The Last Winter Read online

  Ullstag laughed. “By the Great Huntress, no. I don’t drink that swill. I brew up that fizz for the younger clansmen. They cannot stomach full mead like I can. If you like, come try a mug of this,” he said as he lifted up his great drinking horn. “This will turn your coat white!”

  “Can’t stomach? Give me that. I’ll drink this down to the bottom with naught but the suds left for you.”

  The mighty Thoryn downed the entire horn and tossed it back to Ullstag, who was somewhat impressed. He gave Thoryn a pat on his back.

  “Someone fetch my personal barrel! We’ll be needing another horn or two for my little friend and me,” he said loudly.

  Thoryn put up his hand and waved it. “I think that did it for me. It was a good brew but nothing that . . . It’s rather hot in here, don’t you think?” Thoryn crashed into the table face-first, upending it and sending the old Bearzyrk’s bow flying.

  Ullyr leapt as gracefully as an elkhorn and grabbed the weapon before it could hit the cave’s floor. He marveled at the size and craftsmanship. It was a gigantic weapon, nine feet long and made out of what looked like carved horn. Etched into the bow were notches so numerous that it was scarred from end to end. Ullyr reverently handed it back to Ullstag. “What is it made of, old one?”

  The Bearzyrk easily grasped the weapon and righted the table. He put the bow back in its familiar place. “It is made from the horns of my old friend Cliff Breaker. Of course, you know we Jadebow have an affinity for riding, and when I first arrived here, I was very lonely. I soon struck up a friendship with an old spearhorn, and over the years, we rode to battle together. We were the menace of both Icegard and Firehome. Alas, he died many years ago in Icegard. I brought back his body, and I made this bow from his horns. For years, I cut a notch in it for every kill we made together, but I have since stopped counting. Otherwise I would have whittled this bow in two!”

  Ullyr thought of Dawnstrider and all the times they had fought and survived together. That seemed like nothing compared to the danger Ullstag had faced and now spoke of as casually as if he were telling cubs a bedtime story. “How long have the Bearzyrk been warring with the giants?”

  The Bearzyrk shrugged his massive shoulders and pondered. “For as long as I remember, and for hundreds of years before that as well. The first of our kind, Ghostmane, took the entire Bearzyrk clan to the very hearts of Wintyr’s and Sumyr’s realms, even fighting the archfiends themselves!”

  “Ghostmane?” It was the first time Frostpaw had spoken. “What happened to Ghostmane?”

  Ullstag finished a sip of mead and answered the boy. “Ha! He battled for years and years. The older he grew, the bolder his raids. Our numbers were too small to mount a full war against the giants, but he had a plan. The first part was to go to Firehome and challenge the greatest of fire giants, King Sumyr. Ghostmane and Sumyr battled for days, and every weapon Ghostmane used against the Fire King turned into slag when it touched his molten skin. Exhausted, Ghostmane fell to his knees, defeated. The Fire King gloated and jeered at Ghostmane, but when Sumyr was going to deliver the killing blow with his giant black sword, the old Bearzyrk made his move.”

  The crowd was silent as Ullstag let the moment grow. Finally he whispered to the audience, “He took out the fiend’s eye!” The gathered Pandyr listened side by side with the Bearzyrk. Ullstag was a master storyteller, and he was clearly building up to a grand finish. “It’s true. He took the fiend’s eye with a giant ice sickle he had taken from the heart of Icegard. It was the only thing that would not melt when it touched the skin of the fire giant king. Sumyr ran off shrieking as Ghostmane left Firehome with the giant’s burning eye impaled on the ice spear, and the Bearzyrk soon forged it into a spearhead of fire. And with his weapons ready, Ghostmane—”

  “He went to Icegard!” said Frostpaw.

  Ullstag smiled at the boy and patted his head. “That he did . . . Frostpaw, is it? Yes, indeed, to Icegard he went. He claimed now that he had a weapon hot enough to pierce the very heart of Wintyr. He figured he would slay old Glacier Heart with his own brother’s eye. Well, he eventually faced Wintyr, and the battle did rage. It was said to have lasted the entire length of Wintyr’s reign, and that in Mistgard there were no snows that year. All of the energy Wintyr would normally hurl at the world was used to heal the wounds he received during the melee. No matter how hard he tried, Ghostmane could not land a killing blow. The storms of Wintyr filled in all the cracks left by the blazing spear and made his hide even thicker. All but defeated, Ghostmane fell into the snow, and Wintyr picked up his body, ready to squeeze Ghostmane to pulp. With limbs and bones cracking, Ghostmane figured out that what worked once would work again.”

  “No. He didn’t . . .” said Frostpaw.

  The Pandyr listened and waited. Frostpaw was at the point of bursting when Ullstag finally spoke. “Ghostmane took another eye!”

  The crowds went wild. Mugs were downed and fists pounded tables. The Bearzyrk had heard this story too many times to count, but they seemed to be reliving it once again through Frostpaw’s excitement.

  “Ah, well, Wintyr howled with pain, and it was said that it stormed across the world for so long that there was snow even in Firehome. With a mighty hurl, Ghostmane was flung across the ocean to land upon the very shores of Mistgard. He was washed ashore a broken mess. He refused all aid and went immediately to his forge. There he fashioned another spear out of the eye of Wintyr, and he hung the two weapons on a set of giant white elkhorn antlers. I was told this tale by an old Bearzyrk, just like I am now telling you, Snow—Snowfoot?”

  “Yes—well, what happened next?” said Frostpaw excitedly, unconcerned with correcting the Bearzyrk’s mistake.

  “After he hung the spears, he took nine steps backward and fell dead,” said Ullstag plainly, and he took a pull from his drinking horn. The room was silent for a few moments, until Ullstag threw down his empty horn, belched, and shouted, “But what a great end for a story! Now both of these demons have but two eyes between them! And not only that, but he left the spears for future generations to use against our foes.”

  The old Bearzyrk stood up and gave a toast with a throaty yell. “To Ghostmane!” The other Bearzyrk raised their horns and mugs.

  Byorgn snorted and folded his arms. He had taken neither food nor drink, and he had not allowed his exhausted clansmen to do so, either. “Sounds more like a child’s story than fact to me.”

  “Sssshut your maw, you pompous, fancy-cloaked ffffool!” There was a great crashing from under the table, and Thoryn stood up and overturned it again. He raised his empty horn. “To Ghosshtmane!” he blurted out before he fell back and landed on Ullstag. Thoryn looked at the Bearzyrk with one eye closed and the other trying to focus on the old one’s face. “That was a really good story . . . and good mead. Could I have—” And the chieftain of the Hammerheart fell asleep across the old Bearzyrk’s lap.

  “Well, old Ghostmane rests now, rests with his giants’ eyes. His bones lie deep in the Den of the Slayers, in the highest seat just outside our little mountain, though only the elders, like Frostvang, are allowed to enter. Ha! They don’t let us youngsters in,” Ullstag said, rubbing his long white whiskers.

  “So you were brought here by the Storm Speaker when you were just a boy?” said Frostpaw.

  “Aye, lad, way younger than you, in fact,” said the elder Jadebow. He looked around and waved his large hand toward the rest of the Bearzyrk in the hall. “We all hail from the eight clans originally. And for one reason or another, we were abandoned or cast out into the wilds. Some of us survived alone in the mountains for decades before wandering here to the Tundyr, but most of us were delivered by your Storm Speaker. The kindness of the Dark Beard saved many of us from a grim life and a lonely death.” The other Bearzyrk raised their mugs and drank deeply. Ullstag drank as well. “Aye, the Dark Beard is friend to us. He has no clan himself, but it seems he is making a fine one of his own. Do you know from which clan you hail—Little Paw, is it?”r />
  Frostpaw didn’t correct the big Bearzyrk. He simply shook his head. “I do not. The Storm Speaker found me in the woods, and if he knows of my origins, he has never told me.”

  The old bear looked at the boy thoughtfully for a moment and spoke to him from his heart. “I want you to listen to me, Little Paw. You see, it doesn’t matter where you come from. Family? Blood? Those are fine and grand, but they are not the strongest of bonds. If that were true”—he once again motioned to his Bearzyrk brethren—“then how did we all end up here? Bah, I believe the strongest of bonds come not from blood or family ties but from those forged in life. Bonds born from the battles we share, on the battlefield as well as off, bonds formed through friendship.”

  The gathered Bearzyrk grunted and rumbled in agreement.

  “But you all come from somewhere, from some clan? Even the great Ghostmane himself must have come from one of the eight clans,” said Frostpaw.

  “Yes, he did, lad. Yes, he did. But just remember this: it’s not where you come from or what you are born into; it’s what you do with the life given to you. We are only given so many breaths in this life, you know. It is what we do in between those breaths that matters.” Ullstag pointed a white-furred paw toward Ursara and Frostpaw. “The ties that are built and forged through brotherhood, through love . . . those are the strongest bonds. Blood is strong, but blood”—he held up his white arms—“blood will only go so far.”

  Frostpaw thought about the words the old Bearzyrk spoke, and he pulled Ursara close to his side. Both nibbled on some bread and sipped beer.

  “What is the story with you both? Clearly there is no fear of our kind with you, little lady,” said Ullstag.

  Ursara smiled at the big Bearzyrk.

  CHAPTER 15

  URSARA SPEAKS

  Y FATHER AND I ARE not from any clan. If our ancestors were, it has long since passed into the mists of his memory. We were all the clan we needed. So you can imagine that when Father brought Frostpaw into our family, I was beyond horrified, though not by his appearance. I was upset at how much my life had changed. No longer was I the only child in Father’s world. No longer did I receive all of his affection. I remember being angry, for years, it seemed. Our little clan of two had an outsider in it. I was always looking for ways to get Frostpaw into trouble, whether it was breaking something and blaming it on him, or something else just as childish. He never told Father it was me. He always took whatever punishment there was. It made me furious, but it made me feel even more horrible for what I was doing to him. That was always his way. He bore every burden the mountain threw at him. I think for the first ten years or so, I was angry at him, but I was even angrier at myself.”

  She cleared her throat and blinked back the tears that welled up in her eyes. “One day, everything changed.” Ursara took Frostpaw’s large hand in her tiny one. “Earlier in the day, Frostpaw was out amongst the herds, as he always seemed to be when he was younger, for he knew nothing of prejudice or the other ‘civilized’ things we Pandyr had created. A group of our most honorable young clansmen got to teasing Frostpaw and started throwing rocks and sticks at him, calling him names. You know how we can be. Well, they did their worst to him, and as always, he accepted it.” Ursara’s eyes misted up at the thought, but soon they were dried by anger. “These cowards surrounded Frostpaw and doused him with pitch! They wanted to make his color more to their liking. I believe they would have gotten away with all their fun had they left it at that. But one of them, as he was laughing at Frostpaw, took up a rock, and instead of hitting Frostpaw, he hit one of the elkhorn he ran with. The herd scattered, with the exception of the one that was hit. That one lay bleeding and still. What happened next was Frostpa—”

  “Ursara, please, don’t,” said Frostpaw. He looked at her with pleading eyes.

  “No, you can’t stop there!” said Ullstag. “It sounds like there’s going to be a right thrashing served out! Come on, lad, let her finish the story.”

  Ursara gently nodded at Frostpaw. “No, I won’t tell the details. I will say that Father had plenty to deal with when he returned to Thunder’s Home that evening. There must have been twenty angry mothers and fathers, all foaming at the maw, trying to find out why the Storm Speaker’s boy attacked their little darlings. Ha! Poor Father just sat there and tried to calm them all down. Nothing worked until Frostpaw came from the forest, carrying the wounded elk in his arms. He was still covered in tar, and he had found a wrap for the elk so she wouldn’t be fouled by the stinking pitch they had doused him with.

  “You could have heard a feather drop when he walked by the families of our noble clansmen. They all looked to their youngsters, some with shame and some with indifference. When Father saw what they had done to Frostpaw, he glared at the gathered clansmen, and lightning flashed above, followed so quickly by thunder that everyone jumped out of their skins. His ire was about to boil over when Frostpaw spoke. All he said was, ‘She needs help,’ motioning to the elk. Well, that seemed to end the day’s events. Frostpaw and Father helped out the elk, and none of the clan boys ever bothered Frostpaw again.”

  “Well done, lad,” said Ullstag, and a few other Bearzyrk raised their mugs. “I’ll bet a few of them are here tonight as well, eh?” he said softly as he eyed Byorgn and his Sunspear. Ullstag had seen the disdain in the chieftain’s eyes upon first meeting him on the Tundyr.

  Frostpaw saw the looks that passed between the two, and he desperately tried to change the subject. “You, uh, earlier you mentioned that all the Bearzyrk came from one of the original eight clans, even this Ghostmane. Do all the Bearzyrk here know of their origins?” Frostpaw looked around the room at the Bearzyrk, who shook their shaggy manes.

  Ullstag stood and stretched his old bones. “Like I said, boy, this is our clan now. It doesn’t matter where we were from, only that we are here now,” he said jovially, and he raised a horn to the room. He motioned for Frostpaw to grab a tankard. “Raise one with us, lad. You are one of us and can stay here if you wish.”

  Ursara grabbed a mug and handed it to Frostpaw, who hesitantly held it up. The Bearzyrk and Frostpaw drank while the Pandyr clansmen watched in silence. Wiping a paw across his maw, Frostpaw gently set down the mug and lowered his head. “Thank you, Ullstag, for the friendship and the offer. But I will be staying with my clan, the Storm Speaker and Ursara. Like you said, the strongest bonds are not from blood or clan but from the ties built up out of friendship and love.”

  “Well said, boy,” said the Bearzyrk as he picked up his bow and patted it fondly.

  “So what clan did thish great Ghoshtmane hail from? It sounds like he would clearly be from the Hammerheart, if the stories of his battle prowess be true,” said Thoryn groggily as he sat up. He crawled across the floor, looking for a tankard amongst the broken mugs and cups. Frostpaw extended a hand to the bearded chieftain. Thoryn slapped his red paw into the center of Frostpaw’s big white one, and he was hoisted up to standing.

  Ullstag scratched his great head and thought for a moment. “My memory isn’t all that it used to be. He was not of the Hammerheart, though. I believe the great one was originally of the Sunspe—”

  “Shut your maw, you frost-bitten dog!”

  CHAPTER 16

  TAKING SIDES

  HE ROOM TURNED TO see Byorgn, chieftain of the Sunspear, overturn a table. “You’ll not dishonor the Sunspear name while Byorgn draws air! You wag your tongue about how blood and family do not matter! What do you know of family and blood? You were not wanted. Your births were a shame on your clans! Now you try to scar the great family of the Sunspear by saying your pale dog of a champion was of the same blood as I?”

  The Sunspear chieftain charged and hit Ullstag with a mighty swing that started from the floor and ended against the old Bearzyrk’s jaw, snapping back his great maw. The Bearzyrk shook off the blow and retaliated with a brutal backhanded swipe that sent the chieftain sailing into his fellow clansmen. The other Bearzyrk, seeing one of their own attacked, r
oared. The Sunspear clansmen drew weapons and charged with their chieftain, whose golden spear was hungry for blood. They were stopped by a small figure.

  “Enough!” said the daughter of the Storm Speaker. Her normally quiet voice echoed in the hall like a soft thunder shock. Ullstag and Byorgn were both brought to a halt mere feet from each other. Only the tiny Ursara stood between the two massive beings. “Chieftain, please. We are not at war here. Do not dishonor us by raising arms against our hosts. Surely there is—”

  Ursara was abruptly silenced by the thick, hairy paw of Byorgn cuffing her across the cheek. “You dare speak to me of honor? The way you consort with that white-furred mongrel? You disgrace the entirety of the eight clans by—”

  There was a guttural roar, and Byorgn’s words were not merely cut off; they were strangled shut. He was lifted off of his feet by burly white arms. The arms were not those of the old Ullstag but of the young Frostpaw. A murderous blue mist swirled in Frostpaw’s inner vision. In the back of his mind, he could hear dark words being whispered to him.

  Kill . . . slay . . . MURDER.

  But the sinister voice was replaced with another. It was soft and gentle, in direct contrast to the voice of icy-blue madness. “Frostpaw, do not do this. I beg you,” pleaded Ursara.

  The boy shook his head, trying to rid it of the rage that burned in his mind. He let go of the Sunspear chieftain, who crashed to the cavern floor in a heap. Byorgn lay still but soon coughed and sputtered, rubbing his bruised throat. He rose unsteadily with the help of his clansmen. When he gained his footing, he stalked forward, bloodlust in his eyes.

  “How dare you, you fatherless dog! You take sides with them instead of your own ki—” The Sunspear stopped midstride and midsentence, laughing cruelly. “Of course you side with these cursed wretches; these are your kind. You were never one of us. No matter how hard you try or how close you are to the Storm Speaker, you will never be one of us!”