Chronicles of the Bear: Volume II: Chronicles of the Bear, #2

By Remy Morgeson

The black army was sent to crush the people of the north. Their dark master was determined to wipe any trace of them from the world to avoid his own end. But the death they brought would prove to be their own undoing. One lone Northerner was left with but a single thing, the thought vengeance burning in his mind.

Asbjorn returns after surviving the destruction of his home. General Zantz is dead, but his vile master remains. What will he put in Asbjorn's path next, and how will the Son of the Bear overcome the enemies that have been charged with taking his head no matter the cost?

Continue with what began in Chronicles of the Bear: Volume I and discover a sword and sorcery tale of adventure and peril. Enter a time of dark magic and grim bloodshed, when one man stood against the darkness to send it fleeing from his path.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Remy Morgeson
• Release date: Mar 15, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224106592

Remy Morgeson

Remy Morgeson began his writing journey in 2016 determined to take on the world of sword and sorcery head on. A longtime lover of fantasy and pulp fiction, Remy found his inspiration in the fantastic settings and larger than life characters he’s shared adventures with over the years. His influences include authors such as Robert E. Howard, John Jakes, Michael Moorcock, and Fritz Lieber, as well as a handful of other talented individuals too numerous to name here. He is a self-published author with his debut series, Chronicles of the Bear, being released in February of 2021, with his first novel, The Wreck of the Tiger, following later in the year. In addition to writing sword and sorcery and dark fantasy, Remy enjoys a variety of other interests, including vintage RPGs, retro video games, weight training, and binging the occasional anime or two. He currently resides in Danville, Illinois with his wife and daughter, whom nothing would be possible for him without.

Book preview

The Bear in Red Webs

I

Aheavy mist clung to the ground as he walked through the darkened wood. The fog hid the snaking roots that spread out around him. The tree branches tangled together to almost completely block out the starlight. The wide-open plains of the Larbor Valley had long since been left behind. He could hardly follow the path that wound through the overgrown forest. His robes of deep violet were snagged on protruding limbs and sharp twigs. The deeper he strode the darker it became. Despite the lack of light, he continued onward, strolling as if he meandered through his own home.

The choking trees gradually began to thin. The trail he followed left the intertwining limbs to open on a wide clearing. The branches at the very tops shut out any view of the heavens beyond. In several places, it was just thin enough to allow streams of moonlight to sneak through. The silvery shafts shown down to illuminate the glade. They showed him the way when otherwise all would have been in black.

The hooded stranger gazed over the expanse. He saw a scattering of toppled stonework that had once made up the ancient site. He took in the long-forgotten grandeur that was only a shadow of its former self. What little remained only hinted at what this place might have been. It had not dared to be disturbed for several centuries. The people of this land were afraid of what they might once again stir to life if they came here. The cloaked figure shared no such concern. He stepped from the tree line to walk over the uneven ground.

Through the strewn remnants and amongst the collapsed walls he went. The foundations that were not overgrown jutted from where they’d sunken into the earth. Around the clearing’s edges, the forest looked to have valiantly tried to move back in, attempting to reclaim what had been erected and razed within its midst. But even the towering trees seemed afraid to proceed much further. They were content with only reaching out to conceal it from view.

He left the outskirts and made his way further in. The evidence of the past destruction that had struck only intensified. He passed by larger buildings that had been brought to the ground just as the rest. What they once were could only be guessed at thanks to the dirt and weeds that covered them. An odd skull or cluster of bones were visible if one cared to look. It was more akin to a deserted graveyard than an ancient ruin. Its current state left no suspicion as to why it had been avoided for so long.

At last, he rounded a large pile of rubble. He finally came upon what he sought at the clearing’s center. The ancient temple stood at the heart of the forgotten glade. It was crumbling in places but at least appeared in better condition than its surroundings. Its spires nearly reached the forest canopy above. Beams of moonlight shined down on its once lustrous ramparts. The white alabaster that made up its walls was now cracked and stained with an age’s worth of filth. The outlying wings just managed to hang on to avoid becoming nothing but fallen debris. Most of the columns that dotted the outside still stood tall and erect but there were just as many that leaned heavily against the bulwarks to threaten to collapse. Fortunately, the central section still displayed glimpses of its former majesty. The dome that crowned it was steadily collapsing from the middle outwards but managed to hold, refusing to yield to the march of years.

The hooded stranger traversed up the steps. He walked beneath the lofty archway that capped the main entrance. The doors had long ago been battered down. The dark oak that made up their construction was now rotted from the stagnant air. He stepped around to continue down the main hall. He bypassed several piles of scattered rock that had dropped from the ceiling.

Unlike the alabaster of the exterior, the inside was strikingly different. It was dark and gloomy and composed of cyclopean stonework that had been fit snuggly together. Outside may have been radiant at one time, but in here it showed no such trace. The dankness in the air reminded him of a sunken tomb, secluded from the light to remain in shadow.

His path took him down the long passage. Aside from the place’s dark splendor, he could now begin to see a dreadful facade. The carvings he came upon only hinted at the wickedness that had dwelt here. Images along the ceiling depicted all manner of horrible things. Hideous creatures possessing a multitude of arms and spindly legs were being worshipped like gods. Men and women were kneeling before and being sacrificed to them. Their bodies were being ripped apart and their flesh consumed by the beasts they paid reverence to. Some were seemingly being split open from the inside out. A swarm of skittering things spilled from their middles to pour into the world. But the worst was what the dark creatures themselves gathered around. It was a multi-limbed form they all prostrated themselves before. It was a scene that should have told anyone to immediately turn and flee. The robed stranger did not falter at the sight. What waited ahead was ultimately what he had come here for. It would take more than scribbles to sway him.

Finally, his path brought him to the very heart of the place. The entrance that was now before him opened to what could only be the throne room. The doors towered to the ceiling and stood half ajar. The gilded image of the multi-legged form splayed across each. He casually slipped between them to enter the belly of the ancient stronghold. What he saw had not been glimpsed by another for several lifetimes.

At the center of the room hung an enormous chrysalis. The size equaled nearly three grown men in both girth and height. It was suspended from the walls and ceiling, supported at the floor by clusters of thick strands. The fibers were an almost glittering silver even in the dark. The cocoon glistened wet with a slick sheen. Drops of moisture dripped from the supporting webbing to fall to the stone beneath. He slowly moved away from the doors to step across the floor. The hem of his violet robe just brushed one of the strands but it was enough.

At just the slightest touch, a chiming vibration ran the length of the fiber. A twanging sounded out to cause a fine mist to shake and fall from the cocoon. It took several moments, but the tones faded away as the webbing ceased to tremble. The throne room again grew silent as it had been for ages but not for long.

A groaning emanated from within the hardened chrysalis. The outside shell creaked, threatening to break apart at any moment. The supporting fibers all chimed out in a series of reverberating chords. The piercing noises shook the temple to its foundations. But thankfully, the strands and cocoon held firm. The walls remained standing. The sharp tones gave way to a low thumping, or was it a pulsating?

You are still in there, the hooded stranger whispered. His words somehow resonated louder than the vibrations. I was hoping you’d be as eager to get out as I thought you would. But freedom will not be yours just yet. Not until we have come to an understanding.

The stranger fell silent and glared up at the suspended mass. He did not take his gaze from it as he stood as motionless as a statue. From within his hood, a glow of gold began to show. It was like two shining eyes that looked out from the black. Gradually, the interlaced fibers began to shake. The strands hummed like the strings of a lyre that were constantly being plucked. A disharmony of rattles filled the room to spill into the halls and clearing beyond. The cocoon at the center started to judder. The webbed mass trembled violently as the pulsating from within intensified. Both sounds were racing with each other like rapid heartbeats ready to burst.

A massive crack split the chrysalis down the center. Several of the thicker fibers snapped to whip through the air. A green vapor and foul-smelling ichor spilled from the deep fracture, disgorging over the floor to stain the stonework and fill the room with a pungent odor. The last of the viscous fluid puddled at the stranger’s feet. The falling droplets made splashing echoes, and then something spoke.

Who awakens me? there came in a raspy breath. The voice sounded like it had not uttered a word in a millennia. Who has broken my prison?

I have, the hooded figure answered. His own words were still hardly more than a whisper. And I have a proposal for you.

And who are you? the voice questioned. And why should I be bothered to listen?

I am one who knows much, the stranger responded. I know of you and what you are, and of the ones who placed you in this miserable state. I also know of the power that you once commanded and what you were capable of doing with it. And that you are desperate to get it back and what you might do with it again.

Are you here to return it to me? the raspy voice asked.

Perhaps, the hooded figure replied. It all depends on if you decide to listen.

I do not listen to filth such as you, the voice spat. If you know much then you should realize that you are nothing to me. And that I do not make bargains, with anyone!

The deep fissure in the chrysalis split even further. An instant later, a blinding streak shot out towards the stranger. A segmented leg nearly as thick as a man’s waist flew forth. The point at the end pierced the violet robe. It punctured through the chest and out the back. It ripped both flesh and cloth as it embedded in the floor, or at least that was the intent.

The robes that hung impaled on the spiny leg fluttered for an instant. The hood and shoulders slumped as everything within sagged. It seemed that whatever was inside had been totally deflated, leaving only an empty sack that was now limp and listless. Then, from the wavering hem, a dark cloud burst. It rose from the neck and billowing sleeves to flow to the heights of the chamber. It swirled and coalesced into a deep void of almost infinite blackness. Flecks of starlight twinkled in the expansive space. Then two of the stars flared bright and came together. They twisted and settled near the very center. They dimmed to form two perfect orbs of shimmering gold. Like eyes of fire, they regarded the chrysalis that was now beneath them.

What sorcery is this? the voice from the cocoon asked. The spikey leg withdrew into the fissure. What foul power has come to me?

One that is far mightier than your own, a reply answered. Now are you ready to listen?

Who are you? the rasp questioned. A slight twinge of fear was behind the words. And what is it that you want with me?

I am the chief servant of those who dwell beyond the stars, the expanse replied. Their emissary into this world. I am Xiphactinas. And I have a use for one such as you.

No one uses me, hissed the voice from the chrysalis. I am the master here, not a servant.

Then it pleases me to make you one, the void remarked. The orbs at the center seemed to smile. Perhaps serving will suite you better than ruling given your current state.

How dare you come to my temple and say such a thing, the thing in the chrysalis spat. I will kill you for that!

The spiny leg once again shot forth. Its owner was enraged and not at all accustomed to being spoken to in such a manner. With blinding speed, the sharp tip stabbed at the starry void. A dozen strikes hit home that would have been more than enough to fell as many men. But as fast as the blows were, they once more proved to be of little good. They passed through the darkened space and golden eyes like both were not even there. A shriek of frustration came from within the jagged fissure. The void responded with only a resonating laugh.

Are you quite finished? the darkness asked. The amusement faded away. Or do you wish to continue to make a fool of yourself?

I will show you who the fool is! the voice in the chrysalis responded. I will make you suffer for mocking me!

Clearly you have made your choice and do not wish to converse, the whisper said. Perhaps it was a mistake to come here. It may be better to simply put you back, and you can take another five centuries to reconsider what I have to say.

The two golden orbs once more flared bright. The cocoon trembled and the fracture that ran down the center began to reseal. The fibers knit back together and reattached themselves to the outside. A frantic wail of both anger and distress came from within. The one spiny leg was now joined by another and yet one more as they all reached out and struggled to keep it from closing. They failed to impede the slowly sealing webbing.

Wait! the rasp screamed out. I will hear out your offer! I will hear it!

I thought you might, Xiphactinas replied. The fissure ceased to repair itself. "Now, allow me to begin again.

There is someone coming this way, the void said. Someone that seeks an audience with me that I would prefer not to grant. He is a man of great fury and prowess in battle, and he will be here soon.

What is it that you wish of me, then? the rasp replied. To take care of a matter that you cannot?

To take care of a matter that I have put before you, Xiphactinas retorted. If you ever want your freedom again you will watch your tongue with me. Now, what is your answer?

Very well, the one inside the chrysalis replied. Just tell me what you require me to do.

You are to stop this man that comes from the north from making his way through this land. He is not to set one foot outside its borders once he crosses them. Lay him low and ensure that his blood soaks the ground. What you do with his broken body after that is entirely up to you.

And in return? the other asked.

And in return you gain release from your prison, the starry space responded. You will be free to exact your revenge on the people here for the actions of their ancestors and to reclaim this land as your own, and of course to multiply your children.

Fine, the rasp agreed. The utterance indicated its owner was less than pleased. Tell me how I shall know the one you desire to be rid of.

It will not be difficult to recognize him, Xiphactinas answered. His whisper was full of malice. He is called the Son of the Bear, and he wears the head of the beast from which he has been given the name on his shoulders.

II

It was gradually becoming warmer as he made his way from the snowcapped mountains. The biting winds of the upper slopes abated as he moved to the lower flatlands. He slung his rolled-up furs and winter cloak over his shoulder. The chill in the air was not quite gone but he was more than used to it. It had been a long winter for him as he’d sheltered within the peaks of the Blade Mountains. It made the harsh weather of even his homeland seem tame by comparison. The temperature had plummeted to zero almost overnight. The winds and heavy snows blocked the high passes for days at a time. But he’d thankfully found a place to take him in to ride out the most bitter months, sparing him the fate of being frozen stiff and becoming just another corpse on the mountainside.

Asbjorn paused as he took a moment to breathe in the air of the early day. He glanced out at the horizon and to the blue sky. He’d been on the move ever since his village of Brekka had been razed to the ground. He’d only stopped long enough to wait out the coming of the cold by necessity. It was not a rest he wanted to take but had to. He much preferred to stay on the trail of the black army rather than be held up. But the arrival of an early winter combined with the ruggedness of the mountains had made that task impossible. It forced him to seek shelter when he otherwise wouldn’t.

It was not that he wasn’t accustomed to the bleak climate. His home had seen its share of brutal winters and the people there had to work hard to push through. But the mountains had been a completely foreign environment to him when compared to the North Woods. The rocky landscape was far more perilous and capable of claiming even the hardiest.

Thankfully, Asbjorn was able to find sanctuary just in time. He’d stumbled across a secluded trading post on the southern slopes just before the weather turned bad. It was a small place that was far from his homeland and the regions to the distant south. They saw only the odd hunter, trapper, or mountain recluse come through from time to time.

The old man that ran the place was wary when seeing the big Northerner traipse in. Asbjorn was ragged from having been on the road for so long and people from his land were a rare thing on this side of the peaks. It didn’t help when he’d explained that he had no money and not a thing to barter with. The owner of the post nearly threw him back into the cold. But the old man knew that to do so would condemn the young traveler to a freezing doom. He’d seen others die in such ways and did not wish witness it again. Besides, the lodge keeper was getting older these days. The long hours of working in the chill to maintain the post made his bones ache. He needed someone with more vigor to keep the fires stoked and fresh meat in the cellar. The big youth appeared to be as good a choice as any, or perhaps more so.

Asbjorn soon found himself passing the winter by at the Long Wolf Lodge. He chopped wood and did the hunting to keep the pantries stocked and cupboards full. It was not a collection of easy tasks on the freezing mountainside. The rough work was hardly worth the trouble of only a small room and an itchy bed to show for it. Not to mention that he had to endure an endless string of complaints from the old keeper. He often grew tired at hearing how everything he did was wrong or how the other could do it better. He was accustomed to more difficult chores back at his home, but the constant nagging was something he wasn’t used to. He nearly snapped on several occasions to lay the old man out but he always managed to stop himself knowing that one blow would likely end the other. Besides, compared to what he’d gone through over the past few months this was easy. It did him good to rest and collect himself. His nagging injuries were able to mend whether he wished to admit it or not.

But Asbjorn’s mind still burned during his rest from the road. The thought of revenge was strong and consumed many of his days. He knew the invaders that he’d already dispatched were only the first of many. He wondered what else lay ahead before all was said and done.

He’d pursued the black armored marauders across the Northern Plains after they’d burned his village, tracking them down and picking them off one by one. He would eventually confront and slay their heartless commander, Zantz, in the forgotten city deep beneath the Blade Mountains, along with the deathly lord that ruled over that place. It was here that he would come to know the invading army’s true master. It was a being of horrible power that he never imagined could exist. Asbjorn learned that his own existence was the reason his people had been killed. The vile demon hoped to find and dispatch the lone Northman that it called the Son of the Bear. Asbjorn resolved that moment to track the evil down and see it brought low. He’d set out from the great north to find where the fiend resided in the distant south, aiming to rid the world of its presence for good.

But that had been months ago, and both the lodge and the Blade Mountains were far behind him. The wintery peaks at his back gave way to rolling green lands that were dotted with clusters of trees. The few hunters and trappers that passed through the lodge had recommended Asbjorn take the path that he was on. They pointed him in the direction of the Larbor Valley and the main road that ran through it. They’d said that if he was