Wings of Frost

“There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. As there weren’t always ice shards as high as mountains on Radien. My grandmother used to tell me tales of a time where there was permaheat. And the world wasn’t yet frozen.”

“Lies. Your grandmother smoked more essence into her mouth than she did cock,” the skinny one snided, taking a swig of fungus rum. The whole card table laughed. He was dressed in ill fitting warmth cladding that made him look skinnier.

Ketelan watched him closely as he twirled a sparkstone between his gnarled fingers. She looked down at her stack and sighed, the smallest at the table. I need much more. If only the Fates blow me fortune this way.

He handed the glass container of fungal rum to the man next to him, the most handsome of the bunch.

“Permaheat!” The handsome one cackled as he checked his cards. “Do you fall for every conspiracy that tickles your ears?” He threw his head back and emptied his chalice of fungal rum, beautiful mane flowing.

The dealer frowned in a dejected manner, “We get many of you dragon seekers coming through the prefecture every season, on the way to the to the Gash. The cockier and least informed you are, the more likely you don’t come back.”

He pulled a card from the pile and laid it face up for another round of betting.

The brutish one liked what he saw and tossed a sparkstone into the pot. His muscles bulged from under his thick coat, which barely covered his frame. He easily took up the space of two men. “With my bare hands I’ve wrestled the giant snow rhinos of Akraith into submission. What makes you think a dragon strikes fear into my heart?”

None of the other men called his bet. Ketelan looked at the fresh card, then peeked at her own, pausing for a moment. Her eyebrow arched. This could be it. Only a breeze, but the Fates could be on to something.

The dealer was just about to push the pot towards the brute, when she threw in double the amount of sparkstones.

“Dragons will roast you from a distance of 800 feet,” she said to the brute, piercing him with her teal eyes. She looked barely a day removed from coming of age. “An ounce of oil from their glands is enough to burn for a thousand generations. Their firebelly gives them the heat they need to survive in the frozen air.”

“So? That’s why I wear my armor, forged from the Iridium mines.” The brute dismissed her and peeked at his cards again, then picked up a couple sparkstones and flicked them to call her raise.

“You’re dealing with a beast that has fire literally coursing through its veins.” Her lip curled into a snarl. His unwillingness to respect the dragons perturbed her to her deepest level. Her heart was beating ferociously from her anger and anxiousness. This is it. Regale or ruin. She exhaled sharply and shoved her remaining sparkstones all in.

“I too am a fiery beast.” The brute smiled, slapped his chest with a massive hand, and pushed his jealousy inducing stack into the pile.

The men jumped from their chairs and surrounded their leader, smacking each other’s backsides and roaring in callous excitement.

Ketelan felt the room tilting, even though she hadn’t a drop to drink. It was too much to bare. She felt like passing out, and had to look away.

The dealer looked nervously at the men and then at Ketelan. He took the top card off the deck and slapped it down. The raucousness from the brute’s corner abruptly died.

Ketelan could not believe what had just transpired. Her monetary worth had multiplied to a value she never dreamed possible. She quickly grabbed her leather knapsack.

“You’d know the real dangers ahead if you did your research and weren’t blinded by the splendor and stones,” she scolded, sweeping her winnings into her knapsack. “From the looks, you lack the brains to match your brolic.”

“For a girl as young and fair, must your tongue cut so sharply?” The brute spat on the floor and got up into a menacing stance.

“She does have a pretty mouth, boss,” the skinny called out. “Let’s find out what it does.” The men hooted and hollered in drunken agreement.

“Probably cheated too,” another one grumbled, reaching towards his sword. “And counted cards.”

“Idiot. We weren’t playing Blackjack.”

The whole crew now had their weapons drawn and approached Ketelan, while she started backing away.

“Hey! Take your loss and get out of my tavern!” the owner yelled out from behind the bar.

“Come here and make me.” The brute reached over the card table, grabbed the dealer by the neck, and tossed him with one arm across the room. The dealer tumbled right onto the owner, and they crashed into the bottles against the wall.

“Now where were we.”

The brute turned and reached for Ketelan. She dodged his grasp and scrambled under the card table. Wielding his battle axe, he heaved it though the air and slammed it down. In an explosion of splinters, the wooden table ripped in two.

The men clambered around, roiling with hysterical laughter. Ketelan laid huddled on floor, clutching her knapsack stuffed full of their sparkstones. “P-Please. Don’t hurt me,” her voice quivering with fear.

“Who’s first up for a taste?” The brute said, mouth split in a devilish grin.

How cruel can the Fates be?

“I wouldn’t try anything if I were you,” a raspy voice called out. Cool, but with a hint of controlled savagery.

The men turned their heads to find the source of their interruption. Seated at the demolished bar was a hooded figure. Face partially covered by a veil, calmly sipping a glass of fungus beer.

The brute snickered, “You seemed to have forgotten your army at home.”

“I’ve got them right here.” The hooded figure downed the rest of the glass in a smooth motion, then grabbed a pair of swords laying on the bar top, securing them around the waist.

“A samurai..” muttered the skinny, eyeing the long sword coupled with the much shorter one. He adjusted the grip tighter on his own sword, and took more a defensive stance.

“This quarrel doesn’t involve you.”

“It does, if you touch her.”

“So be it then.”

Two of the men charged the samurai, screaming battlecries. With a sidestep and a slash of blinding metal, the first one was dispatched. With a ducking twist and juicy plunge of the blade, the second one was as well.

The samurai flicked the blade, splattering the blood off its unquenchable edge. More men rushed. Only to be reduced to piles of bodies and limbs.

The samurai was on the offensive now, slashing with incredible quickness. The skinny raised his sword to block, only for the samurai to ram the sword into his mouth. His body crumpled to the floor.

It was only the brute left. The samurai attacked like lightning strikes taking on both at the same time. During the blurring exchange, the brute managed to catch the samurai with his axe.

The samurai was knocked back and smashed into a table. Visibly injured, the samurai’s hooded veil had been ripped by the axe, to reveal a woman’s tattooed face underneath.

“A member of the Red 7!” The brute exclaimed. “Praise the Fates for blessing me this day where I kill a member of the Red 7!” He laughed, readying his axe for the deathblow.

THOCK! He looked down to see blood gushing out of his abdomen. He dropped the axe to the floor and collapsed in a heap, to reveal a pool cue sticking through his back.

The samurai looked up to see Ketelan approaching. “What can I say, excelled in athletics. Took home aces for the javelin.”

She smiled and reached down to give her a hand up.