Daggers of Ice

Chapter 21

Northern Lands.

Arianna.

Arianna cast a critical eye over the forge, dwarves and Minotaurs sweating over the anvils, the clinking of metal striking metal was a beautiful melody to her ears. Rows upon rows of finished armour and beautifully crafted weapons, deadly sharp and dangerous.

She picked up the delicate fall of her ivory dress, so the hem did not drag in the soot that marred the beautiful ice floor. She saw them watching her out of the corner of their eyes; a mixture of fear and admiration shining in the orbs of the outcasts of Narnia.

"My Queen," the dwarf bowed low before her, the tip of his long grey beard kissing the floor. "Your armour has been completed, just as you asked."

"Show it to me," she inclined her head, silently ordering him to lead the way. It was hard to refrain from grinning with excitement.

Through one of the side doors he led her, the two snow-wolves following close behind.

"My Queen," the dark Minotaur stood at attention when she entered, raising his battle axe in salutation.

She couldn't stop the gasp that left her mouth, her eyes widening in awe of the stunning armour. Unlike Jadis she was not foolish enough to protect herself only with magic.

"It will protect you well," the deep rumble of the Maccon's voice resonated through her body. She could picture his amber eyes narrowing in appreciation, his lip curling back over his maw in a grim parody of a smile.

She wondered idly what Edmund would think if he saw her dressed in the armour – her daggers raised and glittering like ice, the crystal crown atop her head, her dark curls tumbling over her shoulders. She imagined those dark eyes of his darkening even more with lust.

A shudder ran through her body, something that could almost be called heat tingled within her.

Bang.

She tensed, her knives in her hands in a single movement, her feet placed the perfect width apart, her teeth bared in challenge. All thought of Edmund and his handsome eyes vanished. The growls of the wolves filled the small room as they crouched low to the ground, their expressions ferocious, saliva dripped from their bared fangs.

Raised voices echoed through the forge; the clanging of metal as armour was dropped. Voices raised in anger.

Then the doors burst open.

"My lady, one of the sorcerer's men has been captured," Faelar's voice was ragged, his chest heaving. His pale blonde hair fell messily over his face, plastered to his forehead with sweat that was in contrast to the chilly weather within the castle.

She straightened, smoothing out her gown as if nothing had occurred.

Finally.

She inclined her head to the dwarf and minotaur, glancing once more at the shimmering set of armour.

...

Cair Paravel.

Edmund.

He could only imagined how Lucy must have felt – pouring over the ancient texts for weeks on end. Already his eyes had begun to tire, and he had been reading only for a few hours. And thus far he had discovered nothing.

He was agitated; for his scouts had failed to return with the reports.

Asura was worried; the mission had been a simple one.