Outside in the cold distance
A wildcat did growl
Two riders were approaching
And the wind began to howl
- All Along the Watchtower, Jimi Hendrix
As always, the valley was consumed by the blizzard.
Not a normal blizzard, most folks of the southern baronies considered the thick clumps of snow visited upon them in winter a blizzard, but they had never felt the bite of true cold. The blizzard in Norscairn tore through the land, crashing through the ancient forests that had never seen a feller's axe, burying fledgling civilizations in a night, drowning beasts unaccustomed to cold with its smothering grasp. No, this was true cold. The men of Norscairn were harder than rock, and more brutal than the most vicious of southern animals. The creatures of Norscairn made the menfolk look tame, they were invariably massive things with tangled fur, matted with half frozen blood, teeth as sharp as Hypatian swords and colder than the heart of winter. None would be foolish enough to brave this place, none save myself, The Knight. And foolish was my presence, make no mistake. The lands of Norscairn are not made from those of the south.
I stood outlined by the fierce storm, armour cracked in places where the dregs of my sweat had frozen, pulling apart the plate with the ease of a tree tearing cinderblock apart, and almost as insidiously slow. I hadn't realized it was happening at first, taking sweating for granted to begin with when I first crossed into the colder climate, not thinking to dry myself before crossing the border. My folly, of course, but that was nothing new. The now cracking armour was simple, but effective. As cheap as one could buy plate armour, it was strong steel, buffed slightly with wear near the arm sockets and elbows where it had chafed against the gambeson underneath. I wore a cloak, thick hide that had cost some of my last precious coins and thick hide boots I had taken off the body of a Norscairnian. I had found him in a broken log cabin, surrounded by dead sheep that I had mistaken for snow sculptures. The building hadn't been able to stave off the cold, the roof having caved in from too much snow. Not slanted enough, I realized.
The man was already dead, his eyes had stared glassily into the sky past his broken roof, frozen forever in a look of surprise. Such things didn't disturb me anymore, men died and that was the way of things. I just wished I could stop thinking about the smaller bodies nearly hidden under a blanket of snow, a woman's hand bearing a thick iron ring. While crude, it had borne a large blue gemstone as pale as the summer sky. I couldn't bring myself to take it from her, it was all she had left.
Another folly of course, I found myself more of a fool than a knight as of late, and no wonder. I could have traded that for something, I was sure. The people in the north wouldn't have questioned this acquisition and wouldn't have the imagination to cheat the price. I remembered the words of my mentor, Silas Flarenze, the Fire Knight. It had been bitterly cold that night, colder than most in the Barony of Curlstone and Silas had decided to treat his young recruits to a drink in the taphouse.
The Fire Knight imparted many words of wisdom that night, many to do with women or drink, but it got more interesting we asked him of his travels. The Fire Knight was old, you wouldn't believe it from his bright red hair or fair complexion, but he was much older than most men in his profession. A travelling knight, honour bound to right the wrongs he came across. He had become famous for his weapon, a sword of glimmering perfection, smoky red and warm to the touch, at the pommel sat a gem of unsurpassed quality. I swore that it glowed a fiery red, but none believed me. Rumour had it he could summon fire from its tip to destroy his enemies, but most of this was dismissed as fairy gossip.
We asked questions of him about his weapon, his great deeds and of the many places he'd travelled. He was not secretive and shared a lot of these places. He boasted of the great cliffs of Altia, the burning heat of the black desert where the ancient dragonkin slept. He even boasted of having visited the Wildgrowth, the supposed land of Elves and Fae but though we were young and impressionable none of us believed that, none had seen an Elf in the baronies for centuries. As the night grew darker and the sky bruised, the talk became blacker as well. When the night was darkest, and the candle we shared in the taphouse was down to a barest glimmer, he spoke of Norscairn.
There lies the edge of the world, boys. He had spoken, his voice a tiny murmur, struggling to be heard over the sound of the hearth. I've been everywhere and I'll travel there again, but only once more will I return to Norscairn. There lies madness, not the trickery the elves and fairies inflict, nor the riddles and puzzles the dragons demand, but true madness, true violence, true cold. The land is not meant to be lived in, and it fights those foolish enough to step foot there.
The edge of the world... We all spoke in hushed, excited voices. I felt a spring of confidence come up from this and asked. What's beyond Norscairn, is it really the edge of the world?
Only madness. He responded. And death, men go there to die, child. Why do you think I said I'd only go once more?
"Men go there to die..." I murmured, deaf to my own words.
That hadn't been my intention, but I was aware that few ever had the intention of dying before it happened. No, my intentions had been good to begin with, I had learned from the Fire Knight and done my best to live up to that mantle. I roamed, saw great things, everything the Fire Knight had promised and more. I met the Elves and the Fae, the Dwarves and the Giants, the Barkmen and the Enflamed. I saw the mountains to the east erupt, I helped forge the last Hypatian sword, I fought for the smallfolk in a hundred different lands for as many reasons. I did things I'm not proud of, and things I'm sure men will sing of for years to come. I was The Knight, not a Knight of Fire or a Knight of Cold, just The Knight. The first of my kind, in a way. Mine was the way of valour, but mundanity. Tales of nameless knights will float down the annals of history forever, and most of them belong me.
But now, I was older than the Fire Knight had been, and it was my time to visit the cold. This could be my last quest, after a career of improving lives would I disappear among the frigid wasteland. Like the other Knights?
Like the Knight of Fire?
I hoped not, but life maintained a sense of humour that one had to deal with. Life was a wonderful thing indeed if one could take a joke. The humorless don't live, in my estimation. They merely, subsist. But a diet that doesn't include humor is like a stew that doesn't involve beef and potatoes, not worth eating. More words from the Knight of Fire, I was thinking of him more and more of late.
All I had were my thoughts, in this weather. It helped keep my mind off the cold. My limbs ached terribly, the gambeson and cloak providing poor protection against the weather, and without a magic sword to warm me the trip would be harder for myself than my predecessor. I smiled wryly, scraping snow off my visor with numb fingers, not all men could be so fortunate to have a fire sword. I had no magic to speak of, just steel and flesh. That's all I'd needed before, and that's all I'd need now. It was a shame about the horse, though. It hadn't shared my constitution, or perhaps my will.
If there was any recognizable aspect to my status as a Knight, it was what Silas had described as 'Linearity'. I would always take the most direct answer, he had said, but whether that was a criticism I didn't know. "You're like a force of nature, kid. We've got better chance of stopping the wind than you once you've got an idea in your head." Too stupid to die. The Fae had mocked, their beautiful pixie-like faces bright with mischief. They offered me a flask that would always be full of water for helping them, but I refused. I never liked magic and decided I didn't particularly like the Fey after that remark.
But now I desperately hoped that their jibes held weight, I knew that I was in danger here. The weather was apocalyptic, even if I could keep myself warm or ignore the pain I'd starve, or more pressingly die of dehydration. My waterskin had frozen solid, and I debated throwing it away but wasn't sure. If I managed to thaw myself, I would still need a waterskin, and I wasn't getting rid of it regardless, the leather strap had frozen solid to my breastplate.
I stumbled through the snowfield, pulling thick shards of glassy ice from the chinks in my armour like pins from a corkboard. My left elbow had been almost completely frozen, and I was certain that had I not removed the ice I would have been unable to remove it later. I shook my whole body, partly from the agonizing cold but mostly to try and shake the icy detritus from myself before it got much worse.
For a second, through the blackness and snow, I thought I saw a shifting pattern. A glimpse of light, a reflection, perhaps? Starlight glimmering on the maw of some terrifying creature? I didn't think so; I could usually feel when there was going to be a fight. A thrill entered my body, I would relax, and then I would fight. It came naturally, this glimmer gave me no such feeling at all, and its odd wavering didn't feel natural.
I strained my eyes, raising one snow encrusted hand to try and block some of the snow. Sure enough, there was something there. A tiny glimmer of light. I moved towards it with as much vigor as I could manage in this nightmarish blizzard. It was bizarre, I couldn't imagine what could hold a consistent light in this forsaken land, torches would certainly be immediately dowsed. I'd walked too far already, it would have killed most men half my age by now, but I suppose that was the secret of my endurance: stupidity.
Each step was like coals, icy burns shooting up my long-suffering feet. My lungs screamed in protest at my continued movements, I needed oxygen but each breath of this cold sent icicles deep into my chest that felt like death himself clawing down my throat. I had never experienced pain like this before, and for the first time I truly understood why the Knight of Fire feared this place. This was a place of death, true and simple.
I shrugged away the cold, narrowing my eyes towards the light. I thought I understood death, I thought I'd dealt enough of it to not be frightened of some snowstorm. Of course, I was wrong. There was death and there was Death. And this land was most certainly Death.
I forced my agonized legs further onwards, barely aware and moving onwards through will alone. If someone had taken off my helmet you would see the grim determination in my face, jaw set hard, eyes narrowed, teeth gritted and grinding as if trying desperately to make any kind of friction, to produce that ever-scarce warmth. I lowered a hand to my scabbard and had to use both hands to pull the ice free from the encrusted weapon. I needed to be able to draw my weapon quickly, any delay could be the difference from life and death.
The light was closer now, and I realized that it was a lamp. An old Hypatia lamp, it glowed with a harsh yellow light, moving in strange fluctuations that made one slightly sick to look at, probably damaged, I guessed. I shouldn't have been surprised, I expected that the Hypatians with their warm summer weathers probably did not expect their lamps to make it to Norscairn. The lamp was leaning against an old wooden building, similar to the previous but much larger and better built. It was all support structures, some of stone and some of ice, the lamp hung above the doorway and had a small radius of melted snow where the barest hints of grass could be seen. Clever, the occupier kept his doorway clear and if he wanted, they could move the lamp around the building to clear out dangerous snows before they got out of hand. The only thing that worried me was the possibility of the lamp drawing other creatures, as it had drawn me.
It was then I noticed the Beast.
It slunk around the building, searching for an opening, giant and furry with massive insectoid legs that protruded from its underside like ribs from a rotten corpse. It had giant mandibles framed by hundreds of eyes, occasionally it would slam one of its large legs against the wood of the cabin and the Knight saw the building quake slightly, but not break. The beast moved sinuously, constantly searching for an entrance. The beast slavered, steaming spittle flowing from its maw of razors. I stared impassively, my hand on the pommel of my sword. I was the Knight, and this was what I had been born to do.
I drew my sword, the weather a distant memory in my mind as cold steel filled my hands. My hands held the grip like it was my only tether to reality, and I felt complete once more.
I walked into the sight of the beast, and it roared into the twilight, froth and ice spraying from its monstrous mouth, all its mad red eyes trained on me, smoldering in the darkness. The Beast charged, and the Knight met him.
The Beast moved blurringly, far faster than I would have expected of a creature of its size. Each of its myriad legs slammed into the frozen ground, pulling up clumps of flash-frozen soil. It approached and raised its toothy maw to bite at me. I dodged to the left as well as I could in these conditions soundly dodging one chitinous clawed limb that sailed past my head as I returned a vicious counterstroke on the appendage. I felt the bite of my sword cleave through the creature's leg, spurting thick black blood onto the snow and eliciting a monstrous roar that shook the house. If this lost digit impeded the creature then it didn't show it. It returned my attack in kind.
The Beast quickly spun, covering me in thick snow and I felt briefly panicked as my visor was covered by the ice. Fumbling, I raised my shield and my whole arm shook as something slammed its weight upon it. I heard what I hoped was wood, crack and felt a terrific spike of pain as my back impacted into the wall of the cabin. I gritted my teeth, slamming my useless shield into the creature's face and heard a satisfying crunch and the stumbling of heavy footfalls. I pulled my helmet off quickly and threw it to the snow, not wanting to risk visibility again. I looked, my shield was almost completely obliterated, and a shard of thick wood sat around a wound on the creature's forehead, rapidly cooling blood flowing down it's disgusting face and coating many of its beady insectoid eyes.
Another of its savage arms arced out in retaliation and I barely dropped my head quickly enough. The Beast's arm cracked the wall behind me, boards and chill air blasting into the confines. The Beast pulled back, but its thick leg was stuck in the wood. I raised my sword in a desperate attempt to take advantage of its misstep. The sword met the mark, taking a thick chunk of oily flesh out of the creature's furry body, but even as the blood began to flow, I saw the Beasts lifeblood freeze, sealing the wound.
I realized that attrition wasn't an option here, I would have to ruin this creature, destroy it hard and fast. The longer I dodged and ducked and swung and slashed, the more I realized the nature of this monster didn't make sense. Where did it get food? There couldn't possibly be enough creatures for this Beast to keep itself going, was it in some way magical? I didn't think so, my sword seemed to deal with it well enough.
As I was pondering this, another of the monster's wild swings slammed into my breastplate, cracking it further than it had already been. I gasped, winded from the blow. The Beast screamed in triumph and charged for a fatal blow.
I pulled in a desperate blast of painfully cold air and steeled myself against the blow, in its mad charging the beast made its fatal mistake. The creature tried to put weight on the leg that I had deprived it off and stumbled, only slightly, but more than enough.
This was my opportunity; I pulled the sword back with all the strength remaining in my body and pulled it up in a brutal arc. The Beast's monstrous face was split in twain, still screaming in defiance until the blood pooling around its ruined throat froze shut. The Beast slumped, still twitching and eventually went still. I panted in the cold, feeling the adrenaline leave my body and be replaced with exhaustion. I walked past the monster's body and picked up my helmet which had somehow evaded the Beasts violent feet and pounded my fist on the door three times.
"Open the damn door!" I roared past the din of snow. "I'm a bit cold out here, I'll have you know!" I chittered, teeth chattering incessantly in the sickly light of the Hypatian Lamp.
To my surprise, the door opened.