Such an odd group of misfits Beltayne mused to himself. Just above, after clearing a series of chambers, the dwarf Magnus had been shouting deliriously. Beltayne followed the screams into an octagonal chamber and drew his rapier as he burst through the open door.
“Who here desires to be freed from the constraints of their malformed life?!” he shouted.
Magnus was running about the room, back and forth, from shelf to shelf, still screaming and waving his hands in the air. But no enemies were obvious in this chamber, nobody but the magician here remained.
Surely he has fallen under a curse. What madness has been wrought upon his poor dwarven mind?
“Hold fast young dwarf, and I shall depart this curse. I will but lay my hands upon you and you shall be healed,” Bel said as he approached Magnus.
Magnus had stopped running and was now holding a large book, and he glanced up as Beltayne approached.
“What? What curse? Nobody here is cursed, but have you ever seen such a trove of knowledge? The manuscripts and tomes in this room represent years of Arcane study devoted to the Dragons! Many of these accounts were believed lost to history!”
“But if that information was so important, why not simply pass it down to the next in line, why bother scribbling it onto a parchment and then hiding it away?” Beltayne questioned, cocking his head to one side and looking about the room.
“This is how knowledge is communicated! Some of these are hundreds of years old! Do you not have recorded history where you come from?”
“If we do, I would not know,” Beltayne said. “For I cannot read the written word. I cannot read to a Flightless Horror to slay the beast, though I may be able to beat it over the head with a book as thick as some of these...”
Beltayne began to wander the room as Magnus went back to his books, shaking his large head, surely lost in thought.
As Beltayne traced his fingers along the spines of the shelved books and twirled the lace of bound parchment, he noticed a pile of refuse in a corner of the room. He began gently shifting the pile with the toe of his boot, when he noticed a gleam underneath.
Moving further paper aside, Beltayne realized that a sword had been cast off underneath all of the worthless parchment. The blade glowed faintly, and staring at the inlaid pattern gave him a momentary feeling of dizziness.
“Fools, who abandons a fine blade as this?” Beltayne said aloud.
“Great and Learned Magician, mind you if I rescue this weapon?” he asked as he reached down and grasped the sword’s hilt.
“No, no, make use of what you can, and tell me if there are any magical properties. I am sure that we may learn something from everything in this wonderous chamber,” Magnus replied.
Soon enough, it was time to press forward and Telerek advised he had located the path further into the cavernous complex.
As the group meandered down nearby ramps, descending lower into the musty-smelling stone temple, Beltayne continued to marvel at the new sword he had been gifted. Unlike his rapier, this blade was ever-so-slightly curved, and a few inches longer. The hilt at least was similar, a silver crossed guard, but this one tapered into a thicker grip. The grip itself was strange to Beltayne, wrapped in dyed leather in alternating strips of delicate, almost lilac purple, and a flushed, bright pink. Stranger still, although the blade had clearly sat discarded and abandoned, covered in a thick layer of dust, the colours of the grip had seemingly remained untouched by the passage of time.
Instead of storing the blade at his hip as he had with the rapier, Beltayne shouldered the bare blade, resting it against his silver and leather armor, grasping the grip loosely as he walked.
Lost in thoughts of this new blade, and feeling guilty for sheathing the rapier that had been gifted by his mentor, Beltayne cast his eyes upon the gently sloping stone ceiling. The others in front of him, the dwarves Magnus and Magnar, leading and bickering about magic, or stonemasonry. Potentially both, Beltayne wasn’t sure. The shirtless one, Magnar, was gruff and spoke little, but Beltayne respected his obvious strength and battle experience. His brother though, Magnus, was harder to comprehend. He relied heavily on his magic, and was clearly more learned and well-spoken than Magnar, but Beltayne sensed a façade about him. Which made sense, because Beltayne watched him miss with his fancy-fireballs a lot.
Behind those two were the elven cousins, Telerek in his hooded robe and Val…wait. Beltayne could’ve sworn she had been walking next to the shifty elf but a moment ago.
What in the frozen hells is that animal next to Telerek? Like a powder-tiger, but smaller. And black.
“Telerek the Sneak, be warned! It appears a night beast stalks beside you! Should you need saving, I would gladly slay it,” Beltayne shouted in Elvish. Bel tightened his grip upon the blade perched at his shoulder, ready to whip it down and pounce on the creature.
“That beast is my cousin, you frozen imbecile! She is ready for danger and has assumed her panther form,” Telerek hissed back contemptuously.
The large cat did not seem particularly ready for danger. Beltayne watched as she urinated on a rock and paused to furiously clean her undersides.
Just in front of him was the stunted-eared holy man, holding a large book in one hand and a large mace in the other. He was an odd mix for sure, exceedingly well armed and armored for a glorified priest. Maybe it was the combination of his second-rate holy magic that resulted in those ears? Well, nobody can really help the gods to which they feel drawn, if Kel’dhos’ god required him to sacrifice his ears in exchange for access to magic, who was Beltayne to judge.
“A name. I must have a name, elf…” muttered an ethereal voice, just to Beltayne’s right.
“Speak louder Kel’dhos, I can barely hear you, muttering like a flake-sprite in my ear,” Beltayne called.
“What are you talking about, I’ve said nothing to you or anybody else. I’ll appreciate you to respect my silent prayers,” Kel’dhos replied as he half-turned towards Beltayne.
“A name, elf. You must name me to bind my power,” hissed the same ethereal voice.
Beltayne stopped, then turned to his right. Seeing nothing but damp stone walls, he looked left and right. Still nothing. He dropped both hands to his side, still holding the new blade in his right hand.
“You foolish, imprudent elf, you may be the least intelligent to ever wield me. Name me this instant or I swear to all that is Sylvan, I will rust and decay in your hand,” again the wraithlike voice hissed, but this time slightly lower.
At this, Beltayne came to a full stop and raised the new sword in front of his face.
“Can you speak?! I’ve never known a sword to speak…” Beltayne trailed off, amazed.
“Kel’dhos, perk up your tiny ears. Listen to my sword, for she speaks! And none too politely, so steel your constitution,” Beltayne shouted ahead.
Kel’dhos looked over his shoulder at Beltayne and stared. “Tell me truly, you were dropped on that braided head of yours as a child, repeatedly, were you not? Swords do not speak. Neither do maces, or axes, in case that be your next question.”
With that rebuke, Kel’dhos resumed walking ahead and Beltayne found himself getting left further behind the group. He reshouldered the blade and began to think of names, anything to keep his sword from insulting him again.
“Snowthorn? What about that, tis a name for our enemies to fear? Or icepick? Oh! Tundra’s Claw?!” Beltayne loudly whispered to the sword resting near his face.
“Is your brain a frozen wasteland? Not everything need be snow themed with you,” Beltayne heard airily whispered back.
“Winter’s Bite. It calls back to my homeland. And warns that you have a biting wit. You shall be known as Winter’s Bite from now on,” Beltayne declared. The sword, seemingly satisfied, spoke no rebuke.
The large stone ramp began to level out as Beltayne continued to talk to the blade. Eventually he came to a stop beside Kel’dhos and Magnus, while Magnar and Telerek stood face-to-face with a large wooden door. Panther-Val had laid down and appeared to be snoring.
“Steel yourselves boys, whatever is behind this door is sure to need a-hammerin’,” Magnar declared, while Telerek pulled out a set of metal…things…and began to poke at the door lock.
“Magnus, might I ask you something about magic, as you appear to be our resident expert,” asked Beltayne, leaning down to the robed dwarf.
“Any attempt to educate yourself is a welcome experience. I will help as best I can, ask away,” the dwarf replied confidently.
“Where is your hat?” demanded Beltayne.
“I am sorry, what now?”
“Your hat, everyone knows that a wizard wears a hat. I presume the pointier, the more powerful. Or must one earn their pointy hat? Can you lose the right to wear a hat if you miss with enough fireballs?”
“Do you know the point of an inner monologue elf? I believe this represents one of those times that an inner monologue should stay…inner,” Kel’dhos interrupted, trying to interrupt the oblivious Beltayne.
A loud click, accompanied by a louder, “DEATH TO MY ENEMIES,” shouted by Magnar, served to interrupt the conversation entirely. The large wooden door swung wide, and Telerek deftly sidestepped the charging Magnar.
The party rushed after the dwarf through the breach, Telerek already knocking an arrow and Val seemingly springing to life, pouncing through the opening. Kel’dhos and Magnus, too, rushed forward and through the door.
“Well, new friend, shall we vanquish evil and save the day?” Beltayne spoke aloud, to Winter’s Bite as much as to himself, while he followed the group through the door.
Unfortunately, while Beltayne was busy speaking to the sword, he failed the notice that the door had a rather thick stone jamb at the bottom. The others, having cleared the jamb and the door, were well on their way, scattering as they ran down a widening stone tunnel.
Beltayne’s left boot, knee high, cuffed at the top with moose fur and made of the stoutest snow-bear leather, collided flawlessly with the stone jamb, causing Beltayne to dive headlong through the opening.
He skidded along the stone, tucked his left arm to his chest and attempted to pop up in a half-crouch, scanning his head to the left and right.
Thankfully, nobody in the party had seen his less-than-graceful entry, but only because they were running at a full sprint ahead, Magnar over fifty yards down the tunnel, while Beltayne remained at the doorway.
“Blessed Queen of the Falling Snow, grant me the swiftness of a winter’s wind,” Beltayne spoke aloud as he thought he heard a soft groan from his blade. He lowered into a sprinter’s stance and took off, trying to make up the distance between himself and the short-legged Magnar.
Thankfully, near countless training in the Black Tundra had prepared Beltayne for moving swiftly encumbered in armor. He closed the distance, his bounding boots rapidly swishing off the rough stone ground.
Just as he neared Kel’dhos and Magnus, Beltayne saw a slow-lumbering figure, trudging towards Magnar. The man was wearing a torn tunic, disheveled trousers and was without footwear. Furthermore, there seemed to be some sort of cording, winding about the man’s legs and up towards his exposed stomach.
Finally! One of the village woodsmen no doubt, my quest nears completion, Beltayne thought as he watched Magnar approach the man.
Magnar, however, was not slowing to greet the man. He was holding his great stone maul in his outstretched right hand as he barreled ahead, the maul curving behind him as he approached the stranger.
With a whipping motion that made the maul look momentarily weightless, Magnar brought the entire head crashing into, and through, the man. The stone disappeared into the chest cavity of the stranger, with the haft of the maul embedding further and dragging the stranger downwards on the weapon’s continued momentum. The stone head crashed into the rock and dirt of the floor, carving a trough and dripping with sinew.
Magnar huffed to a stop and bellowed at the ceiling, causing the resulting yell to echo into the ever-widening chamber. While the group continued splitting directions, emptying into what clearly became a spacious cavern, Beltayne slowed to a stop beside the dwarf.
The dead man had come into focus now that Beltayne was closer, and where his eyes once were, only empty sockets remained. The cording Bel had seen winding the man’s legs was now obviously vines, brown and sickly looking. Even the man’s left arm appeared to have been previously ripped off at the wrist, and oozing fungus was spreading from the gangrenous wound.
“You have clever eyes dwarf-friend, to see that this poor soul was consumed by the monstrosity that so infects this temple,” Beltayne complimented Magnar, admiringly.
“Is he? Hadn’t noticed! Ha! Just thought he looked shifty,” Magnar laughed, then ran again, heading deeper into the cave.
Beltayne took the moment to observe the cavern. It was a larger space than any had been in this temple, and appeared to be naturally occurring, with various large rock formations scattered throughout. Stalactites hung down at random spots, and two separate pools of water appeared to flank the cavern’s rear wall.
Of more immediate note was the scattered, gnarled trees present in every direction. The rear wall was almost entirely encompassed by a beast of a tree, nearly twenty feet in height and with a trunk as thick as a ship’s sail. All the fauna appeared to be pulsating with the nauseating, phosphorescent colours that predominated the spaces above.
Beltayne had lost sight of Telerek, no doubt crouched and hiding behind one of the many stone outcroppings. Val was loping towards the right-side water pool, and Kel’dhos had broken to the left along the cavern wall. Magnus appeared to be slowly walking down the center, nearing one of the smaller trees, growing out of the stone floor.
The silence of the cavern was cut by an inhuman screech, roared from an unseen creature. The sound caused Beltayne to clench his eyes closed. When he opened them again, he saw that the sound had forced Kel’dhos down to a knee, and Magnar held both hands to his head, still grasping the bloodied maul in one of them.
The trees that had been strewn about the cavern were no longer haphazardly placed, but had apparently moved in the literal blink of Beltayne’s eyes. Five of them formed a loose wall, shielding the larger giant at the rear.
Beltayne heard a tell-tale thump, thump, thump as three arrows sprouted from one of the trees. Telerek was suddenly visible, perched upon one of the stones and holding his bow outstretched.
The leftmost tree sprouted a thorned vine, uncurling from the foliage ten feet from the ground. The vine snap-whipped at Magnar, curling around his massive maul, dragging it with Magnar still attached.
The vine dragged Magnar towards the tree as he began to lose his footing, sweat pouring from the stout dwarf. Magnar grunted, heaved and a sudden black streak flashed between him and the tree. Just as suddenly, the tension on the vine that had ensnared the maul was abruptly gone and Magnar tumbled backwards, unable to correct his balance so quickly.
On the ground between the dwarf and tree now stood Val, in panther form, and with the vine shreds locked in her powerful jaw. The large cat spat out the plant, hissed and pounced into the foliage of the tree, and the last Beltayne saw were glowing white fangs disappearing into the top.
Recalling the first time he had fought these arboreal beasts, Beltayne made a move to finally sheath Winter’s Bite in favour of his handaxes. Before he could get the sword even halfway into the scabbard though, he heard a hissed whisper.
“A rapier is for stabbing, but a saber is for cutting, you dolt. Cut them down!”
Encouraged, Beltayne withdrew the sword and pointed it at the center of the five trees. Dashing forward and drawing the sword fully behind him as he ran, nearly touching his own back with the blade’s flat.
“Bane of Sioch’s Holy Flame!” Kel’dhos’ normally quiet voice boomed from behind Beltayne. The tree Bel had charged erupted in a golden light that condensed towards the middle, before exploding outwards in tongues of fire. The entire tree engulfed in flames just as Beltayne reached it.
“I thought you may need saving. Let me tell you about how Sioch saved me when we are finished with this scuffle,” Kel’dhos shouted, with a smirk firmly plastered on his short-eared face.
Beltayne heard the yowl of a large cat in clear pain and looked to his left to see Val, still up in the foliage of a tree but enwrapped by thorny vines, which pulsed and constricted, hampering Val’s movement and deadening her ability to bite and claw.
Without pausing, Beltayne withdrew the handaxe on his left thigh and sidearm-threw it the short distance between him and the monster holding Val. The axe embedded itself deeply in the trunk with a dull thud, blade horizontal to the wet stone ground. Already running as he threw, Bel took a leap, using one foot to catch the embedded axeblade like a step, and shot up into the tree with Val.
Hacking away somewhat wildly, he managed to split enough vines and distract the attacks of enough of the thorns that Val’s front paws were freed. As the panther used her claws to disentangle the rest of her, Beltayne laid his left hand on her flank and whispered, “chilling mend,” and channeled his aethereal connection to the Queen of Falling Snow. Val’s wounds began to staunch, but the panther hissed and Beltayne withdrew his hand quickly, leaving a spot of frosted fur remaining. Val hissed again, then leapt downwards and out of view.
“Arrow of Sioch’s divine shot!” Kel’dhos yelled from somewhere down below Beltayne’s perch inside the tree. There was a deafening sound of explosion, followed by the tree shuddering backwards before lazily tipping sideways. Beltayne dove out of the branches, tucking into a roll as he hit the ground.
At this point, I am beginning to think that he is doing that on purpose.
Beltayne glanced back towards the cavern’s entrance and spied Magnus, both hands holding fireballs and periodically peeking out from behind a rock formation to throw them at the remaining trees. While it looked like most of the balls would sail wide right or curve inexplicably up, a few still found their marks and the remaining trees were soon enveloped in fire.
The small curve of the five trees soon became a smoldering pile, with Magnar trotting from one burnt log to the next, indiscriminately smashing his maul into the flaming wreckage and laughing maniacally. The others, Kel’dhos and Magnus especially, were warily conversing and checking for injuries.
Only Val, now back in elven form, seemed to have suffered much damage. But Beltayne believed his healing touch, while chilly, probably stopped the worst of her injury. Consequently, she laid on the hard stone ground, flat on her back and with arms outstretched, apparently resting. She pulled out a pouch of what looked like baked seeds, put a handful in her mouth, and began slowly spitting the remains to her right and left.
Beltayne stared towards the rear of the cavern, the massive and ominous tree the only remaining source of unease that he could feel. He slowly knelt on both knees, keeping both feet perched on his toes and rested Winter’s Bite over his legs in front of him.
“We are capable of more. I am capable of more. Evil still besets this place, and my comrades are in danger. We will free them from that danger, and purge this abomination,” he spoke aloud.
“You are dramatic young elf. But I do sense you holding back. Become the gale that sweeps your enemies.”
As if sensing his resolve, the entire cavern shook. A slow rumbling became a deafening reverberation that cracked the floor and caused stalactites to come crashing down. The group scattered, avoiding the falling stone and spreading out left and right. Beltayne stood, confident that he would sense any rock falling prior to it striking him.
The massive tree began to shiver, and thorned vines as thick as a ship’s anchor line began falling from the immense canopy. The trunk of the tree split in two, separating into colossal leglike appendages, covered in fluorescent mushrooms and pelts of dripping fungus. Two arms broke from the side with claws, thick as wagons, outstretching to each cavern wall.
Where the monster’s “chest” would be, Beltayne saw what looked like a man, physically embedded in the wooden skin. The man had no discernable expression, and his pallid skin was covered in slick moss. Where is heart would be, wooden vines penetrated his chest and terminated in the tree trunk.
The “man,” if he could even still be called such, opened what was left of his mouth and Beltayne heard snapping sounds, like the crack of over-dry twigs. Nothing more discernable than a scraping groan came forth. Not what he was expecting, Beltayne assumed that the creature would give a dramatic explanation for his misdeeds and the horror wrought throughout the caverns.
Instead, a large whoosh enveloped the space, seeming to suck in air around the beast. The sound rose into a crescendo, seeming to crackle and warm the surrounding space.
Only then did Beltayne look down from the former human, embedded into the tree, to see the shape of a dwarf, with arms outstretch and both engulfed in fire so deeply blue, it was nearing a dark purple. Magnus’ entire essence appeared to be sparking with an arcane energy.
Magnus stood at the beast’s base, seemingly struggling to push his now enveloped outstretched hands forward. And with a loud bellow that would be more appropriate from his brother, Magnus brought his hands into solid contact with the tree and gripped the exposed bark.
All at once, the air around stilled and became calm.
“Drop! Everyone to the ground, NOW!” Beltayne shouted, recognizing the signs of the calm before an imminent storm.
A loud hiss, and then a clap of thunder shook the cavern. The wave emanated from Magnus, and the tree was engulfed in the glowing fire. The moaning from the embedded warlock was drowned out by the screams from all the lesser monsters throughout the cavern, apparently adding their anguish at the demise of their parent plant.
“Ha! Looks like your magic isn’t completely useless after all brother! You were lucky I was distractin’ the bastard so you could get all close to it and grope it!” Magnar roared before plopping his stocky frame onto the stone ground.
Beltayne stood, staring at Magnus still, transfixed by the obvious display of magical power he had witnessed. In awe of a creature being able to not only possess, but channel that power, Beltayne believed the gift must have been divinely granted.
Gathering himself, Beltayne strode towards Magnus, who was panting from the exertion.
“Just wait my friend, I shall find you the biggest of hats, for you surely are a sorcerer worth noting!” Beltayne said, as he laid his left hand on the broad shoulder of the dwarf.
“And a new set of the finest pajamas! I shall have them commissioned in your honor!” Beltayne added, gesturing to the burned sleeves of Magnus’ robes.
A beautiful set of ice blue, adorned with intricate snowflakes, and icicles embroidered about the cuffs…
“If you keep calling his robes ‘pajamas’ you may be his next target,” added Winter’s Bite, still shouldered on Beltayne’s right side.
While the rest of the group formed a loose circle on the ground, resting after the battle and discussing their plans, Beltayne had searched the cavern and located two bodies. Both were in roughspun tunics and both holding axes, the villagers Beltayne had been sent to recover.
Beltayne kneeled at each body, folding both feet underneath and resting on his calves, and slowly lowered his forehead to the deceased.
“I give to you the last gift, warmth of my body, that you may take it with you into the winter’s loving embrace of a cold death.”
Kel’dhos approached the kneeling Bel, solemnly folding his own hands in front of him and waiting until Beltayne had raised his head.
“You have a strange way about you Beltayne. You show the utmost respect to the dead, but how you handle the living seem to escape your field of vision.”
“You…are not wrong friend. Frequently my mind and mouth work much faster than my good sense. Perhaps you and your shortened ears may teach me while I am teaching you,” Beltayne said contemplatively.
“Yes, that was what I was meaning. I think. Perhaps we can both have an effect on each other,” replied Kel’dhos, with a forgiving sigh.
“Will you assist me with sending the lost souls in this compound back into the repose of Sioch?” asked Kel’dhos, extending a hand to Beltayne and pulling him off the ground.
“Gladly. Though I don’t know why anybody would want to go to the repose of a confusing god as your Sioch. All the muttering about wisdom and knowledge would just give me an ache of the mind, even in death.”
“Something tells me that you rarely suffer those, so I believe you will be safe for now friend,” said Kel’dhos, shaking his head.
After about an hour of prayers and missives for the dead, Kel’dhos advised he would be cleansing the entire structure and purging the abnormal growth with fire, a sentiment with which Beltayne wholeheartedly agreed.
Telerek and Magnar gathered loot, finding any valuables worth having, or selling, and Val was again, nowhere to be seen.
Perhaps she has gone off to sleep in her cat form. Or perhaps she got lost. Both may be equally possible
“Friends, I must deliver news of this quest’s unfortunate conclusion to the headman who charged me with finding his flock, I trust you will patiently await my return,” Beltayne proclaimed, to nobody in particular.
As he made his way out of the cavern, up through the ancient and repurposed temple and then out the mouth of the tunnel from whence he had come, Beltayne reminisced on the circumstances that had led him to this moment.
“Winter’s Bite, I feel shame. You knew me not, but I was despondent and forlorn, I had received a quest and yet had made no progress. Without this chance, and without these companions, I would have failed before I had ever started. Moreover, we would have never met and I would be that much further away from proving myself to the Winter Court.”
“I do not know what you want me to tell you, elf. A quest only ends in failure when you quit trying, not when you fall down. It is the moment that you fail to stand back up that you are finished,” replied the blade.
“Wise words from one who does not possess legs with which to rise up,” muttered Beltayne.
As he meandered past the pond he had stopped at before, at which he had first heard the cries for help, Beltayne felt the air grow…cold.
Frost covered the ground and the pond itself was immediately frozen over, covered in a blue-black ice. A light snow was swirling around the pond itself, coalescing around the center.
“Oh, hells…” Beltayne whispered, and immediately fell to his knees, placing Winter’s Bite on the ground delicately in front of him. He dropped his head to the blade and clenched his eyes shut, fearing a divine wrath.
An airy voice, cold like iron left overnight in a snowstorm, whispered aloud.
“Arise, Sir Beltayne. Meet my gaze as I look upon you and measure your soul.
As Bel raised his head slowly, he saw that the snow had loosely formed into the shape of a tall, Elven maiden clad in snowy armor with a billowing cloak around her shoulders. A small circlet was visible upon her head, sitting atop braided hair, pulled into a singular trail down her back. She wore no weapon that he could see, but her eyes glowed with an electric blue that nobody could mistake for something other than celestial power.
“Maiden of Ice and Frost, I am no Sir…” Beltayne began.
“You dare correct a god? They said you were foolhardy…” the airy voice chuckled. “I said what I have said. And it is how I have said. You are Sir Beltayne, and it is time that you swore to me,” she declared, as she dropped her proud and angular chin towards him.
“Is there a specific swearing, or was it perhaps written down somewhere? I cannot read my lady…”
“It is within your soul, Elf. Reach in and grasp your oath!” boomed the Winter Maiden.
“I…I am Beltayne, servant to the Queen of Falling Snow, and retainer to the House of Winter,” he stumbled through, creasing his forehead as he spoke. “I wish to serve the Maiden as a Guardian of Winter. I am the breath of winter, reminding all who feel it that nothing can escape the cold’s embrace, and without winter, all would run rampant. I am the cold justice that will not shatter, but will strengthen with every moment inside the resilient forge of a midwinter’s watchfire.”
“Seems a bit dramatic. Are you all like this?” hissed the sword in front of Beltayne.
“Hush blade,” Bel admonished, flicking the hilt gently.
“Stand now, Sir Beltayne. For I accept your oath. You are mine now, embraced by Winter. You will be my breath across the land, correcting misdeeds and reminding all those who forget the power of the coming storm. In time, as you prove yourself further, I may see fit to send you aid. Do not forget to see to your riding skills as you wander these lands.”
As she spoke, she brought a single, delicately closed hand to her face, then slowly extended her fingers with the palm raised as she blew swirling wind from her mouth. Snow burst forth from the outstretched hand towards Beltayne, surrounded by the sudden gale momentarily, but as quickly as it came, it vanished.
Beltayne was left standing in the same verdant greenery that he had first seen, beside the same gently swirling pond that he had nearly fallen into. No sign remained of the goddess, but as Beltayne reached for Winter’s Bite, he noted that the hilt and leather wrapping it was abnormally cold. He saw too that intricate filigreed metal inlay had now appeared on the blade, just above the hilt.
Beltayne’s body coursed with new strength and his resolve was equally hardened.
“Come blade, let us tell the village the fate of their own. We may pray with them, and then satisfy their curiosity with tales of justice and heroics. But lest we stay too long, for our companions surely need us and we must return to them. There are adventures to be had.”
End of Chapter Five