Really not sure about this one, hope it entertains, feedback – as always – is appreciated:

A Bit of a Pickle
By Neil Beynon

The Warrior’s biceps strained and writhed under his skin like fighting puppies, his fingers strained white against the hilt of his blade.

“Not too bright are you?” said the Mage leaning on his staff, an amused expression on his weather worn face.
“I have travelled across the Tundra to end your icy grip and free the Princess,” hissed the Warrior.

They stood a few feet apart in a cave painted white by ice and snow, a tunnel either side leading to who knows where, granite ledges poked out from the ice above and somewhere daylight filtered through the roof of the chamber.

“Yes but you failed to realise that metal freezes at this temperature and whilst I am frankly impressed you managed to draw your blade you are, not to put to fine a point on it, In A Bit Of A Pickle.”

The Warrior looked up at the blade embedded in the top of the cave and tried to release his grip but as the mage had observed his hands were frozen to the hilt.

“Frank?” called a voice pitted with age. An old woman appeared in the tunnel mouth, she was dressed shabbily and her eyes were blind with cataracts. “Who’s there Frank?”
“It’s no one dear,” said the Mage with a sideways glance. “Go back in Belle where it’s warm.”

The old woman shuffled off watched by the Warrior his faint sneer at the crone melting into horror.
“Foul necromancer, what have thee done to the Princess?”
“I have done nothing,” said the Mage. “Why? Not quite what you were expecting?”
“She is aged most horrid under one of your foul spells,” said the Warrior, he freed one finger by tearing the skin from the meat underneath.

The Mage laughed softly. “Responded to one of the posters did you? Ah yes I can see it sticking out from your cloak…may I? Hmm, I see what led to the confusion. Did you read all of this?” The Warrior’s skin turned even redder though he was not straining at the time.
“You can’t read can you?”
“It was read to me,” said the Warrior.

“Well, if you’d read it yourself you would have noticed the date on the poster was dated fifty years ago,” said the Mage.
“You still stole her from her rightful throne,” said the Warrior.
“Actually no,” said the Mage. “She ran away because she wanted to learn magic and then when she found me…well let’s just say there’s only one bed in our cave.”
“The ice?”

The Mage shook his head, his grin fading. “The freeze has nothing to do with me, the land is the King and the King is the land – ask him why we sit encased in ice.”

The Warrior’s legs collapsed under him and he dangled from the sword like a string puppet.
“I travelled thousands of leagues, fought the Snowbeasts of Roath, I slew many and was wounded myself, I went weeks without food and have not known company for a year and a day. It was all for nothing?”
“You killed Snowbeasts?” said the Mage, his voice hard as flint. The Warrior simply blinked.
“Free me,” said the Warrior.

The Mage turned his back and headed towards the tunnel.
“Please!”

The Mage ignored him. In the distance a Snowbeast howled, the sound disturbing snow from the ledge that fell on the Warrior.

“Help me!” screamed the Warrior shaking the snow from his body.

The Mage paused and the Warrior smiled in relief. The Mage span his staff in a swift arc driving the metal heel into the Warrior’s chest, he watched as the life drained away from the Warrior’s face.

It was kinder really. In the long run.

*************
Enjoyed this? Why not check out some of my other Friday Flash Fiction entries here:
http://neilbeynon.wordpress.com/friday-flash-fiction/