(A thread of stories that take place in the savage land of Vaniria. If there is interest in this story, I’ll post more. Feedback also appreciated.)

Ambush at Icefall Pass

(gory combat, blood, piss)

The shieldmaiden glimpsed her opponent through the snow drifts.

The warrior, clad in mail and fur, stood amidst the bodies of her fallen comrades. Underneath the half-helm, baleful blue eyes glowered at Enyara from across the field. “You will pay for the blood you’ve spilled!”

Enyara exhaled from exhaustion. “I’ve killed five of you already. Let’s call it a day.”

“No,” said the warrior. She drew two hand axes from her belt and brandished the broad shafts in her grip. “Blood pays for blood. Prepare to die.”

“So much for diplomacy.” Enyara brushed an orange curl from in front of her eyes and squared up to face her opponent. Her blade was slick with blood and her shield battered, to say nothing of her body. A red cut glistened wetly on her left arm and she felt the bruises on her other arm and chest whenever she moved.

She glanced around at the battlefield. Slaughter was a word too inadequate to describe what had taken place. There was not an empty patch of snow anywhere to be found. Bodies, battered weapons and broken shields lay scattered about across the icy plain, juxtaposed or heaped together in haphazard piles. Neither side had come away the victor. Towards the end, she had begun to slay whoever had come at her, unable to tell the difference between friend or foe.

Her last opponent stalked through the snow. The mail hauberk she wore was splattered with blood and the axes she hefted dripped with gore. She moved, like a predator, and Enyara was the prey.

The redhead raised her shield and pressed forward. She kept a close eye on her enemy over the rim of her shield and pivoted her body to meet the warrior. The woman moved with a swiftness that dismayed her, darting and ducking from her swings. Enyara thrusted her blade forward and the enemy caught it on the edge of her axeheads. Her sword was wrenched from her, her shield pulled down by the twin axes and a sharp kick planted her on her ass. The impact knocked the wind out of her and she fell on her back to stare up at the white sky.

Her strength failed her. Her muscles refused to budge. She could only watch as the rival warrior loomed over her, a phantom of death, covering her with her shadow. “Any last prayers before I send you to the Eternal Hall?”

Enyara sighed and turned her head away. “I pray that you will put me out of my
misery, for you stink to the high heavens.”

She never felt the blow. A faint twang and a muffled thump turned her attention to her would-be executioner. The warrior stood clutching an arrow that had embedded itself into her neck. A thin crimson trickle spilled down her throat to stain her ruined mail. She stared ahead, eyes wide and mouth gaping, before she fell over, out of Enyara’s view.

A slim, dark-haired archer walked up to her then, with a longbow in her hands and a pearly white smile. “You look like you could use some help.”

She did not care to question her good fortune or her rescuer. She held out her hand for the archer to take. “I’m Enyara. I owe you a drink.”

“Anya.” She pulled her up. “I’ll take you up on that.”

* * *

“You know we’re walking into an ambush, right?”

Enyara cast a backward glance at her companion, the slim, dark-haired archer who called herself Anya. Her breath mingled with the flakes that drifted down into her hair, like powdered silk. Her face was red with chill and snot dribbled down her nose.

“If you want to go back down to the killing fields, be my guest.”

Anya sniffled and wiped her nose. “Point taken. Still, keep your eyes open. They had to have posted scouts.”

The path ahead was blanketed in white and the jagged spires of the mountains loomed over them on either side, casting long shadows in the snow. There were sparse clusters of evergreens and thickets along the sides of the wide pass and the snow fell down slow but thick so that you had trouble to see more than a few meters ahead. At the end of the pass was a small stretch of woods but they were too far to be concerned with it now.

“How’s your arm?”

Enyara glanced at the cut on her shield arm. An enemy’s blade had sliced clean through the leather and fur, and a bright red mark had been left. The bandage was soaked through, as crimson as the wound it was covering. “I’ve had worse.” She shrugged, batting an orange curl out of her eye. “Let’s worry about getting out of this pass. Then you can worry about my cut.”

Anya chewed her bottom lip. There was a cluster of freckles across the bridge of her nose that danced whenever she scrunched her cheeks. “Just keep it covered, ok?”

The redhead nodded and pressed on. It was slow-going through the deep snow. Each step sucked in her boots and the cold seeped through the fur. Her arm stung from the wound, the first hunger pangs had started to strike and she was sore from her battle bruises.

“You think anyone else survived,” asked Anya, after the silence stretched.

“Doubt it. That battle was a slaughter.”

Anya sighed. “That’s the last time I fight for a southern clan. Those sorry bitches didn’t know which end of the sword to hold.”

Enyara shrugged. She had been paid to fight, not to win. A clan’s fortunes on the battlefield were of no concern to her. The trek dragged on but inch by inch they crossed the pass. The path grew steeper and narrower along the edge and the first few pines of the woods came into view.

“We made it,” cried Anya.

Three figures emerged from the wood. From between the snow drift, Enyara glimpsed their arms and armor. They wore no colors or standards on their outfits.

“Brigands,” Enyara said. “Get behind me.” Enyara drew her sword. The blade rasped out of its scabbard, gleaming silver in the wintry sun. The foremost of the trio was armed in a mail hauberk that ended at her knees, affording only a sliver of pale, uncovered flesh. Her boots were studded leather, stuffed with fur and in her hands she wielded a shortsword and round shield. The woman shouted to her comrades and charged ahead.

Enyara heard the twang of a bowstring behind her. An arrow sailed through the air toward the esthuceon-clad bandit only to embed itself beneath the rim of her shield. “Damnit,” muttered Anya. “Can’t aim today.”

“Focus on the other two.”

A second brigand had emerged from behind the leader, a gargantuan warrior clad in wolf furs and little else. She hefted a savage, long-hafted axe with a curved steel head and a nasal helm shielded her head from harm. Enyara glimpsed the rippling flesh and blond pigtails that hung from underneath the helm before she was beset upon by the bandit leader.

Her brown-haired opponent opened with a forward slash. Enyara watched where the tip of the blade fell and raised her shield to meet the blow. Her enemy’s steel clanged against the rawhide body of her aegis, sending a harsh shock to reverberate up her arm. She gritted her teeth, hissed as the wound in her arm flared up. Her blade remained at rest; she needed to conserve her strength and wait for an opening to exploit.

The berserker came upon her then, hefting her axe above her head and bringing the axeblade down with a savage overhead strike. Enyara threw her shield arm forward, despite the pain it caused, and struck the brute’s hands with the rim of her shield. The blow missed her by an inch and landed instead in the snow. She thrust her sword forward into the woman’s naked thigh, punching through supple flesh with ease. She twisted the embedded sword and wrenched it out amidst a red spray and caught the leader’s strike against the edge of her own blood-slick blade.

The berserker fell back with a howl of rage, clutched her gushing wound as it spurted blood onto the snow. Enyara brought her shield to bear, catching the brunette brigand’s attack in her peripheral. The blow bounced off the boss of her shield and left Enyara’s enemy open for a brief moment. She lifted her sword arm and with a sideways slash severed the bandit’s head from her shoulders in a crimson spray. The shield-clad brigand’s headless body stood dumbly on trembling knees, blood spurting out of the stump of her neck. A steady stream of urine spilled down her leg to mingle with the blood-stained snow and the corpse crumpled into a twitching, shivering heap of flesh and mail.

Enyara took a breath and glanced behind her. Anya was wrestling with the third bandit, attempting to bring her dagger down into the other woman’s chest. The redhead turned her attention to the berserker, who had sunk to a knee, a hand pressed over her bleeding thigh. The pig-tailed savage snarled at her, reaching for her fallen axe. “I’m going to gut you, ginger bitch.”

“Try me.”

The berserker howled and charged forward with renewed vigor, as if she had not just been stabbed in the leg. Enyara raised her shield to catch the blow, only to have it wrenched from her grip when the axehead hooked over the rim. A boot knocked the wind out of her gut and set her on her back into the cold snow. Her foe stood over her, axe in hand, with a victorious grin. As the axe came down, Enyara gathered the rest of her strength for one last defense. She rolled to the side just as the axehead crashed into the snow and sprang forward, sword raised, toward the goliath.

Enyara severed the blonde’s forearm with a quick stroke. The bandit stared at her spraying stump with wide-eyes shock. She had time only to gasp before Enyara’s sword plunged into her heart and ended her life. The giant’s eyes crinkled in agony and a pained wheeze left her bloodied lips. Enyara wrenched her sword out, sent the berserker tumbling into the snow. Blood gushed out of the open wound in dark rivulets, pooling under her chest. The bandit gurgled, coughed up gobs of blood and mucus, and groaned in agony before her eyes glazed over and went blank. A stream of urine leaked from beneath her fur skirt moments later and Enyara watched with amusement as the powerful cords of muscle in her thighs tensed and quivered.

The shieldmaiden fell to a knee, the last of her strength spent. The snow looked soft and clean, like a pillow, and her eyes dropped from exhaustion.

“Enyara! Help me!”

Her eyes snapped open. She looked to find Anya, laying in the snow, holding her attacker’s knife away from her own throat. Enyara threw her shield to the side and stumbled forward to the last bandit. She wore a leather midriff and skirt that left her slim belly bare. So engrossed in attempted murder was she that she did not notice Enyara come up behind her. The shieldmaiden buried her sword in the small of the brigand’s back and dragged her blade across the torso. The scout screamed in pain, dropped her knife and clutched her belly, trying and failing to hold her intestines in. Enyara wrenched her blade out, raised it and lopped off the raven-haired head. It tumbled in the snow, with wide, bloodshot eyes and the headless corpse collapsed in a pool of piss and blood and dopey viscera.

Anya stared at Enyara in wide-eyed silence.

“Come on. Let’s...”

“Whoa,” said Anya, catching her before she fell. “Easy. I’ve got you.” She had a look of joy and admiration. “You saved my life. I could kiss you right now!”

“Kiss me later. Let’s get out of here before more show up.”

Anya pecked her on the cheek and threw her arm around Enyara’s shoulder. “I think there’s a village on the other side of those woods. I’ll patch you up there.”

Enyara offered a weak smile, leaned her weight on the slender archer. Her sword and shield were gathered up and they walked on, leaving the bodies to cool in the snows of the mountain pass.

“Looks like I owe you a drink now.”

The redhead mumbled an assent. She was already daydreaming about the warm bed and hot mug that awaited her at the end of the journey.