The Last Winter Page 13

  The top of Wintyr’s foot and a number of his toes shattered into a hundred shards as Thoryn’s hammer broke clean through the living ice to strike the dark earth beneath. The ice lord reeled back and fell to the ground in a titanic heap. For the second time since creation, Lord Wintyr felt pain.

  Thoryn was upon the fallen ice giant in an instant, and though he was nearly frozen, he whirled his hammer above his head fiercely. In a flashing arc, he brought it down upon the ice lord’s chest, right above where the fiend’s heart would be.

  Ice flew in a thousand directions, and the hammer sang triumphantly.

  Unfortunately, the cold of Wintyr had worked its way into Thoryn’s body. Thoryn lurched forward and clutched at his chest, his noble heart slowing fearsomely.

  A shadow loomed over Thoryn, and he looked up to see Wintyr’s massive blue hand descending upon him, intent on smashing him like a bug against the giant’s chest. Thoryn staggered away as best as his numb legs would allow, and the Hammerheart chieftain crashed into the ground in a heap, rolling to a stop. His clansmen raced to grab him from the freezing cold mist that was enveloping him as the Ice King unsteadily stood up.

  “Stay back, fools!” yelled Thoryn. “You’ll freeze solid!”

  Though they tried desperately to press forward, the Hammerheart were unable to get through the freezing fog that surrounded the frost giant and their chieftain.

  “Fall back, Hammerheart! Retreat and regroup. Your chieftain owes the gimp-footed king his shot,” said Thoryn, facing Wintyr with clattering teeth and mocking laughter.

  The icy beard that Wintyr had borne was gone, smashed to pieces. His chest looked like a fractured mirror with a web of cracks and fissures gracing the surface. From within, an evil blue light pulsed rhythmically. The Hammerheart chieftain fiercely looked to his clansmen. They stared in horror and hurled their hammers against the ice lord, but they bounced off of Wintyr and fell uselessly to the ground.

  Lord Wintyr peered down at the ruin of his foot in disbelief and anger. He roared at Thoryn, who despite being nearly frozen solid, stood to face his foe.

  “I’ve s-seen newborn c-cubs walk better than the likes of y-you.”

  Wintyr roared in pain as he brought up his smashed foot and held it over the trapped chieftain. With numb limbs, Thoryn raised his hammer and laughed through frosted lips. “Step to it, you one-eyed, one-footed—”

  The ice lord brought down his broken foot upon Thoryn until it crunched deep into the earth.

  CHAPTER 31

  WHEN STONE AND FIRE COLLIDE

  ING SUMYR STUMBLED AFTER his brother, and the Under-King continued his descent deeper and deeper into the Under Realm. The blind king was led by his elite guard, and for miles they pursued the Under-King. In the darkening depths, the mad king Sumyr continued his verbal assault upon his brother.

  “Coward! Traitor!” he screamed. “Face me!”

  They journeyed farther into the Under Realm until they came to a dead end. Sumyr and his guards turned around only to have the ceiling slam shut upon their exit. “Fools, you’ve led us into a trap!” bellowed the Fire King.

  He lashed out with his blade and made a bloody wreck of one of his guardsmen. Sumyr shook with rage. His fiery crown and beard roared brightly at first, but they soon started to flicker and smoke. Sumyr clutched his chest as a spasm ripped through his body.

  From the very walls around him came the words of the Under-King. “You are in my realm now, Brother,” boomed the earthen voice.

  Sumyr blindly attacked, striking out ferociously at the sound. His sword carved deep crevasses into the walls and the ground, melting stone with every strike. And with every swing, his fire dimmed.

  “Your spark does not shine as bright in the Under Realm as it does in the world above. The hotter your rage, the more air you devour. And without air . . .”

  King Sumyr frantically struck the walls, and from the damage poured gold and silver streams. As his fires dimmed, Sumyr toppled forward without even being struck. His burning crown clanked dully at the feet of the Under-King, who appeared out of the cavern wall. His body was wounded horribly. He slowly went toward his brother and sat beside the fallen Fire King.

  “Brother, my fires die. As the fire dies, so do I—please!” begged the greatest of fire giants as he gasped for air.

  The Under-King stared impassively at his brother, shaking his head. “No, Brother, it is time for you to leave the world . . . It is time for us both to leave . . . for now.”

  Silver and gold torrents poured from his wounds and pooled around the Under-King. Fell looked at the crown of Sumyr as the last of the fires winked into nothingness, leaving only a dull iron circlet. The Under-King rested quietly, and soon he sat as silent and as still as the stone he was once born from and had, at last, returned to.

  ***

  High above in the upper world, the Pandyr and other denizens of Mistgard fought for their very existence. The giants attacked in disorganized waves, while the discipline of the Pandyr allowed them to stay alive against their enemies’ crushing numbers.

  The Storm Speaker stood atop the world, surveying the battle, and at his side were the Jadebow elders Ullyr and Ullstag. Both were burned by the fires of Sumyr, and though singed and beaten, they still had enough strength to stand.

  Suddenly, the mighty battlements that protected the clans cracked and crumbled to dust. The primitive underkin of Fell stopped their attacks and stood motionless against the relentless giantkin swarm. Cries arose from the Pandyr as they watched their once-moving allies turn into lifeless stone.

  “What magic is this?” exclaimed the Bearzyrk archer.

  “ ’Tis no magic, Ullstag,” said the Storm Speaker sadly. “It signifies the passing of the Under-King.”

  After a moment, Ullyr spoke. “Does that mean that the Fire King has won? Fell went into the earth with Sumyr, and both were swallowed by the mountain.”

  The Storm Speaker nodded his head toward the raging battle. Here and there, fire giants pitched forward or fell backward, leaving nothing but crumpled heaps of red ash and blackened armor. “Even in death, it seems the Under-King has defeated his brother. Still, we have lost a powerful ally in this battle.”

  “If we are of Sprign, why did we not die when she did?” said Ullstag. “Why did we not fall?”

  “Sprign did not want slaves. When she created all of the creatures of Mistgard, she gave them free will to choose their own paths,” said the Storm Speaker.

  The Pandyr, seeing the army of fire giants destroyed, renewed their attacks, but the battle was far from won. More frost giants surged forth from the clouds below in an azure wave of doom and broke hard upon the Pandyr clans. Though the Pandyr fought with great discipline and skill, they were forced back time and time again as the tides of frost giants crushed down upon their lines. Their defenses were shattered, and soon there was no place left to fall back to. Wintyr strode forward with his vast army, relishing the extermination of his sister’s creations.

  The Storm Speaker stood defiantly atop his perch, with Ullyr and Ullstag and what remained of the broken and bloodied clans around him. It was here that they prepared for their final stand. Though hopelessly outnumbered, the Pandyr would give the lord of Icegard everything their bodies could give—everything but fear. They faced their foe united. Sunspear lances stood beside the stone mauls of the Hammerheart and the deadly arrows of the Jadebow. Thundermaw axes and Darkcloud clubs were joined by Mistcloak knives, Ironbeard swords, and Iceclaw gauntlets. The beasts of Mistgard stood proudly next to the clans. Horn and fang still had much to give to the battle.

  Suddenly the Storm Speaker looked upon the field in horror as he saw Ursara was running wildly toward him. “No, Ursara! Do not come here. It is doom!” he shouted.

  She ran as fast as she could, clutching something in her hands.

  “Father . . . Father! It’s Gloam! He has words for you!”

  The Storm Speaker’s voice cracked with fear. “No, Ursara, do no
t come here!”

  For the first time in her life, Ursara ignored her father’s words. She climbed shakily up the rocky precipice and ran to his arms.

  “Daughter, listen to me—” he said, but he was cut off by his daughter’s shout.

  “Listen, Father! Listen to the words. I could only make out a few, but it sounded like he said—” She was drowned out by the long drone of a hunting horn. The Storm Speaker looked up and saw a shape—many shapes, in fact, dotting the edge of the clouds.

  Gloam chittered feebly, and the Storm Speaker leaned down to the little bird and cupped his hands around his ears. He looked up and then smiled at Ursara.

  Ursara’s face was full of emotion. “Is it true?” she said.

  The horn sounded again, and this time it was followed by a score more. From out of the mist charged a herd of phantom white spearhorn, and upon their backs were riders.

  The Storm Speaker nodded. “Yes, Daughter.”

  They watched, along with the entirety of the Pandyr, as the ninth clan of Mistgard thundered up the slopes of the Aesirmyr and charged into the armies of the frost giants.

  Ullstag nearly fell off of the ledge in amazement, once again being pulled to safety by the one-armed Ullyr. “It cannot be—the rider!” the Bearzyrk shouted.

  The Jadebow chieftain looked toward the approaching warriors with his keen eye and spotted the large form of Frostvang, but he was not the rider leading the charge. At its head rode the largest Bearzyrk the Pandyr had ever seen, dwarfing even Ullstag in height and frame. The rider’s long white mane flowed free in the frigid air, and gripped in his paws was a pair of glowing spears.

  The Jadebow chieftain knew the answer and still could not believe what he was seeing. The Bearzyrk was clearly staggered by the sight as well. “Can it be? The rider appears to be—”

  Lord Wintyr’s roar cracked the sky, and his scream was the sound of a thousand glaciers shattering. He turned and faced his most hated enemy of all . . .

  “Ghostmane!”

  CHAPTER 32

  THE CHARGE OF THE BEARZYRK

  HE PANDYR WERE AMAZED AT the strength of the Bearzyrk’s charge. They split the center of the frost giant army, cleaving a frosty path of carnage. Spearhorn and stone axe gored and ripped in tandem, and at the front was the mighty Ghostmane. Crimson death and cobalt fury stabbed at the giants, and each one who approached crumpled to the ground.

  Lord Wintyr stormed forward and smashed into the Bearzyrk, crushing and freezing his ancient enemies. The broken clans of the Pandyr watched the valorous charge of their lost clansmen, which ignited their battle lust once again; they rallied and surged into the fray. The frost of Wintyr slowed them little as their blood came alive with battle fire. Black and white stood back-to-back with ghost and gray, and both Pandyr and Bearzyrk pounded the Ice King’s army with savage fury.

  The Jadebow rained mayhem down upon the giants’ front, while the Iceclaw and Ironbeard surrounded the foe and attacked the giants from the rear. The Storm Speaker was alive with hope and commanded the storms from atop the rocky pinnacle, launching emerald thunderbolts at the giants’ center. All the clans were engaged in what had to be the greatest battle the mountain island of Mistgard had ever witnessed.

  Ursara fetched quiver after quiver of arrows for both Ullyr and Ullstag, who sent them forth as fast as she procured them. Far below, the Storm Speaker saw Frostvang and a group of Bearzyrk locked in battle with the frost giant host. The Pandyr sent down rapid arcs of brilliant death upon the blue fiends and splintered them to shards of ice. The old Bearzyrk saluted the Storm Speaker and barreled off into another melee.

  From across the battlefield, the lord of Icegard’s voice boomed again. “Ghostmane . . . Come forth and die!” he roared in fury.

  This time, he got an answer from the Bearzyrk in the form of a blue-bladed spear hurled into his empty eye socket. The force snapped Wintyr’s head back so far that it touched between his broad, icy shoulders.

  “I return what was once yours, frost fiend,” said Ghostmane.

  Momentarily stunned, the lord of Icegard bellowed with rage and then wantonly hurtled forward toward the Bearzyrk army, viciously swinging down his axe. Finally he saw his foe before him. Ghostmane sat atop his great spearhorn, statue-like, his crimson spear glowing brightly. Wintyr chopped down with his heavy blade as Ghostmane moved with surprising speed and struck at the Ice King’s legs. The flaming Eye of Fire scarred the icy limbs but could not find a weak spot behind knee or ankle. Wintyr pulled the spear from his empty eye socket and swung his weapon ferociously into the armies of the Pandyr and the Bearzyrk. They fell before his fury by the score. Ghostmane charged again from behind and struck with the Eye of Fire. The burning spear cut but failed to penetrate the icy crust that protected the ice lord’s body.

  The Storm Speaker watched in dismay. Calling upon the elements of sky, wind, and rain, the Storm Speaker bent the surging clouds below to his will and sent a glimmering bolt of fury that crashed into the Ice King, causing him to momentarily forget the Bearzyrk and focus his attention on where the Storm Speaker perched.

  The Storm Speaker quickly retreated, calling for his friends to follow. They hastily beat a path down the rocky pinnacle just in time to avoid being cleaved in two by the blade of the Ice King. Seething with rage, Lord Wintyr whirled menacingly back and forth, looking for the Bearzyrk or his storm-wielding ally.

  Finally, through the mists, he saw the Storm Speaker and Ursara assisting the wounded Ullyr and Ullstag. Father and daughter bore their weight as best they could and helped them run as swiftly as their broken bodies would allow them to. Wintyr smiled coldly and raised his axe as the frantic Storm Speaker urged his daughter forward. “Run, child! I’ll take Ullyr and Ullstag! Go!”

  “I’ll not leave you, Father. I’ll stay with you until it’s over.”

  They looked over their shoulders as the gigantic shadow of Wintyr loomed over them, but their eyes were drawn not to the giant’s wicked face but to the remnants of their ruined stone pinnacle.

  “Wintyr . . .”

  The Ice King’s eyes left the scrambling figures of Ursara and the Storm Speaker and fell upon the rocky precipice that he had smashed mere moments ago. Though most of the ledge had crumbled to the earth, there still stood one jagged stone, atop which sat his most hated of enemies.

  Ghostmane leapt high into the air, spear in hand, and crashed down upon Lord Wintyr’s chest. It was here that he struck with the Eye of Fire. The glowing spear burned into the weakened chest plate of the ice lord, and Wintyr bellowed as it sank deep. Where Thoryn’s mighty hammer had smashed, Ghostmane’s spear took advantage. The spear’s tip burned a crimson path toward the heart of Wintyr.

  The Bearzyrk clan battled fiercely upon the blood-soaked ground of the Aesirmyr. If the murderous voice that urged the Bearzyrk to kill spoke to them that day, it was put to good use. The armies clashed, and both sides took heavy losses. With the defeat of the fire giants and their king, and with the arrival of the Bearzyrk, the tide had turned to the clans’ favor. The Pandyr broke the disorganized blue surge of frost fiends, hurling them off the mountain and into the mists below. Cheers went up here and there, but they were soon interrupted by primal howls and curses.

  Ghostmane clung desperately to the Eye of Fire and thrust it forward again, pushing it deeper and deeper into the lord of Icegard. Wintyr raged and twisted madly, finally managing to grip the Bearzyrk and wrench him by his torso. The motion snapped the shaft of the flaming spear in half, and Wintyr laughed wickedly.

  Ghostmane made a desperate grab and snagged the burning spear haft, freeing it from his enemy’s chest. The crimson blade reflected luridly on the skin of Wintyr. The lord of Icegard spoke triumphantly as the tiny Ghostmane struggled feebly in his crushing grip. “Today, Mistgard will perish, but you will die first!”

  Wintyr opened his mouth impossibly wide and swallowed Ghostmane whole.

  CHAPTER 33

  AT THE HEART OF WINTYR


  AR BELOW, A GUTTURAL CRY escaped from the Bearzyrk clansmen, who watched in horror as Ghostmane disappeared into the hoary mouth of Wintyr. The entire clan fell to the ground, trying desperately to stand. The loss of their most venerable ancestor, who hours ago had returned to them from the past, brought forth the horrible change that was the curse of their kind. Hatred and rage flowed freely in their contorting forms.

  The giants, seeing their enemies racked with pain, laughed and launched into them. Icy blades stabbed into fur and flesh. Unfortunately for the giants, this had little effect. The Bearzyrk seemed immune to the damage, though many of the wounds they bore were mortal. Weapons fell from their clawed grasp, their hands no longer capable of holding anything as complex as a handle. A primordial fury ran through the Bearzyrk, and with the snapping of bone, their claws and fangs sprang out, jaws unhinged horrifically, and figures that were once Bearzyrk rose up and tore viciously at their enemy.

  They charged forward on four limbs like beasts, no longer aware of the frost giants. They mowed through them and swept them aside like chaff. They hurtled ahead recklessly and crashed their might upon the body of Wintyr, tearing through ice and frost with bloody claws and jagged fangs.

  Swinging his weapon like a scythe, the ice lord dashed the beasts to and fro, bending bones and snapping spines. The maddened beast once called Frostvang climbed atop the bodies of his fallen kinsmen and hurled himself upon the ice lord, raking across icy plates with his claws.

  For all the savaging that was brought upon the body of Wintyr, none could penetrate his frigid frame. With the attack faltering, it seemed that whatever gains the Pandyr had made when the Bearzyrk first appeared had been lost. The frost giants rallied against the outnumbered clansmen, while the Bearzyrk, mad with grief, continued their futile attacks against the Ice King. The Bearzyrk perished one by one, till all who remained were Frostvang and a score of his Long Coats. They drew together and prepared for a final assault.