The Fall of Frosthorn Hold

1
By the time the Thule reached Frosthorn Hold, the war had been raging in Skarsind for nearly two years. The Frosthorns are some of the tallest peaks in the southern mountains, at the Hold itself can only be reached by series of narrow roads that lead between the lower Redhorn peaks, named for the small red flowers that grow near the crest. In the death and birth of the day it used to be said that the sun bled there, which seems almost like an omen now.

The Hold itself didn't start until the two rowen trees (Watcher and Waker), which stood guard over the last pathway into Frosthorn itself. The hold – fort, gardens, lake, catacombs and outlying buildings – nestled in a small valley within the mountain, protected by both natural and man-made walls. There was water and fish from the lake, and fruit from the trees, so we were well supplied for a siege. Looking back we might have weathered the whole event, had it not been for the magics of the Thule.

As it was we lasted two years from the time of the first invasion, and nearly a year under siege. I remember tension, but no panic. We were well supplied, and the hold was easy to defend. It was at the time lead by our father, and while he wasn't the warrior our grandfather was he was still a capable enough tactician. Everyone expected to at least be able to hold the pass until reinforcements arrived or the invasion was driven back.

The last night we spent in the Frosthorns was the winter solstice of that year. That season was never a good time to be in the mountains, especially the Frosthorns, but the valley was warmed more than elsewhere by the natural springs and the trees never truly died as they did outside the hold. Summer was strong there, and is still strong, and people boasted that we had conquered even winter while we lived in the hold. Again, I can't help but wonder if that was an omen.

We were woken just after moonrise by what we thought at first was thunder to the south. I remember that at first, people were more annoyed than angry – a storm would make it more difficult to defend the pass, though some spoke of using it to block the pass completely. Our father put his foot down about it; he was a ritualist and a mage foremost, and spoke of the dangers of using a winter storm in a summer ritual. Not to mention that we might not have been able to clear the pass ourselves either, when the Thule left.

Then we started hearing screams. Most of the warriors still in the hold left at that point to head to the pass, my brother and father among them. A few of us stayed behind on my father's orders to hold against a sudden attack, or act as reinforcements. It's only looking back that I realise how many of us that stayed by his orders were the very young, or those with young children.

2
I didn't see my brother return at first, being one of those guarding inside the hold, but by the time I had returned to the ground levels the defenders of the pass had already returned. No-one looked at them and thought that we had won that encounter. My father told us to go to the great hall with my mother, Ula, who was already armed and armoured. There we could resupply, heal, and barricade the doors until he was done, for my father was planning some great summer ritual as a last defence. When we left so did he, with his coven, and went towards the catacombs.

The rest of us went to the great hall and barred the doors. Most of those left were not fighters; those had died at the pass. Almost half were children, the rest were old, Grimnir or just not trained. Everyone that could was holding at least a dagger, and wearing all the armour we could spare. As someone both trained as a warrior and uninjured, I was put with the shield fighters near the doors.

It didn't take long for the first strike at the gates to come. I remember the children screaming as the doors cracked from a blow too strong to come from even an orc. When the doors finally burst open there was something huge and dead in the opening, and those of us that could swarmed forward to bring it down. It killed three with its first strike and threw the rest of us back. The Thule swarmed into the hall afterwards before we could plug the gap.

The dead thing died again in the battle that followed, and the ground became thick with blue-robed corpses. But there were changeling warriors there as well who would never fight again, Runesmiths who had perfected their art and died of a stray arrow or sword. We were driven back to the throne itself, a group of us cut off from the rest by the sheer mass of bodies. No matter what we did, we could not break through.

Most of these were the shield fighters, who had faced the dead and the Thule skirmishers. But in our rush to defend the doorways we had left those behind us undefended, and once we were pushed to the wall they were exposed. The Thule wanted slaves, but the old or sick were no use to them. The children were no use to them. Their screams did not last for very long.

In the end it was only two small groups; my brother and I, with ten or so others, and a handful with my mother by the throne. One fell, then another, and she was backed up to the living branches. For a moment it seemed as though those would protect her, and she even drove them back. Our father the thane was summer thunder, ominous and loud and powerful, and he overshadowed even his forefathers. But for those few minutes there was summer lightning at the throne, quick and deadly and glorious. For a hundred heartbeats she fought more beautifully than I have ever seen in my life, and when the arrow struck her throat she was smiling.

I don’t remember much of the fight after that. The tides of battle brought us towards the doors of the hallway, and Thandral managed to lead a push to the entrance. Veska Calhainson held the Thule behind us, dying to let us get through safely. I remember the stones under our feet shaking, the Thule fleeing from it. Thandral lead us on back to the pass, and the Thule were fighting others – ones in bronze armour with helmets shaped like roaring lions. They fought like heroes, but there were dead heroes everywhere that day. It was clear that they could not hold for long.

When we passed the mouth of the catacombs we saw our father. Haskell Stormhowl, who lived his name that day. He was holding the mouth alone, wielding Frostforge two-handed against the Thule, and with each blow he cried out the tally of the dead at his feet. They had wounded him a dozen times and still he held the door to the tombs, refusing to let the Thule in amongst the heroic dead. None of the wounds seemed to bother him at all.

But when he saw us, his face showed a wound that the Thule had given him unawares. Ula was not there, and if our mother was not there, where else could she be but the Labyrinth? I think now that whatever else he had planned, perhaps even to come with us as his summoned creatures held the Thule at bay, it was gone in that moment. He had no desire to live where she had died.

Without a word he raised Frostforge over his head and pointed southwards, then brought the hammer down to strike at the runes before his feet. There was a flash, as though of sunlight behind a cloud, so bright we were blinded, then the whole world shook. The Thule feel back screaming and burning, and even the mountains around us seemed to shriek as well as the glacier twisted – I couldn’t believe it then, and still have trouble now but it did. A cliff of ice as large as the mountains themselves, but I saw it twist like bark in a fire. We started to run forward, but the shaking grew so intense we fell, and after that we could only hold on as the stones cracked beneath our hands and we heard the ice falling….

When we looked up again, Frostforge lay alone among runes that were now only fading light. Around it were twenty dead Thule, chunks of ice as large as we were… and only rubble where the catacombs had been. No other thane will ever be buried there, and now no thane shall ever rule there either.

But Haskell Stormhowl walked the Labyrinth that day with Ula Brighthelm, and they sealed the gates behind them so we could not follow.