The two friends headed east, skirting past the blacksmith’s shop, and toward a cluster of barracks nestled in the middle of the outpost. The going was slower than either would have preferred, but the knee-high drifts of snow caused Garhet great difficulty as he heaved his way through the camp.
“Where are we going?” Krin asked, wiping flakes of newly falling snow from his eyes, and struggling to stay upright as the world continued to spin around him. The frigid temperatures were working wonders at warding off the effects of the alcohol, but much too slowly for a steady get-away.
“The gate on the eastern edge of the camp,” Garhet answered, yanking Krin to the side, and ducking behind a water barrel that was resting against the side of a small outhouse as two soldiers marched past. “It’s the best way outta here, unless ye want to return to the harbor, and risk goin’ through the...”
“Stop!” a deep voice bellowed from behind. With its sharp, guttural cadence, and baritone savagery, there was no question it belonged to Ulfilas. And if the string of curses that followed—both familiar and those of his native tongue—was any indication, the giant was not at all happy with their escape. “Someone stop them!”
A trio of soldiers, huddled around a game of ‘Head or Ship’ at the base of the southern-most watchtower, wheeled around to see the bounty hunter plowing through the snow in the direction of Krin and the cloaked dwarf. Instantly, the squad scooped up their coins, scrambled to their feet, and joined in the pursuit, running directly to intercept them, their swords drawn.
“This way,” Garhet said, grabbing Krin by the wrist and pulling him to the right. The snow was now falling heavier, nearly blinding them as they ran. But from his brief reconnaissance earlier, Krin believed they were now heading toward the stables on the southeast edge of town where they zipped between the buildings, trying to break their pursuers’ line of sight.
Darting around the tanner’s shop, the pair paused, leaning against the wall to catch their breath.
“What now?” Krin asked. The ice particles bit through the alcohol-induced haze, sobering him up a little. He peeked around the corner to survey their situation. Snow obscured his vision as much as it did that of their pursuers, Krin could just make out the forms of the large man and three Romans zig-zagging their way across the camp in their direction. “Garhet?”
“I’m thinkin’, I’m thinkin’!” The dwarf scratched at his beard—now tipped with miniature icicles—while his good eye swept back and forth ahead of them, searching for a possible escape route.
“Well, think faster. They’ll be on us in…what the…?”
Just as Ulfilas and company approached the stables, three glowing forms—no taller than knee-high to Garhet—sprang from a nearby snowbank, zipping through the air as they threaded between the pursuers’ legs in a synchronized aerial waltz. As the creatures darted between a startled Ulfilas’ legs, he leapt away to catch a better glimpse of the strange streaks of light, stumbling backwards into one of his cohorts, and sending the entire group sprawling into the snow. The three tiny figures darted away, and disappeared into the whirling blizzard before Krin could identify them.
“What on earth was…”
“What? What are ye gawkin’ at, boy? Now’s our chance!”
Once again, Garhet grabbed Krin’s wrist, and pulled him toward several hay stacks scattered hodgepodge along the stable property. Without explaining his plan, the dwarf shoved him into one of the stacks, and dove in immediately after, quickly scooping a handful of hay through the opening to better conceal their hiding place.
“With any luck, our tracks will be covered with snow before they catch our scent again,” Garhet said with a relieved sigh.
***
Krin and Garhet huddled close together inside a haystack, listening as the soldiers scampered around the outpost in a methodical search. They had successfully concealed themselves for quite some time already. The sun wouldn’t be rising for several hours more, and they would either have to give themselves up, or risk freezing to death in the frigid weather.
Already, Krin's toes were beginning to burn from the cold, and he wondered how much longer he could endure before losing his foot to frostbite. To take his mind off the unappealing thought, he turned his attention to his friend.
“I can’t believe you’re alive,” Krin whispered, as he rubbed the palms of his hands together for warmth. “How? I mean, I’m overjoyed that you made it, but how did you survive?”
The dwarf leaned in closer, making it easier for Krin to see him in the shadowy confines of the haystack. “Yeah, well, that’s a tad bit difficult to explain.” He paused, biting at his lower lip. “Besides, I ain’t even sure it really happened.”
Krin shook his head. “Oh, no. You can’t do that to me. Tell me.”
Garhet smiled sadly, then shrugged. “Okay. But remember…you asked.” When Krin nodded his agreement, he began his tale. “Actually, I wasn’t in the water long enough to drown, lad.” Carefully, he dug out a small hole in the hay, and peered out into the snow-swept encampment. Though Krin couldn’t see further than an arm’s length ahead, the dwarf’s one eye seemed to have no trouble following the steady path of a soldier wandering dangerously close to their hiding place.
After the Roman passed, the dwarf continued. “I hit the water and sunk like a stone. Thought I was a goner for sure. Next thing I know, two arms the size of tree trunks wrapped ‘round me, then suddenly, I’m shiverin’ me chestnuts off in the hold of the ship. I look up to see this…this man, all dripping wet as much as me.
“From the color of his hair, and strange markings all over his bare chest and arms, I’d swear it was an elf what rescued me, but his face was too grizzled. Too scarred. And he had a silver-white beard all braided in two strands. Elves don’t grow beards.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought I’d been rescued by Neptune himself. Then, and I kid you not, he just put a finger to his lips, gave me a wink, and vanished right in front of me. Strangest thing I’ve ever seen…and I’ve seen plenty of strange things in my time, lad. Let me tell ye.”
Krin stared at him, trying to process his friend's fantastical story. He knew so little of the elves, or any of the strange creatures Garhet had been trying to teach him since their journey began. “But how did he get you from the water onto the ship? And how did he just vanish like that? I don’t understand.”
The dwarf’s good eye seemed to sparkle in the dim light. “Told ye, you wouldn’t.” He shook his head. “And honestly, that’s where I’m vexed m’self. Frost and ice were everywhere when it was all over. It was as if…well, it was exactly like he…”
“Like he rifted?”
“Yep. Exactly like that. Only, that’s not possible. Far as I know, ye’re the only one in the world who can rift without need of…well, let’s just say, you’re the only one I know of that can do what you do.” Krin wanted to ask him to explain the last comment, but the tone his friend had used told him it was a question better saved for a later time.
There were a few moments of silence, then Garhet cleared his throat with a soft chuckle. “Blasted ice ruined most of the perishable cargo on board. The captain was none too happy ‘bout it, but he despised the bounty hunter so much, he agreed to keep me hidden for the remainder of the voyage. They unloaded me with some of crates of olive oil they carried with them, and I made it into town without anyone bein’ the wiser.”
Krin decided to drop the matter for now, and turned his thoughts to another puzzle he had been stewing on since concealing themselves within the hay. “Garhet, I have a question. When we were being chased from the tavern, I saw something weird just before Ulfilas and the others tripped over themselves in the snow…”
“Yeah?”
“I…well, I saw three somethings actually.” Krin’s teeth were chattering as the intense cold bit deeper into him, and it seemed all he could do to stay on topic. “T-they just sort of appeared out of nowhere and…tiny creatures. Glowing like fireflies, but
much bigger. I didn’t get a good look at them, but I’m almost positive I’ve seen them before.” He recounted the unnerving experience he had while falling through the flue vent into Nicholas’ study…a rift into some unknown world and the strange pixie-like creatures that clung to his leg for dear life.
The dwarf looked at him for an uncomfortable moment, then brought a calloused palm to his forehead. “Ah, lad, tell me ye didn’t bring imps back with ye. Please tell me ye didn’t.”
“Imps?”
The small man just shook his head in disbelief. “Oh, of course ye did,” he said. “Just our rotten luck. Yer infested with the nasty buggers now.”
“Garhet, what are imps?” The dwarf’s concern began to worry Krin. Then he remembered the strange dream in Ulfilas’ cabin the night before—the opened door, then the child-like giggles, and cut to his cheek.
So it wasn’t a dream at all. It really happened. He suddenly remembered the fight on the ship’s deck the night before. And that's probably what bit me during the fight. An imp caused me to miss the shot. Even though he didn't know what they were, he knew he didn’t like them one bit. Of course, they certainly helped Garhet and I escape, so maybe they’re not all that bad.
The dwarf spat, a gesture Krin had seen many superstitious people do to ward off evil. Apparently, Garhet believed them to be bad enough. “Imps, dear boy, are…”
A whine from outside the haystack snapped both their attention away from the conversation. Garhet held up a finger, as he peered into the near white-out. Curious, Krin leaned forward, peeking over the dwarf’s shoulder. Though his eyes weren’t nearly as keen as his companion's, he could just make out the gray silhouette of a single soldier walking beside an immense dog meandering uncomfortably close to their hiding place. The dog’s frost-encrusted snout nuzzled the snow just a few paces away before its eyes flashed in their direction, and its lips pulled back to reveal a row of sharp teeth.
Did it catch our scent? Krin tensed, and even with his eyes fixed straight ahead, he could tell Garhet was too. Instinctively, he reached down to the sheath attached to his belt and…
Glalbrirer! He had forgotten about the sword. Ulfilas still had it.
“I’ve gotta go back,” Krin whispered, his gaze still locked on the dog.
“What? Now?”
“Yes, now. The bounty hunter...he’s got Glalbrirer.”
The canine silhouette—the dog looked to be some type of a wolfhound from what Krin could tell—let out a deep, throaty snarl in their direction, and took a single, tentative step forward. The soldier accompanying the dog drew his sword, and searched for whatever had triggered the mutt.
The wind ripped through the camp, making the soldier’s cloak flap behind him as he stepped closer to the haystack. The two fugitives inhaled, stiffening as he approached.
“Too late,” Garhet said. “Can’t go back. Gotta make our move now, or it’s all over.” As the soldier and dog crept forward in slow, tentative steps, Garhet unhooked his axe from the loop on his belt, and readied himself for a fight. “When I leap out, run for the gate. Don’t wait for me, just go.”
“But…”
“Hush now.”
The guard and his dog were now well within earshot, and Krin hesitated to offer any further protests. Instead, he quietly peeked through the hay again, but the increasing wind whipped the heavily falling snow into an impenetrable swirling mess. He could see nothing. Straining, he could barely make out the sound of the dog’s nose sniffing furiously at the ground. The sound seemed only an arm’s length away now. They were out of time…and options. He looked over at the dwarf, whose head was bowed. His lips moved quietly in silent prayer, reminding Krin of Nicholas and his stalwart faith.
A snuffling sound and a growl turned his focus once more to the dog, who was now pawing frantically at the haystack. The sentry thrust his short sword into the hay, narrowly missing Krin’s right cheek.
The dwarf’s head snapped up, his grip tightening on the axe handle as he tensed, ready to spring. Krin reached out a hand, and placed it on Garhet’s shoulder, then shook his head and mouthed the word ‘no.’
There had to be another way. A better way that wouldn’t get either of them killed, preferably. But what?
The wolfhound’s head unexpectedly jerked toward the stables. The beast snarled low, then began barking ferociously. Without waiting for a command from its master, the dog took off, pulling the soldier behind him through the thick snow. Krin and Garhet eased the air from their lungs as the guard and his dog disappeared into the swirling snow.
A squeal of otherworldly, childlike laughter echoed from the horse stables, followed immediately by more barking.
“The imps!” Krin tried to restrain his excitement. “The imps are helping to lead them away.”
The dwarf could only gawk as the entire outpost swelled into a hive of activity. Guards, being pulled mercilessly by their dogs, ran back and forth throughout the compound. Garhet scratched at his beard, marveling at the turn of events.
“Hammer and anvil! I’ve not seen the likes of that in a very long time.” He climbed to his feet, and slowly extricated himself out of the haystack. He reached out a hand to help Krin, who upon exiting the haystack, immediately fell face down in the snow.
“What the…?” Krin rolled onto his back and looked down at his feet. The laces of his boots had been tied together in a series of complicated knots. “The imps! They did this!”
“Now that's what the imps I know would do.” Garhet grinned, as he knelt, and sliced through the laces with a knife, then pulled the boots off. A few seconds later, with laces removed, he handed the boots back to Krin. Once they were on, the dwarf glanced around, narrowing his eye into the swirl of white, then began working the leather stitching from the hem of his cloak. “These’ll have to do for laces until we can find you new boots.” He handed the leather thongs to Krin, who immediately began wrapping them around his ankles and up his calves. “Think they’ll work?”
Krin climbed to his feet, wincing as some of the snow slipped through the boot’s seams, and burned into his skin. Hopping back and forth, alternating between both feet, he nodded. “Don’t figure we have much of a choice, now do we?”
The dwarf hefted his axe onto his shoulder, then turned toward the eastern gate, beckoning Krin to follow.
Crouching low, they ran up to the wooden wall of the outpost, and slunk towards the open gate. There were no sign of sentries anywhere, and Krin presumed every able-bodied man in the entire garrison was busy giving chase to the mischievous imps.
Excellent. This is going to be easier than I thought.
Glancing at each other and shrugging away all caution, the two companions sprinted as fast as their legs would carry them for the gate. Krin hurled himself through it with his friend close on his heels. But before Krin was five feet out of the outpost, a brick-wall of a man clotheslined him, and sent him tumbling backwards on top of Garhet’s squat frame.
“You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you boy?” Ulfilas said as he stepped out behind an ancient oak, and grinned. “I can’t let you or the runt fly off now that I’m so close to getting’ my bounty. After all, I do got debts to pay.”
ELEVEN
Krin’s lungs burned from the sudden expulsion of air, and he found himself paralyzed in a fit of hacking coughs. He felt Garhet squirming underneath, fighting to get to his feet, but could do nothing to help the dwarf. Could do nothing at all until he managed to coax his lungs back to proper working order, in fact. After the first sweet breath, Krin rolled over, and stood on rubbery legs. His hands instinctively clenched into fists, though he knew there was no strength in them.
The giant stood arrogantly with both hands planted on his hips. This drew Krin’s eyes to the golden-handled sword attached to his belt. Glalbrirer.
He has it with him! If I could get close enough.
Garhet raised himself up, dusting the packed snow from his cloak. He bored a hole right through the bou
nty hunter with one glaring eye. Casually, as if the menacing giant before them was nothing more than a child in need of a spanking, he withdrew his axe from his belt, and raised it to his shoulders.
Ulfilas laughed at the sight.
“You know I can’t let you take him,” said Garhet defiantly. “I’ve vowed his safe passage, and I always keep my vows, you mangy son of a sheepherder.”
Ulfilas’ eyes widened at the insult.
“You’ll find that I’m a much tougher opponent on solid ground.”
“Ain’t no doubt about that, Runt. Any other time, I’d be happy as a shrimp to test your mettle. But dawn’s fast approachin’, and we got a boat to catch. I’m afraid the boy’s comin’ with me.”
Without warning, Garhet hurled himself at the giant; the double-bladed axehead glistening with melted snow. Ulfilas adapted easily to the sudden move, ducking right just as Garhet’s weapon swept down.
“I don’t have time for you now, Runt,” said Ulfilas as he hammered a single fist down against Garhet’s shoulder, crumpling him to the ground like a brick.
The giant turned to Krin, and pointed at the gate. “Now boy, let’s be off.”
As he reached out to take hold of Krin’s cloak, Garhet rolled forward on the ground, kicked out with his leg, and swept the giant’s feet out from under him. Ulfilas cried out as he fell, landing directly on top of the dwarf.
The bounty hunter began to rise and Krin grabbed a solid-looking piece of wood from the ground. He brought it crashing down on Ulfilas' head, splintering the wood on impact; dropping Ulfilas once more on top of Garhet.
Quickly, Krin moved to Ulfilas’ side and attempted to push the big man aside.
”Et fish ig nug offme!” Garhet shouted, his voice muffled under the larger man’s frame.
”What?” Krin strained, taking the giant’s right arm, and pulling with all his might to roll the giant away.
The dwarf twisted his head to one side, freeing his lips from Ulfilas’ fur-cloaked back. ”I said, get this big lug off me!”
The Legend of the Winterking: The Crown of Nandur Page 9
