The Improbable Adventures of Scar and Potbelly: Ice Terraces of Crystal Crag (17 page)

Then all of a sudden they were through to a boxed canyon bordered by steep hills. A line of boys and young men, sixteen in all, stood in an arc facing them. The two who had stolen their horses were among them. Two men in their twenties held crossbows, the others bore various weapons from cleavers to swords.

Scar came to a halt; Potbelly stopped next to him. His gaze flicked beyond the armed line to where his horse sat tethered to a rail outside the only building in the canyon. Potbelly’s was next to it.

One of the two with crossbows stepped forward. “Get down off the horses, drop your packs and any other valuables you may have and we won’t kill you.”

Scar laughed. “I have a counter proposal. Lower your weapons, give us our horses, and
we
won’t kill
you
.”

Many of the boys laughed and snickered at that.

The crossbowman was obviously the leader of this little band of outlaws. He raised his weapon and took aim at Scar. The other crossbowman leveled his weapon at Potbelly. “I don’t think you are in any position to make demands. Now, get down off those horses…
Now!”

Scar sighed, and unslung his pack from around his back. Potbelly did the same.

“Toss those down here real gentle,” the leader said.

“You ready?”

Potbelly nodded.

“Now.”

Scar leapt up in his stirrups while at the same time slapping his horse on the rump and shouting “Hyah!”

The horse shot forward and Scar lifted his legs to allow it to pass beneath. The crossbow fired and the bolt struck Scar’s pack a split-second before the horse broke through the line of men before them, knocking several to the ground including the leader.

When Scar’s horse shot forward, so too did Potbelly’s. Unlike Scar, Potbelly kept his seat and headed for the second crossbowman.

The man fired, the bolt went wide and before he had time to react, Potbelly’s sword sliced into his neck.

Scar raced forward behind his horse, both swords at the ready. He impaled the leader as he passed, and took out another of the young men, one that held a long sword, with a slice to knock the sword aside and a thrust that penetrated his gut. Kicking the man to free his sword, he turned in time to face four of the older boys who rushed him.

The first to reach him tried an overhand, two-handed hack that put the boy off-balance. Scar easily dodged to the side, hit the weapon with one blade while leaving a bleeding furrow across the boy’s chest with the other. The three other boys hesitated at seeing so many of their number already down.

Scar caught sight of the one that had stolen his horse trying to flee back to where their horses were tied. Yelling at the three hesitant youths sent them running which opened the way to the horse thief.

Potbelly felled another young man and with knife and sword, stood encircled by four boys. Two were barely teens; one with a pitchfork and the other with a blacksmith’s hammer. The other two were a bit older wielding short swords.

“Throw down your weapons,” he shouted loud enough for all to hear, “and lie on the ground. We’ll kill anyone standing with a weapon in their hand.”

The boy with the pitchfork charged. He deflected the attack with his sword and came in with his knife. Instead of a killing blow, he sank the blade into the young man’s shoulder and then knocked him back into his fellows with an elbow to the face.

That was enough for the rest. They threw down their weapons and threw themselves to the ground. The one with the knife wound tripped and fell. He laid there groaning for help but the others stayed where they were, their eyes full of fear and riveted on Potbelly.

Scar reached the teen just as the boy gripped the saddle and was in the process of swinging up. Grabbing the boy’s shirt, he pulled him off and threw him to the ground. The thief hit the dirt, rolled and stopped when he saw the point of Scar’s sword inches from his chest.

The boy froze, fear of impending death naked on his face.

“I should kill you right now, boy,” Scar said.

“Please,” he wailed. “I have a mother who needs me.”

Scar quickly scanned the battlefield and saw Potbelly was the only one still standing.

“Where’s your partner?”

“What?”

“Your partner,” Scar said with as much murder in his voice that he could muster, “the one who took my friend’s horse. I don’t see him.”

“He…he must have ran.”

Scar spat. “Coward.”

The boy started to cry. Scar was disgusted.

“Whether you live or die, be a man.” He took a half step back and motioned with his sword for the boy to get to his feet.

“You’re not going to kill me?”

Scar shot him a look that weakened the boy’s knees and loosened his bowels.

“You have rope here?”

The boy nodded.

“Then let’s get it.”

The area outside the mercantile shop was filled with angry villagers. Stories both true and imagined made their course as everyone seemed to have a different perception of what had happened. Most were absolutely certain on one point; two strangers had stolen a couple horses and rode south out of town.

So it was with no amount of surprise when those same strangers came riding back in leading the two horses they had taken as well as a string of young men and boys, each with their hands tied before them.

One lad was trussed up and secured belly down on the back of a horse.

“Loren!”

The girl who worked in the mercantile shop raced through the crowd to the young man tied on the horse.

“What have you done to him?” she demanded of Potbelly.

“Not as much as was our right to do to him for stealing our horses,” he replied.

“The horse thieves!” several people exclaimed.

At first Scar thought they meant the lad tied on the horse. But then he realized people were looking angrily at him and Potbelly.

“We apologize for taking the horses.” He then gestured to the steeds secured in line behind them. “But when our horses were stolen, it seemed the only course of action if the guilty were to be brought to justice.”

The men who owned the horses came forward. The owner of the horse that Loren was tied to cut his bonds and set him to the ground. The girl pulled the gag from Loren’s mouth.

“They killed Peter, Stark, and Jimmy,” he shouted, accusingly.

The crowd murmured and hate-filled looks were directed at the two pit fighters.

“Murderers,” one woman cried.

Scar cut away the tether holding their prisoners from the back of his saddle. “Horse thieves every one. Do with them what you will.” He started to ride toward the mercantile store when the crowed closed in around them.

“Let us pass,” he said.

The crowd closed ranks and it looked like it was about to get ugly.

“Our horses were stolen, we borrowed two horses to get them back and have returned them unharmed.” He gestured to the boys and young men they had brought in. “We brought the guilty in for justice. Some died when they tried to rob and kill us. I will not apologize for that.”

A murmur went through the crowd and he could tell they were on the verge of attacking.

“They were just children,” a female voice said.

“Children play,” Scar replied. “Children work at the side of their parents. Men steal; men kill; and men pay the price for their actions. These ‘children’ left childhood behind when they decided to rob from us and attempt to take our lives.”

Raising his voice he said, “Enough blood has been shed this day. We will buy what we need at yonder shop and then leave this place.” He drew his sword, “We will not be interfered with or by the
gods
such a bloodletting will descend upon you that mothers and wives will weep for lost sons and husbands.”

He lowered his sword to point at the man standing directly in his way. “Step…aside.”

Fate hung on the edge of a coin. Scar was not sure which way it would fall. But then the man took a step to the right, others followed suit and a path was cleared. Nudging his horse into motion, he made his way through the crowd.

At the mercantile shop, he said to Potbelly, “Go in and get what we need.”

Potbelly eyed the crowd uncertainly. “You sure you can handle this?”

Scar nodded. “Just be quick.”

Dismounting, Potbelly entered the shop.

Women took charge of the boys, others lamented those that had not returned. Some were egging their men on to do something and throughout it all, Scar prayed Potbelly would hurry.

Finally Potbelly emerged with their winter clothing. He didn’t even bother to pack it away, merely tucked it under one arm and swung up into the saddle.

Scar nudged his horse into motion and they made their way northward out of town. Behind them, the crowd watched until they passed from view.

“Didn’t think we’d make it out of there alive.”

Scar nodded. “It was dicey, and no mistaken.”

Once out of sight of the town, they quickened their pace to put as much distance between them as possible. They paused only a moment to store their newly acquired gear.

“Think they will come after us?”

“I doubt it,” Scar replied. “If they were going to do anything they would have done it then.”

“Matlin was right.” When Scar glanced at him, Potbelly said, “He said not to trust the villages along this road.”

“And we will not in the future,” Scar agreed. “Next village we should try and stock up on travel rations. Matlin didn’t say how long it would take to reach Crystal Crag from here.”

Later that afternoon they reached the next village. It was a little smaller than the previous one and didn’t even have a shop of any kind to speak of. Just homes and shanties lining the road. They opted not to try and seek rations there and instead continued on down the road.

Villagers eyed them as they passed. None offered so much as a salutation; merely kept to themselves. Scar felt a few had scrutinized them a bit too much, as if taking stock of their possessions and gauging the odds of being able to get them.

Scar stared them down and hoped to have instilled fear and feelings of unease at any thought they might harbor for a successful thieving venture.

The road beyond the village diminished to little more than a pair of ruts cutting their way through tangled underbrush and an ever denser growth of trees. Tree limbs had been cut back to allow unobstructed passage showed that the road remained in use. Midafternoon brought them to a village larger than the previous two combined.

There was a store, an inn which surprised them, and laughing, playing children in the street. Locals nodded greetings as Scar and Potbelly passed among them. A few even offered friendly “Hellos,” and other forms of salutation.

“Looks friendly enough,” Potbelly said.

“Yes,” Scar replied. “That’s what worries me.”

“I take it the inn is out of the question?”

Scar turned to him and gave him a look as if to say
“You even have to ask?”
He nodded toward the mercantile shop. “Let’s get our provisions and continue on.”

At the shop, Scar dismounted to enter while Potbelly remained mounted to watch their belongings. They did not want a repeat of earlier.

Inside the mercantile shop, Scar gathered sufficient travel rations and was on the way to the counter to pay when he spied a table set off to the side. On it were displayed a pair of massive claws, easily the largest he’d ever seen.

“Snow beasts.”

He turned and found a middle aged man standing behind him. “What did you say?”

The man gestured to the claws. “They are from a snow beast that had wandered down from the mountains last winter.”

“Big?”

“Very. They loom far taller than any man and can kill a bear with a single swipe. It’s unusual for them to come down this far, but it does happen from time to time.” The man eyed Scar. “Stranger in town?”

“Just passing through,” Scar replied.

“You’re not heading north, are you?”

Scar hesitated a moment, weighing the danger in telling this man where they planned to go. But he gauged the risk a little less than moderate and felt he might learn something from him. “That’s right. We plan on continuing up into the mountains.” He then turned back to the claws. “Should we be worried about encountering any of these snow beasts?”

“Unlikely unless you find yourself among the highest elevations,” he said. “That’s where they live and for the most part, remain.”

“What should we do if we encounter one?”

“Make peace with your god for they will kill you and no mistaking.”

“Thank you,” he said as he turned toward the counter. Crossing to it, he deposited his purchases. “How much?”