Khlened took the thing and shook it. To Lhors’ surprise, the
flat piece opened into a tin pail made of overlapping segments, complete with
handle. “My task,” the barbarian said. “Done this most of m’ life.”
Maera eased Florimund down flat and covered him with her
spare blanket, then dug a similar item from her own pack: a small pot of
blackened metal, the base forged to a low tripod. Rowan extended it with a snap
of her wrists, then began rummaging through the pile of food the others had set
out for her. She separated things, putting aside packets of cracker-bread and
dried fruit, then rummaged through two bags of dried beans. She took the canvas
bag Vlandar gave her and scooped out several handfuls of dried vegetables, then
pulled a bundle of herb-packets from a side pocket on her pack. She plucked a
fat brown onion from the braid of them that Khlened carried and tossed two
sticks of jerky into the pot. Over all, she poured the first batch of melted
snow.
The stew took some time to cook, but the apple and spiced hot
water that Rowan prepared kept Lhors comfortable. Gran had known that trick, and
so had his father. The flavor of fruit seemed to soothe his mind as well. He
turned to Vlandar to see if the man needed another cup, but the warrior had
fallen asleep.
By now, the cave was almost warm. Even Agya was moving around
and had shed the spare blanket. Vlandar was awake again by the time Rowan pulled
the pot from the ashes, and Gerikh had fed more logs onto the fire twice. They
all felt like friends, Lhors thought, but a snowstorm and an unexpected hot meal
could do that for people.
Even Maera seemed to feel it—or maybe she was very hungry
herself. “We’ll want real bread with that, sister. The cracker-stuff we may need
later.” She broke out a packet of flour and leavening, swept leaves from a flat
rock, then began working water into the dry stuff. Lhors watched as the half-elf
kneaded the brownish mess, tore it into strips and deftly braided and shaped it
into a round loaf that she shoved it into the ashes.
Rowan tested the soup and nodded. “Cups or bowls, everyone,”
she announced, then dipped them into the pot and handed them around. Maera
brushed ash from her crusty loaf and broke it into equal shares.
Lhors blew on his soup to cool it, sipped cautiously, then
stared at Rowan over the rim. “You said passable! It’s—” He couldn’t find the
proper word and contented himself instead with draining his cup, then swabbing
the last drops up with Maera’s bread.
Rowan laughed and refilled the cup, then handed him part of
her bread. “No, take it,” she assured him. “Such praise deserves reward, and a
near-grown man needs his food.”
Florimund still slept, but Lhors thought seemed Vlandar
almost normal thanks to the warm meal. “All right,” the warrior said mildly. “I
feared we might somehow wind up here, even before we left Cryllor. The frost
giants have raided the Yeomanry before now, and Keoland too.”
Maera snorted. “The rangers of Keoland have long suspected an
alliance between frost and hill giants.”
Vlandar shrugged. “Now we are certain of it. You may have
overheard me talking to Nemis and Mal back in that locked chamber. We found
proof that Nosnra is now under
orders
to attack Keoland hill villages. We
found a written command from the chief of the frost giants along with the chain
that brought us here. Who knows how long Nosnra has used that chain to come here
to report his successes or failures and receive new orders?”
“Wait,” Khlened said.
“Frost
giants are behind all
this? They haven’t the brains for it!”
“They are not in charge,” Nemis said quietly. It was the
first time he’d spoken in hours. “They are also under orders… from
elsewhere.”
“Oh? And where’d that be?” the barbarian demanded.
The mage shrugged gloomily.
“I hope to learn that information here in the Rift,” Vlandar
said, “And that is
all
I think we can hope to learn here. Mal, have you
that scroll?”
The paladin fished out the clear tube he’d found in the
woodpile and held it up. At Vlandar’s gesture, he handed it to the mage. “Nemis
speaks and reads many languages, including Giantish. That is written in
Giantish, though not by a giant. Nemis tells me the one who penned the scroll is
unlikely to be here and I believe him. In short, I see the Rift as a passage to
another place, not a destination in itself. We must all listen to Nemis and
Malowan—and Mal, I hope you both will prepare for tomorrow by choosing spells
that help us remain unseen and unheard, but just as importantly, spells that
will locate devices like that chain.”
Khlened said, “So we look beyond th’ Rift ’cause it isn’t a
frost giant in charge? Suits me fine. I left Fist-lands ’cause cold like this is
nasty. No sane man’d stand it, if ’e didn’t have to.”
Bleryn put in. “I dislike cold. Never want to see a white
bear again.”
“Bear?” That, predictably, was Agya. “How’d y’see ’em through
all this white stuff ?”
“I can sense them,” Malowan assured her, “but Khlened is
right—and so is Bleryn. We’re here because the alternative was dying in the
Steading’s dungeons, but this is not much better because the cold will kill us
if the frost giants and their allies do not.”
Vlandar nodded as he got to his feet. “Nosnra knows by know
that we were in his secret room and that we stole his chain. If he has any other
such device to transport messages or himself, the Rift may already be preparing
for us.”
“If deer had wings, the wolves would starve,” Maera replied
sarcastically.
“And if the rangers stay alert, no tree will fall,” Vlandar
retorted—almost as sharply, to Lhors’ surprise. He smiled suddenly. “Apologies,
ranger. Stay alert, but I know you all will. Do not be led astray. We seek a
quick way from these frozen heights, either back to Keoland or on to find the
master who ordered the attacks on Keoland.”
Lhors started as the name bit into his mind.
Vlandar’s hand gripped his shoulder. “Yes, we can return to
Keoland with what we know, and I am certain the king will reward us. But what
matters wealth if we see the chance to wipe out a dire enemy—and we hesitate?”
“If the conditions and the numbers are against us…” Maera
countered. “But I agree, warrior. Turn your back on such an enemy, allow her to
grow stronger—”
“Her?” Nemis said sharply.
The ranger smiled at him, but the smile did not reach her
eyes. “He, they, us, you, them, another, whichever. If there is a chance to
defeat such a one—yes, I am of your mind, Vlandar.”
Khlened spat. “More sneaking? Never met a frost giant as
deserved t’live! Kill ’em and be done!”
“I side with the Fist,” Bleryn said flatly. “Happens my
folk—their shades’ll curse me forever, did I not kill every bastard son of ’em I
could.”
Silence. Vlandar and Malowan waited. Khlened and Bleryn
stared back challengingly.
“Remember who leads this party,” Vlandar finally said.
“Remember I may know things you do not, about this place and about our goal.
Still, I will not stop you from killing giants—but only if you will swear to me
that you will not act recklessly. You will not draw attention to us, you will
not get us killed, and”—he added sharply as dwarf and barbarian grinned at each
other—“you will both pledge to keep a close eye on the less winter-hardy of us.
We do no good if we die here of cold, and frozen heroes cannot spend treasure.
Also, ten of us have a better chance of winning through than two crazed fighters
who have no one to back them.”
“A point,” Bleryn said promptly, and drew Khlened aside so
they could talk.
Vlandar turned to the rest of the company. “I will set
watches by twos tonight. We dare not let the fire go out.”
In the end, he chose himself and Malowan for the first, Maera
and Gerikh for the second, Lhors and Rowan for the third, Bleryn and Nemis
after, leaving Khlened as most winter-wise of them all to build up the fire and
set a pot of hot gruel to soaking.
“What of me then?” Agya demanded sharply.
“Sleep and plenty of it,” the warrior replied. “We will need
you alert tomorrow.”
Lhors wondered when she didn’t argue. Perhaps the cold had
sapped her temper. One good thing about this place then, he thought as he
wrapped up in his cloak across the fire from her.
Rowan settled close enough to the youth, he could have
touched her. “Maera?” she said quietly. “Florimund ate and he’s sleeping, but he
is restless.”
“Do you wonder at that?” Maera asked sourly.
Lhors eased his eyes open a little. The sour twin—as he had
come to think of her—managed a thin smile. “Rowan, I told you I will stay with
him and wake him from his bad dreams. I said he would be my task.”
“Of course,” Rowan murmured.
Maera got up and left, leaving the cave silent.
“Lhors?” Rowan asked quietly.
He hadn’t been asleep, and of course, she knew that. His face
felt hot. “Yes?”
Rowan laughed, deep in her throat. “When we share watch
later, pay attention to my sister and her charge, will you? She’ll know if I do,
and it will make her angry.”
“Whatever you ask,” he said.
Rowan laughed again and patted his stubbly cheek. “Don’t
promise such a thing. It’s dangerous.” Her face suddenly turned more serious. “I
do not trust Florimund. I can’t say why. Maera does, but she chooses her martyrs
with her heart. I do not.”
Lhors frowned. “I think I see. She believes whatever he has
told her, but you are afraid there may be something, um, behind the words?”
“Just so,” Rowan replied gravely.
“But he was a prisoner of the giants, and they—”
“Tortured him?” Rowan finished for him. “Yes. Still, I have
learned by hard experience to trust
my
distrust, if you see what I mean.
Thank you, Lhors.” She gained her feet gracefully and went to shake out her
blankets.
Lhors sighed faintly, then eased onto one elbow and looked
around. Khlened and Bleryn seemed to be asleep—at least one of them was snoring.
Gerikh huddled almost on top of the firepit, while Agya was only visible as a
tuft of ruddy hair poking out of a pile of blankets. The paladin lay close by,
wrapped only in his cloak. Nemis bent over his spellbook. The last vision Lhors
had before he fell asleep was of the mage, a blanket draped casually over his
shoulders, his lips moving soundlessly as he turned the pages.
* * *
Watch followed watch, and outside the sky grew slowly
light—briefly very bright indeed as the sun speared through heavy cloud. But
gloom returned at once. The wind died down, but never for long. The shriek of
harsh air storming the stones outside made sleep hard to come by, but the fire
kept the immediate stone floor warm, and each of the watches brought in pots of
snow to keep two pots steaming, one of plain water, the other one of Maera’s
teas. During the last watch, Nemis stirred up a large pot of gruel, then sought
his blankets while Khlened kept the fire going.
By the time Vlandar was awake, Khlened was pacing, eager to
be off. “We need t’find entry—”
“Already found,” Nemis said. He sounded half-asleep and
seemed to be having trouble getting his gruel from his clay cup to his mouth. “I
have the map of the Rift—both levels—that was hidden in Nosnra’s secret room
with the chain.”
To Lhors’ surprise—and Nemis’ visible displeasure—Vlandar
sent Khlened and Bleryn out to scout the area. Vlandar must have been aware of
the mage’s mood. After the two had vanished in the still-swirling snow, he said,
“Nemis, this is not mistrust. I know you have the map, and you have searched as
far as your magic can reach. But those two are used to action. Give them a
little now, and they may be easier to control later. Who knows? They may
actually find something your spell did not.”
Nemis actually smiled. “Now you throw young Agya’s words at
me, but you are right, of course. They know this kind of country, and I do not.”
He settled next to the fire and opened his book. “This also gives me a little
time to find more useful spells.”
“Both of us,” Malowan said as he sought a quiet corner to
commune with his god.
“Thank you,” Vlandar said. “Nemis, if I may have the map—and
Rowan, I know rangers are usually good at maps. Come help me with this one, will
you?”
Lhors hesitated, empty mug in hand, but both ranger and
warrior beckoned for him to join them over the map. I know nothing of such
things, the youth thought. He sighed quietly. But I suppose I can learn.
* * *
He didn’t feel so confident some time later after the scouts
came back. The writing on the map was nothing but oddly shaped marks to his
eyes, and all he was certain of was that this Rift was vast, cold, and consisted
of two levels with guards everywhere.
Bleryn muttered into his beard as he settled close to the
fire. “Fell,” he said briefly.
“No surprise t’me,” Khlened retorted. “’Tis hellish slick
everywhere.” He turned to talk to Vlandar. “We saw a path into th’ Rift. There
was rutted ice from huge prints, nasty place. No guards outside as we could
see.”
Bleryn snorted. “Tell ’em about yeti,” he said.
Khlened rolled his eyes. “Y’ didn’t expect ’em, place like this? Was two
going that way.” He pointed where Lhors thought north might be. “Yeti tracks all
over up here. Nasty creatures love it here. We also say one roamin frost giant
wi’ two wolves on his heels. Mind now, wolves ain’t bugbears! Th’ wolves can
hear and smell all too well, and a pack of ’em is bad news. And yeti. Even the
Fists avoid yeti.”
“I can agree with that,” Malowan said mildly. He looked over
at Agya, who was drawing on thick, oversized mitts Lhors thought must be the
paladins. “Agya,” the man said, “remember that I can keep you safe from them.”
“Yessir, I know it,” she replied and managed a smile, but
Lhors could see her eyes were worried, and the hands under the mitts trembled.