by H. J. Cronin
The cold air hurt their lungs, making every step and breath harder. They were still a long way away from the mountain, where it was said the Lone Druid lived.
Various objects from stones to javelins landed amongst the party, hurled by the giantlings; luckily their aim was terrible, and only one javelin found its mark, piercing through the heart of a warrior. Johan risked a quick glance; the frost giants were now only a few feet away, and the ground shook with every thunderous step the behemoths made.
In what seemed like no time the frost giants were among them. They had great white, frosty beards; every other feature was humanoid in appearance, except for their skin which was made of ice. Johan watched in horror as one of the giants kicked one of the warriors into the air. The kick was so powerful that the warrior disappeared into the distance. Another five warriors received the same fate.
In a moment of intelligence or madness, Johan called out to his companions, hoping they could hear him, 'We're sitting ducks here, we must split up!' Before anybody could agree or disagree, Johan veered off to the right; Finnvid, Jess, Larko, and half a dozen warriors followed. Bry, Ardag, and the remaining warriors carried on running straight ahead. Two giants followed each group, along with a handful of giantlings and wolves.
Ardag’s group continued their almost futile attempt to evade their pursuers. Once again, the giants caught up with them, and one by one the Mjorn were being picked off.
Ardag managed to call out to Bry above the noise of his frantic breathing, 'Change, Bry! It is our only chance to escape.'
'We can't leave these men,' she called back; only three remained.
'We have no choice, Bry, they will kill us all. Take us in the direction that Johan ran.'
Bry paused briefly, aware of the pain in her legs. Taking on her bear form would momentarily give her enough energy to escape the frost giants. What worried her though, was that taking on her bear form would exhaust her further; if they didn't manage to escape the giants, they would be killed. She also felt remorse about leaving the Mjorn warriors behind; their families would never know their fate.
She made up her mind. She quickly changed her skin, felt a sudden surge in strength and, using her nose, she hoisted Ardag onto her back. The bear picked up speed, gaining some much needed ground from the frost giants, and then turned around and charged towards them.
Ardag managed to duck in time as a long, blue, icicle like arm came towards him. The bear’s agility helped the companions escape the giants. They passed the giantlings in their flight, Ardag using the moment to behead an unsuspecting giantling with his razor-sharp katana.
The plan had worked, they had evaded the enemy and now they raced in the direction Johan had taken. Once they were safe Ardag dismounted, giving Bry a rest.
'We must overcome our tiredness and carry on Bry,' he said to the bear, stroking her fur. Bry could only nod and give a low grunt. They had no food or water with them; Ardag hoped their luck would change. The bear's strong sense of smell aided them in following Johan's tracks. They found a few berries along the way but nothing to sustain them. Cold and hunger mixed together is a deadly combination. They hoped that no enemies would find them; the consequence would be death.
They walked for two hours, but it felt like two days, and their friends’ tracks had led them to a vast open space. Bry now returned to her human form, her bear form exhausting her.
'Do we cross this lake, or do we go around it?' asked Bry, not hiding the anxiety in her voice; the last thing she wanted to do was to be anywhere near the forest. 'This Cold Wood makes the Dark Wood seem like a paradise.'
'We cross the frozen lake,' Ardag replied bluntly, also feeling horrendous fatigue creeping in. 'Let us be grateful that the frost giants haven't followed us.'
They began their long march across the lake. Snowfall had hidden any tracks made by Johan and the others, even though it couldn't have been long since they had crossed. The snow, now knee deep, cold and damp, soaked through the companions thick leather boots. The sun began to set, casting an eerie glow over the frozen lake.
They decided to risk running into more enemies by making camp by the tree line; they needed to rest and recuperate. They would continue their search for Johan the following day. Ardag predicted that the edge of the lake was only two more miles. They had not spoken since starting across the lake; both were frightened but didn't want to admit it. They were in an unknown part of the world, they were freezing cold, their party had split up, their only guides were dead and dangers lurked everywhere.
Once they reached the end of the lake they spent an hour preparing a makeshift camp. They cleared an area by a fallen log, risked building a fire to keep themselves warm, and used branches leaning against the log to form a shelter.
'Great mess we're in, Ardag,' Bry said, as they sat gazing at the fire.
'I only can hope that Johan is alive,' Ardag responded doubtfully.
'You think he could be dead?' Bry asked, feeling a lump in her throat.
'I do not doubt his perseverance, but I have never been in such a hostile environment. Drugar is indeed with him if he made it.'
Bry shook her head, 'There is strength in him yet to be realised. I have faith in him.'
'I hope you're right Bry,' Ardag said meaningfully. 'If he has fallen, our journey here has been a waste.'
'What do you suggest we do now?' asked Bry.
Ardag shrugged his shoulders and thought for a moment before speaking. 'We carry on our search tomorrow, but if we do not find food we head back to the Mjorn village. I hope we can find something to eat then, or else we will perish. All we have is my katana, your bear, and the clothes we are wearing. I even lost my narnum pipe in our flight.' Ardag sounded down and defeated.
Bry suddenly reached down under her fur coat and fumbled for something. 'I know what will lighten our mood,' she said, pulling a large piece of meat out. 'I found it on one of the dead giantlings but we were attacked before I could say anything. I'll do the cooking – this should also feed us tomorrow thanks to the cold preserving it.'
Ardag’s expression immediately lifted, 'Well, you may well have kept us alive, Bry.' That night they were not attacked, exhaustion won, and they slept peacefully. Ardag’s last thought was of Johan and what may have happened to him and the others.
Johan’s group fortunately found themselves running downhill; they forgot about their tiredness and their fears – determination kept them in front. They managed to gain a small amount of ground in front of the frost giants, the trees also helping to slow the giants.
The small group soon found themselves at the edge of a low cliff edge. The momentum of one warrior crashing into them from behind caused the group to fall off the edge simultaneously. Luckily deep snow below broke their fall, they stood up and found themselves in the largest open space they had seen since entering the Cold Wood. It was a large, frozen lake covered in a white blanket of snow.
'Come, we have no time to dwell, we must run to the tree line,' an exhausted Finnvid called out to them.
'It looks like at least a mile away,' Johan said, trying to find his breath. He had lost all feeling in his feet and legs.
The others didn't reply. Finnvid led the way, making for the forest edge across the lake. Behind them, the giants and the giantlings leapt down onto the ice and pursued the small group.
As they reached halfway across the lake the open space made the wind feel colder, but nothing can slow somebody running for their life. With the frost giants pounding behind them, Johan suddenly felt a powerful energy come over him – he felt as if he ran faster. He looked around and it seemed the others also had this strength.
As they approached the edge of the lake Johan saw a hooded man wearing a brown robe standing in front of the tree line. He held his arms out wide, as if embracing the air, one hand holding a staff.
The group ran past him, hoping he wasn't with the enemy; he seemed to ignore them. Johan suddenly stopped, 'Wait!’ he called out to the others, ‘this
man doesn't mean to harm us.' The others stopped and Johan turned to face the man. 'Come with us, old man, the giants will kill you,' he called out to the man.
The man ignored him. Now he began to bellow loudly as the giants came closer. To the awe of the group who watched, two great flashes came from his staff – two large fireballs shot towards the giants. They hit each giant, engulfing them in flames; the giants screamed in clearly agonising pain and, suddenly, they exploded. The old man then shot out a blue arc of energy that hit the giantlings and wolves that had followed the frost giants. They all dropped dead instantly.
The man turned, faced the group, and pointed his staff at them. He spoke in a tired and hoarse voice, ‘Why is that despicable creature with you? Why do you travel with an elf?' He glared at Larko who in turn looked back at him; it was clear that Larko and old man, who looked at him with utter hatred, were not strangers.
10
Not Dead Yet
For an unknown period of time he had been there, a cold, dark, damp dungeon where the only noise came from echoed water droplets landing in a small puddle beneath a leaky pipe. Every now and then, a scream from a prisoner under interrogation assaulted his ears. He wore a patch over a missing left eye, cuts and bruises covered his bare body. He was chained to the wall with his hands above his head. The pain in each of his muscles never left.
It could be worse, I could be like him, he thought to himself. He was referring to the man lying on the floor on the other side of the cell. He huddled his legs like a foetus, murmuring to himself, and every now and then he wailed in self-pity. One by one, his fingers were cut off, his eyes had been burnt out. Apparently he had conspired against the Black Widow, the mistress of the town. The man in chains could see that the other man was just a farmer – innocent, never proven guilty.
The man in chains knew he was being kept alive; they tortured and beat him for information, but he never gave in. He had endured many hardships in life, and with each one he grew stronger. The main thing that kept him alive was his will and determination to escape.
He heard the familiar sound of metal boots on stone floor approaching. The door creaked loudly as the guard opened it. The prisoner on the floor began whimpering, begging the guard not to take him again. The guard walked straight past him to the man chained to the wall. Without a single word, the guard punched him in the face, knocking him out.
Some time later, after a cup of salty seawater had been thrown in his face, the prisoner found himself sitting at an oak table, in a well-lit, well-furnished room, almost fit for a king. Sitting opposite him was Katrina, the Black Widow. Either side of him were two guards, including the one that had hit him.
The Black Widow’s beautiful face masked a cold and evil personality. Black lips pursed as she scrutinised the prisoner. She wore her usual corset and her long, black hair flowed freely.
'Where are they?' she asked coldly.
The prisoner gave an emotionless response, 'I have no idea what you are talking about.'
The Black Widow’s expression turned sour, 'You need to tell me where your companions are. If you tell me, I will let you live.'
'I have no companions. I work alone,' he said bluntly.
'Stop lying, you swine,' she bellowed, slamming her fists down hard. 'Three months ago you were caught trying to leave Wilmurin with a fugitive, Bry. My observers could see there were three more out in the long grass, trying to hide. I know you travelled with Bry, Johan, and two others. You are lucky to be alive – why do you continue to be loyal to those who abandoned you? Tell me where they are, and your prize is freedom. I thought Palar the rogue had no friends.'
Palar missed the life that he had had, the rogue’s life. He wanted adventure but this was too much – although if he had stayed in Bruskany then the war would eventually have found him there. He could have ended up in a worse situation than he was in now, if that was possible. He thought back to that fateful day when he had met the companions, and the events leading to his departure.
Palar remembered that day; he was riding the bear, Bry, as they fled the dockyard. Their plan to sail to Jotun, using his friend’s boat, had failed. They were betrayed, his friend had led them into a trap. After a short fight with the Black Widow’s men, Bry had taken on her bear form and the duo attempted to flee. During their flight, Palar had been struck in the left eye and in the back by crossbow bolts. He should have been killed outright.
He later learned from one of the Black Widow’s surgeons that the bolt had ricocheted off his skull, breaking into large, removable pieces, so it hadn't reached his brain. Fragments of the bolt were still wedged in the empty eye socket. The bolt in the back missed his spine and any vital organs. He lost his left eye, but he survived.
He motioned Bry to run and watched her disappear into Selarmus with dozens of guards pursuing her. He found out later that she escaped. The guards were mortified to find Palar still alive; from what he could remember, he was dragged to the dungeon. Slipping in and out of consciousness, Palar heard a captain order her men to heal him and keep him alive. After spending three weeks in an unpleasant infirmary, Palar was declared strong enough to be a prisoner. His life then deteriorated when he was thrown into a horrible dungeon.
Every day since then, right up until now, he was beaten and tortured for information. His willpower kept him strong and his mouth shut; he endured the pain day in and day out. He was close to breaking, though; he knew what he had to do.
'Very well then,' he started, bowing his head in shame. 'I did travel with Johan and the others. I will tell you where they are.'
'Good, tell me now,' the Black Widow said excitedly, clapping her hands together.
'Two conditions,' Palar said carefully.
The Black Widow did not look amused. 'Go on,' she said.
'Keep your end of the bargain and free me. Also, kill that pitiful farmer in my cell, he is innocent and his life is a misery, spare his suffering.'
The Black Widow looked at him, silent for a moment. She then signalled one of her guards over, she spoke to him with the powerful authority she commanded, 'Go and kill that pathetic farmer.' She then looked back at Palar and continued, 'You are free to go as soon as you tell me the whereabouts of your companions.'
Palar sat quietly for a moment, trying the Black Widow’s patience. Just before she was about to speak he spoke up, 'We were here to get a ship so that we could travel south, to the Clan of the Lizard, to seek more allies for the war effort.'
The Black Widow didn't look convinced. She spoke bitterly, 'Your friend, Yarnok, told me you were heading north-west, to Jotun.'
Palar’s stern expression didn't give away his anxiety, he had to think quickly or his plan would be ruined. 'I told him that so that if he was questioned his interrogators would be given wrong information. But they travel to the south, hoping to rouse the Clan of the Lizard to war.'
The Black Widow nodded, apparently buying the lie. She called out to one of her men, 'Captain, come here.' The short, stumpy man jogged over and his mistress continued, 'Assemble a small party of men, send them to High Count Darkool and tell him that Johan has gone south to the Fouling Jungle. We must use this as an opportunity to launch a pre-emptive strike on the lizards. I will commit half of my remaining army.' The captain nodded and walked away.
Palar watched the exchange; in using the Clan of the Lizard as a scapegoat he had condemned the clan to death. He felt awful, sick at the thought of many more innocent people being slaughtered. His main aim was to protect Johan, though; that one man could apparently stop the High Count, whilst the lizards could not. The guilt would stay with him for an extremely long time.
The Black Widow looked at Palar with a sinister smile. She motioned to the two guards beside him and simultaneously they grabbed each of the rogue’s arms. She then spoke to him harshly, 'Our agreement means nothing – you will go with the captain to meet High Count Darkool. He will use you for whatever game he wishes.'
'You bitch!' Palar called out to h
er, although unsurprised that she had gone back on her word.
The Black Widow smiled, as if basking in his anger, she then spoke to the guards, 'Take this scoundrel back to his cell.'
They dragged the rogue away, and another of her captains spoke to her in a hushed tone, 'What of the plan to topple High Count Darkool?'
'We must stall that plan for now. Once the Clan of the Lizard is wiped out, then we can make our move, then we will have no resistance,' she whispered. ‘Even if we can't kill Darkool, we can lock him for all eternity in a hole. Once his army is humbled we will win the day. The northern towns have bolstered my army quite considerably. An attack on the High Count himself is the last thing he will expect.'
The two guards dragged Palar back to the cell by his arms, through a long dark corridor, lit only by dim fire lamps. He wore only a rough-looking tunic. A hundred different thoughts raced around his mind; if there was a moment to strike, that moment was now. Being taken to Darkool was a fate worse than death – Palar liked a gamble.
Using his weight and strength he launched himself to the floor, and the momentum brought the unsuspecting guards down with him. Momentarily the guards were stunned by the sudden move from the rogue; Palar capitalised on the situation. He quickly grabbed a set of keys that hung from one of the guards’ pockets. One of the keys on the ring was a long jail key.
He drove the narrow end into each of the guards' eyes with lightning speed. They both screamed in agony; neither was armed so Palar simply left them. He ran back through the corridor towards a door they had just come through. Palar remembered that there was an armoured guard by the door. The rogue turned a corner and could now see the door; the guard ran at him with a drawn sword – he had obviously heard his colleagues screaming.