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CHAPTER XI —— DEATH THREATS, AGAIN?
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As she entered the throne room, Mare breathed out and watched her breath steam from the cold.
Along the walls, purple tapestries showed scenes of snowy forests, barren mountains, and glaciers. High above, ribbons of colored light—the aurora borealis—pulsed along the ceiling. A layer of snow covered the floor, so the quest members had to step carefully. It was beautiful, something that you'd see in a movie and never think could be real, except it was.
All around the room stood life-size ice sculpture warriors—some in Greek armor, some medieval, some in modern camouflage—all frozen in various attack positions, swords raised, guns locked and loaded.
Mare had assumed that they were sculptures, but was proven wrong when Jason tried to step between two Greek spearmen, and they moved with surprising speed, their joints cracking and spraying ice crystals as they crossed their javelins to block Jason's path.
Mare quickly stepped forward.
From the far end of the hall, a man's voice rang out in a language that sounded like French. The room was so long and misty, Mare couldn't see the other end; but whatever the man said, the ice guards uncrossed their javelins.
Mare was thankful for that, it meant she didn't have to fight literal statutes— she wasn't quite sure how she'd do it. Maybe if she pushed them over like you would a cow? She wasn't certain of the semantics, would they shatter when she pushed them or were they strong ice sculptures? Would it be like the episode from Doctor Who, where they just formed again and again until eventually Victorian!Clara died?
