Snowcastles & Icetowers

by Duncan McGeary

“You don’t expect us to go down that!” Marshal Derrion said. “You ask too much, Tyrant! Let us go back to the surface and fight our battle. This is no way for a man to die!”

  “I warned you,” Redfrock said, hurriedly. “He is going to kill us!”

  Fortunately, the traitor’s importuning had the opposite effect than he may have wished.

  “Lead on, Tyrant. The witch said that I would die in a fire under the ground and I can see now that she was right.”

  “It is possible to traverse,” Greylock said, quickly, sensing the mayor could eventually sway the steady commander. “Even Mara and Ardra have done so,” he said, pointing to the two women, hoping that it would shame the soldier.

  “I said lead on, didn’t I?” Derrion growled.

  The path was not as treacherous and demanding as Greylock remembered. He found the climb an easy challenge. But the men of Trold found the climb almost impossible. They clutched the sides of the walls and stared down into the pit, and did everything they could, it seemed, to frighten themselves into a fall. Only Greylock’s great skill, the patience of the two women, made the climb successful. By leading the way, marking and widening the trail as he went along, and shouting out the hazards well in advance, Greylock insured that they made it to the lower chambers without losing anyone.

  He overheard Mara, leading the men directly behind Redfrock, questioning the former steward about the Lady Silverfrost. He smiled at the jealousy he detected in the question. He too had wondered where the silver lady had gone.

  “Has she abandoned you as well, Redfrock?” she asked. Her steady voice was somehow threatening. That, coupled with the traitor’s nervousness at the height and the precarious footing, was an effective assurance of the truth. If the old steward lied, her voice implied, he would find himself falling into the pit.

  “She is the guest of King Kasid,” Redfrock said, uneasily.

  “So she has found a more powerful suitor than you?” she laughed. “Is that what has happened, Redfrock?”

  “King Kasid has found favor in the lady,” the old man said, conceding that what she said was true. This seemed to reassure Mara, for she asked no more questions.

  They needed to descend only a few hundred feet into the pit before turning aside, but it was far enough for a few of the globules of firestone to ascend over their heads, hanging there threateningly. None of the firestone rained down on them before Greylock turned into a new cavern and away from the fire. Despite their exhaustion, none of them wished to stop until they were well away from the heat of the central core and into the blessedly cool passages a few hundred yards away.

  However, once inside the new cave, Greylock was not certain of his way. He had traveled over this portion of the path a few times; the tunnels could play funny tricks on the unwary. Sometimes it seemed that whole caverns had disappeared, or had shifted into entirely opposite directions. The closer he came to the vault of glyden, the less certain he became. But with the help of Mara and Ardra, who each remembered important fragments of the path, they reached the corridors that Greylock had marked.

  Thankful now that he had had the foresight to mark the more complicated portions, Greylock Jed them quickly toward their goal. Every few yards, at every turn in the path, he had faithfully scratched directions into the walls. If the others could find their way this far, he thought, they would have little trouble finding the rest of the way. But he doubted they would ever make it this far. And if they tried, they would wander the endless, twisting corridors until they dropped from exhaustion.

  An evil red shimmer slowly filled the corridor, until all could see without the torches. At last, they turned into a smooth and broadly curved hallway, and there, reflected on the polished walls like a mirage, was the Room of Glyden. The soldiers rushed forward without him, and the image of the glyden sprinted along the walls ahead of them, like a beckoning pool of water to a thirsty man. At the end of the broadly curving walls, the vision promised, they would find more glyden than they had ever dreamed could exist.

  By the time Greylock had caught up with the men of Trold, several of them were already fondling the heavy bars of metal that lined the walls of the vault. Even Marshal Derrion was moved to curiously scratch a few nuggets from the naked vein that ran along one side of the room.

  On the far side of the room, stone walls had been melted away by an intense heat, leaving a shattered, lumpy appearance to the rock. The source of the glydens’ glow was revealed to be a river of firestone cutting across one wall of the room. Fortunately, the river of firestone had missed the vein of glyden itself and had receded to the bottom of the fissure that had been burned into the rock. It flowed slowly several hundred feet below. The room was sweltering, and glowed eerily with the blood-red color of the magma.

  To Greylock it was one more proof of the renewed activity of Godshome; for the fissure of firestone had not existed the last time he had visited the chamber.

  Redfrock, with Tarelton forgotten at his side, stood at the center of the vault, faintly contemptuous and aloof from the greed of the Underworlders. The three citizens of the High Plateau stood watching in amazement from the door.

  Having given into his greed enough to fill one pocket, Marshal Derrion was suddenly all business. He directed the loading of bars into the heavy canvas bags the soldiers had brought folded in their uniforms. There seemed to be no way of measuring the glyden exactly, but Greylock and Derrion arrived at an estimation of each bar which satisfied them both.

  Incredibly, the full tithe was reached before even a quarter of the bars were depleted. The three soldiers were already heavily weighted down. They would not find it easy to negotiate the spiraling ledge over the pit of firestone, Greylock reflected. But he doubted the excited soldiers had thought of this yet, so blinded were they by the precious metal.

  Marshal Derrion unhesitatingly began to load more glyden into the makeshift bags for Redfrock and Tarelton to carry, and then removed his own armor in preparation of carrying the remainder himself. The marshal had evidently decided to trust him, Greylock thought.

  The soldiers began digging at the vein to fill their own pockets further, gouging the soft metal awkwardly with their knives. Greylock did not try to stop them. Instead of depleting the glyden, the further they dug into the wall the wider and deeper the vein proved to be. It was apparent to all that there were many more tithes left in the Room of Glyden.

  When Greylock and Derrion agreed that some four hundred weight of glyden had been mined, the marshal gave orders to pack up and leave. There was no discussion of taking more than the agreed upon amount. They were all suddenly aware that it was fast approaching noon, and they remembered the difficult climb that had brought them there. They knew the climb back would be even worse.

  Mayor Tarelton had not taken his eyes off the glyden since they had entered, but he had not dared to leave the side of Redfrock. Now he darted forward as they were about to leave and began to feverishly line his pockets with nuggets. Redfrock took two steps forward and brought his ebony staff down hard on the back of the mayor, who howled and retreated to the corner of the vault.

  “Is that all you are going to take?” Redfrock demanded, turning to confront the marshal. His once elegantly curled hair had straightened about his shoulders, and his red cloak was stained with sweat. On his shoulder drooped the familiar. The crow had chosen to stay with its master, but it seemed unhappy at the heat and constriction of the caves.

  “King Kasid ordered me to take four hundred weight, and I have done so,” the marshal snapped. “I will not change the agreement now.”

  “There is ten times that much glyden here!” Redfrock protested. “A hundred times! Don’t you understand? The amount of the levy was imposed on my advice. I had no idea there was so much.”

  “I’m sure not,” Derrion commented. “I suspect, rather, that you purposely made the amount of the tithe far more than you thought could be filled. Nevertheless, I do not have the authority to change the king’s orders!�
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  “Fool!” Redfrock said, angrily. “You will answer for this. When King Kasid learns how much glyden was left behind—”

  “I told you to be quiet!” Derrion commanded, and Redfrock was shocked into silence.

  Picking up one of the heavier bags of glyden, Derrion tossed it into the arms of Redfrock, who staggered back against the wall from the weight.

  “If I decide to take more out,” he snapped, “you will carry it!” Then he made the mistake the witch woman had predicted. He turned his back on Carrell Redfrock.

  The old man threw the bag to the floor and lunged for the retreating soldier, catching him at the small of the back. Derrion tried desperately to stop his fall, and his soldier’s trained sense of balance almost saved him. But the weighted bags of glyden toppled him inexorably forward to the fissure of firestone. He crashed against the edge, and then the metal dragged him head first over the side. The molten lava claimed him without a sound.

  There was stunned silence for a few moments, and then chaos as Redfrock began to shout orders at the soldiers.

  “Kill him!” he screamed, pointing at Greylock. “Kill him and the glyden is yours!”

  The soldiers of King Kasid hesitated, glancing from the gestating mayor to Greylock. Carrell Redfrock had traveled far with the mercenaries of Trold. They had seen him walking and conferring with the king. And though it had been obvious that Marshal Derrion had held him in contempt, assassination was common in the mercenary army. Most important, there was the glyden. Let King Kasid keep the four hundred weight, they reasoned as one, without speaking, and they would take the rest.

  “Nothing has changed!” Greylock cried, too late. “Do not listen to Redfrock. Take the glyden and go!”

  The Tyrant saw that they were not listening, and reluctantly drew Thunderer. He could immediately sense the respect with which the battle-hardened soldiers held the long blade. He saw them eye his stance and grip. When the first soldier lunged at him, he sensed from the practiced fluidity of his movement that it was a well-used gambit.

  Mara and Ardra stood at the door of the vault, uncertain whether or not to join the fight.

  “Run!” he shouted without turning. “I will find you!”

  Then Greylock did the unexpected. Before the three men could fully develop their ploy, he attacked. With a flurry of two-handed blows, he scattered them. With a rapidity that astonished even himself, he found himself on the far side of the soldiers, near the door and out of the trap.

  Too late, the soldiers realized their mistake. Greylock could easily escape into the tunnels and they would never find him or their own way out.

  But Greylock did not leave them there. Before he could turn to follow Ardra and Mara, he noticed Redfrock. Out of them all, he thought angrily, Redfrock deserved to die. And he did not trust the caves to finish him. The cunning traitor had spent most of his life on the High Plateau, and it was possible he might be able to find his way out.

  An anger filled him, and Greylock once again did the unexpected and attacked. The blinding rage he had been building up for so long against the treacherous Redfrock seemed to shake the very earth. Suddenly he realized that the trembling was not an illusion. Godshome was once more awakening, as if to his summons.

  The frightened look in Redfrock’s eyes showed that he thought Greylock had caused the earthquake, and the Tyrant took advantage of momentary amazement of the soldiers to break through.

  But he was too late to take out his revenge on Redfrock. Tarelton was there before him.

  The mayor had remained cowering in the corner after the beating. Now he sprang forward with a cry, his mad eyes glinting, and buried his knife into the back of his master. Redfrock dropped without a sound and rolled over the edge of the fissure.

  Before either Greylock or the soldiers could react, the mayor had fled the Room of Aurim. Greylock quickly followed, though he had no intention of chasing him. His anger had left. It was a better fate for Tarelton, he thought, for him to wander the caverns lost and alone.

  As Greylock left them behind, the cries of the soldiers echoed off the walls, pleading with him to come back. As their shouts became more and more frantic, he hesitated in the darkness of the tunnel. But he no longer trusted them. The lure of glyden was too strong.

  When he was sure he had left them far behind, he stopped to light a torch. From this point Greylock did not intend to leave any traces for others to follow, should they make it this far. He began to brush his tracks from the heavy dust of the floor.

  But he underestimated the determination the panic of being left in the darkness had instilled in the men of Trold. He heard their footsteps moments before they entered the light of his torch. He debated briefly whether to extinguish the light and lose himself in the dark, but realized it was too late. They could find him by touch and sound alone now.

  He barely had time to draw Thunderer before they burst into the light and were upon him. He thrust the torch into the face of the first soldier, who howled and went to one knee. The torch burned fitfully on the floor of the cavern. The other two men were more careful. They stopped at a respectful distance from the tip of Thunderer, and waited for their companion to get to his feet. Then they began to put into action what Greylock knew was another well-used gambit. Apparently, he thought, they had decided that if they were to be left behind they would make sure he was left too. He had no hope that he could outfight all three men.

  The point man of the battle triad came in on him with the long narrow blade of his Underworld sword. Greylock swung Thunderer and the lighter weapon of his opponent shattered, but, by then, the other two men had penetrated his defenses on both sides.

  Suddenly, Mara and Ardra burst into the middle of the fight. Ardra engaged one man, and Greylock turned to engage the other with the point of his sword. The soldier seemed to be trying to look behind him as well as ward off Greylock’s attack. He went down with Thunderer penetrating his body.

  There were still two men standing, one of them with a shattered weapon but still dangerous. The other man was trying to deal with Ardra’s savage attacks. As the weaponless man stooped to pick up the sword of his slain comrade, the Tyrant knew that he would not make the same mistake. The man would know that Thunderer was the stronger, though slower blade and would fight accordingly.

  If he knew how to use the thin rapier-like sword he was holding, Greylock thought, he would inevitably win in the close quarters of the tunnel. Thunderer was meant to be swung two-handed, bowling over its opponents. With the narrow walls of the cave he was forced to handle it as a weapon that could thrust and parry.

  He knew that not far away Mara was concentrating on summoning her magic wind. Throughout the fight, he had felt a few brief gusts of wind blowing over his neck, but the wind was unnatural so far beneath the earth, and took a long time to gather strength.

  Finally, as both Ardra and Greylock were pressed by the attacks of the soldiers, the wind blasted toward them. It seemed to part for the shapes of Ardra and Greylock and to strike the soldiers at full force. Ironically, the bags of glyden saved them for a few moments. They stood against the blast, and even advanced a few feet toward them. Mara frowned, grew pale, and redoubled the winds. The soldiers fell before the sudden gust, landing solidly on their backs. As they struggled to rise, Greylock and the two women fled into the darkness of the tunnel.

  Later, Greylock realized that it was a miracle that they stayed together, with only the sounds of their footsteps to keep them in touch. Greylock took turn after turn in the darkness, unsure of where he was going, but hoping that they were leaving the men of Trold behind. At last, deep within the mountain, Greylock stopped and collapsed against the wall. He heard Ardra breathing heavily beside him, and Mara found his arms.

  After resting and listening for pursuit, they dared to light a fire. It was necessary for only a few hundred yards, for they emerged miraculously on the shelf of the fiery pit. They climbed the spiraling ledge at a pace they would not have dared earlie
r, quickly reaching to top.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Greylock watched helplessly as the forces of war gathered. The sun neared its zenith, and the last few minutes to the deadline passed in stillness, both sides knowing that it could not be met.

  On his return, Greylock had immediately sent a regretful explanation of Marshal Derrion’s death, and had reasserted his willingness to give up four hundred weight of glyden. But he had known that the offer would be refused. The new envoy had nervously approached the ramparts, no doubt certain, Greylock thought, that he too would be sacrificed to the treachery of the High Plateau. He had given a flat rejection. There was to be war.

  Now the Tyrant could see the full might of the fiefdoms of Trold, and his heart despaired. The king’s commanders would be unable to utilize the full force of their numbers on the narrow mountain pass, he thought, but they would have an endless supply of fresh reinforcements to fling against the frost fortresses. Eventually, exhaustion and attrition would dwindle the army of the High Plateau. Greylock meant to retreat slowly against the tide of Underworlders, hoping that night would fall before the last redoubt had been breached.

  At his side stood Mara, radiant and happy on this day, despite the approaching battle. Only she knew that she was carrying Greylock’s child. Her long blond hair flew in the wind, and her green eyes glittered above the reddened cheeks of her marble skin. She seemed to have confidence that the High Plateau would prevail against the enemy. The defenders, looking upon her expression, took heart. Many remembered her wind-witchery and were encouraged.

  “If all else fails,” Greylock vowed grimly, “I will bring down the mountain over them.” He had already prepared places for rockslides that would take months to remove.

  “Why do you not close the pass now?” Kalwyn objected. “Why risk the lives of our people?”

  “If we do not fight them now,” Greylock sighed, “we will just have to fight them another day.”

  “No army can climb the cliffs of Godshome if we do not want them to!” Kalwyn insisted. “Only the Gateway can give them entrance.”