Soldiers of Ice h-7

by David Cook

  "Dancing certainly brings up a thirst." Vil's words were strained as he picked a path to the hogsheads.

  "The little fiddler was very good," Martine said with equal awkwardness while trying to straighten out her rumpled clothes.

  `That's Reko, their bard," the former paladin explained. "At three hundred and forty seven, he's had a lot of time to practice."

  For a moment, Martine was taken aback, until she remembered that most gnomes lived well past three centuries or even more. The thought suddenly made her wonder how old the warren was. How long had the Vani laid claim to this valley?

  Her questions were never asked, for at that moment, a pudgy youth stormed into the hall. In his rush, the gnome charged through the throng like a small boulder, startling one benchful of drinkers so that they almost spilled to the floor. The chatter in the hall suddenly ceased, though no

  one moved, fearing what they might hear.

  "Father's dead!" the gnomish youth blurted out, his eyes wide and voice breaking with tears. "Our farm was attacked by the gnolls. Hudni… Father… everybody's dead!"

  Ten

  The revelers were struck silent The clogging stomp of the dancers lurched to a halt, and the fading drones of the fiddle strings echoed down the wooden halls. Gossips hushed their prattle. Mugs ceased to clink. Ancients strained half-deaf ears to hear the next word, uncertain of what had already been said.

  "Brother Buri, what has happened?" Elder Sumalo asked softly in his thin, wheezy voice. The old priest forced his way through the stunned gnomes to reach the trembling youth. Sumalo kept his voice calm and soothing to prevent the boy's terror from spreading panic among the revelers.

  "It was the gnolls," Buri blurted, his fat cheeks quivering as he gasped for self-control. "Father and I were just finishing the chores we were going to come to the dance and I went inside, and then Father shouted that there were gnolls coming, and then he screamed, and then they broke down the front door, and I… I…" His words floundered as the young gnome's voice broke, caught up in tears that

  trickled into his thin beard.

  Sumalo gripped the youth's shoulders, giving comfort in strength. "And?"

  "I got away through the escape hole… but Father didn't."

  By this time, the menfolk of the Vani had clustered close to hear the tale. Those of warrior age pressed closest and listened most intently. Martine, pressed back by the swarming small warriors, spotted Jouka, Turi, and Ojakangas in the forefront

  Jouka turned the youth away from Sumalo to face him. "Buri, how many of the dog-men were there?" Though Jouka spoke softly, there was no softness in his voice. His eyes were decisive and bright.

  "I don't know."

  "Think. Think carefully. We must know their numbers. Think of the warren here! How many were there?"

  "Ten… maybe more. I'm not sure! There was a great white creature with them, though: It broke down the door." The youth's rotund body quivered as if it were going to melt in Jouka's hands.

  "Vreesar!" Martine choked back the name, but the warriors heard it anyway.

  "Enough, Jouka," Sumalo said firmly, rescuing the boy from the woodsman's grasp. "Buri, you've had a hard time. Stay here with your cousins and sleep. Kara… Heikko… will you take the boy in?" The priest steered the youth toward a golden-bearded warrior and his stout wife. Their faces lined with concern, the couple wrapped their arms about the youth and led him away.

  Satisfied the young gnome was cared for, Sumalo hurriedly turned to the Harper, his stocky body stiff with displeasure. "You know something of this?"

  Martine nodded.

  "Jouka, Turi… bring the others. We must have a council now. Mistress Martine, you will attend." Elder Sumalo's decision was quick and precise, and nobody, not even Martine, thought to question his authority as the white-bearded old priest began to march to the council chamber. "Reko, play something soothing," he advised the bard in passing. The old fiddler nodded and set his bow to the strings. As Martine left Vil in the dance hall, she heard the strains of a gentle lullaby swell behind her.

  The raucous dissonance of debate began even before the knot of gnomes who preceded Martine had clambered onto the tiers in the council hall. Worming through the spectators jammed around the door, the human woman reached the edge of the tiers at the council floor. All eyes were on her, curious and wary, but the debaters never paused to acknowledge her presence.

  Over the buzz of excited voices, Sumalo finally made his voice heard, pounding the floorboards with the speaker's rod.

  "Speak in the common tongue!" the priest bellowed hoarsely to a knot of elders who spoke in a dialect so ancient Martine could barely understand it. 'Me outsider must understand our words!" A grumbled sigh ran through the Vani, but they complied with his command.

  Elder Sumalo continued quickly before the pandemonium could begin anew. "The question before the council is what to do now about the gnolls outside. This human, Mistress Martine, has recently been their prisoner. I ask her now to tell us what she saw"

  His iron charms jingled as the priest waddled forward to present Martine with the speaker's rod. Respectful of their traditions, she kissed the smooth wood before beginning her tale.

  The hall was packed tight with gnomes, with the whitebeards in the lowest tiers, while the farmers and woodsmen filled the upper benches. Martine faced them, acutely

  nervous to be speaking before them.

  Where do I begin? she thought, her mind reeling. Should I tell them about the rift? It was a Harper mission, and after all, Harpers and their jobs were supposed to be secret. It was a time-honored principle that the less said, the better.

  The ranger decided to avoid any mention of the details of her assignment. The recounting began with the events of her capture. Martine's audience craned forward, engrossed in the details. The Harper did her best to assess the number and skill of the gnolls. She stressed the actions of the Word-Maker, pointing out that Krote's absence deprived the tribe of their medicine man.

  Heads waggled when she reminded them of the prisoner. Voices thick with accents murmured darkly, but none rose to interrupt her. Sumalo listened impassively, his head nodding, while Jouka fidgeted and fingered his sword nervously. Turi, his ear cocked to catch every word, leaned forward attentively on his wooden bench.

  The calm broke into storm when she described the arrival of Vreesar. Leaping to his feet, Jouka Tunkelo seized on her revelation. "A fiend a thing of the elements? Where did this come from, human? What have you failed to tell us?" A chorus of murmuring, even from the whitebearded front tiers, supported his question.

  Martine was on the spot. In situations like this, the ranger knew she had little skill to concoct a convincing lie. Holding the speaker's rod aloft in a vain attempt to maintain silence, she explained, "He came from a rift in the glacier."

  "A rift? What does this mean?" queried a gap-toothed ancient in the front row.

  Martine could feel the veil of secrecy slipping from her grasp. "It's a hole between the worlds between this world and the realm of ice."

  The explanation triggered debate as to whether the council had heard her correctly. The discussions flew in heated whispers as the gnomes huddled in small knots, each trying to have his say without raising his voice too loud. Only Sumalo in the center chair nodded with understanding.

  "Realm of ice? How do you know this?" Jouka demanded. Martine hoped a little more of the truth would satisfy the gnomes' curiosity. "Because that's what I was told. I was sent to close it."

  "Sent?" The word rolled through her audience as they seized on its import.

  "Mistress Martine, you said you were sent. Who sent you?" Now even Sumalo, quiet up to now, joined the questioning. The priest's leathery old face was wrinkled with concern.

  Martine resigned herself to tell the whole truth. "The Harpers sent me. I'm a Harper."

  In the few previous times when she had revealed her affiliation, people had reacted in one of two ways. The most common was one of subdued awe. H
arpers were the stuff of legends, most of which painted the agents as mysterious and powerful. Martine suspected the bards of the Harpers, of which there were quite a few, spread such stories intentionally, since a good reputation was an effective tool. The other reaction, not as common, was fear the fear of the villain. Those same tales made clear the fate of Harper foes.

  The gnomes were neither awed nor afraid. Instead, the room became completely silent. The old gnomes cocked their heads quizzically, wondering if they had missed something important. Some of the younger gnomes nodded their heads dumbly in a pretense of worldliness.

  "And what are Harpers, Mistress Martine?" Sumalo asked for the benefit of the entire counciL

  Now it was Martine's turn to be dumbfounded. It had never occurred to her that the Vani didn't know about the Harpers. In her world, everybody had at least some inkling of the Harpers and their code. A peasant might have a false

  impression, but at least he had heard of them. These gnomes hadn't a clue.

  Martine wondered how to explain without making it sound sinister or arrogant. She had little time to ponder her answer. Taking a deep breath, she gave it her best try. "We I mean, the Harpers have been around for several hundred years-"

  "I have been around for several hundred years, and you do not look like you've been here as long as I," interrupted one of the oldest of the group before her. Those around him chortled and snickered while the old gnome thumped his cane at his own joke.

  Martine flushed. "I mean the group has been around that long, not me. We try to keep peace."

  "You were sent here to rule us?" big-nosed Ojakangas asked, his voice filled with confusion.

  "No… no, that's not it at all." The ranger threw up her hands as a gesture of her good intentions.

  "You were sent to deal with the gnolls? Is that why you've come?" Jouka asked before she could continue.

  "No, you misunderstand," Martine said hurriedly as she turned to face Jouka. "As I explained, I was sent here to close the rift. I didn't even know about the gnolls. The gnolls aren't a threat to peace in the land."

  Once more Jouka stood from his seat, his face grim behind his black beard. 'Me gnolls attack us. Is that not a threat to peace?"

  "Your peace, yes, but…"The ranger fidgeted, feeling miserably awkward before the council.

  "Because your lands are not threatened, you mean, human," Jouka said sarcastically.

  Oh, gods, this isn't going right, Martine moaned inwardly. Valiantly she tried once again to explain.

  "It's not your lands or my lands. It's just that they're, well, gnolls. Even if they were attacking the Dalelands, it wouldn't be a Harper concern. People have to stand on their own. Harpers can't do everything for everyone. There aren't that many of us." Martine felt exposed in the center of the floor, painfully conscious of her hands as she twisted the speaker's rod. There was a reason she had chosen to be a ranger, born to the woods, and not an outgoing bard like many other Harpers.

  Jouka wouldn't relent. "So now that you have stirred up the gnolls, Harper, it's not your problem," he accused, his face almost sliding into a sneer: "We did not ask you come here, Harper. The Vani do not want to be pawns in your intrigues. We choose to live here to be far from big folk like you."

  A chorus of approval ran through the chamber. Jouka's words had tapped a vein of outrage that ran through the younger Vani. Seizing the moment, he turned to face his fellows.

  "The Harper says it is our problem! Very well, then I say we must fight the gnolls. We must drive them out of our valley!" the woodsman insisted. His eager audience, their unwrinkled faces gleaming with eagerness to prove themselves in battle, began to clap rhythmically in agreement

  The primitive swell threatened to overwhelm any possible debate. Finally Sumalo was forced to clamber from his high seat and reclaim the speaker's rod from Martine.

  "Silence! Silence, everyone!" Sumalo banged his ash rod on the wooden floor, his iron charms bouncing with each beat Thump-jingle, thump-jingle. The beat repeated several times until the unruly younger gnomes in the upper tiers finally calmed down. "I hold the speaker's wand, and we are still in the council chamber," the priest chastised, his wrinkled face soured by the outburst

  "Vani, think of your wives, children, loved ones!" Sumalo boomed, his voice strong now. Rod in hand, he stalked a circuit round the council floor, his eyes fixed on the

  raucous upper tier. "War is not an easy thing. It is not like hunting a deer or even fighting a badger when it breaks into the warren. There are many gnolls, and they, too, are ready to fight: They will not run away simply because we kill a few"

  The elder paused, stroking his white beard while scanning the council chamber. He set the speaker's rod before him like a staff; forestalling any interruptions. Finally he began again. "Our warren is strong and the winter is our friend. We should not give up our best strength. We can wait here. These dog-men will be weak and frozen before the spring comes. Let them freeze while we stay warm: " Older voices echoed their approval.

  The logic was sound, Martine knew. The warren was the Vani's best asset, an underground fortress the gnolls would find hard to break. Studying the faces of the council, however, it didn't look as if the priest's argument was carrying. Jouka's call for glory and action was irresistible to many. Compared to it, Sumalo's counsel of patience and cunning seemed weak and cowardly.

  The debate continued, and Martine resisted every urge to leap forward with her advice even when the most outlandish claims were made. It was clear to her that the Vani were not a warrior people. Many of them, particularly the younger ones, had no concept of what a full-scale war against the gnolls would be like. Comparing the two camps, Vani and Burnt Fur, the ranger could tell the gnomes were outmatched in savagery, let alone sheer numbers. However, having already been dismissed by Jouka's faction, Martine knew her words would carry little weight

  At last the speaker's rod passed to Jouka. With its authority in his hands, the council fell silent, waiting to hear what he would say. Seated, with his head bowed, the young warrior spoke in a calm, slightly nasal voice. He framed his words with surprising coolness, not delivering the tirade be a Harper concern. People have to stand on their own. Harpers can't do everything for everyone. There aren't that many of us." Martine felt exposed in the center of the floor, painfully conscious of her hands as she twisted the speaker's rod. There was a reason she had chosen to be a ranger, born to the woods, and not an outgoing bard like many other Harpers.

  Jouka wouldn't relent. "So now that you have stirred up the gnolls, Harper, it's not your problem," he accused, his face almost sliding into a sneer: "We did not ask you come here, Harper. The Vani do not want to be pawns in your intrigues. We choose to live here to be far from big folk like you."

  A chorus of approval ran through the chamber. Jouka's words had tapped a vein of outrage that ran through the younger Vani. Seizing the moment, he turned to face his fellows.

  "The Harper says it is our problem! Very well, then I say we must fight the gnolls. We must drive them out of our valley!" the woodsman insisted. His eager audience, their unwrinkled faces gleaming with eagerness to prove themselves in battle, began to clap rhythmically in agreement

  The primitive swell threatened to overwhelm any possible debate. Finally Sumalo was forced to clamber from his high seat and reclaim the speaker's rod from Martine.

  "Silence! Silence, everyone!" Sumalo banged his ash rod on the wooden floor, his iron charms bouncing with each beat Thump-jingle, thump-jingle. The beat repeated several times until the unruly younger gnomes in the upper tiers finally calmed down. "I hold the speaker's wand, and we are still in the council chamber," the priest chastised, his wrinkled face soured by the outburst

  "Vani, think of your wives, children, loved ones!" Sumalo boomed, his voice strong now. Rod in hand, he stalked a circuit round the council floor, his eyes fixed on the

  raucous upper tier. "War is not an easy thing. It is not like hunting a deer or even fighting a badger
when it breaks into the warren. There are many gnolls, and they, too, are ready to fight: They will not run away simply because we kill a few"

  The elder paused, stroking his white beard while scanning the council chamber. He set the speaker's rod before him like a staff; forestalling any interruptions. Finally he began again. "Our warren is strong and the winter is our friend. We should not give up our best strength. We can wait here. These dog-men will be weak and frozen before the spring comes. Let them freeze while we stay warm: " Older voices echoed their approval.

  The logic was sound, Martine knew. The warren was the Vani's best asset, an underground fortress the gnolls would find hard to break. Studying the faces of the council, however, it didn't look as if the priest's argument was carrying. Jouka's call for glory and action was irresistible to many. Compared to it, Sumalo's counsel of patience and cunning seemed weak and cowardly.

  The debate continued, and Martine resisted every urge to leap forward with her advice even when the most outlandish claims were made. It was clear to her that the Vani were not a warrior people. Many of them, particularly the younger ones, had no concept of what a full-scale war against the gnolls would be like. Comparing the two camps, Vani and Burnt Fur, the ranger could tell the gnomes were outmatched in savagery, let alone sheer numbers. However, having already been dismissed by Jouka's faction, Martine knew her words would carry little weight

  At last the speaker's rod passed to Jouka. With its authority in his hands, the council fell silent, waiting to hear what he would say. Seated, with his head bowed, the young warrior spoke in a calm, slightly nasal voice. He framed his words with surprising coolness, not delivering the tirade "Brother Vani, as leader of your council and voice of the Great Crafter, hear the decision of the council. By the laws of the last high king, there will be war."

  A collective gasp escaped from the throats of the women in the room. Mothers clung tightly to their children. A few crooned lullabies to soothe their infants, who sensed something was wrong in spite of their tender years. Wives sought out their husbands, and when they met, they spoke not a word. The younger women paled as they thought of their swains. Martine could see fear for their loved ones in their eyes. Old Reko brushed back his beard and struck up a mournful tune.