Page 1 of Heart of the Mountain King

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Once upon a time,

the world ended

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The moon and sun were caught, swallowed up, devoured. With them went their spellwork too, the luminous twins' curses and fetters dying along with their makers. All creation burned, the old gods and their heroes dying by the score.

Yet some managed to escape the destruction, though few would call them lucky. It was no haven the refugees found after their long and treacherous journey, but a realm ruled by monsters, magic, and a season of deadly, creeping Mist.

Scattering swiftly across this sunless land, humanity proved eager to tame their new home — even at the expense of their fellow survivors. Mages became monarchs, pledging powerful protections. They built fortified cities, walled and warded against all manner of danger. Boundary lines were drawn where the edges of power met, sparking countless wars banked only by Mistide's inevitable return.

Now a new dawn approaches, tinting the sky of a land that has not seen a sunrise for almost a thousand years. It threatens to shine a light on a world ill prepared for such searing illumination. But first —

Let us go back a bit, dear reader, to a simpler time. Together we shall sit by the campfire and listen for the opening notes, heralding the place a new song begins…

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Chapter 1

A Plea

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"Go away, little man," Rask grunted at the creature who'd dared to dog a bergsrå's footsteps for the past three days. "Big storm coming. Rask's mountain no place for you."

Limned by moonlight, the human stepping cautiously out from behind the knobbled trunk of the ancient pine looked nothing like the figure Rask first spotted trailing his goats on the far side of the ridge.

Once, the tunic he wore had been the light blue of a morning sky, and whole. His dark hair and beard had been sleek and tidy; his rucksack full; his eyes bright. That had been quite some time ago, however. Now, after chasing Rask's path up and down and through some of the mountain's worst terrain, the man's gaze was wary and tired; his pack gone; all of him mud-streaked and ragged. Standing there in the tall summer grass, the human looked about as stubborn as the most mischievous little goat of Rask's herd, and twice as disreputable.

Rask grinned to himself. That first day he had assumed the human was merely lost; following Rask's goats under the simple logic that, because they were behaved and well-fed, they must obviously belong to someone. Someone who might be able to help a confused traveler. Or at the least, direct him to the nearest village.

By the second day, it had become obvious it wasn't the goats the human was following, but Rask himself. For what reason, Rask did not care. It had been amusing leading the stubborn little man in circles around and about Rask's mountain each night; up this ravine and down that cliff, always staying three steps out of view.

Even better though, might've been the days. How the man would squawk and search fruitlessly for his quarry; the bergsrå's trail gone cold as stone in the Daybringer's stark light. Hidden in plain sight, Rask had chuckled sleepily to himself, watching the human hunt 'round and 'round the big rock in the middle of the clearing.

Had the man ever suspected the boulder he'd leaned against under his meager shelter of pine boughs, was the very creature he sought? But the wind carried with it the scent of rain now, heavy and wild; reminding him the warmth of a hearth was too long forgotten by his bones. And Rask's goats had done nothing to deserve being caught out in the midst of a summer storm, either. Not even the runty male with the broken horn.

It was time to end this game; send the human back down the mountain to somewhere safe, where he belonged.

"Please, I need your help," the little human bleated, as if he hadn't heard the bergsrå's warning. "I'm a mason down at the quarry. There's been another accident."

"Humans very fragile, Man's Son. Rask cannot help that."

“No, it's — " The human scrubbed his face and took a deep breath. He looked tired. Rask felt somewhat responsible.

"The thane's started blaming the workers,” the human said. “Says they're being careless.”

“Humans often careless, too.”

“Maybe,” the bewildering man agreed, even as he shook his head 'no'. “But I've known these men all my life. The last was a young man from my village who courted my sister all the past year. We expected to hear word any day that he'd bent his knee to plight his troth. Now the healer's saying that leg won't ever be right again, if he doesn't lose it entirely."

"So?" Rask huffed, eyes flicking to the clouds to gauge how long they had.

Not long. The human needed to get moving.

"So," the human echoed. "Lars grew up in the quarry as a water boy before Pa apprenticed him to one of the stone-bankers. That kid could scramble over our scaffolding better'n any of your goats. No way he mis-stepped — not with such a clean cut across the planks. I think it's something else. I think someone's upset the quarry’s vættir.”