The two men continued their relentless trek up the glacier path pondering how long of a climb this would be. With no vision further than two feet in front or behind them neither man could know how far they had walked. They could be only one hundred feet from where they started or they could be a half mile away.
“Devyn.” Dorm stopped and looked at his friend with a serious look. “This is your chance to escape back to your family.”
“I won’t leave you to this alone.”
Dorm looked at him solemnly. “We both know I want this. You have a chance to have a happy life.”
“Dorm, if I escape back down, they will just be waiting for me. I will be cut down before I have a chance to get back to Rana. If I help them here, and WE survive WE can get out of this.”
Dorm gave Devyn a smile that held no happiness. “We’ll see Devyn. Let’s keep going then.”
Devyn clapped his friend on the back just as they heard the roar of Hrodny from far below. With a sigh their march up the icy path continued. There seemed to be no end to the field of white that Devyn and Dorm hurried through. The higher they rose into the path, the smoother the slope became and it gave them hope that they would soon reach the top of the glacier.
“How do we know this path will not just reach a dead end?” Dorm asked.
Devyn raised his eyebrows never having really thought about that possibility. “Press on. Hrodny’s great wisdom would never steer us wrong.”
A deep belly laugh rose from his friend. The first true laugh he had heard from Dorm since he met him at the mess tent and it brought a bit of joy to hear a bit of his old friend at his side again. Devyn did not blame him, Dorm had lost everything and while he respected Dorm’s right to die on the battlefield as a man he did not want his friend to throw his life away needlessly.
A huge expanse of white fields opened up before them as the mist cleared like a veil being lifted away. The glacier held a world unto itself as they stared at mountains and valleys and miles and miles of land. It seemed to go on forever, the men stood in awe as they could feel their legs burning from the climb. Devyn found a piece of ice that jutted out from the glacier and leaned against it, resting his burning legs, Dorm quickly did the same. Between the battle and the steep climb the experience was exhausting.
Their respite was not to last, after only a few moments the rough crunching sound of many feet began to rise from the mist of the path below. The men made ready, drawing their weapons standing shoulder to shoulder awaiting the oncoming onslaught. They did not have to wait long, the battle engulfed them, Devyn was unsure of which side he was fighting as they engaged in battle. It was not a great strategy, but it appeared that the forces of Rakgar were not as well equipped as Bola’s men, the men that took Devyn hostage, and Rakgar’s men did not possess boot spikes. Devyn was unsure of how these men even made the climb without the assistance of the boot spikes, but they did, and so the battle commenced.
Steel on steel and the cries of men filled the air. There was a desperation to the men Devyn was fighting and they had the feel of men with nothing to lose. Desperation made for dangerous enemies as they would fight more ferociously and without care for bodily injury. Much like the first man who attacked them in the mist.
Devyn dodged and weaved through the battle, striking only when he knew he could make it count. He had long lost sight of Dorm who entered the battle like the other men, like there was nothing left to lose.
A man with a shield and an ax cornered Devyn against the rock that he had rested on not long ago, he approached with a deadly gleam in his eye. Devyn only had his broad sword and heavy pack on top of him. This man had no gear and only his deadly weapons to weigh him down, to the man, Devyn was easy prey. The attacks came brutally towards Devyn and he easily blocked the blade but was struck hard in the side by his foe’s shield. Devyn fell to the ground feeling like a turned over turtle as he tried to regain his footing. The man pounced quickly, Devyn flipped around, causing his ax to become caught in Devyn’s backpack. Devyn knew he was trapped if his pack remained strapped to his back. He quickly cut the straps that held his pack tightly to his back and escaped it’s clutches. Scrambling to his feet, Devyn, took stance against the man who fought to pull his ax free from the tangled web of ropes and leather that was his pack. It was Devyn’s turn to engage and he struck at the man high, the man raised his arm to meet the advancing sword with his shield. Devyn, now close to the man, stomped on man’s bare boot with the spikes on his own shoes. The spikes stabbed deeply into the boot and caused the man to howl. He fell back, limping heavily on his wounded foot, and brought his ax down in an overhand cut, Devyn targeted the man’s wrist and sent both hand and ax flying past him. It took the man a moment to realize what had happened and he dumbly dropped his shield and stared at the now bloody stump that was once his hand. Devyn capitalized on this and ended the man’s misery quickly.
As Devyn shifted his gaze to the battle surrounding him, he noticed Rakgar’s men were fleeing into the glacier. His allies were obviously as exhausted as he was and did not pursue. Some of the men that climbed with Devyn had bows and quivers strapped to their back to hunt if there was any game to be had on the glacier, but they also served another deadly purpose and two volleys rained upon the fleeing army piercing many of those who remained. Hrodny, who was still alive, let out a victorious battle cry and the men including Devyn joined in. A man did not need to love the army he was with or believe in the battle he was fighting to enjoy the fact of being alive and the thrill of a victory.
A blood splattered Dorm approached Devyn as he attempted to repair his pack.
“You alright Dorm?” Devyn eyed the blood questioningly.
“Not mine. We should chase them and end this.” Dorm responded.
Devyn shook his head. “They run into the unknown blindly and desperately. Did you see them have any equipment? They will freeze in the evening and we’ll see no more of them.”
“Foolish, I’d hunt them down and make sure they don’t cut our throats through the night.”
Devyn saw the wisdom in his friends thoughts, but also believed that charging into the unknown to chase them was equally foolish. He tied off the section of strap of the cut backpack as the rest of the party gathered their bearings and their belongings that lay scattered among the bodies. Then the looting began, a memory Devyn hated from his time in the army. Why leave perfectly good equipment and belongings to rot along with their former owners? Armies would mercilessly pull gold, silver, and weapons from the men. Sometimes it was the only way to gain better equipment, but more often than not it was to sell. It was a fact of life on campaign and in any battle, but Devyn did not partake as it brought back too many wicked memories of his past.
Chapter VIII
“That did not go as I had planned” Graen thought to himself. His attempt to sneak past the armies as they made their sudden advances onto the glacier had gone poorly. His goal was to sneak onto the ice without either side catching sight of him, but that was not to be. The wave had destroyed all potential cover he would have had to hide and rendered it impossible to remain unseen. Even the town was flattened, so there was a clear view to his movements. He pitied the foolish party who assaulted him, they left him little choice as they lunged furiously at him. There was no way they could have known he was not just a member of the opposing army and that their lives would be thrown away so uselessly.
Graen had been approaching the base of the glacier as invisible as possible with the devastation all around him. Rocks, homes, and any other object he could use as cover had been washed away. A sticky, icy mud caked his boots and his armor as his footing became more difficult to maintain the closer he got to the Isindril. It took hours for him to move from cover to cover, with what little remained, but finally he reached the sheer wall of the glacier. Over one thousand years old and I slink in the shadows from mortals. Graen sighed to himself at the thought.
Graen reached out and wearily placed his hand on the glacier
to feel the power emanating from within the ice. Graen froze in place, his hand locked to the ice, and visions began to swarm in his head.
A dark shadow overtook a band of small beings. The thunderous crash in the cadence of foot steps moved towards them. Thunder shook the earth and his vision shifted to one of the small beings. A gigantic, stone-like creature stood towering over the small men. A large, moss-covered stone foot raised high into the air, the shadow of the leg blocked out the sun. A black shadow raced across his vision and struck the gigantic creature, burrowing a hole through its chest. The giant screamed, turned to flee, but the small men below began their assault.
Graen tore his hand away. The visions were unpleasant in his mind. He knew the giant stone being to be a Colossi of old, from eons long before he was a wisp of a thought. Aelaar were not the only powerful beings to inhabit Isiir, long ago, there stood the colossi and before them the dragons. That was very long ago, what had that to do with this glacier. Were the Colossi returning? Graen placed his hand on the glacier again.
Trees. Blood coursing. Sticks raced past his face slapping him in the eyes. It did not matter. Escape was all that mattered. A slave, nothing more. A slave to those who would use him. He must escape. A man rose in front of him, he leapt on all fours onto the man and bit deeply into his throat. He tasted fresh blood and absorbed the man’s essence in a flash of a second. The blood, the man’s screams, and the essence filling him with power brought him joy. He knew then he must continue his escape and had little time to savor this small victory.
Graen was in something’s mind. Something old and something dangerous. Graen’s thoughts were fearful as he wondered what was within this glacier, what could be giving him these visions. He realized at that moment he had been standing for a very long time and that there were men watching him from a distance. Even in the darkness of night the men could make out his form clearly against the white ice of the glacier.
He sighed at their clumsy attempt at being silent and just as the first man reached him ready to plunge the point of his sword into his back, Graen drew his sword, stepped aside and smashed him in the face with the pommel of his sword. The man fell back and sprawled upon the ground just as six other men charged wildly, their blood boiling at the sight of their comrade defeated so easily. Graen sighed again as they attacked, slow, sloppy, and weak. He did not want to harm them, but with six men attacking him at the same time, even with his superior strength and speed, he could not stop them all. A small scratch on the armor on his forearm was all it took for Graen to realize he had to strike the men down. Unfortunately, the battle was rousing other men so without further delay and with little regard for harming them in six swift, well aimed slashes the men died before they touched the ground. His last move a vicious thrust into the chest of a man in mid swing, his ax dropped behind him, with his eyes staring in disbelief. The sword protruded into his heart and the man died before it was removed. Graen wiped the blade of his sword on one of his foes and moved on with pity in his heart.
“I am sorry.” He said to the dead men who lay all around him. And without another word he raced onto glacier.
The alarms went up almost immediately, men came racing into the path that he took assuming he was one of the other side. The trek up the path in the glacier was difficult and grew increasingly difficult as the army converged on him. In the midst of the fighting, Graen could clearly make out a man that stood out from the rest. His black leather armor was fine and the curved serrated sword he wielded was old. Their eyes locked for but a moment, even at this distance, Graen could see the joy at being in battle. He was an Aelaar, Graen was sure, he could feel the man’s power radiating from his direction. The feeling coursed through his veins and the draw to engage him was strong. Graen had long since learned to control the urges that drive an Aelaar to fight one another, the drive is exceptionally difficult to control for Aelaar who are very young. Graen would like to believe it is not true, but it is said the only purpose for an Aelaar is to fight other Aelaar, to absorb their essence and bring Isiir ever closer to one power. A surge of battle passed by where the Aelaar had stood, and he disappeared from Graen’s view. Graen knew this was the other force to the west that he had felt for many days.
Graen moved on deeper into the glacier as he could hear the two armies converging on each other and the battle within the mist began. Graen escaped the battle and moved onto the vast expanse of the ice, he felt ashamed that he had failed to enter without being seen. Although he knew the conflict that occurred was inevitable, he was saddened that he was the cause of so much death.
Despite his sadness, he knew he must press on, the other Aelaar in the area concerned him greatly. While this new enemy was clearly younger than him, and weaker by bounds, he could tell by his willingness to enter combat with the men that this Aelaar lived for combat. The wicked blade he possessed marked him clearly as a follower of the ways of Bregidonnon. He knew that this only meant one thing, that soon the two of them would enter combat, and only one would return from this land of ice.
Devyn’s blood raced through his veins, the loud thumping of his heart pounded in his ears. Slowly, the world began to become clear again and the haze of the blood lust began to fade away. Once the men seemed to calm from their battle fury, Hrodny pulled all of the men together.
“Well fought today men. Well fought!” A cheer went up among the surviving men. Devyn counted their losses at about thirteen, compared to the decimation that Rakgar’s men were handed they escaped fairly unscathed. Barely two dozen men escaped the battle in the mist from the opposition’s forces. Hrodny appeared to savor the cheer of the men, the joy of battle was all his kind knew and once the noise died down he continued. “While that battle was what we all live for, that is not our purpose here. Legends tell of times like this. Legends of old. Old kingdoms rejoining our world, but they’ve been long dead. Dead and frozen. But when they died, they left their gold and their jewels!” His voice rose as if to inspire the men, and in fact many of the men did look inspired. “Gold and jewels that we will snatch up and make us rich.” Devyn was sure it meant, make Bola and him rich, but his negative remark would not be well received. “And I give you my solemn promise, that when we find these treasures, all of you men who serve us now from the town below will be allowed to return to your families.”
Devyn’s ears perked up at that comment. He did not believe it, but the prospect that it would be possible to return home gave him some hope. All he had to do was endure this torment for the duration and he would be allowed to return home. If they did not honor their promise, he would slip off into the night during a campaign. With Rakgar’s men on the run and unlikely to want to get pulled into open combat once again the worst of this journey was most likely behind them.
There was no heat to be had in the sun that burned high in the air, the mist that was so thick below was but a soft haze silhouetting the glacier. The men hauled their packs onto their backs and began their trek in the opposite direction that Rakgar’s men had run. The glacier was immense, and what space previously held the icy waters of the Isindril, were replaced by the endless expanse of ice. The tip of the glacier was barely the size of Northspire, but the further into the glacier the party moved the more it expanded until it was miles wide all around. It was an alien world to them, a world of ice, as detailed as any of Isiir’s landscapes. Mountains and valleys and dry river beds as if running water occasionally helped shape this vast terrain. Devyn thought it was beautiful with the sun gleaming off of the translucent surface, with deep blues and greens dancing within the depths of the ice below. The beauty was only offset by the relentless cold that embraced every square inch of the place. These were men of the North, cold was a way of life and they had been tempered by its touch. This was a cold unknown to even these men, it bit through the thick furs and cloth under their armor. Their beards formed ice crystals as their breath froze in front of them. The layer of moisture that had formed on them from the mist had long frozen and shat
tered against their skin leaving many red marked faces where the skin had been removed. The men shivered and coughed and marched in a miserable line throughout the day.
Dorm and Devyn remained close, not wanting to be separated again like they were in the battle. Devyn knew deep down, while Dorm was seeking his death, he was in no rush to find it. He hoped that he could turn his friend around by surviving this chapter in their lives and moving to another town with Rana and him at the end of this. There was no way they could remain in Northspire after these events. Devyn, while he made a meager wage, managed to save enough money to take them safely a bit further south. Perhaps to a land a bit more protected from these incursions.
The day continued in much the same way as it began, they marched and they marched. Men staggered as they continued through the day, either from the cold or just plain exhaustion from the exertion of the day. Hrodny had sent five men forward in different directions to explore for old buildings or caves that may contain an ancient civilization’s former glory. All five returned at dusk with exhausted and exasperated stares. Nothing.
“Halt!” Came the bellowing cry from Hrodny as he consulted with the men he had sent out. The discussion was brief and with dusk slowly overtaking the light of the day, Hrodny made the final call to make camp.
Within the Ice Page 9
