by G R Jordan
The eyes suddenly rose in the air and the halberd’s deadly point came directly down from above. Years of combat experience kicked in and she rolled clear before the tip struck. Rotating on her hands, she allowed her good leg to kick hard into the frog-man’s side, sending him to the floor. The halberd toppled clear and Calandra reached desperately for it. A shadow took to the air and as it fell from above she managed to raise the halberd straight upright. The frog-man fell onto it like a piece of skewered meat and slid down the pole until its eyes were in front of Calandra’s face. It exhaled a putrid breath over her, nearly causing her to puke.
With all her strength, she pushed the frog-man away from her and then crawled over to him. He wore a number of leather belts and fixings which Calandra now fought to release. Having freed a number, she began to strap up her leg, paying particular attention to the knee. When complete, she slowly lifted herself upright.
It still hurt like hell but it would do. Now Cally, old girl, what are you going to do? The room had one exit and she knew she needed to hurry. They would be searching for her and she needed a better shelter than this. She took the halberd, green blood still dripping from it, and wiped it dry on the frog-man’s body. Then, using it as a walking aid, Calandra made her way to the exit.
The door opened into a dimly lit corridor with large steps descending from it. With her knee strapped, Calandra had to turn herself sideways in order to descend, slowing her progress significantly. But with a little practice it became easier. She was congratulating herself on a wonderful effort when through a patch of broken fabric near her knee she saw that her skin was translucent.
The rest of her body was her normal pale self, as far as she could see, but her knee was turning to ice. And with it, the leg was becoming more manageable. It took her back to that time with Ferrean and the incident. The time when she got her curse. She felt a tear emerge and freeze on its duct. A flick of her eyelashes and it crunched off to the floor. Well, that was some time ago.
She thought about the boys and what they were doing. And then she thought of Nefol. The poor girl had lost her world when her father had been killed by Farthington, burnt alive right in front of her. She had coped amazingly well but inside, Calandra knew Nefol was falling apart. Vengeance was rising up and being here wasn’t helping. She needed to get back out for Nefol’s sake. The girl needed a mother right now.
She had never thought about children except possibly around Ferrean. She was a warrior after all, and the quiet life didn’t find her easily. Churchy was a possibility. A family with him… but then he already had one. It was no possibility, just a dream. A lustful wish. No, she’d been given a child to take care of and that was where she needed to stay.
There was a sound up ahead. Carefully, Calandra made her way forward, scanning into the gloom. Stood in front of a wooden door in the corridor was a guard, kitted in full armour and holding a pike staff. He hadn’t spotted her. Looking at the feet and then the eyes, Calandra deduced the guard was human, or at least not a frog-man. For a moment she wondered how to get past, but then it occurred to her that a guard meant there was something worth protecting and her curiosity got the better of her.
Although she never depended on it, her femininity was something Calandra was more than happy to use if the moment called for it. Leaving the halberd a little way down the corridor, Calandra crawled up to the guard in a fake show of pain. Unmoved, he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to her feet before shoving her face first into the wall. A rope was tied around her hands and she was pushed towards the door. The guard called out in a language unknown to Calandra but she heard the clanks and knocks of bolts being undone and keys turned.
She was kicked through the door and sprawled to the ground in the centre of a small room. Although the room was dark, she picked out at least four different voices. Without knowing the language she wasn’t completely sure of their intent until a hand smacked her backside and gripped it eagerly. Pulled to her feet, she saw four men surveying her with sexual excitement. Although dressed in their armour, they had removed their helmets and one was removing clothing from around his groin area. Really guys, she thought. I was impartial to you, just thought of you as unfortunate soldiers. But now I’m pissed.
One of the guards stepped forward and reached with both hands towards Calandra’s chest. Like a mouse trap, she whipped her forehead right into his face, sending him sprawling backwards. Realizing the guards were stunned, Calandra continued forward to deliver a wicked kick to the exposed groin of her presumptive abuser. Another guard stepped up to her and threw a punch which she swerved away from before kicking him hard in the side.
She had lost track of the fourth guard but was quickly appraised of his position as he grabbed her from behind, a large arm choking her and locked tight. The third guard had recovered and punched her hard in the stomach, winding her. Calandra desperately sought air but found none and she felt herself start to weaken. But as she went limp, something else ignited within her. It had been so long since the last time, but she knew immediately what it was.
The guard holding her by the throat felt a burning sensation on his arms where he was contacting Calandra. But it was no fire, rather a cold burn. At the same time his colleague had reached beyond Calandra’s clothing to her skin. He also felt his hands burn and tried to retract them, but they refused to leave Calandra’s skin, like they were stuck to her.
Calandra looked at the face of her assailant and saw a look of terror. His skin turned white. She couldn’t see herself but she knew her own skin was now like ice. The man in front of her froze up like a giant sculpture, his armour cracking with the cold. The arm around her throat snapped off and fell to the floor, shattering on impact. With air returning to her lungs, she pushed with her arms and shoulders and the man in front toppled away from her. There was a crash and he shattered into pieces of ice. She heard the guard behind her break up like a sheet of glass.
Calandra fell to her knees, her head in her hands, feeling the smooth, solid lines of her cheeks. She wanted to cry, wanted to let out her anger at being this way again.
“You bitch! You bitch! You took him from me.”
Her tears were frozen and she shuddered with the anger and pain flowing within her. Before her was Ferrean’s face, his look of horror at seeing her change, and then his body exploding into a thousand pieces. And that other face in the storm, mocking her and her pain.
Calandra opened her eyes and saw puddles of water around her. The other two guards were fleeing the room. She knew she had to move, had to run, but something caught her eye. There was a mirror on the far wall and despite all common sense telling her not to, she dragged herself to it. When this had happened before it was a time with no mirrors, only reflections in water, and she hadn’t seen herself properly.
Her face was like glass but there was a ribbon of granulation running through the middle of her head. Her hair remained dark but had tinges of ice running through it. Her body was taut and muscular as before but now she was translucent. Looking inside her top, her whole body was clear.
And her eyes were blue, sharp and cold. So this is me, she thought. I am the Ice Maiden. They should have kept her locked away, they should never have brought her out. Now they’ll pay.
The door opened and two guards ran in. She saw their fear even as they attacked with their swords. With each hand she caught their weapons. A flow of ice ran from her, down their weapons and onto their bodies. They froze and then shattered. Yes, they’ll pay.
Into the Temple
Kirkgordon surveyed the sheer wall ahead of him. Even from the thickets it looked impressive, stone rising up vertically. Cyclopean, Austerley would say. Kirkgordon never liked the word as it drew out all Austerley’s talk about the Elders. He remembered how the kirk elders in his Scottish church had been talked about with fear, but they had nothing on Austerley’s friends.
Still, there was a problem before him. The entire team needed to get through a gap a little larger than
a human in size and some fifteen feet up a sheer face. It looked impassable, unclimbable due to the smoothness of the surface. But there was an idea forming in his mind.
“Farthington,” said Kirkgordon, “have you got anything that would stick into that rock face?”
The dragon held his face down and shook his head. “It looks like we are a bit stuck, Mr Kirkgordon. I did hope you would be more resourceful than this.”
“Now look here—” Kirkgordon felt Nefol tap his shoulder. “Not now Nefol. Farthington, are you telling me—” Another tap on his shoulder. “Nefol, later. Surely your wingman there has got something up his sleeve—”
“Can I get a word—”
“Nefol, enough! We’re trying to get a plan together.”
There was a tut, distinct and very audible, intended to show great distain. Kirkgordon turned to tell Nefol that this wasn’t the time for her nonsense but was forced to duck as the edge of Nefol’s staff swung past his head. The staff continued to swing round until the edges blazed white. Kirkgordon was on his knees watching the weapon swirl over his head until at last Nefol let it fly from her grasp. The staff continued spinning until it embedded itself beside the opening Kirkgordon had been examining.
“Now, take one of the rope arrows and we can all get up to it.” Nefol finished speaking and stared hard at Kirkgordon.
I can feel her crying out idiot at me, wondering why I was ever given these arrows. It’s not like my own kids ever give me this grief. I’ve a good mind to give her a thick…
“It’s the one with the green fletches.”
“I know,” said Kirkgordon, voice low but infused with anger. “I bloody well know.”
One of the keys to good archery is controlling your mind and body. Excess stress is often shown in poor shooting and right at this moment Kirkgordon could feel the blood surging round his body in fits of rage. He was anything but calm. So he breathed in deeply and tried to ease the ripples of anger upsetting his peace.
“Are you going to shoot that thing or do you want me to do it?”
“Nefol, shut up.”
“She’s right, Churchy, you are taking your time over this one,” said Austerley, his face feigning disappointment.
“Shut it, Indy. In fact, everyone just shut up until I say so or I’ll damn well hit a target closer to me.” Kirkgordon looked around, daring anyone to speak. Hearing no dissenters, he relaxed into his shooting stance before loading his bow and then drawing the arrow. For a moment he zoned into a place of contentment and ease, then released the arrow. His head had turned from the shot long before it thudded into the side of Nefol’s staff.
“Well, after all that palaver, you are not a bad shot, Mr Kirkgordon,” laughed Farthington.
“Shut it,” said Kirkgordon. He grabbed hold of the rope that the arrow had produced and it became a solid straight line from end to tip.
“Farthington, you and your lackey can go first.”
“Afraid to enter the fray, Mr Kirkgordon?”
“Hardly. But if Nefol goes first, she has no weapon as she can’t take her weapon until we are all up the rope. I’m babysitting the great professor and as Bogey’s gone home. That leaves you and gorgeous to take point.”
“Indeed, Mr Kirkgordon, you are almost rational.” With that, Farthington urged his bodyguard to quickly climb the rope. Although it was at a steep angle, the reptile ran swiftly up and disappeared inside the opening. Farthington quickly followed suit.
Austerley hobbled up to the rope and tried to sit on it. Leaning forward, he swung round so that his body was on the underside of the rope. Kirkgordon reached over, pulled Austerley upright and grabbed the back of his collar. Balancing carefully, he slowly dragged Austerley up the rope. Austerley cried out at the pain in his hands from the rope chafing.
“Shush, Indy, you’ll have them all over here.”
“You’re hurting my hands. I’m already down a foot.”
On reaching the end of the rope, Kirkgordon threw Austerley into the opening and continued to hold the rope while Nefol sprinted up it. Just as she reached the end, Austerley’s head appeared out of the opening.
“Churchy, there’s loads of them.”
“Who?”
“Frog-men. Farthington’s getting killed in here.”
As soon as Nefol had her hands on her staff, Kirkgordon entered the opening, squeezing past Austerley’s girth. His eyes lit up in horror at the scene in front of him. The corridor was full ahead. Kirkgordon saw bulbous eyes, too many to count, and Farthington’s bodyguard being thrown high into the passage wall. He fell back down limply as Farthington roared out his disapproval.
Kirkgordon was aware of Nefol somersaulting over him and landing ahead. Her staff was spinning despite the space limitations and she was already driving her weapon into frog-men heads. Through the masses in the dimly lit corridor, Kirkgordon could see Farthington being set upon and dragged up the corridor.
“Churchy! Frog-men!”
“Yes, I can see that, Indy.”
“No, Churchy. Outside, there’s bloody frog-men outside as well.”
Kirkgordon turned as a frog-man landed inside the narrow entrance. It received a hard boot in the midriff and fell backwards to the air outside.
“Nefol, get behind me!”
“You won’t be able to handle them!”
“Shut it and do what you’re told.”
“You’re not my dad.”
“No, I’m your boss. Now get behind me.”
Nefol dropped a scowl as she snuck behind Kirkgordon and then drove her staff into another frog-man arriving at the entrance. Kirkgordon now faced the corridor, where frog-men were beginning to charge.
“Churchy, we’re screwed!”
“So little faith, Indy!”
Drawing three arrows, all with the same colour fletchings, Kirkgordon quickly loaded his bow. Aiming about four feet away at the ground, he let the arrows fly. On hitting the stone floor of the corridor, each arrow turned into a giant with a club. The great creatures looked dumbly at one another before turning to Kirkgordon.
“Side by side, turn and face the frog-men and then run down the corridor pushing them all back.”
The three giants were tightly packed in the corridor but turned straight away and began to run side by side at the frog-men. One fell behind the other two as the corridor was too narrow, but they hit the wall of frog-men like the rugby scrum from hell. Such was their force that they managed to drive the frog-men backwards at a considerable rate.
“Follow them!” yelled Kirkgordon.
“To where?” asked Indy, starting to hobble. “Can you see another corridor?”
“No, but there had better be one! Nefol, come on.”
Austerley stumbled along, and Kirkgordon’s hand on his collar reminded him of their dash through Moscow. There he had also struggled for breath and balance, and here and now it was just the same. At times he almost fell to the floor and needed Kirkgordon to hold him upright – well, above the floor, anyway.
The corridor twisted round a corner and the good work done by the giants was beginning to become less effective. Their progress was halted and one of the front two giants succumbed to the frog-men, disappearing in a puff of smoke. Kirkgordon scanned for options. He could see a door in the corridor, on the left-hand side about five metres beyond the front line. Behind him he heard Nefol shout out that the rear guard were catching up on them. He drew another arrow and lobbed it gently over the head of his giants.
Tiny men appeared and began to clamber over the frog-men, causing them to fall over. The giants drove at them with renewed vigour and pushed the tide back further. The door was suddenly exposed and within reach. Nefol cried out from behind and Kirkgordon saw her taking on two frog-men.
“Austerley, break that damn door down.” Kirkgordon threw a punch straight onto a frog-man’s bulbous eye, causing gelatinous gloop to run over his hand. But his prey fell and he turned, looking for an open door. He watched Austerley throw
himself fully into the door shoulder first and bounce straight back off it onto the floor.
Kirkgordon strode over and drove hard into the door, almost knocking it off its hinges. Turning back, he didn’t wait for Austerley to stand up but simply grabbed him and dragged him on his backside through the opening.
“Nefol, time to go.”
She was still driving her white-hot staff into frog-men and Kirkgordon saw it was going to be hard for her to turn and run. He slapped one of the giants on the back and indicated that he was to go to Nefol and bash frog-men from that direction. His arrival bought her precious seconds and she ran through the doorway.
Kirkgordon slammed the door shut and held himself against it. He waved Nefol and Austerley down the corridor but the wooden-legged professor stood up and began to chant.
“Oh heck, here we go. What’s he pinching off who this time? Another foot?”
“Get out of the way,” shouted Nefol, “he’s sealing the door.”
Kirkgordon stepped aside past Austerley and watched his partner call out deep guttural sounds and wave his hands in bizarre gestures. The door started to buckle inward as it was put under a large degree of stress from the other side.
“Let’s go, Indy!” said Kirkgordon.
“He’s not done,” retorted Nefol.
The door turned a molten red and seemed to liquefy. Deep swathes of what seemed like lava were swirling round the space where the door had been. Kirkgordon recoiled from the heat but Austerley stood his ground until his chant had finished.
“Been a while since I managed to do that. Not bad though.”
“How long will it hold?” asked Kirkgordon.
“Maybe ten minutes, at best twenty. Hard to tell with these things. It’s all to do with the density of the wood and if the trees were at any point in contact with a—”
“Indy, MOVE!”
Austerley felt his collar being grabbed again and they raced off down this new corridor. There was a fork ahead and Austerley heard Kirkgordon grunt a direction at Nefol. There was a constant tapping of the wooden leg on the stone floor and the bind that attached the false limb to Austerley was beginning to bite into him. He wasn’t sure how long the leg would last.