Okay, I know, I said I'd get the next chapter up in August… The delay probably had something to do with my complete lack of ability to get off my lazy, computer-game-playing butt and write…
I would also like to say that last August was the anniversary of my being a writer here on It's been a wonderful year, and I hope there are many like it yet to come. October was also the anniversary of this fic. Hopefully, it'll be done by next October.
The island was not charted on any maps, not even given a hint of notice in the logs of the explorers who charted the area. The roughly rectangular shape was not even large enough to be a miniscule dot on maps anyway, even if it was featured on them. Mark would have passed it by, if not for a slight discoloration in the rock that caught his interest.
Upon closer inspection, it revealed itself as a cavern in the rock. He steered his lifeboat toward it. Could this be the dwelling of the sword-master he was searching for? In the few days since he had left the merchants, he had searched through the entirety of the North Sea. The opening must have been on the opposite side of the island from him on the first pass.
The cavern was evidently natural. However, the edge was streamlined in places, and Mark parked his lifeboat and stepped off. There was a passage off to one side. The winding path went deeper into the island, finally coming out into the largest room Mark had ever seen.
It was obviously man-made, a perfect rectangle carved into what seemed to be a solid block of ice. To both sides of him, a series of pillars, carved from the same material and with strange symbols etched into them, stretched toward a ceiling that must have been just below the top of the island. On the opposite side from him, another passage continued deeper into the island.
He strode across the chamber and entered the narrow passage. He could see a faint light at the end. Lights mean people. Finally, I'm close to meeting the master!
Suddenly, as he stepped forward into the passage, he heard a faintly audible click.
All of a sudden, the wall to his right erupted in spikes! He barely managed to evade them in time, jumping to the left.
Whew. A bit slower and I'd be mincemeat. Gotta be on the lookout for more traps.
He continued. Again, he barely heard the click of a sprung trap, before spikes exploded from the wall to his left. He dodged the spikes and edged past the protruding points.
A few steps further down, a blade swung out from the wall at head level. He ducked under that trap, and immediately sprung a trap that sent a bladed pendulum swinging across his path. He timed his jump and evaded the deadly blade.
Continuing on, he was in midstep when the ground in front of him collapsed! He windmilled his arms, straining to avoid falling into the exposed pit. He managed to take a step backward safely. Taking a few steps back, he leaped over the pit and gained a safe footing on the other side.
He was almost halfway down the corridor, he judged. Getting there.
The next stretch of corridor seemed to be trap-free. Suddenly, when he reached what he judged to be the halfway mark, he heard another click. The grinding of stone suddenly echoed through the corridor.
Where?!? He looked around frantically. Suddenly, he saw a gigantic boulder rising out of the pit he had just leaped.
One instinct filled his mind. Run!!! He dashed toward the end of the passage, where the light was even more visible now. The boulder rolled after him.
The last stretch of the passage was filled with traps. He dodged spikes, leaped around pendulums and rolled under blades, the boulder getting ever closer, smashing through all the traps to reach him. The giant stone was right behind him now…
He leapt past the final spikes and out of the passage, landing in a heap in the next chamber. The boulder, too large to fit through the doorway, crashed against the stones and became stuck.
Getting up, he surveyed the next chamber.
It was of the same general construction as the one before it, but much smaller. Across from Mark were a large set of double doors, with torches set beside them. Is this the entrance to the home of the sword-master? He wondered.
He strode across the room toward the doors.
Suddenly, he heard movement. He looked around. Shadowy figures were emerging from behind the columns! He could not make out any of their features, but they were all around him.
As they approached, he could tell that there were five in total, all… shining? The figures gleamed in the torchlight. They seemed to be not men at all, but humanoid forms of… ice? Ice men? Golems? Perhaps this island has other protections than the traps, he thought- too late. The ice-men were only ten yards away.
Not one to go without a struggle, he drew his sword and gun. Backing towards the boulder-blocked passage, the only direction free of a threat, he selected one of the ice-men and fired.
The bullet flew, he heard the impact, and the ice-man jerked back. But, as if it had not been shot at all, it continued approaching toward him alongside the others.
He fired again, with the same results. He fired at them until his gun was empty, but to no avail.
Well, he thought, if bullets don't work, I'll have to use my sword.
As one of the ice-men advanced, he rushed forward, stabbing with his rapier at where the heart would be if they were men.
The blade passed through the icy chest, albeit with much resistance, and protruded from its back. However, the attacker was undeterred. It struck Mark a powerful blow that sent him flying back, his sword still stuck in his assailant.
He got up, bruised and batted from. The rest were closing in. He rushed back toward the one his sword was stuck in, and launched a furious high kick while simultaneously removing his sword. The result was that the head of the golem went flying off the torso. As he leaped back out of range, the golem seemed to crumble, the ice breaking up into separate pieces.
All right, go for the heads then. Sorta makes sense. He dashed toward another one, slicing high. He felt it hit the mark, albeit with much resistance from the ice. It was a clean cut, sending the head flying. As with the first, the ice cracked and crumbled, collapsing into a pile on the ground.
Two down, three to go. He turned and faced the other… two?
Suddenly, a blow from behind sent him pitching forward. He saw stars, his vision blurry. As his sight cleared, he spotted the other one behind him. They were all closing in.
He got up shakily, his sight still fogged. He ran out of their range, escaping into the shadows. His sight was returned now. He looked back. They were coming after him.
He took the offensive once more, dashing forward toward another. It expected his high cut, and blocked with its arm, but he quickly struck again, stabbing upward and spearing the head like a shish-kabob. Just like the others, it fell.
There were two left, plodding slowly toward him. He rushed forward, anticipating his next opponent would block his slash and hitting it with a roundhouse kick from the opposite direction. He connected solidly, and the fragile neck shattered, sending the head off the torso.
Only one left now. He faced his last opponent. This one seemed to be the most agile of them all, blocking all his strikes until he feinted and came around the other side with his slash.
The final one collapsed into a heap of ice. He exhaled with relief. Finally. He sheathed his sword.
Suddenly, he heard clapping. He whirled.
The doors were now open, though he had heard no sound, and in the doorway was standing the oldest man he had ever seen.
The man was old enough to be his great-grandfather. He was stooped over a cane made of the same icy material the golems, and indeed the entire chamber, was formed from. He wore a large brown cloak that covered his entire body. Upon closer inspection, the cloak seemed to be made from the fur of some huge and shaggy animal.
But his eyes were his most notable feature. Sky blue, they burned with a passionate fire, but a fire that was strangely diminished, like the spirit of a shamed eagle.
He was clapping. And then he smiled and said, "Well, done, young man. You will do quite nicely."
Mark's mind raced. But his foremost thoughts were, 'Who is he?' and 'Quite nicely for what?'
As if reading his mind, the man responded immediately. "Answers will come… in time. But who I am is not important at the moment. What is important," he said, all the while walking toward Mark with a shuffling gait. He got right in front of him. Then he tapped Mark's chest with his cane and spoke. "… is that you are prime material for the next great King of the Pirates."
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