The Tale Of The Ice Queen

Chapter 7

"You are weaponless." Sir Robert observed as Khione stood ahead of him.

"I most certainly assure you I am not." She said.

For Ducatoria, Sir Robert told himself as he charged at her. She moved right before the Morning Blade connected with her hand. Instead, the blade was deflected by a sword that hadn't been there a moment ago. A sword made of ice.

It disappeared as soon as it appeared. Sir Robert swung his sword again, this time targeting her other side. The same happened again, and Sir Robert took a step back, considering what was happening in front of him.

Magic was what was happening in front of him. The Queen's fists were covered with ice after he blinked his eyes, ice which seemed to have incepted from thin air.

She charged towards him. Discipline was something she lacked; Sir Robert could tell. He quickly slid down to one knee and slashed across her gut, drawing blood in the process. That did nothing to stop her as she continued to try to attack while Robert continually survived the storm that was coming his way.

Instantly, in the middle of her attack, a dagger appeared in her hand. Robert saw it too late as he felt the sharp ice pierce through the gauntlet of his right hand.

The pain was not too hard to bear. He had been through and fought through injuries far worse. But the searing the icicle in his left palm caused was too much.

Robert did a mistake, a fundamental mistake. He kicked Khione away; something which he did not think would work until it did. Then, he pulled out the icicle. He could take care of the wound later. He had to survive this first.

Something in Khione changed as she got back to her feet. Her eyes, Robert noticed. They were the colour of Springwood before. Now, they were the colour of the ice that had pierced his hand.

One armed, the Knight decided to take a step backwards in the fight. He did not fully understand what he was facing, but it wasn't necessary. Survival was. Surviving long enough was.

She charged at him again, this time, more aggressive. Robert sidestepped again and grazed her pale arm with his sword, drawing blood again. Twice now he had drawn her blood. One month he had earned for his kingdom.

Khione turned to face him. She did not move, but Sir Robert could sense that there was something different about her. Something he did not seem to understand something that chilled him to the core latently.

She took a step forward and with a chill in her voice, began.

"Two times you drew my blood. One month you earned for your kingdom. You are as good as you say you are at this dance, sir and for that I praise you. But I can afford to give you no more time. For this long, we danced to your song. Now it is time to begin mine."

As she uttered the last part, Sir Robert heard two voices instead of one. One was the voice in which he had heard her speak and the other voice which seemed to underline her one was far raspier, the voice of someone ancient, the voice of something far more sinister; something that was far more deadly.

She uttered a chant in a language that sounded as old as the voice that seemed to be lining her own. A ball of energy started to form in her hand, getting bigger and bigger as the chant went on.

Robert did not know what to do. Hence, he charged at her. Just before she came into the range of the blade in his hands, a blast sent Robert flying backwards. The morning blade clattered to a halt three paces to his left. As he sat up, he realised that she was no longer chanting.

The first thing Robert noticed as he got to one knee was the massive blue ball that was hovering in the air right in front of her hands.

The first thing he did was to roll towards the left and once there, he gripped the Morning blade with both hands, forgetting the pain in his hand to the back of his mind.

She let the ball go. A moment later, it was on the edge of the morning blade. Sir Robert held on, but there was too much force. His legs had begun to lose their grip, and his hands felt like someone had poured molten silver on them. He was unable to move too as there was just too much force on him at once. Now would be a good time for you to make your entrance, Tristan he thought, as he gritted his teeth, hoping for his squire to show up.

The gate behind the Queen exploded, the impact of which sent her flying to the other end of the arena floor, over Robert's head. Sir Robert fell to his knees as the ball of energy disappeared, clearly exhausted from what he had just done. He then remembered where he was and then that he was far from safe. Sir Robert ran out of the now open gate while his squire ran in and recovered the Morning Blade.

Outside the arena were two guards, both of whom were on the floor, sleeping peacefully. The majority of the soldiers of Prado were back in the castle. Their Queen had bid that even the soldiers deserved to lay down their weapons sometimes and rest. She decided that the best time for that would be when the duel was going on. They were in the castle, eating and drinking and waiting for the news that their Queen had beheaded the Lord of Landrow so that they could do the same to his squire. How disappointed they would be when they find out what happened, Sir Robert did not know. Nor did he want to wait to find out.

His squire had done well. Sir Robert would thank him later if they managed to leave Prado alive.

He had planned this all along. The offer the Queen had given was gold, but not all that looks to be gold is gold. Sir Robert told his squire that if the duel in the arena went on for longer than half an hour, he was to retrieve Baviaca and Tempest from the stables and make his way to the field. A pompous entrance wouldn't hurt, Sir Robert remembered telling him. And Macmillan delivered.

Tristan helped Robert get on Tempest. Soon, the two horses were galloping as fast as they could towards the gates of the city. Sir Robert did not know how they were going to escape, but failing was not an option.

Tristan held his bow and notched an arrow. Pulling it back till the string was tight he aimed at the lone guard standing on top of the stone wall, looking out at the hills, waiting for an enemy to show. He seemed to have forgotten that there were two of them inside his city already.

The arrow whizzed through the air and notched itself in the back of the soldier's neck. Tristan quickly pulled out another arrow but realised it was not necessary when the soldier fell off the edge of the wall.

He climbed up the ladder leading to the top of the wall and pulled the lever. A few heartbeats later, the gate was open for them to pass. Alive and well and burdened with the knowledge that they now possessed, the knight and his squire left Prado.

-JC