The Last Winter

  CHAPTER 1

  THE MARCH OF THE GIANTS

  ASSIVE THUNDERHEADS CRACKED in the northern skies of Icegard. Snow and hail fell upon the world in a blanket of ghostly oblivion. The great oceans froze and turned from violent waves to jagged sheets of green ice. Lord Wintyr, the greatest of the frost giants, raised his axe, and the roar of a thousand fiends of Icegard echoed into the pale, frozen night.

  Far to the south, a hellish glow lit the skies of Firehome. Volcanoes erupted, spitting fiery ash into the atmosphere. King Sumyr, the ruler of the fire giants, held high his black iron sword, and it ignited with a burst of crimson flame. War horns blared, and a choir born of a thousand beasts of fire resounded into the blackened dawn.

  The brothers of frost and fire marched forth from their realms with death and vengeance in their hearts. Each army had but one destination in mind—the island of Mistgard. Their goal was its annihilation.

  ***

  Though surrounded by roaring chaos, the island of Mistgard lay in somber silence. No fires lit the hearths, and no songs filled the dens. All of the great lodges stood empty. Those missing from the halls were known as the Pandyr, and all Pandyr, from chieftain to warrior, from young to old, congregated in the Circle in the Sky. The Circle was an old burial ground perched high upon the windswept cliffs of Mistgard, and it was here that the clans would gather to honor their ancestors and return them to the earth. Surrounded by tall obelisks of gray and brown granite, the Pandyr clans stood grimly as the sleet and ash started to fall, and if they felt the chill or burn, they did not show it.

  The eight clans had not gathered together in such numbers for many years. Feuds and clan wars had gone unchecked for generations, fragmenting a once-united people into separate factions. But today, the rival clans put aside their grudges to pay their final respects to the mother of all the clans. On this day, Sprign, the Den Mother, the benevolent giantess who created the first of all Pandyr ages and ages ago, would be laid to rest.

  Legends told that before time began, there were only the great Skulls in the Sky. They floated through the endless astral oceans and grew lonely amidst the stars. They chose to join with each other, and when they aligned, life was born. To this life they gave a name: Sprign, the Dawn of Creation. They watched Sprign and placed her upon a barren world, where she claimed a small area of the realm and created the mountainous island of Mistgard. She was the living avatar of the land, the sky, and all of their beings.

  The Pandyr, the flora, and the fauna were all her children, and to all of her offspring Sprign gave two gifts: life and the will to live it as they would. Some beasts grazed while others survived by the hunt. The Pandyr, her most evolved creations, farmed the land, foraged the hills, and found sustenance among the mountains and in the waters surrounding the island. All of Sprign’s children contributed to the perfect symmetry of existence upon the isle of Mistgard.

  Soon after the creation of Sprign, the giant Sumyr, the Son of Fire, strode forth. As Sprign created Mistgard, Sumyr took a large area to the south, shaped the realm of Firehome, and filled it with foul, burning beings of ash, fire, and obsidian.

  Following Sumyr came the Silent Son, the stone giant Fell. Whereas Sumyr was rash, Fell was somber. Unlike Sumyr, Fell had a strong bond with Sprign, and he chose to create his kingdom beneath that of his sister, calling it the Under Realm.

  After the birth of Fell came the largest and most powerful of giants: the Bringer of the End, the frost giant Wintyr. He seized the remaining areas of the world and spawned the frozen lands known as Icegard, which he filled with abominable beasts born of ice and bone. Wintyr looked to the heavens and belched forth storms and hate toward his creators. The Skulls in the Sky grew fearful and separated, never to join again. Returning to the high heavens, the Skulls in the Sky left their children to wander the newly born world alone.

  All of the giants ruled over their realms. While Sprign gave her children free will, the other giants subjugated their creations to have no will other than that of their creators.

  Firehome and Icegard were bitter enemies from conception, and the kings of frost and fire battled constantly for control of the world. And when fire and ice met, Mistgard sat and defended its shores. The united forces of Sprign and the Under-King, Fell, easily repelled the unorganized and divided armies of King Sumyr and Lord Wintyr.

  But time, even for one as powerful as Sprign, crept slowly upon her. After many millennia, Sprign walked throughout the world less and less. Her emerald hair turned to flaxen silver, and she seemed more content to dwell amongst her great forests, tending her hives of bees. Sprign fell into long lapses of deep sleep, and while Sprign slept, her brothers would exert their dominance upon the world. All giants had their time and place in the realms—it had been such since their creation—and though she was near immortal, Sprign’s time had come to an end.

  CHAPTER 2

  A MOTHER’S FAREWELL

  PRIGN WAS DRESSED in a simple gown of green and amber, and her hair, normally intricately braided, had been brushed smooth. Ribbons of silver were tied to a graceful set of horns that grew from her head, and her body lay quietly on a bed of fresh moss, pine needles, and soft grass. Upon her breast lay a small crystal of purple amethyst, a gift from her brother Fell.

  Sprign was mother to not only the Pandyr but all the creatures of Mistgard. They, too, came to bid farewell to their beloved maker. Tokens of respect were piled around her cairn. Wreaths of wildflowers and clutches of berries adorned her memorial. Large herds of elkhorn gathered around and placed bouquets of fresh leaves upon the mound. Tiny blackbirds and gray gulls flocked above in slowly moving circles and, one by one, dropped a pinch of moss or a bit of seashell on her earthen bed. A massive, one-eyed jaegyr hound, followed by his growling pack, bullied his way forward, leaving joints of meat and bone from a fresh kill. All the beasts of Mistgard gave what they could to honor the departure of the Den Mother.

  After the tributes from the children of forest and sky came the gifts from the children of hearth and hall, and their offerings varied in nature as much as the clans themselves did.

  From the northern clans of the Iceclaw, Jadebow, and Ironbeard were animal totems carved from perma-ice, bows of yew wrapped in icy blue frostbloom, and pinecones filigreed in shiny silver.

  From the great clans of the south, the Sunspear, Hammerheart, and Mistcloak, came golden-wrought shields, stone warhammers wrapped in wreaths of glowing fire blossoms, and supple blankets of mistreed cotton.

  The offerings from the central clans, the Thundermaw and Darkcloud, were the most intricate and lavish. The skilled carpenters of the Thundermaw carved an ornate wooden apiary adorned with dozens of beautifully lacquered honeybees. The Darkcloud were undoubtedly the finest painters and tailors upon the island, and they gave to Sprign beautiful silk banners dyed in her colors: green, amber, and silver. On each banner was an embroidered triangle with a corner pointing up like a mountain.

  The clansmen nodded at the skill and craftsmanship of the offerings, some with approval and some with jealousy.

  After the clansmen had laid their tributes upon Sprign’s cairn, they fell back and watched silently. No one, neither Pandyr nor beast, spoke or snarled. All eyes were upon an old, silver-bearded Pandyr. He was a tall, imposing figure dressed in blues and grays, and upon his head, a large set of sprawling horns jutted out from under his mane. Though ancient in years, he clutched not a walking cane but a long black spear. He was known by many names. Called the Gray Rider and the Horned Hunter by the northern clans, to the southern clans he was known as Storm Spear and the Grim Gray One. But his most common name was the Storm Speaker. He turned toward Sprign and placed a braided wreath of flowering honeypine needles on the mound. Gently laying a hand upon the
altar, he gave a solemn farewell. After a moment, he turned his attention to an ancient stone obelisk and spoke with a voice that sounded like gentle rolling thunder.

  “The children of Sprign have paid their last respects, Under-King. We thank you for allowing us to say our goodbyes. Your sister, our mother, will be greatly missed.” The Storm Speaker bowed deeply and joined the rest of the gathered Pandyr.

  With a rumbling, the silent obelisk and the smaller ones around it awoke. The stones uprooted from the earth and, on legs of living rock, surrounded Sprign’s mound. They joined their misshapen limbs, formed a crude dome, and reverted back to quiet, unmoving granite. Sprign’s mound, once open to the storming sky above, was completely encased by the stone.

  Only one obelisk remained separate from the dome, and on its surface a massive face formed and spoke. The face was as impassive as the surface from which it was formed. The voice rumbled with a gravelly tone.

  “With Sprign gone, so are my ties to this upper world.” The brooding face looked toward the Storm Speaker. “Goodbye, Oldest of Cubs.”

  A slight smile crossed the Storm Speaker’s face at the title the Under-King used. It was the same name that Sprign had been fond of calling him. His looks belied his actual age of nine hundred and ninety-nine years upon Mistgard.

  “So you will return to the Under Realm?”

  “Yes,” the Under-King replied flatly.

  “And what of your brothers and the war that they will bring upon Mistgard now that Sprign has passed?” said the Storm Speaker.

  “My brothers care nothing for me, just as I care not for them. I wish nothing more than to be gone from this upper world. I wish to be back amongst the stone and the earth. This upper world is wretched, where brother wars upon brother, and clan against clan. You surface walkers learned nothing of what Sprign taught you. She has left you now. And so, too, shall I.”

  The Under-King’s face receded back to the stone’s inanimate surface, and the obelisk that had borne his visage spoke no more.

  CHAPTER 3

  A GHOST IN THE FOG

  NDER BRUISED AND SULLEN storm clouds, the eight clans of Mistgard huddled together for the first time in many hundreds of years. The clansmen stood grim and silent, pelted by a storm of burning ice and fire that grew stronger with each labored breath. The Storm Speaker looked around the Circle in the Sky as the Pandyr gathered their belongings, and he spoke.

  “So is this indeed the twilight of our people?” he asked, looking to the clan chieftains.

  The Sunspear chieftain, Byorgn, snorted indignantly at the Storm Speaker. He was a large Pandyr dressed in fine garments and polished chain mail. The Sunspear was the richest clan in Mistgard, and they were an arrogant lot.

  “The Den Mother is gone, old one. You heard what the rock king said: We are on our own,” sneered the chieftain.

  “That is not entirely the case. Sprign is still with us in many ways. In fact, I was visited by Sprign just this morning,” said the Storm Speaker.

  The Den Mother had passed nearly three days before.

  The Sunspear chieftain rolled his eyes, but many of the Pandyr looked intently at the Storm Speaker. They had heard his prophecies many times before. To some of the Pandyr, he was an oracle and a mystic. To others, he was an oddity, and they looked upon him with doubt. He was called the Storm Speaker because he had the peculiar habit of standing on the cliffs during violent storms and allowing great arcs of lightning to blast him from above—or, as he would call it, to “speak” with him. So his words did not come as a surprise to all.

  “She came to me in the early morning’s fog, but not as the benevolent mother you’ve known in your lifetimes. No, she appeared to me in the way I knew her when I was but a cub so many years ago. In my childhood, she was known as the Great Huntress. She was dressed not in cloth and leaves but in lacquered wooden armor, with a war spear, not a walking staff, in hand. And she gives to us this message . . .”

  “Sunspear, let us leave,” said Byorgn. “Let this madman prattle away to the storm if he so chooses, but the Sunspear clan will not be a part—”

  “Children, listen well,” came a familiar voice. It was younger and more vibrant than any of the Pandyr had heard it in hundreds of years, but the voice was undeniably that of Sprign.

  The Storm Speaker’s eyes crackled with volcanic green energy, and lightning struck his upraised spear. Behind him, a giant female figure appeared upon the clouds when the lightning flashed and disappeared when the thunder rolled. His voice rang out even amidst the howling winds, and the ghostly voice of Sprign floated and weaved amongst the Storm Speaker’s words.

  “My children,” said the Storm Speaker and Sprign, “I was ancient when even the Oldest of Cubs was a boy, far older than the very mountains we live upon. But even I am as mortal as any being on Mistgard. My spirit will not linger much longer in this realm, and with my passing, there will be an imbalance in our lands.”

  There was a pause as stormy winds screamed from the north and south.

  “My brothers come to Mistgard.”

  The Storm Speaker thrust his spear south, and lightning flashed. “From the burning crags of Firehome, King Sumyr and his fire giants rise up and march.” The Storm Speaker stabbed his spear to the north, and thunder answered. “From deep in Icegard, Lord Wintyr will rouse his frost giants and descend upon our misty island. Even now, the oceans surrounding our mountains freeze. And when the oceans freeze, the giants will come. There will be war. And then there will be no more.”

  The Storm Speaker lowered his spear, the fire gone from his eyes. He was clearly weary from the display. The clansmen spoke in hushed tones. Never before had they seen the power of the Storm Speaker so clearly. Those who were once doubters of his abilities were now believers.

  “What sort of trickery is this?” said Byorgn. “The Sunspear clan will return to our lands, and we will defend them if need be. The rest of you can believe this madman’s ghost stories, but I will not be party to this hermit’s rantings.”

  From the Hammerheart clan emerged a red-maned Pandyr, Thoryn, wide in shoulder and stout in frame. He moved past the Sunspear with an impassive look. The Hammerheart and Sunspear chieftains had no love for each other, and it showed.

  “There is not much we can do, Storm Speaker, other than return to our halls and prepare for the coming battle.” Thoryn paused for a moment, considering his words. “Those who wish may follow the Hammerheart back to our homelands. We have supplies and arms enough for all those who would fight this threat.”

  Byorgn laughed at the offer and stared at the gathered clans haughtily. “You can all run away together, for all I care. The Sunspear will stand against the threat on our own. We need no help from your barbaric lot.”

  Thoryn growled and stormed toward Byorgn, but he was stopped abruptly by a long black spear haft. Byorgn glared back at Thoryn mockingly and was soon flanked by his clansmen.

  The Storm Speaker quietly eyed the Sunspear chieftain for a moment, then turned his attention back to the other clansmen. “I ask the chieftains of the eight clans to come with me.”

  The chieftains of Mistgard, minus the Sunspear, joined the Storm Speaker at the base of Sprign’s cairn. He looked to them, and his voice boomed. “Doom is surrounding our island as we speak. The united armies of Lord Wintyr and King Sumyr march upon us. No longer do they war upon each other. With Sprign gone and the Under-King locked in his Under Realm, they will put aside their fraternal hatred and focus upon our lands.” Wind ripped through the clansmen, and fire and ice seemed to acknowledge the Storm Speaker’s words. “There is but one choice, and one choice alone. Chieftains of Mistgard, we must unite our people once again. We must put aside our petty differences and join together, for only together do we stand a chance of surviving. We must unite our clans.”

  The chieftains listened to the words and looked at each other hesitantly. The Storm Speaker continued. “But we cannot fight this battle spread out amongst our various clan territories.
We must find a defensible area that we can hold. We cannot do so under the storms of Wintyr; already his breath freezes us to the core, as well as the land around us. No, we must journey far away, to where even the storms of Lord Wintyr himself cannot reach us. We must take our clans and go through the clouds to the birthplace of Sprign, the Aesirmyr Peaks. Even Wintyr’s wrath cannot reach this blessed area. There, far above the storms, we can make our stand.”

  CHAPTER 4

  UNITED

  EAVE OUR ANCESTRAL HOMES? Retreat?” said Thoryn. “The Hammerheart will not flee our homeland and leave it to be fouled by the footprints of giants. My kin have been slaying the dogs of Sumyr for thousands of years; we were weaned on the blood of giants. The Hammerheart will stay and fight!” Thoryn returned to the other Pandyr and spoke loudly against the storm. “Fellow chieftains, I ask you to join with the Hammerheart. Join us, and with our combined might we will give the invaders a warm Mistgard welcome!”

  The Hammerheart clansmen roared approval, as did members of the other clans. Their cheers were soon to be silenced by the Storm Speaker as his voice boomed across the plateau.

  “This is no skirmish party sent to steal elk from our coastal lands!” he said. “You will be standing against the combined might of the frost- and fire-giant nations! A thousand giants will be but the first wave to march upon Mistgard. If the Hammerheart, or any clan, choose to stand here and fight, then their cubs, their mothers, and their clan will die to the last!” As he spoke these words, the swirling storm clouds above roiled furiously. The Storm Speaker breathed deeply and shook his graying mane slowly. “Forgive me, Thoryn. I shout at you, Chieftain, as if you were naught but a newborn cub. Your heart is equally as strong as the Hammerheart name.”