The Improbable Adventures of Scar and Potbelly: Ice Terraces of Crystal Crag

by Brian S. Pratt

  “I don’t know,” Scar argued. “They might return.”

  “With three dead and us not weakened in the slightest? I doubt they will return.”

  “Go back to sleep if you can,” Scar said. “I’ll wake you if I hear anything.”

  The rest of the night remained quiet. When the forest began to lighten with the coming of dawn, they broke camp and followed the stream. Two hours later they reached the lake.

  -13-

  The lake was of modest size and the break in the canopy allowed them to get their bearings.

  “We need to keep better track of our direction from this point on,” Scar said. “We lost time we can ill afford to lose.”

  From where the stream emptied into the lake, they looked east across the water and over the treetops. There they saw Crystal Crag rising majestically among the peaks.

  “Getting close.”

  Potbelly nodded.

  It took an hour to traverse the lakeshore. Once beneath the canopy again, they kept better watch on their heading. Potbelly suggested they angle to the north and once they reached where the valley began to rise, keep the rise to their left and they would continue in a general easterly direction. Scar concurred.

  The day passed as had the one before and when the world began to darken, they sought a place to camp. Finding a fallen log bordering a creek was a stroke of luck. The log would provide some shelter and defense against the wolves should they return, and the creek might contain fish. Scar set to making camp and gathering wood while Potbelly took his line and hook to see about dinner.

  Three small fish later he returned and they set them to roasting over the fire.

  The forest darkened while the fish cooked and when they were done, Potbelly laid several sections of thick branches over the fire.

  They ate with their backs to the log and fire before them. The horses were again picketed close by in the area between the log and the stream. Though the stream probably would not keep the wolves away, it would at least announce their presence should they attempt to come at them through it.

  It wasn’t long after darkness deepened before the howling commenced. Unlike the night before, it began not very far away.

  “Think they want payback for last night?”

  Potbelly shrugged. “Maybe. Do wolves even think that way?”

  “I would if I were one.”

  “You do smell like one at times,” he chuckled.

  Scar tossed a stone his way good-naturedly and Potbelly easily swatted it aside.

  The howls gradually closed in. When the horses grew anxious they got to their feet. Potbelly again took his position with them while Scar brought two flaming brands a ways from camp and set them securely in crooks of trees. There he waited; better to fight them away from the horses than risk losing one.

  Yellow eyes again peered at Scar from the night; one pair, then two, then three.

  “Think you’ll have enough this time?” Scar taunted. “Come on then.” Drawing both swords, he clashed them together. “I’m ready for you.”

  Two pairs melted back into the night while the remaining set moved forward coming within the light of the burning brands. Three points of red-matted fur marred the wolf’s chest.

  “Ah,” Scar said, recognizing the beast from the night before. “Want another chance at me, is that it?”

  Growls and snarls were all the answer he received.

  “Well, come on then,” Scar urged. “Let’s see what you got.”

  Remembering the flanking maneuver the wolves had pulled the last time, he kept watch to either side.

  Taking two steps forward, Scar roared and waved his swords. The wolf didn’t move.

  He stepped back and lowered his swords. As if that had been a signal, two wolves darted out of the darkness; one to his left, the other on his right. Scar was ready for that. His stance allowed freedom of movement in either direction. When the one to his right leapt for him, he threw himself to the ground and rolled toward it. As the wolf sailed over him, Scar rolled onto his back and without pausing, sliced into the wolf’s underside while he continued his roll. Then in a single motion, tucked a leg under, twisted and thrust himself to his feet with swords at the ready.

  The second wolf shot for him. Scar thrust with one sword causing the wolf to dodge to the side then brought in the other to score along its foreleg. Snarling, the beast darted to the side but did not withdraw.

  He scanned to the left and right; no other wolves were present.

  “How are you doing?” he hollered.

  “Beat them back,” Potbelly replied. “One won’t be returning.

  “Got one too.” Then he grinned at the wolf. “You’re next.”

  Stepping forward, he lowered a sword toward the wolf. “Come on, puppy dog. Don’t you want to play?”

  The wolf took two steps back.

  “Scared?” Scar asked then advanced another three feet.

  Again, the wolf backed up to maintain the distance between them.

  Scar scanned to the sides out of the corners of his eyes. “You wouldn’t be planning anything, would you?”

  Another step forward and this time the wolf held his ground. Growling with head down, its muscles were hunched to spring. Veteran of untold number of fights both within The Pits and without, he saw the wolf’s eyes flicker to the left. Then came the sound of a twig breaking from behind.

  Spinning with all his might, he swung his swords horizontally to the ground, and as he came about, the blades bit into another wolf as it sailed through the air toward him. They bit deep and the wolf crashed to the ground. One of his swords wedged between two ribs and was pulled from his grip when the wolf fell away.

  Scar spun about again and saw the first wolf darting forward. He transferred his sword to his left hand, darted to the right and as the wolf passed, took a handful of its fur and yanked it off its feet.

  It twisted in his grip bringing fangs to bear on the arm that held it. Scar struck its head with the hilt of the sword. Snarling, it was a flurry of activity trying to get free. Again Scar hit it in the side of the head. Then when it got its rear legs beneath it, it leapt forward carrying Scar with it.

  Off balance, Scar landed on his backside with a growling snarling wolf atop him. Claws raked along one side and its teeth sought to connect with his throat.

  He let go of the long sword and pulled his knife as claws ripped across his chest. Stabbing, he opened wounds on the beast’s head and scored another blow, this one deep, just back from the ears. Again and again he rained blows down upon the beast until its movements slowed, then ultimately ceased. He pushed the carcass off.

  Scrambling over to his sword, he picked it up and quickly got to his feet. Blood flowed freely down his chest and side. Spying his other blade sticking from the dead wolf killed earlier in the battle, he sheathed his knife and retrieved the blade.

  “Any more?” he shouted to the shadows.

  The shadows were still and silent.

  “None over here,” Potbelly hollered.

  Giving the dark one final look, he returned to the campfire.

  “Oh, man,” Potbelly said when he saw Scar approach. “They almost got you.”

  “Not even close,” Scar argued. “Just a little scratch.”

  “Take off your shirt and we’ll see about that.”

  Scar leaned his swords against the fallen log as he pulled off his shirt.

  Potbelly shook his head. “They’re not good.” From the bottom of his pack, he pulled a wad of bandages and bound Scar’s wounds. “These are going to hurt for a while.”

  Through gritted teeth, he replied, “Can barely feel it.”

  “Uh, huh.” Once Scar’s wounds were bound, Potbelly removed a bottle of wine from his pack. “Bought this when I got the supplies,” he said. “Thought it might come in handy when the night turned cold.” He pulled out the cork and handed it to Scar. “But I think you could use it now.”

  Scar took the bottle and drank. “Thank you.
”

  “That’s what friends are for.”

  He turned and looked to the wolves Scar had killed. “Doubt if we’ll see them again.”

  Another long draught, then “I don’t know. They don’t seem like regular wolves to me.”

  “Maybe not, but even an armed troop after losing so many with such little gain would be hard pressed to reason another attack.”

  “These aren’t men,” argued Scar.

  “And packs aren’t large in numbers,” Potbelly countered. “How many can they have left?” He allowed Scar one more drink, then put the bottle away. “Rest,” he said. “I’ll wake you in the morning.”

  The way he grimaced when adjusting his position belied his assertions that all was well. His chest and side were aflame with pain. He was thankful Potbelly offered to stand watch though he would never admit to such weakness. Trying to put the pain out of his mind, he searched for sleep.

  The next morning his chest and side were stiff and in pure agony. Getting on his horse was a struggle and when they set out, every step they took only seemed to increase the pain all the more. By noon, he was pale and Potbelly worried for his friend. The cuts weren’t deep and showed no signs of turning bad. It was just the constant pain. As they made their way along the last part of the valley, he looked for a place to hole up.

  Afternoon came and went and still nothing adequate appeared. He feared remaining in the forest again without adequate shelter and defense. With Scar’s condition, fighting off the wolves should they attack again might not work out so well.

  The ground began to rise as the forest darkened with the onset of nightfall.

  Potbelly turned toward the higher elevation. He had to find a place for Scar to rest.

  Darkness crept into the world and still they climbed from the valley floor. Encountering a stream, they followed it up the mountainside. Soon, the sound of a waterfall came from farther upstream.

  Stars were out and the world was midway between dusk and dark. Still Potbelly kept on.

  The sound of the waterfall grew. When fine mist floated on the breeze, they knew they were close. In the partial light of twilight, the falls sparkled as it cascaded down from the higher elevations. It crashed into a pool at the base of the cliff and created the stream that they had followed.

  Backs to a cliff wasn’t exactly the sort of defensive area Potbelly had been looking for, but it would have to do. After taking Scar to where the pool met the cliff face, he made him comfortable with all their blankets, secured the horses to a stunted tree, and then scavenged for wood.

  During his third trip to get wood, he heard the first howl.

  “By the gods can we not get a break?”

  Scar came to his feet and drew his sword; he wobbled a bit as his body was weak from loss of blood and the stress and strain of a day’s ride. “Stay back,” Potbelly said.

  Sagging to the ground, Scar leaned against the cliff and rested his sword across his legs.

  Potbelly knelt and used flint and steel to start the fire. Once he encouraged a flame to grow, he added much wood to create a roaring bonfire. Two additional piles of wood had been deposited to form a barrier of three blazes in an arc, effectively cutting off any approach across the ground. He used flaming brands from the first to light the other two. With blazes to their front and left, a cliff to their back and cascading waterfall to their right, Potbelly felt confident the wolves would not attack.

  Once the three piles blazed mightily, he rushed between two and gathered more wood beyond the protection of the fires. He did this for the next hour, all the while the howls of wolves drew closer.

  Logs, branches, and even smashing apart fallen, rotting trunks yielded suitable sections of wood. Armful after armful he brought more wood within the protective ring of flame. On his tenth or eleventh trip, he was taking large branches, leaning them against a large, fallen log and kicking them in the middle to split them apart when yellow eyes appeared out of the dark.

  Sword and dagger leapt to his hands and he stood for a moment, locking gazes with the wolf. Then it broke off and vanished into the night. He scabbard his weapons and quickly picked up the wood he had ready and raced back behind the protective fires.

  “They’re out there.”

  Scar looked to the dark beyond the flames. “I can handle them,” he said then started to rise.

  “No you don’t,” Potbelly said and forced him to sit back down. “You need to rest and heal, like it or not.”

  “You’re treating me like an old woman.”

  “Until you are healed,” Potbelly said, “you are one. Now shut up, rest and let me take care of this.”

  Scar grumbled something Potbelly was sure cast aspersions on him, his birth, and his entire family. But he could see the pain his friend was in and forgave him. He pulled his hook and line from his pack and tied them to a long branch he had collected for just this purpose. After tossing several logs on each flaming pile, he took his fishing pole to the pool and cast it in.

  He kept one eye on the line and the other on the fires. But more importantly, he scanned the darkness beyond for signs of wolf incursions. Would they fear the flames? Or would they brave them in order to get their prey. He felt confident it would be the latter, but hoped for the former.

  Scar slept beneath the blankets. Even through there was a chill in the air, the fires kept the area warm.

  Yellow eyes watched them from across the pond as well as beyond the flames. Periodic howls sounded both close and far. Each sent a chill down his spine and prompted him to turn back to Scar to ensure he remained safe.

  Once he had two fish, he cleaned them then returned to Scar who was fast asleep. He skewered them on a couple thick sticks and set them across stones near the fire to cook. Then he took position next to Scar and relaxed.

  Having been on the go for nearly two days wore on him something terrible. Sleep crouched at the edge of consciousness demanding to be let in. He kept busy with tending the fish and keeping an eye on the wolves.

  Across the water three sets of yellow eyes watched while another four waited beyond the bonfires. Unlike Scar, he would rather not antagonize them into attacking. He’d be happy to just get through the night without being bothered by them.

  Once the fish were ready, he woke Scar so he could eat.

  “Are they still out there?” Scar said as he dug into his fish.

  Potbelly gestured to the eyes across the water. “Been there since dark.”

  “Do you think they will attack?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I hope not.”

  Scar’s tone said he would rather not engage them tonight either though his bravado prevented him from saying so.

  Potbelly watched Scar eat. Saw how his face grimaced every time he moved one of his arms or repositioned the way he sat. Even the simple act of drinking from his water bottle caused him to wince.

  “I think we should find a place to hole up for a day or so until the pain subsides.”

  “Bah,” Scar said, waving away the suggestion. “By morning I’ll be fine.”

  Potbelly wasn’t so sure. Wounds to the extent Scar had suffered simply didn’t heal in a day. Not even in two or three but he doubted if he could keep Scar in one place that long. At least if they remained through the following day and night, that should allay the worst of the pain.

  After eating, Scar emphatically told Potbelly that he intended to share in the watch.

  Potbelly eyed him skeptically and shrugged. “As you wish. You take the first one.”

  “All right then.”

  Scar fell asleep in less than five minutes.

  Throughout the night, Potbelly maintained the fires and kept the wolves at bay. Just after midnight they had come close, seeking a way through, but the heat drove them back. When the sun rose in the morning, they were gone.

  Scar woke stiff and sore. His wounds oozed a little beneath the bandages. Potbelly removed them and checked for complications. Finding them healing normall
y without swelling or abnormal discoloration, he took the bandages to the water, washed them out the best he could and set them out to dry.

  That close to the cliff, the forest canopy was not nearly as dense. Sunshine made its way through much to Scar’s relief. The direct sunlight upon his skin was like a balm to his pain and aided the healing process by drying the wound to help it heal.

  As long as Scar remained immobile they left the bandages off to maximize the sun’s effect. Potbelly even managed to track down a beehive and with only a few stings, got the honey. He slathered it upon the wounds to prevent them from turning bad.

  “Keep an eye out for ants,” joked Potbelly.

  Scar chuckled, groaned from the pain and said, “Don’t make me laugh.”

  “Sorry,” he said then yawned.

  “It’s okay. You should get some rest.”

  “Are you sure you can stay awake?”

  Scar nodded. “I am very much rested.”

  Fighting back another yawn, Potbelly suddenly realized just how tired he had become. “Make sure to wake me at the slightest possibility of danger.”

  “I will.” When Potbelly gave him a doubtful look, he added, “I promise.”

  “See that you do. You are in no condition to fight anything.”

  Potbelly had no sooner laid his head on his pack than he was out.

  Scar laid back and let the sun warm him. He kept watch for most of the day, and when the sun was low in the sky, woke Potbelly.

  Potbelly first went to the pool and caught three fish. Scar offered to prepare them while he gathered firewood.

  “Feeling better?”

  “I ache like I just finished a round in The Pits,” he said. “Much better than last night.”

  “Good. Perhaps by tomorrow you will feel well enough to continue. Though if you don’t, another day or two of rest would do you a world of good.”

  Scar shook his head. “No. I’ve lollygagged around here long enough.”

  He had to go farther from camp to find a sufficient supply of wood. Dead trees were a wealth of wood. Those of a meager diameter, he pulled over and broke apart by smashing over fallen logs. Larger ones he broke off the limbs and dragged them back to camp. By the time dusk arrived, he had even more wood stockpiled than the night before.