The Last Winter Read online

  “Mama!”

  The children of the Pandyr had returned home.

  The Pandyr raced toward the children, calling their names, and in moments, the lost cubs ran into the loving arms of their mothers and fathers. Cries of happiness soared through the air, and embraces were given and accepted.

  As the Pandyr rejoined their children, another sound drifted over the hill. It was the sound of an infant crying. Fearing that one of their children was hurt, the Pandyr ran up the hill to look down upon the Circle in the Sky.

  In the center was the newly risen tomb of Sprign, and atop the stone wailed a small baby.

  As the Pandyr approached, they noticed other strange things as well. Upon the ground were sprigs of fresh green grass and moss. From the dead trunks of blackened trees, young saplings rose up toward the sky. A low buzz filled the air as fat bees drifted lazily about the Circle in the Sky.

  The Storm Speaker walked toward the tomb, careful not to step on anything.

  “What’s going on, Father?” said Ursara quietly.

  The Storm Speaker approached the small child. The baby was crying, but she stopped as she looked up at the giant Storm Speaker. She was a little thing; her skin was pale green, and her emerald hair gleamed brightly. Her eyes were very large and amber in color, like rich honey. Atop her head sprouted a small pair of curved horns. She raised her arms as the Storm Speaker bent to pick her up.

  Ursara blinked in disbelief. “It—she’s—”

  The Storm Speaker smiled at his daughter.

  “You knew, didn’t you?” she blurted out.

  “I had an idea. And, yes, Daughter, I believe she is.” He turned and beckoned the Pandyr. “Come round, everyone! There is someone I must reintroduce you to,” he said cheerfully.

  Traveler sniffed at the little girl, and she giggled and touched the elkhorn’s velvety fur. The Storm Speaker watched the clansmen gather round and gape at the baby, who cooed and reached her tiny hands into the air as if trying to catch the clouds.

  “Pandyr and Bearzyrk of Mistgard, I would like you all to say hello . . . to Sprign.”

  CHAPTER 37

  THE CYCLE BEGINS

  HE PANDYR LOOKED AT THE Storm Speaker in wonder and disbelief. Ullyr came forward, eyeing the little one.

  “Storm Speaker, how is this possible?” said the one-eyed Jadebow.

  “It is simple, Chieftain. When Sprign left our world, there was an imbalance that needed to be rectified. Without Sprign’s blessings to bring life back after Wintyr, Mistgard would die. The oldest stories of our kind tell us that the Skulls in the Sky joined to create the giants at the beginning of time. When they saw that the world was in chaos, they came together again to bring Sprign back.”

  “But with the deaths of Wintyr and Sumyr, will there not be an imbalance as well?” said Modyr, chieftain of the Darkcloud.

  The Storm Speaker looked at the Darkcloud chieftain with a calm but serious face. “Aye, there would be. It would not surprise me to hear that the sounds of newborn cries fill the morning air in Icegard and Firehome as well.”

  “Are you telling me that after all the war and death, Wintyr and Sumyr live again?” said the Jadebow chieftain.

  This did not sit well with the Pandyr. The Storm Speaker did his best to quiet them. “There cannot be one without the other. Day and night, Sprign and Wintyr, Sumyr and Fell, life and death—hush now,” he said, looking down at Sprign. “The little Den Mother sleeps.”

  Sprign was nestled in the Storm Speaker’s arm, curled amongst his flowing beard. When Ullyr spoke, it was in a hushed tone.

  “Well, what are we to do with her now, Storm Speaker?”

  The Storm Speaker looked over at Ullyr and smiled. “We will teach her. We will teach her everything she taught us.”

  He had started to walk away when Ursara called to him. “Father, I think we have forgotten something.”

  “What is it, child?” said the Storm Speaker.

  Ursara held in her hands what appeared to be a rough-hewn boulder. She gave her father a strange smile. “There cannot be one without the other.”

  The rock uncurled into what looked like an infant made of stone. Small quartz crystals fell from eyes of amethyst, and a cry escaped a crevice that seemed to be a mouth. The sound it produced was a tiny rumble.

  “Ah, yes, how could I have forgotten?” said the Storm Speaker.

  The infant Under-King cried a seismic wail, and it seemed there was nothing to placate him with until a voice from behind them got their attention.

  “Maybe you can give him this.” The young daughter of the Hammerheart, Thorgrid, gently removed something from Sprign’s tomb and walked over to the Storm Speaker. What she held in her hand was a small, lovingly made doll crafted to look like Sprign.

  “I think he may want this,” she said.

  The Storm Speaker handed little Fell the doll, and he instantly stopped his crying and stared at it as though it were long-lost friend. He spoke in a strange earthen tongue, and the fallen obelisks in the Circle in the Sky rose back to their rightful places. Sprign’s tomb fell apart. The slabs that once bore the body of his older sister rose up, and crude figures were birthed out of the stone. They moved slowly around the Storm Speaker and Ursara.

  “Easy, Daughter. They have come for their king.”

  The stone golems held out what looked like arms, and they stood waiting. Ursara handed the little king to his minions and watched as they moved to the center of the Circle in the Sky. The underkin stopped at the command of the Under-Prince. He looked back at his sister and the Storm Speaker, and then he and his minions disappeared into the earth with a rumble.

  Thorgrid, looking very distraught, tugged gently on the Storm Speaker’s cloak. “Storm Speaker, I can’t find my father. Do you know where my father is?” Tears fell freely down her face. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

  A wave of sadness passed over the Storm Speaker. As much as it was a time of celebration for some, for many more, it was also a time of mourning. “Aye, little Hammerheart. I will tell you what happened to your father. And though sad, it is a great tale . . .”

  The Storm Speaker walked with Thorgrid, Ursara, and the young Sprign. His words grew soft as they went over the hill, disappearing into the morning mist. “Your father stood against the lord of Icegard, alone and unafraid. With one swing of his mighty hammer, Thoryn, chieftain of the Hammerheart, heralded the beginning of the end of Wintyr.”

  A gentle rain fell from the sky, warm and clean. Emerald grass sprouted from mist-covered earth. Wintyr’s wrath was over, and Sprign’s time had come.

  EPILOGUE

  THE FIRST WINTER

  HE FIRST SNOWFALL WAS neither as harsh nor as violent as it had been during the war, or as it would be in years to come. For the time being, it was just a soft white powder that dusted the landscape and covered it with a blanket of tiny jewels.

  The island of Mistgard was alive this morning with much commotion and revelry, for it was a day of great celebration. The nine clans of Mistgard gathered around the newly rebuilt Thunder’s Home to see the cubs of the Storm Speaker’s daughter.

  Not only were the clans assembled, but so, too, were the herds of elkhorn and the numerous other fauna of Mistgard. Even the old Fenryr had come with his pack of jaegyr hounds and bounding pups to witness the day’s events. The crowds quieted as the Storm Speaker walked out of the doorway alongside the young giantess Sprign.

  She had grown tall and lean, and though she was not even a year in age, she came up to the Storm Speaker’s chest. Following the Storm Speaker and Sprign lumbered old Frostvang, who, on all fours, rumbled at the throng of guests to move aside. Sitting atop the back of the great Bearzyrk was Ursara, and in her arms she cradled two cubs. The Storm Speaker walked by her side and put his arm around her, beaming.

  Ursara looked from her father to the gathered clans. “Clansmen and companions of Mistgard, I thank you for joining my father and me today. It would not be the same without you—wit
hout all of you.”

  The Storm Speaker looked at the crowd and marveled. The clans of Mistgard were no longer in danger of annihilation, and it pleased the Storm Speaker that they had not gone back to their feuding ways. “We are all the children of Sprign now.” He gazed down at the little giantess, who smiled back at him.

  “And she is now a child of the clans.” Ursara finished thanking the gathered crowd, and then she introduced the newest members of her family. “Friends, I’d like you all to meet Frostmane and Shadowpaw.”

  The Pandyr cheered at the sight of the cubs of Ursara and Frostpaw.

  One of the cubs surprised the clansmen, not for being Wintyr-Born but for being the first female Bearzyrk. Frostmane’s fur was ghostly white, and she had a mop of hair on her head that was as pale as the snow at the Pandyr’s feet. Like all Wintyr-Born, she was large for her age and bore a pair of brilliant blue eyes. She gave a small roar before turning back to her skin of honeyed milk.

  The second cub was unlike anything the clansmen had seen before. Whereas his sister was white and pale, Shadowpaw’s coat was as black as the night was dark. Born minutes after Frostmane, he was decidedly larger in size and had eyes the color of golden fire.

  The dark coloring did not strike fear into the clansmen as it once might have done. Their old prejudices had dissipated after the battle with the giants. They were all children of Mistgard: the Pandyr, the Wintyr-Born, and those who would become known as the Fire-Born. In the years that followed, the birth of a Fire-Born would be held in high esteem, for the Fire-Born’s strength surpassed even that of the mighty Bearzyrk.

  The clansmen gathered around and gave gifts and tributes to the cubs. Tiny bows were given by Ullyr and his Jadebow. Little Thorgrid and the Hammerheart gave the newborns small dolls of Sprign and stone pendants carved in the shape of Thoryn’s hammer. As the skulls set, the clans were welcomed into Thunder’s Home for a grand feast. Mead was served by the barrel, and Ullstag himself had at least two. Much of the night was spent in revelry and telling tales of bravery, including the story of Thoryn facing Wintyr and the saga of Frostpaw and Ghostmane.

  At the end of that tale, Ursara bade the party farewell, her cubs sleeping in her arms. As she ascended the stairs, Frostmane woke first, followed by her brother, Shadowpaw. “You two do everything together, don’t you?” Ursara said.

  The cubs quietly stared at their mother. Eyes of ice and fire looked up at her with heavy lids, and Ursara watched as her children drifted back to sleep. She took them to her room and laid them down on the thick quilt on the bed. “Rest now, my little cubs. We have a long journey tomorrow, and there is someone I want you to meet.”

  Ursara lay next to her cubs and watched as they slept. She lovingly touched a carved wooden heart that hung from a braid around her neck. Ursara closed her eyes, and she dreamt of a frozen land and the heart that beat beneath its surface.

  ***

  Morning came to the Tundyr, the land of frozen lakes and plains. At its heart rested the Den of the Slayers. The war had caused much damage, but many of the inner halls had remained safe from harm. It was in these ancient halls that the bodies of the greatest heroes of the Bearzyrk rested. There they slept in cold and silent darkness, all but one. In the deepest hall, there was a light upon the walls, a light that shone a deep ruby red. Three tiers graced the hall, and atop the tiers were thrones of ancient make, all but one.

  On the highest tier, a grand throne had been formed from living pine wrapped intricately around the broken remnants of an old seat of ice. Upon this throne sat a large Bearzyrk youth. He wore little more than a loincloth and an ancient skin upon his shoulders. The skin he wore was as ghostly white as his own, and on his lap rested a broken spear with a blade that once gleamed like a flame. Upon the walls danced the brilliant red light, which pulsed like the beating of a heart. The light emanated from a small heart-shaped stone fastened to the wrist of the youth. The pulse was slow at first but soon quickened in pace. The light that radiated from the charm also grew in intensity and power, and the room became warm. The frosty air turned to mist, and soon the walls of the chamber dripped with rivulets of icy sweat. The heat of the stone coursed through the body upon the throne, wrapping it in a warm embrace. The figure opened his eyes, and a smile crossed the face of the young Bearzyrk.

  Frostpaw would meet his cubs today.

  Dedicated to little Sophia, the one who started it all.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  The creator of this tale would like to raise a horn of Sprign’s mead to the gods of thunder: Abbath, Amon Amarth, Demonaz, Cradle of Filth, Immortal, HammerFall, Judas Priest, Quorthon, Rush, Savatage, The Gates of Slumber, Visigoth, and the Kings of Metal: ManOwaR.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  SAMWISE, aka Sam Didier, is senior art director at Blizzard Entertainment. He joined the company in 1991 and is responsible for directing the art style for Warcraft, StarCraft, and Heroes of the Storm, as well as for creating artwork for World of Warcraft, Hearthstone, and Diablo.

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  Copyright © 2017 Samwise Didier

  Published by Insight Editions, San Rafael, California, in 2017. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available.

  ISBN: 978-1-60887-924-3

  ISBN: 978-1-68383-053-5 (ebook)

  Publisher: Raoul Goff

  Associate Publisher: Vanessa Lopez

  Art Director: Chrissy Kwasnik

  Designers: Jon Glick and Yousef Ghorbani

  Managing Editor: Alan Kaplan

  Project Editor: Greg Solano

  Production Editor: Elaine Ou

  Production Manager: Alix Nicholaeff

  Production Assistant: Pauline Kerkhove Sellin