The snowmans shadow an e.., p.1
The Snowman's Shadow: An Epic Fantasy Christmas Parody, page 1
THE SNOWMAN’S SHADOW
AN EPIC FANTASY CHRISTMAS PARODY
Robert Ryan
Copyright © 2024 Robert J. Ryan
All Rights Reserved. The right of Robert J. Ryan to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted.
All of the characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Cover design by Damonza
Trotting Fox Press
Contents
1. Grandfather Frost
2. The Snowman’s Shadow
3. The Goblin Horde
4. Faphard’s Hoard
5. The Hall of the Elf King
6. Golthingrod
7. The Dread of the Dragon
8. The Bag of Plenty
9. The Snowstorm
10. Ancient Footprints
11. Many Meetings
12. By Krom’s Iron Boots!
13. The Battle of Six Armies
14. Ancient Magic
Appendix: Encyclopedic Glossary
1. Grandfather Frost
Of the snowman’s shadow many stories tell. You’ll never have heard them.
The legend I speak now is told only in whispers when the fire in the hearth dies to smoldering embers, and the long shadows of deep night creep inside. Nor is it often told by men, whose memories are short. Oh no. This is a legend of the elves.
Elves? Are you thinking of little folk with clever hands who make toys and speak in squeaky voices? Begone! If that’s what you believe, trouble me not!
But if you know better, or if you’re willing to learn the truth rather than listen to the garbled stories of half-forgotten men who knew not of what they spoke, and dared to lie about the rest, then listen on.
If you have the courage.
Elves are a tall and stern people. They’re warriors, for they fight in the battles of the Light against the Dark. They wield beautiful but terrible swords, keen as fresh grief, glittering as the stars on a winter’s night. If you met one, you wouldn’t smile and ask how their toymaking went. You’d feel a rush of supernatural awe, for they are creatures of Faerie.
Don’t let me give you the wrong idea. Elves are terrible when they need to be, for there are terrible things in the world. But they can be merry too. Only their enemies fear them. Their friends love them, for elves are a good people, loyal, wise and steadfast. They give good gifts, and they offer even better advice. And they help when needed, and when not marching to war. I should know. They help me, from time to time.
You may be wondering who I am. Well, that’s a short question with a long answer.
I go by many names. Kris Kringle. Papa Noel. Sinterklaas. Grandfather Frost. Saint Nicholas. Those are just the latest, and I’m partial to Grandfather Frost. But my name is older by far than that. Satre some called me on a time. I’ve had better names than that though. Alban Arthan. The Oak King. Those were some of the ones closer to the truth.
What? You want my real name? Well, that would be telling! True names have power. All the more so for wizards, which is what I am. I’m guessing you guessed that already?
So I’ll not say. Call me Frustaz. A fitting name for an ice wizard. And if that feels numb on your lips, Grandfather Frost will do.
Now, all that’s out of the way. Names are less important than people think. Spells aside, anyway. What people do is what counts. Always.
I suppose you want me to get on with the story of the snowman’s shadow now?
Are you sure?
Well, I’m in a telling mood. First though, I see you looking at me. Not what you expect, eh? So much for the stories you’ve heard all your life. I deliver presents all around the world, all on the one night? What else would I be but a wizard!
I’m not fat, and I’m not jolly. I have a sharp tongue and less patience than I should. If you’re ever in a tight spot though, you’ll have no better friend than me. Tight spots are my specialty.
No. I don’t say ho, ho, ho. Ask me again and you’ll get worse in your stocking than coal. I’m tall and thin, and I don’t wear a stupid floppy hat with a fluffy ball on its end. I wear a wizard’s hat, and as you can see, it’s high and pointed. I often wear a crimson cloak as I am now though, trimmed in white. Thank you for noticing its handsome fit.
Yes, yes. Very well. Avante! This is the story of the snowman’s shadow.
Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
2. The Snowman’s Shadow
It was a dark and stormy night. Well, it was and that’s just the truth. People tell me it’s a bad way to begin a story. A cliché they say. Don’t start with the weather. It’s boring they insist.
What do they know?
I’m an ice wizard. The weather is vital. And a dark and stormy night sets the tone for what followed. If this were a story about talking rats and moles, and it was all fun, friendship and adventure by The River, I’d start by saying it was a spring day. And that would be a good start to a good story.
But it’s not this story.
Like I said. It was a dark and stormy night. The day hadn’t been much better, but two children had been playing anyway.
It had been a cold day, and the north wind blew snow at times, fierce and hard. In those gaps in between, when the wind was a little less fierce, the children made a snowman. He was a good one, too.
Man high he stood, and they gave him an old sock cap to wear on his chubby head. That’s what they called it back then before all the names changed. A beanie you might know it as, but I’ll stick to sock cap. The old names are the better names.
But I would say that. I’m older than Gilgamesh’s granddad.
For eyes they gave the snowman two acorns. His nose was a pinecone and his mouth a wide grin shaped by the hands of the children themselves. They put all their love into him, and when the night was coming on and they went inside they said their goodbyes.
They did not know that a fire wizard watched them from the ridge above the farm, hidden in a patch of snow-dusted pines. He watched them, and malice stirred in his heart. He did not like children. Still less did he like snowmen. And the joy of others was as a canker on his soul.
Fire wizards can be like that. So can ice wizards. It’s not fire or ice that make a person or their magic good or bad. It’s what’s in their hearts, and this was a black heart if ever there was one. Dashkrataz he was, greatest of the fire wizards. He, like myself, goes by many names. Surt some called him.
So it was that when the winter dark fell, Dashkrataz slipped down from the ridge and was about to destroy the snowman, but even as he raised his staff and summoned fire the moon broke through the clouds and the snowman cast a shadow.
Dashkrataz stilled his hand, and let his magic die. Instead, he bethought himself of sorceries darker than fire and wrath. An idea came to him, nasty and malicious. And he liked it.
He summoned his magic again, but now it was subtle. It was not a spell of destruction, but rather one of creation. He poured his power into the shadow, and it grew darker. All the malice of his heart he fed it, all the woe of the world, all the ill-will he could muster.
The snowman stood still. The snowman’s shadow began to move. It reached out with plump arms toward its creator, and Dashkrataz severed it from the snowman.
The shadow-thing stood before him. Terrible it was, and Dashkrataz was glad. He took off his cloak and hood, and gave it to the creature so that it might have a more visible form.
Once more the wizard paused, and he was uncertain. He had created this thing, and it had power. It was capable of great mischief, and that warmed the wizard’s cruel heart. Yet what could he order it to do? What mission could he give it?
Then Dashkrataz knew. The roiling clouds closed in again. The light of the moon was snuffed out, and the laughter of the wizard rang cold, harsher than the north wind.
3. The Goblin Horde
Dashkrataz raised his hand and pointed. The snowman’s shadow bowed, ready to serve.
“I name you Snaiwaz-skadwaz,” the wizard said. “Go hence,” he commanded. “Roam the hills. Explore the deep caves. Find the goblin tribes and gather them to your will. They’ll follow you, for you are a Shadow, and they worship the Dark. Lead them to Eagle Hill, three full moons from now. I’ll meet you there.”
Skadwaz, for thus the snowman’s shadow was after known to men, gave answer, and his voice was as the sheet ice that grinds against the rocks.
“I will gather the horde, and the goblin army will come with sword, axe and shadowed hearts.”
Dashkrataz was pleased, and Skadwaz hastened away. Winter drew on apace, and it was cold and grim. The wizard continued his journey, for he wandered the land seeking to cause mischief. In that we are alike, he and I. For I too am a wanderer. He goes afoot, often wielding a flaming sword. Yes, that’s right. A flaming sword. Did you think Wandelf the Gray was the only wizard to do so? Ahem! I don’t use a sword and generally not a staff. My magic is in my hands.
And I travel in style. On a sled. Never mind that now though. We’ll get back to it later.
Where was I? I was talking of Dashkrataz, but let’s leave him to his mischief a moment and follow Skadwaz.
The snowman’s shadow was a creature that knew neither tiredness nor dread. It existed only at the behest of its master, so it did not fear death. It traveled without stint, creeping through the darkling hills that men had not yet sett
Goblins? I’ll tell you enough about them so I can get on with the story. The lore concerning them is deep and difficult, but it need not trouble you now. This is all you need to know for the present. Goblins are creatures of the Dark, small in stature but large in malice. Five feet tall is very high for them, except the hobgoblins who are their leaders. All of them are rogues and knaves, quick to mischief and cowardice. In large groups though they’re dangerous, and when the mood is on them they fight fiercely with their curved swords and fell battle-cries. Of old, they roamed the earth, but now they hide from men and sun alike. The first might kill them, and the second saps their strength. Such is the way of evil – it shuns the light of day.
There you go. Now you know as much of goblins as most folk do. If you see one, be bold! If you see several of them, run!
Now, back to Skadwaz. As the wizard foretold, the servants of the Dark flocked to it. Like calls to like, and the creature had power. Dashkrataz saw to that, and say what I might about him (and I say plenty) he has skill and strength.
So it was at the appointed hour that he brought a dark army to Eagle Hill. Svart Hill it was called after, for goblins covered it like ants on an ant mound, and there Dashkrataz met them. The goblins worshipped him as a god. Nor were they the only ones. Men have done it from time to time. Wizards are powerful.
Under the moon they laid their plans. War was coming, and glee was in their blighted hearts. They hated men, and especially men of the North. Men came and settled. They lived by the rivers, free flowing or frozen. They lived in the forests, evergreen or deciduous. They lived on the plains and cultivated the soil. They took over the land the goblins once roamed at night, and they made them fruitful and they rang with the songs of the people and the laughter of their children. It was a simple time, and a good time. Progress? Yes, well, you folk have come a long way since then. You’ve gone backward too.
What was I doing while this was happening? I was just about to tell you. Stop interrupting.
Every year at about that time I went on my rounds through the North. The snow can fall hard, and food can be scarce. But I have a sled, fashioned by the dwarves, and there’s none better. Yes, I’ll tell you about the dwarves too, but some other time. Anyway, I was on my rounds, giving food and help to those who needed it. That’s how the idea of me giving gifts in midwinter came about. The Yuletide it was called back then.
I passed through many lands, and I heard many rumors. Dark things march, some said. The goblins are stirring, others told me. Rumors fell on my ears faster than snowflakes in a blizzard, and in the dark of one night I saw a hastening group myself. It was not normal to see so many together, so I left my sled in the wood that concealed me, and came up behind the group. I stalked them in the night, getting closer and closer until I was almost on top of them, but they were not aware of me.
There! Could the fat and jolly Santa you usually think of do that? No! It was hard work, and the cold bit. If the enemy saw me, I was outnumbered and a wizard’s magic is no match for fifty-odd swords. Mind you, I have a few tricks up my sleeve, but even so I don’t mind telling you I’d rather have been on my sled and going in the opposite direction.
Anyway, I shadowed them for a half mile until I saw my chance. One of the goblins fell a little way behind. And I pounced on him, holding him tight with a hand over his mouth so he couldn’t call to the others. The little blighter tried to bite me too. Nasty things are goblins, but the fight went out of him as the minutes passed and his friends marched out of earshot.
At length I grinned at him, and a fierce grin it was. “Try to escape, and it will go badly for you. Yell out, and it will be even worse. Do you understand?”
The goblin nodded, and I took my hand from his mouth. He did not stir, but I kept a close eye on him. Never trust a goblin.
“Why do the goblins gather?” I asked.
“We’ve been told to,” he replied in a surly tone. “We don’t ask questions. We just do as we’re ordered.”
That was certainly true. Not the best of defenses, but true nonetheless.
“Who has summoned you to war?” I took a guess there, but there was little other reason for them to come together.
The goblin shivered at that. “Answer me,” I commanded.
“I don’t know his name. It’s a creature of magic. The Ice Man we call it. It speaks with the voice of Lord Dashkrataz.”
This was strange to me, but I pondered it and things began to make sense. Fire and ice magic are much the same, even if they look different. I began to understand.
“And where will you attack?”
“I know nothing,” the goblin answered. “We’ll be told when we’re all gathered.”
I knew I’d learn little more from him, so I let him go. He scampered away, and when he thought he was a safe distance he turned and screeched a curse at me.
“I know you, Frustaz! I know you. But the Dark Lord Dashkrataz will finish you! He’s coming!”
I gave no answer and slogged my way through the snow toward my sled. I’d heard such threats before, and Dashkrataz and I are mortal enemies. The Dark had a prophecy that he would finish me off one day. But the Light had one that said the opposite. I don’t worry about such things. I just do what needs doing, and fate takes care of the rest.
It was dark in the wood where I left my sled. Or maybe that was just my heart, for trouble was brewing such as the North had not seen in a generation.
I leaped into my seat, but then considered what best to do next. My decision made, I disengaged the break lever and cracked my whip high overhead and it split the icy air with a shattering clap.
“Away!” I called to my team. “Away!” And my team leaped forward with a clamor of enthusiasm.
“On Ripper and Gripper!” I called. “Forward Thrasher and Masher! Ho there, Howler and Growler! Follow the lead and pull! Pull Drifter and Sniffer! Pull!”
And they pulled until the sled flew away, the snow sleek behind us in the tracks of our passage.
What? Of course they aren’t reindeer names. Why should they be? My sled team is made up of dogs. Always has been and always will be. Whoever heard of deer taking to the skies in flight? But dogs, yes, well, there are ancient stories of barking dogs in the sky. The Wild Hunt it’s called, and if I don’t say so myself I play a role in that. That’s for another time though. For now, I was in a fix. Trouble was coming. War was brewing. And the kindly men and women of the North were in trouble.
What did I do?
Glad you asked. This is what happened.
I sought out a chief of men. Frith Hammerfist he was called.
Wise he was, and courageous. I had dealt with him at times before and found him so. He acted quickly, and sent word over the land. He called to him all warriors, and they came. There’s no farming to be done in winter, and he promised food.
So now the war had begun, for preparation is nine tenths of battle. Yet the goblins had the advantage, both in time and numbers. To redress that I sent messengers to those whom I knew that might help. You’ll see. And I hopped in my sled and hastened away.
No. I’m not a coward. I didn’t run from the pending battle. I went toward the forest of Myrkvidr, where the closest elves dwelled.
Why? Because the elves possess magic. Not greater than mine, but different. Yet even more did I need information, and only they could give it. A weapon was needed against Skadwaz, for the men of the North might just about handle the goblins, but the snowman’s shadow was powerful and beyond their skill. Beyond mine too, for though I knew how Dashkrataz had created it, I did not have the skill to undo the magic.
And no. The weapon wasn’t for me. I had to find someone else for that job. Someone best suited for the task I had in mind.
My team needed a good rest before anything else though. Pushing hard through the snow is tiring work, and the magic for flight must be used sparingly. Once a year, unless in desperate need. Magic exerts a cost you see, but I’m not going to give too many of my tricks away. The Dark has spies everywhere.
I fed the dogs and holed up in a woodcutter’s cabin that I knew. It was empty, as I expected this time of year. I got a good fire going, melted the ice out of my beard and then I sat down for a good think.
