His teacher delivered a swift thrust. Well, not as swift as the attacks she had used against Surtr in the past. In a way, she was holding herself back for Tryg, adapting her own speed to a level he could follow. Still, she was fast.
Turning his body, Tryg dodged Sinmara’s strike and tried a diagonal cut from below. She took a step back, her white hair shimmering in the morning light. Then she advanced and attempted a diagonal cut as well, but from above.
As with his speed, Tryg knew his strength was nothing compared to hers. Yes, she was going easy on him, but that did not mean he could directly withstand one of her attacks. So, instead, he calmly analyzed her shadow and, sliding his blade along hers, redirected the strike to the side.
A short while ago, right after dawn, Sinmara had taught him that very movement. She had told him that she had created that technique — and many others — during her own solitary training, to deal with opponents far physically stronger than herself, like Surtr. It was a graceful and refined movement that surprised Tryg at first, especially after learning it. But the fact that she had used magic to transform again clouded his excitement.
Beforehand, Tryg had tried again to convince her otherwise, worried, but Sinmara had not been swayed by his pleas, as she probably would not have been swayed by anyone’s. He had still not reached the point where he could be as convincing as his teacher, not enough to convince her to stay still and merely observe.
At least, after much insistence, Tryg had managed to make her promise that she would limit her transformations, from now on, to no more than once a week. He only hoped that, for now, that would be enough.
Tryg was disarmed and kicked in the chest. He fell on his backside, grunting in pain, his muscles burning from the effort he had been making since the break of dawn. Even though they were only training, even though Sinmara was going easy on him, the training was still exhausting.
Not that he was complaining about the queen’s help, of course. It was his fault for losing focus to his own daydreams. In his defense, it was hard to maintain concentration after what he had recently witnessed, both inside and outside Sinmara’s mind.
A snowball hit him square in the face.
“Hey!” he complained.
Tryg wiped his face and stared at his teacher, his mauve-purple eyes narrowed. She was smiling, amused by his suffering, with her index finger pointed at him.
“That was unnecessary.”
“It was not,” she replied. “You need to concentrate. Your training today was ridiculous, worse than any warrior I have ever faced, all because you cannot keep your focus.”
He exhaled, stood up, recovered his sword, and slid it into the white sheath that had been created for him — from what he had noticed and confirmed with the queen, the creation of less complex objects like that did not demand as much from her.
“Yeah, I know,” he said. “It was terrible compared to the others.”
Sinmara let out a little laugh. “It was indeed terrible, but not for me. It has been centuries since I had this much fun.”
He crossed his arms and grimaced. “You knew I wasn’t focused, and even so, you spent the whole morning throwing me from one side to the other like I was a rag doll.”
She handed her sword to Tryg — so he could store it in the other sheath — and crossed her hands in front of her waist. “I know. And I am an old lady. Imagine me in my time...” Another little laugh. “Gods, you would not have lasted a second against me.”
What is she talking about? She's immortal... Oh, never mind.
Tryg huffed, and Sinmara turned her back to him, walking slowly toward the next corridor. Then he smiled and followed her.
“Let’s go,” he declared, as the queen returned to her fox form.
When the transformation ended, the fox grunted in pain, and Tryg frowned with apprehension, as always. However, a moment or two later, she took a deep breath and placed herself beside him, firm, seemingly recovered and ready to observe and analyze the next challenge. Although he still disliked her insistence on using magic, he forced a smile and took a step forward.
At least she’ll go a week without suffering from now on...
On the fourth step, Tryg realized he was walking alone. He raised his brows and turned in time to see the white fox collapsing onto the snowy grass. Distressed, he rushed over and knelt on the ground, sliding to a stop beside her.
“Lady Sinmara!”
He stared at her with widened eyes, his hands frozen above her, not knowing what to do. Fortunately, his worry lessened a little when he realized that, though slowly and heavily, the queen was breathing. But that was nowhere near enough to calm his racing heart.
Although he knew Sinmara probably hated being picked up, Tryg nestled her in his arms. Luckily, she only seemed to be sleeping.
“Lady Sinmara...?” he called again, shaking her lightly, but received no answer, not even the slightest reaction.
Damn it! Why wasn’t I more insistent? he thought, feeling overwhelmed by regret.
Tryg stood with his teacher in his arms and stared at the corridor he intended to follow, pondering. It would not be risky to go to the next chamber, since it would be one of the smaller ones, devoid of enemies. The one after that, however...
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Fighting a horde of monsters with Sinmara unconscious and helpless would be dangerous for him and, above all, for her. The queen was powerful enough to end anything there with a snap of her fingers, true, but not while passed out.
Thus, Tryg nodded to himself and decided to go to the room ahead and wait there until his teacher woke up. He would lose time — time that might prove very valuable when he reunited with his mother. But he would not sacrifice, much less put at the slightest risk, the life of the fox in his arms.
He would not trade one life for the other. He could not...
Tryg positioned himself in front of the corridor, waited for the moment when the spike traps retreated, and ran into the next chamber. Upon arriving, the door behind him soon closed with a thunderous boom. The other, however — the only one besides the one he had just passed through — remained open...
A dark premonition gripped Tryg’s chest. That was the first time a smaller chamber had only two doors, and also the first in which only one of them closed. Besides, the still-open passage ahead had no apparent trap.
This can’t be good... he thought, pressing his lips together.
The walls behind him groaned. Then they moved forward, dragging snow and earth along the way. The gray stone touched Tryg’s back, slowly pushing him forward. It did not take long for him to realize what was happening. The labyrinth... It was forcing him to move on to the next challenge.
Gritting his teeth, he walked around the room and shook his head from side to side, searching for an exit, any other alternative, his heartbeat thundering in the back of his ears, drowning out the groan of the walls being dragged. There was nothing. And if Tryg did not enter the next corridor, he would be crushed between the walls.
Damn.
Why was this happening? It made no sense. It was true that the labyrinth seemed to have some kind of consciousness that judged the progress of its invaders. But what could have happened for something like this to occur?
Perhaps it was because his teacher had fainted, but that was hard for him to accept. After all, it was not the first time they had blacked out in the labyrinth; every day, they slept at night, defenseless.
Besides, Tryg had not shown that much progress recently. He had slowed his progress on purpose to train and, in the future, accelerate it again, but in a safer way. But, even if that were true, it was the only acceptable explanation that came to his mind.
Perhaps he would be able to think of another later, but now was not the time. Now, he needed to set the doubts aside and concentrate on protecting his teacher and on the fight that would certainly come.
Tryg took a deep breath and, long before the walls met, walked down the foggy corridor ahead, feeling, with each step, the sheathed swords swinging at his waist. Because of the mist, he could see nothing more than five steps ahead, only hear the oppressive sounds of the changes. However, a long moment later, the corridor finally ended, and Tryg reached the next room.
It was also taken by a dense fog. The door behind him closed. The mist began to slowly dissipate. Tryg felt as if the labyrinth were opening its arms to him, welcoming him with a vile smile into its new challenge.
Little by little, he could see what had to be the largest chamber so far. If his estimates were correct, it had to be, at the very least, three times the size of the previous larger rooms. This can’t be a good sign, he thought, tense. There could only be two reasons for the labyrinth to have such an extensive place. Either the number of enemies that would appear would be the greatest so far. Or the enemies themselves would be larger... Or both.
Tryg swallowed hard and took a step forward. He froze. A troubling, long, thunderous roar came from within the dissipating fog. The hairs on his body stood on end as they were touched by the sound. Unconsciously, one of his hands gripped the pommel of one of his swords. The other pulled the sleeping fox closer to his own chest, protecting her with tenderness. Whatever had roared, it was large.
Another roar, one even more reverberating. However, this time, Tryg relaxed a little. For he realized those were not angry roars, much less roars eager to slaughter their newly arrived prey. They were roars of pain.
Narrowing his eyes, Tryg glanced around and sharpened his enhanced senses even further, including his vision of the shadows, searching for any sign of danger, monstrous or not. Only after fully analyzing his surroundings did he advance cautiously, making as little noise as possible.
A few steps later, when he could already see much of the room ahead, he heard a new sound. A sharp and stubborn cry. The voice of a woman, strained by pain and effort.
The mist dissipated even further, revealing the center of the snowy chamber and making Tryg part his lips. There, two beings fought a fierce and deadly battle, scattering snow and earth in every direction.
One of them was a huge, stocky, tall humanoid, more than three times Tryg’s height. Its skin was gray, but not like that of the Revenants or the Einherjar. It was more as if its own body were made of stone, with sharp rocks sprouting from its legs, arms, and back. Its maw was as threatening as its build, with saliva running down its long canines and yellowish fangs, sharp as razors. Its eyes were two wild and hungry crimson flames.
What in the Hel is that?
Tryg could not help but feel fear before that monster. It was the first time he had seen one so large and dreadful, and he definitely was not in any condition to face it. He had no information about the gigantic creature, and the only person who might know something was unconscious in his arms, needing protection. Not that she would share much with him...
But perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps the other being involved in the fight ahead had some idea of how to face the monster. The being who, in fact, was responsible for most of Tryg’s shock.
A woman with fair skin, her body defined by strong muscles. She had sharp features, honey-yellow eyes, and pristine blond hair that fluttered in the wind and fell down her back like a waterfall of pure gold. She was dressed in worn golden armor, adorned with red feathers, and carried two sharp daggers — which seemed to be made from some obscure metal, yet shimmered with ethereal particles of light.
She advanced toward the monster, narrowly dodged one of its brutal punches, and cut two of its fingers. The creature roared in pain, dark, viscous blood running from the wounds in its hand.
Still, it reacted with surprising speed and punched the warrior in the stomach. The woman, struck head-on, gasped and flew across the snowy grass, crashing against one of the gray walls.
The wall remained intact, but the warrior had certainly broken a few bones. Fighting through the pain, she rose again, grunting, and held the same region that had been struck. She was tired and wounded, blood staining the area of her abdomen. Even so, she shouted, tightened her grip on her weapons, and rushed toward the monster, determined.
She did not look like a monster, an undead, or any other creature the labyrinth had created so far. She looked alive. A person, just like him, fighting to survive that deadly complex.
Tryg narrowed his eyes and scrutinized the battlefield, analyzing it again, now that the mist had almost completely cleared. As soon as he noticed the absence of other enemies besides the roaring colossus, it did not take him long to reach a conclusion.
Whoever the warrior was, she was fighting against the challenge of that vast chamber, a monster he did not know. Therefore, the best chance Tryg had to overcome that test, while keeping Sinmara safe, was to help the stranger.
Tryg nodded to himself. He quickly ran to the nearest wall and hid the fox as best he could among the mounds of snow, camouflaging her. Then he drew one of his swords and ran toward the heart of the battle.
He did not want to leave Sinmara alone. But he had no choice.