The Last Winter Read online

  Had this happened when I first found the lad, Frostpaw and the chieftain would both be bloodied . . . or worse. The rage that had once held Frostpaw captive as a youth now appeared to be locked away.

  They walked back together to Ursara, who was smiling. She, too, had seen how Frostpaw had mastered the rage within him, but she mused to herself that it would have been nice to see the pompous Byorgn knocked off his mount and into the wet snow.

  The Storm Speaker rode upon Traveler, and Ursara was on her black stag, Cinder. Only Frostpaw remained on foot, being too large for the elk to bear for any distance. The Storm Speaker looked at the lad fondly. He has always preferred to run with the herds instead of being their burden.

  With a raised spear, the Storm Speaker drew the attention of the clans. “It is with a happy but somber heart that I address you. Why, only in this direst of times, have we joined together? The problems and conflicts that yesterday would pit clan against clan have not blown away with the storm. Perhaps after the hardships that have brought us here today are gone, we may continue our union, but it falls to each of you.”

  The Storm Speaker focused his gaze on Byorgn and let the moment hang. The Sunspear chieftain returned the gaze with a steely look and a snort. The Storm Speaker moved his attention back to the clansmen. “The only thing that matters now is the very survival of our people. Brothers and sisters, elders and cubs, our traveling will be slow and treacherous, but if we stay, our deaths will be immediate. Clans, we must leave.”

  “Hold,” boomed a gravel-crusted voice.

  CHAPTER 7

  A SAFE HAVEN

  HE CROWDS LOOKED TOWARD the singular obelisk that stood before them. From the rocky surface, the face of the Under-King appeared. The obelisk shook, and the column transformed into torso, arms, and legs. What was once silent stone was now the living form of the Under-King, Fell. He quietly gazed down upon the stunned faces of the Pandyr. He was a colossal figure to behold, massive in frame and form. He towered above the gathered clansmen as an oak did an acorn. Runes that had been carved on the moss-covered stone were now adorning his chest and arms like necklace and armband. Shards of quartz hung beard-like over his lichen-caked torso, glinting dully in the cold dawn air.

  The Storm Speaker looked up at the Under-King as he walked over to the burial mound. The usually grim Fell appeared to be laughing quietly to himself, and the crystalline tinkle of quartz floated behind the sound of gravel as he spoke. “It appears my sister’s spirit still protects her little cubs,” said the Under-King.

  The proud chieftains muttered and grumbled at the term cast at them, but they remained mostly silent. The Storm Speaker just smiled.

  The Under-King smelled the honey and put a small jewel of the nectar in his mouth. For a moment, his rocky exterior seemed to warm, and the violet-hued quartz turned a rosy color. He looked at all the gathered clansmen, nodding solemnly. “I will aid your people, Oldest of Cubs, as Sprign would wish. She has provided you with food and warmth. I can provide you something else. I can provide your people a haven.”

  He clapped his hands together and slowly moved them apart, rock fingers curled and bent. The cliff shook, and its walls split open to reveal a great cavernous entrance. The Under-King beckoned the clans to enter.

  “The war will be brutal to all,” he said with a deep, resonating voice, “but the young will bear the burden the worst. Their bodies are not built for this. The warmth already leaves them. Children always suffer the most from war. If it pleases you, I will care for them while you make this war.”

  Strangled cries arose from mothers and fathers alike as they clung to their cubs. Clearly outraged, the burly Hammerheart chieftain stalked toward Fell. “While we make this war?” said the red-bearded Thoryn incredulously. “We did not ask for this war. It is your kind, you thrice-cursed giants, who bring this war to our home.” His beard trembled as he ground his fangs together in anger.

  The Under-King looked at the Hammerheart chieftain, his eyes boring into him, but Thoryn returned his gaze with a fiery countenance.

  “My offer extends to you, too, little red cub.” Fell continued, slow and measured. “And to all of the clans. You all may stay in my realm if you wish, safe from war, safe from the cold and the fire. In my realm, you would all be safe.”

  Thoryn’s answer was immediate. “Ha! You mean hide in the face of battle? We will not be cowards, skulking in the ground like vermin while giants stomp and walk freely on the world above. I will protect Mistgard until my body lies on top of a pile of giants, if need be!” His hand gripped his hammer’s haft, knuckles cracking with the force. The clans backed up the Hammerheart with applause and cheers.

  The Under-King stared impassively at the throng. “And this is why those words were chosen. Little cubs, you and your clans could all be safe from war, safe from harm. Yet what makes you walk off proudly to the utter destruction of your kind? It is pride. Pride has killed more than any other weapon.”

  The Storm Speaker moved between the two figures, and his words parted the tension with the measured ease of one who was known to calm storms. “Is it not that same pride that our Den Mother, Sprign, showed to you when you offered her a place in your realm, Under-King? Is it not that same spirit that allowed her to live above the ground, to live free and to breathe air from open skies even though she was surrounded by the strife of your brothers, and was called upon to defeat them time and time again? It is the same pride that made Sprign what she was to all of us.”

  The Under-King solemnly looked down at the Storm Speaker. “You are right, Oldest of Cubs. It was indeed that pride and spirit that helped forge that being into the one we all loved. And it was that pride that led her to leave me—and to leave you—before her time.”

  Fell turned, walked toward the massive cave entrance, and spoke. “My offer still stands if you wish it,” the Under-King said. The gathered mothers and fathers exchanged hesitant glances. “The young will be safe in my realm. No one, not even the combined might of my brothers and their armies, can enter without my approval. When your war is over, I will bring them back. To whatever is left.”

  The clansmen all stared in silence, and the Storm Speaker looked to the chieftains. “This is not a clan matter. This question needs to be answered by the parents alone.”

  Thoryn’s bearing seemed to settle down a bit. “I’ll not cower below the earth while I still draw breath, but to know that our cubs are safe will be a tremendous burden off our hearts.”

  Ulf, the sly chieftain of the Mistcloak clan, laughed. It seemed inappropriate as it pierced the moment’s gloom. “Listen well, everyone, for I believe that is the closest thing to an apology that we will ever hear out of old Hammerheart. This truly is a momentous day.”

  His words were greeted with scattered laughter. He cuffed Thoryn on the back, and the burly Hammerheart chief brushed it aside with a scowl and, eventually, a laugh. “And I feel sorry for the Under-King’s riches if he is watching over even one of those scurrilous Mistcloak cubs of yours. By the end of the day, he’ll be the poorest king around!”

  It seemed all of the clansmen were of one mind. Knowing that their cubs would be safe from harm would greatly help them face the coming storm. The clans decided to leave their young in the protective realm of the Under-King. Fathers and mothers said their goodbyes to daughters and sons. Great-great-grandcubs were given one last nuzzling by great-great-grandparents, and the passing moments were filled with grief.

  When the children had been kissed and held, they moved into the cave and waved their goodbyes— all but one. A lone cub still stood outside the entrance, refusing to move. It was the daughter of the Hammerheart chieftain, little Thorgrid, and she was determined to have her way. She stood in front of her father, arms crossed in defiance.

  “No, I will fight with the clans! I am a chieftain’s daughter! I am Hammerheart!” she said adamantly.

  Thoryn pulled his thick beard in frustration. “Come now! All of the others are being very well-beh
aved and are listening to their fathers.”

  “No,” was all she said.

  Thoryn’s nostrils flared, and just as he was about to grab the girl by her red braids and hurl her into the cave like his mighty hammer, a white hand fell on his shoulder. It was Frostpaw.

  “If it pleases you, Chieftain, I have a lot of experience dealing with headstrong cubs. Maybe I can talk to your daughter for a moment.”

  Before Thoryn could refuse, Frostpaw was off. He knelt down with his giant frame till he was eye to eye with the little Hammerheart, and he whispered and pointed toward the other cubs. From their worried faces, they must have heard what Frostpaw was saying.

  Thorgrid’s look of defiance turned into a smirk, then into an all-out, fang-filled smile. She ran back to her father and gave him a great big hug. “Don’t worry about me, Father. I’ll make you proud.” Then she skipped over to her fellow clan cubs.

  As the cave started closing, all of the clansmen waved or cried goodbyes. The children were also weeping and holding on to each other, saying farewell to their parents. The only one who didn’t seem sad was young Thorgrid, who was waving to her father and smiling.

  Fell stood stoically watching as the goodbyes were exchanged, and when all was silent, he spoke. “They will be safe with me,” was all he said. He walked steadily into the mouth of the yawning cave, which closed with a sound of stone weaving into earth.

  The Pandyr held each other, saying how this was the right choice. Still, it was little solace for the mothers and fathers. Soon they wiped the tears away and prepared to start their pilgrimage to the Aesirmyr. Only Thoryn stood perplexed. He walked up to the towering Frostpaw, his mind reeling.

  “What in Sprign’s name was it that you said to make that girl move like that? She is as stubborn as a jaegyr hound and harder headed than my hammer. What could you possibly have said to make her give up and willingly walk away from a fight . . . smiling?”

  Frostpaw was taken aback, and he stared for a moment. Awkwardly, he answered the Hammerheart chieftain. “I, uh, all I said was . . .” Frostpaw stammered but soon found his tongue. “All I said was that with the parents gone, the cubs would be looking for someone strong and brave to lead them. I asked her if she knew anyone who could help out and take charge, to lead all the cubs till their parents got back.”

  Thoryn looked at the tall lad and then started nodding and laughing heartily. He clapped him hard on the shoulder and returned to his people. “Ha! Storm Speaker, you’ve got a gifted one there. The boy must be an alchemist, for he turned stubborn stone into pliable gold.”

  The gathered clansmen laughed, and the Storm Speaker let the moment continue for a little longer. He smiled at how Frostpaw blushed at the praise. After the moment passed, the Storm Speaker addressed the clans. “Now, with the children safe, we can leave.”

  So the Pandyr, some on foot, others on elkhorn, departed the Circle in the Sky. As they passed the closed cavern that protected their cubs, they blew kisses and touched the wall gently. The eight clans of the Pandyr left their ancestral homes and started their journey to the far-off, mist-veiled spires of the Aesirmyr Peaks.

  With the Pandyr gone, the Circle in the Sky was barren of life. Sprign’s mound and a single obelisk sat silently alone under storm clouds, embers, and falling snow.

  ***

  As the gray day turned to the first minutes of purple twilight, the cliffside trembled with cataclysmic force, and the earth split wide. The burial mound of Sprign shifted and slowly lowered into the open ground. Deep into the earth it went, until it was no longer visible. A large slab of rock crossed over the opening, sealing it from the outside world. All that was left was the monolithic obelisk that once bore the image of the Under-King. It did not stand as a grave marker. It stood as a watchtower.

  A strange sound filled the air. Branches snapped, and the heavy thud of footfalls sounded in the Circle in the Sky, but they were not the tread of Pandyr or elkhorn. Large silhouettes emerged from the forests, and soon the Circle in the Sky was filled to capacity with a far different audience. An immense shape loomed in front of the obelisk, and the area that held Sprign’s tomb just moments before began to smoke. Fire licked fiercely into the sky, but the ground seemed impervious to the blaze.

  Soon, the crowds parted to reveal a truly colossal figure, and as it entered the Circle in the Sky, the fires went out and were replaced with a freezing coat of dark ice. But the stone beneath would still not be cracked. Fire and frost circled in the air, and though dwarfed by the gigantic figures, the obelisk spoke.

  “Hello, my brothers.”

  It was all that was uttered before the obelisk was cleaved in two by a living sword of fire. An instant later, the obelisk was smashed and shattered by an axe of pure glacier ice. Howls rang out in the night, and the world trembled.

  Upon the shores of Mistgard, giants walked.

  CHAPTER 8

  FIRE, BLOOD, AND ICE

  UIDED BY THE SWIFT Traveler and the other elk, the eight clans of the Pandyr made their way through the dense forests of Mistgard. They traveled hard and had scant rest, and both Pandyr and elkhorn alike grew weary of the ferocious pace set by the Storm Speaker.

  The warrior clans of Mistgard were used to direct attacks and rarely relied on evasive measures, with the exception of the Mistcloak clansmen. Since the first miles of travel, the cunning Mistcloak chieftain, Ulf, and his rangers had been busy setting traps and snares to alert the fleeing clans of any giant pursuers. The Mistcloak moved about the trees like wild hares, bounding and leaping through the dense undergrowth. Even Ullyr had difficulty marking the movement of the rangers of the Mistcloak clan.

  Thoryn snorted and fumed. “Never in my fifty years have I run so fast and so far away from a fight!” His clansmen concurred with him.

  “There will be war soon enough, Hammerheart. Look to the sky,” said the Storm Speaker grimly. Through the lofty boughs of the ironbark pines, the Storm Speaker pointed toward the not-so-distant sky. The firmament was embroiled in the chaotic dance of beak, wing, and talon. Coastal gulls, led by the giant albatross Fog, flew in swiftly from the north. Squawks and caws filled the air. Ursara drew closer to Frostpaw, and he placed his large white hand upon hers.

  “Look, Father,” said Ursara fearfully.

  “Indeed, my cub, our lookouts return. The armies of Wintyr raze the north.” A swirling cloud of blackbirds came in from the south, led by the tiny Gloam. The small bird landed on the Storm Speaker’s spear just as throaty roars boomed in the distance. “The armies of Firehome pillage as well. Look, the fires of Sumyr light the island!” the Storm Speaker said.

  Smoky tendrils choked the sky, and cries rose up from the southern clans. “Our lands are under siege, Storm Speaker. We should be fighting, saving our homes! We run like scared cubs!” raged the Hammerheart chieftain. His clansmen echoed his sentiments. Hammers pounded on ironbark shields, and throats called for a return to their lands.

  The Storm Speaker did his best to calm the clansmen. “No, we must push on to the Aesirmyr Peaks. There is nothing we can do under the fury of Wintyr.” To mark the statement, a huge blast of icy wind ripped down from the clouds, felling oak and pine like tiny saplings.

  “The fires you see are nothing but the burning of lodge, hut, and hall. If the Hammerheart or any of the clans had chosen to stand fast, then the fires we see now would be funeral pyres. We must choose to take the fight where we will have the advantage. Remember, we are united, and we will face this threat with all the might of the Pandyr. We must push on,” said the Storm Speaker.

  It took many of his clansmen to hold back the Hammerheart chieftain, but he knew the Storm Speaker spoke the truth.

  The Pandyr continued up the mountain, and so, too, did the storms. The clansmen’s pace was severely slowed by the relentless snow and ash. They traveled into the night, and the storms grew in strength and fury. The supply of honeycombs, dubbed “Wintyr’s haven,” was consumed at a tremendous rate in order for the Pandyr
to avoid freezing to death. The old, even though they traveled on elkback, were feeling the effects of the murderous cold more than the others. The Pandyr journeyed through the mountainous terrain for days, and their flight was taking its toll on them all.

  Finally, on a bitter, frostbitten afternoon, the eight clans broke free from the dense forests and entered a large, open expanse filled with frozen lakes and windswept plains. The clansmen stopped to rest and gazed upon the miles and miles of icy terrain. When the Storm Speaker spoke, his breath was thick with frost. “We enter the Tundyr,” he said.

  The clansmen walked upon the ice-packed earth with great eagerness. The Jadebow burst from the ranks of the Pandyr and rode hard across the frozen steppes, stretching the legs of their elkhorn and embracing the wide, open plains. The clansmen were all thankful for the change of terrain, and they surveyed the area.

  “Ah, it feels good to be out from under branch and bough!” exclaimed the burly Iceclaw chieftain, Ur’sog. The Iceclaw and the Ironbeard clansmen were born mariners and seafarers. Tyr’og of the Ironbeard walked up and slapped the Iceclaw chieftain on his brawny back.

  “Aye, it beats the cloying cages of oak and pine we’ve been trapped beneath for these many days. Look, these vast plains of grass seem like waves under the sky, just like the mother ocean,” mused the Ironbeard chieftain. “We should have taught all these land walkers how to sail, and then we could have taken this war to Icegard and to the fiend Wintyr himself!”

  The majestic spires of the Aesirmyr remained cloaked in black clouds of ash and ice. The clans rested briefly and then started toward the mountains, far across the plains. Behind the Pandyr, howls and thunderous roars could be heard in the forests. Bursts of flame and silvery sparks blasted from the snow-covered trees and illuminated the clouded skyline.