From The Duelist #5

By John Tynes

It was the Feast of Kjeld, but no one in Mikkel was celebrating. The blizzard that had raged for the last three days made the road to Krov impassable. In better days, the villagers would have filled their packs with clothes and offerings and made their way to the capitol city to join in the great feast, the feast that honored Kjeld and the country he had forged from the ice. But these were not better days.

The war against the legions of the dead was not going well. A decade ago, the necromancer Lim-Dûl was only whispered of as a far and distant evil. But then travelers beyond the mountains began to disappear. Those that returned spoke of attacks by beings monstrous beyond imagination, and the fates far worse than murder which befell their companions. Expeditions were sent and brought back tales of marching corpses, and a half-built keep at the edge of a great frozen swamp.

The attacks along the border of Kjeld increased until finally the armies of Lim-Dûl passed over the mountains. Driven by terrible magic and demonic fury, these undead warriors needed no sleep, food, comfort, or warmth. Swift, silent, and utterly devoid of mercy, they claimed village after village; every man, woman, and child they put to the sword, and every house to the torch. Worst of all, with every slaughter their legions grew, as the slain innocents of Kjeldor rose with the next dawn, filled with the fires of unlife, to join Lim-Dûl’s inhuman forces.

It was the Feast of Kjeld, but none knew who would live to see it come again.

Warmth is life,

Heat is peace,

Strength is safety,

In the heart of Kjeld.

Kjeld is all,

All are one,

Rising moon,

Setting sun.

Sun is truth,

Water is flux,

Ice is power,

In the heart of Kjeld.

Kjeld is all,

All are one,

Rising moon,

Setting sun.

In the village church a priest called out the Benediction of Kjeld. The words came with the strength of purity and the fervor of true faith, but Halvor Arenson’s face belied his speech. He was not old, but he looked it. Harsh storms of winter and the horrors of war had left him pale and gaunt, his hair thinning and his cheeks hollow. He leaned hard on his staff as he knelt before the great tapestry depicting the glorious history of Kjeld. Like the people of Mikkel, he was saddened that he could not go to Krov for the great feast. This was a time to honor Kjeldor’s past and bolster the people’s faith in its future. “Ah well,” he thought as he finished the benediction. “We can still have a feast of our own.”

Yet the church was empty, except for the child who knelt beside him. He thought of the rest of the villagers, huddling for warmth by their fires. Halvor knew better than to expect them at the lonely church in the midst of such a storm, even on this day. But their absence hurt him.

“Where is everyone, Halvor?” the girl asked. “Why aren’t they here?”

The priest sighed. “In their homes, I expect. Hiding from the storm, hiding in fear of the walking dead. It is well, Kaysa, that we can at least offer this benediction on behalf of all those who are not here. Kjeld will understand.” Kaysa made no response as she stared up at the tapestry as if thinking very hard. In her hands she held a brittle bough of holly, a memory of spring.

Suddenly there came a great thudding sound, and the double doors of the church flew open. The howling increased a hundredfold, and snow blew in. In the doorway stood three people. Two were knight, dressed in warm wool and heavy armor that bore the insignia of their orders. The third wore no armor, but was bundled tightly in auroch fur. The three hurried inside and closed the doors.

“Goodmeet, priest,” said one knight. She removed her helmet, revealing a stern but not unfriendly face. “We are travelers, cold and tired. May we abide here?”

Halvor rose to his feet stiffly. “Of course, good knight. Come closer to the fire and warm yourselves.”

The three strode forward swiftly and warmed themselves in the fire’s heat. On their faces the priest could read nothing but a desire to be rid of the cold. It was several moments before the knight spoke again.

“I am Lucilde Fiksdotter, of the Order of the White Shield,” the knight said. “These are Klazina Jansdotter of the Order of the Sacred Torch and Disa, called the Restless.”

Disa looked away from the fire and smiled at the priest. Her face was lined with age and her ears scarred by frostbite. “We were making our way to Krov, but the storm is too strong. I fear we’ll miss the feast day.”

“You are both right and wrong,” said Halvor kindly. “This is the very day of the feast, and you will not reach Krov. But we are celebrating the feast in our own way, as best we can, and you are welcome to join us.”

The priest stepped forward and clasped each of their hands in turn, rubbing them with his own to warm them—the traditional greeting of Kjeld. “I am Halvor Arenson. This is Kaysa, a ward of the church and my assistant. I fear we five will be the only celebrants, but we shall do the day the honor it merits.”

The second knight had been watching the two warily; her eyes glinted with anger as Halvor rubbed her hands. “What is wrong with the people here, priest? We have knocked at the doors of a dozen homes, and yet none would answer our summons.”

“They’re all scared. They’re all hiding.” said the little girl, unhappily.

Halvor’s face darkened at the knights reproach. “Please accept my apologies on behalf of the village. The storm is great, but the people’s fear of Lim-Dûl is still greater. In this time of war, charity to travelers gives way to self-preservation—as do many other virtues.” He looked around at the empty church.

Klazina nodded, but her eyes still betrayed hostility. She returned her attention to the fire, where she and her two companions stood shivering.

Kaysa looked shyly at the three women. “We have spent the day baking bread and preparing for the feast. Won’t you join us? We have enough to share.”

Disa smiled and stepped back from the fire. “It would be our pleasure,” she said, stretching her hand to the little girl.



The five sat around a rough oak table built for twice their number. Waybread was stacked in the center of the table, surrounded by butter, jams, and a small selection of meats. Halvor and Kaysa ate slowly, smiling fixedly at their guests. The three travelers ate with relish, littering the tabletop with their crumbs.

Her hunger sated, Lucilde paused and surveyed the remains; then she laughed and shook her head. “I think our hunger has overcome our manners.”

“It is of no concern,” Halvor said. “No doubt you have come a long way.”

Klazina nodded. “We have been stationed in the mountain pass for the last two weeks, awaiting the return of Disa’s expedition. She has traveled to the far west, as far as one can go on land, and has only now returned.

“Expedition?” Halvor repeated. “Where is the rest of your party?”

Disa shook her head sadly. “We were attacked by the legions of the necromancer west of the mountains, as we emerged from the Adakar Wastes. Most of my companions were slain; the rest scattered. I waited at the rendezvous in the mountains for three days, but no one else arrived. I fear they have now joined the undead.” Her face was hard from years of travel and rough living, but it did not hide her sorrow.

An uncomfortable silence ensued. “I am sorry,” Halvor said at last. “It seems that every direction we turn, the war brings new tragedy. Did you discover anything on your journey that would lend hope?”

“My companions lost their lives for nothing. Past the Wastes and the Yavimaya River, there is nothing. A few clutches of dwarves and goblins, and many beasts of every description. But we found no other people who could come to our aid, no other civilized land. Kjeldor faces Lim-Dûl alone.”

Halvor nodded. “I feared as much. This is not a time for civilization and growth. We do well just to endure this terrible cold, and with the necromancer’s forces growing, simple survival becomes—”

There was a small sound, a sniffle, and the group turned its eyes to the little girl. A tear rolled down her cheek. “They’re going to kill us, aren’t they?” Taysa cried. “And then we’ll be dead like them?”

Disa rose from her chair and hefted the ten-year-old into her arms. “No, young one. Kjeld did not build this great land only for us to fail him and see his dreams die. We will win. We will not perish.”

Kaysa sobbed softly, her head on Disa’s shoulder. Disa stroked the child’s neck, then jerked in surprise.

At the base of Kaysa’s neck was a birthmark in the shape of a crescent moon.

“Kaysa,” she said cautiously, “what is this mark on your neck? Has it always been there?”

Kaysa lifted her head and nodded, wiping the tears from her face.

“What is it, Disa?” asked Klazina. “What does it mean?”

Disa smiled and hugged the young girl. “It means the wheel has turned, Klazina. It means the wheel has finally turned.”

Klazina looked at her, her mouth forming a question, when a knock boomed at the doors. “Perhaps not all are cowed after all!” Halvor called out happily as he walked to the back of the church. He pulled the great doors open, turning his face from the blast of wind and blowing snow. In the doorway stood a tall man in flowing robes of crystalline blue. His beard was long and white, and he clutched a gnarled wooden staff.

“Kjolbörn!” Disa cried, her face suddenly lighter. She stood up. “What are you doing here? How did you get through the storm?”

The Elder Druid of the Juniper Order strode forward and closed the doors behind him. “The winds are the breath of Freyalise, and the storm her spirit,” he said solemnly. “The snows are her tears, and their caress is her love. How did I get through the storm? How could I not? Freyalise watches and Freyalise protects.” His voice possessed an air of sternness and authority.

Disa’s smile faded. “You haven’t changed. You cannot speak forty words without ‘Freyalise’ being three of them.”

Kjolbörn looked at her sternly. “Nor have you. You cannot speak ten words without being impertinent.”

Halvor absorbed all of this, then spoke. “What are you doing here, man of the woods?” His voice was quiet but hard. “I thought you and the other druids never left Fyndhorn, let alone ventured into the country you forsook. Even the elves you dwell with are more prone to travel.”

The two knights seated at the table watched with interest. “You’re Kjolbörn?” Lucilde stood up from the table. “The Elder Druid? I thought you must have died years ago.”

The old man shook his head. “I see. I choose not to travel among Kjeldorans for a time, and they think I am dead. You overvalue the attraction of your land.”

“Enough!” said Disa harshly. “Kjolbörn, I don’t know what has brought you here, but it is good that you have come. This child, Kaysa.” She gestured to the girl, who was looking at Kjolbörn with a smile on her face. “She has the mark, Kjolbörn. The wheel has turned.”

Kjolbörn nodded. “That is why I have come. Freyalise has guided me here to bring this child back to Fyndhorn, to join our order, and to take my place when she comes of age.”

Halvor’s face reddened. “Druid, I think you presume too much. This child is a ward of the church, and under my protection. She is following the footsteps of Kjeld, learning the honor and tradition he established for the betterment of all. You and your tree-goddess must look elsewhere.”

Kaysa looked from the priest to the druid, silent, her smile gone.

The Elder Druid’s expression softened. “This place is hallowed ground, I do not mean to offend you, nor he whom you adore. If you do not wish Kaysa to leave you, I respect your request. All of you will die soon; I shall protect Kaysa until then. Afterward, she and I shall return to Fyndhorn without dishonoring your wish.”

Klazina spoke first. “Dead? Us? What are you talking about, druid?”

“This village is surrounded by the legions of Lim-Dûl. They have slaughtered every person in every house, on every street. The six of us are the only living things in Mikkel, and they will come for us next.”

Lucilde blanched. “All those doors we knocked on…,” she said haltingly. “And behind them…”

Halvor strode forward, his face red with rage and tears. “You new of this? You knew that these people would be slaughtered? And yet you did nothing? Monster! Demon!””

Kjolbörn focused his steely gaze on the priest. “I had no prior knowledge of these events. I mourn the loss of all life. I am here only to discharge my duty. This child bears the mark of the Elder Druid, the same mark I bear. It is her fate to take my place and lead our order.”

Halvor took a step back, horrified and uncertain.

“Argue late!” Lucilde shouted. “If this is true, we must prepare. The dead could be at our door even now!”

Kjolbörn nodded. “Indeed they are. They, and the one that leads them.”

“Lim-Dûl? Lim-Dûl is here?” Disa’s voice betrayed her shock.

The doors of the church opened a third time, and another knight entered. He was tall, and his linen surcoat board a flaming phoenix: the crest of the Knights of Stromgald, the proudest and fiercest of the Kjeldoran forces. He closed the doors and turned to look at the group. Behind him, the wind still whistled through the cracks in the door. The wind, or something worse.

“Klazina… Lucilde. It is good to see you here,” he said in a low, strong voice.

“Avram Garrison! Thank Kjeld,” said Klazina. “We will need your sword and your valor, for this village is infested with the dead. Kjolbörn says even Lim-Dûl may be among us. If his forces have reached this far, they could be at Krov by dawn!”

The knight nodded his helmeted head grimly. “You are right. That is our plan. But Lim-Dûl is not with us.” Avram pulled off the helmet, revealing his face: pale and green, the flush of life gone and a cold fire burning in his eyes.

Klazina gasped and drew her sword. “He is one of them! They’ve taken Avram!”

Kaysa stepped next to Kjolbörn and clutched his robe with one small fist. She stared at Avram, her face full of silent accusation.

The druid shook his head, putting his hand on Kaysa’s shoulder. “They could not take what was freely given.”

Lucilde, too, had drawn her sword. “What do you mean?”

Avram laughed. “He means that the Knights of Stromgald have finally achieved our destiny. ‘Kjeldor for Kjeldorans!’ has been my cause, now more than ever. Those who rule our land are weak and without honor. They haggle with elves, traffic with dwarves, and give food to the wild folk of Balduvia. I believe that such abominations deserve only one verdict: death. Lim-Dûl bears that gift to the deserving.”

“Bastard,” Lucilde said in a low, angry voice. “You are without honor! You swore an oath to protect Kjeldor!”

“I have broken no oath. I serve Kjeldor, and the true Kjeldorans who are its rightful subjects. But who are the true Kjeldorans? Our leaders in Krov? Our plump, decadent merchants? You? I think not.

“The true Kjeldorans gave the greatest gift to their country: their lives. The true Kjeldorans fought with honor, and died with honor, for the land they love. Let the cry ring loud and long: Kjeldor for Kjeldorans!”

Glass shattered. The howl of the storm broke in like a scream of the damned.

“And if Kjeldor is not for the undeserving Kjeldoran living,” Avram said, raising his arm, “then let it be for the deserving Kjeldoran dead!”

The corpses leapt in the windows and burst through the doors, howling. Their bodies were pale, yellow-green, bloated with gas and swelling with unholy vitality. They bore terrible gashes and tears that exposed black organs. Some lacked eyes, other lacked hands. None had a soul, nor a heart, nor mercy.

“Kjeldor!” screamed Lucilde. She and Klazina moved like lightning. They kicked over the nearest pews, trippig the front rank of the undead. First Klazina, then Lucilde, lay open the bellies of the attackers. The creatures jerked back as their innards spilled to the floor, then they collapsed; the stench of their rotting flesh filled the church. Kaysa screamed.

From her belt Disa unhooked a mace. Behind her, Kjolbörn began mumbling under his breath, Kaysa still at his side. Disa stepped forward and swung the mace into the attacker’s skull. The undead soldier bellowed and fell.

Halvor tried to reach the knights, bt two creatures cut him off. He swiftly moved his hands in the air, and as they moved they left a trail of brilliant sunlight. The trail solidified and within moments became a solid disk. This he seized and thrust forward, and as it contacted undead flesh, the soldiers melted and their bones dissolved. Disk and soldiers vanished.

Avram Garrison stood at the doors of the church. He watched the melee with calm interest. Near the altar, Kjolbörn continued to mumble. None of the dead had approached him or Kaysa.

Lucilde and Klazina moved from opponent to opponent, trading blow for blow. These were two of the most skilled knights in Kjeldor, and they fought with fury. The dead fell around them like stones. But they were only two, and the dead were many. As fast as a soldier fell, another ran forward. Still others pressed against the windowsills, howling and clawing, trying to scramble into the church. More roamed the street outside, setting houses aflame.

Lucilde and Klazina realized their cause was lost. There were far too many dead—easily enough to take the village, perhaps enough to take the city of Krov. Soon both knights would tire, but their foes never would. The legions of Lim-Dûl would slay them—and come the dawn, they would rise again and join the undead.

Klazina caught Lucilde’s eye. There was sadness in her gaze, a wish for a better world than this world of ice and death and regret. There was no hope in Klazina’s eyes, and Lucilde had none to give.

They were lost.

“Kaysa!” cried Halvor. “Come, child!” He gestured frantically to the girl, then saw her lips moving. Confused by the surety that burned in her eyes, he strove to make out what she said.

Then he understood.

Life is warmth,

Peace is heat,

Safety is strength,

In the arms of Freyalise.

Freyalise is all,

All are one,

Setting moon,

Rising sun.

Sun is life,

Water is peace,

Ice is safety,

In the arms of Freyalise.

Freyalise is all,

All are one,

Setting moon,

Rising sun.

Kjolbörn’s chant swelled: not the altered, adulterated Benediction of Kjeld, but the true words, the Benediction of Freyalise, the words of power chanted by druids and elves for years. Kaysa chanted with him, her voice louder than Halvor thought possible. He was amazed at the strength and serenity in her young eyes.

Nearby, Disa and the knights barely noticed the chanting as they fought to keep the dead at bay. They were fighting hard, but they were tiring quickly.

Suddenly the dead paused in their advance. The knights tensed for the next attack, but the legions of Lim-Dûl stood unmoving. Klazina searched for their leader, and saw Avram still near the door, his head turned slightly as if listening. Hatred and fear contorted his features. Then she and the others heard it, the howl of the storm, a shrill whirling cry that drowned out the roar of the unliving. As they listened, the howl became a woman’s cry, then a woman’s song: the song of Freyalise.

The hair at the nape of Disa’s neck stood up as she felt an infusion of life and power. It almost lifted her off her feet; she was filled with joy and the passion of living. She could see the same power in her smiling companions.

Beyond them, the dead sagged. The life that flowed into the walking corpses brought them pain and suffering, reminding them of what they had been before Lim-Dûl claimed them. Unable to withstand the force of life’s power and beauty as it coursed through their dead veins, they moaned and collapsed.

The song peaked and faded. The group stood in the church surrounded by dozens of corpses.



Dawn came, brining no new undead but only peace and warmth. The storm had ended, and a bright day had begun. Kjolbörn and Kaysa sat inside the church, eating bread. They held no interest in the fate of the dead, and had seemed confident that all would be well.

Instead they had spent the morning talking quietly about things the others did not understand nor pay attention to.

Halvor and the knights came in. “All the folk of Mikkel are dead,” Halvor said, his eyes red from crying. “They lie in the streets, as though an entire procession had all at once fallen asleep.”

Klazina coughted. “At least they didn’t rise again with the dawn. We can give them all the burial they deserve.”

“We’d best get to digging,” Lucilde said. “There’s lots to be done. She and Klazina headed back outside.

Kjolbörn watched them go, his fingers ruffling Kaysa’s hair. “Praise Freyalise. She delivered us from a certain fate.”

Halvor nodded slowly.

“I’m going to the forest,” Kaysa said.

“This is your choice, Kaysa?” Halvor asked. “Are you sure of this?”

Kaysa nodded. “The green-woman is my mother.”

Halvor sighed. “I won’t dispute the miracle I witnessed. Nor will I stand in your way. Kaysa may accompany you to Fyndhorn, Kjolbörn.”

Kjolbörn looked up at the priest. “It is good that you have reached this understanding. We serve the same purpose, you know: the preservation and celebration of life.”

Halvor smiled slightly. “We didn’t have much to celebrate yesterday But this is a good day.” He walked into the kitchen to fetch more bread for the druid and druid-to-be.

Disa sat down beside Kjolbörn, who stared out the window at the morning sun. “So, Kjolbörn. Did you miss me while I was gone? I can never tell with you.”

“I value all life, Disa. Even such a troublesome and impertinent life as yours.”

She cocked her head at him quizzically.

Kjolbörn allowed himself the merest trace of a smile. “All right. Perhaps especially such a life as yours, restless one.”

Disa took his hand and held it in hers. “I’m not always restless, husband. And I always come home . . . sooner or later.”

Lucilde and Klazina stood outside the church, surveying the fallen.

“We won a victory here, thank Kjeld,” said Lucilde. She frowned. “Or Freyalise. Or whoever.”

“I suppose so,” said Klazina pensively. But Lim-Dûl commands many legions. The war goes on.”

Lucilde shook her head. “The war can wait, Klazina. We’ve got digging to do.” She walked down the street, in search of a shovel.

Klazina stood a few moment longer, watching the stride of her companion. She looked over the bodies again, and frowned. They had searched the church and village thoroughly, both last night and this morning, and still they had not found the body they sought.

Where was Avram Garrison?

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