Page 10 of Frostforge, Passage Six
The approaching guard called out in the Warden tongue, his voice carrying across the square.Several other soldiers turned, their attention drawn by the shout.Thalia recognized the tone of command, of challenge, though the words themselves meant nothing to her.
The moment stretched, balanced on a knife's edge of possibility.She could try to bluff, to respond with a nod or gesture, and continue on her way.But the risk was too great.
A second guard joined the first, both advancing with hands on their weapons.Behind them, prisoners watched with dull curiosity, too beaten down to hope for anything beyond a momentary distraction from their misery.
Time ran out.The guards recognized something wrong in her silence, in her stance, in the way she gripped her weapon too tightly.A shout went up—sharp, alarmed—and suddenly half a dozen Wardens were pointing in her direction, drawing weapons, closing in.
Thalia made her decision in the space between heartbeats.
She drew her glacenite blade in one fluid motion, its silver-blue edge catching the torchlight.Before the nearest guard could react, she pivoted toward the closest prisoner pen and brought the weapon down in a powerful arc.The lock shattered, metal fragments scattering across the cobblestones.
"Run!"she shouted, throwing the gate wide."All of you—run!"
For a breath, the prisoners stood motionless, shock and disbelief paralyzing them.Then a man near the front of the pen surged forward, shouldering past the broken gate.Others followed, first a trickle, then a flood—a sudden tide of humanity flowing outward from the pen with the desperate energy of the condemned granted unexpected reprieve.
Their shock transformed into defiance with stunning speed.Some seized discarded tools or pieces of wood from the broken pen, wielding them as makeshift weapons.Others simply ran, scattering in all directions, creating chaos that would make pursuit nearly impossible.
Warden shouts filled the air as the guards abandoned their pursuit of Thalia to deal with the escaping prisoners.It wouldn't last long—they would reorganize quickly, would remember the guard who had triggered this chaos—but it might buy her enough time to slip away, to continue her search for her family.
Amidst the surging bodies and panicked shouts, Thalia caught a glimpse of a familiar face—not her mother or sister, but a woman who had once lived three doors down from their shop.A friend of her mother’s, who had watched the Greenspire children while Celeste sold her herbs at the market, had brought a pot of stew to help sustain the family after Thalia’s father’s death.Their eyes met for a fleeting moment across the chaos of the square, recognition flaring between them.The woman's mouth formed Thalia's name, her expression transforming from shock to hope before she was swept away in the tide of escaping prisoners.
CHAPTER FIVE
A deep, resonant horn blasted through the market square, its mournful cry slicing through the chaos of fleeing bodies and shouted commands.Thalia pivoted toward the sound, her stolen Warden blade still clutched in her hand, its black metal edge seeming to drink in the surrounding panic.She had moments—perhaps seconds—before reinforcements flooded the square.The sensible choice was to slip away in the confusion, to vanish into the warren of familiar streets and continue her search for her family.But as alarm bells began to clang in violent percussion, something fierce and terrible unfurled within her chest.She had started this.She would see it through.
Shouts in the Warden tongue echoed down the streets as more guards converged on the square.The first wave of prisoners had scattered, but many remained, milling in confusion, unsure which direction offered safety.Thalia saw fear threatening to paralyze them, saw the moment teetering on the edge of collapse.If they scattered, they would be hunted down individually.Together, they might stand a chance.
She spotted an overturned merchant's cart near the center of the square—once used for selling spices, now just another piece of wreckage.With three quick strides, she reached it and leapt atop its weathered boards, her boots finding purchase on the splintered wood.The elevation gave her a momentary advantage, making her visible above the crowd.
"Verdant Port!"she shouted, raising her stolen blade high.The weapon caught the torchlight, its blue-silver edge flaring like captured lightning."Take up arms!Fight for your freedom!There are more of us than them!"
Her voice carried across the square, raw with emotion yet clear in purpose.For a heartbeat, the crowd stilled, faces turning toward her with expressions ranging from disbelief to desperate hope.These were her people—fishermen and merchants, craftsmen and dock workers—transformed by captivity into hollow-eyed strangers.Yet in that moment, something kindled in their gazes, something that had been beaten down but never extinguished.
"They've taken our homes!"she continued, gesturing with her free hand toward the ruined buildings surrounding the square."They've taken our families!They will not take our lives!"
A man near the front—his face gaunt beneath a week's growth of beard, his hands still raw from the ropes that had bound them—bent to retrieve a broken piece of the pen that had confined him.Others followed his example, arming themselves with whatever lay at hand: chains ripped from their own bindings, splintered planks, tools abandoned during the processing.
The boldest among them surged toward the nearest weapons rack, where the Wardens had stored blades confiscated from the city's residents.They fell upon it like starving wolves, distributing knives and short swords among those most capable of using them.A woman with shoulders broadened by years of working the fishing nets seized a harpoon, her face transformed by a fierce grin that held nothing of joy.
The square became a seething mass of improvised weapons and rekindled determination.Thalia leapt down from the cart, landing in their midst.She had meant to lead them, to direct their fury, but found herself instead caught in their tide—one fighter among many, swept along by the collective will of a people who had endured too much.
The first wave of Warden reinforcements arrived at the eastern entrance to the square, a tight formation of black-armored soldiers with weapons drawn.They advanced with military precision, expecting to find scattered prisoners easy to subdue.Instead, they met a wall of desperate humanity, armed and unified by a singular purpose: freedom.
The clash echoed off the surrounding buildings—metal against metal, shouts of pain and defiance, the thud of bodies falling.The Wardens' training gave them the initial advantage, their blades finding targets with practiced efficiency.But they were outnumbered ten to one, and what the former prisoners lacked in skill, they made up for in desperate fury.
Thalia fought in their midst, her stolen blade a flash of darkness in the chaotic press.Her muscles remembered the drills of Frostforge, the countless hours spent training against opponents both human and construct.Each strike found its mark, each parry deflected a blade meant to kill.Yet even as she fought, she was aware of the others around her—ordinary men and women throwing themselves against trained killers, winning through sheer numbers and raw determination.
A teenage boy stumbled backward, blood streaming from a cut on his forehead, a Warden's blade descending toward his exposed neck.Thalia lunged, intercepting the strike with her own weapon.The impact jarred her arm, but she held, forcing the enemy sword away from its target.With her free hand, she shoved the boy toward safety, then spun to meet her opponent's next attack.
The Warden snarled behind his half-mask, realization flaring in his eyes."Ice-wielder," he spat in heavily accented speech.His blade came at her in a flurry of strikes, each one meant to end her life.
Thalia matched him blow for blow, giving ground strategically, drawing him away from the densest part of the fighting.Her blade sang through the air, its edge finding gaps in his armor, drawing blood but not yet a killing blow.The weapon's magic pulsed against her palm, whispering promises and threats, conjuring the image of Mari's face, contorted in fear, superimposed over the Warden's masked features.
The hallucination nearly cost her as the Warden feinted, then drove his blade toward her midsection.She twisted aside, the black metal slicing through her stolen armor, grazing her ribs beneath.Pain flared, hot and immediate, but she pushed through it, letting momentum carry her into a counter-strike that caught her opponent beneath his raised arm.
The black blade slid between plates of armor, finding flesh and bone.The Warden made a choked sound, more surprise than pain, then collapsed as she withdrew her weapon with a quick twist.
Thalia turned back toward the main battle, her breathing ragged.The tide had shifted, the initial Warden formation broken by the sheer weight of numbers pressing against them.Bodies in black armor lay scattered across the cobblestones, surrounded by far too many of the freed prisoners who had paid for this moment with their lives.
