Child Of Storms (Volume 1) (61 page)

Meanwhile, Ailric cut down another of the berserkers with a well-placed thrust from his sword.

The little skirmish was over.  The scent of burning flesh filled Jorn’s nostrils, and he took in the scene of carnage. Ten dead wildmen lay scattered about the encampment.

“All in a morning’s work,” Jorn mumbled
.

Twenty-Six

The valley floor looked tiny.

The White Moors and the Nor Marshes began to blend together as the companions climbed higher with every labored step up inner ridge of the Great Barrier Mountains. Already they could see they were as high as the ridge to the east where they were spotted by the dragon a few days earlier, yet the Teeth of Kaas still loomed above. There was at least a thousand more feet to go.

Exhausted, they paused to catch their breath before resuming the torturous ascent. They continued up the mountainside, climbing and crawling over the steep rock face and making steady progress.

They’d left the moors at dawn and began their long climb, emerging from the tree-line sometime after midday. For hours they hiked, Jorn and Willock setting a brutally steady pace the entire time. By early afternoon they were as high above the valley floor as they’d ever been, but it looked as though they were little more than halfway to the Teeth. Even so, the two peaks looked close enough to reach out and touch. A narrow cleft a thousand feet deep split them in two, visible in the distance.

“There’s the pass,” Ironhelm said, pointing the opening out. “Aye, laddies, we’re closer than ever.”

Jorn led the way, the heavy pack of supplies on his back weighing him down. He did not tire, though, no matter how steep the slope or how endless the climb. It was invigorating to finally be so close to the Teeth, and he relished the experience of once-more being high above the valley floor. The chill in the air did not bother him, either. It felt like home.

What bothered him was the notion of these mountain ridges after the snows came. This was the south, at least, so they had at least a few weeks before the threat of an early snowstorm. Or so they hoped. A serious early storm could trap them on the other side of the pass until spring.

_____

After the berserkers had all been killed the day before, Elbannar came shuffling down the hillside grinning. He stood over the gigantic warrior with the battle axe, looking the carcass over and smiling.

             
“Very good, very good,” he said. “I suppose it is now time to honor my part of the bargain. Please, come along.”

             
Elbannar lived in a little dugout cottage a quarter-mile from the tower, a tiny place with a single door and one little window. It was surrounded by a small stable, a chicken coup, a little well, and a garden. It looked like the home of some pauper. Jorn suddenly wondered if the wizard could actually provide what he promised.

             
“You know, I haven’t seem him cast a single spell,” Jorn whispered to Ironhelm. “I wonder if he’s even a wizard. I swear, if this was all some fraud to get us to help him with his bandit problem I’ll throttle the old dog.”

             
“Ach,” Ironhelm snorted. “Not if I get to him first, laddie.”

             
Elbannar went into his house and emerged a few moments later with his arms loaded high with various bundles. He went back inside several times, returning each time with arms filled. He smiled widely, giving them everything they could have possibly needed for the trip ahead. Willock even replenished his quiver with a stock of high-quality arrows which the old man said he formerly used to shoot deer before his eyes started to go.

Elbannar produced logs of dried cheese and great chunks of salted pork. He even brought out sacks of potatoes, onions, turnips, and carrots, as well as two large skins of wine. He gave them rope and packets of herbs, as well. He handed over fur cloaks and blocks of salt, not to mention dried sausages. He even went so far as to produce a small metal bottle of olive oil all the way from Vandoria, much to the gnome’s delight.

              “You are…too generous, sir,” Flatfoot said, holding the bottle as though it were liquid gold.

“Aye, truly you’re a man of your word and more,” Ironhelm added.

They gathered up the supplies, expressing their gratitude repeatedly. Even Ronias smiled and thanked him for the wine. Flatfoot bought one of Elbannar’s extra pipes and a fat pouch of tobacco for a few gold coins after a bit of prolonged haggling. The price he wound up paying was dear, he knew, but did not particularly care given the circumstances.

_____

             
“The Teeth of Kaas,” Willock murmured, pointing his spyscope at the pass. “There are few outside the Cult who have stood so close in modern days.”

The great mountain pass loomed not more than a half mile above them, the six travelers well-hidden behind a line of huge boulders amid the vast barren landscape. A long expanse of glimmering ice covered the slopes around them.

              “I can make out nothing,” Willock said, lowering his spyscope and turning towards Jorn and the others. “It looks quiet. Perhaps we are still too far away to see anything. The pass could be unguarded.”

             
Jorn studied the sky.

“It’s still too light to risk passing through even if it were,” he said. “But I think we can still get a lot closer before dark.”

              They set out again, climbing over the rocks and making their way steadily towards the Teeth. Over the fields of rock and ice they silently made their way, growing so close to the Teeth that the towering presence of the mountains overawed them.

They kept inching closer, Jorn eager to get as close as possible to the pass before nightfall.  He wanted to scout it all out with plenty of time left in the night to still make the crossing before dawn, if it could be managed at all.

Jorn was about to pronounce them close enough to stop when he saw the vultures. Dozens of them were flying in circles overhead, right in the direction they were walking. As Jorn and the others approached, a cluster of the scavengers on the ground flew off and stopped a few hundred feet away. They perched atop some nearby boulders, watching the travelers from a safe distance. Jorn approached closer.

“Grang!” he exclaimed.

              On the slopes of the mountain lay the bodies of dozens of tribesmen and at least as many gruks. They were all strewn about in haphazard fashion, the bodies twisted into grotesque forms and many already half-eaten by the vultures. Arms of all sorts – swords, spears, clubs, and axes – lay scattered about. Many corpses still grasped weapons and others were impaled upon spears or swords. Severed limbs and even a gruk head lay strewn about. The entire spectacle looked like some kind of disjointed nightmare in all its horrible intensity, dense clouds of flies buzzing about the whole stinking scene.

             
“The wildmen and the gruks,” Ailric said. “They battle one another!”

             
“Tha’s not uncommon, laddie,” Ironhelm explained. “They almost always fight amongst themselves, whenever someone tries to merge them into one army. Aye, tis true. Some years ago a dark wizard tried to invade Thunderforge with such a force. He thought he had an invincible host but it was not long before his berserker mercenaries and his gruk mercenaries were at each other’s throats. Aye, we cut whatever was left of ‘em to shreds.”

             
“Berserker chieftains don’t like to take orders from gruks,” Jorn said. “Or from anyone, for that matter. Only someone like Amundágor himself could hold such an alliance together for very long.”

             
Willock bent down, studying the scene carefully.

“The battle was not more than a day ago,” he concluded.

              Ironhelm looked around uneasily.

“Ach. I don’t like being out in the open like this,” he grumbled. “Not during the daylight, laddies. Let’s find a place to hide.”

              They found a spot surround by a pair of large boulders nearby and took cover on the far side of them. They rested, watching the last of the afternoon slip away. It grew colder as the sun dipped below the Teeth, briefly filling the gap in between with a brilliant orange light before fading to a dull gray as night came on quickly in the mountains.

             
“We’ll wait a bit longer,” Ironhelm said as they consumed a cold dinner of sausages and dry, salty cheese. “Aye, then we should scout the pass.”

             
“The real question is sneaking through,” Willock said. “If the pass is guarded, I don’t know how we could manage it.”

             
“I can get us through,” Ronias suddenly spoke up. “But it will not be easy. The magical invocations involved are powerful.”

             
“Tell us what you’ve in mind,” Jorn said.

             
“It is simple, really,” Ronias said. “I can make us all invisible. It will be as though we are not even there insofar as any observer is concerned. We can pass by unnoticed.”

             
“Go on,” Jorn said. “How will it work?”

             
“The spell will create a sphere of invisibility around my person ten feet in all directions,” Ronias said.

             
“Invisibility!” Ailric said. “I have seen such spells worked in magic shows at fairs. Always one can still see the faint outline of the wizard. An invisibility spell will do us no good.”

             
“During broad daylight or in a room well-lit with wizard’s lamp you see a faint outline,” Ronias said. “True enough. Dim moonslight is another matter, however. I assure you, we’ll be quite invisible to any observer. However, there are certain shortcomings to the spell which must be dealt with. It affects the eye, and none of the other senses. We can still be heard or smelled, for example. We must stick close together, and move slowly enough to not be heard. But I can make the spell last only about twenty minutes, at the most, so we must not be too slow either.”

             
“Grang’s teeth,” Jorn muttered. “That’s cutting it close.”

             
“That’s not all,” Ronias continued. “The slightest brush or nudge against anyone outside the sphere and the spell simply ceases to function. An invisibility spell is, in essence, an illusion. The illusion being, very simply, that the invisible person is not there. But it only functions in regard to sight. It does nothing to fool the other senses. A touch thus destroys the illusion. Brush against one gruk and we would all suddenly appear visible.”

             
“I’d hate to find myself surrounded in the middle of an enemy camp like that,” Flatfoot said. “Well, again, that is.”

             
“We still don’t really know what we’re facing,” Jorn said. “We need more information.”

             
“Wha’ are you suggesting, laddie?” Ironhelm said.

             
“Only what you already did,” Jorn said. “A scouting expedition. Hugh and I will creep a bit closer and see what there is to see.”

             
“I should be able to get a good look through the spyscope if we can get close enough,” Willock said. “The area around the pass is barren and open. There has to be a spot where I can get a look right through the pass.”

             
“Do it, then,” Ironhelm said, nodding. “Aye. Jorn, you go with him. And make sure you don’t get too close, laddies.”

             
“When did I start taking orders from you?” Jorn snorted, casting Ironhelm a hostile glance.

             
“Not this damned argument again!” Ironhelm said. “Take it as a request, if tha’ satisfies your damned inflated ego or take it as an order if you want something to whine about. Stay here, go with Hugh, or go shit on a rock.”

             
“Fine,” Jorn said, reaching for his bow. “I’ll go with Hugh, then, if that’ll get you to shut up for five minutes.”

             
Jorn and Willock left, creeping off into the darkness. Ironhelm took another bite of sausage, grumbling to himself in dwarven.

             
“He remains an obstinate one, doesn’t he?” Ailric said. “I don’t really know what Braemorgan sees in him. Lord of The Westmark, indeed! He’s no more lordly than a stable boy after drinking half a keg of cheap wine.”

             
Ironhelm glared at Ailric.

             
“Mind your tongue, Sir Ailric,” he growled.

             
“Why should I? He gives out orders to all of us, as though we were all his chambermaids. He’s a drunken, crude, lowborn exile.”

             
“He seems like a nice enough chap to me,” Flatfoot said. “Maybe a little rough around the edges, I grant you, but who isn’t at that age? Especially in Linlund, I dare say.”

             
“He’s been through a lot, Ailric,” Ironhelm said, ignoring the gnome. “Maybe too much. Tell me, laddie, do you know why it is tha’ you and him don’t get along?”

             
“What? No, why?”

             
“Because you two, you’re exactly the same,” Ironhelm said. “Aye, tis true.”

             
“What?” the knight said, sputtering. “That’s outrageous! How can you say that?”