Guardian of the Iceplains

By Tadeu Aratel

Zet failed. He was supposed to protect the Icedwellers, but when he arrived at one of their tribes, they were already dead. All safe for one little girl who’s being held prisoner.
Runic Universe, Year 55 i.e.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tadeu Aratel
• Release date: Apr 18, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310934810

Tadeu Aratel

Born in 1997, Tadeu Aratel spent most of his pre-writing life as a bored introvert, constantly escaping into great novels, games, animes, and mangas. The writing started almost by accident at age 16, but now it occupies his mind day and night.His passion lays withing the realm of speculative fiction, with Fantasy being the target of his greatest aspirations. As for education, he's currently in between majors, and seeking to study Languages in college.Currently, he's more worried about learning the fundamentals than finding representation. Though recently his work has reached a level where he can finally be a little proud of it.Just a little.

Book preview

Guardian of the Iceplains

By Tadeu Aratel

Copyright 2016 Tadeu Aratel

Smashwords Edition

License Notes:

This free ebook may be copied, distributed, reposted, and shared for non-commercial purposes, provided it appears in its entirety without alteration. If you enjoyed this story, please return to your favorite ebook retailer to discover other works by this author.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Afterword

Connect with Tadeu Aratel

Other Works

About Tadeu Aratel

Chapter 1

Zet Vinearm

I smelled the dead before I saw them.

I crouched behind the igloo’s wall, pressing my back against the blocks of compressed snow. It was early morning, the sky was a piercing blue and a soft breeze blew from the frozen sea, washing over the Icedweller’s tribe. That wind brought the scents of blood and dead meat. It was faint enough that I wouldn’t have noticed it without my enhanced senses.

This tribe was right on the edge of Cradle Island, where the land met the frozen ocean. I had never seen this tribe here before; but that wasn’t very surprising. The Icedwellers are nomads. They probably came here to fish, or lick ice or something. I didn’t try to understand these freakish snow people; my job was just to keep them alive.

And today I had arrived too late.

I shouldered my rifle, crawled to the edge of the wall, and then peeked at the center of the tribe. This was an old-school tribe, composed of a dozen igloos build in columns around an open central area. Pretty big, by Icedwellers standards. The central plaza was littered with corpses; blood tainted the pale snow. Some of the dead held weapons — rifles and handguns — but most of them didn’t. Women, children, elderly — no one