Pray that Runa’s message gets through, she thought, preparing to cast another spell. Otherwise, they’ll all be killed.
Eventually they made it to the base of the cliff, where a small plateau rose from the stony floor. It was a defensible position that would allow them to begin climbing so they could get at the ice. Runa directed them to climb the bluff and set up a hasty perimeter as the draugr pressed them hard against the rocks.
A wave of dizziness rocked Freya, but she continued drafting anyway, shooting fire from her open palms and burning a group of enemies. They thrashed as they died, writhing silently as they fell to the ground and clawed at their own flesh.
Magic Points: 20 out of 60
Vigor Points: 1 out of 2
She dropped to her knees, overcome from the effects of too much drafting. Her stomach heaved, and for a moment, she thought that she might vomit.
To her side, a nameless fire brother gasped as a blade pierced his side, staining his crimson robes with an even deeper shade of red. Another fireborn, a woman, screamed as she was yanked into the mob by her hair, an axe quieting her screams a moment later. Runa was shouting something, but Freya could barely hear her. Her ears were ringing, and her vision was starting to blur. Despite the flame spirits boiling inside of her, she began to feel very cold. The shadows of the valley were closing in and wrapping her up in darkness.
Many of the fireborn were already on top of the plateau, but far fewer than the number they’d started with. They rained flames down upon the heads of the draugr, though it did little to slow them down. The monsters strode past the smoldering corpses of their fellows, determined to overwhelm them with sheer numbers.
Frosts... how can we hope to defeat them?
Something grabbed her arm. It pulled her toward the wall, a firm grip that kept her from collapsing. At first, she thought that it was a draugr, but her muddled thoughts realized that it was pulling her away from danger. She looked up, half-expecting to see Brimir, only to find Runa’s resolute expression. For a moment, Freya was awestruck. How could this woman, this fire sister that she’d treated so poorly, be trying to save her life?
Shame pierced Freya’s heart; the shame of knowing that if their roles were reversed, Freya wouldn’t have done the same thing for her.
Runa half-dragged her to the base of the plateau. “Can you walk?”
Freya nodded, forcing herself to get to her feet.
“Good,” Runa said, conjuring a globe of fire and hurling it over Freya’s shoulder. Behind her, it exploded with a flash of heat. “Now, I need to you climb. Can you do that, Freya?”
Again, she nodded.
Runa gave her a small, encouraging smile. “Then go. You should be safe when you get to the top.”
Numbly, Freya stumbled past Runa and scrambled on top of a small boulder. Runa stayed behind and continued drafting as the last of the fireborn prepared to make their climb.
Freya glanced over her shoulder as she perched just beneath the ledge of the bluff. A vast sea of glowing eyes sprawled out before her, filling the valley like a black-and-purple flood. She noticed movement just beneath her. Runa was at the forefront, fighting for the rest of the fireborn to get to safety.
Behind her, Brimir and Solveig stood near the wall, their hands oddly devoid of fire. Brimir was whispering something to her, and Sol nodded slightly, her eyes fixed on Runa’s back.
Oh, gods, Freya thought. Not this. Not now.
Others were clambering up the rock face, but Freya found herself descending, her stomach twisted into a tight knot. Her feet moved of their own accord, and she approached the pair just as Brimir broke away, making his way to where Runa stood before the encroaching dead.
“What are you doing?” Solveig asked. “Get back, you’ll ruin everything!” She reached to grab Freya’s shoulder, but Freya twisted, avoiding her hand. “No!” Solveig lunged, nearly tackling Freya to the ground with an almost feral light in her eyes.
“Get off me!” Freya snapped, pushing against her unrelenting friend as she scratched and tore at her robes.
There wasn’t much time. The draugr were closing in, and Brimir was almost upon Runa, his hands glowing as he began to draft.
Freya shoved as hard as she could, taking Sol by the shoulders and forcing her away.
Strength Check: 6 + Ability Modifier (-1).
Successful.
Her collar tore as the woman was dislodged, but that was the least of her concerns. Her eyes were only on Solveig, who screamed in terror as she tumbled past the magical perimeter. The flames didn’t burn her, but the draugr were another matter. They were on top of her in an instant, bringing weapons and fingernails to bear against her. Her shrieks reached new heights as the creatures tore into her flesh, but they were cut short when black tentacles enveloped her face, wrapping around her neck and entering her throat.
Freya looked away, repulsed by what she’d accidently done. She hadn’t given me a choice, she thought, pushing herself to keep moving. Gods, Sol. Why did you make me do it?
Only a few fireborn remained at the base of the plateau. The rest had been killed or had already climbed up to safety. A new Firewall had been created, and Runa stood holding it in place, drafting until everyone else could escape. Brimir stood right behind her, both of his hands alight.
The thought of drafting any more made Freya’s stomach churn, and she was nearly out of flame spirits. Then she remembered the knife Jarl had given her, resting in one of the pockets of her robes.
She reached inside and drew the weapon, holding it awkwardly as she closed the distance between them. Brimir raised his hands, pointing the spell at the middle of Runa’s back but leaving his own back exposed. He didn’t see Freya coming.
She stabbed her former lover by driving the blade deep just to the left of his spine.
Sneak Attack. Fatal Strike: Stabbed enemy in the heart.
He cried out and staggered, his fires dissipating as he reached for the handle sticking out of his back. Runa turned, shocked upon finding the two of them standing just a few feet away.
Brimir stared at Freya, and she wasn’t sure if the pained expression was from the wound or the fact that she’d betrayed him. He turned toward her, mouth agape as he tried to say something, but only a wheeze escaped his lips. He pitched forward, falling face-first onto the ground. Blood welled up like a spring and spread across his back.
Chapter 26
To Sacrifice
“The draugr presented the gravest threat the Nine Clanholds had ever seen. Even then, we had no idea what we were dealing with.”
—Memoir, Rune Plate 6
Jarl didn’t want to die.
He’d always known that if he became a battleborn, he would probably be killed in battle. But it had seemed so vague to him, the concept of dying. No longer. Now, surrounded by death personified, he knew what real fear was. He faced his own mortality, and it made him wish that he could run, that he could be somewhere very far away, that he could be safe.
He wanted nothing more than to return to his old life, eking out a living as a mud farmer.
No, he thought, gritting his teeth. That’s not who I am. I’m a battleborn. This is where I’m meant to be.
He swung his axe for perhaps the thousandth time, cutting a draugr’s shoulder and sending it careening into the writhing sea of enemies.
6 Damage.
He was beset on all sides by the dead, and yet he continued to fight, ignoring the burning pain in his arm and back while adding to the pile of corpses at his feet. Beneath him, Halvard Bloodhammer fell in and out of consciousness, his body marked by numerous wounds. His eyelids fluttered, and though he sometimes spoke, his words were unintelligible and drowned out by the sounds of war.
Hold on, Shieldbreaker, Jarl thought, turning yet again to engage an enemy behind him. Don’t give in to the darkness.
Deep down, he knew that he fought an unwinnable battle. Even if he had the Stamina to fight every single draugr in this valley, his own
wounds would eventually be the death of him. More than a dozen shallow cuts marred his flesh, and a long gash on his scalp bled constantly into his eyes.
Health Points: 10 out of 35
Stamina Points: 8 out of 25
Afflictions: Flogged Back. Disadvantage to Strength and Agility rolls.
Bleeding. Damage over time.
Wounded Forearm. Unable to fight with two hands.
He blinked away the sweat and blood and swung his axe in a wide arc, forcing a group of the monsters back. His movements were growing sluggish, and his weapon felt like an anvil in his hands. It was only a matter of time before he, too, fell into unconsciousness. The horde would fall on him in one great wave and tear him limb from limb.
“No!” The word burst painfully from Jarl’s throat. He tapped into the hidden reserve of strength inside of him, expending a Rage Point to offset his numerous afflictions.
The world turned a violent shade of red. The axe grew lighter in his grip. Swinging wildly, he was able to disarm a nearby draugr before cleaving him from forehead to jaw.
13 Damage.
“Come on!” he roared, kicking the body out of the way. “Is this the best you can do?”
The enemies still came, but they stumbled on the blood-slicked stones and numerous corpses.
Jarl screamed wordlessly, the bloodlust consuming his every thought. He swung with reckless abandon, hacking and chopping and dismembering everything that was stupid enough to get close to him. Something cut his leg, but he barely felt it. He was too enthralled by the rush of the fight, by the pounding rhythm dominating his senses.
-3 Health Points.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice screamed for him to run, but he ignored it. There would be no turning back for him. He was battleborn. He’d reached the point of no return.
He was dimly aware of flames exploding as the fireborn gathered their might at the base of a frozen waterfall. Part of him wondered what they were doing, but the thought was distant, drowned out by the fury pulsing through his veins.
He sliced a draugr in the chest.
4 Damage.
He severed a hand.
7 Damage.
He separated a creature’s head from its body.
11 Damage.
Jarl was one with the weapon, his actions smooth and forceful. The Rage urged him on, pushing him past the limits of his natural Strength. Can’t... stop, he thought doggedly. Can’t... give in.
He spun, his axe biting into three draugr at once.
8 Damage.
3 Damage.
5 Damage.
At the edge of Jarl’s vision, a disturbance rippled through the undead mob. He could only focus on it for a second before he was forced to look away. Something’s happening, he thought.
He continued fighting, struggling to keep him and the war leader alive. He didn’t know where Sten Haig, the other war leaders, or anybody else was, but he didn’t care. Halvard Bloodhammer was his only focus, the only person in the world he could think about. If he fell, then so would Jarl. It was the way things had to be.
He pushed a draugr out of the way, and was surprised to see the dour visage of Asger Ironfists below him. The bald-headed warrior looked momentarily awed by his presence, but then quickly resumed a fighting stance, his twin hatchets becoming spinning blurs. Bjorn Stonebreaker came next, his greataxe dripping with dark blood. He boomed a laugh upon seeing Jarl, and his red-bearded face split into a wide grin.
“Jarl Beckström! You crazy, glorious bastard!”
Beneath him, Halvard stirred. “My men,” he rasped, barely able to lift his head. “I knew... that they would come.”
Jarl croaked at the other warriors, “Get the war leader! We have to get out of here!”
“We know.” Asger scaled the mound of bodies as if it were no obstacle at all. “We got a message from the fireborn. They’re going to bring down the whole freezin’ mountainside. We need to move to the other side of the valley, now.”
Jarl nodded. Stumbling, he made it back down to the ground. With the battleborn surrounding them, the threat had been temporarily pushed back. There were other war leaders, warbands he didn’t recognize. Apparently, Halvard’s shield wall had rallied the rest of Norvaask together. Now, it seemed they had a fighting chance.
Jarl could barely stand as the Rage subsided within him. His legs felt like jelly, and yet he couldn’t keep a grin off his face. He’d done it. He’d actually rescued the Shieldbreaker from certain death. If he hadn’t been on the verge of passing out, he might have laughed and danced a jig.
Someone put an arm around him. He was surprised to see that it was Brynjar, the man he’d dueled at the war camp.
“You did good today, Beckström.”
Jarl gaped at him, momentarily stunned. “I... thank you.”
The battleborn nodded. He looked more than a little impressed. “Can you still fight?”
Jarl nodded. “Yes. I can.”
“Good, because we aren’t out of this yet. We’ll need your help holding the line until we can get to safety.” Brynjar held on to Jarl, helping him to stay on his feet. He turned and looked at him with something Jarl had never seen before: respect. “You stick with us and we’ll see this through. Don’t worry—we’ve got your back, battleborn.”
Jarl’s chest swelled with pride. His mouth worked, but he couldn’t speak. Instead, he nodded, readjusting the grip on his axe before hobbling toward the stony outcropping. The other warriors fell in around them.
Runa pulled Freya onto the plateau, leaving the other fireborn to form a protective shield. Panting heavily, they moved to the center of the rock formation and sheltered for a moment against the undead tide.
“Thank you,” Runa said between breaths. “For saving me. I... wasn’t expecting that.”
Freya shrugged. “It was nothing,” she replied, though her voice sounded hollow in her own ears.
“It wasn’t nothing. You stabbed Brimir before he could kill me. I know that you two were close. That must have been difficult for you.”
Again, she shrugged. “I just... couldn’t let him do that to you. It wasn’t right.”
Runa nodded, turning her attention to the fighting. Freya followed her gaze. Fire rained down from the plateau, burning the draugr as they tried to clamber up the rocks. Orange light flashed in violent bursts. They were in a good position. While they wouldn’t be able to hold out forever, they were safe for now.
Freya pointed to the frozen waterfall above them. “So... how do you propose that we proceed?”
“Well,” Runa began, looking for an instant like the uncertain outcast she’d always been, “assuming the battleborn got my message, we should start right away. We can begin by melting the uppermost layer of ice. Two fireborn on either side should do the trick. Once we destabilize the top, the rest should come crashing down.”
Freya looked up and took a deep breath. “Two fireborn, you say?”
“I don’t think we’ll need any more than that.”
Freya got to her feet, still feeling weak from all the drafting she’d done. Even so, a feeling of calm suffused her body, preparing her for what she knew was coming. Freya looked at her rival, the woman she’d hated for years, and bowed her head. “If you’ll take me, I’d be honored to help you melt the ice.”
Runa seemed taken aback. She frowned, opened her mouth, closed it again, then finally nodded. “Of course,” she said after a prolonged hesitation. “I’d gladly accept your help.”
Freya glanced at the remaining fireborn. “What about them?”
“Once we begin climbing, we won’t need their protection. I’ll order them to get themselves to safety. When everyone is in position, we’ll start drafting.”
“All right, then.” Freya returned her gaze to the battlefield. There seemed to be no end to the flood of draugr. On the far side of the valley, she could see a large group of battleborn making for higher ground. “I think the war leaders got your message.”
Runa nodded. “Good. Let’s get to it, then.”
She relayed the orders to the other fireborn, telling them to leave after they began their ascent. There was a nearby ledge that would probably protect them from the avalanche. Afterward, Runa met Freya at the base of the waterfall and handed her some flame spirits.
“This is all we have left,” she explained. “We’re going to have to make do with what we have.”
Wordlessly, Freya drank, the potion flooding her belly with heat.
Magic Points: 44 out of 60
Vigor Points: 1 out of 2
The flame spirits made her sick, but somehow, she managed to keep from vomiting.
With a nod from Runa, the two put on their gloves and began to climb.
The path was uneven, but fortunately, there were plenty of hand and footholds for them to use. Even with her waning Stamina, Freya was able to scale the cliff.
Strength Check: 11 + Ability Modifier (-1).
Successful.
Beneath them, the fireborn abandoned the plateau and began making their way to shelter, the draugr harrying them every step of the way. The moonlight shone upon the conflict and illuminated the writhing black mass of reanimated corpses. The battleborn seemed to have assembled, with most of the small pockets of resistance joining together on top of a small rise. Freya hoped that Jarl was with them. Even after everything he’d put her through, she still didn’t want him to die.
A gust of wind buffeted her from the side, and she turned away from the view, clinging to the rock face and shivering.
Nearby, Runa was similarly hindered. Her blonde hair whipped about her scarred face, and she tightly hugged the cliffside until the wind subsided.
Frostworld: Ice & Blood: A LitRPG/GameLit Viking Adventure Page 30
