by David Estes
A chill ran through Tarin, and not from the cold. Their progress seemed to be slowing even further, the human flow bottlenecking as those at the fore barged their way through the snow, stamping out a path.
Despite the lighthearted stories and japes that had masked the frailty of their position, he sensed an underlying current that seemed to buzz through the crowd. And he sensed something darker.
Yes, his monster hissed, unexpectedly surging partly through the hole he’d created.
Snarls erupted all around and amongst them as pale forms erupted from the snow, where they’d been hidden beneath the drifts. Tarin didn’t have time to ponder how the barbarians had managed to hold their breaths for so long, because one was close enough to grab Annise by the portion of her long dark hair sprouting from the base of her helm. The barbarian slung her down, tensing to spring on top of her, even as she screamed, “RUN!”
But Tarin had not been idle. The instant the monster had slipped its bounds he’d been moving toward his queen, his love. He clamped his gauntleted hand around its thick neck and squeezed, holding tight. The strong beast tried to twist around to claw at him, but it was not just facing Tarin Sheary, the Armored Knight, but a man filled with the strength of a monster conjured by a great sorceress.
He squeezed and squeezed and squeezed, growling like a beast. And squeezed.
The creature gagged, still fighting fruitlessly, but then its body sagged and Tarin held it for a moment longer to be certain before dropping it into the snow.
His monster shrieked with glee.
Annise was wide-eyed and staring at him, and he tried to see what was in those dark, crystalline eyes. Horror? Fear? But no, they were eyes furious with determination, looking upon him as her ally not enemy.
Tarin helped her up and then they fought.
Annise
Annise had heard the hiss of the monster in her own mind just before the barbarian’s eyes had rolled back, its vicious life extinguished. And she’d felt…
There was no other word for it.
Joy.
And she understood. Finally, she understood the demon Tarin faced. But he didn’t face it alone, nor should he have to. She also knew now wasn’t the time for an existential discussion with her paramour, for the very existence of an entire nation hung in the balance, clinging to the scales of time, which were quickly tipping against them.
Tarin used his massive strength to fling her to her feet, and she spun, locating Zelda, who was battling one of the barbarians, her short sword flashing while the creature swiped its claws at her throat. Her aunt was a strong woman, as tough as they come even for the north, but was outweighed by this female four or five to one. The next time it raked at her its claws found her arm. They scratched across her armor harmlessly, but the impact was enough to knock her blade from her hand and then it was upon her, pouncing like a cat.
Zelda jammed her arms straight out, locking her elbows, holding the female at bay as it gnashed its teeth.
Until its head slumped to its chest, its neck severed halfway through from behind.
“You’re welcome, Auntie,” Annise said shoving the beast aside.
“I’ll pay it forward,” Zelda promised, flashing a grin. She rolled over and got to her feet, retrieving her weapon.
The two women stood back to back, searching through the snowfall but seeing nothing, the battle having moved away from them. They only knew it continued from the shriek of steel on claw, the angry snarls of their foes, and the screams of the refugees as they fled.
“C’mon,” Annise said, following the trail of packed snow and the sounds of struggle. Others might’ve run in the opposite direction, or played dead until it was over. But this was not someone else. This was Queen Annise Gäric and Lady Zelda Gäric, and they ran toward danger like it was the only thing that could save them.
Christoff
Christoff longed to race back along the edge of the line, to defend every last soul against this soulless Horde. But he didn’t, for honor forbade him.
He’d been charged by the queen herself with leading her people to safety, and he didn’t take that vow lightly. So instead of turning back to fight, he did the only other thing he could do to help them:
He led, plunging through the thick burrows of snow with several other soldiers, including Private Sheary. They swam through it, punched through it, lowered their shoulders and barged through it, constantly stamping their feet to compress the powder into a more passable road. It was exhausting, but Christoff refused to give in to nature, not when the lives of an entire kingdom depended on it.
Behind him, he heard the battle rage. “Hold the perimeter!” he shouted to the wind, hoping the sound would carry to those he commanded. It was merely a reminder to maintain their formation to protect the innocents; he knew they would fight, for he’d learned to trust the honor of these soldiers, both the career men who had fought for years and the newly recruited and trained women who were as courageous a group as he’d ever met.
In this case, he trusted them to do their duty, while he upheld his vow.
So he swam and punched and barged and stamped, furrowing a trail through the snow, all the while searching ahead for any sign of their destination.
But all he saw was snow, a wet, white curtain that made every step feel more difficult than the last.
Tarin
More forms exploded from the snow, remaining hidden until they felt the footfalls of the refugees. One grabbed a boy of no more than ten by the ankles and he screamed as he was dragged beneath the layer of powder.
Tarin lunged for him, clutching the boy’s hands to arrest his momentum, and then shoving off and diving past him to get at his attacker. The boy’s scream reached a crescendo and Tarin found the barbarian with its teeth sunk into his leg, shaking its head like a dog ravaging a meaty bone.
Tarin’s anger was exceeded only by the desire for violence of the monster inside him, and together they melded into a ball of white-hot fury that descended on their foe like a falling star. He snapped its neck with a single jerk.
The monster wanted to kill kill kill
Tarin roared, mentally shoving back with all his might, for he needed his mind right now, he needed to think, because there was something important that could not be accomplished by bloodlust alone…
The boy, he remembered, even as the monster shrieked behind the final brick of the wall he’d reassembled in his mind.
The child was sobbing, fat tears rolling down his cheeks, which were now as pale as starlight. He clutched at his leg, fresh blood painting his fingers scarlet.
Tarin didn’t know what to do. All around him barbarians were killing his people. Annise was in danger. His friends. His last remaining family, Mona. They couldn’t win this battle, which left only one other option:
Escape.
With that word echoing in his brain, Tarin grabbed the crying boy, slung him over his shoulder, and ran.
Annise
Annise tried not to look upon the dead as they raced to catch up to the battle. Of the corpses, only three were barbarians. Three out of dozens.
Hatred for these merciless creatures burned through her mind as she ran, the icy snow lashing at her face, blinding her.
When they finally reached the end of the train, they fell upon a pair of barbarians from behind, not caring that it was a dishonorable way to attack an enemy, for this wasn’t a battle anymore—it was a massacre, and they were fighting for survival not victory.
With the two barbarians dead, they raced onward, fighting and killing as they went, joining groups of soldiers to help sway the advantage. Annise looked for Tarin, but he was nowhere to be found, lost amongst the carnage and the wailing wind.
A barbarian emerged on the edge of her peripheral vision, a blur of white skin that closed far too fast for her to react. Its claws slashed across her cheek and she felt a sharp sting and then heat as she fell back. Zelda yelled something and tackled the barbarian, knocking it from astride Annise,
stabbing with her sword. Annise joined her cry and used her fists to pummel the creature, tasting blood in her mouth.
At some point, they realized the creature was no longer snarling or trying to defend itself, and Annise wondered how long it had been dead.
Her energy flagging, it was all she could do to drag herself to her feet and stumble forward. More dead. Some were barbarians. Not enough.
They soldiered on, helping those they could. Annise knew this was the end of them all, but she would fight to the last. They all would, because they were warriors of the north and that was the only way they knew.
She tripped, her legs threatening to give out even as another barbarian blocked the way forward, tossing its latest victim aside. She was so tired. Giving in would be so easy.
Don’t you do it, she heard in her mind, and it wasn’t the hiss of the monster. Her breath caught.
Tarin? Is that you?
His voice was as clear in her mind as if he was standing next to her, his lips brushing her ear. You are the queen of the north, defender of the realm, defeater of sellswords, conqueror of ice bears. Come back to me, my love. Come back.
Her jaw locked and she sucked in a breath. And just before she charged at her foe, she heard a new sound.
And it was hope.
Christoff
Christoff was too exhausted to be surprised when the Armored Knight appeared at his side carrying a young boy who was bleeding from his lower leg.
Plus, he could really use the help, and as formidable a warrior as Tarin Sheary was, he was even more effective at clearing a path through the snow, his large body like a battering ram.
They charged ahead, soldiers and knights, forging a path to the mountains. Christoff stopped looking back, his breaths coming in short bursts, his eyes trained straight ahead, waiting, waiting…
There!
He might’ve thought it a trick of the light reflecting off the formations of individual snowflakes, but something told him it wasn’t a mirage. There was something dead ahead, blocking the way forward.
And he knew there was nothing between Darrin and the east but the majestic range known as the Mournful Mountains because of how the wind seemed to moan as it passed over the snow-capped peaks, sounding as one might expect lost, yearning souls to sound as they searched for something in death they could never find in life.
Three steps later he got another glimpse, and now there was no mistaking the massive barrier of stone and forest that cast a shadow across them, blanketed like everything else in a layer of white. Several of his comrades saw it now, too, and they shouted, their cries filled with hope.
Christoff, however, allowed himself no sense of relief, for they remained far from safety. Reaching the mountains was only the first challenge. The next was finding the way through, if it still existed.
One major reason Annise had charged Christoff with leading the column was because of his uncanny sense of direction. Still, Christoff knew even the best navigator could be foiled in heavy fog or snow, and he wasn’t certain of how far east along the mountain range they’d arrived. Only a closer inspection would reveal the truth, and there was little time for study of the rock formations.
He realized Tarin Sheary was speaking to him. “…take him. I will give you time to find the way through.” And then the unconscious boy was dumped in his arms, almost toppling him under the weight. Christoff could only watch as Tarin turned and ran back toward the battle.
Mona’s hand appeared on his shoulder. “We will help him give you time, too. All of us.”
Suddenly the weight of the boy in his arms felt like a feather next to the entire weight of the kingdom that now rested on his shoulders. His mind tried to spiral back to that childhood memory, the one that had consumed him his entire life.
He shook his head in defiance, fighting off the panic that threatened to undo him. “I will find the tunnel,” he said, pecking her quickly on the lips, the image of a forlorn well vanishing from his mind before it could fully form.
Tarin
Tarin found Annise, Zelda, and Sir Jonius with a half-dozen other soldiers battling a trio of barbarians. He’d already passed Fay and Sir Jonathan, each of whom were trying to keep the civilians moving in the right direction.
Still, seeing Annise alive and well was like a ray of sunlight through the storm.
And now wasn’t the time for him to be stubborn, not when her life might depend on it. So he removed several bricks in his mental wall at once, steeling himself for that familiar surge of energy, which would almost certainly be tinged with a measure of rage from the monster he’d caged.
Nothing.
Hello? he thought.
Nothing. No hiss, no whispered response, no pent-up shriek of fury.
Just…nothing.
Frozen hell, what have I done?
Tarin didn’t have time to contemplate the question, for two more soldiers fell and a particularly large barbarian closed in on Annise, who stumbled over a small drift and fell backwards.
Tarin charged for her, borne on strength that was all his own, but even as he ran he knew he would be too late. And then Sir Jonius was there, leaping to defend his queen, the girl he’d long thought of as the daughter he and his ill wife were never able to have on their own.
The grizzled knight slashed at the barbarian but it ducked and grabbed his fist, prying the blade from his fingers as it dug its claws into his palm. He screamed as two of the claws went through his hand, emerging from the other side.
Tarin ran, cutting the distance in half as Sir Jonius tried to kick at the barbarian to keep it at bay. The creature merely caught his foot, twisting it sharply to the side. The knight roared in pain and lost his balance. The beast pounced on him, wrenching his helmet from his head, bringing its claws to bear.
Tarin was so close now and he had the Morningstar in full spiral, whipping it around, realizing too late that he should’ve thrown it if there was any hope of
saving him.
He swung the spiked ball one final time just as the barbarian plunged its claws into the knight’s temple, its head exploding a moment later. A moment later.
One moment.
Such was, at times, the difference between life and death.
Annise screamed and it was the worst sound Tarin had ever heard, a cry borne of sadness and exhaustion and anger and loss, too much loss, and he wanted to steal it from her throat and hold her, just hold her.
He could not, because they were not safe. Pale forms loped on all sides, snarling with renewed knowledge that the hunt was almost over.
“Get up,” Tarin said, steel in his tone.
Annise looked at him with blank eyes, so he said it again. “Get up.”
She did, and he shepherded her forward, shouting for any surviving soldiers to protect their queen. They closed ranks around her, falling one by one as they pushed forward toward the mountains.
Christoff
Through the thick snowfall, the foothills of the mountains all looked the same, but Christoff, his arms aching from holding the boy, had gone to that place only he could go to, his focus complete, unaffected by the sounds of battle and death continuing to rage somewhere behind him.
He saw the subtle changes in the terrain, which were unbroken with trees and shrubbery like the area of the mountains further to the west. Which, he knew, meant he was close. But where?
A dark cleft to the left. There! No. No. It was merely an overhang, not the rich and impenetrable darkness that spoke of a true tunnel.
He continued, staggering now, fighting against the laws of his own body, which had been trained and seasoned to endure long beyond the limits of most men and women.
And then he saw it. It was partially hidden by a natural pillar of ice-crusted stone, but there was no mistaking the darkness beyond. He was about to shout to the others so they could pass the news back along the column, but another sound stopped him short.
A faint rumble.
He frowned, cocking his he
ad to the side, trying to discern the origin.
The sound seemed to travel through him and not from his ears but from his feet, where the ground had begun to shake. Christoff remembered the strange earthquakes common in Crimea. Was that what this was?
He angled his head to look upon the flanks of the mountain, now visible as the sideways snowfall was blocked by its sheer size. The mountain was moving.
“Here!” he shouted. “Hurry!”
Thirty-Seven
The Northern Kingdom, the Mournful Mountains
Annise Gäric
The world seemed to swim around her, but it had no substance, like Annise could pass through it without feeling cold or pain or even the beat of her own heart.
She felt numb.
Somehow she knew Tarin’s hand was on her back, guiding her forward, but she couldn’t feel her own legs. The only way she knew she was breathing were the ghost-like vapors that wafted from her lips.
All around her were armored warriors and friends and the most loyal defenders a queen could possibly deserve, and yet they were strangers to her.
If this is life, then it has no meaning. No purpose. Why struggle against that which you cannot defeat?
Annise hated herself as much as she hated the barbarians.
Something finally broke through the numbness. A great shaking beneath her, like the earth itself had come alive with indignation, preparing to open a chasm to swallow them all whole.
In a way, Annise hoped it would.
She fell, a shattered woman.
Tarin caught her, lifting her into his arms, her vision spinning until all she saw were the snowflakes spiraling toward her, such beautiful things in a world of ugliness.
He ran, her entire body bouncing and shaking from the impact, snowflakes landing on her face, glistening on the edges of her vision.
