Freya placed a hand on Jarl’s shoulder as they walked along the top of a ridge. He stopped and looked back at her questioningly, then followed her gaze as she pointed in the distance. Several hilltops over, gathering on a low plateau, were numerous points of light and a mass of figures. They moved about in loose formations, traveling northeast, and judging by the fires they carried, Jarl could tell that they were human.
“Norvaask,” Freya whispered, leaning in close.
Jarl frowned. “How can you tell?”
“The fireborn,” she answered quietly. “They light the way, gathering in groups with every war party. That’s the way the Vanir teach us to fight.”
“That must be the advance force,” Jarl reasoned, resting his axe on his shoulder. His gaze lingered for a moment, then wandered down the slope to where the draugr were silently marching. “Frosts,” he cursed. “They’re heading right for them! Our warriors will never see them coming.”
“And there’s a lot more draugr than there are battleborn,” Freya responded gravely. “It’s going to be a slaughter.”
“We have to do something!” Jarl made as if to depart.
Freya grabbed his arm and pulled him back, nearly causing him to slip and tumble off the ridge. “Wait!” she hissed, holding on tight. “Wait and think for once, you idiot. If you rush off, you’ll only get yourself killed. Then you won’t be any use to anyone.”
Jarl glared at her, then whispered, "Then what do you suggest?"
Freya chewed her lip and looked around, her brow furrowing in concentration. After a minute, she pointed to a large rock formation on the ridge just ahead of them. "Do you see that rock?"
Jarl nodded.
"We need to alert the battleborn that they're about to be ambushed," she explained. "If I could climb up there, I could signal to them using magic."
"But wouldn't that also draw the draugr?"
She tapped the broad head of his axe with her finger. "That's where you come in."
Jarl gave her a flat look. "You want me to defend you against hundreds of draugr alone?"
Again, she pointed at the rock formation. "You won't have to—not all at once, anyway. If I climb to the top, you can stand on the ledge just below me. They won't be able to swarm around you. The way is narrow enough that it’ll force them to come at you one, maybe two at a time. You should be able to handle that, right?"
He thought for a moment and nodded. He didn’t like the idea of standing alone against a tide of the risen dead, but he had to admit that her plan was probably their best option. Sten’s men were moving too slowly, and the draugr were gaining on them, quickly and silently.
They were almost out of time.
"Let's go," he said at length.
Together, they made their way down the ridge and toward the rock formation.
The climb was difficult, made more so by the darkness. The stone was rough and covered with lichen. Their footholds crumbled beneath them, sending bits of debris tumbling down the hill. As they neared the top, the wind whipped around them, tugging at their hair and clothes and stinging their faces. Jarl gave Freya a boost to get her to the pinnacle of the rock, then planted his feet and peered warily down the steep decline. If the draugr didn’t kill him, then a fall from this height certainly would.
"Are you ready?" she called down to him, raising her voice to be heard over the wind.
"As ready as I'll ever be," he replied just as loudly.
Reaching into a pocket, Freya pulled out a flask and drank. She took several long pulls before discarding the empty container, her mouth and nose leaking smoke. She tugged off her gloves and held up both hands, staring intently at them as small flames began to sprout from her fingertips. Soon, both appendages were blazing like a campfire, and when she brought her palms together, it only made the flames grow brighter.
Jarl was forced to look away as she held her hands above her head, the light searing his eyes and temporarily blinding him. When his vision cleared, he could see that the whole ridge was illuminated by her flames, and that many of the draugr in the valley below had stopped marching, their glowing purple eyes gazing up at them.
"All right," he growled, setting his jaw in determination. "Let’s do this."
One by one, the dead began to climb the ridge, making their way inexorably toward their position. It started as a trickle, then turned into a flood as scores of the creatures began coming at them.
Behind Jarl, the flames reached a new intensity as Freya sent a pillar of solid fire shooting into the air. This only broadened the radius of her light, turning them into a beacon for miles in all directions.
"Let's hope this gets their attention," Jarl called, keeping a wary eye on the approaching draugr.
"I'll hold it as long as I can," Freya replied through gritted teeth. "You just keep them from killing me."
"Sounds simple enough," Jarl grumbled as the first draugr scrambled up the rock.
The dead warrior had several tentacles sprouting from its body, one from its mouth and two from wounds on its torso. It wore faded leathers and a dented helm, with a long, frost-tipped spear clasped in skeletal hands.
The draugr lunged, stabbing upward in an attempt to skewer Jarl through the belly. Because of the height difference, it attacked with disadvantage.
Jarl batted the thrust aside and followed through with a downward chop.
7 Damage.
He severed the creature's arm at the elbow, knocking the spear from its grasp, but the draugr continue forward, grasping with its other hand. With another swipe, Jarl decapitated the monster and sent its head and body tumbling down the side of the ridge.
10 Damage.
It was immediately replaced by another, this one equally grotesque and wielding a rust-covered axe.
Freya was right. Their position on top of this rock forced the draugr into a bottleneck. They could only approach one at a time, fighting on bad footing without the advantage of height. Even so, their sheer numbers made defending Freya a difficult task. For every draugr that Jarl slew, there was another one to replace it, each attacking ferociously and without fear.
Jarl kicked another of the monsters and sent it falling backwards into its undead companions. This gave him several seconds to recuperate, a precious respite from all the fighting.
His back was already beginning to throb from his still-tender wounds. The exertion, combined with the heat from Freya's fires, made sweat pour down the sides of his face despite the chilly pull of the wind.
Casting his eyes beyond the swarm corpses, he saw that the warbands were on the move. They were making their way off the plateau and toward their position.
"Freya!" he called without looking back. "I think it's working!"
"Good," she replied, sounding strained. "I'm not sure how much longer I can keep this going!" Her magic was a roaring inferno, a tower of living flame that extended high into the air. The ice and snow around them had all melted, sending rivulets of water cascading down the craggy, uneven stone.
Jarl hooked his axe around the shaft of a charging draugr's spear, yanking the creature forward and punching it in the side of the head.
5 Damage.
The skull cracked like an eggshell and the monster toppled, tentacles squirming as if they themselves felt pain.
He grunted as the flat of a blade slapped against his wounded forearm, sending a shockwave of pain all the way up to his shoulder. The draugr slipped while attempting to run him through, but Jarl managed to maintain a grip on his own weapon and cleave its skull in two.
Critical Hit: 20 Damage.
Dark ichor and chunks of flesh splattered his chest as the monster dropped, falling like a lead weight from the ridge.
Frosts, there’s so many of them! he thought, moving on to the next one without bothering to wipe away the mess. I can’t fight them off forever, and once my Stamina runs out, they’ll probably overwhelm and kill me. He knew without checking his stats that his Stamina Points were dropping fast. He only
prayed that the Norvaask advance force would arrive before he made a fatal mistake.
Jarl continued fighting, ignoring the pain in his back and arm. He slew one draugr after another, chopping, kicking, pushing, and disemboweling until the ridge was littered with the twice-dead remains of his enemies. He lost himself in the rhythm of the fight, pushing himself harder than he’d ever pushed himself before. He became one with the axe, attacking with every ounce of strength he possessed until he lost all track of time and conscious thought.
It wasn’t until the mob began to ebb that he finally looked up to see what was going on.
Beneath the sheer cliffs, on the far side of the valley below, an army of battleborn joined the fray. They came with spears and axes, shields and fireborn, breaking against the draugr horde and pulling its attention away from Jarl and Freya. Within a few minutes, the swarm began vacating the ridge to join the fight below.
Cutting down the last draugr, Jarl turned to regard his sister. She stood with her eyes squeezed shut, a pitiful stream of fire still shooting from her hands. “Freya, it’s done!” he shouted, setting his axe aside and scrambling up the rocks. “The battleborn have arrived—you can stop now. Freya!”
Her head drooped as the fire petered out, her slight figure swaying in the wind. An instant later, she collapsed, falling limply from her precarious perch. Jarl leapt and grabbed her, preventing her from falling to her death but straining his back in the process. Gritting his teeth, he cradled her head against his chest. “Freya, are you all right? Wake up! The battleborn are here. Everything’s okay!”
She groaned, and after a moment her eyelids fluttered open. “Good... to hear,” she replied weakly, the corner of her mouth tugging up in a faint smile. “Glad... we didn’t die.”
Despite himself, Jarl laughed. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”
They sat there for a few moments, the wind buffeting them mercilessly as they gazed down at the jagged hills. Far below, the valley was alive with conflict. Sporadic bursts of fire illuminated the scene, giving them a view of shield walls clashing with waves of the undead. Although the battleborn appeared to be outnumbered two to one, both sides seemed equally matched.
Freya straightened and wrapped her arms around herself, shivering. “I think it’s safe for us to go down now,” she said. “They seem to have forgotten about us.”
Jarl grunted his agreement and helped her down, careful to avoid slipping on the blood-slicked rocks. He retrieved his axe then made his way to the ridge, warily eying his surroundings as he guided his sister.
“I can’t believe that actually worked,” she remarked as together they made their way along the hilltop.
“Half of Njordrassil probably saw you,” Jarl answered, wincing at the pain in his back. “Those flames of yours were certainly bright enough. One of their scouts must have spotted you and alerted Sten Haig.”
She nodded and silently gazed at the raging battle.
There were hundreds on both sides, draugr and battleborn milling about like angry insects. Steep cliffs flanked both sides, creating a basin surrounded by ice and stone.
As Jarl watched, studying the battle from the top of the ridge, he noticed movement coming from the hills to the north. He squinted, trying to make out the figures pouring into the valley directly behind the battleborn. At first, he thought that they might be reinforcements coming from the war camp, but then he realized that they were coming from the wrong direction—and they carried no visible signs of fire.
His heart sank, and he immediately felt the blood drain from his face. A quick glance was enough to tell him that this new army was bigger than the other two combined. “By the gods,” he murmured, prompting Freya to follow his gaze.
“What is it?” she asked, worry creeping into her voice.
“More draugr.” He watched in horror as they disappeared behind the back side of the chasm. “They’re attacking them from behind. Freya, they’re going to be completely surrounded!”
Chapter 25
Between Ice and a Hard Place
“That didn’t sway the highborn, though, as they were too intent on their struggles for power.”
—Memoir, Rune Plate 6
They made their way down the hill without argument, both determined to somehow help their embattled clanhold.
“Going to get ourselves killed,” Freya muttered, but it wasn’t a dismissal, merely a statement of fact. “This whole endeavor was avoidable. Everyone here is going to die for nothing.”
Jarl didn’t respond. He focused on his breathing, on descending the slope without breaking a leg. Need to rescue Halvard Bloodhammer, he thought. Our clanhold needs him. It was a singular goal, the only thing he could think of doing. The man was their best war leader. Without him, they’d be hopeless. If we manage to survive the night, that is.
Screams filled the gulley like a terrible song. People were dying down there, assaulted on all sides by the walking dead.
When they reached the edge of the battle, Freya stopped and drew out another flask of flame spirits. “I need to find the Vanir,” she said. “They’ll be rallying the fireborn. That’s where I’ll do the most good.”
“I’m going to find Halvard’s warband,” he replied without hesitation. “Here, you may need this if you run out of potions.” He handed her a knife from his belt. It was a simple weapon, a hand’s length of iron with a needle-like point, but it was better than nothing.
She looked at him for a moment, then accepted the blade. Uncertainty flickered in her eyes. “Then... I guess this is where we part ways.”
“I guess so.” He readjusted his grip on his axe, then turned, ready to fight his way to the Shieldbreaker’s men.
“Brother,” she called, causing him to stop. Her expression was a mask of concern. “Take care of yourself. All right?”
He nodded, a grim half-smile gracing his lips. “You do the same.”
Jarl threw himself into the fray.
The battle was a chaotic melee, a violent clash of blood and iron and flesh and glowing eyes. Men screamed in agony as draugr fell wordlessly upon them, ice-covered weapons cutting them down in droves. Fireborn filled the night with sporadic bursts of flame, but it only added disorienting flashes to the confusion. The noise was unbelievable, and Jarl found himself panicking as the combat utterly consumed him.
Gods above! he thought, dodging blows from every which way. This isn’t like the raid. Frosts... this is madness!
Jarl cut his way through the churning battle, using his axe to devastating effect on an unsuspecting draugr. He attacked every enemy he could, hacking and cleaving his way across the field with no sense of direction. He was completely enveloped by the conflict, and moved with only moonlight and the occasion burst of fire to guide him.
Everywhere he looked, battleborn died. Slithering tentacles waggled as draugr scrambled over the bodies of the slain.
Pain accompanied him. His back protested every movement and his arm throbbed where the dire wolf had ravaged him. Still, he was able to suffer through the misery, his attention drawn to the chaos around him. The battle gave him new energy that dampened the pain—made it bearable. He was certain that if he survived the night, the pain would probably overwhelm him.
One enemy turned to attack Jarl, swinging its sword at his head.
Jarl avoided the blow, then struck out with an attack of his own.
9 Damage.
He opened the creature’s belly, then shoved it hard to the ground. Using the back of his axe like a hammer, he brought it down to attack its exposed skull.
6 Damage.
The head caved, spraying Jarl’s face with icy cold blood.
Something heavy rammed him from the side, nearly knocking him off balance and sending him into the waiting tentacles of another draugr.
Agility Saving Throw: 3 + Ability Modifier (1).
Unsuccessful.
He twisted to avoid falling, but in so doing slipped on an ice patch. He careened into a pile of dead bo
dies. Sticky gore clung to his clothes and his injuries flared, but he was back on his feet in an instant, his axe swinging before him to drive away the encroaching enemies.
Another monster lunged, and Jarl barely managed to strike the thing in the shoulder.
4 Damage.
His blade struck home, but it was wrenched from his grasp as the draugr pulled away. He stumbled forward, trying to retrieve his weapon, only to be struck hard by a club on the back.
-5 Health Points.
Pain exploded across his shoulder, and Jarl spun to see where the attack had come from.
A hulking draugr stood before him with one glowing eye and a missing jaw. A mass of tentacles squirmed from its open neck, reaching for him like a dozen slimy hands. The creature raised its club again to strike, but Jarl rushed in and tackled it to the ground. The two collapsed in a tangled heap.
Somewhere nearby, fire erupted, bathing him in light and heat.
Grunting, Jarl pushed aside the grasping tentacles and tried to wrestle the weapon out of the draugr’s hand.
Strength Check: 12 + Ability Modifier (2).
Unsuccessful.
The monster was strong, and as Jarl struggled to disarm it, he was soon overpowered. The draugr rolled on top of him and leaned in, tentacles forcing themselves into his mouth and nose. Jarl screamed and fought desperately to shove the vile things away, but the creature was too strong. It held him down as if he were a child.
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