The Improbable Adventures of Scar and Potbelly: Ice Terraces of Crystal Crag (6 page)

They emerged behind a shop selling housewares and cutlery. Moving around the building, they came to a well. It took four buckets and some vigorous scrubbing to get the worst of the creature’s nastiness off him. He still reeked, but it wasn’t nearly so noticeable.

The gate stood less than a hundred feet away. The shop was at the edge of town; beyond it laid an open area all the way to the gate. But instead of the lone guard Old Man had said would be there, there were another five armed men keeping Gareth, if Gareth it was, company.

“Should’ve known not to trust that old man,” Scar groused.

“He may not have known they were there.”

Scar wasn’t swayed in his irritation at the old man.

“We’ll give it a few minutes and see if they leave,” Potbelly suggested.

One minute ticked by, then two and the five men remained at the gate. They gave no sign of departing anytime soon.

“We’re going to have to find another way.”

Potbelly nodded. “Could try the river.”

“That will take us back through town,” argued Scar. The look in his eye said he was ready to battle his way out and damn the consequences.

“Not all of it.”

“No, but enough that it would be unlikely for us to make it without detection.” Scar stared at the six men at the gate; his hands rested on the pommels of his swords.

Potbelly placed a hand on Scar’s shoulder. “Come on,” he said, “we can make it to the river.”

Scar wavered between throwing caution to the wind and following Potbelly’s plan.

Seeing his chance to avert conflict diminishing, Potbelly said, “Come on,” and headed for the river. Not giving Scar a chance to stop him, he didn’t look back until he had passed two houses and rounded the corner into an alley. He was quite relieved to find that Scar had followed him.

“We’ll make it.”

Scar nodded and together, they raced down the alley and at the end, paused to glance down one of Castin’s main thoroughfares. Men and women were about. Three pairs of men moved upon the street while not far from where Scar and Potbelly stood, another pair conversed with three women beneath an oil lamp hanging from a pole.

Across the street opened another alley.

“We have to cross,”’ Potbelly said.

Scar watched the pairs moving on the street, two were headed in their direction, neither were close. “If we go we better do it quick.”

“Okay. You cross first, then I will follow after.”

Without replying, Scar stepped out of the alley and headed straight for the other alley across the way. He strode purposely yet not so quick as to draw attention.

Potbelly watched the nearest pair of armed men, and though one glanced at Scar, didn’t give him a second look. Once Scar made it across without drawing attention, Potbelly stepped out. This time he gave his step a little bit of a stagger to mimic the onset of drunkenness.

He drew more attention as he crossed but was quickly dismissed. In the alley with Scar, he dropped the stagger and the pair raced to the far end. There they found the cross street nearly empty. Crossing together, they kept to the shadows until they reached the far side.

Another alley and then they were forced to follow one of the smaller avenues for a bit to reach a cross street that ran to the river.

Street by street they successfully navigated until the river finally came into view. There was a dock of sorts for small, personal craft jutting out on the water. It lay a hundred feet from where the water flowed through the gate.

Four men stood by the dock, by the looks of them they were naught but locals. The area by the river gate was too far away to determine if anyone was present.

“Let’s make this fast,” Scar said then made to angle so as to avoid the dock area and head for the river gate.

The gate at the river was twofold. One was in the river itself barring travel into the city on the water, the other was a small doorway on this bank that stood closed and most likely locked. An oil lamp bathed the area in light.

At first glance it looked as if the area was deserted, but when they drew closer, saw the guard standing out of the light near the water. It appeared as if he spoke with someone.

“He’ll have the key,” Scar said as he quietly drew his long sword.

Potbelly laid a hand on his arm. “It may not come to that.”

“We don’t have time to do this nice,” Scar argued. “We need to get to Tork, get the map, and get back to the ship before it departs in a couple hours.”

“Give me one minute.”

Pausing only a heartbeat, Scar nodded. “One minute.”

“Okay. You stay here.”

Potbelly kept to the shadows as he made his way to the guard.

“…by Midsummer’s Eve all will be ready,” the guard said quietly.

“But, my father…” the girl trailed off sadly.

“Curse your father,” he spat. “We love each other and by then I will have enough to take you out of this miserable town.”

Rather than knock unconscious, tie, gag and leave for the morning watch to find as he had originally planned, Potbelly decided to switch gears.

“Excuse me,” he said as he approached.

The guard stepped before the girl and rested his hand on his sword hilt. “State your name and business, friend.”

“My name is of no consequence,” Potbelly replied. “As for business, my friend and I need to pass through yonder gate.”

“No one may pass until dawn,” the guard said.

Digging into his pocket, he pulled out one of the gems taken from the treasure room. He held it up so it glittered in the moonlight. “Would this change your mind?” When the guard looked to be ready to say no, Potbelly added a ruby. “Now?”

“Why do you need to leave?” he asked. His eyes never once left the gems.

“Let us just say that remaining in Castin would prove unhealthy for us.”

The guard’s gaze left the gems and fixed on Potbelly.

“You’re the two they’re looking for, aren’t you?”

The woman gasped when Scar emerged from the darkness with both swords drawn.

“Are you going to help us?” he asked. “Or do we need to insist?”

Licking his lips, he glanced to the woman, then to Potbelly, and then back to Scar. “I…,” he began then paused as he turned to the woman. “We could leave tonight with those gems.”

The woman asked Potbelly, “Are you truly bad men?”

Potbelly shook his head. “No. We only wish to meet a friend and leave.”

“Garrock is after them.”

She turned to the guard and gasped.

“If we help you he’ll kill us,” the guard said.

“Not if you leave tonight.”

Potbelly held out the gems.

The guard hesitated only a moment longer, then reached out and took them.

“Come,” he said as he removed a ring of keys and walked toward the gate.

“Do you know where Tork lives?” Potbelly asked.

Scar shot him a look of annoyance at telling the guard their destination.

Reaching the gate, the guard unlocked it and swung it open. He pointed off to the right. “Not far. Look for the dragon.”

“Dragon?”

The guard nodded. “Now hurry. Melinda and I have to leave.”

Potbelly shook the guard’s hand. “Best of luck to you.”

“Thank you. Now go!” He then took Melinda’s hand they hurried off together into the dark.

“You’re a fool.”

Potbelly shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“You gave away a fortune for nothing.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t have it when I woke this morning and I doubt if I’ll miss it when I wake tomorrow.  Besides, we still have plenty.”

Scar merely rolled his eyes.

They headed out in the direction indicated by the guard. A path soon developed and they followed it among the trees.

“A dragon,” murmured Potbelly. “Hope it’s not a real one.”

“Seriously doubt that,” Scar replied.

The path serpentined among the growth of ash that filled the hills north of Castin until they reached a fork. They could either go straight on the path rising up into the hills, or take the smaller, less-trod one that angled into deep undergrowth. Scar led them into the deep undergrowth. Five steps later it opened onto a clearing hidden amongst the trees. Set a dozen paces within the clearing, sitting upon a pedestal was a granite dragon statue.

Beyond the statue sat a small hut that looked barely large enough even to accommodate one old man. Smoke rose from the chimney in the back.

“This must be it,” Potbelly said as they approached the statue.

“It better be,” Scar replied. He ran a hand along the dragon’s jawline, admiring the craftsmanship. “Dawn will be here soon.” And at dawn their ship sailed with the tide; with or without them.

“You won’t live to see the dawn,” a voice behind them said.

Spinning about, they drew their weapons.

Eleven men stood just within the clearing. Three they recognized from the battle with Verin and the townsfolk. Standing at the fore was a tall, dark haired man dressed in chainmail with a double-headed axe slung across his back. The way he stood and the set of his eyes said he was the leader.

“Garrock?”

The leader smiled an evil grin and nodded. “Lay down your arms and we’ll make it quick. Make a fuss and it’ll be long and painful.”

Scar laughed. “I don’t see why we should,” he said. “You best be returning to your mamas before my friend and I send you to the next life.”

“Get them,” Garrock said.

His men stepped forward.

A single word spoken in a voice far louder than any human throat could manage split the night. From the ground between them, fire erupted in a wall twenty feet long.

“Come inside, gentlemen.”

Staggering back from the heat, Scar turned to find Tork standing in his doorway. He waved them forward.

“Tork!” Garrock yelled. “You burnt one of my men.”

“Step upon my land again without my leave and you will receive worse.”

Scar and Potbelly walked quickly to the old man. He motioned for them to enter. “Please have a seat. There is tea and biscuits on the table if you should like some.”

“Thank you,” Potbelly said.

“That’s quite a display you put on there,” Scar admired.

Tork shrugged. “One must do what one must.”

He spoke another word and the wall of flames came down. Beyond, they saw two of Garrock’s men tending to a third.

“I want them,” Garrock demanded.

“We have business,” Tork replied. “You can have them when I am through with them.”

“That’s not good enough, old man.”

One of his men leveled a crossbow at the old mage.

“Are you sure you wish to do that?” When the man failed to lower the crossbow, Tork said, “Then let me aim my weapon at you.”

He raised his staff and spoke a series of words in rapid fire. The last word hung in the air a moment longer than it should have.

A heartbeat passed, then a second as everyone waited to see what would happen. Then came the sound of grinding stone as the head of the dragon turned toward the crossbowman. Stone wings flexed and the creature arched up and roared.

The crossbowman fired at the dragon but the bolt ricocheted harmlessly off its stony torso. He threw down his weapon and fled.

Flapping its wings, the stone dragon leapt into the air. It flew once around the clearing in front of the hut, then shot for the crossbowman.

“Call it off!” demanded Garrock.

“Once called, it cannot be recalled until it has tasted blood.”

The crossbowman fled; Garrock’s other men dove out of the way as the dragon swept by.

Claws stretched outward; a scream cut through the night followed by tearing flesh, then the crossbowman fell to the ground, dead.

The dragon stood with one claw on the dead man, arched its neck back and roared. Then it leapt into the air.

Garrock’s men scattered as it circled the clearing one more time before returning to the pedestal. In a moment, it had assumed its original position and become a statue once again.

Tork’s single eye met Garrock’s hate-filled gaze, then turned his back on him and entered his hut.

“You have some skills,” Potbelly commented.

“So I do.”

“Where’s the map,” Scar asked.

“Straight to business, eh?” Tork said. “Admire that in a man.” He gestured to the tea and biscuits. “Please, feel free to have all you want. I shall be back momentarily.” With that, he headed for the door leading in the far wall.

Once the old man had passed through, Potbelly asked Scar, “Doesn’t this place seem larger than it did from the outside?”