Tag: stories

The Ice Mage Incident – Episode 9

I froze.

Not literally, of course – though what with being inside an ice-cavern, I wasn’t particularly warm – but in the sense that my thoughts slowed to the pace of an arthritic tortoise.

Nevertheless, my heart jumped into my mouth as the super-cold sphere of ice flew like an arrow through the air at Trewla.

She tensed, and her legs bent in readiness to leap out of the way.

But just as she was about to spring, Anders stepped around her at the speed of a striking snake, his thick arms flexing as he swung his hammer. The lethal sphere exploded in a shower of icy fragments as the iron head smacked into it like a steam train hitting a snowball.

Salkeban recoiled, then snarled and waved his hand over the pool at his feet.

“Stop!” roared Anders. “Or I’ll–”

“Or you’ll what?” yelled the ice mage. Another hideous, crackling ball of ice floated up from the pool. “You know you can’t defeat me!”

The blacksmith’s lip curled. “Your feeble missiles are no match for my hammer.”

“Ha! Don’t be so sure of yourself. What’s more, they are not the only weapon in my armoury!”

“Oh, really?” Anders spread his arms and lifted his chin, exposing his chest. “Come on then! Do your worst!”

I gasped. Had he gone insane? As much as I despised the ice mage, I’d developed a healthy respect for his magic.

“You dare to provoke me?” An evil smile split Salkeban’s face. “I’m going to make you sorry you were ever born!”

The floating ice ball sank back into the pool and the ice mage whirled around, his head darting from side to side like he was searching for something.

“My staff… Where is it?” Uncertainty tinged the ice mage’s tone. “I used it earlier to capture that miscreant.” He pointed at me.

That’s the thing with wizards – and self-described mages. While they can cast simple spells without any props, to wield real power they need their staff. Each wizard’s staff is unique, painstakingly crafted by them over decades.

“I must have brought it here with me,” muttered Salkeban. “Where did I put it?”

Anders grinned. “Like the idiot you are, you dropped it.” He reached back and picked up something out of sight in the passageway behind Trewla. His hand reappeared holding a long stick, its gnarled surface crusted with frost. “Look what I found at the cave mouth.”

“Give it to me!” shouted Salkeban. He stalked towards the blacksmith.

“Stay where you are, or else…” Anders thrust out his arms before him, holding the staff horizontally, an end in each of his meaty hands. He bunched his muscles and specks of frost fell from the stick as he bent it a fraction.

Salkeban shuddered to a halt, his face a mask of horror.

“You wouldn’t dare break it,” he whispered.

“Wouldn’t I?” The blacksmith bared his teeth. “Return Kari to me now. Or else…”

The staff creaked and more frost-flakes drifted to the floor.

“Wait!” Salkeban raised his hands, showing his open palms to the blacksmith. “She isn’t down here in the caves.” He pointed at the roof. “She’s up there in my fortress.”

“Take me to her. And don’t try anything funny or I’ll reduce your staff to matchsticks.”

Anders stepped to the side, away from the entrance, indicating with head movements to Trewla that she should do the same. When they were both out of the way, Salkeban hurried past them out of the cavern.

The pair were about to follow him when I found my voice.

“Hey! What about me?”

The blacksmith glowered at me and kept going, but Trewla hesitated.

“You can’t leave me here like this,” I said. “Please!”

She threw a glance at Anders’ retreating back, then looked at me, her jaw clenching and unclenching.

My heart leaped when she huffed, shook her head, and ran over to me.

“I don’t know why I’m doing this,” she said, working at the knots in the rope around my ankles. “You don’t deserve it.”

I was about to demand an explanation, but thought better of it when I saw the look on her face.

“Thanks,” I said, instead.

Her fingers paused their efforts. “Say it like you mean it.”

“I do mean it!” I gave her my best puppy-eyed, sorrowful look.

She grunted in a way which wasn’t entirely derisive, and tugged at a knot. It loosened, and I hastily curled my head forward as my shoulders thumped into the floor. Winded, I rolled over and groaned.

“Come on,” she said, seizing my arm and pulling me to my feet. “We need to hurry. Anders will need our help.”

I staggered, giddy at being the right way up again. “No, he won’t. He seems pretty capable to me. In any case, his problems aren’t ours! You and I need to get out of here and return to the castle post-haste!”

“I’m not going to abandon him! Or his daughter! I promised to help!”

So saying, she ran out of the cavern, her long hair streaming behind her.

I groaned and hobbled after her, bending to rub my sore ankles where the rope had bitten into them, my breath sawing in and out of my throat.

Over the years I’ve visited more worlds than I care to remember, and encountered more than my fair share of unpleasant people. As a result, I’ve become fairly good at avoiding sticky situations.

Which is why I was surprised at myself for not hightailing it back to the sleigh.

What can I say? When it comes to a certain elf, my heart holds sway.

Trudging along the ice caves, the stiffness in my poor bruised legs eased, and I picked up my pace.

When Salkeban had been leading me in the opposite direction, I’d tried to memorise the route. It turned out I needn’t have bothered. The scuff marks left by Anders’ heavy boots in the granular ice covering the floor led the way.

It wasn’t long before I emerged from the cave into the fortress’ courtyard, blinking in the pearly daylight.

The older footprints from when Trewla, Anders, and I had arrived were almost invisible under fresh snowfall. A set of three new ones – two heavy, and one light – led across the courtyard to one of the larger and grander buildings.

Sighing, I slogged through the snow to the building’s open doorway, walked through it, and stopped to get my bearings.

I was in a hall, its stone walls adorned with portraits of sombre-faced men and women. Rows of grey marble floor tiles marched in dead-straight lines to the far wall where an impressive pair of tall, arched windows did their best to lift the dreary atmosphere. A pair of high-backed, cushioned chairs placed on either side of an ornate low table were the only furniture.

Despite the luxurious décor, it was as cold, if not colder, than outside. The picture frames, chairs, table, and window ledges were coated in frost. Ice glittered on the walls and the window panes.

Of the several doors leading out of the hall, one stood ajar.

Salkeban and Anders’ voices were coming through the gap. I couldn’t make out the words, but there was no doubt they weren’t engaged in genial conversation.

Glancing back to reassure myself the front door was still open, I crept forwards.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when Anders let out a mighty yell.

“Kari! I’ve come for you! You’re safe now!”

*** To Be Continued ***

The Ice Mage Incident – Index of Episodes

The Ice Mage Incident – Episode 8

If you ever find yourself in the unfortunate position of hanging upside-down from a long rope tied around your ankles, swinging from side to side like a giant pendulum, while some self-obsessed scoundrel hurls deadly objects at you as he simultaneously barks inane questions, you would do well to heed the following advice:

Don’t get into that situation in the first place.

Take it from one who knows.

Of course, at that point I hadn’t had the benefit of that particular experience, but I learned rather rapidly. The first thing being that begging for mercy was a waste of time.

At my words to that effect, Salkeban yelled, “Silence! Speak only when I ask a question!”

To emphasise his point, he flicked the fingers of his raised hand and the awful hissing ball of insanely cold ice floating in the air next to him suddenly hurtled towards me.

I screeched and flailed my arms hoping to move my swinging body out of the way. I might as well not have bothered. For all my efforts, I swung on at the same speed and in the same direction.

The floor flashed past my head as I reached the lowest point of the arc. I shut my eyes.

Freezing fingers clawed at my cheek as the bitterly cold ball flashed inches past my shoulder and smashed into the cavern’s rear wall.

Salkeban snarled. “Let that be a warning to you.”

With my heart beating like a drum, I reached the highest point of my curved path, slowed, then descended again.

My eyes widened as Salkeban raised another fizzing ball from the pool at his feet.

My head swept over the floor and I swung to the highest point of my arc on the cavern’s opposite side. All the while, the ice mage’s unblinking pale blue eyes followed me.

Once more, I began swinging back down.

“Who are you?” he said.

He’d more than hinted earlier he would ask that question, but hearing it said out loud sent my quaking innards into overdrive.

How was I to answer? Truthfully?

He’d mentioned he would know if I was lying. But how could I tell the truth? I doubted he’d believe it.

Telling him I was the lord of a world-hopping magic castle sounded unlikely even to me.

Although my earlier bravado had vanished, I retained a shred of what I hoped was good sense, and in a shaking voice, replied, “A traveller.”

It was as close to the truth as I dared to go.

“What sort of traveller? Tinker? Peddler? Mummer?”

I wracked my brain for a suitable answer, my hair ruffled by the wind of my oscillations.

“A scholar! I’m a travelling scholar,” I yelled in a high-pitched tone.

It was the best I could come up with – and not entirely untrue. I mean, I had been a student in my youth. And I did travel. Well, the castle did, taking me along with it.

He frowned. “You don’t seem very bright for a scholar… Are you sure you’re not a mummer? I don’t like mummers.”

“No, not a mummer. Definitely a scholar.”

“A scholar of what?”

“Oh… um… you know…”

His frown deepened.

In a state of panic, I blurted, “Ice mages! I study ice mages.”

I’d thought that would appeal to his narcissism, and mentally gave myself a pat on my back as I swished from one side of the cavern to the other.

His eyebrows lifted. “I see. So you came to my fortress to study me?”

“Yes!”

“And you’re a student of ice mages?”

“Yes!”

“Then you must have met many. Who else have you visited and studied before coming to me?”

I gaped in dismay.

His eyes hardened. The ice-ball fizzed and his raised fingers twitched.

An idea flashed into my mind. “You’re the first! I started with the greatest.”

“Oh?” He pursed his lips as he pondered. “Who is the second greatest?”

“Ah…” My mouth turned dry. “His name… seems to have slipped my mind.”

Salkeban flicked his fingers and the ball of ice streaked along the length of the cavern.

I flapped my arms like wings in a useless attempt to slow my passage through the air. But with gut-clenching certainty, I knew I would arrive at the bottommost part of my arc at the same time as the dreadful globe of ice got there.

Trailing a tail of frozen air like a comet, the abominable ball rushed to its appointment with my tender flesh. With only a second to spare, I bent at the waist, lifted my lower body out of harm’s way, and grabbed hold of my legs.

The ball whizzed past under my bent back, sucking the warmth from my spine, and exploded against the wall behind me.

I couldn’t stay doubled-up for long. My aching fingers slipped from my legs, and my body straightened once more.

“Next question.” Salkeban’s voice boomed above the fizzling of icy fragments as they hit the cavern’s floor. He gesticulated, and another ice-ball rose, hissing and crackling from the pool. “How did you break down my gate?”

“It wasn’t me!”

“Of course it was! You came alone. I saw nobody–”

His speech cut off, and he stared at my right arm.

“What is that in your hand?” he said, his tone low and menacing.

He lifted his arms, muttering arcane words as he did so. My oscillations slowed, and I shuddered to a stop.

I glanced at my hand. I was still gripping Trewla’s hat, which I’d picked up earlier.

“It’s nothing,” I said.

“Clearly, it isn’t nothing.”

“Oh, yes…” I said, chuckling as though I’d only just noticed what I was holding. “It’s my hat.”

“No, it isn’t. Your hat fell from your head.” He pointed. “There it is, lying on the floor beneath you.”

The last thing I wanted to do was to tell him whose hat it really was. It would put Trewla in terrible danger if he found out she was in his fortress too.

I toyed with the notion of telling him the hat belonged to Anders, but he wouldn’t believe that for a moment. It was far too small to fit the blacksmith’s fat head.

From out of nowhere, a mote of inspiration popped into my mind.

Anders’ daughter.

The blacksmith had told us Salkeban had kidnapped her. He must have imprisoned her somewhere in the fortress.

“This hat belongs to Kari,” I said.

A bark of laughter erupted from Salkeban. “Kari? Ha! How amusing!” He clapped his hands slowly and deliberately. “I commend your imagination.”

As abruptly as it had come, his laughter ceased. He gave me a hard stare. “Now, tell me who that hat really belongs to.”

“It’s mine,” rang out a female voice.

I yanked my gaze from Salkeban’s pale eyes and turned to look at where the voice had come from.

My heart skipped a beat. Trewla was standing in the entrance to the cavern, glaring at the ice mage.

From out of the shadows behind her stepped Anders, his hammer in his hand.

“Blacksmith!” roared Salkeban. “I warned you to stay away!”

“It’s him you want!” I yelled at the ice mage. “Let me go! He’s the one who broke your bloody gate!”

Both men ignored me, though Trewla gave me a frown.

Salkeban turned to face the pair in the entrance, the floating ice-ball staying at his side.

Anders raised his hammer. “Return Kari to me! Now!”

The ice mage twitched his fingers.

Anders dived into the cavern and rolled to one side as the hideous frozen ball streaked towards the entrance.

Trewla didn’t move.

My gut lurched.

The horrid hissing ball was heading straight for her.

*** Continued in Episode 9 ***

The Ice Mage Incident – Index of Episodes

The Ice Mage Incident – Episode 7

The thin veneer of ice coating my clothes made me feel like I was wearing a suit of armour. Except that real armour doesn’t take over your bodily movements and force your legs to plod behind an unsavoury ice mage into his lair.

For that was who the skinny, long-haired villainous-looking man had to be.

The ice mage, Salkeban.

No matter how much I moaned and resisted, the mantle of frozen water covering my coat and trousers drove me on, creaking and grinding as it flexed at my waist, hips, knees, and ankles.

You may be wondering why I didn’t cast a spell of my own to stop what was happening. The thing is, I was too discombobulated to picture my spellbook in my mind. On top of that, my lips and tongue were so numbed by cold I couldn’t have uttered a single word of magic even if a spell had popped into my head.

At least my eyes still worked, and – just in case – I made an effort to memorise the route we were taking.

It was a long one. Or perhaps it only seemed so.

The cave sloped gently downwards, meandering deep into the ice in a series of smooth curves. The floor was overlayed with sand-like grains of ice which crunched underfoot and offered my soles a firm grip. To either side of us – close enough to touch if I’d been able to raise my arms – were the cave’s glassy walls which arched overhead to form a rounded roof a few feet above our heads.

Every once in a while we’d come to a junction where two or three passages led away. They all looked the same to me, but Salkeban never faltered, turning into one of the openings to a new cave at each junction and striding along as if he walked the same route every day.

Trailing noisily and unwillingly after him, I tried desperately to work some life back into my lips and tongue, flexing and bending them like a goggle-eyed necromancer invoking demons.

It made no difference. Every part of my mouth remained stubbornly unresponsive.

Salkeban had been getting further ahead as we walked, and after a while he looked back at me over his shoulder.

“Come on. Keep up,” he said with a condescending smile as if I was dawdling on purpose.

Chuckling to himself like he’d made the funniest joke in the world, he strode on.

I didn’t like the blacksmith much, but that fatuous comment decided me: I liked the ice mage even less.

Despite how deep below the surface we must have been, the passages were illuminated by a pale light. Was it caused by daylight filtering from above through the ice? Or did it issue from the ice itself? Whichever it was, it wasn’t natural and I grudgingly upped my estimation of Salkeban’s prowess with magic.

The gruelling journey came to an end when we entered a cavern about the size and shape of a church hall, with arching, glossy walls similar to those of the cave we’d just stepped out of, but many times higher. The cavern’s floor was featureless apart from a small pool of bubbling liquid near one end. Close to the wall at the other end, a rope dangled from the lofty peak of the vaulted roof, its loose end lying in a coil on the floor.

Once I’d lurched through the entrance, my suit of ice waddled me over to the rope, then brought me grinding to a halt.

I wanted to ask, in the strongest possible terms, what was going on, but all that came out of my mouth was a slurred groan.

As if he sensed my question, Salkeban came and stood in front of me. “Like I said, we’re going to have a little chat.”

I dragged my gaze away from the rope and glared at him. My lips parted like icebergs slowly drifting away from one another.

“Ooooooothhhhhhhh,” I said.

“Oh, silly me. I forgot.”

He snapped his fingers and his eyes glowed. Heat rose in my neck, banishing the cold and numbness from my lips.

“How dare you?” I said, thrusting my head forward and fixing him with my fiercest stare. “I demand you let me go at once!”

“Come now. You’re not in any position to be making demands. Besides which, it’s rather rude of you to ask to leave before we’ve had a chance to get to know each other.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“I think you do.” He reached out an arm and swung the rope closer to himself. “I brought you to this particular room because you give me the impression you need a little encouragement to loosen your tongue.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, if you’d been more cooperative when we met, we could have had a chat over coffee. Instead, you’re going to tell me what I want to know over a game.”

“A game? I’m not going to play any games with you!”

“Oh dear. Wrong again.”

With that, his eyes glinted as he made a complicated sign with his fingers. Within seconds, my suit of ice had me lying on my back on the floor.

While I protested loudly, he tied the rope around my ankles. At another gesture from his fingers, the rope tightened and hauled me off of the floor. My hat fell off as I rose higher, the rope biting into my ankles as I hung upside-down like a side of beef in a butchery. He gestured again, and my coating of ice shattered and fell away.

With nothing holding them up any longer, my arms dropped straight down. I was suspended too high above the floor for them to reach it. The numbness faded from my arms and I realised I was holding something in my right hand. I glanced at it and saw Trewla’s hat still clutched in my fingers.

“The rules of the game are simple,” said Salkeban, walking over to the pool at the other end of the cavern. “I’m going to ask you questions, and you will answer them. If you refuse or lie to me, I’ll throw one of these at you.”

He waggled his hand over the pool, and a fist-sized ball of ice rose from its surface. It floated in the air at shoulder height, hissing and crackling as though on fire.

“This is no ordinary ice,” he said in a conversational tone. “It’s much, much colder. So cold, in fact, that the sound you hear is caused by the air coming into contact with it being instantly frozen.” He looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “Imagine what it will do to you if it touches you.”

“You rotter! You’ll get nothing from me!”

It was all bravado on my part, of course. Inside, I was quaking like a jelly on a honky-tonk piano.

Ignoring me, he said, “To make the game more challenging, you’ll be a moving target.”

His eyes flared blue. The rope jerked, and I began to sway from side to side. Only a little at first like the pendulum of a grandfather clock, but picking up speed and going further and higher with each swing until I feared my brains would be dashed out on the cavern’s walls.

Over my shrieks and curses, I heard Salkeban shout, “Silence!”

My mouth snapped shut.

Unable to take my eyes off the horrible ball of ice floating next to him, I could do no more than whimper when his voice rang out once more.

“Let the game begin!”

*** Continued in Episode 8 ***

The Ice Mage Incident – Index of Episodes

The Ice Mage Incident – Episode 6

Picking my way past the larger pieces of shattered wood poking up out of the snow under the arched entranceway, I made my way into the fortress.

While keeping a sharp eye out for danger, I reflected on what I’d just witnessed.

It was as plain as day Anders wasn’t the simple blacksmith I’d thought he was. And I had a nagging suspicion there was more to his business with the so-called ice mage than he was letting on.

Pushing those thoughts to the back of my mind, I paused just past the gateway to take stock of my surroundings.

I was standing at the edge of what looked to be a courtyard. It was difficult to tell how big it was, what with its opposite side lost in the mist wrapping the fortress in its clammy embrace. Visibility in any direction was reduced to only a few paces. The twin trails of Anders and Trewla’s footprints led straight ahead across the snow, vanishing into the haze.

Rubbing my face, I pondered whether I should turn around and go back to the sleigh, or carry on traipsing after the reckless pair.

It wasn’t like I gave a hoot about Anders, but Trewla… Well, let’s just say I couldn’t ignore the churning in the pit of my stomach which had started when she’d dashed after him, heading into who-knows-what danger.

And, I had to admit there was the matter of rescuing Anders’ daughter. Not that I’d made any promises in that regard, but still…

Dragging my feet, I set off across the courtyard.

A soft breeze sprang up, stirring the mist into drifting veils of dankness which beaded the fur of my coat with tiny drops of moisture.

I wiped my eyes to clear them, and when I looked at my feet my gut clenched. The mist had not only started moving, it was thickening too. I could no longer see the footprints I was following, and as I peered down, my boots faded from view too.

I came to a stop, my gaze searching the pearly greyness for any hint of how far I’d come and where I was headed.

It was to no avail. In every direction all that met my eyes was damp, grey murk.

Thanking my lucky stars that I could follow the marks Trewla and Anders’ boots had left in the snow. I squatted and brought my face close to the ground to search for their trail. 

I couldn’t find it. Had I wandered off it without realising?

For a moment, the mist thinned, and I spotted a grey smudge a little to my left. My heart lifted, and I shuffled over for a closer look.

It wasn’t a footprint. It was Trewla’s hat.

My mouth turned dry.

In this weather, she would not have blithely taken off her hat and tossed it aside.

Picking it up, I straightened my back and shivered as ice-cold water trickled down the nape of my neck. The mist had become even denser, swelling the beads of moisture on my furs until some were big enough to drip and splash onto the snow.

A worm of doubt wriggled in my brain. When we’d been approaching the village, Trewla had mentioned how much colder it had become since we’d left the castle. I’m no weather expert, but I was beginning to wonder how it was possible for damp mist to exist in temperatures below freezing.

At that thought, a faint tinkling sound came to my ears. My skin crawled as I sensed a wave of thaumaturgic energy sweeping towards me.

The mist collapsed, each drop of moisture turning to a tiny crystal of ice as the wave rolled closer.

It passed over me, freezing the wetness on my coat and trousers solid in an instant and turning my face numb.

Someone had used magic, and that never bodes well when it comes to sticky situations.

I tried to turn around, intending to find my way back to the gateway and scurry to the safety of the forest, and was horrified to find I couldn’t move. Thin though it was, the ice coating my clothing was as rigid and strong as steel. I could barely twitch a muscle with the stiff, unyielding layer of frost holding me in its embrace.

Through ice-encrusted eyelashes, I watched the last ice crystals tinkle to the snow and gasped as the air cleared.

Several yards in front of me, standing in the mouth of a cave set in a sheer wall of ice, was a lean man in a long grey cloak, his lined and craggy face wearing a stern expression. Straight, white hair hung to his chest, and a dusting of snow covered his shoulders.

But it was his pale blue glowing eyes, glaring at me from under an impressive pair of eyebrows, that seized my attention.

“What a measly catch,” he said, his gaze sweeping me from head to toe. “I suppose I shouldn’t have expected much considering the way you were stomping about like a buffoon. Pretty poor behaviour even for a burglarising vandal, I’d say.”

I wanted to reply, but the coldness from his magic spell had reached my tongue and made it as sluggish as my numb lips. All I could manage in reply was a slurred croak.

He seemed to take that as me not understanding what he meant, for he nodded towards the fortress’ entrance and said, “My gate. You vandalised it.”

It was more than vandalised, as you know. More like obliterated.

However, I doubted he was in the mood to argue about semantics. In any case, a far more pressing concern from my point of view was to communicate to him in some way that I had nothing to do with the condition of his gate.

The ice covering my clothes creaked as I struggled to raise my arms, but it held. Not only had he denied me speech, but hand gestures too. I could do no more than stare back at him and attempt to protest my innocence via eye-movements.

Despite my efforts – or perhaps because of them – his frown deepened.

“You and I are going to have a little chat,” he said. “We’ll go somewhere a little more comfortable – for me anyway – and you can explain who you are and what you’re doing sneaking around my property.” He gave me a cold smile. “And you can tell me how you broke my gate.”

He muttered something under his breath. The glow in his eyes grew brighter, then he turned and entered the ice-cave.

My body lurched after him, the loathsome layer of ice coating my body grinding and creaking as it moved my legs. Sweat ran down my brow as I fought against the beastly force with every ounce of strength I possessed, but there was nothing I could do to stop myself plodding along after him into his lair.

*** Continued in Episode 7 ***

The Ice Mage Incident – Index of Episodes

The Ice Mage Incident – Episode 5

Trewla promising the blacksmith we’d help him get his daughter back was a bit rich, from my point of view. And a stretch to say we’d also undo the spell that had made statues of his fellow villagers.

It’s not that I’m opposed to doing a good deed when it suits, but in my experience it isn’t healthy to get involved in the affairs of the people whose world we’re visiting.

The thing is, the castle’s going to hop to the next world after a couple of weeks, which is often barely enough time for us to restock our supplies. Call me heartless, but getting involved in other folk’s problems means a fortnight of porridge for breakfast.

Besides which I had an uneasy feeling about the blacksmith, Anders. He seemed the brooding sort what with his smouldering glances and thick hair he kept brushing back from his indecently chiseled face.

The trouble was, Trewla appeared to have been taken in by his melodramatics, so despite my misgivings, I found myself grinding my teeth and agreeing to go along with her scheme to help him.
It was that or run the risk of sinking even lower in the murky depths of her opinion of me.

“So,” I said, addressing Anders who was getting to his feet and spending far too long for my liking rippling his muscles while Trewla gazed on in doe-eyed appreciation. “This Salkeban chap… He’s some kind of wizard, I take it?”

“He’s far greater. He’s an ice mage. A terrible one at that. He cares not who he hurts.”

Though I’d never heard of an ice mage before, it didn’t take a genius to guess what Salkeban did with his magic. And as for him being a mage… I’ve met a few of them in my time and I can say without doubt, mage is a title they pick out for themselves. In reality, they’re merely wizards with inflated egos.

I snorted. “Why didn’t you just make what he asked? Then you wouldn’t be in the fix you’re in now.”

Anders’ face darkened. “To do so would have meant becoming as evil as him.”

Intrigued, I said, “What did he want you to make?”

“It doesn’t matter what it was,” said Trewla. “The point is Anders made the right choice.” She put a hand on his arm. “Do you have any idea where Salkeban is keeping your daughter?”

“In his fortress in the middle of the forest, for certain.” He bunched his fist. “I will take you there. Come, let us leave this instant!”

He marched to the door and wrenched it open. As the icy air washed over his bare arms, he hesitated.

I hid my smile behind my hand.

“Perhaps you should put on a coat before you go charging off,” I said, innocently.

He shook his head. “I no longer have one. My coat was in my house which was attached to my forge…” He swallowed. “It burned down too.”

My heart sang. He’d accidentally burned down his house! Now Trewla would see him for the idiot he was.

“Oh, you poor man,” she said, her eyes shining. “You lost your home as well as your livelihood. And all because you took a stand against evil.”

His chin lifted and he wiped a tear from his cheek. “It matters not as long as I get my Kari back.”

No mention of unfreezing the villagers, I noted.

Thrusting out his chest, he strode outside. Through the window I saw him swerve past the spot where we’d found him lying unconscious. He picked up something up out of the snow – a large hammer, by the look of it – and set off towards the forest without bothering to check if we were following.

“There’s no point looking around the village for a coat he could borrow,” said Trewla, making for the door. “It will only cause delay, and I don’t expect we’ll find one that will fit him anyway.”

Choking on my astonishment at the fact that neither she nor Anders had troubled themselves to discuss what we would do once we reached the fortress, I followed her outside.

By the time I’d rounded the front of the house, Anders was already at the edge of the forest. I caught sight of him vanishing into a narrow gap between the trees.

Trewla was a dozen paces ahead of me. I trudged after her through the snow, once again cursing myself for a fool.

The troll came out from behind a house which he must have ducked behind when Anders had gone outside. He waved at Trewla and ambled up to her. There was a hurried conversation after which he dropped back some distance behind us. Presumably so the brave blacksmith wouldn’t spot him and taking fright.

On that subject, it hadn’t escaped my notice that the entire time we’d been indoors with Trewla she’d kept her hat on with her ears tucked under it.

I didn’t blame her for being prudent. The only folk we’d encountered so far were human. This might be one of those worlds where other species like elves, goblins and trolls no longer existed.

As for Grimmon… He’d stayed out of sight. I had no doubt the goblin was still sulking in the back of the sleigh. Not that I blamed him. I wouldn’t have minded joining him instead of being dragged along on some harebrained scheme to rescue a damsel in distress.

While I’d been musing, Trewla had followed Anders’ footprints and entered the forest at the same place he had. I lengthened my stride and soon caught up with them hurrying along a snow-covered path that wound its way between the trees. 

The silence of the forest was broken only by the muffled crunching of our footsteps and the occasional soft thump of snow sliding from a branch. It was eerily oppressive, and each time I went to speak the words died in my throat. Neither of my companions uttered a sound either.

After twenty minutes of hard slog, the path opened out and we found ourselves at the edge of a clearing.

My jaw dropped.

Looming out of an eerie mist was a harsh, forbidding fortress, its massive stone walls encrusted with ice, its battlements hidden under a mantle of snow. The path led up to its gate sealed by a pair of heavy doors guarded by a bastion on either side.

“Well, Anders,” said I, hoping to show up the blacksmith for the loon he was. “How do think you’re going to get inside?”

He cast a dark look at me. “I’ll break down the gate, of course.”

I chuckled. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

With a muttered, “Wait here,” he stalked off along the path.

The man was clearly out of his mind. The grim wooden gate looked stout enough to stop a marauding army of ogres, never mind a bare-armed blockhead with a hammer.

I kept my mouth shut, waiting for the moment he made a fool of himself, at which I would cough to attract Trewla’s attention and roll my eyes.

A pace away from the gate, Anders threw back his head and howled. He hefted his hammer and my scalp tingled as a warped and twisted halo of light streamed from its iron head.

With a hoarse yell, he swung the hammer in a roundhouse blow at the stout timbers before him.

The gate exploded, shattering into a thousand pieces which arced away into the air. I jumped back as a lump of wood the size of my head crashed into the snow at my feet.

“What are you waiting for?” yelled Anders, looking back at us and beckoning with his arm.

He turned and strode through the wrecked gateway.

Trewla leaped away, her boots flicking snow into my face as she bounded after him.

*** Continued in Episode 6 ***

The Ice Mage Incident – Index of Episodes

The Ice Mage Incident – Episode 4

Now that we were in among the houses we noticed more people frozen in the act of walking, talking, waving, shovelling snow and all the other activities that go on around a village in winter.

I’m not normally one for worrying, but the eeriness of the stock-still villagers had me looking over my shoulder like a mouse in a cattery as Trewla and I trudged through the snow towards the blackened ruins of the forge where the troll was waving at us.

He was standing next to a figure sprawled on a clear patch of ground near a jumble of half burnt timbers.

“It’th a man,” he said when we neared. “He’th thtill alive.”

The man was lying on his back, his long black curly hair spread out on the ground around his head. Beneath a pair of heavy eyebrows, his eyes were closed. The skin of his square-jawed face was lightly pocked by scorch marks, most of them long healed. Extending from his rolled up sleeves, his thickly muscled arms were splayed out to the sides. His bulging chest strained his shirt buttons and the straps of his leather apron. A pair of coarse woollen trousers were tucked into the tops of his sturdy boots.

“I think he’th the blackthmith,” said the troll.

I nearly blurted out ‘you don’t say’, but I shot a look at Trewla and decided to keep my trap shut. Inexplicably, she had a soft spot for the hideous creature.

She crouched by the blacksmith’s side and touched her fingers to his neck, feeling for his pulse.

“You’re right, Cedric. He’s alive. But it won’t be for much longer if we don’t get him somewhere warm soon.” She peered up at me. “You don’t mind carrying him, do you?”

I eyed the blacksmith’s thickset frame. He must have weighed at least two hundred pounds. I glanced at the nearest house. It was about a hundred yards away.

“It’s not that I don’t want to help,” I said, “but we’ll get him into the warmth quicker if the trol–, um… Cedric, carries him.”

Trewla frowned. “Cedric is tired. He drew our sleigh all the way across the lake, remember?”

As I opened my mouth to reply, she continued, “And he needs to conserve his strength to take us back to the castle.”

Making as if I agreed, I gritted my teeth and stared at the unconscious blacksmith through narrowed eyes, a scheme forming in my mind: I could lift the over-muscled hulk an inch then pretend I’d put my back out. Looking regretful, I’d wince and rub my lower spine, and manfully ask the troll to take my place.

I’d barely started to bend down when the troll scooped up the blacksmith and draped him over my back.

“There,” he said. “I don’t mind helping you get thtarted.”

“You’re such a dear, Cedric.” Trewla patted the troll’s hairy hand. “I hope you didn’t strain yourself.”

Bent almost double, staggering like a drunkard, I fought to stay on my feet. If I collapsed I was sure to be crushed, my ribs shattered, by the weight of the burly brute on my back.

Unable to speak in case I burst an artery, my backbone buckling, I lurched step by step towards the house.

It seemed to take forever. By the time I reached the front door, my entire body was shrieking in pain.

Fortunately, when Trewla twisted the handle, the door was unlocked. I shuffled inside and heaved a sobbing sigh of relief when the troll lifted the blacksmith from my back and laid him on the floor in front of the smouldering fire.

On wobbly legs, I limped to the only chair in the room and threw myself into it. Sweat pouring down my face, I pulled off my hat and loosened my coat.

Trewla busied herself at the fireplace, adding more wood from a basket on the hearth, and blowing on the coals until tongues of flame were licking at the logs.

Finding himself hunching uncomfortably under the low ceiling, the troll went back outside, shutting the door behind him.

Once I’d recovered a little, I looked around the room. There wasn’t much in the way of furniture. Other than the chair I was sitting in, there was a small bed against one wall, and a table under the room’s single window. An old man was standing motionless in front of it, staring out. Another one of the magically frozen villagers, I assumed.

The fire was taking the chill out of the air, but Trewla hadn’t removed her coat or hat.

“I wonder why wasn’t he frozen like the others?” I said, pointing at the blacksmith.

He moaned and stirred.

Trewla put a hand on his forehead. “He’s waking up. We’ll ask him.”

The man’s eyes sprang open. “Kari!” He lifted his head and groaned. “Has Salkeban taken her?” His gaze darted from Trewla to me and back again. “Who are you? Have you seen my daughter?”

“We’re travellers,” said Trewla. “There are four of us. We arrived about half an hour ago and found you unconscious outside. I’m afraid we haven’t seen your daughter.” She leaned towards him. “Who is Salkeban?”

“He’s a villain!” He glanced at the fireplace and his eyes grew wide. “This is Didrick’s house. Where is he?”

A sombre expression crossed Trewla’s face. “I’m sorry to tell you something bad has happened to everyone in your village.”

“Salkeban! The monster! What has he done to them?”

“It appears they have been frozen by a magic spell.” Trewla gestured towards the rigid old man standing by the window. “I assume that is your friend, Didrick?”

The blacksmith turned his head to look and his eyebrows lifted. “Didrick? It’s me, Anders. Tell me what happened. What has Salkeban done? Did he take Kari?”

“He can’t answer you,” said Trewla. “He’s frozen like all the others.”

The smith moaned and covered his face with his hands. “It’s all my fault.” He dropped his hands. Tears trickled down his cheeks. “I should not have defied Salkeban. I should not have burned down my forge.”

“You burned down your own forge?” I said. “Why in the world would you do that?”

“I had to stop him!” His face darkened. “He came yesterday and demanded I make something for him. A terrible thing. I refused and he gave me a day to do as he said or he would take Kari from me. I thought if I destroyed my forge he would leave us alone. That he’d go elsewhere… Find another blacksmith. But when he returned this morning and saw what I had done, he flew into a rage and seized hold of Kari. I tried to knock him down with my hammer, but he pointed his staff at me and there was a flash… then everything went black.” He curled his hands into fists. “He has punished me like he said he would. He’s taken Kari!”

“And punished the rest of the village too, by the look of it,” I said. “You must feel awful.”

Trewla glared at me.

“Oh well,” I said, standing up. “There’s nothing we can do. We’ll head off and get out of your way.”

Trewla took the blacksmith’s hand in hers. “Don’t listen to him. We’ll help you find your daughter. And undo the spell that’s binding your friends.” She gave him a firm smile. “I promise.”

*** Continued in Episode 5 ***

The Ice Mage Incident – Index of Episodes

The Ice Mage Incident – Episode 3

I have to admit Trewla’s cautioning words made me uneasy and I cast a worried glance at the smoke staining the sky ahead.

Was it my imagination or had it thinned a little?

I said as much to Trewla.

“I think so too.” She frowned. “It’s not what I’d expect… Have you noticed how much colder it is than when we set out? You’d think people would be building up their fires and making more smoke, not less.”

The sides of the lake were drawing closer, indicating we were nearing its far side. As we spoke, we tipped back our heads to examine the clouds of smoke drifting away in the faint breeze.

“Perhaps they’re hardy folk,” I said. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”

There was a headland a few hundred yards ahead, and by my estimation, when we rounded it we’d catch our first glimpse of the town we were heading towards.

I rubbed my hands together in anticipation. Despite what Trewla had said earlier, I was sure I’d be able to persuade her to have lunch with me if I offered to help her with her alchemical purchases afterwards.

Not that I was keen about what Trewla was up to, mark you. But I reckoned it would soften her opinion of me if I appeared to be going along with her plan to mine my brain for Wenzel’s lost spells.

Just like I’d predicted, as we came around the headland we finally saw our destination.

My heart sank and any thoughts of cozy lunches vanished.

It wasn’t a town at all. It would be charitable to call it a village.

Clustered around a small bay were perhaps two dozen log houses, their roofs laden with snow, wisps of smoke curling from their chimneys. On the lakeshore in front of the houses were four snow covered boats wintering upside down. Near them, poking out into the ice-covered lake, was a rickety wooden jetty like a dried caterpillar on stilts.

The only movement in and about the village came from the smoke, most of which was drifting into the sky from the burned out ruins of a smithy by the lakeside. Flames were still flickering here and there amongst the wreckage of blackened wooden beams. All that remained standing was the stone chimney of the blacksmith’s forge.

I cursed under my breath. The plume of smoke we’d seen before we left the castle hadn’t been coming from a sizeable town at all, but from the smithy, which at that time must have been fiercely ablaze.

Trewla sat up straight and peered ahead.

“Cedric,” she called. “Be a dear and slow down, please.”

The troll reduced his pace to a walk.

“I don’t like the look of that,” said Grimmon. “I reckon the village was attacked by bandits. They might still be lurking nearby. We should turn around and go back.”

He’d stood up in the back of the sleigh and was peering over the top of the seat between Trewla and me.

I was about to agree with him, but bit my tongue when Trewla chimed in first with, “We can’t. If there’s been an attack it’s likely we’ll find injured people there desperate for help.”

Taking my cue from her, I said, “It’s our duty to assist those in need, Grimmon. How cold-hearted of you to suggest we turn tail!”

Trewla grunted, then sat bolt upright.

“I can see someone,” she said. “A man, I think.”

Her eyes must be sharper than mine for she had to point him out. He was standing on the jetty, gazing straight at us.

A couple of minutes later, I could see him clearly. I waved my arm and hallooed, but he stayed in exactly the same pose, not even raising a hand or dipping his head in acknowledgment.

“Not very friendly,” I said. “Perhaps the troll’s putting him off.”

Trewla shook her head. “No. If he was worried about Cedric, he’d be running to safety.” She leaned forward. “Something’s not right.”

“Told you so,” muttered Grimmon.

We were close enough by then to see the man in more detail. The ruffling of his thick fur coat in the breeze was the only part of him that had stirred since we’d spotted him.

Under Trewla’s direction, the troll aimed for the jetty, slowing as we neared and coming to a standstill when we were a dozen paces from the man.

He was eerily still, staring out across the frozen lake as though he hadn’t noticed our arrival.

I’ve visited more worlds than I care to remember and I’ve come across some outlandish behaviour in a few, but not once have I encountered somebody who refused to acknowledge what was in front of his eyes. That the man was pretending not to see a goblin, an elf, and a human in a sleigh being drawn by a troll with a face out of a nightmare, was going a little too far in my opinion.

“Hello there my good fellow,” I said as I climbed out onto the ice.

The man didn’t budge, didn’t even glance at me as I trudged over and stepped up onto the jetty next to him.

“Hey! Say hello. Don’t be so rude,” I said in a jocular tone, nudging his shoulder with my hand.

I might have been prodding a statue, so unyielding was his flesh. The hairs on the back of my neck lifted.

Trewla had come closer too and was standing on the ice in front of the man, staring up at his face.

“He’s frozen solid,” I said by way of explanation.

A frown creased her brow. “That’s odd.”

“Not really. It’s damned cold.”

“I mean it’s odd he’s still standing. Nobody stays on their feet if they freeze to death.”

I’d never thought about it but I supposed she was right. Most people would likely lose consciousness and collapse before they froze.

The other peculiarity was there wasn’t a speck of snow or ice on his furs. It was as though he’d walked out onto the jetty only minutes ago. But he must have been there for some time because the snow leading to the jetty from the village was smooth and unmarked.

There had been a snowfall while we were preparing to leave the castle, I recalled.

I looked at the village. The snow blanketing the street and the spaces between the houses was just as smooth as it was down by the jetty. Apart from that, the smouldering smithy, and the lack of people going about their business, nothing seemed amiss.

My gaze wandered over to the smithy. I didn’t think much of Grimmon’s notion the village had been attacked by bandits. In my experience, bandits wouldn’t have stopped after burning down the forge. They would have set fire to all the houses too.

I glanced at the sleigh. Grimmon was still sitting in the back with his arms folded. He gave me a dirty look when he caught my eye on him.

The troll had wandered off. His trail of footsteps led into the village. I spotted him churning up the virgin snow as he trudged up to a house and peered in through the window.

There was a disquieting tension in the air, and I was beginning to regret we hadn’t taken Grimmon’s advice. But I had an uncomfortable feeling Trewla wasn’t of the same mind.

Sure enough she said, “We need to find out what’s going on.”

With that, she walked off alongside the jetty and clambered onto the lakeshore.

Clenching my teeth, cursing myself for a fool, I followed.

“Have you seen anybody, Cedric?” called Trewla as she headed for where the troll was standing.

“Yeth. There are folk inthide thitting at a table,” he called back, pointing at the house next to him. “I tapped on the window but they didn’t look up or anything.”

“Oh?” said Trewla, her gaze wandering around the houses nearby. “I wonder if–”

She gasped as something caught her eye. “Over there.”

I looked where she was pointing. Outside one of the houses, there was another unnaturally still figure dressed in furs.

I traipsed behind her as she changed course and went up to him.

He was frozen in a lifelike pose similar to the man on the jetty.

But unlike him, his eyes were wide with horror and his lips were parted in a hideous rictus. He was leaning forward with one leg raised to the front and the other stretched out to the rear like he’d been suddenly turned to ice while running. He was facing the door of a house, one arm extended reaching for the doorknob.

Leaning forward at an impossible gravity-defying angle, it was a mystery why he wasn’t flat on his face in the snow.

“That isn’t natural.” Trewla stared at him and cocked her head to one side. “It reeks of magic.”

“I think we’re too late to help anyone here,” I said, shifting my feet and looking warily around. “We should leave right now.”

“Hey mith Trewla,” called the troll. “Come thee what I’ve found!”

*** Continued in Episode 4 ***

The Ice Mage Incident – Index of Episodes

The Ice Mage Incident – Episode 2

Fragments of ice flew from my thudding heels as I paced up and down the courtyard next to the sleigh, my hands thrust deep into the pockets of my fur coat. To say I was steaming would be an understatement.

What I had intended as a romantic outing with just me and Trewla, had been tarnished by Grimmon’s sneaky manipulations to get himself included.

The first thing that came to my mind as he’d scurried off to find a horse, was to abandon the sleigh and take the tourer out before he returned. The trouble was, heating up the magnificent steam-powered car’s boiler takes ages and he’d be back before it was ready. Besides which the vehicle’s enormous weight would likely crack the frozen surface of the lake as Trewla and I drove across it. The thought of being dragged down to a watery grave put the final nail in the coffin of that idea.

Snow began to fall, which soured my mood further. But a minute later, the sight of Trewla coming down the steps from the battlements, a large leather satchel over one shoulder, cheered me up. I couldn’t help but admire her graceful bearing and sure-footedness despite the snow and ice coating the ground.

Her eyebrows lifted when she noticed the sleigh’s empty harness.

“There’s been a slight hiccup,” I said when she drew near.

She sighed. “There usually is.”

I was saved from having to explain by the appearance of Grimmon stepping out of the alley leading to the bailey. Lumbering along behind him, a huge pair of tusks curving up from his lower jaw, was a troll.

I faced the goblin with my hands on my hips. “What’s going on? Where’s the horse you promised?”

“Change of plan.” He tilted back his head and gazed at the troll towering over him. “Cedric here has agreed to draw the sleigh instead.”

“No, definitely not. You said you would get a horse.”

Grimmon gave a tight-lipped smile and shook his head. “Couldn’t find anybody who’d lend you one, even when I told them you were willing to pay.”

“I didn’t say anything about paying!”

“You didn’t. But that’s generally what people expect. Anyway, it didn’t help.” He patted the troll’s rear end. “Luckily, Cedric stepped up to the mark and saved the day.”

I recognised the troll. He was the one with an attitude problem who charges people a gold coin to cross the little stone bridge between the keep and the bailey. Well, me anyway.

“Good to thee you, mith Trewla,” said the troll.

Trewla gave him a smile. “Good to see you too, Cedric.”

I folded my arms and looked down my nose at Grimmon. “I’m not happy. I want a horse.”

“In that case, we’ll go without you,” said Trewla.

I gaped at her like goldfish. “I’m not saying I won’t go. It’s just that…” I flashed a dirty look at Grimmon. “I mean, a troll… it’s just not the done thing.”

Trewla’s brow furrowed and her eyes hardened.

“But,” I added quickly. “I’m always happy to compromise.” I gave her a long-suffering smile and beckoned the troll. “Come on old chap. Let’s get you hitched to the sleigh.”

Internally, I was grinding my teeth.

The trip was turning into a disaster and we hadn’t even left the castle yet.

Nevertheless I was determined to show Trewla my sweet-natured side, and to prove to her I was above letting minor setbacks – like the addition of a malodorous goblin and a large, hairy troll to our contingent – spoil our day.

As you’d expect, a harness designed for a horse wasn’t going to fit the troll, and it took a while to come up with a solution. In the end, Grimmon found a length of rope which we fastened to the sleigh and looped around the troll’s waist. Matters were proceeding nicely until the troll threatened physical harm to my person when I attempted to put the bit in his mouth.

That kicked off a period of arguing and, on my part, stomping around, until Trewla smoothed things over, and I was forced to compromise yet again. Which, she reminded me, I’d said I was always happy to do.

All told, it was midmorning by the time we bowled across the viaduct, the sleigh’s metal runners swooshing over the snow, and swept out onto the iced-over lake.

Without the benefit of a bit, and therefore reins, to steer the troll, I was reduced to calling out instructions to point him in the right direction. By and large though, the arrangement worked well, and we were soon sliding along at a merry pace, heading for the distant plume of smoke we’d spotted that morning.

It had stopped snowing by then, and as the sky cleared, the landscape was bathed by a wintry sun shining from the pale blue sky.

A solitary raven flew out from the trees at the side of the lake and flapped lazily overhead, keeping pace with us.

Lulled by the soft thudding of the troll’s feet on the snow-covered ice and the gentle hissing of the runners, I began to relax.

Leaning back in the seat, I stole a glance at Trewla sitting by my side.

“This is fun,” I said.

She grunted something which I took to be agreement.

Something thumped onto the back of the seat. Assuming it was Grimmon bumping around behind us in the baggage space at the rear of the sleigh, I ignored it.

“Judging by the amount of smoke, I reckon we’ll find a sizeable town when we get there,” I continued. “We’ll stop at the first decent inn we come across and you and I will have a nice meal together.” I lifted my chin and raised my voice so that Grimmon could hear. “Just the two of us.”

Looking straight ahead, Trewla said, “Thanks, but I don’t have time. There are things I need to buy.”

“What do you mean?” I gave her a puzzled look. “You can send Grimmon to shop around for anything you need.”

“Not the things I’m after.” She patted the satchel lying on her lap. “I’m planning to fill this with alchemical supplies.”

I didn’t like the sound of that.

“I thought you’d given up with potions to, you know, um…” I said.

“You’re right. Using potions to unravel the castle’s spell isn’t something I’m interested in doing on any longer.”

I breathed a silent sigh of relief. The last thing I wanted was for her to successfully reverse engineer the magic that hopped the castle from world to world. She’d take us back to her home world and I’d never see her again.

“So… alchemy, eh? A new hobby, perhaps?”

“I wouldn’t call it that.”

“Oh? What would you call it, then?”

“A project. It might take a while to research, but I believe alchemy is the best way to extract Wenzel’s spells from your head.”

She was, of course, referring to the spells from an ancient spellbook one of my less than literate ancestors had stolen. His mumbled mangling of the spells he’d read out loud as he’d thumbed through the book had inadvertently caused the castle to commence its behaviour of periodically jumping from one world to the next.

The contents of said spellbook, you will recall, were currently lodged like an impervious ball of iron inside my mind. Inaccessible to me, or anyone else for that matter.

“That dratted wizard’s spells are perfectly safe where they are,” I said. “They’ll only cause trouble if they get back out into the world.”

She turned her head towards me. “Don’t be ridiculous. All you’re–” She broke off and her eyes grew round.

I turned to see what had caught her eye.

A raven was perched on the back of the seat, staring at me with a peculiar glint in its eye.

“Shoo!” I yelled, raising my arm.

Before I could bat it away, it took to the air with a screech. Within seconds, its dark wings carried it swiftly ahead of the sleigh.

“Nasty creature,” I said, as it shrunk to a dot in the distance. “Probably came looking for food to steal.”

“No,” said Trewla. “It was listening to us.”

“Ha! It was only a bird!” I grinned. “You worry too much.”

We were roughly halfway across the lake, and Trewla was staring thoughtfully at the approaching cloud of smoke.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “We need to be careful.”

*** Continued in Episode 3 ***

The Ice Mage Incident – Index of Episodes

The Ice Mage Incident – Episode 1

I was as pleased as punch when Trewla agreed to accompany me on an outing.

Between you and me, she’s always the first person I ask when the castle arrives in a new world. Well, one where the presence of the viaduct, its stone arches marching across the moat, signals it’s probably not too dangerous to go out on a jaunt.

Winter had this world in its frosty grip, which made quite a change from the last one. I was itching to get away for a while having spent the last two weeks on an island barely bigger than the castle with nothing around us to see but sea.

It was mid-morning and ten minutes earlier I’d found Trewla on the battlements alongside Grimmon. Both were gazing at a smudge of smoke on the horizon.

The castle had located itself at the edge of a large frozen lake whose even surface stretched away as far as the eye could see. On either side, vast forests of pine, spruce, and fir covered the terrain. Apart from the smoke, which must be coming from the chimneys of a town on the far side of the chillsome expanse of ice, there were no signs of civilisation. No paths, roads or even rough tracks nearby.

That wasn’t surprising.

A feature of the castle is that it tends to materialise in remote spots. Most often that suits us because the sudden appearance of a large twelfth century fortified building on the outskirts of a town would be bound to cause consternation amongst the locals. We’d probably spend the entire fortnight of the castle’s stay fending off outraged ramblers claiming we’d blocked a public footpath, and dealing with government officials accusing us of evading local taxes for the last eight hundred years.

Seeing as the spell had a habit of blending the castle seamlessly into the surrounding area, giving the appearance it had always been there, it would be more than a little difficult to get them to believe we’d only arrived that morning.

Of course, I didn’t expect anything like that to happen given our current location. But what was unexpected was Trewla’s ready acceptance of my invitation to accompany me to the town.

My heart raced while I reran her answer through my head just in case I’d misheard.

“Yes?” I said.

“That’s right.” She gave me a strange look. “Why are you gaping at me like that?”

“No reason,” I said hastily. “Good. Good.”

Grimmon tugged at my sleeve. “I want to go too.”

The last person I wanted along on an outing with Trewla was a goblin with an odour like a wagonload of overripe gorgonzola.

I feigned concern and gave a regretful shake of my head. “Sorry, old fellow. We’ll be taking the sleigh and it only has two seats.”

He looked like he was going to argue, but it seemed the firm expression on my face and the surreptitious shooing motion I made with my hand made him back down.

I smiled at Trewla. “Um… We’ll leave as soon as you’re ready.”

“I’m ready now.”

With her fur hat and coat, heavy boots and gloves, she was better dressed for the icy world than I was.

“I’ll meet you at the gate in half an hour,” I said, hurrying away before she changed her mind.

Having raced to my apartment first to change into an outfit suitable for the climate, I soon found myself in the outbuilding where we kept the transport, pulling the dust cloth off of the horse-drawn sleigh. It was a fairly lightweight vehicle which often came in useful when we visited worlds like the current one. Not wanting Trewla’s furs to be blemished by anything Grimmon might have left on the seat, I wiped it with the dust cloth before pushing the sleigh outside. It was only when the steel runners scraped across the film of ice coating the flagstones that a thought struck me.

My stomach dropped and I lurched to a stop.

A chuckle sounded behind me. I whirled around to see Grimmon grinning at me.

“You’ve just remembered we no longer have any horses,” he said. “Haven’t you?”

He was right. That’s exactly what had occurred to me. We’d left our coach and the only two horses we had in Virrellenta’s world.

I ground my teeth. “It’s all your fault! Instead of getting our own transport back, you turned up with a donkey cart!”

It was the goblin’s turn to give a regretful head shake. “Tut, tut. How ungrateful of you. I rescued your sorry hide, remember?”

Tight-lipped, I subjected him to my fiercest stare.

Still grinning, he continued with, “But arguing won’t get you anywhere. If you want to take Trewla out for the day your only option is apologise to me and allow me to join you.”

My blood boiled. “Are you out of your mind? In any case, I don’t need your help!”

“Oh? Are you going to draw the sleigh yourself?”

“I’ll borrow a horse.”

“No you won’t. The only other horses are in there.” Grimmon pointed towards the bailey where most of the castle’s population dwelt. “And not one person there will give you the time of day, let alone lend you a horse.” His smile grew wider and he arched his eyebrows. “They like me however…”

Dammit! He had me.

“All right,” I said through gritted teeth.

“All right what?”

“I apologise.”

“And?”

I snarled. “You can come too.” I curled my hands into fists. “You’ll sit in the back, though.”

“See? That wasn’t difficult, was it?”

Grimmon skipped away, heading for the bailey.

“Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back soon,” he called over his shoulder.

*** Continued in Episode 2 ***

The Ice Mage Incident – Index of Episodes