Swordcrossed Frostbite

By Bryce Beattie

The dead man had threatened her with all mannr of atrocity, so she didn't feel guilty about checking his body for coin. She should have been watching out for his conjuring partner.

A sword and sorcery novelette.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryce Beattie
• Release date: May 10, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370954735

Bryce Beattie

My name is Bryce Beattie, and I'm addicted to pulp. I got into it many years ago, and I just can't break free. When I was a kid, some careless adult left a tape with several episodes of "The Shadow" radio show lying around. After I listened to that, I was hooked. Pretty soon, audio just wasn't enough and I moved on to to the paperback stuff. At first it was just detective fiction, then I started reading old Conan stories and yarns about John Carter of Mars. Now I'm pretty hopeless. I tried to quit once, but soon afterward put on a lot of weight, so I started back up. Now, I'm so deep into pulp fiction that I write my own.

Book preview

I

Steam rose from the dead highwayman’s body as it lay in the cold winter air.

Blythe’s breathing came in gasps.

The sword spoke directly to her mind as it had since the day it had awoken.

Desecrate his body. The fool deserves it.

Her free hand trembled as she lowered the white hot point back toward the body.

Stab him again. STAB HIM AGAIN!

The sword was always aggressive. Always angry. Always relentless.

Her arm jerked involuntarily as the sword fought for control.

He is less than nothing. He doesn’t deserve-

That’s enough of that nonsense. Blythe tossed the sword into the snow. The hot blade sizzled as it sank in. She’d dig it out after she had a chance to calm down.

Her chest heaved and she struggled to steady her quivering hands. She turned away and closed her eyes. Slowly, the sharp anger dulled into a throbbing distaste. That was good enough for her to return her attentions to the fallen assailant.

This man had threatened her with all manner of atrocity, so Blythe felt no qualms whatsoever about checking his pockets for coin.

Apparently he wasn’t a very good highwayman. His purse contained very little money, only enough to cover a room and meals for a couple of days. At least it would be something. Assuming she could make it to the next town without freezing.

She secured the purse to her belt and decided to take a good look at his sword. He had fallen atop it just before she ended the fight with a messy slash on the back of his neck.

Blythe hooked a thin hand under his armpit and grabbed the belt on his hip with the other. With a bit of struggle and few grunts she rolled the brigand’s corpse off the blade.

She used a handful of snow to scrape the thickening blood from the guard and grip before picking it up.

He had landed on it, but thankfully nothing was bent or damaged. She slashed and stabbed at the air a few times. The balance was excellent, much better than her own. It would definitely be worth something.

She wavered for a moment about whether or not keep the sword. It would be nice to duel and not have to deal with her own blade’s constant seething. And she wouldn’t have to hide how her blade heated up during the fight.

Of course that meant she’d lose her sword’s fighting impulses as well. And she didn’t know if she was good enough yet to win much without it.

And on top of that, someone might recognize the sword as his. That would be trouble she did not want.

She cut a piece of cleanish cloth from the highwayman’s tunic and used it to wipe down the whole sword. The metal was in great condition, just a little dirty.

A flurry of shuffle-crunch noises perked her ears.

She spun around just in time to see a cloud of disturbed snow running by. The puff of snow drifted to the ground and the blurry form of a wiry young man burst from the center.

Blythe blinked to make sure what she was seeing was real. Where did he come from? Was he hiding under there somewhere? Hey!

The gray clad youth bounded past her and stopped on the trail ahead.

Who are you?

The boy didn’t answer. Instead he carefully picked up and reset his feet into the snowpack on the side of the road. After scratching the side of his rather flat nose, he began making bizarre motions with his hands.

Blythe clenched the sword and took a step toward him. Who are you and what are you doing here?

He still didn’t verbalize an answer. A frown formed on his lips and he continued with his motions.

Blythe took another step and raised the sword. I’m warning you, kid. I do know how to use this.

The boy’s left hand formed a tight fist and he extended it to full arms length.

The atmosphere of