The Turquoise Queen by Pedro Urvi (animal farm read TXT) 📕

when they arrived at the last village of the Wild Ones, more than a thousand Wild Ones and Tundra Dwellers were waiting. With them were small groups of Semi-Giants and Arcanes of the Glaciers.

It was true that they had been waiting for them.

To kill them.

Chapter 15

Sven raised his sword and gave the order: “Battle formation!”

The Norghanian infantry took up its position in three long, compact lines, each man separated from the one in front by an arm and a half. They gripped shields and war axes and stretched the muscles in their necks, shoulders, arms and legs in preparation for the battle.

Behind them, covering the left flank, the Royal Rangers took up their positions, with Gatik at their head. Sven and the Royal Guards moved to cover the right flank. In the center, behind the infantry, the Ice Magi took their places, with Eicewald at their head. Enker and Misten joined the Royal Rangers. Lasgol did not know where to go, and after a moment’s indecision he too went towards the Royal Rangers.

“Lasgol, you come with us!” Eicewald called.

Lasgol obeyed uneasily and went to stand behind the Magi, with Ona beside him. Camu remained further back, camouflaged.

Five hundred paces below was the village of the Wild Ones. They could see it perfectly well, both the buildings and the enemy host, which was waiting in front of them in a long line. Lasgol was impressed by the sight of all the Wild Ones of the Ice: over six feet tall, impressively muscled, their skin glowing ice-blue and their bluish-blond hair and beards standing out from afar. What impressed him most were those eyes, practically white, with a very pale iris. The axes they carried were as massive as their muscles. They always gave him the impression that beside them, the Norghanians were no more than teenagers they could easily destroy. They were so huge and strong that they awoke fear in the fiercest of the Norghanians.

He swallowed. Even more than the Wild Ones and their lords the Semi-Giants, who were as tall and strong as two Wild Ones, he was worried by the Arcanes of the Glaciers and their magic from the Frozen Continent. It was not a good sign that a group of them were there. As a rule, they did not leave their own land unless there was some good reason, and this battle was certainly it. Luckily they themselves had the Ice Magi, who would confront the magic of the Arcanes.

Another circumstance troubled him even more. In the middle of the great circular plaza, he could see the strange three-tiered totem, and his skin prickled. Almost without thinking, by reflex, he used his Gift and called upon his Hawk’s Eye and Owl Hearing skills. He glanced to see whether any of the Magi had noticed anything, but their attention was focused on the enemy and nobody was paying any attention to him.

Suddenly a scene he recognized began to unfold.  The leaders of the three Peoples of the Frozen Continent assembled beside the totem, and a Semi-Giant stepped forward on behalf of the Wild Ones of the Ice, taller than two Norghanians and broader at the shoulder than three. His skin was ice-blue, streaked with diagonal white veins. His hair and beard were long, apparently frozen, of a white that was almost bluish. The great eye in the middle of his forehead, with its large blue iris, chilled Lasgol. He could never get used to seeing these figures. They inspired terror.

The second leader, of the Tundra Dwellers, had brilliantly white skin and snow-white hair. Everything about him shone like crystallized snow, and his eyes were an intense grey. Like all his race he was very tall, very athletic and very slim. In his hands he carried a long javelin.

The third leader, of the Arcanes of the Glaciers, was far smaller and slighter than the other two, so that beside them he looked like a child. His skin was bluish, marked with areas of crystal-white. Like all Arcanes, his head was shaven and tattooed with a strange rune in crystal white. In his right hand he carried a staff of animal bones, decorated with strange symbols. Lasgol knew that this was a powerful Shaman.

He heaved a deep sigh. He had realized that he recognized them. They were the same three Chiefs he had seen at the ceremony with the Frozen Specter. If they were still here, beside the totem, there could be only one reason.

He was not mistaken.

All the Wild Ones, Dwellers and Arcanes began to intone their strange ceremonial chant, a slow rise and fall of deep tones, sung at the tops of their voices.

The ritual was beginning.

Amid the chanting of the long prayer, the three leaders knelt before the enormous totem.

Lasgol touched his mother’s ring, the Ring of the Frozen Languages. Soon enough the chanting reached him on the breeze, and the ring translated in his mind:

“Come to us, your servants. Come to us, Horror of the Frozen Abyss of No Return. Come and accept our offer. Come and take their souls with you. May they serve you in your abyss and never return. Deliver your servants from their presence. Feed your hunger for impure souls.”

They were summoning the Frozen Specter! He warned Sven and Gatik at the top of his voice: “Sir! The ritual chant! They’re calling the Frozen Specter!”

Sven glanced at him for a moment, then at the Ice Magi.

“We’ll deal with his forces! Eicewald, the Specter is yours!”

“We’ll deal with the creature,” Eicewald assured him.

“Don’t fail! Death to the enemy!” Sven shouted, and in his eyes Lasgol saw that he knew he was gambling with the lives of three thousand Norghanian soldiers.

“Destroy it!” Gatik called to the Mage. “Death to the enemy!”

Sven and Gatik continued their advance, with the Norghanian lines descending toward the