“How could he?” Sturm asked, frowning.
Brian didn’t want to repeat Derek’s sarcastic gibe about the gods, and so he evaded the question. “Derek has ordered you to accompany us.”
Sturm regarded him in troubled silence. The frown line in his forehead deepened. “Far be it from me to question the orders of a Lord Knight of the Rose-”
“Oh, go ahead-question!” Brian said wearily. “Aran and I have been doing nothing else since we came on this mission.” He lowered his voice. “I’m worried about Derek. He’s become increasingly obsessed with this dragon orb. Almost consumed by it.”
Sturm looked very grave. “I know something of magic, not by choice, mind you, but because I was around Raistlin so much-”
“Your friend the Red Robe wizard,” Brian clarified.
“Not friend, exactly, but, yes, he’s the one I meant. Raistlin always cautioned us that if ever we came upon any object that might be magical, we were to leave it alone, have nothing to do with it. ‘Such artifacts are designed to be used by those who have studied magic and know and understand its deadly potential. They pose a danger to the ignorant’.”
Sturm grimaced. “The one time I did not heed Raistlin’s warning, I paid for it. I put on a magical helm I had found and it seized hold of me-” Sturm stopped, waved the story aside. “But that’s another tale. I think if Raistlin were here, he would caution us against this orb, warn us against coming anywhere near it.”
“You make it sound like the orb has something to do with changing Derek, but how is that possible?” Brian argued.
“How is it possible for a dwarven helm to steal a man’s soul?” Sturm asked with a rueful smile. “I don’t know the answer.”
Tossing aside the cloth, he held the blade to the flame, watched the light flare off the gleaming metal. Sturm placed the sword on his bent arm, knelt on one knee, and offered it, hilt-first, to the knight.
“My lord,” he said with profound respect.
Brian accepted the sword and buckled it on beneath his coat. The belt was not large enough to fit over the bulky fur.
Sturm picked up the ancient blade of the Brightblades, his most valued inheritance from his father. He gestured toward the tent’s entrance. “After you, my lord.”
“Please, call me Brian,” said Brian. “I keep thinking you’re talking to Derek.”
It seemed the gods were with Derek and the Ice Folk, at least at the start, for the day dawned clear, the sun shone bright, and a brisk wind sprang up, an unusually warm wind for this time of year, Harald told them. He consulted Raggart the Elder, who said the gods sent this good weather as a sign they favored the venture. And because the gods were with them, he was going to go on the raid.
Harald and Raggart the Younger were both shocked. The old man could scarcely walk on his own. Both attempted to dissuade Raggart the Elder, but he would not listen. He tottered out to the ice boat unaided, carrying with him his frostreaver. When Raggart the Younger tried to assist him, the old man testily ordered his grandson to quit hovering around him like some damn mother bear.
Laurana brought her own frostreaver. She had planned to bring along her sword to use in battle. She was honored by the gift of the axe, but felt uncomfortable using it, since she was not trained in wielding such a weapon. But her sword was not in her tent. Laurana searched and searched and eventually realized it was probably inside Tasslehoff’s tent, along with everything else that had gone missing from the camp during the past few days. She had no time to go rummaging through the kender’s treasure hoard, so, fearing she would be late, she grabbed the frostreaver and hastened out into the morning.
She was gazing into the bright sunshine, thinking her plan might work after all, when Gilthanas caught up with her.
“Don’t you think you should stay here in camp with the other women?”
“No,” said Laurana indignantly and kept walking.
Gilthanas fell in beside her. “Laurana, I overheard Derek talking to his friends this morning-”
Laurana frowned and shook her head.
“It’s a good thing I did,” Gilthanas said defensively. “When the attack starts, the knights are going to use it as a diversion to enter the castle after the dragon orb. If Derek goes, I’m going with him. Just so you know.”
Laurana turned to face her brother. “You want me to stay here because you plan to take the dragon orb for yourself and you think I’ll try to stop you.”
“Won’t you?” he demanded, glowering.
“What will you do? Fight the knights? All of them?”
“I have my magic-” Gilthanas said.
Laurana shook her head and walked on. Gilthanas called angrily after her, but she ignored him. Elistan, walking toward the ice boat, heard Gilthanas’s shout and saw Laurana’s angry flush.
“I take it your brother does not want you to go,” said Elistan.
“He wants me to stay with the women.”
“Perhaps you should heed his concerns,” Elistan said. “The gods have blessed us thus far and I have faith they will continue to aid us, but that doesn’t mean we will not be in danger-”
“He’s not concerned about my safety,” Laurana said. “Derek and the other knights plan to use the battle as a diversion. They’re going to sneak into Ice Wall Castle to steal the dragon orb. Gilthanas intends to go after them, because he wants the dragon orb. He’s prepared to kill Derek over it or at least he thinks he is, so you see why I have to go.”
Elistan’s graying eyebrows came together; his blue eyes glinted. “Does Harald know of this?”
“No.” Laurana’s cheeks burned with shame. “I can’t tell him. I don’t know what to do. If we tell Harald, it will only cause trouble, and the gods are smiling on us this day-”
Elistan looked up at the bright sun, the cloudless sky. “It certainly seems they are.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “I see you carry the frostreaver.”
“Yes, I didn’t want to. I don’t know how to use it. But I couldn’t find my sword. Tasslehoff must have run off with it, though he swears he didn’t.” Laurana sighed. “But then, that’s what he always swears!”
Elistan gave her a keen look, then said, “I think you should go with your brother and the others.” He smiled and added enigmatically, “This time, I think Tasslehoff is telling the truth.”
He walked off to join up with Harald, leaving Laurana to stare after him, puzzled, wondering what he meant.
The Ice Folk kept their boats hidden in a cove created by a natural formation of the glacier. The warriors crowded on board, as many as the ice boats could carry. Those who doubled as sailors took hold of the ropes, ready for the order to raise the massive sails. They looked to Harald to give the command. The chief opened his mouth, but the word died on his lips. He stared uneasily up into the sky.
“What is it now?” Derek demanded, irritated.
“I feel it,” Sturm said, and he crouched in the shadow of a mast and yanked Tasslehoff down beside him.
“The dragon. I think you should take cover, my lord.”
Derek said nothing in reply, but he did duck down, squatting on the deck, muttering in Solamnic that this was yet another attempt by Harald to avoid making the assault.
The warriors sought shelter, either flattening themselves on the deck or climbing over the rails to hide on the ice beneath the boat. Everyone felt a sense of unease. They could hear the wind whistling through the rigging, but nothing more. Still, no one moved, the feeling of terror growing on everyone. Even Derek crouched back farther in the shadows.
The white dragon, Sleet, was suddenly above them, white wings spread, her scales glittering like snow crystals in the morning sun. The fear of the dragon squeezed hearts and stopped breathing. Men cowered on the decks. Weapons fell from limp hands. In the camp, children wailed and dogs howled in terror. The dragon’s head dipped. Her red eyes looked toward the camp. Those warriors who had been able to overcome the terror gripped their weapons and prepared to defend their f
amilies.
Sleet gave a lazy flap of her wings. She snarled and snapped her teeth at them, but that was all. She flew on, skimming low over the ice boats.
Those crouching terrified on the boats watched the dragon’s massive underbelly pass over the masts. No one dared move or even draw breath as she flew ponderously above them. Sleet had an odd habit of using her legs to fly, almost as though she were swimming through the air, so that when her wings swooped downward, her legs came together, then spread apart as her wings lifted. This tended to slow her flight and it was some time before she flapped and swam out of sight, flying straight into the sunrise.
No one moved until certain she was gone. Then, the fear lifting from their hearts, they rose and looked at each other in amazement, hardly daring to speak what they were now daring to hope.
“The dragon has left the castle!” cried Harald in disbelief. He stared into the bright sunshine until the tears blurred his vision, then turned to Raggart the Elder and grabbed the cleric in a bear hug that, fortunately, was fur-lined or he might have crushed the old man’s frail bones. “The gods be praised! The dragon has left Icereach!”
Elistan rose to his feet, his hand still clasping his medallion. He looked a little dazed and overwhelmed by the gods’ largess. He’d expected a miracle, but nothing quite this miraculous.
The warriors started to raise a cheer, but Harald feared the dragon might hear and return, and he shushed them and ordered them to get on with their business. They raised the sails. The wind caught hold of the canvas and propelled the ice boats forward, sending them sliding on their sharp blades across the ice.
Flint had, of course, raised objections to riding in the boat, claiming that he always fell overboard. The dwarf had been persuaded by Sturm that the ice boats were not like boats that sailed upon water; there would be no bobbing and tossing on the waves. If Flint did fall overboard, which was highly unlikely, there was no chance he could drown.
“No, I’ll just break my head on the glacier,” Flint grumbled, but since it was either go on the boat or be left behind, he agreed to go with them.
Sadly, Flint soon discovered ice boats were far worse than any other type of transportation he’d ever encountered, including griffons. Ice boats could travel over ice far faster than a boat could sail the water, and they careened across the glacier, sometimes going so fast the wind lifted them up onto one runner and they tilted sideways. The Ice Folk grinned and opened their mouths wide when this happened, swallowing the wind.
Poor Flint huddled in a recessed corner, his arms wrapped tightly around a rope, his eyes squinched shut in order not to see the horrendous smash-up he was convinced was coming. Once he opened one eye, only to see Tasslehoff clinging to the neck of the figurehead carved in the shape of a beaked sea monster. The kender shrieked in delight as tears from the stinging wind whipped off his cheeks. His topknot flapped behind him like a flag. Shuddering, Flint swore that this was the end. He meant it. No more boats of any kind. Ever.
Derek paced the deck, or tried to. He kept stumbling sideways and eventually, realizing this ineptness was impairing his dignity (the Ice Folk had no difficulty standing on the canting deck), he took his place at the rail alongside Harald. Raggart the Elder and Elistan sat on barrels, appearing to enjoy the wild ride. Gilthanas kept near Derek. Sturm stood beside Tasslehoff, ready to grab the kender should he lose his grip and go flying. Laurana kept away from the others, especially Derek, who had not been at all pleased at her decision to accompany them and had tried his best to send her back to camp. He had appealed to Harald, but received no support from the chief. Laurana had been given a frostreaver. She was an acknowledged warrior and welcome to come. Harald might have changed his mind had he known her true intent.
Sitting on the deck, the wind blowing in her face, Laurana considered what she was planning to do and she was appalled at herself. She trembled at the thought and was not certain she had the courage to go through with it. Several times, her heart would fail her and she would decide that when they reached their destination, she would stay in the boat. No one would fault her. Everyone would be relieved. Despite the fact that she’d been given the frostreaver, the warriors were uncomfortable having a woman in their midst. Derek was angry, and even Sturm cast her worried glances.
Laurana had fought draconians in Pax Tharkas and she had acquitted herself well. Tanis and the others had praised her skill and her courage in battle. Though elf women are all trained to fight-a tradition that dates back to the First Dragon War, when the elves fought for their very survival-Laurana was not a warrior. But she could not let Gilthanas end up in a fight with the knights, and she had the terrible foreboding that this was what it would come to if no one was there to stop him. She might have once relied upon Sturm to side with Gilthanas, keep him out of trouble, but Sturm had other loyalties now. He was bound to obey his lord, and Laurana would not force him to make a choice between duty and friendship.
The ice boats sped across the glacier, racing toward the castle. The warriors crowded the sides, enjoying the wild ride. The plan of attack was simple. If the gods came to their aid, the warriors would fight. If not, they would use the swift-sailing boats to carry them away. The only enemy who could catch them was the dragon, and she was gone. But they all had faith that the gods, who had already done so much, would do more.
Victory was assured.
The single tower of Ice Wall Castle, rising high in the air, appeared to be the only part of the fortress made of stone. The castle walls were covered in centuries of accumulated ice. The guards atop the ramparts walked on ice. Stone stairs had long since disappeared, covered by ice. So many layers of ice coated the walls that the tops of the watchtowers were now practically on a level with the ramparts.
As the boats drew nearer, they saw soldiers massing on the icy battlements. The soldiers were enormous, large and hulking.
“Those are not draconians,” said Derek.
“Thanoi,” said Harald, glowering. “Our ancient enemy. They are also called walrus-men, for they have the tusks and massive girth of a walrus and they walk upright, like men. They have no love for Feal-Thas. They have come just for a chance to kill us. So much for a surprise assault. The wizard was warned of our coming.”
“The wolves,” said Raggart the Elder knowingly. “They were prowling about the camp last night. They heard our war-feast and they told him we were coming.”
Derek rolled his eyes at this, but he kept quiet.
“Yet Feal-Thas sent away the dragon,” Sturm said in puzzled tones. “That makes no sense.”
“Perhaps it was a ruse,” suggested Raggart the Younger. “Perhaps the dragon is lurking nearby, ready to attack us.”
“No,” Raggart the Elder returned. He pressed his hand over his heart. “I do not feel her presence. The dragon is gone.”
“There could be many reasons,” said Derek briskly. “The war rages on in other parts of Ansalon. Perhaps the dragon was needed elsewhere. Perhaps this Feal-Thas is overconfident. He thinks he does not need her help against us. What it means,” he added in a low voice to his friends, “is that the dragon orb has been left unprotected.”
“Except by a thousand walrus-men and a few hundred draconians, not to mention a dark elf wizard,” Aran grumbled.
“Don’t worry.” Derek stomped his feet on the deck to warm them. He was in a good humor. “Brightblade’s gods will assist us.”
Sturm did not hear Derek’s sarcastic remark. He was watching the thanoi crowding the ramparts, brandishing their weapons and leaning over the walls to shout insults at their foes. The warriors shouted back, but they seemed daunted. The thanoi clustered thick on the walls, forming a dark, unbroken line of steel that encircled the top of the fortress.
“Feal-Thas brings in thousands of troops to guard the castle, yet he sends away the dragon,” Sturm remarked, shaking his head.
“There are white bears up there,” cried Tasslehoff. “Like the bear we saved!” He turned to the chief. “
I thought bears were friends of your people.”
“The thanoi make slaves of the white bears.” Harald told him. “They goad them and torment them until the bears come to hate anything that walks on two legs. They will attack on sight.”
“First draconians, then walrus-men, now mad bears. What next?” grumbled Flint.
“Have faith,” said Elistan, resting his hand on the dwarf’s shoulder.
“I do,” said Flint stoutly. He patted his axe. “In this. And in Reorx,” he added quickly in dwarven, fearing that the god, who was known to be touchy, might take offense.
The ice boats were sailing within arrow range. At first the warriors were not worried. The thanoi, with their thick hands and claws, were not archers. But then arrows began thunking into the ice ahead of them, and they realized draconian archers were on the walls. Two arrows struck the side of the boat, their shafts quivering in the wood, and Harald ordered the boats to a halt. They lowered the sails. The boats slowed and slid to a stop.
The warriors stared up at the walls in grim silence. No cheers, no elation, as there had been when they started. The Ice Folk numbered about three hundred, and they faced an army of over a thousand. They were exposed, out in the open. Their enemy was safely ensconced in a fortress of ice. Derek had not yet admitted defeat, but even he was daunted.
A large boulder, thrown from the wall, crashed on the ice near the lead boat. If the boulder had found its mark, it would have smashed through the bottom of the boat, perhaps snapped the mast, killing any number of warriors. Other boulders began to rain down on them, hurled by the strong arms of the thanoi.
Harald turned to Elistan. “We cannot stay here waiting for them to make a lucky hit. The gods must either aid us, or we must retreat.”
“I understand,” said Elistan. He looked at Raggart the Elder, who nodded his head.
“Lower the ladder,” Raggart ordered.
Harald was astonished. “You mean to leave the boat?”
“We do,” said Elistan calmly.
Dragons of the Highlord Skies dc-2 Page 41
