Chapter 22

With a big yawn Alvar slumped down onto his mattress in exhaustion after returning from another long day of sparring, learning and diving under Sjorn's tutelage.

The last few days Alvar had received heavier training gear from said man and on top of his sword training started on spear and shield work, a combination he did enjoy even though he didn't feel as flexible with the combination as he did with his sword. On the other hand, it felt good that he was more secure from receiving Sjorns heavy blows for once while sparring with the man. If Alvar didn't know any better he may have assumed over time that his instructor had a partial heritage from an Ogre judging by how hard the man's strikes were.

Mulling over his thoughts regarding his training and how much he had learned in the last few weeks already Alvar slowly drifted into sleep, the darkness engulfing his mind like an old friend.

After a few minutes of drifting without thoughts or memories in the darkness of his sleeping mind his mind's eye slowly began to shift into the trusted paradigms of the dream world, namely bouts and swaths of multicoloured and everchanging mists. As Alvar drifted into the mist something in the back of his sleepy conscious told him that what he was seeing was not normal but in his bedrizzled state of mind he was unable to rouse himself from his current state of near unconsciousness and had no other choice but to observe what was happening as soon as the mists he was drifting through changed into a scene of lush green forests and mountains of in the distance…

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Olaf and his band of hunters had been travelling through the wilderness in a practised fashion only those with decades of experience could pull off. The group had, after a few days of reading tracks, found some animals to hunt and fulfilled their duty with steady hands, though the prey they had caught was not as rich as they had hoped after reading the tracks many times.

After they caught the prey two hunters of the group were to return to Hoelbrak with their results, so the prey would not become bad while the group was out in the wilderness, while the rest of the group would venture further north to look for more prey they could bring back with them.

Though the groups consent had only come with hesitation as they all knew what such an expedition may throw them into. After all you didn't become a hunter with that much experience on your shoulders without having been in contact with the sons of Jormag and the manifold of other creatures under the dragon's control, encounters that still haunted many hunter's dreams to this day and would do so until they joined their ancestors in the mists.

After steeling their minds for what may very well be unavoidable the group of hunters had shouldered their bows and quivers and began their trip further north, right towards the lair of the ancient dragon and with each passing day the sun seemed to grow weaker and further away while the temperature dropped and icy winds haunted the nights more frequently.

Even though he didn't look forward to his trip further into the frozen wastes of the Shiverpeak mountains Olaf knew that it was a necessity. After all, if he ever wanted to find his brother-in-law then he would have to brace the cold winds of the northern mountains, not to mention his duty as a hunter towards his people.

Thus, the group walked straight into the frozen maw of the Shiverpeak mountains, passing frozen lakes, forests partially clothed in shimmering deep blue ice and through snowdrifts so high they may have been able to hide a fully grown Ogre with their impressive height of nearly four meters.

Each night the group built themselves igloos or sought out caves that would protect them from the biting winds that penetrated even their thick coats of furs and gnawed at their endurance.

"I swear, Jormag knows we are here and wants to make our trip especially difficult! I've never had such harsh winds in the summer, no matter how far north I've ventured!" One of the hunters spoke with gnashing teeth, huddled close to the bonfire the group had ignited in their midst while they camped out in a cave, the shadows thrown by the flickering flames playing with each other on the walls, bringing an eerie atmosphere to the cave while the winds on the outside howled and tried to breach a way into their small camp.

"Shut up Wulfgar! I swear, your jinxing will be the death of us one day!" another hunter spoke through equally clenched teeth in response with a warning gaze thrown into the direction of Wulfgar who only grunted in reply while some of the other hunters seemed to agree with the reprimand.

"You are a fool if you believe Jormag doesn't know that we are trespassing onto his territory! The only thing we should worry about is whether or not he deems us worthy enough to be taken care of by his henchmen…" Olaf spoke into the murmuring arguments that were being thrown into the dimly lit cave, silencing the other speakers, while drawing his mantle of furs closer around his torso, seeking out every last bit of warmth he could find in the thick furs.

"Right you are, Olaf. Let us hope we are unworthy of the damn worms attention. I really could go the rest of the trip without having to beat down the ugly mugs of those accursed sons and the other bloody creatures that live in these lands…!" Olafs friend Heimdal spoke through his beard covered mouth, his words causing a few bouts of laughter in the circle of hunters, Olaf amongst them as he had always found his friends dark humour amusing.

After the laughter subsided the silence of the cave returned, only the howling of the winds outside and the crackling of the bonfire filling the air with their ominous yet comforting sounds.

"How many miles do you think we'll be able to make tomorrow? The winds can't always remain that strong after all, can they?" One of the hunters asked which resulted in speculative and thoughtful humming that echoed softly through the cave, one hunter answering not long afterwards.

"Depends. If we manage to breach the frozen brid--!" The hunter spoke but was interrupted midway through his sentence by the deep sounds of war horns and drums beating and blaring in a rhythm far of in the distance, steadily coming closer which had all the hunters sit up straight around the bonfire.

"Fucking hell, I knew we shouldn't have come to this god's forsaken place! Grab your weapons lads, we got company!" Heimdal spoke in a commanding voice while the hunters were already in the motions before Heimdal had finished speaking.

Olaf himself had grabbed his trusty bow that lay besides him and took out a new bowstring that he swiftly and with practised motions drew onto his bow after which he let his right hand drop down to his old axe that he always carried at his belt, sure he would soon need it once again.

'Is he amongst them? Please let it be so! I can't die without at least knowing the reasoning for his actions!' Olaf thought while gritting his teeth in frustration. He had always known that his self-issued mission to find out about the murder of his sister would be an incredibly difficult task but he had remained hopeful none the less. Now though, that death was knocking on their cave entrance, literally, he understood that he may have bitten of more then he could chew. But he still remained firm and refused to abandon his mission like a damn coward!

The men had drawn further into the back of the cave, taking cover behind rocks from where they would let death rain down upon the accursed sons.

Olaf was kneeling besides his friend Heimdal and both of them were tense. With each second the drums vibrations grew nearer and Olaf found it harder and harder to differentiate between his own heartbeat and the approaching drums with each passing second. Besides him his friend had taken out a picture of his family and gazed at them with a determined expression on his face, just how Olaf knew his friend and he was glad that in a situation like this his friend was the one looking after his back, even though that meant possibly denying his friend the company of his family.

Just when the drums seemed to have reached the caves entrance silence descended upon the hunters, a drowning and fearful atmosphere taking over the drum beats.

As Olaf was listening intently for any faint sounds caused by footsteps or the like a different sound echoed in his ears, a whispering, malicious and seductive, appealing to the fear in all the men's hearts.

"So valiant! Even though you know your last moments are approaching you stand tall and don't cower in fear. The embodiment of a true Norn!" The whispering voice purred into all ears causing sweat to run down many backs and foreheads as they all knew exactly who it was that they were hearing at this very moment.

"Your ancestors would be proud of you but I cannot avoid but ask myself if you wouldn't rather embrace your families at home instead of joining your ancestors in the mists? Why not lay down your weapons and join me so you may return back to your loved ones. Please my friends, I do not wish for your blood to be spilled…" The voice spoke and Olaf saw that many of the hunters had to fight desperately to not succumb to the sweet promises of Jormag that addressed their most personal fears and desires.

"Get out of my head you damn frozen snake!" Olaf grit out through gnashing teeth with a slight tremble in his voice as he had warred with the strong compulsion just as much as his companions.

"I will never bow to you! Only the weak embrace your empty promises out of fear!" Olaf nearly roared which caused many men to receive the needed push until they just as firmly as Olaf stood their ground, unwilling to join their most hated enemy.

At Olafs side Heimdal had drawn an arrow from his quiver and was waiting with an admirable calmness for the attack that would soon come, Olaf joining his friend momentarily.

"…So be it. Though it saddens me greatly to end your lives." The silky voice spoke once more until, after a short moment of silence, the war drums beat once more and it was finally time to fight, though Olaf doubted they would see another day.

Under the steady beats of the war drums the drumming rhythm of feet on hard snow and ice sounded through the cave until those were overshadowed by shards of conjured ice that swished through the air towards the hunters who ducked just barely behind their covers, the shards breaking with ringing sounds on the frozen walls of the cave behind them, after which the hunters returned the attack with a volley of arrows of their own, causing cries of pain to echo through the cave.

A swift exchange of projectiles began, the shards of ice sometimes changing into icy winds that knocked the arrows of their course, until the sons of Jormag had closed the distance enough that arrows would be relatively useless and thus the hunters cast aside their bows and drew their axes, knifes or swords to meet the enemy head on!

Olaf was one of the first to jump over his cover of rocks pelted by ice and snow, his furs left behind his cover to give him the most mobility and promptly engaged his first foe, a son of Jormag carrying a sword/shield combination while clothed in white fur and grey leather, his light blue icy cold skin peeking through his clothing here and there while the man's eyes with their piercing blue, magically enhanced intensity, regarded his foe before him and charged with a war cry of his own to end Olafs life.

Moving on the tips of his feet for maximum agility Olaf swerved left and right, bringing his axe down on his foes shield from the right who in turn made to reflect Olaf's strike. But Olaf was experienced enough to guess his foes action in a split second, after seeing movement in the man's shoulder, and thus decreased the velocity of his strike which enabled him to hook his axe over the edge of his enemy's shield and pull hard.

Not having expected such an action the son of Jormag tumbled forwards slightly, as he had made to brace for the impact of the strike by leaning into it and putting all his weight onto his front foot.

As the son tumbled forwards Olaf used the short time frame of confusion to push his axe forward and smashed the axe head into the face of his forwards stumbling enemy who promptly cried out in pain while blue blood flowed down his nose, obviously broken.

Moving to swiftly finish of his opponent Olaf rounded on his enemy and buried his axe in the back of his enemy's neck, ending the man's life abruptly.

With adrenaline coursing through his veins and blood rushing through his ears like a river after breaking a dam Olaf swivelled around on the move to find his next opponent. Just as he turned around he saw another son grip his friend Heimdal by the neck and under his horrified gaze began to suck the life out of him while necrotic energies flowed around his tall frame.

With an outcry of pain, rage and hopelessness Olaf charged the necromancer that had just ended his friend's life and left the man a dried up tusk on the ground, only coughing slightly before his breath stilled with finality.

Smashing his body into the necromancer Olaf threw himself onto the ice cold man and began hacking away at the mans startled face, splitting it into pieces in the process until his rage subsided like a fountain that had run dry over time, only leaving an empty feeling behind, the necromancer below him having taken his last breath a minute ago.

Bringing his gaze up from his dead friend Olaf let his gaze roam through the cave, hunters killing and getting killed left and right until only Olaf remained. With a last effort, unwilling to bend before the fuckers he stood up and suddenly came face to face with the man he had been looking for years, his brother-in-law.

With a snarl of rage Olaf charged at the man he hated with every fibber of his being, only one goal in his mind, his just subsided rage rekindled into an inferno of enormous proportions.

Just as he was hacking down on the face of his nemesis his arm stopped as if frozen in time and under his horrified eyes began to turn to ice which slowly crept along his arm and soon had covered him from head to toe, his mind drifting away until darkness finally took him…

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Hundreds of miles away Alvars eyes snapped open, an anguished cry escaping his throat, as the dream replayed before his eyes, which woke up the rest of the house in alarm. Promptly upon hearing the scream his grandparents came rushing into Alvar's room to see what was wrong with their grandson. When they entered the room all they saw was Alvar sitting on his bed, tears streaming down his young face, while his mind and soul slowly came to realise that what he had just seen was without a doubt no mere dream but a vision, which would mean one thing, and one thing only. His uncle Olaf was dead.