Fire and Frost (Seven Realms Book 1) Page 2

  “Wait!” he cried as he pulled his horse up short. Within moments all four friends were armed.

  With a roar, the ground around them erupted. Several shapes surged from the ground. In the havoc, Alaric caught only clips of the scene.

  Suddenly looming in front of him was a monster. He had no other way to describe the thing before him. Its face seemed to be chiseled out of ice, with fangs jutting up from its lower jaw, and down from its upper. A set of shoulders as broad as a bull’s led to arms that reached nearly to the ground. All over its body it appeared covered in short needles of ice. Its three fingered hands were dominated by claws the length of daggers.

  With a yell, he brought his sword around. Good human steel clashed against the monster’s arm, and neither gave way. As his horse reared to kick, the thing in front of him slashed, faster than he could see. The courser didn’t even have time for a dying scream. Alaric leaped off.

  Hitting the ground with a roll, he brought his sword around again. Again he could merely parry the huge thing’s attack. He ducked and dodged and swung and hacked. Slowly, he could feel his arms growing heavy. How long had the fight gone? Never in his life had he struggled so with a single opponent. Dodging again, he nearly lost his footing. Stumbling, he felt the beast’s claws swipe over his head. In that moment, he saw his chance. The arms were too armored, too strong. Sliding inside the thing’s reach, Alaric positioned his sword to thrust, rather than to hack. With a mighty heave, he slid his sword into the monster’s belly.

  Immediately, a cold so intense it felt hot shot up the length of his sword. Frost coated the blade. His fingers began to go numb. He dropped his weapon from shock, and watched as the monster fell.

  He quickly regained his senses and turned to view the fight. It looked like they might win after all. Ettienne had been one of the first to adapt thrusts into his swordplay long ago, and had handled two of the monsters. Morgan, even below fighting weight, was chopping into them like so much cordwood. Troye was having similar problems to those Alaric had experienced, but his superior skill on the horse had kept him out of harm’s way so far.

  Then it all came apart. Another roar, louder than the first, erupted all around them. Easily a score of the beasts surged out of the ground, as though they had been there all along. Morgan, exposed after just cutting one of the beasts down was the first to fall.

  The first monster in the second wave was larger than the rest. Down its back ran a stripe of silver, almost metallic in sheen. With a negligent motion, the great beast swiped at the Bear. The young man collapsed, and his head landed several yards away.

  Another rose up behind Ettienne, and cut him from shoulder to thigh. Troye fell to three of the beasts, swarmed under by their weight.

  Alone, Alaric lifted his sword out of the belly of the beast he had slain. The great silverback looked at him. If he’d believed the monsters capable of emotion, he would have said it sneered in contempt. Alaric roared his defiance and charged.

  CHAPTER 2

  Alaric awoke disoriented and confused. He could not focus, and his mind felt like it was wrapped in wool. The heat was stifling, but he seemed to be in a fairly comfortable, if overly large, bed. He tried to concentrate, and eventually began to employ a trick taught to him by one of his tutors.

  “Abraham, Barnabas, Cephas, Debra, Elijah, Felix, Gad, Hannah, Isaac, Jacob… the ambush!” As his mental exercise began clearing the fog from his mind, he began remembering. He remembered the initial fight, and the sudden way the monsters appeared. He remembered, in vivid, life-altering detail, the death of each one of his friends. He remembered charging at the great Silverback. With the odds like they had been, he’d had no hope for survival anyway; he had sought revenge.

  So why was he here and alive? For that matter, where was “here?”

  He began to take in his surroundings. The room was large – not large as though designed for comfort or opulence, but rather simply built to a scale slightly larger than that of any human room. The furniture seemed to consist largely of pillows. The few flat surfaces were all lower to the ground, given the scale of the room, than humans would normally use. The one piece of human furniture in the room seemed to be the bed, and even that seemed to have been made for someone much larger than most humans. Perhaps Morgan would have needed a bed this size, but Morgan was more on the scale with the Igni than any other human.

  Then there was the décor. To call it minimal would have been an understatement. There were pillows which were apparently to be used for seating, and a couple of small, low tables, one of which held his folded clothes. The bed itself was covered in sheets of something very like linen. Other than that, there seemed to be no decoration. No murals or tapestries decorated the walls. No rugs were on the black stone floor. Everything seemed to be in reds and greys and blacks, but those seemed to be natural colors of the materials used, not decoration, paint, or finish. Even the sheets on the bed seemed to be in natural shades of red, gold, and orange.

  Alaric looked down at himself. He felt very well considering the state of his visible body. He was covered in scrapes and bruises. A couple of long gashes on his arm had been sutured. His ribs had been wrapped in the same kind of cloth that made up the sheets. Feeling at his abdomen gingerly, he realized he must have been here for some time.

  “How long have I been here? Where is here?”

  The last thing he expected was an answer. “You, young human, are in the Citadel of Flame. Our soldiers brought you here after your fight. As for how long, it’s been about a week since you arrived, though our battle field care is better than any others. You’ve been receiving treatment for your injuries for at least a fortnight.” The voice was a soft growl.

  Alaric turned to the source of the voice. Sitting in the corner of the room was one of the Igni. He’d never been this close to one before, and took the time to examine him. He then immediately decided “he” was a “she.”

  Her fur rippled down in waves of red, orange, and gold. On her head, the fur was maintained much like a mane, or human hair. It was braided into several thick ropes, and those were tied together behind her head. The fur ran down her shoulders, arms, legs, and presumably her back, though Alaric couldn’t verify that with her sitting. Her bare chest was almost flat, and the skin on her face, palms, and torso seemed to be very rough and leathery with a pebbled appearance. Her top and bottom fangs were mostly hidden in her lips. He knew males’ fangs were larger, seldom covered by the lips by the time they were the size of this female.

  To his surprise, she was carefully stitching a garment. He recognized it as his undershirt. Despite the size of her hands and fingers, she handled the needle with graceful skill.

  He knew the ferocity of their warriors, but he was surprised at the dexterity with which his nurse was working. He’d never considered the Igni to be particularly skilled with their hands. Certainly their weaponry was still crude, compared to human weaponry. Given their warlike nature, he knew they had medical care far better than humans, but he hadn’t considered that such care would require such fine dexterity.

  “Two weeks? Please, tell me you notified the Baron Dell.”

  “Yes, Sir Alaric Dell, your father was notified as soon as you identified yourself to us. I’m not surprised you do not remember; you were barely alive when the fight ended. You’re quite lucky a patrol had been pursuing the same beasts you were.”

  “The same beasts? You know what they are?”

  “Of course we know, young human. We’ve been fighting them since before your people came to the Realms. You and your companions did better than we expected humans to; I am sorry for their fates.”

  “If you knew, why didn’t you tell us? We could have been prepared! We could have fought them!” As his anger rose, so did his color.

  His nurse remained quite calm. “I cannot answer that. Even if I knew the mind of the Chief, it would not be my place to tell you. Now that you are awake, we’ll make arrangements for your return home.”

 
; “Return home? No, I can’t. I have to know what those things were. I have to know how to fight them.”

  “No, young one, you don’t. Now that we know they have found a way through the Border, we will take care of them. You could say it is our purpose. Besides, it seems you and your companions discovered how to fight them.”

  With that, she set aside his undershirt and stood, resting her weight as much on her long arms as on her legs. She lifted a large bag, and pulled it over her shoulder, draping it across her chest so it hung like a pouch below her stomach. Then she started toward the door.

  “Wait. I need answers! What were those things?”

  “Young one, I have already told you that I cannot tell you.” She opened the large door and stepped out.

  Alaric waited until the bolt slid into place; he’d expected no less. He may be here as a patient and a guest, but he was certain he wouldn’t be allowed simply to wander the halls.

  After a short wait, he rose and dressed himself. Based on his wounds, he almost couldn’t believe he’d been on the mend for only two weeks. The coloration of his bruises suggested he’d been healing much longer. So did the state of most of his cuts. The Igni truly were far better at medicine than humans.

  Just dressing left him shaky and weak. That, more than anything, confirmed that he’d been bed ridden for at least two weeks. Knowing he would need to be in fighting trim, he immediately tried some of his exercises. Unsurprisingly, he was unable to do more than a few before he gave up and collapsed back on the bed. Almost immediately, he fell back into slumber.

  In his dreams, he was transported back to the fight. He watched, as though a detached third party, as each of his friends again fell. He saw his own futile, enraged charge. As he neared the silverback, he checked his run and thrust with his sword. The increased concentration of the force seemed to be the only way he could wound the beasts. In this case, he struck the silverback in the thigh. In his dream, the great monster screamed in rage as much as in pain. It used the same back-handed swipe with which it had so quickly slain Morgan. His dream-self had somehow already recovered, and deflected much of the blow with his sword. It saved his life, though the sword shattered. Many of his cuts must have come from that explosion of metal slivers.

  Even deflecting much of the force of the blow, it sent him tumbling backwards. He landed, hard, against some rocks. Before he could recover, he’d been tackled by four or five of the beasts. He saw his own blood flying in the air. It coated the ground and his attackers. Describing his survival as lucky was a severe understatement, it seemed. The crackling roar of a score of Igni voices sounded as his dream faded.

  The door opened with a bang, startling him awake. Two Igni, males if their size was any indication, walked in. Helms covered their faces, and their armor was quite functional, if also formal. Covering their chests were plates much like human heavy cavalry still wore. At the waist, their shorter legs prevented useful armor, but they still wore plate greaves on their shins. Their simian torsos prevented them from wearing pauldrons, but their lower arms were guarded by vambraces and gauntlets. This armor was etched with decoration, and its highlights were gilded. Alaric saw no weapons, but knew the Igni often used spikes on their gauntlets as weapons. The way their arms were hinged at shoulder and elbow prevented them from using most human weapons. These had to be the Chief’s own guards. Metal did not survive long, in general, in Igni. That meant this armor had to have been purchased from human smiths, and then enchanted with Igni fire magic to avoid melting.

  The two walked in and immediately separated, forming an honor guard at the door. Between them came the largest Igni Alaric had ever seen. Easily weighing in at 70 stone, the Igni had had to duck to enter the door. Even then he had to squeeze his shoulders. His mottled red and gold fur was intricately braided at his head. It flowed in a pattern that reminded of Alaric alternately of water and a bonfire. He wore no armor or decoration except for a simple sash worn as a baldric from his left shoulder to his right hip. Alaric did not recognize the fabric, and he did not know what significance, if any, the sash carried. Unlike other Igni, whose eyes were generally brown to black, this one had bright, almost reflective golden eyes.

  Its bass rumble caused small objects in the room to vibrate. “You humans recover more slowly than we do, brave one. Next time you are faced with Frost Fiends, might I recommend a strategic retreat.” The words were gentle, even playfully chiding.

  “If they leave open an avenue of escape, I’ll certainly take that under advisement,” Alaric replied with a grimace. “If I may, to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?” Alaric’s manners were always better when dealing with someone who could, and well may, rip him in half if he gave offense.

  As if reading his mind, his host smiled slightly. At least, Alaric chose to interpret the pulling of the lips up away from his fangs as a smile. “You may. I am Kahji, the war-chief of the band who found you. If I may, you and your companions fought admirably against such foes, considering your people’s lack of knowledge of them.”

  Alaric fought down a wave of grief, closing his eyes until he was back in control. Immediately after the stab of pain, his mind processed some of what he’d heard, and he had to remind himself of his policy of politeness to people who could kill him casually. “If you knew what had been attacking our settlements, why didn’t you tell us? I’m not sure why you’ve been hiding the information, but it has cost us the lives of hundreds of our civilians, not to mention our soldiers and my friends,” Alaric’s tone was so tightly controlled, it could have etched metal. “I knew your emissary wasn’t telling us everything. Didn’t you think we deserved to know what was attacking us?”

  “I understand your anger, brave one, and were it up to me, we would have informed you. Things are not so simple, and the secret is not mine to divulge. But you know about them now. The journey back to your home will take some time, and I will lead those guarding you. Perhaps we can talk more then. For now, it is my privilege to invite you to a reception in your honor. More suitable clothing will be delivered.”

  Alaric didn’t pretend to understand the politics of the situation, but was quick enough to understand he had just been handed a unique opportunity for some intelligence gathering. He nodded politely, “I would be honored.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Alaric awoke slowly the next morning. He then immediately wished he hadn’t. Brief visions from the night before flashed through his mind. His introduction to the court, such as it was, of the Igni started the night. Then there was a banquet befitting one of a higher station than the third son of a Baron. Then there was the entertainment. Alaric didn’t particularly enjoy Igni formal dancing; it always put him in mind of ambulatory sacks of flour attempting the bassa danze. Their story dancing, what humans might call folk dancing, was magnificent, however. The power and grace of the warriors dancing always took his breath away.

  The drinking didn’t help. Alaric wasn’t much of a drinker in the first place. He had been drunk a time or two, but it wasn’t something he enjoyed. Igni alcohol was especially bad for him, because its kick always came some time after the drink. Unfortunately, Alaric always forgot this until after he’d had too much.

  It tasted like a rat had crawled in his mouth and died. His head throbbed like an ingot on the forge. His hands shook like leaves in a high wind. His eyes felt glued shut. He was glad of that, because he was afraid of how bad they would hurt if he actually opened them. The ringing in his ears was bad enough.

  “Ho, there, brave one!” the voice boomed through his room. His agonized groan and scramble to cover his head only elicited laughter. “It’s time to rise.”

  Alaric muttered some words which would make the Lord frown in disapproval, and slowly raised his head. “You did this on purpose. You knew exactly what was happening when I accepted that second refill, and you didn’t even warn me.”

  “Bah. It won’t hurt you. Permenantly.” Kahji chuckled. “The preparations are nearly complete. A bath has been
drawn for you, at your request, and your traveling gear has been mended and laundered. Come, we will have to hurry.”

  After bathing and breaking his fast, Alaric dressed in his traveling clothes, noting the fine stitching used to mend the holes torn during the fight. The blood and sweat had been washed out. The only things showing much sign of their previous wear were his riding boots. Even those had been cleaned and shined.

  It was only in putting on the light traveling gear that he realized how hot it wasn’t in the fortress. He’d known the Igni were masters of fire magic; he hadn’t realized how elegant their magic was. Either the human understanding of what climate the Igni preferred was wrong, or they’d been lowering the ambient temperature to one much more comfortable to humans. He knew that the Igni preferred higher temperatures, but he didn’t know if they’d been inconveniencing themselves on his account, or if their magic was both powerful and subtle enough to make everyone experience a different temperature.

  “Ready, brave one? We must leave.”

  Kahji was escorted by eight warriors in traditional battle dress. Their armor was made of hard boiled leather, only reinforced by metal in certain places. Kahji’s gear, on the other hand, showed the marks of high station. His armor consisted of a mail hauberk which hung down to his thighs. This was held at his waist by a thick leather belt. His helm was metal with separate cheek guards attached with boiled leather. At his waist he carried a club made of a wood native to the realm, studded with more steel. In addition, two large spiked gauntlets hung on the back of his belt.

  Kahji’s war band led Alaric through the fortress. Everywhere Igni stood aside as they passed. Part of this was because of deference to the station both of Kahji, and of Alaric himself as de facto dignitary. Part of it, however, was the shear frightfulness of the war band. Alaric had fought in skirmishes against the Igni before; such warfare was simply a fact of life along the Border. Never had he seen such a formidable squad of the Fire Apes.