care of a person who handled precious documents regularly.
As he read it, Sasha looked about her. The entry room was small compared to the enormity of the outside of the building. There were the doors she came in and a matching set of doors on the far wall only a few paces away. The desk was the only furniture, and there were no decorations other than a red tasseled cord that hung down from a hole in the ceiling next to the desk. A few papers rested in front of Brother Simon, and a large book laid open facing her with a long list of names written in it. Next to the names were dates. A white-feathered quill stood straight up in its holder beside an inkpot adjacent to the book. The man was taking his time, his face down-turned and fully engrossed in the Royal Summons. He seemed to be studying the signature.
The swordswoman looked him over while his attention was elsewhere. The priest had dark skin, uncommon for this region but native to the Eastern Kingdoms. His build appeared athletic from what she could discern beneath his robe. Gray flecked his black hair at the temples and permanent frown lines creased his brow. Finally, his perusal of the document was complete. He refolded the summons and slid it back to Sasha, who put it back into her belt pouch. The priest then turned the large book so that it faced him and scribbled in the date in the next open spot on the list with the white quill. Returning the book to its rightful position, Brother Simon handed her the writing tool.
“I can do so for you or you can write your name here,” he glanced up at her and pointed to where she should sign in the book. She did so. If the priest was impressed at her ability to write her name, he betrayed nothing to that effect. “Now, go through the next set of doors. There will be someone there to take you to Brother Talas,” Brother Simon said curtly and pulled the cord by his desk. The sound of a bell chimed somewhere nearby in another room. “Welcome to the Temple of the Great Mother,” he said as almost an afterthought.
A moment later, one of the far doors was opened by a young girl no more than ten winters old. She wore white linen robes belted with rope dyed forest green. She was a pretty child with bright blue eyes and blonde hair. Smiling softly, she spared Sasha only the briefest of glances before looking to Brother Simon for instructions.
“Raine, please take Sister Ironwright to see Brother Talas. He is in the meditation chamber.”
“But Sir, what about the rule not to interrupt those in the inner chamber?” she asked a flicker of fear passing over her features.
Brother Simon nodded, “Yes, Mother Maya’s decree is not to interrupt anyone praying in the meditation chamber. However, a Royal Summons might be the only exception to the rule. Fear not, acolyte, you will not be punished for this task. Do as I ask now.”
“Yes, Brother Simon, right away. Please, Sister Ironwright, follow me,” the young girl replied, opening the door wider so that Sasha could enter beside her.
Sasha thanked the priest and went to the girl’s side. The warrior woman stepped through the door and stopped dead in her tracks, her jaw dropping at the beauty before her. The temple opened up into a breathtaking, circular garden with tall, old trees that stretched up to the open sky above. A half dozen or so Brothers and Sisters moved along pathways of river stone in quiet conversation. One priestess sat alone near the door on a bench of wood and marble engrossed in a large tome. Some of the men and women wore green robes like Brother Simon, and others wore armor under green tabards. Sasha focused again on the garden itself. Lush grass was broken up by clusters of bright flowers of every shape and color. Butterflies and bees flitted about the flowers, collecting nectar from their stamens. A small stream bubbled out from rocks to rush through the small wooded area. This was no formal garden. It was more natural, something Jared would admire, she thought. Along the edges of the garden were dozens of doors that Sasha guessed were the priests’ personal cells similar in size to the entrance room. Quite a bit away toward the center of the inner garden, the swordswoman could see a domed building and behind it a larger rectangular building at the back of the temple. The sound of the door closing behind her broke Sasha from her inspection of the grounds. The little girl, Raine, was smiling up at her. She put her little hand in Sasha’s.
“This way please,” Raine said and began to walk forward towards the center of the temple. A maternal part of Sasha that the swordswoman didn’t even know she had softened at the girl’s touch, and she found herself smiling in return, letting the girl pull her along the path. Walking the grounds was peaceful and her shoulders relaxed for the first time since entering Aeirsga. Having fought beside a sorceress, she recognized the hum of magic as well, but in the form of comfort and warmth instead of the arcane. It was similar to the feeling in the inviting Nhyme village, where she had felt a part of it although only a visitor. The swordswoman felt very much at home in the Temple of the Great Mother although Snowhaven, her true home, looked nothing like this place. As they approached the central building, she saw that it was mostly open with a great slab of granite in its center, serving as an altar. Worked into its supports were rocks of many different colors, ranging from almost black to rose quartz. Her eyes were immediately drawn to a chunk of rock glittering with star sapphires like those ornamenting the center of her bracers. It made her think again of her mountain home, where the gems were commonly mined in the quarries outside Snowhaven. Looking up to the dome of the cylindrical structure, she saw it was made of glittering, clear cut glass in an elaborate diamond pattern that was spectacular with the sun shining through. The girl pulled her hand forward. They walked right up to the altar, where Raine breathed a prayer to the Great Mother and then looked up to Sasha. When Sasha regarded the girl oddly and didn’t offer a prayer herself, the girl shrugged and led them to the other side of the altar. She reached down to the flagstone floor to pull up a wooden trap door, revealing stone stairs spiraling down into the ground. Sasha took a step backwards, hesitation in her stride and a small amount of fear on
her face.
“It is okay, Sister Ironwright,” Raine said. “You have nothing to fear from the Great Mother’s Bosom. The meditation chamber is at the base of the stairwell. Knock on the door twice. Brother Talas will open the door. I have to return to my duties now, so he will be your guide from here on out.”
“Thank you, Raine. Good day,” Sasha said.
“You’re welcome. Good day, Sister Ironwright. May the Great Mother watch over you,” the girl replied before departing in the direction of the rear hall.
Brushing a wisp of red hair out of her face, Sasha descended to the chamber door below, careful to place her feet evenly on the twenty or so steep narrow stairs. Only three lit sconces illuminated the way. She knocked twice on the worn wooden door at the base of the stair as she had been instructed. A surprised scuffling came from inside like someone was standing up quickly. The door opened and Talas appeared, looking tired and perhaps a little thin, but his face brightened at the sight of her. Straightening a green tabard with leaf embroidered trim with one hand he used the other to self-consciously feel the stubble on his usually clean shaven head.
“Sasha! I didn’t expect to see you here. Is something wrong?” he said, his face suddenly darkening as he clasped forearms with the swordswoman in greeting.
“No, nothing is wrong. King Morgan sent me to collect you.” She retrieved the Royal Summons from her belt pouch and handed it to Talas, who gently rubbed his thumb over the gold-flecked wax seal. “There is to be a strategy meeting shortly among the high ranking folks as to what to do about the Ice Queen’s threat to Illyander.”
“Oh, that is good news.” He didn’t open the summons, but placed it in a belt pouch of his own. “I had hoped to finish my return to the Great Mother’s service, but I suppose my meditations can be continued elsewhere if I can’t return here later.” Sasha peeked over Talas’ shoulder into the tiny hard-packed dirt room behind him.