by B K Suitter
The trembling in the ground came to a stop when the mighty army of hill giants crested the valley’s edge. They roared and shook their deadly weapons and a wave of hysteria pushed them over the rim and thousands of brutish giants came flowing down into the valley. The frost giants stood frozen, but not with fear. Discipline kept the few hundred Northern giants from fleeing the field of battle and they calmed their nerves and readied their weapons.
The valley shook as the hill giants ran along through the deepening snow, losing momentum as they closed on the frost giants’ position, using up precious energy as they lumbered through high drifts. Then, as the hill giants forced their way through the heavy snow towards the waiting Northern giants, plumes of white erupted into the air all around them as frost giants stood from hiding and began cleaving through metal and hardened skin. Blood sprayed wide and far as King Beoafan and his waiting frost giants charged quickly into the fray.
Swords and clubs rose and fell as the sound of armor deflecting steel chorused alongside the thunderous cries from giants falling soulless to the blood-stained ice and snow.
The frost giants were larger than those from the hills, and they forged stronger steel and created more efficient weapons and armor, but the sheer number of hill giants began to overwhelm them, and they stood fewer.
King Beoafan swung his mighty broadsword in circles as he spun around repeatedly to cleave through the endless foes. Piles of dead hill giants and their limbs laid strewn about the field in the king’s wake as he fought bravely, but not unscathed. Blood ran freely from his many wounds and pooled inside the bottom of his armored boots, leaving the outside of his plate mail stained red with long streaks.
Gretania fired off the last of her long arrows, the shaft sailing fast and true as it pierced the head of not one, but two hill giants fighting back to back. Then she swung her heavy bow and shattered it across the face of an oncoming hill giant, knocking him flat to the ice. Gretania growled with anger and drew two blades of steel as she waded into the press.
Galetorn and Yorathan fought side by side, dodging and ducking around each other’s sword cuts and parries. The brothers fought in unison, engaging enemies as they circled through the thick cluster of armored giants determined to kill. Yorathan cut low as Galetorn swung high, and the hill giants fell in pieces and in large numbers.
Hill giants continued to swarm down into the valley, dying quickly at the feet of the beleaguered Northmen. But the frost giants’ ranks thinned and they were forced to fight on their heels, being pushed back farther and farther while more and more perished. Soon, they numbered less than fifty and hundreds of hill giants circled them so there was no escape. The frost giants would be slaughtered.
King Beoafan would not stop. He was unrelenting in killing hill giants even as the frost giants’ numbers weakened to merely four, and he staggered and was drained of all but a spark of life as he stood with the last of his kind.
Gretania seethed with anger, tempting the fierce hill giants into finishing what they started. Galetorn and Yorathan poised ready to strike as they knew one last assault would be the end of them, and they were ready to die with valor.
King Beoafan felt nothing, for in the moment of losing everything, he isolated himself away from all his emotions and simply prepared himself for a glorious and honorable death. He looked up to the sky to give thanks to his god for everything he had been given, even though he was about to lose it all.
Then he witnessed dark clouds forming about the tall mountain peaks that towered over the valley. White angels began to fall from the clouds as if leaving their perches and King Beoafan’s spirit soared.
Snow dragons roared their thunderous cries as they beset upon the battlefield. Sprays of liquid nitrogen came from all directions, freezing hill giants in place so when the massive dragons swooped down to plow through them, they shattered like crystal statues filled with blood.
Hill giants threw volleys of sharpened logs and cut with their dragon bone swords and spears, but the snow dragons had caught them tightly packed, in total confusion, and ill-prepared for dragon-kind. The hill giants died quickly and were forced to retreat to their hills, but the snow dragons were unrelenting, and they followed to exterminate the giants to the end.
King Beoafan and his three children followed in the dragons’ wake, killing the few hill giants that were left behind. They moved quickly through the hills, staying clear of the mighty dragons as the beasts crawled in and out through cave entrances like enormous white lizards hunting their prey. Giants screamed and fought to the end while dragons filled the caves they hid in with blasts of nitrogen, freezing them dead in their holes.
King Beoafan followed the trails of blood until at last he and his three children found the Cavern of the King, and just inside laid a sprawling snow dragon with a smashed head. Many hill giants decorated the cavern floor with body parts and blood, and it was clear that the dragon had torn them to pieces before meeting its own demise.
King Beoafan and Gretania walked slowly and with caution as they stepped their way through the dimly lit massive cavern. Galetorn and Yorathan spread out and covered the rear, their eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness as they looked deep into the shadows for giants. Fish splashed in a large pond in the center of the cavern, startling Gretania and making her jump. Her two brothers joked briefly with her, but then stopped as shadows against the back wall shifted and two glowing orbs appeared in the darkness.
“King of the North,” spoke the massive figure as he sat in dark shadows upon a throne of rock. His deep voice penetrated the massive cavern, but the echoes seemed more in their minds, as if bouncing back and forth inside their heads. “Welcome.”
“King Haynsor?” King Beoafan questioned as he peered into the shadows. He had met the king of the hill tribes many years ago on a mission for peace. It had failed, of course, but he would never forget the giant that claimed himself as leader, and this was not him.
“Hardly,” replied the enormous figure, his voice reverberating throughout the chamber.
The giant stood from his throne of boulders and stepped to the edge of the shadows. King Beoafan could see he was mistaken, and that the giant standing across the cavern was indeed King Haynsor, but larger somehow. It was as if the massive hill giant had been stretched taller and stuffed wider, and the enormous power that emitted from his glowing eyes and mouth illuminated the huge cavern with a ghostly light.
King Haynsor took another step forward and he dragged the long spine and huge skull of a snow dragon from out of the shadows. At first the swollen giant seemed to lumber slowly, making his way around the large pond with tired dragging steps. But then, with immortal speed, he was past and behind the four and Gretania was sailing off into the shadows after being slammed with the swinging skull. The long horns from the dragon’s head tore through her armor and punctured her deeply, leaving critical holes that spilled forth her blood.
King Beoafan reacted without thought, as did Galetorn and Yorathan, but they moved too slow as Haynsor’s body shifted away from the attacking trio in a wide sidestep. He countered with the long spinal cord, swinging it out and around to catch Galetorn in the back of his plated helmet, tearing it from his head and leaving his body to spin off into the darkness.
Yorathan came in fast with his light and flexible sword, stabbing the hill giant in his armored chest and then cutting across for his neck. Haynsor lifted his left hand to block as his right hand swung around the dragon spine, and Yorathan’s blade cleaved through the hill giant’s left forearm and stuck briefly in the side of his thick head. At the same time, Haynsor’s dragon skull smashed into Yorathan’s side, sending him rolling away inside his crushed armor.
King Beoafan’s broadsword crashed into the hill giant’s armor again and again. Haynsor was forced to take steps back as he retreated away from the frost giant who roared with each devastating blow. The hill giant swung his dragon spine as he backed away another step, and Beoafan ducked the heavy strike and came
back up with a brutal sword cut that carved the top of Haynsor’s head clean off and away. The look on the hill giant’s stretched face showed no emotion, just beams of eerie light that glowed from his mouth and eyes. Beoafan started to wonder if what he fought was even a giant anymore.
King Haynsor had backed up to the mouth of the cave and he stood rigid as he started to swing his dragon spine in powerful circles above his head. Faster and faster the horned skull spun, and with each powerful swing, more and more momentum was gained. Gusts of wind swirled rocks and dirt up into the air and Beoafan had to shield his eyes from the cloud of debris, but movement from behind the hill giant made him lurch forward with a bold sword cut, staying well away from the swinging skull, but keeping Haynsor’s attention fixated on him.
Behind the hill giant at the mouth of the cavern stalked a massive snow dragon, creeping low and quiet. When the beast saw Haynsor standing in the entrance, it stopped and turned its head quickly, and with eyes as clear as ice, watched the huge giant as he spun his deadly weapon above his head. The dragon reared back slowly as if to inhale, spreading its snow colored wings out wide and exposing its ice-plated chest.
Haynsor turned his head when he realized the dragon was behind him, but it was too late as liquid nitrogen sprayed across his backside, covering him in freezing ice. King Beoafan lept out of the way as the huge creature roared and spewed forth the deadly blast while the hill giant tried in vain to get away. Soon, Haynsor could not be seen through the tall mound of ice, and the dragon took flight to continue its hunt.
King Beoafan stared at the frozen hill giant king – stunned at the events that just transpired. He felt cheated somehow; wanting so badly to take the hill giant’s head himself. He also felt relieved for some reason, knowing it was all so close to the end, knowing he was soon to die. King Beoafan could feel it, the presumption before death, when you’re left with the feeling that there is only one thing left to do.
The great King of the North slowly bent down and picked up the heavy dragon spine that Haynsor had dropped during his attempt at escaping the snow dragon’s breath. Beoafan stepped back and pulled the huge horned skull across the cavern floor to give himself the room he needed. Then, with incredible strength and will, he began twirling the long dragon spine above his head. Faster and faster the horned skull sailed around and around, and with the climbing speed came astonishing power. Beoafan allowed his emotions to mount, fueling his muscles with anger and despair, and roaring louder with each rotation of the deadly skull.
When King Beoafan could no longer control the spinning dragon spine, which rotated now above his head with blurring speed, he circled quickly in place, catching the momentum of the mighty swing, and then drove all his might into smashing the mound of ice with the dragon’s skull.
The explosion sent frozen red chunks in all directions as the tall mound of ice shattered like glass and the power that was inside the hill giant king ruptured into a blinding wave. Beoafan flew across the vast cavern and smashed against the far wall where he laid unmoving for quite some time.
When King Beoafan finally stirred to consciousness, he crawled to his feet and staggered across the huge cave, removing bent pieces of ruined armor and tossing them to the ground. He found Gretania hanging onto life with shallow breaths and he scooped her up into his arms as his two sons made their way bravely to his side. Blood covered them all as they stumbled near to death out of the cavern and into the early evening where the moon peeked above the horizon.
They ambled along through the hills as the moon followed them on its way up into the sky, and they left trails of blood for no one to follow. When they finally made the valley that sprawled before the huge mountains that guarded the pass, they felt relief and continued to trudge along. Bodies of dead giants littered the snow-covered vale and blood flowed in all directions as they stepped over and around and through the carnage.
King Beoafan carried Gretania in his arms, even though his daughter had already passed some time ago. Galetorn and Yorathan stumbled along together behind him, and when Galetorn finally lurched and fell to the ground, Yorathan stopped and stared down at his brother.
“Father,” Yorathan said tiredly, too fatigued and near to death to really care if Beoafan responded. He slumped down next to Galetorn, who lay dead across the red snow, then fell back and joined him.
King Beoafan forced his way through the snow for a short distance more, but eventually gave in to his exhaustion and fell to the frozen ground. Gretania rolled away as the great King of the North sprawled across the snow, his breathing hindered and his thoughts ranging from hazy to black. He laid there for days until death finally took him away.
It was the end of The First Age of Man, and for thousands of years the ground shook and split apart, swallowing all but small traces of the once proud and peaceful giants.
