The Improbable Adventures of Scar and Potbelly: Ice Terraces of Crystal Crag (9 page)

When the moonlit, sparkling waters of a mountain tarn appeared through the trees, they decided they had gone far enough. Steep banks dropped fifteen feet or more to the waters below. A somewhat level area overlooking the water proved to be a suitable place to camp.

Scar worked on starting a fire while Potbelly scrounged for small sticks and dried moss for kindling. Once the fire had caught and the smaller sticks burned, they gathered stones for a fire ring and a supply of the larger, fallen branches.

“The fire’s a risk, no doubt,” Potbelly said.

“True, but we are far from the road and I doubt if they would bother coming up here.” Placing more fuel on the fire, he watched sparks burst and rise into the air. “If I were them, I would lay in wait for us at Cara.”

Potbelly nodded. “I wonder if Tork told them of Matlin?”

“Doubt that,” Scar replied. “Matlin’s a friend of his from what I gathered and he wouldn’t want to land Garrock on his friend’s doorstep.”

Chuckling, Potbelly agreed.

“In the morning, we’ll see if we can’t find a way east through these mountains.”

“And there is no reason we actually need to set foot in Cara,” Potbelly said. “All we need to do is find the old wagon trail heading up into the mountains. If we circumvent the town, we should come across it.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Let Garrock cool his heels in Cara while we go get the map and the treasure.”

Laughing, they watched the fire, made plans of what to do with the treasure once they found it, and waited for the sun to rise.

When the sun climbed from its nightly rest, they took stock of the situation.  Of the trail they followed to get there, or thought they had followed, there was no sign. The rolling hills they had originally fled into had turned into mountains with steep canyons and flowing valleys.

The Sorba Sea was nowhere in sight, mountains they had passed through now blocked it from view. They had a rough estimate where Cara lay and knew it would be a long couple of days slugging it out through the back country.

To the east, the land dropped dramatically into a valley, beyond which rose another ridge just as steep and foreboding as the one they were about to work their way down. Trees lined the slope like soldiers on a parade ground; tall, straight, and packed together.

A large rock protruded from the top of the ridge and they stood upon it as they sought the best way to reach the valley floor.

“Not going to be easy,” Potbelly observed.

Scar shook his head. “No, it won’t. But nothing for it. If we’re going to do it, it would be best if we got started.”

They headed out and forged through tree limbs and closely packed undergrowth. Not long after beginning their descent, they encountered a game trail which provided them with slightly easier passage. It serpentined its way for an hour until reaching the banks of a stream. There it ran alongside it all the way to the bottom.

The stream joined a river that carved its way through the bottom of the valley. They forded the water where the river widened after a bend and left the game trail behind. Once again, they slugged it out amongst the branches and bushes.

Midway up the eastern slope they encountered a small clearing. A wisp of smoke rose from ashes within a fire ring.

Potbelly dismounted and knelt by the pit. He used a stick to stir the ashes revealing a collection of small embers.

From horseback, Scar surveyed the campsite. He saw a single area about the size of a bedroll where the grass had been compacted. “Looks like it was one man.”

Stirring the ashes a moment longer, Potbelly said, “Left near sunrise best I can figure.”

“I would agree.”

A quick check revealed a set of footprints followed by those of either a horse or mule had departed in a general, northerly direction. Except for the rustling of the breeze through leaves, the forest was quiet and still.

Then Potbelly caught a whiff of a rancid odor; it drew him to a cluster of bushes some distance from the clearing. A swarm of flies buzzed around a pile of recently skinned carcasses.

“Trapper.”

“He’d know these mountains, then,” Scar observed.

“Yes,” agreed Potbelly, “but do we have time to find him? Even if we did there is no way to know if he’d be willing to act as a guide.”

Scar nodded. “For all we know, he might be a friend of Garrock’s.”

“Let’s keep on as we have and if we run across him…”

“See if he’ll help us get to Cara,” Scar finished.

They left the clearing behind and continued up the eastern slope of the valley.

After a bit the forest thinned somewhat and the going was easier. Trees with thick trunks towered hundreds of feet in the air creating a canopy that blocked the sun almost entirely. The underbrush dwindled beneath the forest cover.

Shadows had grown long by the time they crested the ridge. At the summit the trees thinned a bit and they were able to get a good view of the other side.

“Damn,” groaned Scar.

The far side of the ridgeline descended gradually for a ways before coming to a drop off a hundred or more feet in height. Five streams flowed to the edge and over to cascade down to the valley below.

To the north the ridgeline meandered for miles before disappearing behind the trees. Heading south would prove no less easy as it looked like the terrain was little more than gorge and steep ridges.

“North or south?” questioned Potbelly.

“Let’s find a campsite and make that determination in the morning,” Scar said.

“Maybe taking the road and fighting our way through might have been better.”

Scar shook his head. “No time to second-guess our decisions. We’re here now and need to deal with what’s ahead of us.”

Potbelly dismounted and set about gathering wood while Scar secured the horses.

The following morning, Scar woke to find a stranger sitting against a nearby tree. Brown hair streaked heavily with gray said the man was in his later years. He had a broad brimmed hat that had seen better days and he wore homemade clothes of buckskin. The man bobbed his head in greeting.

“Morning.”

Scar sat up and nudged Potbelly into wakefulness.

“Uh, morning,” he replied.

“Name’s Adam.”

“Scar.” Gesturing to Potbelly, he said, “And this is my friend…”

“Potbelly,” Potbelly finished.

“Nice to make your acquaintance.”

Scar and Potbelly scrutinized Adam.

“Don’t encounter many strangers up in these parts.”

“We sort of got lost,” Scar said. “On our way to Cara.”

“Cara?” he asked, surprised. “Why you
are
a bit out of the way, aren’t you, friends?”

“Took a wrong turn and before we knew it, were high in the mountains.”

Adam chuckled. “Yes, that can happen very easily in these parts.”

“What are you doing here?” Potbelly asked.

“You mean sitting uninvited at your campsite?”

Potbelly nodded.

“Thought perhaps you had items to trade,” he explained. Then he pointed over to a fallen tree where his pack mule stood. “I have a wide variety of goods needful when in the hill country.”

“No,” replied Scar. “We have everything we need.”

“What we could use is a way to get to Cara without having to backtrack the way we came,” Potbelly explained.

“Do you know these mountains?” Scar asked.

Adam nodded. “Lived better part of thirty years trapping up here. There is a way to Cara,” he said. “A bit dangerous, but you could make it I’d wager.”

Scar glanced to Potbelly who nodded. “Could you show us the way?”

“Still have traps to clear,” he explained.

“We’d make it worth your while,” offered Potbelly.

“Yes,” agreed Scar. “We really need to get there as quickly as possible.”

He considered their request for a moment, then nodded. “I suppose I could take you to Moonshine Rock. From there you can easily find your way.”

Potbelly said, “We’d be most grateful.”

“The traps yet to empty would most likely have yielded two golds worth of pelts.”

Scar dug into his pouch and produced two golds. He handed them to Adam.

“That easy, huh?”

Shrugging, Scar said, “If you can get us through these mountains in short order, two golds would be more than worth it.”

Adam held the two golds in his hand and stared at them a moment. “Guess I should have asked for more. But,” he slipped them into his pocket, “a deal is a deal. Never let it be said that Adam Bearfriend went back on his word.”

Scar and Potbelly busied themselves preparing for departure.

“Seems nice enough,” Potbelly said to Scar in a quiet aside.

“Appearances can be deceiving,” warned Scar.

“True.”

“Don’t let down your guard.”

“I won’t,” Potbelly assured him.

Once packs were secured and they were mounted, Adam took his mule by the reins and headed off to the south.

“How far is it to Moonshine Rock?” Scar asked.

“Two days,” Adam replied. “First we make our way to Rackun’s Switchback; that will take us to the base of the falls. We’ll camp there tonight. Then the following morning we cross yonder valley to Moonshine Rock.”

“Sounds easy enough.”

Adam turned to Scar. “Never assume these mountains are easy, son. Else they may chew the life right out of you.”

“I won’t,” Scar said then turned to Potbelly and rolled his eyes once Adam turned back to the fore.

Rackun’s Switchback was an incredibly steep trail with many a sharp turns from the top of the drop off down to the valley floor. It was narrow and Adam had them dismount to traverse it. Mist from waterfalls on either side made traction treacherous.

“Are you serious?” Scar asked as he stood at the top. One misstep and they would plummet to their deaths sure as anything.

“Quite,” Adam replied. “Watch your step, keep a tight hold on your steeds, and I’ll meet you at the bottom.”

“You’ve taken this route before?” Potbelly asked.

“A couple times,” he replied. “Just follow me and leave some room between each other…” he paused and then said, “just in case.”

“Great,” groaned Scar.

Adam stepped to the beginning of the Switchback and started down. His mule followed obediently behind.

Scar came next and his horse balked.

“Put a hood on it,” Adam suggested.

“We don’t have any.”

“Oh, well I just happen to have a couple.”

Adam returned to the top and after rummaging around in his packs, produced two hoods. “That will be four coppers.”

“Can’t we just borrow them?” Potbelly asked.

“I never sell used goods.”

Scar looked ready to argue but Potbelly handed over the requested coins. He gave one to Scar. Once their horses were hooded, they walked onto the Switchback without hesitation.

“Be careful,” Adam advised. “The footing is slippery at best.”

“Then why did we come this way,” grumbled Scar.

Not three steps from the top his foot slipped out from under him and he barely caught himself in time.

Potbelly brought up the rear. He watched his footing closely and made sure each placement was secure before trusting his entire weight on it.

They would progress fifty feet then reach where the trail doubled back. The turns were the most stressful as the horses were almost too large to adequately make them. Rocks broke loose from the edge, footings would slip and if not for their hold on the reins, they would have plummeted to their deaths at least a half dozen times.

It took nearly two hours for them to reach the bottom; Adam was there in half that time. He had a fire ready and a pot of beans simmering for when they arrived.

“Now that wasn’t so bad?” he asked.

“Oh, no,” replied Scar. “Nearly fell to my death every other foot. But aside from that it went well.”

Adam laughed. “That’s the spirit.” When Scar flashed him a look screaming his patience was at an end, the trapper said, “Tomorrow will be a whole lot easier.”

“How far is it?” Potbelly asked.

Adam glanced east and pointed to a rocky protrusion at the ridge on the far side of the valley. “Don’t know if you can see it, but that’s Moonshine Rock.”

“It’s quite a ways.”

“Yes,” agreed Adam. “But if we get an early start we will be there by nightfall.”

“Are you sure?” Scar asked.

He gestured to his mule. “Old Johnny Boy and I have done it more times than I care to count.”

“The day is still young,” Scar said, “why don’t we make our way there now? Wouldn’t we make it just after nightfall?”