The Improbable Adventures of Scar and Potbelly: Ice Terraces of Crystal Crag (27 page)

He scrambled to Potbelly as another stone hit the bottom. His left leg hurt badly from the fall but pushed through the pain and reached his friend’s side.

“Potbelly!” he shouted but Potbelly failed to respond.

A crossbow bolt ricocheted off the floor not six inches from Potbelly’s head.

Scar didn’t know if his friend was alive or dead, nor did he have the time to figure it out. Looking up, he saw more stones being rolled to the edge. Grabbing Potbelly, he dragged him through the rubble toward the side of the pit. There it bowed outward and formed a cavity wherein they would be shielded from the deadly projectiles.

Once within the cavity, the rain of missiles ceased. Scar checked Potbelly, found he still breathed, then leaned out and looked up. Garrock’s men were no longer visible.
Were they gone? Or were they just out of sight waiting for them to try and escape so they could finish them off.
Unsure, Scar kept in the cavity and made Potbelly as comfortable as he could.

Night had fallen and darkness filled the pit by the time Potbelly came around.

Scar had his head cradled in his lap. “How are you?”

“Sore,” he replied groggily.  “What happened?”

“You fell into a pit.”

“I fell…?” he began, then memory returned. “Garrock?”

“Gone.”

“Did you kill him?”

Scar shook his head though it was too dark for Potbelly to see. “No. He took the map and is probably hauling away the treasure as we speak.”

Potbelly sat up and groaned in the process. His side hurt badly; a couple of ribs were bruised if not broken. And from the way his hip ached, there should be a bruise the size of his Gamma’s homecakes during Festival.

“You let him take it?”

“I did not
let
him take it,” Scar replied. “It was either the map or your life. As miserable as you make me sometimes, I’m used to having you around. Besides, once we return to Castin, I’ll need your help in killing him and everyone who owes him allegiance. Once he’s dead, we can retrieve the treasure then. And didn’t Matlin say that there was more treasure up there than you and I could ever hope to haul away?”

“That he did.”

“So when morning comes, we find our way out of here, then find the treasure and take what we can. There should still be some left even after Garrock and his men are through. Then we return to Castin and kill that demon damned bastard.”

When morning came, Potbelly ached all over. It was determined that his ribs hadn’t cracked, only severely bruised.

Scar wasn’t doing that great either, but the need for revenge gave him strength. His chest, though better, still complained when he stood; his leg hurt as well but other than a slight limp it would be fine. In the light of dawn, he inspected the walls of the pit. His first go-round revealed nothing, nor did his second. It wasn’t until Potbelly rolled over on his side and glanced up that a crevice was spotted.

Eight feet off the floor, it was narrow and extended into darkness.

Positioning boulders that Garrock’s men had tried to kill them with beneath the opening, Scar climbed up to it.

“Can’t see much,” he said.

“There’s only one torch left,” Potbelly said.

Scar glanced down to him, “We don’t have a choice.”

Nodding, Potbelly took his flint and steel and ignited their final torch. He came to his feet with a groan, then walked over and handed it to Scar.

Its light revealed a narrow passage chocked with roots and spider webs. Scar believed there would be enough room for them to pass. He turned to Potbelly. “You stay here. I’ll see where it leads.”

Tossing the torch in first, he pulled himself up and into the passage. He reclaimed the torch and scooted forward on elbows and knees. As he pressed forward, the torch ignited the webs and smaller roots. They would flare for a moment then die out.

Several minutes later, the passage ahead brightened and he knew freedom was at hand. But when he came to the end, it was blocked by a sheet of ice.

Scar first tried pushing it out in the hopes it would be small and easily manipulated. It refused all efforts to budge. Next he pulled his knife and hacked away at the blockage. After the third strike, chips broke free. He knew it couldn’t be too thick since the sun’s light penetrated.  Minutes passed and the crawlspace before him grew increasingly covered in ice chips. Finally, he struck and when he pulled back, felt a small inflow of air. Encouraged, he continued with great enthusiasm.

Larger chunks fell away until finally enough had been cleared to allow his hand to reach through. Setting the knife aside, he gripped the edge of the hole in the ice and began pulling and tugging it back and forth.

On the third round, he felt it move. Each tug and push afterward created even more play. Then on the tenth push, it gave way. Moving the ice block out of the way, he scooted forward to see where he had come out.

Two large rocks leaned against each other above the opening. Scar squeezed through and came to stand on the side of the mountain. He stretched a moment after having been in such a confining space, then returned to the opening.

“I’m through!” he hollered.

“On my way,” came Potbelly’s response.

While waiting for Potbelly to arrive, Scar scanned the mountainside for signs of Garrock or his men only to not find them. Then he eyed the sun and gauged its position versus the time of day.

Grunting and curses announced Potbelly’s arrival. Scar went and helped his friend from the hole.

“It looks like we are on the western slope.”

Potbelly eyed him then glanced to the terraces looming far above them. “So the entrance is up there and around to the northern face?”

Scar nodded. “And if the gods would favor us, Garrock too.”

“Have they ever?”

“No,” he replied with a chuckle. “But then, we never had much use for them either.” Slapping Potbelly lightly on the back, he said, “Come, today’s a good day for vengeance.”

Shouldering their packs, they headed up the mountain. Despite the snow covering the ground, the climb at first wasn’t bad. They made steady time until the slope’s slant increased in severity and the going proved more challenging. Not long after that, they came to a channel worn through the snow by many feet.

“Garrock,” Scar said.

“Looks like it.”

Scar examined the many footprints. “I make at least ten separate tracks, though since they walked in a line the count is probably more.” All headed up the mountain. None had come back down.

“So, they are still up there.”

“Unless they descended another way,” Scar replied.

“We’ll find out when we get there.”

They kept to the path forged by Garrock and his men. Having it already fairly trampled allowed them to move quickly. The path angled up as well as followed the mountainside around to the northern face.

The sun arched in the sky as they made their way up the mountain. Coming onto the northern face, they saw where Garrock’s trail angled to turn more sharply toward the higher elevations. It wound its way to and fro, bypassing the first ice terrace and continued on to the second. Beyond the second terrace it was difficult to determine if the trail continued or stopped. Either way, Garrock could not be seen.

With the increased incline, it took over an hour to reach the first ice terrace. It was majestic. A steaming pool wreathed by ice. The water would drip over the icy sides and freeze, which formed the incredible ice displays.

Potbelly’s aching body longed to be submerged in the warm water.

Garrock’s trail continued up to the next terrace some four hundred feet away.

“Are you doing alright?” Scar asked.

“Yeah,” Potbelly replied. “Let’s go get him.”

Up the side of the mountain they continued. The next ice terrace was even larger than the one they just passed. Its icicles hung in massive sheets and in some places extended so far they had grown to be walls of ice that extended to the mountainside.

When they finally reached them, Potbelly ran a hand along the surface, felt how thick and sturdy they were. “I bet this could kill someone if it fell on them.”

Scar paused and glanced back. “Think we can get Garrock next to one?”

Grinning, Potbelly replied, “We can but try.”

The trail continued up along the ice terrace. But when they came abreast of it, found where Garrock had entered the mountain.

A large cavern easily fifty feet tall and a little more than that wide loomed just beyond the ice terrace. Waters from the terrace coursed along the floor of the cave to disappear in its interior darkness.

Scar sighed in relief. “Finally.”

Potbelly took out the torch retrieved from where Scar had discarded it in the small passageway leading from the pit.

“Not yet,” Scar said. “It might alert them.”

“Okay,” Potbelly replied, though he kept it in hand as they entered the cave.

They kept to the sides as they proceeded. Not knowing where Garrock would be, they didn’t want to give away their position.

There was some light illuminating the interior of the cave; primarily coming from reflections and refractions from the terrace, the ice and snow surrounding it. As they proceeded deeper, areas of diffused light came from the ceiling and walls, almost as if it had traveled along corridors of ice from the outside. It gave the cavern an ominous feel.

Wet footprints stood out on the stone floor of the cave. They followed them into a downward sloping tunnel. The amount of light decreased and it grew harder to see.

“Now?” Potbelly asked, holding up the torch.

Scar hesitated, weighing their options before shaking his head. “There is still light to see by,” he said. “Better poor vision than a bolt in the chest.”

“As you wish.”

They continued down the tunnel and the light grew fainter and fainter. When Scar tripped over an obstruction in the dark, he relented and gave Potbelly the go ahead to light the torch.

Sparks illuminated the tunnel briefly each time he struck flint to steel. In the second flash of light, Scar saw the obstruction on the floor that had caused him to stumble. In the third he made out that it was roughly a foot and a half in length. The fourth strike ignited the torch and the tunnel flooded with light.

“Gah!” Scar exclaimed, stumbling backwards.

The sudden illumination brought the obstruction into full light. Sitting in a pool of blood was part of a human arm. Beginning just above the wrist, it ended at the shoulder.

Scar drew his sword and quickly scanned the tunnel for what manner of beast may have done this.

“Snow beast?”

Scar shrugged. “Possibly. But where’s the rest of him?”

The tunnel floor, aside from copious amounts of blood, held no further human remains. A search farther along the tunnel revealed a red smear where something had been dragged deeper into the mountain.

They looked to each other. “Hope that was Garrock,” Scar said. The blood was fresh so whatever happened there had to have happened recently, a few hours at the most.

Farther down, they found a score of bolts littering the tunnel. Two were embedded in the wall. “They were attacked by something,” Scar said.

“Or some
things
,” added Potbelly.

They followed the tunnel another fifty feet where they came across two swords and a mace…more blood.

Something on the floor caught Scar’s eye. “What is that?” He went over to it and picked it up and found it to be a shirt, torn and bloody. It looked to have been ripped right off the one who wore it.

Potbelly came close and examined it. “Garrock’s man.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he replied, nodding. “I remember that one of his crossbowmen wore it.”

“Crossbowman?” Scar asked.

Potbelly nodded.

“Good. That evens the odds a little.”

Though Potbelly agreed the odds were improving in respect to Garrock and his men, what bothered him was what was doing the improving. And would it come after them next?

They continued on.

A second tunnel branched to their left; it angled more downward. The smear of blood from dragged bodies continued down the main tunnel. They followed the blood trail.

Parts of men began to be seen; a hand here, bit of scalp there. Whatever did this had torn them apart.

“I don’t like this,” Potbelly warned. “No amount of treasure is worth getting killed for.”

Scar weighed the possibility of treasure versus the odds of encountering what had done this.
A dozen armed men torn apart…him and Potbelly both suffering inhibiting wounds…
he didn’t like what he came up with and it almost killed him to admit it. “You may be right. Treasure be damned.”