Chapter 14: Emily and the Barbarian

Emily woke with a start, realizing she’d dozed off while laying in the basin of blessed water. Strangely, she felt none of the ill effects of sleeping in a bathtub. There was no crick in her neck, and her fingers and toes were less pruney than she would have expected. Instead, she felt lighter and better rested than she had in days, the deep aches from her ordeals on the Azure Coast finally soothed. And she was entirely cleansed of Azure Essence, her skin soft and pink all over.

On a table near her right elbow, several crystalline flasks glowed blue with shifting Azure Essence. The stuff had separated from the blessed water like oil, allowing Talyndra and Aria to siphon it off.

“You’re looking less blue today, ma’am,” Talyndra said, winking as she handed Emily a towel. “Ahead of schedule, too.”

Taking the towel in one hand, Emily climbed out of the basin, dripping blessed water on the stone floor of the chamber. This time, the towel stayed put when she wrapped herself in it. “I’m feeling much less blue as well,” she said. “Two ingredients down, one to go.”

“I’ve been reading up about our destination,” said Aria, beckoning Emily and Talyndra to a table over which she’d spread out a large map. Her stone finger traced a path across desolate-looking terrain. “Eyri Abbey. It’s nestled in the foothills of the Ashfang Mountains, which mark the start of the Cinder Wastes.” Aria’s finger continued across the map, stopping on a dramatic image of an erupting volcano. “The Crucible is here.”

“The Crucible...” Emily murmured. “That’s where the Heartflame is. Just inside a volcano, no big deal.”

“I’m heartened by your confidence,” Aria said brightly, missing the sarcasm. “I have been feeling guilty of late, standing around in this abbey and poring over books and scrolls while everyone else is risking their lives on my account. Accompanying you to the Crucible will allay some of that guilt.”

“Oh Aria,” Emily said sympathetically. “Please don’t think like that. You’ve helped me more than you can know already.”

Aria smiled sadly. “I am already forever in your debt. And once the ritual is complete and I am restored to flesh, I will literally owe you my life.”

“Just give me that gown you promised and we’ll call it even.”

“Consider it done.” Aria’s melodic laughter filled the chamber, lifting everyone’s moods. “We should depart for Eyri Abbey as soon as you are ready.”

Emily glanced around the room, then shrugged. “I’m feeling pretty well rested. I could go now, honestly. Are you ready?”

“This stone form has no need for respite, so I remain eternally ready,” Aria replied.

“Well, it’s not like I need to get dressed or anything,” Emily said, forcing a hollow chuckle. “My magic feels fully charged, I guess. Not like there’s a battery indicator that I can check, but that’s the vibe I’m feeling.”

Aria and Talyndra exchanged confused glances.

“Let’s go then, no time to waste,” Emily said, undoing her towel as she strode towards Aria. “No point in burning this up. Talyndra, catch!”

The coarse towel sailed across the room, landing directly over Talyndra’s face. “Oomph!”

“Sorry!” Emily said, already standing on tiptoes to get an arm around Aria’s shoulders. With one last glance at Aria’s kind stone eyes, she took a deep breath and called, “Eyri Abbey!”

The world went up in flames, and Emily felt the familiar yank of teleportation. Everything was lurching, spinning disorientation for a moment, and then she was somewhere else, the smell of ash in her nostrils.

Emily staggered out of a fireplace, head spinning as she stepped down onto a plush rug. She was in a small, comfortable room, containing several soft chairs and low tables, its walls decorated with red and orange tapestries depicting mountains and flames. Behind her, the Stoneshell fire crackled invitingly. To one side, neatly folded on a wooden bench, lay a set of practical clothes: trousers, tunic, cloak, thick socks and boots. They looked about her size.

Relief washed over her—this was exactly the kind of reception she’d hoped for at the other two abbeys. Instead, she’d arrived in an abandoned ruin and then on top of a windy cliff. There was only one problem.

She was alone.

The space where Aria should have been standing, right next to her, was empty. Emily spun around, heart pounding, frantically scanning the room. “Aria? Aria!”

Silence. The Stoneshell fire crackled merrily on its hearth nearby, indifferent to her panic.

It hadn’t worked, though she’d held onto Aria just as she had held onto Talyndra and Dorian before. Aria just hadn’t come. Had Emily held onto her properly? Of course she had! The cool, slightly rouch feeling of Aria’s stone surface lingered on her skin. But the fact remained that Aria wasn’t here and Emily was.

Emily chastised herself from never testing teleportation with Aria before, for just assuming that it would work like it did with anyone else. She knew better now. Whether it was because Aria was a stone statue, or because Aria was cursed, teleportation had not worked on her, could not work on her.

Tears pricked Emily’s eyes, the Stoneshell feeling like a lead weight on her neck. It had made Emily powerful beyond measure, but not beyond limitations. There were some things it just couldn’t do.

There was a knock at the door, polite but firm. A high and reedy but clearly male voice spoke, “Hello, Stoneshell Bearer! Can I come in?”

Emily almost answered that he could, but quickly realized that she hadn’t yet gotten dressed. She’d had no choice about exposing herself to the monks of Tiedavon, but there was no reason to do the same thing here, with an outfit carefully laid out for her. Blushing slightly and grabbing the trousers from the bench, she said, “Just a moment!”

Emily was dressed in seconds flat. The clothes were comfortable and all fit reasonably well, clearly prepared for a traveler of roughly her size. As she finished lacing up her boots, she told the person at the door that it was now okay to enter.

The door opened, revealing a man who seemed all sharp angles, but for the very round dome of his bald head. He was tall and wiry, with long-fingered hands peeking out of the sleeves of a monk’s robe of deep crimson. Though his head was so bald it shone under the room’s soft light, he had magnificent, bushy orange beard. His gray eyes were intelligent and penetrating.

“Welcome to Eyri Abbey, Stoneshell Bearer,” the man said, his tone calm and resonant. “I am Abbot Thelrin. Our scryers noted your imminent arrival. It is a great honor to host the heir of Evangeline.” At this he bowed deeply. “I trust the clothes are suitable?”

“Th-thank you,” Emily said, feeling a bit shy in the face of his deference. She wasn’t used to such a warm welcome. “The clothes are perfect.”

“Come,” said Abbot Thelrin. “I will show you around our abbey.”

Emily followed him out of the Stoneshell fire chamber and into a wide, quiet corridor. The Abbey was built from dark, reddish stone that seemed to absorb the light pouring in from high, arched windows. Intricate carvings depicting stylized flames, mountain peaks, and soaring birds adorned the walls. Monks in the same deep red robes moved with quiet purpose, occasionally offering Emily and the Abbot respectful nods. There was an air of focused study and disciplined order, vastly different from the whimsy and chaos of Gla, the tense hostility of Tiedavon, or even the gently bumbling, slight absent-minded air of Paja Abbey and its inhabitants.

“What,” asked the Abbot, “if I may ask, brings you to our abbey?”

“I need to get Heartflame from the Crucible in the Cinder Wastes,” Emily said. “It’s for a magical ritual to be performed on the summer solstice, for the purpose of lifting the curse a mage called Arctulus placed on my friend Aria and the other inhabitants of Castle Elid, using the Stoneshell as a conduit.”

Thelrin raised a bushy orange eyebrow. “The Crucible. We don’t get many travelers going in that direction. It is a difficult and perilous journey.”

“I ... didn’t mean to come alone,” Emily replied, avoiding eye contact. “The Stoneshell’s teleportation allows me to bring one companion. I left Paja Abbey with an arm firmly wrapped around my friend Aria, but arrived here alone.”

“Undoubtedly a side effect of the curse,” Thelrin said. “Forgive me, but it strikes me as quite rash of you not to test teleporting your friend before coming all this way.”

“I’m kicking myself, believe me,” Emily muttered. She thought about teleporting back to Paja and fetching Talyndra or Dorian. But three long-distance teleports in such a short space would certainly exhaust the Stoneshell’s fire, and who knew how long it would take to recover? With the summer solstice approaching, there was no time to waste.

They continued through the hallway, approaching an archway shining with natural light. “Eyri Abbey has long served as a watchtower over the Cinder Wastes,” Thelrin said, his voice echoing slightly. “And a bulwark against their spread.”

They passed through the archway into a large redbrick courtyard, filled with red-robed monks rushing to and fro. There was a slight chill in the air, though the sun shone bright and strong overhead.

“The Wastes,” Thelrin continued, his gaze turning to the dark shapes of mountains in the distance, “have undergone a great shift over these past few seasons. They have been beset by unnatural cold, impervious to the seasons, and even to the heat of the Crucible itself. Snow has replaced ash, and pools of boiling water have frozen into ice that burns the skin.”

Emily frowned, pulling the collar of her cloak about her neck. “Snow? In the Cinder Wastes? Why?”

“That I cannot answer,” Thelrin replied gravely. “Some of our order blame a shifts in the deep energies, while others say that elemental spirits have been disturbed. I suspect it is a magical imbalance, though I can only speculate as to the details. Whatever the cause, any traveler must be prepared for both freezing cold and scorching heat as they approach the volcano.”

“How long will it take to get to the Crucible?”

“Three weeks of hard walking, at a conservative estimate.”

Emily gasped, but before she could respond, a sudden, booming laugh erupted from around the corner of the L-shaped courtyard. Several monks nearby flinched almost imperceptibly, and one scribe carrying a precarious stack of scrolls visibly stiffened before hurrying on his way. Abbot Thelrin himself paused mid-stride for the briefest of moments, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features before his calm mask resettled.

Turning the corner, Emily spied the source of the noise: a powerfully built woman leaning against a pillar, vigorously polishing the already gleaming head of a massive axe. She wore minimal armor, a skimpy leather bikini accessorized by boots and gloves and a few straps, giving the chilly courtyard a full view of her formidable muscles and many small scars. A braid of ash blonde hair hung down her back.

She looked up as they approached, axe momentarily forgotten. “Thelrin, you old goat!” she boomed, her voice echoing under the stone arches. “Just the man I was looking for! Was wondering when you monks would rustle up some proper grub around here. Polishing Grognak works up an appetite!” She patted the axe affectionately.

Her flashing green eyes then landed on Emily, sizing her up. “Well now, who’s this? A new recruit? She looks like one of your sort.” She grinned. “But there’s something else. An edge. You don’t look like much, missy, but something makes me feel like I’d hesitate on meeting you in dark alley. Not for long, mind.” Her gaze lingered on Emily’s face, then dropped to the Stoneshell pendant visible at the neck of her tunic.

Emily felt a prickle of annoyance at this strange woman’s snap judgement of her.

Abbot Thelrin cleared his throat gently. “Emily Stoneshell Bearer, recently arrived,” he introduced smoothly. “Emily, may I present Sigrid Wyrmtamer, of the Frostfang Clan. A ... temporary guest in our abbey.”

Sigrid’s grin widened at the introduction, her eyes glinting with new interest. “So that’s your edge! Chosen by an artifact!” She took Emily’s hand in her powerful, callous grip and pumped it up and down violently. “Well-met, Emilia Shellbearstoner!”

Emily winced inwardly. “It’s Emily,” she corrected, flexing her hand to check that all its bones were still intact.

Thelrin stroked his orange beard, a thoughtful expression on his face, his eyes darting rapidly between Emily and Sigrid. “Hmm. Interesting,” he murmured, as if struck by a sudden thought. “It would seem that you both seek the Crucible.”

“I’m lookin’ for a volcano dragon, buddy,” Sigrid said, returning to her axe. “A big petrified one! With a treasure hoard!”

Thelrin made a face. “Yes, the Crucible volcano, which rumors claim to be the final resting place of an enormous and very ancient dragon turned to stone. The Cinder Wastes are a dangerous place under normal circumstances, but since the arrival of the frosts, that danger has increased tenfold. It is not a journey I would recommend anyone make alone.”

A queasy feeling was forming in Emily’s stomach. She saw where this was going. But without Aria or anyone else, did she have another choice?

Thelrin allowed the implication to hang in the air for a moment before spelling it out. “Perhaps a temporary alliance would be mutually beneficial? Strength and magic, complementing each other against the Wastes’ dangers?”

Sigrid looked Emily up and down again, then shrugged. “Makes sense, I guess. Need someone to keep the riff-raff off while you do your magic thing, girlie?”

Emily met Sigrid’s challenging gaze. The woman was loud, probably reckless, and very impractically dressed. Not that Emily was in any position to judge others on that last score. But the Abbot was right—she couldn’t risk the journey alone. And returning to Paja for a more familiar companion was also out of the question. Sigrid was heading the same way and seemed like she’d be handy in a fight. What more could Emily really ask for? It wasn’t as if she had a queue of experienced Cinder Wastes guides lining up to escort her.

“Something like that,” Emily said at last. “I need to get to the Crucible. There’s something there I need for a magical ritual. The Heartflame, it’s called.”

“Good enough for me!” Sigrid declared. “We split any treasure fifty-fifty, yeah?”

Emily hesitated. Treasure wasn’t her goal. “Fine. As long as getting the Heartflame is the priority.”

Sigrid shrugged agreeably. “When do we leave?”

“As soon as possible,” Emily said firmly.

A faint smile touched Abbot Thelrin’s lips. “Excellent. If you will both follow me to the east gate stores, we shall see you provisioned for your journey.” As he beckoned them along, Emily noticed a lightness in his step that hadn’t been there before. “Sigrid has her own supplies, I believe,” he said.

“Got everything I need right here,” Sigrid patted the giant axe that she had finally deemed to be sufficiently polished and strapped to her back. “And this,” she tapped her temple with a knuckle, “and this,” she flexed a bicep.

Thelrin led them out of the courtyard and into a small storeroom, where he set about gathering dried rations, waterskins and warm clothing, placing them in a large, weathered pack. “Oh my, we’re fresh out of fire-starters,” he said, frowning at an empty section of shelving.

“That won’t be a problem,” Emily said, summoning a flame in her palm.

Thelrin put a hand over his face. “Of course. What a silly thing that was to say to the Stoneshell Bearer!”

“Nice trick,” Sigrid said, the fire dancing in her green eyes. “More than just a pretty face.”

Once Thelrin deemed the pack sufficiently kitted out, Emily shouldered it, thanking him. It was a little heavier than she had expected.

“Those rations should last the whole three-week journey.”

The color drained from Emily’s face. “Three weeks?! The summer solstice is in eleven days!”

Sigrid laughed heartily. “Then we’ll have to hoof it! Fear not, Bearstone Amelia, for Sigrid Wyrmtamer is as swift as the north wind! We’ll be gathering dragon treasure before you even have time to get cold!” She dug in the pack and grabbed a fistful of dried meat, which she immediately shoved in her mouth and started loudly chewing.

“You may be able to beat my estimate,” Thelrin said dryly. “The path to the Crucible is ever-shifting. Sometimes it is winding, other times direct. I will petition the gods for an intercession to hasten your passage.”

“Thank you,” Emily said, bowing slightly.

“The path into the Wastes begins just beyond the eastern gate,” Thelrin instructed, walking them towards the door. “The Cinder Wastes begin at the foot of this hill. The Crucible is large enough to see from most of the Wastes. When in doubt, head toward the giant snowless mountain. There are many ways into the Crucible, once you reach it, but I cannot say what awaits you in within its depths. I would recommend caution.” He glanced pointedly at Sigrid, who didn’t appear to be listening.

With a final nod of thanks to Abbot Theron, Emily and Sigrid stepped out of the quietude of Eyri Abbey and through the eastern gate. The air immediately felt different—thin, sharp, and with a biting edge despite the clear sky overhead. Before them stretched a path down a slightly sloping hill. At the top of the hill, where they stood, summer was in bloom. At the bottom, the ground was coated in snow.

Sigrid took the lead, cheerfully marching down the hill with Emily almost having to jog to keep up with her large strides. As they descended, the air grew colder and the wind stronger. Emily fastened her cloak around herself, and was soon digging through her pack for a pair of gloves.

The bottom of Sigrid’s leather bikini was high-cut, exposing most of her buttocks. “How are you not freezing?” Emily asked, still struggling to keep up with her.

“Cold just makes the blood pump faster,” Sigrid declared cheerfully. “We Frostfangs thrive on it.” She cast a glance over her shoulder at a thoroughly wrapped up Emily with only her face exposed. “You might want to give it a try. All that padding is no good for agility, Shelmily. You’ll tire faster than a cold-hare in springtime!”

A thousand possible responses flashed through Emily’s mind, but she offered none of them. She had certainly given ‘it’ a try, more than Sigrid had, in fact, and had had just about enough of it. But Sigrid didn’t know that. Sigrid, unlike so many people she’d met in Thessolan, had no idea what Emily looked like naked. She intended to keep it that way. Let Sigrid be the one showing skin for this leg of the journey if she liked it so much. It would be a welcome change.

“I think I’ll avoid frostbite for the moment,” Emily said at last.

“Psshaw!” Sigrid waved a hand dismissively, even as her own breath plumed white. “Just keep moving and it’s no problem.”

So this was the Cinder Wastes. Emily had expected plains of blackened earth and smoking fissures, not a tundra. Twisted, skeletal trees, devoid of leaves and coated in frost, dotted the landscape. The wind that whipped around them, stinging Emily’s exposed cheeks with ice crystals. If they also stung Sigrid’s exposed cheeks, she didn’t show it.

Far in the distance, barely visible through the haze, a single, dark volcanic peak rose against the pale sky. The Crucible looked both foreboding and impossibly remote.

“I really wasn’t expecting snow this close to the summer solstice,” Emily breathed, pulling the collar of her cloak tighter.

Sigrid sniffed the air, still totally unfazed by the cold. “It smells like winter back home, only ... thinner. Dead, somehow.”

“Ominous.”

The crunch of snow underfoot was the only constant sound as they trekked deeper into the Wastes. Emily pulled her cloak tighter, burying her chin in the thick fabric, her breath pluming white in the unnaturally frigid air. Ahead, Sigrid marched with relentless energy, her bare arms and legs seemingly impervious to the biting wind, the massive axe on her back glinting dully under the pale sun. The dark peak of the Crucible seemed no closer than when they’d started.

“Can we maybe slow down for a minute?” Emily puffed, her legs burning from having to keep pace with Sigrid’s long strides on the constant uphill, while carrying a pack that seemed to become heavier with each step.

Sigrid glanced back, not breaking her stride. “We have to keep moving, Shellbear, it keeps the blood warm. Were you not in a hurry? Solstice waits for no one, right? Why not use some of that fancy magic to pick up the pace?”

“It’s Emily,” she corrected through gritted teeth, ignoring the jibe about her magic. “And yes, I’m in a hurry, but running ourselves ragged won’t help if we’re too exhausted to face whatever’s at the volcano. Or if we stumble into trouble because we’re not paying attention.”

Sigrid snorted, kicking a drift of snow aside. “Trouble? Bah! Let it come. Grognak here”—she patted her axe—”is always hungry for trouble. Best way to deal with it is head-on, fast and decisive! None of this careful tiptoeing nonsense.” She paused, turning fully to face Emily, her grin fading slightly. “That’s how we do it out here in the wild. Not something the monks teach in magic school.”

Emily stopped, planting her feet in the snow. “I’ve learned plenty about handling things ‘in the wild,’ thank you very much. And not from the magic school you’re imagining either. I just prefer not to rush blindly into danger if I don’t have to!

Sigrid held her gaze for a moment, her face unreadable. Then she shrugged, turning back to the path. “Try not to slow me down too much.” She resumed her relentless pace.

Emily let out a frustrated sigh, then hurried to catch up. This was going to be a long journey.

They came to a place where the ground sloped downwards towards a frozen stream. The ice looked thick, but was spotted with strange dark patches that made a faint sizzling noise.

“Careful,” Emily warned. “The Abbot said some ice here burns. Maybe we should go around?”

“Waste of time!” Sigrid scoffed. With a booming laugh, she took a running start and leaped onto the ice, landing solidly with one fist down. Then she straightened up, pushed off one foot like a skater and glided straight to the other side, jumping back onto the snow. “See? Perfectly fine! Quit your worrying, Em-i-ly!”

Emily hesitated, then cautiously stepped onto the ice near the edge, avoiding the dark patches. Prodding the ice ahead with her booted foot, she took another tentative step, bending deeply into her ankles to avoid slipping.

“Hurry up!” Sigrid called impatiently from the far bank, already starting up the next slope. “Sun’s moving! Can’t spend all day tiptoeing across a puddle!”

Frustrated, Emily picked up her pace, hurrying across the ice, almost slipping a few times. She was still careful to avoid the sizzling black patches.

Reaching the other side of the stream, Emily scrambled up the slope, her lungs burning not just from exertion but the biting air. She saw Sigrid examining her hand. A small patch on her leather glove was smoking, and she peeled it back to reveal an angry red burn on her palm.

“See?” Emily said, breathless but feeling more than a little smug. “I told you. That ice is dangerous.”

Sigrid glared first at her hand, then back at the ice, then finally at Emily, her eyes narrowed. “Just a wee burn,” she growled, flexing her fingers before stomping further up the hill. “Don’t need your lectures.” She stomped further up the hill, increasing her pace.

Emily sighed, rubbing her temples. This alliance was going to be challenging. Sigrid’s boundless energy and confidence were admirable, but she was extremely reckless and bristled at the slightest criticism.

That first day set the pattern. They walked until the pale sun dipped low, casting long, distorted shadows from the obsidian shards that increasingly littered the landscape. Sigrid pushed relentlessly onward while Emily, burdened by the pack and less accustomed to the bitter cold despite her layers, struggled to keep pace.

Their first camp was little more than a hollow scooped out behind a large obsidian boulder, offering shelter from the wind. Emily used the Stoneshell to start a meager fire with a branch broken off a dead tree, while Sigrid vanished briefly into the twilight gloom, returning empty-handed. “Nothin’ worth huntin’ this close to the Abbey,” she muttered, chewing grimly on a strip of dried meat from Emily’s pack. “Skinny ice lizards and not much else. More energy to kill and prepare than they’d give you.”

They ate in near silence, the only sounds the crackling fire and the mournful howl of the wind carrying across the desolate plains. Emily tried asking Sigrid more about the Frostfang Clan, receiving mostly clipped answers about harsh winters, proving strength through trials, and the sacred bond with one’s chosen weapon.

Sigrid, in turn, asked nothing about Emily beyond a gruff, “So this Heartflame thing ... what’s it look like?” When Emily responded that she wasn’t sure, Sigrid laughed. “Thought they taught you about those kinds of things at magic school.”

Sleep in the cold was fitful and brief, with Emily and Sigrid wrapping themselves tightly in all the clothes and blankets from Emily’s pack, and Emily waking periodically to juice the dwindling fire.

The second day dawned pale and colder still. The landscape grew more alien, with jagged fields of glassy obsidian, sharp enough to shred boot leather if one wasn’t careful, pushed through the thickening snowdrifts. The wind felt sharper, forcing Emily to squint and pull her hood lower. The silence, too, felt unnatural—no birds, no animals, just the wind, alternately sighing or howling.

Sigrid forged ahead, her earlier recklessness tempered slightly. Later, they found tracks in the snow—small, sharp, two-legged prints that vanished abruptly near a field of steaming fissures they’d paused at for warmth.

“Frost sprites,” Sigrid grunted, examining the tracks, her hand gripping the handle of her axe. “Or somethin’ similar. Stay sharp, Firestone. They like to ambush their prey.”

They gave the tracks a wide berth.

That night, they found slightly better shelter beneath a leaning rock overhang, shielded from the driving snow. Emily managed a larger fire, and they huddled close, sharing another meager meal of dried rations. The pack felt noticeably lighter.

“Tomorrow,” Sigrid said, staring into the flames, “we push hard. The ridge ahead looks taller. Might get above some of this cursed wind.”

By the morning of the third day, the constant uphill climb and biting wind had taken a toll. Emily felt weary to her bones, the initial strangeness of the Wastes settling into a draining monotony broken only by moments of sharp anxiety. Even Sigrid seemed less boisterous, her movements still powerful but lacking the earlier explosive energy. She had even donned a fur cape from Emily’s pack over her skimpy leather armor, much to Emily’s smug satisfaction.

Halfway up the steep ridge, Sigrid paused near a cluster of shards taller than herself, peering into the swirling snow ahead, her hand resting instinctively on the haft of Grognak. “We’re not alone,” she muttered, her voice low and serious.

Emily caught up, peering around the obsidian pillar, her breath catching in her throat. The snow ahead looked undisturbed, but she felt it too, a prickling sensation on her skin, the same feeling she got just before a static shock, amplified tenfold. The air seemed to crackle with invisible energy.

Suddenly, the snowdrifts erupted with jagged figures made of frost and ice, small and vaguely humanoid. They moved with unsettling speed on skittering legs, their faceted bodies catching the pale light. Dozens of them, maybe more, emerged from behind obsidian outcroppings, making high-pitched, chittering cries that grated against Emily’s ears.

“Frost sprites!” Sigrid roared, pulling the axe from her back in a smooth, practiced motion.

Before Emily could even summon a proper fireball, the frost sprites attacked, flinging shards of ice from their own bodies. Where the shards struck rock or obsidian, they left patches of rapidly spreading, sizzling frost.

“Watch out!” Emily yelled, throwing up a wall of fire between herself and the nearest wave of sprites. The intense heat vaporized the incoming ice shards with hisses of steam, but the sprites continued their advance.

Sigrid met the charge head-on with a bellowing war cry. Her axe was a blur of motion, shattering sprites and sending shards of burning ice in every direction. Its hilt glowed with previously unseen runes.

“Try not to hit me!” Emily shouted, dropping her pack so that she could more easily dodge flying ice shards. She lauched targeted fireballs at the sprites swarming Sigrid’s flanks, instantly melting the smaller ones. More kept arriving. They were unnervingly fast, darting between Sigrid’s wide swings.