Trials by Pedro Urvi

and a thick layer of frost and ice soon covered it. The process spread across the whole structure at great speed, turning each level into ice and frost down to the base. In an instant the whole machine was covered with a frozen cloak.
    “Fire at the base! Fire!” Count Longor urged.
    But it was too late. The arrows met the ice and frost which prevented the spilt oil from catching fire. The Count contemplated his vain effort. This time they had come prepared, had brought an Ice Mage with them to protect the structure. And in that moment he understood what was about to happen.
    We’re lost, there’s no hope .
    The Ice Mage disappeared within the structure as a dull roar sounded on the gangway. The Invincibles of the Ice charged against the Rogdonian line of defense.
    Longor looked up at the sky and cried:
    “Come and try my steel, you damned Norghanians!”
    Four Invincibles broke the weak line of defense and fell upon the brave Count. Longor fought with skill, his sword dealing death among his enemies, but he was outnumbered. Mortally wounded, with his last breath he thrust at the armpit of the Norghanian who had reached him, making sure he would bleed to death.
    “You’re coming with me,” he said to his adversary with a mocking grin.
    A Norghanian sword went through him.
    “It’s been… a… pleasure…” he said with shining eyes.
    And he died with his signature smile on his lips.
    The eastern section of the wall had fallen.
    The Norghanian Army was now climbing the siege tower onto the wall with no opposition whatever.
     
    At the other end of the wall, Gerart tried to get to his feet and stand up against the ice storm which was engulfing them, but the glacial wind would not let him. He was so cold, he was finished. Soon his limbs would freeze and he would die there on the wall. At least I haven’t failed my father. I’ll die carrying out his orders. The only thing I regret is that I wasn’t able to stop the enemy advance. Now they’ll have free access to the capital. I haven’t failed my father, but I have failed my nation, and for that I’m truly sorry .
    An icy drowsiness warned him that he was about to enter the fatal frozen sleep of no return. He could almost see death disguised in white, flying above his soul in the middle of the storm of ice. The whole world was frost, snow and icy wind, and he was very, very sleepy. His eyes were closing; he could not stay awake.
    A hand grabbed his shoulder and shook it hard.
    “Gerart! Gerart! Wake up!” a vaguely familiar voice shouted from afar.
    The Prince tried to open his eyes and fight against the drowsiness that had him in its power, but he found it impossible.
    “Come on, Gerart! Wake up or you’ll die! Wake up in the name of King Solin!”
    When he heard his father’s name something in his spirit reacted, a force which was a mixture of pride and rage. He opened his eyes and saw a familiar face which at first he did not recognize. Quiet grey eyes were staring at him, half-closed. A face was looking at him: one young but experienced, with long blond hair, someone he knew… And then he recognized him.
    By all the Ancient Gods!
    It was Haradin!
    “Haradin!” Gerart cried with immense happiness.
    Filled with joy, he managed to clear his mind a little and come to himself.
    The Rogdonian Mage smiled at him and helped him back to his feet. At once a dozen Royal Swords surrounded them.
    “It looks as if I’ve come at the last moment,” Haradin said. “We’ll have to do something about this ice storm before it freezes all of us.”
    The Battle Mage of Rogdon, dressed in a simple grey robe, stood defiant in the middle of the storm. He gave out an aura of courage and valor.
    He concentrated with his eyes closed and intoned a long sentence of power. Waving his staff in the direction of the siege tower, he cast a spell. The storm was attacked by another, this time one of burning heat from the desert which Haradin had conjured, and this began to engulf it.