Battle to the Icy Death

Leo exited the boatmaster’s cabin to find pandemonium. The spear of strange ice that had pierced the hull of the ship had now grown to fill most of the slaves’ quarters and speared up through the top deck of the ship.

Water rushed into the boat from around the blue-white glacial ice and had already come up to Leo’s thighs.

Multiple bodies floated in the sea water, killed by what, Leo could not say. In his rage to strangle Uric, he had dropped the key ring, leaving one last shackle around his leg, attached by chain to the other loosed shackle.

That was… unfortunate, as the iron fetter would make swimming much more difficult. And it appeared all but certain that the night would end with Leo treading water.

But before that, he swore he could hear screams and shouts from the upper deck.

Leo had no weapons, and he had no way to defend himself, but he could either stay down here and drown, or ascend and discover the cause of all this frigid madness.

The choice was obvious.

He climbed the stairs to the upper deck, his fists clenched and heart pounding. With each step, he pulled his fetter behind him. A reminder that he’d failed to fully free himself.

Spirit, I pray that if you’re watching over me, that you’ll give me strength survive what’s coming.

The top deck of the slave ship was a spectacle of horror. Bodies were strewn across the deck—visible beneath the light of the full moon. Among the fallen, he recognized Skrag lying facedown in a pool of his own blood, his scars eerily distinct in the moonlight.

In the center of the ship’s deck, a narrow tower of ice glimmered beneath the stars.

And seated atop the small mountain of ice, like a king on his throne, was a man. He wore trapper’s furs, but had skin that appeared as frigid as the ice upon which he sat. He had neither hair nor shoes, and he carried what appeared to be a spear made of ice. On his chest, just below the collar bone, was a strange symbol that Leo didn’t recognize—a glowing white sigil of circles and glyphs.

“Oh, look,” said the man, a bored expression on his icy-white face. “Another slave.”

With the nonchalance of a child swatting a fly, he hefted his spear of ice and threw it at Leo.

Leo dived forward, and the spear slammed into the wood behind him. With a growl, he transitioned to a low crouch, ready to fling himself in any direction at a moment’s notice.

“Good reflexes,” the stranger mocked. With that same casual air, he summoned another ice spear from the air. “How many times can you dodge, I wonder?”

He flung the spear straight for Leo’s heart, and Leo only barely managed to roll aside as the weapon whistled past him.

“Good, good,” the stranger cackled at him. “Dance, little slave, dance.”

Another spear came sailing at him, and Leo only barely managed to dodge it. He considered rushing the strange ice-wielder, but he wouldn’t be able to reach the man before he threw another spear, and if Leo got any closer, there was no way he could avoid the stranger’s attacks.

His best bet was to leap into the ocean and swim for shore. But there were multiple corpses pinned to the shiprail, revealing the fates of those who had tried exactly that.

Did Leo still dare risk it?

He ducked another spear, but this one grazed his cheek, leaving a burning cold sensation across his face.

The stranger was toying with him.

He needed to buy time to think.

“Why are you doing this?” he bellowed.

“It’s nothing personal,” said the stranger. “I’m just leaving a message for your master.”

“If you want Uric, I can bring him to you with his head on a pike.” Leo wasn’t lying. He would trade the boatmaster’s life for his own in a heartbeat.

At this, the stranger actually laughed. “Not the one running this ship, you idiot. Gregoric Shavmoor is the one who owns this boat, owns its cargo, and even owns you. And he needs to understand that if he’s going to keep sending ships through Crestamere Pass without paying a levy to Sharkins the Ice-King, there’re going to be repercussions.”

“I take it you’re Sharkins himself?”

“In the cold, icy flesh.”

“Well, I’ll be sure the message gets to him, loud and clear,” said Leo, “so there’s no reason to keep killing us all.”

Sharkins chuckled. “You’re a funny one, I’ll give you that. Tell you what: I can always use some enterprising talent in my crew. How about you jump ship and come join up with me?”

Leo glanced around at the carnage. So many bodies. All the slaves who he labored and bled beside were now dead.

“If I were to join you, would I be doing more of this? Attacking Shavmoor’s trade vessels and killing everyone aboard?”

“Of course,” Sharkins grinned. “Until he pays the levy, that is.”

“Then I must decline your generous offer,” Leo answered, raising his head with pride. “I am no murderer.”

Sharkins’ grin turned to a scowl. “Fine then.”

Leo threw himself to the side, narrowly avoiding the first ice spear. He wasn’t so fortunate for the second one. It landed before he had time to realize it was coming, and it stuck right into his lower gut.

There was a deep, burrowing pain in Leo’s abdomen, but he was no stranger to pain.

With a snarl, he broke off the ice spear and hefted it like a sword. On pure instinct, he batted away another incoming spear and rolled past another.

He might die here tonight, but he would die fighting as a free man.

Another spear. Leo leapt aside. His shackle caught on something, and he slammed to the deck with a thud.

He rolled over, seeking the cause of his entanglement. The shackle and chain had snagged on one of the oars.

Son of a—

Leo reached for the shackle, but another icy spear slammed into the bench, and he withdrew his hand.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Sharkins tutted at him. “You stay right where you are.”

Leo snarled and yanked on the chain. It only served to lodge the shackle in deeper between the oar and the bench.

Sharkins descended his throne and approached Leo with spear in hand, leaving frosty footsteps in his wake. Leo lunged at the ice pirate with his makeshift sword, but he couldn’t get good enough leverage for a decent thrust, and Sharkins knocked the weapon aside easily.

With heaving gasps, Leo fell to his knees. He hadn’t been able to feel his feet or hands for a while now, and he could see slick blood leaking out beneath his soles. The wound in his gut didn’t hurt as much as it should—likely a result of the icy water stuck in it, but the broken spear-tip had begun melting, and with it flowed hot fresh blood.

Leo kept his head high as Sharkins inspected him. The pirate prodded his cheek with the tip of his spear, trying to make him turn his head aside so Sharkins could get a better look.

Leo just let the icy blade sink into his skin without flinching. He kept his eyes fixed upon the murderous assailant as the rage inside him grew greater and greater.

“You have the eyes of a killer,” said Sharkins approvingly, his own cold blue eyes fixed on Leo’s. “Shame you’re about to die.”

That was when Leo heard quite literally the last voice he expected.

“Ssssslave!” bellowed Uric the Boatmaster, stumbling to the deck. “How dare you try to choke—hey, who the hell are you?”

Sharkins’ attention switched to the slaver, and he hefted the spear in alarm.

Leo didn’t hesitate. He doubled back and reached for the ensnared shackle.

Bang!

Leo recognized the sound of a matchlock anywhere. He yanked the shackle free and spared a glance for the boatmaster. Uric staggered back, a spear protruding from his chest, and he dropped his spent matchlock to the deck before he toppled over, dead.

Whirling about, Leo found Sharkins touching his fingers to an inky blue wound in the center of the glowing sigil on his chest, with thick icy globules spilling out one heartbeat at a time. A look of genuine surprise had frozen itself on his face, as if he hadn’t even considered the possibility that he could be shot.

Welcome to the party, pal.

Leo seized the moment and rushed the ice captain. He threw a haymaker straight for Sharkins’ freshly bleeding gunshot wound. The punch impacted like a brick, and the ice pirate staggered back with a cry of pain.

Sharkins’ blood froze on Leo’s hand, and with his limbs completely numb, Leo stumbled forward instead of pressing the advantage.

Unfortunately, Sharkins was no slouch. He recovered from the initial shock of his grievous wound and replaced it with seething rage. He produced a fresh spear from the air and slammed it down toward Leo with both hands.

But Leo was no amateur. Even with both hands and feet hobbled, he could still outbox a bear. He knocked the spear-thrust aside with his forearm and closed the distance once more.

He slammed an elbow into Sharkins’ temple, rocking the blue-skinned bastard. This time, Leo didn’t lose balance. He lifted his unshackled foot and slammed it on the pirate’s toes, preventing him from back-stepping. Then he shoulder-checked him with all his weight, knocking Sharkins to the deck.

The pirate scrambled and rolled over onto his back. He summoned an ice spear once more and jabbed it upward, but Leo kicked it aside with his shackled foot. He stepped in and knelt on Sharkins’ chest, making sure to dig deep into the pirate’s gunshot wound.

Then Leo began raining down punches on the evil bastard. This time, he would not stop until Sharkins was dead. He couldn’t even feel his hands, but he could hear the slopping crunch as each heavy blow landed and broke another bone in Sharkins’ face.

“Nothing personal!” Leo bellowed.

A sudden gust of icy wind. The only warning he got. Leo’s instincts acted faster than his mind, and he leapt back.

Still not fast enough.

A jagged column of ice appeared over Sharkins, then exploded in a torrent of frost and icy shards. The wave of cold slammed into Leo and knocked him over, sending him sliding across the deck and slamming into the shiprail.

He groaned, then coughed. Blood came up, then froze on the deck of the ship. His vision was fuzzy, but as it began to clear, he could see his arms and legs were frozen solid with a layer of deadly frost.

“D-d-damn,” Leo chattered, barely able to speak through the piercing cold.

Sharkins rose slowly, clutching his head with a pained vice-grip. His face looked like bloodied slush, and one of his frigid cold eyes had swollen shut with sticky blue blood.

He staggered toward Leo with venomous anger in his remaining eye. Sharkins summoned a spear once more with his free hand, letting the icy weapon drag along the ground. This time, there were no pithy quips, no commentary regarding the eyes of killers.

Sharkins was going to murder Leo. Right here, right now.

And despite knowing that, Leo couldn’t bring himself to beg, to surrender, nor to flee. He raised his head, lightheaded though he was, and tried to force his limbs to move. To work. To fight.

They wouldn’t cooperate.

Leo snarled at Sharkins and forced his vocal chords to utter what he knew would be his last words. “Come and take my life if you dare, you faithless bastard.”

Sharkins’ only response was a wicked curl of a broken lip as he raised the spear.

“Leave him alone!” bellowed another voice. An old man with wild hair and a wilder beard came barreling in and slammed into Sharkins with all his weight, sending the pirate sprawling across the deck of the ship.

“Skrag?” Leo barely managed.

The old-timer turned and grinned down at Leo, still leaking blood from a wound in his gut. “Hey there, lad.” He knelt down and began helping Leo up.

“Skrag, you need to run,” Leo gasped.

“I am!” grunted Skrag. “And I’m taking you with me.” He lifted Leo up and shoved him onto the shiprail. “Ready for a swim?”

Leo didn’t get a chance to answer, as the spear that had been intended for him pierced straight through the left side of Skrag’s throat and out the other.

Skrag stiffened, and a spurt of blood came up through his lips.

“Skrag, no!”

And despite everything, Skrag smiled at him. The old-timer pushed Leo over the side of the boat and sent him plunging down into the ocean depths below.