Far to the North, Ben had a front row seat to the explosion, as the captured summers exploded from the shattered casket. Ben's mind was paralyzed by the sight of the bright, mushroom shaped cloud that floated up into the sky. No one was ignorant of what that shape meant, and the horrors that atomic warfare had unleashed. From Hiroshima and Nagasaki during the dark ages of warfare, to the micro-nuke attacks on Belfast, Greenland, Cairo during the beginning of the Corporate Wars, and finally, the disastrous attempt to reach the rich areas of metal ore deep in the Martian crust. The symbol of the mushroom cloud meant wholesale death and destruction. Ben's mind was having trouble coping with the idea that it could happen here.
Days later, Rolly would explain to him the physics of how any large explosion could form such a cloud, as the bubble of hot gasses rose in the air, expanding, and suction drew dust and air up the into the vacuum left behind. Part of his mind even noted the color: bright yellow fading to orange at the edges with a core of light green. Whether he would have stood there too long and been hit in the face by the force of the blast and the superheated air was something he would wonder about later. Luckily, someone else was thinking where he wasn't.
Goodboy grabbed him, fangs that could have crushed his skull only grazing his skin and grasping his collar to fling him into a nearby gully. Ben landed hard, the breath going out of him, and then he was slammed again as Goodboy landed on top of him, forcing him into the sandy ground. Ben couldn't begin to move. He could barely draw breath. Secondary thuds came, as the undead wargs covered Goodboy the way he was covering Ben.
And then the wave of energy hit them. Through three different campaigns against the Empire, Winter had used their doomsday weapon to erase the Season of Summer, replacing it with the harshness of Winter. Twice this had created a lasting Ice Age that had lasted hundreds of years. The third time in recorded history that the Winter hordes had come south, only three large areas had been transformed before the Casket of Stolen Summers was itself stolen, and lost.
Mostly lost. Like a great many other artifacts and treasures it had found its way to the Vaults beneath Northguard where a Miser Baron sat in a cold hall, warmed by his horded wealth hidden deep in the ground. Now, those Summers were free, and they wished to return to the lands they had come from. A blast of pure force released them from each other, and wiped clean the Tower of Northguard and the surrounding area, along with trees, brush, and even the stones of the tower. Then, like miniature comets, the Summers raced off to their own lands. Three burst near to the destroyed tower, stolen from the area of Northguard each time winter had invaded. And one had a small collision as it headed north and ran into something.
Ragnarök, the Ice Tyrant, despoiler of villagers, and villain behind countless frozen chickens had sensed victory was at hand. He had come close to Northguard, watching as Glacia arrived, eager for the warmlands to freeze and extend his frozen realm. Like Ben, it was horrified as the Casket was destroyed and the warmth of the trapped seasons was released into the world. As fast as the wind, it fled North, unable to endure the warmth, but not fast enough. The blazing comet of a summer stolen from an area near to Gadobhra flashed through the whirlwind's body, turning whirling ice to water and then to steam. Ragnarök screamed as the summer careened off its core and raced onward, leaving the wounded Ice Devil behind.
The elemental screamed and roared, driven mad by the pain, and the direct assault on his being. It rose, screaming into the colder air, racing for the cooling frost of the high peaks, seeking something to ease the torment of a cracked and melted core. In the highest peaks where only the yeti lived, a lone wanderer saw the whirlwind slam hard into the face of the mountain, before rebounding and moving lower into a narrow valley. Above, the snow trembled and then started to move. Avalanches came with a hundred years of packed snow, filling the valley and sending Ragnarök tumbling down, now a ball of swirling air, ice, and rock. And pain, lots of pain. After traveling miles, the avalanches subsided and Ragnarök returned to his normal form, smaller than before, but no less angry or powerful. Where water and ice had formed it's body, they now shared space with earth and rock. The endless snows had cooled its core and helped to restore it, but it had been a near thing. In the end, only anger had sustained it. Anger, and a need to hurt something. For Ragnarök, the war was not over yet.
Ben was also not having a great day. He hadn't been hit by a miniature sun, but did have a problem of suffocating underneath a couple of tons of dead dog. The blast of dust and hot air that scoured the land fixed that. Sending the undead wargs flying, then he and Goodboy were tumbling away. Ben held on to the rank fur of the beast, invoking the protections he had as a Courier, hoping that the system would help him and his mount even though their mode of travel was anything but controlled. After what seemed like an eternity of rolling but was only a few seconds, they came to rest. All around Ben were the remains of the pack that Chartok had sent to guard him. Some of the dogs were cooked and charred, but many looked barely dead...their wounds still bleeding. One rose to its feet and growled at Ben, before falling over. And beside him, Goodboy stirred.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
The white Snarlfang stood up on wobbly legs, looked at Ben...then whined in pain and agony, his eyes looking at Ben. Ben saw the wounds that had been inflicted by Chartok were bleeding. More wolves likewise stood, then fell, bleeding out from mortal wounds. The necromantic spell that had transformed them at the moment of their deaths was gone, washed away by the Summer heat. Goodboy fell to the ground, still alive, but only for seconds. Chartok's magic was gone, and he was dying from his wounds.
Ben's mind made an instant decision, hoping that saving the large predator wouldn't mean his own death. If Goodboy had snarled at him, he might not have done what he did, but the huge beast had looked to him for help, knowing he was about to die for a second time. Ben summoned every bit of mana he could, using his spells as fast as he could, trying to hold off death that had such a strong hold on Goodboy. His spells could heal hundreds of points of damage, but Goodboy needed more than that. Ben felt Goodboy's heart beat once, then again, and then was still. He kept casting spells, and used his meagre electrical magic, trying to restart their heart.
Nothing worked. Death won. The great heart refused to beat. Ben knew he was dead, but part of him wouldn't accept that, and rebelled at the idea. "This isn't fair! We WON! He died a hero, saving me. And he deserves another chance!!"
He stood with both arms held up to the sky and invoked the Maiden of Orleans, calling down Phoenix Fire in a rushing torrent that didn't end. He called the fire until he'd used all of his mana, then his stamina, and finally almost killed himself, fueling the spell with his own life. He collapsed next to Goodboy, and put his hand on the huge carnivore's head, weeping. "Sorry, boy, I tried."
The wind whispered into his ear, 'So you did...my Paladin.' A woman's laughter mixed with the wind that went swirling off across the land.
The light of Summers past swirled around them, tinged with the echoes of Phoenix Fire. The winds glowed and moved to Goodboy, turning his dirty white coat to the purest silvery white. To Ben's astonishment, Goodboy stood up and howled with joy, then looked down at Ben, eyes narrowing. And he shook. Fur went flying everywhere as his winter coat was shed in an instant as the huge canine shook himself. Covered in white fur, sitting on the ground, Ben waited for what would happen next. Goodboy looked at him, then kicked the curry comb closer to Ben, and barked. The weary Courier stood up, and began to brush Goodboy's coat, again. As he stroked the huge beast, pulling out more and more old fur, revealing a short coat more suitable for summer, things swirled in the Courier's mind. Images of the forces of Death and Rebirth, Darkness and Light, Corruption and Radiance. He saw a way to push back on death, and save those recently struct down. It wasn't an easy spell, but it was his now.
In the distance, he could just start to see the remains of Northguard as the dust settled. Nothing remained but a few shattered rocks. Gone were the wolfpacks, the knights, the Tower of Northguard, and the Champion of Sedgewick. When he was done with Goodboy's coat, they searched around and found his pack. An unfamiliar staff was sticking out of it. Nearby was a heavy book. He rolled his eyes as he saw the title. Nearby was a bag of expensive women's jewelry made of blue, green, and white gems. They glittered coldly in bright light of day. Ben put the loot into his pouch, and hid the book in his Courier's ring.
Then he looked at Goodboy. "What do you think? North to Sedgewick, or South to take some news of what happened to a Duchess and an Emperor?"
Goodboy looked South, and barked once. Ben nodded, "Makes sense. It's not everyday you get to claim a hero's reward, and for you, I'm thinking that's a special collar with an Imperial Seal so people don't make the mistake of trying to fill you full of arrows. I'll be content with a comfy bed, a few bottles of wine, and whatever fine cheese the Duchess has with her."
The two headed South, a Courier on a monstrous carnivore, running like the wind, his tongue out and eyes bright with a second chance at life.
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