Soldiers of Ice h-7

by David Cook

  Throughout the hall, the Vani, numb with relief, made their way through the tangle of discarded skis and swords to collapse in the quiet, dark corners of the hall. Sumalo hunched over the injured, his hands bloody from healing the worst of the wounded. A pair of spinsters in black dresses dictated the work of a team of womenfolk, who scurried after Sumalo with buckets of steaming water and linen bandages. Hot water and blood slopped across the shining floor, running in pink streams through the cracks between the boards.

  "Vil," Martine said urgently, "we can't afford to rest yet." Refusing to surrender to exhaustion, the Harper got her wobbly legs under her and strode among the spent gnomes, shaking them to action "Get up! Come on, don't just lie there! You're not safe yet. Pick up your weapons." Grumbling, the gnomes rose and tottered about, gathering their gear. Vil heaved to his feet and put those who were able to the task of bracing the door. Runners went in search of beams, hammers, and pegs to reinforce it.

  "Where's your damned wizard friend, woman?" Jouka shouted as he pulled at Martine's sleeve. "He killed my brother!"

  Infuriated by the gnome's tone, Martine wrenched herself free from his grasp, almost impaling her arm on the

  gnome's spiked breastplate. "Let go of me! I haven't seen Jazrac, and he didn't kill your brother!"

  "Fiend's fires he didn't," Jouka swore, his prominent nose flaming red, his eyes wild with passion. "Turi's not back yet. Nobody even saw him make it to the woods. Your friend should have warned us Vreesar was coming. He was in the rear."

  "I haven't seen him, you-you stupid little midget!" the Harper exploded. The fear and exhaustion of the day stoked her irritation with the gnome into fury until she had to lash out.

  "Martine, Jouka! Now is not the time for this!" Vil thundered as he pushed himself between the two. "Master Jouka, direct your people. They'll listen to you better than they will to me." Separated from the Harper by the former paladin, the gnome growled angrily and bustled off.

  "As for you, Martine, back off," Vil said, grabbing her shoulders and steering her toward the inner doors. She quivered fiercely against his grasp. 'Turi's still out there. Jouka cares a lot for him."

  "Damn him!" the woman spat out, still not completely under control. "I mean, damn it all. He's right. Where was Jazrac when we needed him?" The question hung without an answer.

  "You need rest," Vil said. "Things seem under control here. Go get some sleep. I'll alert you if anything happens." "I'll stay here."

  "Go!" This time Vil's words were not a suggestion. "Staying here will only provoke Jouka. Give him time to cool down. Get out of his sight."

  "What about Jazrac?"

  "If you mean looking for him, forget it. We can't risk losing anyone else. He's on his own, just like Turi." Vil didn't wait for her to agree but walked the woman a short way down the hall, heading in the direction of their room.

  Eventually Martine found herself standing alone outside the small guest room. Although it wasn't her choice, sleep was a good idea right now. Opening the door, she ducked her head and stepped over the threshold. Inside, the magical tapers-had been covered and only the faintest light leaked through the hoods.

  "Hello, Martine," said Jazrac, his melancholy voice whispering softly from the gloom.

  Martine slammed the door in shock. "Jazrac, where in Cyric's hells have you been? What are you doing here?" Martine clenched the door handle, furious to see the wizard huddled on the bed before her.

  Jazrac looked at her. His once imperious gaze was lost in the gray hollows of his eyes. The regally manicured goatee and perfect coiffure were in disarray; bits of pine needles clung to his graying hair and beard. Streaks of sweat and pine resin covered his face. With clothes stained and only half-laced, Jazrac looked more like a drunkard than the proud Harper she knew.

  "Does anybody know you're here?" the woman hissed, her back against the door.

  "No. I used a spell to get in," the mage mumbled. Martine slowly crossed the room, still moving like a huntress. "Jouka wants your hide. I'm not sure I blame him," she said. "What happened out there? The gnolls came right up behind us-right where you were supposed to be." With a pained expression, the wizard leaned back and looked at the ceiling, avoiding Martine's unforgiving gaze. "I… panicked."

  "What do you mean, you panicked?" she shouted in disbelief. There had to be a better reason, she knew. Jazrac was a powerful Harper, a wizard. He didn't panic.

  "I mean I panicked, that's all! I ran!" Jazrac bellowed back, unleashing all his self-loathing on Martine. "When I saw them coming, I couldn't do anything! I was afraid…

  afraid of Vreesar and dying and all that, so I forgot everything and ran: Do you understand now? Is that clear enough for you? Didn't anybody ever run in your world-or did they all die gloriously?"

  "You ran? How could you? You're a Harper-" "I didn't want to die!"

  "— and Harpers don't run!" They just never tell anyone!"

  Jazrac's last statement stunned Martine into silence. TIM pair glared at each other across the room. Each shivered with passion, struggling to control the rage within.

  Finally Jazrac spoke, his voice a pleading whisper. "Martine, I could have been here in a day with my spells. Why do you think I sent you here?"

  She shook her head furiously, as if to deny him any understanding.

  "I'm not a warrior," the man continued with a touch of sorrow in his voice. "I'm not even a war wizard. I've spent my years reading scrolls and making magical artifacts, like the stones you used. I don't fight. So when something needs doing, I make whatever device is called for and then I send someone like you to take the risk."

  "You… you do that, and then you have the nerve to come up here and lecture me about what a true Harper should do?" Impulsively Martine stepped forward and slapped Jazrac hard across the face. Even as she did it, she cringed in horror at the realization of what she'd done. "Oh, gods," she breathed. Lingering respect mingled with the knowledge the wizard could still break her career.

  A little of the imperious fire returned to the wizard as he sat up straight on the edge of the bed. "And I was right, too. You know it." His pride faded as the energy to hold it drained from him. He was no longer Jazrac, her mentor, or jazrac, the Harper, but just Jazrac, drained and flawed. Inside, Martine's anger cooled along with her old fearful respect.

  "As I said before, Jouka wants your hide." The ranger's voice was no longer angry but cold and flat. "A lot of gnomes died in that ambush."

  "I know. I just don't know what to do."

  In silence, each sought an answer. Finally Martine held out her hand. "Do you still have the stone? Give it to me." His eyes furrowed in puzzled suspicion, Jazrac hesitated. Then, pulling a leather sack from under the bed, he produced the keystone and laid it in her hand. The rock appeared no different from before. It was still pitted and veined with its own internal fires.

  The woman went to the door. "Stay here till I come for you.

  Outside, the ranger hurried down the halls, hoping she could remember the way. At last she arrived in the cold, dirt floored section that contained the animal pens. As she knelt beside a cage, she noticed Hakk's doll, still lying in the dirt where'd she thrown it. Carefully she brushed it off and pushed it back through the bars.

  "Word-Maker?"

  "I hear you, human," echoed the shaman's hollow voice from the other side.

  "Do your people want war with the Vani?" she asked. "Ask the new chieftain of the Burnt Fur," Krote replied bitterly.

  "The pit fiends take Vreesar! I mean your tribe… would they make peace?"

  "The pack has no quarrel with the little people." Martine heard a scuffling in the straw, and then the dog-man slid into the light.

  "If I give you the chance, can you convince your peopleyour pack-to make peace?" Martine squatted down to look Krote in the eyes.

  "What do you want, female?" the gnoll growled. "Will you?"

  'Me price is my freedom," the shaman insisted. "Only if they agree," Martine countered. "Wel
l?"

  Krote licked his chops. "I will try. They may not listen to me."

  "Good enough. Now slide to the back again." Despite the gnoll's promise, the Harper didn't trust him completely. As Krote crouched at the pen's far wall, Martine cut the ropes that bound the door shut. Once the door opened, she signaled him out and then followed the stooped gnoll through the halls.

  The pair retraced her path through the windowless corridors to the room where Jazrac waited. Krote bared his fangs at the gnomish women they passed along the way, taking delight in the way they shrank in terror against the passage walls.

  "Jazrac, I need you," Martine called from outside the door. "Now," she added when the wizard did not respond immediately.

  The door clattered open and the Harper wizard came out, tidying his disheveled clothing in a weak attempt to regain some smattering of his dignity. He paused, hands hovering over his doublet, when he saw Krote. "What's he doing here?"

  "I've got an idea," was all Martine said. She was still angry with the wizard, uncomfortable even talking to him. Most of all, though, she couldn't abide the thought that he might criticize what she intended to do. "You said Harpers should fix things. Well, I'm going to fix something." She motioned Krote and Jazrac down the hall.

  "Where are we going?" Jazrac asked as he fell in beside her.

  "To the council chamber. I'm guessing that's where Sumalo and the others are-making plans."

  When they approached the council halt, the somber tone of voices inside confirmed Martine's guess. On entering the outer chamber, where the dance had been held, the three passed through a silent crowd. Wives of council members and some older gnomish children were clustered near the council doors, trying to catch every word of what was said inside. Around them orbited the smaller children, who didn't really understand what had happened but sensed its importance from the reaction of their elders.

  Now the Harper herself could hear the grim litany that echoed from inside.

  "Burl?"

  "He's hurt but he made it back." "And Heikko?"

  "I think he fell at the gnolls' camp." "That makes seventeen." "Ojakangas?"

  "He's helping to guard the south gate."

  Martine pushed into the edge of the crowd blocking the door, with Krote and Jazrac following. A ripple of alarm spread through the crowd, and the gnomes parted like water before them. The women eyed Krote with fear, but their expressions changed to hostile scowls when they saw Jazrac. Stories of his role in the massacre were no doubt among the whispers that they passed from ear to ear.

  The commotion at the door alerted those inside of their arrival. The hall, always before well filled with elders, was half empty, particularly the upper tiers. Those who were present sat near Sumalo's chair, where the priest was carefully making notes on a birchbark scroll. All work stopped the instant Martine guided Krote into the hall.

  "What are they doing here?" Jouka demanded of Sumalo, as if the priest had something to do with Martine's arrival. The priest set his quill aside. "Harpers, you were not summoned here," he said sternly, "and you are not welcome. It's because of you and your plots that I must add these names to the record of the dead." The whitebeards

  around the priest loudly grumbled their agreement

  "It's because of him!" Jouka cried accusingly, spying Jazrac- The gnome hopped down from the bench and stood with hands on hips. "Where were you during the battle, wizard? Where was your magic? My brother and friends died because of-"

  "Elder Sumalo, I ask permission to speak," Martine asked, trying to prevent the meeting from becoming a shouting match.

  "— because of you, you craven-"

  "Elder Sumalo, please!" Martine persisted.

  Thump! The speaker's rod banged on the hollow bench. "Jouka Tunkelo! Hold for a moment!" The force of Sumalo's words silenced the gnome, though he remained rooted to the spot, glaring at Jazrac.

  "Martine of Sembia, what do you have to say to us?" Martine prodded Krote, and the gnoll moved stiffly to one side. The shaman's lips curled with a slight trace of a fanged smile as he listened to the squabbling among his enemies.

  "I have a plan to stop the fighting and get Vreesar out of the valley," the woman began as she stepped into the center of the hall.

  "What is it, human?" Jouka sneered. "Are you and the brave wizard there going to kill this fiend yourselves?" Martine turned stiffly to face the belligerent gnome. "No… I'm going to give him this." From her pocket, she pulled out jazrac's stone and held it up for the gnomes to see. "This is the stone Vreesar wanted."

  "Martine, you can't!" Jazrac blurted in alarm as he stepped forward to try and reclaim the stone.

  The ranger snatched her hand back. "I can and will, jazrac. Harpers have a duty to solve problems, not let others do it for them."

  "But that thing will reopen the gate! What happens to these people then?

  Sumalo and the others shifted uneasily when they heard this news.

  "I said I have a plan. Jazrac, do you have a spell that can get you back to Shadowdale quickly?" Martine pressed. She could see that the council was wavering, and she needed to make her point quickly.

  "I can teleport with this," the wizard said, meaningfully tapping the ring on his finger.

  The woman breathed an inward sigh of relief, for her idea hinged on the wizard's magical abilities. "Then my plan is this," she pronounced, turning back to the council. "Vreesar wants the stone. Once the creature gets it, it'll head back to the glacier. The elemental isn't interested in you Vani or your warren. I'll give him the stone and then he'll leave."

  Jouka snorted. "What about the gnolls?" "And the rift?" Jazrac added.

  Martine had her answer ready. "That's why I brought Word-Maker with me. He says he'll get the gnolls to make peace"

  "I will try, human," Krote growled, "in exchange for my freedom."

  Martine winced at the gnoll's correction. Her plan was risky enough; she didn't need to have the shaman make it sound any worse.

  Elder Sumalo stirred on his chair, his iron charms clinking. "As the wizard said, this creature called Vreesar will reopen this gate, and then there will be even more of them."

  Martine hesitated. The time had come when she finally had to give up her pride. Pointing to the wizard, she explained, "Mat's where he comes in. Jazrac uses his ring to get more help from the Harpers because the job's too big for me. We take the chance that reinforcements come in time."

  "Him? The coward?" Jouka scoffed. He turned his back and clambered back onto his bench in disgust.

  "Yes, him." Martine had no choice but to leap to Jazrac's defense. "He simply goes home and gets help. You won't have to rely on him to fight. And he doesn't even have to come back." Martine knew the words must have stung Jazrac, but when she looked at him, his face showed no sign of any reaction.

  'The elders stroked their white beards thoughtfuily. "And if Vreesar kills you and takes this-this thing?" Jouka demanded, still seeking fault with her plan.

  The ranger was ready for this question, too. "I plan to hide it before we meet. That way he can't just kill me and get the stone."

  Sumalo turned to Jouka and said, "If the woman is killed, her plan can still go forward. She is not needed after that." Martine had not considered that. Thinking about it now was hardly comforting. She noticed that Jouka was smiling grimly.

  Now it was Jouka's turn to stroke at his beard A's he leaned back on his bench and considered. The others on the council waited expectantly for him to announce his decision. Clearly, as one of the Vani's few warriors, Jouka's word carried great weight.

  Finally the gnome leaned forward, placing his small hands on his small knees. "Since the woman wants to take the risk, I say we let her. Let the Harpers fix their problems. We risk nothing."

  Except a hundred more creatures like Vreesar if we fail, Martine thought grimly.

  Fourteen

  Back in their tiny quarters after several more hours of planning with the gnomes, Martine finished going over the particu
lars with Jazrac. The woman was overflowing with details-the likeliest places to find the gnolls, where to hide the stone, even what gate she'd use to leave. Vil listened with interest, saying nothing all the while she outlined the plan. He sat on the edge of the bed, still in his armor, his hair stiff with dried sweat. Streaks of brown-red blood soiled his tabard.

  "Could I see it?" the ex-paladin asked, pointing to the stone.

  Martine shrugged and passed it to him. "This is what he wants, eh?"

  She nodded.

  Vil held it up to the light, turning it like a jeweler looking for a flaw in a diamond. "It seems awfully small to have cost so many lives." He carefully handed it back to the Harper. "But then it always does."

  "With that stone, Vreesar and its kind could overrun the north," Jazrac said ominously.

  "I'm coming along with you," the warrior announced. He rose and buckled on his hanger as if the matter was already decided.

  "No," Martine protested. "This is my plan, Vii. I can't have you taking such a risk."

  "But you need me." His voice was filled with selfconfidence.

  Martine did a slow burn. She'd already admitted she would need help to defeat Vreesar, but it wasn't as if she couldn't handle the meeting. "I can handle myself, thank you, Vilheim Baltson."

  "I know you can, but you shouldn't be alone. You'll need someone to watch the gnoll while you talk, just in case he tries something." Vil adjusted the straps on his helm.

  "The man makes sense, Martine," Jazrac observed, even though Martine couldn't help considering the wizard's counsel suspect in such matters.

  "You're going to insist on this, aren't you?" Sensing-diem was no winning, the ranger rose awkwardly from the floor, the weight of her armor making the move difficult.