Anika cranked the wheel of the ballista, pulling back the leaded spear and readying the weapon. She was one of the five women serving with the vanguard.

She wasn’t like Helig, who fought on the frontlines. Anika thought she was an actual man who just dressed up as a woman. Her shoulders were too broad — and what woman would have hands that big! The men of the vanguard never actually checked on it. It was a respectful group, though the younger recruits could be a bit raucous.

The frontlines were not for her. The men outweighed her five to eight stones — the bigger ones even more. She couldn’t imagine herself blocking one of their charges with a shield, much less an orc’s or an ogre’s.

Trin and Mica were scouts. Anika didn’t have their skill at riding horses — nor the patience to learn. Animals were not her thing.

Ilia was into birds. She had a knack that made them understand her — even listen to her commands. She was the troop’s link to the citadel.

Sometimes, Anika wished they didn’t have her. Their missions were extended twice because of developments in some other battlefield. They would have returned earlier if they didn’t have the messenger.

“We’re stopping.” the cart driver warned.

Anika nodded, touching the seals on the ballista to activate their enchantments and avoid a misfire.

Ice drakes.

Regular arrows were useless against the beasts. They summoned a fog of cold around their bodies that froze smaller projectiles — and their enemies if they got close.

She expected the Scourge to take one or two of them when he transformed into a whistling disc of death. Instead, he stayed low on the ground and seemed to go for a target far beyond the drakes.

More for her then.

The cart slowed down before completely stopping. Her two assistants dropped down from the cart, driving spikes that would secure its movements to the ground. They were ready.

Anika turned, searching for the second cart and finding it further back. The ballista’s role was to cover ground — it was up to the soldiers and their javelins to move about and deal with the flyers beyond her range.

Two of the beasts dived down beyond range — most likely headed for the captain. The rest flew towards the troops, turning from blue to white as they prepared to summon their deadly fogs of cold.

A few soldiers threw their javelins too early, their spears unable to reach the flying beasts. One javelin flew true — defying the pull of the earth as it headed straight for one of the drakes.

That one was probably thrown by Brawny Sade. He could empower his throws with some kind of magic that enhanced their flight — too bad the targeted drake managed to bat the spear away with a slap of its wing.

“Skinny, switch to a raker,” Anika commanded, her eyes still on the diving drakes.

One of her assistants, Pale Sade, glanced at the seals to make sure it was safe before replacing the loaded spear with one with a broader point.

Rakers had less range. They were deadly at around six hundred or seven hundred steps — half that if shooting up. Anika was gambling that one of the beasts would fly close.

She watched one of the drakes — now cloaked in fog — dive towards the men. It didn’t even have to breathe cold, merely coming close to it froze some of the men in their tracks.

Javelins flew.

The drake’s cloud of fog did little to protect it, and it crashed into some of the men and their mounts.

A thin layer of ice was spreading where the drake landed — it was still alive.

Anika forced herself to look away from the downed drake. The men would be enough to finish it.

The other drake followed its downed brethren, seemingly unwary of the dangers. It circled the soldiers, as if gauging where it could do the most damage.

It was time.

Anika swiveled the ballista into position, trying to intuit the path the drake would take. Calculations and possibilities filled her mind — turning into a song that she could decipher.

It was her knack. She could hear her thought processes and her conclusions took the form of notes.

She adjusted the ballista to match the melody and fired.

The raker flew from the ballista.

Anika followed its flight, confident in its trajectory.

“Get ready to move,” she ordered. “The captain still has two on his hands.”

***

Cicero watched the spinning form of the Scourge as he dashed across the field, towards a target far beyond his vision.

Was there a bigger threat than the drakes?

The wizard was too fast for him to catch up without leaving his back exposed to the flyers. The Scourge would have to tackle the threat on his own.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

He turned to the skies, seeing two of the beasts veer towards his men while the remaining two circled above him.

Two on two then, since the Scourge’s snail was right in front —

No. The snail was gone!

Cicero prodded his horse to go faster, making him a harder target. He doubted it would be effective against flyers, but he needed every possible advantage to keep himself safe.

He only had two of the Scourge’s healing drops — and he intended to save one of them for his twelfth-year anniversary with the missus.

One of the drakes fogged up, ready to dive.

Cicero readied a javelin to meet it, but it seemed to lose control of its flight — crashing to the ground as if laden with heavy weights.

The captain prodded his horse towards the downed beast, intent on killing it before it recovered.

He was so intent on his target, he almost fell from his bucking horse as the Scourge’s gargantuan snail rose from the ground beside the drake.

Ice crept on the ground as the grounded beast unleashed its aura. The giant snail harried the drake with passing attacks — striking the beast with its flails as it moved forward, only to circle back for another round of attacks.

The captain could see frost accumulating on the snail’s shell. One of its flails was covered in ice.

He guided his horse for a better angle at the drake — but it was then that the other one attacked.

It tucked its wings and dropped like a meteor.

It was impossibly fast. Cicero wondered how the drake would catch itself from hitting the ground — only to find out that it wasn’t its intent.

The beast slammed into the ground without making any attempt to stop. Frost spread where it landed, turning the ground white with ice.

The captain dismounted. Horses were useless on the ice — but he was properly equipped. His boots had spikes and enchantments that allowed them to grip the ice as if it was firm ground.

Cicero strapped the javelin to the horse and drew his spear.

He approached the fallen beast expecting an easy fight. He wondered if the snail performed a similar trick on the drake from a distance — but it didn’t seem to be so. It was as if the drake purposefully hit the ground.

The captain tensed. He could feel the warning signs of a spatial disturbance — one coming from the newly-formed ice.

The ice beneath the drake glowed, assuming the properties that the captain was familiar with in his multiple battles over the Ice.

The figures of orcs started climbing from the ice. Cicero wondered if his men were having the same problems, as he charged into the creatures.

More than a dozen of the creatures emerged from the ice before its glow faded and died. Three of the orcs weren’t so lucky — having been bisected after the strange portal closed.

Cicero managed to skewer and decapitate three of the orcs as they were emerging — but now he faced eight of them, each one armed with axes made of ice.

One of the orcs charged.

The captain met the charge with his own, his spear held high for a thrust then suddenly dropping for a sweep.

The sudden strike made the orc lose its footing for a moment, though it managed to avoid falling to the ground. Cicero’s spear caught it on the back, piercing through the orc’s chest and holding it upright.

Another orc slammed into the captain, its frost axe barely stopped by a metal vambrace.

Cicero faltered for a second, his blocking arm slowly whitening with frost.

A third orc joined the fray charging at the captain — only to be bulldozed by a blur of gray and white.

The snail had joined the battle.

The captain used the momentary respite to move away from his opponent, extending his spear to strike as he did so.

It connected to bone— striking the orc to the side of the head and turning its head to the side. The blow would have taken out any other humanoid opponent — but the ice-cursed were strong. Stronger than the creatures they resembled.

Cicero found his footing. He gripped his spear and launched a chain of attack on the creature — striking high and low and giving the creature no opportunity to defend.

The captain didn’t need to check if it was dead. Aside from hitting vital areas, his strikes tore sinews and broke bones. Even if the creature managed to stay alive — it wouldn’t be able to stand, much less fight.

Cicero scanned the battlefield for remaining opponents and found four more. He also saw a couple of javelins on the ground — either shaken off the snail when he impacted the orc or purposefully left there by his strange ally.

It was probably the former. It was just a snail after all.

The captain picked up a javelin and aimed at one of the orcs desperately trying to avoid the snail.

The orc was pinned to the ground as the javelin tore through its leg and embedded itself into the ground.

Another javelin pierced the neck of the three remaining orcs — killing it almost instantly.

Alerted by the new danger, the two orcs turned to the captain — but by then, it was too late.

Spear in hand — and with a charging snail as a partner — Cicero easily dispatched the two orcs.

The captain wanted to just collapse and rest, but thought of the other drake didn’t allow him to rest just yet.

He made his way to the other drake. He motioned to the snail to follow him — but it didn’t seem to understand or look interested.

Carefully, the captain waited on the edge of the ice. It spanned further than the second drake’s — he wondered what kind of creatures would emerge and how many their numbers would be.

Cicero waited, his heart beating in anticipation of new foes. He could hear the sounds of battle behind him dying out — his men’s battle with the other two drakes closing to an end.

Still, the captain waited.

And waited.

He sensed movement to his side. It was the snail. It seemed to be intently looking at him. He heard it give a series of whistles and clicks before it sped to the direction of the Scourge.

Still, the captain waited.

He could finally hear the sound of his men behind him — hoofbeats and footsteps as they drew near.

Cicero raised a hand in warning. The extent of the ice was too big to underestimate.

The vanguard silently formed behind their captain, their weapons at the ready.

They waited — and still, nothing happened.

Finally, one of the veterans approached the ice — intent on breaking it apart to melt it. He smashed the ice with his hammer — frowning at the result and what he felt in his hands.

“This isn’t ice, captain,” he shouted. “It’s some kind of glass.”