The Last Winter Page 10

  “A dreadful song came lilting out of the skeletal wastes to our ears. It made the frigid bite of Icegard seem no more than a breeze, for this did not chill the body but froze the very hearts that pumped within our chests. I was immobilized by the sounds of the ghostly choir. And while my men and I stood paralyzed and helpless, that was when the daughters of Wintyr appeared to us.

  “Hoary white, they floated across the snow, singing their cursed songs of beguiling. The words they whispered were enough to drive the strongest of spirit to despair, and their beauty was even more deadly. A malevolent blue glow shone fiercely from their eyes, and they fell upon my men. My trackers were slaughtered horrendously whilst I watched, feeble as a newborn cub. One by one, my kin were slain before my eyes, and newfound rage burned deep inside me.

  “Perhaps that was what moved my limbs. Perhaps it was my own arrogance that would not allow me to die by the frost daughters of Icegard.

  “My lungs filled with power, and I bellowed a battle cry, drowning out the wicked sisters’ song. My limbs moved, slowly at first, but then they surged with brutal strength. My roar broke the spell they were weaving in our heads, and my men, the ones left living, freed themselves from the ice witches’ call. We rallied and started hewing them down like dead wheat under steel scythes. They tried to flee, but we were drunk with hate and battle lust. All the anger we had felt these many months of searching was unleashed upon them in a moment of pure, unrestrained butchery. At the end of the battle, only I remained standing. My men lay twisted in death. My battle lust still gnawed at me, and my appetite for revenge was still strong.

  “One of the fiend’s daughters still lived. She bore mortal wounds, and icy mist seeped from her broken body. I picked up this . . . thing, and her touch froze my hands. I wanted to squeeze the last life out of her. No blade would satisfy the hunger I felt. I wanted the intimacy that only claw and fang could convey.

  “I lifted her body till we were face to face, and I stared into those deathly cold eyes. I saw the light dance and start to fade. I wanted to snuff that glow from her skull. My claws wrapped around her delicate neck, and I began to squeeze. It was then that I felt her arms wrap around me in a poisonous embrace. Her head moved forward, and her lips pressed upon mine. With this kiss, her last wretched breath filled my lungs.”

  A shudder shook the place as if Ghostmane once again tasted those cold, evil lips. “I felt a wave of numbness surge through my body, and I remember falling with the lifeless corpse of Wintyr’s daughter upon me. I do not remember blacking out, but I remember waking up, buried in a blanket of snow. How long I lay there, I do not recall. I remember breaking free from her icy embrace and walking in a daze back to the landing site. I pushed my boat out to sea on my own, not realizing the feat till I was almost home. Normally it took five strong clansmen to push our longboats free from the ice. I did this myself, and in a haze of pain.

  “Long were the weeks I traveled back to Mistgard. When my ship broke the horizon, the crowds that came to greet me sent up a furious cheer. They roared and clapped when they saw the sail pull ashore, emblazoned with sun and spear, but soon their cheers turned to silence.

  “As I walked up to my kin and raised my arm in greeting, I saw what they did: my hand was white, as well as my arm. Looking down, I realized that my entire body had turned a pale white in color. I fell to the ground, weak and weary from the deadly hunt. I was quickly taken into my lodge and attended by the clan’s finest healers. Nothing they did could change what had happened to me. Even the magic of Sprign was powerless to aid me. Some thought my fur had turned white from fear, and in a fit of rage, I dashed them senseless for the accusation. Some thought it was the long months in Icegard that changed my coat. It was neither fear nor frost that had changed me. It was something as simple as a kiss.”

  Frostpaw had been sitting for so long that his body had grown numb. Still, he sat and listened to the greatest tale his young ears had ever heard. So engrossed in the story was he that he failed to feel the cave rumble around him nor the ice that fell from the caverns roof.

  “Months passed, and still I was afflicted by this curse. I was consumed by fits of uncontrollable rage, similar to the one I had felt in Icegard. Nothing could quell the desire to kill. I was a madman.

  “When the fits were upon me, I would go on long trips out to sea to hunt the giant krakens that harried our ships. I would go deep into the mountains to hunt the beasts and packs of jaegyr hounds that attacked our herds. Nothing could assuage my anger. My clan, my people, suffered for my deeds . . .”

  He fell silent for some time, as if steadying himself. “One day, a large group of my kin was speaking of a being called ‘Ghostmane.’ I approached them and asked of whom they spoke. My clansman said, ‘We speak of you, Ghostmane. The greatest of our kind, Ironmane, sailed off to Icegard, never to return. What came back in his stead was not Ironmane, just a ghost that assumed his place. A cursed being, cursed for going into Icegard, and he now has returned the curse upon his own clan. Whereas once Ironmane was kind, Ghostmane is cruel. Whereas Ironmane brought friendship, Ghostmane brings enmity. Ironmane is dead, and we are left with his ghostly shell.’

  “A fury gripped me, and I grabbed my own kin by the throat. And through a cloud of blue hate, I heard laughter, not the tempting laughter of the ice witches but the sinister bellow of Wintyr himself! The voice of the king of Icegard was speaking to me . . .

  As you’ve killed my kin, you will forever kill your own! Kill now. Kill for your new king!

  “It took all of my strength not to snap my brother’s spine. I matched the rage of Wintyr inside me with my own indomitable will. I would not be led like a dog to the kill.

  I am Ironmane! No . . . I am Ghostmane, the monster you have created but not the monster you can control!

  “I put my kinsman down. I removed the golden circlet that I wore as the leader of the Sunspear, and I gave it to him. My heart was heavy but resolute. ‘Find a chieftain worthy of the Sunspear. Forgive me, my brothers and sisters. I know how to rid you of my curse.’

  “I left my clan and my home that day, never to return. I roamed to the farthest reaches of Mistgard that my body could carry me to, an area of desolation and quiet far from the lives of my clansmen. I lived alone for years. The first season of Wintyr was grueling. His laughter mocked me, and I wandered deeper and deeper into this abandoned land. I had no lodge, so I made my home in a large cave.

  “One day, after hours of scouring the lands for food, I wandered back to my cave and found a small bundle within the opening. I approached cautiously and prodded the bundle with my spear. Out of it poured dried fruits and nuts, gourds of milk, honey, and mead, along with hard loaves of bread. I fell to these as a ravenous hound would a kill. That day I feasted better than I had in my entire life. It was also then that I realized I was not alone. I looked up, and it appeared that with the offerings of food had come the clan brother whom I had almost killed in my madness. He said simple words to me that I will never forget.

  “ ‘Ironmane was a great ruler, but he was proud and arrogant. Ghostmane was cruel and hateful, but he gave up all he had for the good of his clan. We will not forget either of you.’

  “With those words, he left. And from then on, when Wintyr’s rage blew across the lands and Mistgard was frozen in his grip, I would find tributes laid at the opening of my den. One day, I found not only food and drink, but two small cubs waiting for me. It seemed that taking the curse away with me didn’t completely free the clans from Wintyr’s grasp.

  “The cubs were quite young and full of anger and wrath. In the frozen land of the Tundyr, you must quickly learn to master yourself and your environment. Soon they learned to control the violent rages that consumed our kind. The offerings went on for hundreds of seasons, it seemed: food and cloth in Wintyr’s time, and mead and honey in Sprign’s.

  “But eventually, the tributes started to fade away. As the older generations passed on, so did their traditions. As the younger
clansmen rose to positions of leadership, they either forgot about us or no longer cared.

  “In time, I had forgotten much of my old life as well. I had my own clan again, and our bond was much closer than the one most of the Pandyr shared. We were bonded in life and death. Our bond meant our survival. Without the offerings, we were truly on our own. We had to learn to do many things to survive, things that the more civilized of Mistgard’s children would have forsaken. We learned how to hunt beasts and eat their flesh. We wore their furs to stay warm. We became master to all the beasts of the Tundyr. We did what was needed to stay alive, and we made the ultimate sacrifice for our clans . . . We left them.”

  A rumble shook the cave, but this time it was not from within. This was the slow, distant rumble of thousands of heavy feet charging across the land above. Giant slabs of ice fell from the ceiling to crash upon the thrones and floor. A chunk smashed Frostpaw on his head, and he tumbled down the stairs to land at the bottom in a heap. Dazed, he lifted his eyes. The light of the twin spears was like a beacon calling him home.

  “The giants are here,” said Ghostmane. “Frostpaw, it is you who will lead our kind against the giants one last time. Pandyr and Bearzyrk.”

  Frostpaw crawled up to his knees. Pain throbbed in his head. The world was blackening quickly, and the cold was closing in on him. Still, he climbed. All he could see was the red and blue glow of the spears. They looked like scarlet and cobalt eyes burning in his fading consciousness. He reached up to the spears, and just before he touched their hafts, Ghostmane’s distant words seeped into his mind.

  “Frostpaw . . . make me live once more . . .”

  Frostpaw’s hands grasped the spears, and he fell into darkness.

  CHAPTER 25

  BROKEN BOW AND SHATTERED SPEAR

  HE CRUDE FIGURINE OF SPRIGN sat motionless upon a small rock. Far within the Under Realm, Fell sat motionless as well, quietly listening to the world tremble. He felt the fear and the confusion of the upper world through every pebble and stone upon the surface. He felt the panic of the beasts and birds. He also felt the horror of the Pandyr. They were above in the upper world, facing the terrible wrath of his brothers.

  Too proud to hide in safety, they marched to annihilation. They would rather die free than live in a stone grave. He picked up the tiny doll, straightened its braided straw hair, moved over to Sprign’s cairn, and placed the figure atop the mound. “The Pandyr chose a hard life amongst the world rather than the solace and safety of the shadows. They are truly your children, my sister.”

  The doll fell over, and he positioned a simple gray rock next to it to stabilize it. He reflected on this action for a moment before he melded into the stony wall.

  “They are your children, and as you would stand with them, so, too, shall I.” The Under-King passed through the walls of the Under Realm, followed by his army of underkin.

  ***

  “Frostpaw?” The Storm Speaker’s eyes blinked open. “Where is Frostpaw?”

  A large paw patted the shoulder of the old Pandyr. “It is all right, Dark Beard,” said Frostvang. “The lad is with an old friend. Come, we must raise the clans and go meet him. From there, we march up the Aesirmyr.”

  It was still an hour before dawn would change the black clouds to a dull orange-gray. Thunder rumbled across the sky and also seemed to run through the very ground. This bothered the Storm Speaker greatly. He shook the thick blankets from his shoulders and took up his spear. Silently he stood at the mouth of the cave, closed his eyes, and slowly opened his right one. It blazed with a frosty white light, and the Storm Speaker saw through the eyes of the albatross Fog.

  Across the frozen lakes marched the armies of the giants. Thousands upon thousands, they surged over the land. Though they were many miles away, the ground beneath the Storm Speaker shook tremulously under the giants’ march. He wasted no more time. “Arise, Pandyr! The giants march upon us! We must make it to the Aesirmyr before they arrive. Mount up and ride.”

  Shouts echoed through the caves as the Pandyr chaotically readied for their escape. Just then, Gloam floated in and landed on the Storm Speaker’s shoulder, chirping frantically in his ear. The Storm Speaker started and whispered, “Sprign bless us!”

  The Hammerheart chieftain came up swiftly, followed by some of his clansmen and several Jadebow. “What is it, Storm Speaker? Are the giants upon us?” Thoryn had his hammer out and was eager to put it to use.

  “Not yet, but we must move swiftly. The Sunspear return.”

  Thoryn steadied himself before he spoke. “And Ullyr and his men? Do they return with them?”

  The Storm Speaker looked grimly at the chieftain. “Yes, Thoryn, they return . . . what is left of them.” The Jadebow clansmen gave each other worried glances as the Storm Speaker closed his eyes and reached out with his senses. “I feel Ullyr’s mind calling out. He still lives, but his life fades by the second. Make haste, Hammerheart. Ride to meet them.”

  “Father!”

  As Thoryn and his riders went forth into the dawning day, the Storm Speaker turned to catch a frantic Ursara. Her eyes darted around wildly as tears started to form. “Father, Frostpaw is gone.” He took her into his arms and comforted her as best as he could.

  Frostvang put a hand on her as well. “Easy, lass. Frostpaw is not missing. He went with me to a place our kind reveres. He is safe; we will ride to him and go to the Aesirmyr.”

  The Storm Speaker’s face told otherwise. “The Den of the Slayers is gone, Frostvang.”

  The large bear looked at him steadily. “What? How do—”

  “Through Fog. While he soared above, I saw what was left of it. The den lay in ruins, smashed in the wake of the giants’ path.”

  “No!” cried Ursara as she lunged past the two elders and made her way to the opening of the cave. She was right at the mouth when she stopped in midstride.

  From out of the storm came what was left of the shattered Sunspear clan. Some staggered in on their own, while the Hammerheart and the Jadebow aided those too badly wounded to do it alone. As his clansmen moved by with the Sunspear, Thoryn called out for the Jadebow chieftain. “Ullyr! By Sprign, come forth, you old war dog!”

  There was no answer for many moments, until a lone voice was heard coming in from the storm. “Red beard, over here!”

  Thoryn looked through the sleet as the great figure of Ullstag emerged from the storm at the cave’s mouth. He was bruised and burned but not broken. Upon his shoulders, he carried what Thoryn sought.

  “Ullyr!” Thoryn rushed over to Ullstag and helped him carry the wounded Jadebow chieftain to a blanketed area of the cave. Ullyr was near death. His right arm was mangled, and his face was awash with blood that poured from a ruined eye socket.

  Thoryn laid the Jadebow chief upon the rough-spun covers and noticed that Ullstag had carried more than Ullyr. Across his shoulders rested Ullyr’s mount, Dawnstrider.

  The elkhorn’s body was still.

  Ullyr was shivering and shaking all over, frozen to the core. “My men . . . my—Dawnstrider . . . where—”

  Thoryn looked around uneasily, unsure of what to say to the grieving chieftain. “Easy, friend. We have Dawnstrider; she is here. You need to rest now.” Thoryn’s words seemed to calm the chieftain as he slipped into unconsciousness.

  The ground no longer rumbled but shook furiously. The Pandyr were in a panic. Futilely, the Storm Speaker tried to create some kind of order out of the chaos. “Pandyr, listen to me!” he said frantically. “The giants have made their way to the caves. There is no other alternative but to stand and fight. Thoryn, I leave it to you and your Hammerheart to make the first line of defense.”

  “Aye, Storm Speaker!” shouted the Hammerheart chieftain.

  In the distance, howls came from the incoming host. The roars of the giants of Firehome and Icegard filled the cavern with dread. Strangely, it was no longer just the ground that shook. The entire cave seemed to move, but the greatest upheaval was in the back. Two lar
ge arms appeared out of the rocky surface and dug fingers of stone into the very wall of the cave. With effortless force, the arms opened up a gaping hole that led deep into the earth. A path loomed in the opening, lit with numerous glowing crystals of topaz and amethyst.

  Fell’s graveled baritone echoed throughout the cave. “Run, Pandyr. Be swift. My brothers approach.”

  The Storm Speaker quickly found his tongue. “Come now! Hurry to me. We go into the Under Realm.”

  The Pandyr, startled at first, hurried into the gaping hole; better to face what lay in the darkness than to confront the howling fury of the giant hordes. The Hammerheart chieftain and his clansmen helped get the wounded Sunspear and the fallen Jadebow chieftain into litters and then swept them down into the depths. All who remained were the Storm Speaker, Ursara, and Frostvang.

  Ursara was wild with fear. “I’m not leaving without Frostpaw, Father!”

  The Storm Speaker took her by the shoulders and pleaded with his daughter. “There is nothing we can do about Frostpaw now. We must flee, or we will die here.”

  Ursara was about to protest, but both she and the Storm Speaker were lifted bodily and thrust into the cave mouth by Frostvang. “Go now! I will find Frostpaw and bring him back. I promise you, Dark Beard’s daughter.”

  Ursara was hesitant, but the Storm Speaker was finally able to persuade her. “Ursara, I can feel the life of Frostpaw; even miles away, it burns with a power I have never felt before. For now, he is safe. But if he were indeed gone, then know this: He would want you to live.”

  The Bearzyrk touched the Storm Speaker’s shoulder firmly. “Dark Beard, I will bring him back to you . . . to all of you. Go, now!”

  The Storm Speaker looked at his friend. “Please, Frostvang . . . find my son.”