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Frost
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Frost |
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Wesley the Blue Member
since 1999-09-02
Posts 426Forest Lake, MN, USA |
A bitterly cold wind blows incessantly from the north, buffeting a lone figure trudging along a broken ridge of ice, among a sea of ice ridges. Snow covers every inch of the forlorn figure. The cold wind seeks out and seeps in, almost maliciously, through seams in the many layers of furs and cloth swathed around the bedraggled man. Warmth has long been forgotten, lost among the endless tracts of ice ridges. Yet the lone figure trudges on. He has long since stopped caring about the cold. He moves forward, towards his destiny, towards vengeance. His face is an emotionless mask, eyes stare ahead with a vacant look. In his mind he sees not the ice ridges nor his own frozen feet slowly plodding along. His mind is replaying the events which have brought him to this forsaken land, far from his home. It was summer in the tundra, though only the inhabitants would call it warm. The spring thaw had given way to summer sun. Children ran and played in the fields of small and delicate tundra flowers. It was a joyous time, a time for celebration. The winter had been mild and the village where the man lived was welcoming several new members. All was well, until that day, that cursed day when He came. The man had been away hunting. He was not far from his village, carrying his heavy burden. A reindeer freshly killed and cleaned. Though the burden was heavy and tiresome, he wore a smile on his youthful face. This deer was the first one he had killed since his marriage to his longtime sweet heart only weeks before. He was eager to get home. He set the carcass of the deer on the ground and stretched, grateful to be rid of the burden, if only for a short time. He took a drought from his water skin and inhaled the crisp clean air. He spread his arms out to his sides and took another deep breath. He closed his eyes and spun in slow circles, smiling and laughing. What a joyous time to be alive, he thought. An unnatural chill passed through his body. His eyes flashed open and he dropped into a defensive crouch, drawing his sword from its sheath across his back. A shadow passed over him and he looked upwards. What he saw made him shiver again. Streaking like an arrow across the heavens was a huge dragon. Hits huge leathery wings beat lazily in the air. The sun shone brilliantly off of its pure white scales. It angled its flight towards the small village nestled in the tundra valley. The dragon was hungry. The man knew where the dragon was headed, knew that the villages meager defenses were no match for this awesome beast. He replaced his sword in its sheath and began to run, with all his speed and all his heart towards the village, which was still several miles away. He knew he could not reach the village in time to help, but he ran on none the less. As he crested the last ridge and looked down on the village his heart leaped into his throat. What buildings yet stood were engulfed in flames. He scanned the rubble, thankful to see a few survivors crawling out of their hiding places. He rushed to the small house he and his wife shared. He was overjoyed to see that it had been untouched in the attack. He burst through the door, expecting to see his wife worriedly waiting for his return. Instead he found it to be empty. He ran back out the door, his haste now two fold what it was. He began a frantic search for his beloved wife. He ran to one of the survivors and shook the already rattled young boy asking him where his wife was. “She was in the barn, tending the horses.” Said the frightened boy. Without a word the man rushed off in the direction of the village’s stables. When they came into sight he stopped short. Half of the stables still stood, but the other half lay scattered about the yard, as if something inside had exploded outward. He ran to the stable doors and flung them open. The devastation he found inside appalled him. Heavy beams lay about, fallen from the ceiling. Blood soaked the straw covered floor and all about were half-eaten carcasses, both human and horse. He called out his wife’s name. Nothing. He called again, a more desperate edge to his voice. Nothing. He began to despair when he heard a moan coming from one of the remaining walls. He rushed over and searched through the debris. He moved aside some planks and saw his wife. Pinned beneath one of the great beams that had once held the roof up. With strength borne of fear, anger, and love, he lifted the beam from his wife’s broken body and heaved it away. He knelt, and then sat next to his wife, cradling her head in his lap. Her eyes fluttered open. Her beautiful blue eyes gazed into his Hazel orbs. “Why are you so sad?” she asked as a tear streamed down the man’s cheek. “I’m sorry.” Was all he could choke past the tears. “For what are you sorry, my love?” “I was not here to protect you, I failed you.” “What nonsense you speak, dear. Had you been here, you too would be gone. There is nothing you could have done.” The luster in her eyes began to fade. Her time was running short. “Remember me, my love. I will be waiting for you.” With that she brought her hand to her mouth, first two fingers extended and kissed them. Then with her last ounce of strength she touched them to her husband’s lips. She closed her eyes and breathed her last. The man clutched his departed wife to his chest and wept. He knew not how long he sat there, holding his wife’s body before the organized search parties found them. The man slumped to his knees with the power of the memory. He screamed out his agony into the chill air, but there was no one to hear him. He wept as the memories persisted. The village mourned together, drawing support from each other, their numbers less by twenty. The man knelt next to his wife’s grave. A wooden cross upon which he had painstakingly carved her name along with the words, “I will wait for you.” Marked the spot As he knelt, he was filled with rage and sadness. Rage at the dragon for what had taken from him, and sadness for the loss of his wife. He drew his dagger, a gift from his wife, from his boot and grabbed the blade with his other hand. He ripped the blade from his hand, cutting deeply into his palm, and as the blood dripped from his clenched fist onto the freshly turned earth, he swore a blood oath of vengeance against the dragon. He remained in the village for the rest of the summer. Helping to rebuild and ensuring the villages survival through the long harsh winter. Yet he remained detached from the rest of the villagers. Often withdrawing for days, and speaking little when he was out and about. When the first snows fell, he packed his things and left. Saying farewell to no one. The rest of the village watches silently as he walked out of town, in search of the dragon’s lair. They all said a little prayer for him before turning their attentions back to preparing for winter. Drawing on all of the skills he had learned in the few years he had been an adventurer before settling down, which included a fair amount of magic, he located the dragon’s lair. It lay far to the north across the trackless icy wastelands. Without a moment’s hesitation, he turned north and began his trek across the unforgiving wastes. The man rose to his feet and began to walk again. The sun was sinking towards the horizon, he would have to find shelter soon. Shortly after the sun had set, while there was still light enough to see, the man found a small ice cave in which to spend the night. Inside he found an Icehunter, a strange breed of wolf that thrives in the icy wastes. He dispatched it without much trouble. He created a small magical fire in the cave. It needed no wood and produced no smoke, but provided ample warmth and light for survival. He cooked some of the Icehunter meat, it was tough and stringy, but filled his stomach. He fell asleep sitting cross-legged with his hands on his knees and his sword across his lap. He awoke with the dawn. He re-lit his magical flame and made breakfast of some more Icehunter meat. He knew that this day would bring him to the dragon’s lair. He crested the last ice ridge and beheld the entrance to the dragon’s lair. A huge icy plane stretched from the bottom of the ridge to the gaping entrance to the dragon’s icy domain. The man slipped over the edge of the ridge and slid down the embankment to the frosty plane. He confidently strode across the plane towards the entrance to the lair. He slipped on a hidden patch of ice and fell face first to the ground. He pushed himself up on his elbows and as his gaze came upon the ground, he came face to face with another man, frozen in the ice. The iceman wore clothing similar to his own and carried a sword and shield. Upon the shield was engraved the form of an eagle, wings spread wide and talons extended as if striking. The sword was long and slender with a hilt of gold intricately crafted in the shape of and eagle in flight, wings outspread making a crosspiece the legs and talons embedded into the grip. The pommel of the sword was an eagle talon clutching a red orb that seemed to glow from within with its own fire. The iceman himself was not in such good condition. Three ragged slashes ran across his torso, the obvious mark of dragon talons. It looked as if this man had come to fight the dragon, probably with a party of adventurers, and been killed and buried in the snow. Forgotten in the ensuing battle, his body lay, slowly becoming encased in ice. The lone man, who had come in search of vengeance, looked at his own crudely crafted sword, and knew that it would not be enough. He cast it aside, said a prayer, and began to melt the ice covering the body of the slain warrior. The process took hours, but at last he had freed the sword and shield from their icy entombment. The shield was amazingly light and fit his arm well. The sword was magnificent. Light weight and perfectly balanced, and when the man picked it up, the red orb in the pommel glowed even brighter. Equipped with his new sword and shield, he rose, thanked the iceman and continued on his way towards the lair. As he neared the entrance he felt an unnatural chill, he knew the dragon was home. “Dragon!” he shouted. “Come out Dragon!” Nothing happened for a long time. He was about to shout again when a voice like that of a mountain avalanche filled the plane. “Who would be foolish enough to wake Frost from his slumber.” The voice boomed. Then slowly, ever so slowly the giant white dragon stepped out of the shadows of its cave and into the sunlight. “I would, wyrm.” He said calmly as he stood there, in front of the dragon. “And you are?” “That is not important. What is important is that I swore a blood oath to track you down and kill you. And only one of us is leaving here alive.” “Aren’t you a little full of yourself. Ah well, it matters not. You shall be an easy meal.” With that the dragon took a great breath of air into its lungs. Knowing what was to come next, the lone man ran at the dragon and dove between its massive front legs before it could exhale. The dragon exhaled, breathing great gouts of icy cold air, but its target was no longer in front of it, but underneath. As he came out of his roll, the man bought his sword straight up, into the dragon’s soft underside. The blade sank in as if the dragon were made of butter, all the way to the eagle crosspiece. The dragon reared back, away from the stinging blade. The man ducked a viscous slash of the dragon’s claws, bringing the magnificent blade up and around, scoring a hit on the claw as it passed overhead. The dragon howled with rage, never before had a human so hurt it. The dance continued for several more minutes, with the man scoring several more minor hits. Then the dragon landed a hit with its tail. The man went flying into the air, only to crash into the icy wall surrounding the plane. Broken and beaten, the man lay there, his strength leaving him. The dragon closed in, slathering for its latest meal. The man knew the end was coming, he griped the hilt of his sword and waited. The dragon was close, he could feel the unnatural chill that emanated from the beast. The man devised a plan, it was desperate, but he saw no other choice. The dragon came into sight and moved directly for the seemingly helpless man. As the dragon’s jaws opened to bite down on its meal, the man, with his last ounce of will, jumped to his feat and drove the point of his blade into the roof of the dragons mouth, piercing the brain of the beast. The dragon reeled in pain. It fell backwards and writhed on the ground, slashing futilely at the offending blade. As the dragons death throws subsided, the man felt a chill come over him, he knew he was not long for this world. He sank down, his back to the ice wall, and faded into nothing. He ran towards his wife, beautiful as ever, wearing a flowing white gown, seeming to radiate of its own accord. They embraced each other. Then they turned, and together walked into eternity. |
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| © Copyright 2000 Keith W. Mullin - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Dusk Treader
Moderator
Senior Member
since 1999-06-18
Posts 1187St. Paul, MN |
Great piece, Keith. A good fantasy piece with some nice descriptions, and a dragon! Thumbs up on that. Enjoyed the piece, and the ending was very cool. In flames I shall not be consumed, but reborn. -- Abrahm Simons |
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