Steel and Stone

by Ellen Porath

  Now the giant owls, no doubt driven as much by curiosity about the Ice Folk as by respect for Xanthar, stood in rows at the rear of the villagers. Silence fell over the crowd. The warriors, attired in sealskin parkas, were kneeling at the fore; others stood behind them, and the owls towered in the back. Tanis was jammed between Caven and Brittain. He sniffed the stench of the special unguent that the Revered Cleric had insisted he and Caven anoint themselves with to protect them from the clinging ice of the Valdane’s warren.

  The Revered Cleric stood and spoke to the crowd. Tanis realized that while the ordinary people of the village spoke Common, it was a courtesy to the newcomers and not their native language. He could follow little of the cleric’s untranslated speech this morning, and he soon gave himself up to his own thoughts—first to musing about Xanthar, and then to wondering whether Kitiara had indeed allied herself with the Valdane.

  He glanced over at Caven, his rival of the past few weeks. The Kernan’s features were heavy, and Tanis saw exhaustion and sadness written in his eyes. Caught by the half-elf’s stare, Caven turned toward him and nodded gravely. After a moment, Tanis inclined his own head, and then, feeling as though something had been settled between him and the Kernan, he turned back toward the Revered Cleric, who leaned toward the bier with a torch.

  A sigh rose from the crowd as the flame touched and caught. The women and children began to sing in a minor key, high-pitched, with a walrus-bone flute for accompaniment. Then the warriors joined in, baritones and basses adding depth to the lament. The owls suddenly stood at attention, raised their beaks, and trilled a softer version of the previous day’s mourning. All the while, the flames flickered stronger. Finally the canvas that wrapped Xanthar’s body began to smolder just as the ice blocks of the bier melted. Almost magically, the owl’s body sank into the roaring flames.

  At that, the Ice Folk rose as one and filed silently from the central area of the village. The owls parted ranks to permit the humans’ passage, then followed.

  Soon the warriors were mounted, spiraling into the sky around the column of smoke from Xanthar’s pyre, forming a line, and heading south. Two hundred owls flew without riders. Tanis watched from Golden Wing as the Ice Folk’s chief scout, mounted on a gray owl, eased into the lead, trailed by three other scouts. Soon the four were out of sight, roaming far ahead.

  Caven and Splotch flew at the rear, winging from warrior to warrior, offering advice and encouragement to the neophyte fliers. Brittain, atop a gray and white owl he’d dubbed Windslayer, was positioned next to Tanis. The wind was too strong to permit conversation at anything less than a bellow, so the half-elf and the Ice Folk leader communicated mainly by pointing.

  An hour later, the scouts hove into view, darting toward the main group. “They’re just over that rise!” Delged, the chief scout, shouted to Brittain and Tanis. “Behind a great wall of ice blocks.”

  “Describe the camp,” the half-elf ordered.

  “A thousand minotaurs, walrus men, and ettins,” Delged replied, his face red with the wind, the cold, and the shouting. Tanis nudged Golden Wing closer to Windslayer.

  “And our people?” Brittain persisted.

  “A hundred captives.” The scout pointed. “In pens to the east.”

  “Only a hundred?” Brittain demanded. “But far more than that were taken from the fallen villages!”

  The scout looked away from the leader for a moment, then shouted back, “There are bodies of The People strewn across the glacier. Some … some appear to have been devoured.”

  The three were silent for a time. Finally, as the glittering tops of the ice blocks came into view, Tanis pulled Golden Wing into a wide spiral. The rest followed, then moved into the battle positions they’d devised.

  Brittain’s chief officer, who would free the captives, split off to the left with forty owls and warriors. Brittain and Windslayer would lead the main force, which swooped to the ground now, then rose heavily into the sky again, each owl hefting a jagged chunk of ice in its talons.

  “Attack!” Brittain commanded as they passed over the ice blocks.

  The mass of bull men, thanoi, and two-headed trolls looked overhead in dumb astonishment. At that moment, the owls altered their flying technique, their wings fighting the wind, booming with noise instead of slipping soundlessly through the air. The resulting roar split the morning air, further terrifying the amazed foe. The thanoi and ettins scattered to the edge of the force. Only the minotaurs remained, calmly preparing for battle. Windslayer, in the lead, dropped his ice chunk onto a minotaur, who toppled to the ground. A pool of blood widened on the snowy terrain. The felled enemy didn’t move. The attacking force let out a cheer, and dozens more of the sharp, frozen projectiles hurtled toward the Valdane’s forces.

  “Where is the leader?” Tanis shouted.

  Brittain surveyed the enemy below, but it was Delged, the scout, who provided the answer. “There!” He pointed to a heavyset figure dressed in a leather harness, wielding a battle-ax. “The minotaur! Toj, they call him.”

  “But what of the woman?” Brittain demanded. “Did you see the woman we’ve heard about?”

  Delged shook his head.

  “Only a rumor, maybe,” Tanis said. Brittain gave him a look but said nothing. Then the Ice Folk leader nodded at the half-elf, touched the hood of his own parka, and guided Windslayer and the rest of the troops into another attack.

  Already more than a hundred enemy soldiers lay motionless on the ground, and not one of Brittain’s forces had been lost. Another cheer rose from the Ice Folk, echoed by the captives below. Tanis scanned the camp again and again. Caven pulled next to him on Splotch.

  “See any sign of Kit?” Caven demanded.

  “Nothing.”

  “The Valdane? Janusz?”

  “Nor them.”

  “Good. We’ve taken them by surprise.”

  The minotaurs had obviously realized that massed forces were vulnerable to an air attack. They scattered and hauled catapults into play. The bull men drove the disorganized ettins before them, forcing the two-headed beasts into the battle despite themselves. Soon Brittain’s force was dodging airborne boulders and the same ice blocks they’d hurled at the minotaurs. Tanis watched as a stone broke the wing of an owl, sending the bird and its Ice Folk warrior crashing, screaming, into the Valdane’s camp. A second volley from the catapults killed three more owls and riders.

  Another shout rose from below, to the east. Tanis saw a score of frostreaver-wielding warriors guide their owls close over thanoi guards, slashing this way and that with the ice weapons. Then more owls, outfitted with harnesses but no riders, flew low over the captives’ pens, using their talons and beaks to tear at the walrus men. A third attack followed, and this time each riderless owl rose with an Ice Folk slave in its talons. Clutching the captives’ clothing, the birds carried the people away from the camp, then landed and urged the newly freed slaves onto the birds’ backs. The captives were weak, but the bravest of them gamely clambered back onto the giant owls. The attackers’ forces swelled as more owls retrieved the rest of the captive Ice Folk.

  At that moment, Splotch gave a cry; Caven echoed it. A jagged chunk of ice, launched by a catapult, whizzed toward the two. Splotch lurched desperately to the right while Golden Wing dived to the left. Accustomed now to the vagaries of owl riding, Tanis instinctively clenched the harness and ducked close to the tawny owl’s back. But Caven teetered, both hands suddenly free. Splotch tried to correct his own movement just as Caven threw himself the other way. With a shout, the Kernan slipped off Splotch and hurtled toward the ground. Splotch dived after him.

  Tanis rapped Golden Wing on the tip of his wing. “Help them!” the half-elf ordered. “I can hold on! Go!”

  Without hesitation, the golden owl dropped after Splotch. Tanis tightened his grip on the harness. His eyes watered from the speed of the descent; the icy wind roared in his ears. Golden Wing headed nearly straight down, wings plastered flat against his sides
, pinning the half-elf’s legs. Splotch was diving likewise.

  Suddenly Splotch was next to the falling Caven, then below him. Tanis’s mount arrowed toward the Kernan, mere feet beneath them. Then Golden Wing spread his wings with a snap; his feathered head shot up, his stub tail slammed downward, and his horned feet swung forward. The owl’s talons grasped the back of Caven’s black parka, held on—and then lost their grip.

  The movement sent Golden Wing and Tanis spinning. But it slowed Caven’s descent. The Kernan sprawled on Splotch’s back, caught the harness, and held it. Both owls backpedaled frantically as the ground swirled up toward them. They managed to land in the snow, but Splotch tumbled to one side, sending Caven crashing into the ground, and Golden Wing rolled over twice. Tanis slid into the snow as the tawny owl spun.

  “Death to humans!” The shout was deep and strangely accented. The half-elf struggled to his feet in the snow to meet the new threat, then froze when he realized the shout wasn’t directed at him at all. Before a stunned Caven Mackid stood the minotaur that Delged had identified as Toj. A ring dangled from his nose, another ring from one ear. A double-edged ax dangled from a heavily muscled arm and hand. The creature roared a Mithas battle cry. The screams of battling and dying minotaurs, ettins, and thanoi resounded around them.

  Caven, disoriented, struggled to his knees and groped for his sword, but the weapon was gone, fallen into the snow. The minotaur’s roar turned to a laugh; the sound echoed like a bray across the frozen terrain. Tanis reached for his own sword. The half-elf felt Golden Wing’s presence at his side; the owl dropped Tanis’s sword into the snow beside him. Roaring again, the minotaur raised the ax above Caven’s head.

  “Is this how Mithas minotaurs meet their enemies?” Tanis shouted at the beast. “By attacking them when they are weaponless?” The half-elf, sword ready, advanced on the minotaur. The creature towered head and bulging shoulders over him.

  The minotaur lumbered toward the half-elf, growling, “Fierce words from a scrawny elf.” Behind the minotaur, Caven stood and retrieved his sword. Then, with the minotaur distracted, the Kernan attacked the creature from the rear. Tanis leaped into the fray.

  Toj deftly met the onslaught, driving back the human and half-elf and waving away thanoi and ettins who came to his aid. The other minotaurs offered no assistance; they merely nodded gravely to Toj and resumed their catapult attack on the airborne forces. Toj’s double-bladed ax waved back and forth before Tanis and Caven. The bull man’s left hand held a long whip.

  “We can defeat him,” Tanis said to Caven.

  “I know,” the Kernan said. There was no fear in the man now, Tanis could see; the mercenary itched to battle the minotaur. “Minotaurs have their weaknesses, too.”

  “Don’t be too sure, human,” came Toj’s reply. “You and your elven friend would be better off surrendering now.”

  “Don’t do it, half-elf,” Caven said. “He’ll kill you. Minotaurs take no prisoners.”

  What was this minotaur’s weakness? Caven wondered. Gambling, perhaps? It’s how Caven had won Maleficent, after all. He raised his voice, addressing the minotaur general. “Perhaps we are equally matched on the battlefield, bull man, the one of you against the two of us. Perhaps the three of us would be better off settling this with a game of bones.”

  “Bones?” Toj echoed. He slowed the ax for a moment, gazing full upon the Kernan. “You propose games on the battlefield?” Incredulity filled the minotaur’s words. His hooves scraped agitatedly against the ice.

  “Unless you fear you’d lose,” Caven said offhandedly. “It’s likely, you know. I’ve a fine hand at bones.”

  Toj snorted. “You bait me, human.”

  “Winner take all,” Caven continued. “If you win, we are your prisoners. If we win, we get you.” He whispered to Tanis, “Be ready to attack.”

  Toj stood stock-still. The minotaur still held his ax in his right hand, a long whip in his left. A crafty look settled on his bovine features. “It’s worth a try,” Toj said. Caven, still holding his sword, started toward the minotaur. Then the Kernan dived toward the creature, driving straight forward with his sword. “Now, Tanis!” he yelled.

  But Tanis was already moving. He lunged toward Toj and twisted aside just in time to avoid the deadly blade of the ax. The half-elf whirled, nicking the minotaur’s leather and mail harness. A trickle of blood oozed from Toj’s side.

  The creature went mad with bloodlust. Toj hurtled at Tanis, and Caven and Tanis drove the minotaur back with their swords. Toj’s yell mingled with the din of battle. The whip snaked forward, wrapped around Tanis’s left arm, and dragged the half-elf toward his foe.

  Tanis managed to keep his head. His sword was in his right hand; he wasn’t helpless yet. He allowed Toj to draw him forward. Caven swept down upon the minotaur with a battle cry, but Toj held him off with the ax. Meanwhile Tanis was drawn inexorably closer.

  The half-elf pretended to fight the whip, feigning panic. Tanis saw satisfaction settle on the minotaur’s furred face. When the half-elf was within reach of Toj’s ax, he saw the weapon begin to hurtle toward him.

  At that moment, Tanis stopped resisting the pull of the whip. Instead, he dove toward the minotaur, inside the arc of the ax.

  Tanis drove his sword deep into the minotaur. Before Toj’s companions had a chance to react, Tanis and Caven were racing toward the waiting Splotch and Golden Wing. Within minutes, the two men were circling high above the seething army again.

  Delged, the scout, shouted to Tanis and Caven. “Hurry!” He and his owl darted to the south. The roar of the battle had receded behind them when Delged urged his owl into a descent. He pointed again. Tanis saw the slash of blue-gray in the seemingly endless snow, saw the shadow that Delged had said masked the entrance to the Valdane’s castle. Golden Wing and Splotch landed, waiting until Tanis retrieved his pack, bow, and sword, and Caven his own weapon. Then the owls leaped into the air again and, with Delged, headed back toward the battle without so much as glancing back.

  Tanis stepped cautiously to the edge of the crevasse. Caven followed and poked at the grayish snow with his toe. “I hope the scouts have the right crevasse,” Caven muttered. Suddenly a chunk of snow broke away, followed by the entire slab that had hidden the glacial crack. The two gaped into the depths. The sides of the crevasse emitted weird blue light; they could see no bottom to the plunge.

  “Just jump, Delged said,” Caven muttered softly. “And to think I used to be afraid of heights.”

  Tanis smiled, his smile masking his own fear.

  “Tell me again why I’m doing this,” Caven continued, his face sweaty, his gaze unwaveringly set on the crevasse.

  “The poem,” Tanis replied. “ ‘Lovers three’ … That’s you and me and Kitiara. The ‘spell-cast maid’ is Lida.”

  “So you’ve said,” Caven muttered. “But move ahead a bit to the part about ‘frozen deaths in snow-locked waste.’ Is that us, too?”

  “I believe we all have to be together, with the ice jewels, for Lida’s magic to be able to defeat the Valdane and his mage,” Tanis said. “I hope it’s their deaths that are mentioned in the verse. Anyway, it’s too late to go back now.”

  “It’s never too late,” the Kernan said in a low voice. As Tanis was about to reply, Caven leaped into the crevasse. The half-elf bounded after him.

  Soon they stood safely at the bottom, staring at the dungeon’s walls and the corpses. “To starve in such a place,” Caven whispered. “That’s no way for a warrior to die.” His hands clenched his sword so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

  Tanis pointed to the portal some height above the floor. “If I stood on your shoulders, I could pull myself up through there and then haul you up.”

  “What about the ice wall?”

  “Let’s hope the cleric’s ointment works.”

  “Cheerful thought,” Caven said. The Kernan sighed, bent over, and interwove the fingers of his hands. Tanis placed a booted foot in Caven’s hands
, climbed onto his shoulders, and after the Kernan stood upright, gingerly placed an ointment-daubed finger on the edge of the portal. His finger didn’t stick. The half-elf pulled himself through and tossed the rope that hung from a peg next to the portal down to Caven. Tanis felt edgy. “This is too easy,” he muttered.

  Caven heard him. “You’re too suspicious, half-elf. Even if they knew we were coming, they probably thought we’d get caught in the dungeon or stuck to the walls like the rest.”

  Swords drawn, they stood quietly in the hallway. “Not a sound,” Tanis observed.

  “We’re a long way underground,” Caven added doubtfully.

  “Aren’t there any guards?”

  The two men crept through the hall. The illumination from the ice was so even that it cast no shadows, but it cast both men in a ghostly mien. “Maybe it’s a good sign that Kitiara and Lida weren’t in the dungeon,” Caven whispered. “Maybe the Valdane is treating them well.”

  “And maybe the women have gone over to his side,” Tanis said.

  “Kitiara, maybe. But not the lady mage.”

  They came to the end of the hallway. Other halls branched to the right and left. A short way down, each branched again. Caven swore. Tanis picked the far right one and headed down it. “It’s as good as any,” he explained to Caven.

  Just then, Caven reached the end of the hall. As he hesitated, a hairy form lunged at him. A second form caught Tanis from behind. Three more ettins waited behind the first two.

  The two men struggled, but they were woefully outnumbered. Soon the ettins had overpowered and disarmed them.

  “Caught, caught,” one ettin sang out. “Master right. Big dumb guys walk right in trap.” He snickered and hopped up and down, cracking Caven’s head against the wall twice in his enthusiasm.

  “Big dumb … You idiot, Res-Lacua!” Caven spat out. “Stop that jumping!”