Steel and Stone
Page 16
“Let’s go, then, Haudo!” Terve squealed. “Let’s climb to the top!”
Haudo glared at her. “It is unseemly for someone to interrupt the telling of a Tale of Origin,” he reminded her loftily. Terve grew silent. “Anyway,” he added in ill-humor, “no one’s been to the top of Reaver’s Rock. It’s too slippery.”
Terve opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again after a nasty look from her brother. Feigning nonchalance, she pulled a snack of fresh raw fish from a packet and munched it. Haudo resumed his tale.
“Many, many winters past, the great polar bear that shaped the lands of The People placed here, at this very spot, a holy gift, a fruitful place.” Haudo repeated that last phrase. It sounded so grown-up. “A holy gift, a fruitful place. A place that would hold the polar bear’s gift of reaver ice, the dense ice from which The People would fashion, with much prayer and singing, the frostreaver. The frostreaver, weapon feared by the enemies of The People, is the gift of the polar bear.”
“You said that, Haudo.” Two frown lines broke the smoothness of the smudged skin between Terve’s eyes.
Haudo closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. When he finished exhaling, he was outwardly calm. “For centuries, The People have gone to the secret places along Icewall Glacier to harvest the ice, to bring to their tribes the material that only the tribes’ Revered Cleric can fashion into the frostreavers. Such is the intricacy of these weapons that each one takes a month to fashion.”
“I know that, Brother,” Terve muttered.
“The frostreaver is the gift of the polar bear,” he reiterated, just to annoy her. “The frostreaver is the only weapon that will stave off the bull men and thanoi, foes of The People.”
Terve looked around her and shivered. The mention of the walrus men and the minotaurs, who made periodic forays into the Icereach to steal slaves and sealskins, sent her edging a little closer to her big brother. Haudo pretended not to notice. He continued his tale of the ice bear, the reavers, and the debt that The People owed to the polar bears. No Ice Folk man or woman would slay a polar bear; the one who did, even accidentally, owed the bear’s spirit seven days of fasting and prayer and many gifts.
“Haudo.” Terve spoke quietly for once.
“Terve,” he complained, “I’m trying—”
“Haudo, The People don’t need great fires to make the skin ropes, do they?”
“What?” Without moving, Haudo absorbed the growing fear in his sister’s eyes. Then he turned around and faced the wind, to where the fires of his people had sent thin spires of smoke into the southern air only a short time before.
Now the air was black with smoke. Even this far away, Haudo could smell burning fur and skins. He could have sworn, too, that he heard screams, but of course that was impossible.
“Haudo?” Terve was suddenly standing, pressed against him. He placed an arm around his little sister’s shoulders. She’s too little to be motherless, he thought. “We must go to the iceboat, Terve.”
“What has happened?” Terve was on the verge of tears, but a child of The People does not cry easily. She still clutched her basket of reaver shards.
“We will see, Little Sister.” He righted the boat, helped Terve into it, and set the sail. Soon he was running alongside, guiding it onto the packed snow, then leaping into the iceboat when the sail caught the wind. They sped silently toward the smoking village.
Haudo pulled up the iceboat and hid it behind a ridge of mounded snow. The village was a short distance away, behind the ridge. “Stay here,” he ordered Terve.
The twelve-year-old boy crept along the back of the ridge, remembering everything his father had told him about tracking game: Heed your nose and heed your ears. They will tell you as much as your eyes. Even before he slipped his head above the ridge, he smelled the acrid stench of the minotaurs. He caught, also, the greasy fish smell of the thanoi, the walrus men, who contended, against the proof of thousands of years of legend, that the Icereach was theirs, not The People’s. And Haudo smelled something else—a nasty odor of garbage and rancid meat. Then he peered at his village, barely keeping from coughing in the smoky haze, and his breath caught in his throat. “Two-headed beasts!” he whispered.
He wanted to jump back, to avoid seeing the image he knew would never vanish from his mind. His kinsmen, his friends, lay sprawled in death on the blood-soaked snow. Minotaurs, walrus men, and the two-headed monsters brought body after body forth from iceblock huts and skin tents. A few bodies twitched. An old man moaned, and one of the two-headed brutes hurried over, waving a spiked club over its head.
Overseeing it all was the robed figure of a man, silhouetted against the southern sky.
As quietly as he’d ever moved in hunting seal or walrus, Haudo raced through the shadow of the snow ridge to the iceboat and Terve. The little girl, for once, had followed orders. She sat huddled in the boat. Haudo said only, “We must leave, little sister.” She nodded mutely.
Soon the iceboat was speeding across the snow to their kinsmen’s village, several days’ journey to the northwest.
* * * * *
Kai-lid awakened with a start and sat up. The half-elf, keeping guard, looked over at her but said nothing. Caven and Kitiara and Wode lay wrapped in blankets around the fire. Xanthar perched above them, watchful. The eyes of the undead, as always, gazed at them from the darkness.
The mage sent her thoughts forth. Xanthar?
I saw it, too, Kai-lid. The devastation of the Ice Folk village.
It was no dream, then?
No more than the other. The village has been crushed by your father’s armies. The Valdane is testing his strength, Kai-lid.
Xanthar, we have no time to linger. We have to lead these four to the sla-mori and get them to the Icereach.
I have an idea. As Kai-lid watched, the owl launched himself from the tree and soared off over Darken Wood. Within moments, he was lost to sight.
“What were you two discussing?” Tanis asked quietly from his post. “Kitiara told me of your telepathy.”
Kai-lid answered slowly. “I think Xanthar is going to search for the ettin.”
Tanis nodded, although his eyes seemed doubtful. “You believe we should still continue to try to capture it, then? Even though it seems to have been sent by this evil mage, Janusz?”
She hesitated. This half-elf appeared to be a decent sort; perhaps she could be more honest with him. Perhaps Tanis would volunteer to come to the aid of thousands of people who, she felt sure, would die at the hands of her father if the Valdane were not defeated. Kai-lid opened her mouth hesitantly.
But Caven Mackid broke in. “We should capture the damned ettin, go back to Haven immediately, and get our reward, Tanis. Let the lady fight her own battles.” He gestured rudely toward Kai-lid. “I don’t understand why Dreena’s maid is involved in this ettin business, anyway.” He clearly had not slept at all. His voice was snappish and his eyes shadowed.
“I agree with Caven,” Kitiara said, renewing the debate. “Slay the ettin. That’s what we set out to do.”
“And then?” Kai-lid asked.
“Then?” Kitiara repeated.
“Then you can go home safely with your fifteen steel while the Valdane destroys everything in his path to power” Kai-lid said bitterly.
“So you say, mage. I’m not convinced.” The swordswoman stretched elaborately. “Anyway, it’s not my problem. I don’t work for the Valdane anymore.”
Caven nodded. “That’s two votes in favor of fifteen steel,” he said pointedly.
Kitiara nodded, but Tanis looked unconvinced. He gazed at Kai-lid. “I think you’re holding something back, mage,” he said softly. “I only wish I knew what it is. Why should we trust you, Lida Tenaka?”
Kai-lid started to say something, then turned away.
* * * * *
“Big chicken!” Res shouted. He rose first, hoisting Lacua’s side upright. “Food! Food!”
The ettin’s left head protested. “Not chicken,
stupid. Too big. Maybe goose.”
“But supper?”
“Yes.”
Xanthar sighed from his perch high above the ettin. “I am a giant owl, you dunderpated chuckleheads.”
The two heads looked at each other. “Chicken talk?” They turned suspicious faces toward Xanthar. “Dunder—What say?
“It’s a great compliment,” Xanthar said, deadpan. “Trust me.”
“Ah,” Lacua said, nodding. “A compliment.”
“Supper use big words,” Res observed.
“I have information for you,” Xanthar said.
“Inform—” Lacua stumbled over the word.
Xanthar amended himself. “I have a fact for you.”
“Ah!”
“About Kitiara Uth Matar.”
“Who?” Res muttered.
Lacua poked him. “Lady soldier, stupid,” the left head said. Then, to Xanthar, “Say fact now.”
“She’s about to leave Darken Wood.”
Res protested. “Can’t. Must follow Res-Lacua to Fever Mountain. Master said—”
“Quiet!” Lacua slammed Res over the head with his club. Res rubbed his pate and sulked.
“They will not follow you any longer, ettin,” the owl said smoothly, twisting his head back to preen a wing feather with a doting beak. “They are going to leave.” He pulled his head upright, watching the worried-looking monster.
“Good. Res go home, too,” the right head caroled.
“No!” Lacua interrupted. “Must get lady soldier.”
“You could kidnap her now,” the owl suggested.
The ettin looked up again. “Kidnap?”
“Capture.”
“Capture! Res know capture!” The right head grinned. Lacua looked thoughtful, then repeated, “Capture now.”
“I brought you an important fact,” Xanthar said. “Don’t you think I deserve some sort of favor as a reward?”
Twin looks of suspicion fell over the ettin’s countenances. “Favor? What favor?”
“You must not injure anyone. Take Kitiara, the lady soldier, the two men, and the boy if you wish.” Xanthar stared at the ettin until Res-Lacua’s feet shuffled uneasily. “But not the other woman.”
A crafty smile came over Lacua’s face. “What if Res-Lacua not give this favor to giant chicken?”
Xanthar narrowed his eyes at him. “Then I’ll take my fact back.”
“Wait! No! Need fact!”
“Well, then …”
“Not hurt nobody. Not, not, not. Capture lady soldier, men guys. Yes, yes. Keep fact now?” Lacua stopped for a deep breath.
“Yes,” Xanthar replied. “Keep fact.”
The giant owl flew away.
As soon as Xanthar was out of sight, Lacua exclaimed and clapped his hand to his chest. He drew out the Talking Stone. “Master talk?”
The voice came from the small, flat rock, filling the forest around the ettin. The eyes of the undead, which hovered around the monster as they did around the travelers, drew back as the leaves of the twisted trees quivered with the vibrations. The voice sounded weary. “Do as the owl says. Attack Kitiara and the others.”
“Yes,” both heads whispered.
“As soon as possible.”
“Yes.”
“Take them to Fever Mountain.”
They nodded.
There was a pause, as though the voice were pondering. “As for the other woman …”
“Master?”
“Capture her, too. I’m curious about her.”
“What about nice favor?”
“Forget the favor. We have the fact.”
“Ah. Capture.”
Janusz made the ettin repeat the instructions three more times. “Any questions?” he finally asked.
“No supper here. Rotten woods empty. Res-Lacua don’t like dead food. Hungry.”
Janusz decided to be generous with the ettin. “Slay one of the others if you like. Just don’t hurt the two women. Bring them to me.”
“Eat?”
“Fine.”
* * * * *
Kai-lid. I have told the ettin where we are. The ettin will kidnap them.
Xanthar! What have you done?
These four will debate forever while innocents die. I’ve merely speeded up the process. Don’t worry; you will be safe. The ettin promised. But it appears I was right, Kai-lid. They will be taken to Fever Mountain, and from there to the sla-mori, in the valley just south of the mountain.
And?
When the ettin captures them, we will follow and make sure they find the sla-mori. Once in the Icereach, they will fight the Valdane. What other choice will they have? If the magic of Darken Wood holds true, they will soon forget they were ever here. And you, my dear, will not be suspected.
Kai-lid was speechless.
You could thank me.
But she said nothing.
* * * * *
When the attack came a short time later, Tanis and Kitiara whirled as one, swords flashing, to meet the challenge.
A hulk of a monster, stinking of rancid meat and dead skunk, roared out at them, slinging a club in each hand. At first sight of the fearsome creature, Wode’s nag reared in fright and galloped off into the woods. The monster’s two clubs dwarfed the steel swords that thudded against the petrified wood. Kitiara recoiled despite herself. Beside her, she felt Tanis’s horror, too.
The giant owl dove overhead, screeching, but the mage seemed unable to react. Through it all, the eyes watched from the surrounding woods.
Across the clearing, Caven struggled to mount Maleficent, but the horse reared. Caven turned to Tanis’s gelding. Dauntless submitted docilely to Caven’s weight.
Tanis and Kitiara leaped to meet the ettin’s second charge, then just as quickly dove aside as the ettin’s weapons whizzed toward them. Both clubs sported a half-dozen iron spikes, each as long as a man’s hand. The spikes bore the scrapes and dents of years of use.
Tanis feinted, then slashed at the beast with his longsword. Kitiara followed suit. But the monster’s reach exceeded Tanis’s and Kitiara’s so greatly that the two could only pounce and jab before leaping back. Only Tanis could see well enough in the dimness. Kitiara had to rely on an intuitive sense of where the beast moved; until it came within a few feet of her, it was less than a blur in the blackness.
Tanis maneuvered until the thick trunk of an oak stood between him and the monster. Kitiara followed, squinting into the dark. Xanthar continued screeching, hooting overhead until Kitiara thought she would scream, too. The half-elf seemed oblivious to the owl’s commotion.
“You’ll never get near it, half-elf,” Caven shouted from atop Dauntless, trying to angle the horse closer. “This requires a mounted swordsman.”
“Do something besides talk, Mackid!” Tanis shouted back. The half-elf turned to Kitiara. “The ettin has brains of granite, yet, by the gods, the strength of granite, too!” He frowned. “Caven’s right, for once. We’ve no chance with swords.”
Suddenly Tanis picked up a fist-sized stone. “Stay here! Cover me!” he hissed.
“What? How? Half-elf, I can barely see!” Kitiara protested. She lunged for his arm. “What are you—?”
Her question went unanswered as the half-elf lobbed the rock at the ettin. The creature’s heads snapped backward, its confusion mirrored in its watery eyes. At the same time, Caven spurred the gelding forward.
Tanis nocked and released an arrow. It hurtled toward the ettin as Caven and Dauntless came tearing at the creature. The arrow sliced along the tough hide of the ettin’s shoulder. The beast’s left head swung around, looking more surprised than pained, and the left arm arched toward Dauntless. Caven was knocked off the mount, and suddenly the gelding hung by the neck in the grasp of the thirteen-foot beast. The horse pawed uselessly at the air.
The ettin shook the gelding’s neck. “Food!” the right head crowed. Lacua, the left head, echoed Res, and the ettin slammed the horse into a tree. Tanis cried out as h
e heard the animal’s front legs break. Res-Lacua released his grasp, and Dauntless went down.
Kitiara dove for the ettin. The monster’s left hand dropped its club, reached out, and backhanded Kitiara. Then it grabbed her and shook her fiercely, sending her weapon flying. Caven, on foot now and wielding his sword, struggled to close with the beast. Tanis joined Caven; he dared not loose an arrow at the ettin now for fear of hitting Kitiara. The ettin shook her one last time and dropped her unconscious body over one shoulder.
Then Res-Lacua halted and looked around him. “Lady mage!” he hollered. He stormed across the clearing toward Kai-lid. Tanis saw her freeze. Her fingers moved frantically, fumbling with the pouches of spell components at her belt. “Xanthar!” she shouted. “My magic! I can’t …” The giant owl dove toward the ettin, but Xanthar’s wingtip caught against a branch, and he careened into the ground.
“Xanthar!” Lida screamed again. The owl lay there, unmoving.
Then the ettin was striding out of the clearing, with Kitiara draped over one shoulder and dragging Lida by one arm. Res-Lacua shoved past Tanis and Caven as though they were reeds. Just as the ettin reached the edge of the clearing, a new figure stepped in front of the monster.
Of all things, it was Wode.
Clearly terrified, the young squire brandished Kitiara’s dropped sword. “Halt!” Wode cried in a cracked, piping voice. Bravely he pointed the weapon at the ettin.
The ettin slowed only temporarily. As though Kitiara were no heavier than a sack of onions, the two-headed beast shifted her body and wedged it in the space between his heads. That freed one hand—a hand that held a spiked club.
Wode screamed Caven’s name. The bearded man searched around desperately, spied a boulder, and, muscles bulging, hefted it above his head. He plunged across the clearing with Tanis close behind.
Wode screamed one more time; then the ettin’s club connected. The youth crumpled to the ground, and the beast leaped over him and raced out of the clearing.
Chapter 13
The Chase
CAVEN KNELT BESIDE WODE, HIS SQUIRE AND HIS nephew. Tanis stood uncertainly next to the grieving mercenary until the wild neighing of the half-elf’s gelding drew his attention and brought him to the edge of the clearing. Dauntless was struggling vainly to rise. His eyes were glassy. The faithful horse grew quiet as the half-elf stroked his beautiful neck with a broad, gentle hand.