Winterblade - 1. Chapter 1

The warrior was panting, badly wounded, and enemies were coming at him from all sides. He gripped the heavy battle mace tighter, shifted his footing and grimaced at the searing pain in his side. If he was going to die, he would at least take one more man down with him. He promised himself that. Drake’s mace would yet taste the blood of a final enemy.

Drake blinked away the sweat that dripped down his forehead and his matted hair, stinging his eyes. He was tense, waiting for the enemies he knew were coming. He had only a few seconds to look around and get his bearings. How had he gotten here? He had been forced to back off against the very edge of a cliff, with a deadly drop to the jagged rocks below as his only option for a quicker death. He looked down briefly but had no time to consider jumping. Men were coming out of the trees now, calling his attention back as they closed in on him with weapons held ready. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to stop the involuntary tremors running up his arms from the exhaustion of battle. He tried to take a couple of deep breaths to still the burning in his lungs. His mind was reeling. He felt lightheaded from the lack of blood from his open wounds, and even shivered slightly. Then Drake saw the deadly glint of sunlight on the enemies’ blades as they approached and forced himself to focus. He took half a step back instinctively. He needed more space to fight. His foot felt the edge of the abyss behind him, however, and he knew the time for his last stand had come. His muscles tensed for the final charge.

He hefted the long spiked mace as if it weighed nothing and readied it, eyeing the closest of his attackers, a burly, overconfident man—and he suddenly rushed forward with all the mad strength his last adrenalin rush gave his body. The man saw him coming, even tried to lift his blade and cover the blow, but Drake’s strength was too great. He closed the distance between them in a second and brought his mace down in a terrible, killing arc that broke the sharp blade that had been raise to parry the attack. The mace then crashed into the shoulder of the man and shattered bone and flesh with such force that Drake’s victim was forced down into the ground and hit it with a sharp crack as his legs gave way. He was dead in an instant. Drake yanked his mace out in a splatter of warm blood, looked at the incoming wave of enemies, and hollered his defiance.

The other men stopped for an instant, reevaluating Drake’s deadliness. Behind the wall of tall trees that was the forest, the greater part of the battle raged. Drake could see smoke climbing above the canopy of tall pines from many places and hear the distant sounds of fighting. There were shouts of victorious men, and screams of men in agony. The air rang with the faint clash of metal on metal and even the distant, muffled crash of a felled tree as it hit the ground. Above them all hung the cloudy sky, and the sun, tinged with red, hidden by clouds that were not only water, but also clouds of ash.

The mountain rose above them all, far away and yet so close, so menacing in its rage. It rumbled its terrible fury even as the fight surged all around the battlefield, and Drake could see the jet-black clouds of ash and smoke surrounding the glowing, red-hot cone of the awakened mountain. The ground shook with small, warning tremors, and the mountain seemed to be on the verge of roaring out its name.

The first arrow whizzed by before Drake could react and struck him in the arm holding the mace, an expert shot that went right between the chinks of his armor and sank into the flesh up to the bone. He cried out in pain and dropped the mace, ducking as another deadly arrow flashed past and got lost in the abyss behind him. He tried to evade the next one, but the new projectile slammed against his lower abdomen too soon, making him stagger and punching clean through the leather and into his flesh. Drake doubled over in pain, his vision blurring; the arrows were poisoned, and fast-acting. He hadn’t even seen the archers in the trees. He began to feel his strength ebb away, and one of his arms was now useless. He fumbled with his good arm and managed to grab the mace with his other hand, but he had to take another step back as the men closed in, confident of their victory now, blades held high. Another arrow grazed his cheek and drew blood, but despite the clammy weariness threading its way through his body Drake lifted his good arm with the mace high, not giving up, not yet. His legs were shaking now, threatening to fail him. But he could take out one more. At least one more. He could see his enemies clearly: the other men had death written in their grins as they got within striking distance. They knew he couldn’t escape, and were confident of their kill. Drake didn’t have to wait long before one of them stepped forward and attacked.

Drake felt the bite of the blade against his good arm as he tried a useless parry, but at that instant the mountain truly roared. The earth shook with incredible force in a mad shudder, and everyone was thrown off balance as the volcano raged its fury, its glowing cone half-hidden beneath a heavy blanket of coal-black clouds that suddenly crackled with purple lightning. The sun was completely hidden by a dark ash cloud riding on the cold, swift wind, and then the very ground beneath the fighters broke apart.

Drake cried out involuntarily as he was thrown off backwards by the sudden heaving of the earth, and he went down, falling into the abyss along with a piece of the cliff he had been standing on. The man he had been fighting fell with him, slashing wildly with his blade, but Drake reacted by instinct. He pulled the man to him even as they both fell and forced both the man’s arms down, knocking the blade from his grasp. Drake grinned, gathered the last of his superhuman strength, and crushed the man’s spine in a fatal bear hug. Then the mountain roared again, and both of them slammed into the ground with bone-cracking force.

Drake didn’t lose consciousness with the impact, but he wished he had. A second after hitting the ground he tried to roll away but pain streaked through his body like the lighting flashing above. He could see the sky from here, still faintly hear the distant sounds of battle, and feel the fierce wind as it picked up speed and became a chilling gale. He tried to move, but his body wouldn’t respond. Instead he made himself calm down and tried only to breathe. He could see the shaft of an arrow poking out of his chest, and wondered how it had gotten there. His head swam, and he tried to fight it, to keep breathing, but a few breaths later his grip on consciousness faltered and he finally blacked out.

He woke up again, confused. He saw the ghostly outline of the sun overhead, obscured by the heavy clouds, and saw almost no time at all had passed. As he tried to sit up again, the earth rumbled and shook once more, the gut-wrenching motion followed closely by the thunder booming off the clouds all around him. Rocks began to fall around Drake in the aftershock, and one smashed against his leg. He cried out in pain but could do nothing except hope the earthquake would be over soon, hope the men still above him on the cliff would assume he was dead and give up the chase. He stayed as still as possible, powerless to do anything else, and watched the wrath of the mountain unfold.

The very top of its cone still glowed with a dull red light that could be seen even through the heavy clouds encircling the mountaintop. Something began to fall from the sky around Drake as the earthquake ended and the earth settled down, and at first he thought it was snow. Then he got a closer look at the grey flakes, and saw volcanic ash. Lightning flashed with violence over the mountain some more as the fierce eruption ran its course, but eventually the wind died down bringing with it only silence. Drake stayed still for as long as he could stand it. Then tried sitting up again.

He nearly blacked out from the pain, but he managed to get up. He wavered unsteadily on his feet, his head swimming, and saw the pool of red that had stained the rocks beneath him. He was surprised to see so much blood. He would probably bleed to death very soon, he saw, faster than he could heal. He couldn’t stay there and try to staunch the bleeding. He had to find cover, needed to get away from the cliff wall and those archers with their deadly aim and their poison. He was easy prey there. He had to get moving.

With a last glance at the mangled and broken thing that had been the last man he fought, Drake began to limp away through the falling ash, under the reddish light of the nearly-obscured sun. He could hear more thunder coming from his right, where the mountain towered over him, and he could hear deeper, more threatening rumbles coming from within the earth itself that spoke of more tremors to come soon. The air smelled like brimstone, and Drake left a faint trail of blood behind him with every step. He had to keep moving. He went into a thicket of trees, and began to lean on their trunks for support to push himself along. Just a little bit further. Just over that log, and then he could rest. Just a couple more steps.

When he heard the cry, far behind him, he hardened his heart in defeat. They were coming. They could follow his trail if they wanted to. They could even bring dogs. Drake tried to go faster, but now his armor was weighing him down. He had to take it off. Drake found some strength where he thought he had none and managed to pull off his armor where he could. He yanked off his greaves, shrugged off the shoulder plates. He pulled off the gauntlet that hadn’t been struck by an arrow and even managed to tear off the chest plates around the still-protruding arrow shaft, but not the leather underneath. He left everything where it fell, and half-ran forward, feeling lighter but still hopelessly slow.

He hurried through the trees, stumbling, almost falling twice but managing to pick himself up. The trees began to thin after a while and the ground began to slope down, full of cracks and fallen boulders that the earthquake had dislodged, each one treacherous and reaching out to trip him. A false twilight had fallen as the ash and clouds covered the sun completely and Drake couldn’t see where he was going anymore. Everything was shadows, shapes, and the mad dash of escaping. He felt like he couldn’t breathe anymore, but the urgent, gasping sounds he could hear were still his own. His legs kept dragging him along, but he knew his strength was coming to an end.

When he crashed into another man just as he was jumping over a fallen log, Drake couldn’t even react in time. He plowed straight into him and they both went down with a heavy thump.

The pain from the fall racked Drake’s body, and he realized the arrow shaft in his chest had just been pushed deeper in. He fought a wave of nausea and fought to stay conscious, looking around. The other man was just now rolling onto his side, grimacing with pain too. Drake saw dark red stains on his clothes, almost black in the fading twilight.

He also saw the other man had no armor, no weapon other than a silver-gleaming sword… and by this he knew he was one of the others. The enemy. With a surge of desperation-laced adrenalin, Drake managed to stand up to face the threat.

Drake and the other warrior rose almost at the same time, and Drake’s hand twitched to grab a war mace that wasn’t at his belt anymore. The other man saw the motion and grabbed the hilt of his sword. They looked at each other for a long moment, sizing the other one up. Drake knew he should at least try to take this last enemy down, to figure out a plan, but then he looked into the other man’s eyes—and time stopped.

Drake saw every detail of that young and determined-looking face in the timeless heartbeats that followed. He saw the strong jaw, which showed the tension gathering as the man prepared to fight him. He saw his handsome features, chiseled in sweat-beaded marble. The straight nose and short, fair hair framing his face. But most of all Drake saw the man’s eyes. They were deep, but almost luminous in their intensity, and as he looked into them he found he couldn’t look away.

He had to make a move before the enemy warrior got him, though. This was war. He would go down fighting.

Drake gathered what strength he had left, made a fist and charged. His sledgehammer punch sailed through the air, but it was slow—it missed, completely, and Drake knew he was about to die the second the warrior decided to swing his sword.

Except he didn’t. The momentum of Drake’s punch carried him off to the side, making him trip. He went down on his knees, hard.

Drake looked up expecting to see a blade flash downwards to cleave his neck in two. Instead he saw how the warrior merely looked at him, directly into his eyes. He saw fear there, tiredness, anger. And then the unthinkable happened.

He saw how the man unhanded his sword, slowly, never keeping his eyes off him. He sheathed it and let go of the hilt. They looked at each other with that same intense, probing look for another long moment, and then by a tacit agreement relaxed their stance.

It took every ounce of Drake’s determination to stand up and then lurch forward to take another step, and he only managed it with the other man’s help, who reached quickly forward and steadied him. His head spun, but Drake forced himself not to give in to the nausea, and tried to focus on something else instead. Vaguely, he registered that he was nearly a head taller than the other man. He also saw the man favor one side heavily whenever he tried to move. Drake swallowed, looked ahead and tried to get his bearings, fighting to keep his head clear, but he couldn’t think straight. Night had fallen by then—or was it the ash covering the sun? When had the other man come closer, why was he helping him limp along? All Drake could see was the deep red glow above and to the right, where the mountain was still raging. He tried to take a step in a direction away from the battlefield, motioning for the other guy to follow—and felt both his legs give way as the last of his strength left him. He was unconscious so fast he didn’t even feel it when his body hit the ground.

#

When Drake awoke the light was dull and gray, just like the sky. It was raining ash outside, soft grey and black flakes that fell to the ground and stayed there for a little while before being swept away by the wind. His head felt heavy and he discovered he barely had the strength to turn it slightly when he tried to look around. He was in some sort of cave. A dark domed ceiling stretched out over his head and went back into the darkness of the depths beyond. Jagged stalactites hung from the cave ceiling, and from somewhere behind him he could hear the drip, drip of water falling. Drake shivered. There was a fire near him, but it had almost gone out and the wind coming from the mouth of the cave was cold. From far off, he heard more ominous rumbling noises that told him the mountain was still raging. He had no way to know how much time had passed.

He tried to sit up, but his body exploded in pain. It was so bad he cried out, and surrendered to the wave of weakness that swept past him and rendered him helpless. He didn’t try to move again. Instead he took stock of his surroundings, noticing the empty bedroll on the other side of the fire, the fact that someone had draped a bearskin cloak over him, and the emptiness of the cave. He was alone, but he hadn’t been alone for long. Drake closed his eyes, trying to remember what had happened. The earthquake came back to him, and the hits from the arrows. He could feel where each had struck him even now: a dull, burning sensation in his chest, his right arm and lower abdomen. His mouth felt dry, and he realized he was incredibly thirsty.

How had he lived through all that? He had been sure he was about to die; he had only been postponing the inevitable by trying to find a place to hide. And the man… it came back to him now, too. He had stumbled into him at the very end, one of the enemy warriors: he must have carried him here. Even taken the arrows out. Why hadn’t the man killed him, or left him to die? Drake had to close his eyes. It was hard to think, and his head throbbed with every heartbeat.

Outside, the sky rumbled a more threatening note in answer to the mountain’s tremors, and suddenly it was raining. The raindrops plopped down heavily at first, raising a lot of dust and ash, but it was soon raining so hard that the ash began to be washed away in the downpour. More thunder followed, and a few flashes of lightning, and from time to time the deep growl of the mountain itself. Drake felt himself beginning to drift off. He wanted to crawl out of the cave and drink some water from the falling rain, but he just couldn’t find the strength to move. Soon his mind began to drift, and he thought he saw a figure approaching the cave mouth as he fell back asleep.

#

“Here, drink this,” a deep voice said.

Drake grunted.

“Come on, you need to eat something,” the voice insisted.

“Uh…” Drake opened his eyes and winced at the bright light of the fire. He had a brain-splitting headache and his tongue felt as if it were made of cotton. Then he saw the man sitting next to him, holding a bowl in one of his hands. It was full of some kind of steaming liquid.

“It’s meat broth,” the man said. “Come on.”

Drake opened his mouth a bit, and the man eased the bowl next to his lips. He drank the thick, savory broth; slowly at first, then a bit more quickly as he felt the welcome warmth spreading down his throat and into his belly.

“Take it easy,” the man said. “There’s plenty more if you want.”

Drake tried to nod, and instantly regretted it. His head pounded even harder. “Thanks,” he managed to say between gulps. He drank all the hot broth as quickly as he could.

The man put the bowl away. Outside it was night, and the rain was still falling down in a loud and never-stopping cascade. It was colder than earlier, but the fire was warm. Drake felt better now that he had eaten something. He fought the urge to fall back asleep and tried to stay awake.

“I finally found some antidote vials,” the man said. Drake tried to focus but his face was a blur; only his bright, warm eyes registered in Drake’s mind. “The poison in the arrows is what’s keeping you from healing. You should begin to feel better soon.”

Drake’s eyes closed. He heard the man stand up quietly, trying not to make noise to disturb him. Drake opened his eyes a crack and said hoarsely, “I’m Drake.”

The man turned around and smiled. “Alec.”

#

It was early morning when Drake finally awoke again. He blinked in the faint light of the graying sky—and realized most of the pain was gone.

He couldn’t believe it at first. Gingerly, he sat up in the cave, trying not to make a lot of noise and wincing slightly when a stab of pain in his chest reminded him he was not yet fully healed. He felt stronger, though, and he sat up all the way with ease. He raised his right arm so he could see where the arrow had pierced it, and saw to his great satisfaction that the wound was already closed. A faint scar remained, and the arm felt slightly stiff, but he was well on his way to full recovery. A grin crossed his face.

Drake felt movement to his left, back where the other man had been sleeping, and saw Alec was already awake, sitting with his back against the wall of the cave. He was looking at him silently, half-hidden by the shadows. Drake’s first instinct was to tense up for a fight; he had never been this close to an enemy warrior before. He could tell by the way Alec was sitting that he, too, was ready to spring if Drake so much as hinted an attack. A deadly-looking silver sword was lying at Alec’s feet within easy reaching distance. He didn’t look like he wanted to use it, though, and Drake forced himself to relax just a bit. He didn’t want to do anything stupid.

“Why did you help me?” Drake asked, his voice hoarse. He realized he was still thirsty.

Alec just looked at him, sizing him up. He seemed to come to a conclusion about him then, and he picked up his sword slowly and put it away.

“You could have just left me there,” Drake pressed. “Or finished me off.”

Alec met his eyes, and nodded slowly. “Yes, I suppose I could have.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

Alec thought about it. Then he shrugged. “I don’t know.”

He sounded sincere, and Drake wanted to believe him. He was alive, after all—he would give him the benefit of the doubt at least.

Slowly, Drake got up to test his balance, and was pleased to see he was able to do it. He still felt a bit weak, but nothing like last night. He cracked his knuckles. It was good to be alive.

He turned around to look at Alec, and realized for the first time that Alec’s left arm was set in an improvised sling that had been dyed maroon with dried blood stains. The arm had been set with a couple of straight branches so it wouldn’t move, but the wound looked bad.

Alec caught his eye. “Broken arm,” he said. “One of yours threw me off a tree.”

“Is it bad?” Drake asked.

“No; it was a clean break. It should heal well. I can even move the arm a bit if I have to. And I made the sling yesterday while I was waiting the rain out.”

Suddenly Drake realized something. He was much stronger already, nearly healed, and the other guy had a broken arm—a complete disadvantage.

“I could kill you now,” he said, almost to himself. But he was looking at Alec as he said it.

Alec stiffened. “Yes.”

Drake stood motionless for a second, confused. Normally the bloodlust would have already kicked in with an enemy warrior this close. But it hadn’t come; not now or the day before, he wasn’t feeling it at all. All he got was a strange but not unpleasant sensation when he looked at Alec, like a little kick in the pit of his stomach. And Alec had spared him during the fight, when he had missed that last desperate punch. Drake shook his head, trying to shake the confusing thoughts away.

“I won’t kill you,” Drake admitted, and as the words left his mouth he could hear the truth in them.

“Why not?” Alec asked. “It’s what Hunters do.”

“Yes,” Drake agreed. “But this time I won’t.”

He sat down heavily on the opposite end of the cave, so the remains of the fire were between them. Drake tried to make sense of his feelings but didn’t succeed. The silence stretched out and neither of them spoke, each of them lost in thought, until Alec spoke at last.

“The day I brought you here I thought about leaving you, and rejoining the battle.”

Drake didn’t say anything, but his eyes acknowledged Alec’s words.

“Even with my broken arm I thought I could make it back. I went as far as the edge of the forest, but when I got there I saw no one. No discarded weapons, no corpses even. Only the signs of the battle remained.”

Drake nodded slowly. “Then that means we lost.”

He had known it even before he had been surrounded at the edge of that cliff. His men were all dead, and the enemy was too strong. Alec’s words only confirmed his suspicions.

Alec nodded too. “The battle was fierce. I saw many men go down even as we descended upon your forces. That armor you wear is a powerful thing.”

Drake shifted his position slightly. The pain of the arrow wounds was a sharp jab in his middle and his chest. “Apparently not powerful enough.”

They felt silent again, each lost in his memories of the battle. Drake remembered the first charge, and then the warriors rushing forward as one, mad with bloodlust and eager to tear the enemy warriors to shreds. The song of the blades as they clashed filled his ears, and the shouts of men: shouts of anger, roars of triumph, and screams of agony all became one in his ears, a dissonant song that could only be heard in the thick of battle. But that had been at the beginning. Then the tide of battle had shifted.

“You look even stronger up close,” Alec said eventually. “I had never seen one of you this close. You look so massive… yet you move very fast.”

Drake flexed his arms unconsciously. “I snapped the spine of the last man to come after me,” he said. “Using only my arms.”

Alec nodded knowingly. “The Hunter who threw me off the tree used brute force to bring it down. And it was a grown pine, thick in the trunk. But when he leaned on it and pushed it gave way with a crack, and suddenly I was falling.”

Drake grinned, thinking whether he could have torn down a tree. He had never done it, but now he would have to try it sometime.

“You must be very fast with that blade,” he said instead. He showed Alec his left arm: there was a long raised scar on his forearm, running from the crook of his elbow all the way up to his wrist. “This was done by one of your warriors when he swung his sword at me. I never even saw the blade coming. If the ground had not shaken at that moment to throw us both off the cliff, I would have lost the arm.”

Alec nodded. “But you didn’t. You survived. When we do get in range of an enemy, he usually doesn’t live to tell it.”

“I have been in many fights,” Drake explained. “I have learned your weaknesses, as well as your strengths.”

“You fought Guardians before?” Alec said.

Drake nodded. “At the ancient ruins, once. And once again in the mountain wastes.”

“Our two greatest defeats.”

“Yes. Days of glory for me, and my men.”

“This was my first real battle,” Alec admitted. “I think… I think I panicked when I saw my arm was broken. I should have kept on fighting, but all I could think of was to run away. And then you showed up out of nowhere, knocking me down; I thought I was dead for sure. I should have reacted. I should have ki—”

He stopped.

“You should have killed me,” Drake finished for him. “I would have done it, if I had been in your place.”

“You can kill me now,” Alec reminded him. “I wouldn’t be able to stop you.”

Drake shook his head and made a decision that went against everything he had been taught. “I will not kill you. I owe you my life.”

“That has never stopped your kind before. They don’t understand compassion, or fairness. Only blood. You say you owe me your life, yet it’s your nature to want to finish me off.”

Drake thought about it. “It’s true,” he said finally, “of most of us. But to me, a debt matters. I said I would not kill you. I will keep my word.”

“That is something I never thought I would hear from a Hunter.”

Drake grinned. “Nor are you likely to hear again.”

Outside the day was growing lighter, and Drake stared thoughtfully at the trees he could see from the mouth of the cave. Finally, he stood up. He was feeling restless.

“Your people will come this way in a few days,” he told Alec. “They will want to check for survivors, and kill any stragglers to secure their victory. The defeat we suffered was too great. I cannot expect help or reinforcements to come, and I am cut off from our base camp by your forces.”

“What will you do?” Alec asked.

Drake shrugged. “I have nothing to return to. Our homes are most likely gone by now, our camp nothing but ashes. I will not run, if that is what you were thinking. I will stand my ground. I will stay here, and kill as many as I can when they come for me.”

“You will die, then.”

“Yes. But I will die fighting.”

Silence followed Drake’s statement. Eventually he heard Alec getting closer, and soon both of them were standing at the mouth of the cave, looking out in the cold morning wind. For some reason he could not explain, he did not mind Alec standing so close. It was almost reassuring, in a way.

“What now?” Alec asked at last. “What’s the plan?”

Drake’s stomach rumbled. “There’s no plan. But now, we eat.”

They left the cave together, and Drake marveled at the change last night’s furious rain had worked on the landscape. The ash was all but gone, the only remnants collected in patches of dirty, congealed mud around some rocks and the trunks of some trees. He could not see any gray on the branches of the deep green pine trees that grew on the slopes of the hill they stood on, though, and the air smelled clean. Drake looked briefly back to see where their cave was. The cave itself was set on a rocky ridge of the terrain, with a good view of the surrounding landscape. A sheer rock wall rose above it. He turned back and examined his surroundings. It was hard to see very far out in any direction from the mouth of the cave; the trees grew too thickly and were too tall. It was all a maze of trunks and branches everywhere he looked.

Drake could see the mountain, too, off to the left between the trees. It was smoking, but not very much anymore. A long plume of grey ash stretched out like a cloud from the scorched peak, carried away by the wind in another direction. No ash lingered in the sky nearby, and the terrible dark clouds of the day of the battle were gone. The sky was a clear, sharp blue; the air was cold but crisp. Drake breathed in deeply, enjoying the scenery, just happy to be alive.

“We should hunt a deer,” he said as he went into the trees. He was hungry enough to eat one by himself.

“We won’t find any,” Alec answered. He walked by his side, barely making a sound as he moved. “The battle and the mountain scared the herds away. I tried to find some game yesterday while you were resting, but couldn’t find anything. All I did was get wet. I practically stumbled on a rabbit on the way back, but that was it. Our best chance at hunting now is something small, like another rabbit.”

Drake nodded. “We should find a stream then. After all that ash, animals will have to go there to get a drink of clean water.”

“I know of a small river nearby. It’s where I have been getting our water. It’s not too far away.”

“Lead the way.”