Steel and Stone (34 page)

“I, too, had a dream,” the Ice Folk leader whispered, “many weeks ago, before the evil one destroyed the first village. The Revered Cleric said the dream, sent to warn us, came from the great polar bear. Since then the evil one has taken many of The People.” His brown eyes studied Tanis for a moment, the pressure of his hand increasing on Tanis’s arm. “You cry real tears for your friend. I am convinced.”

Brittain barked orders, and his followers hurried forward to raise Xanthar’s body. Leaving the mourning owls on the icy plain, Tanis and Caven accompanied the Ice Folk into the village.

Women and men scurried right and left to accommodate
the newcomers. Brittain’s wife, Feledaal, gave orders to a crew of women and children who were concocting a vat of fish chowder.

“Prepare for the funeral of a great warrior,” Brittain commanded a man in a robe decorated with beads of pebbles and bird bones. “Our Revered Cleric,” Brittain indicated respectfully after the man had bowed and hurried off, his beads clicking. “He interprets our dreams and fashions our frostreavers, among other things. Although I am master of our glacier-bound life and the Revered Cleric pretends to follow my dictates, he controls all things spiritual. Thus I sometimes suspect our Revered Cleric has more real power than I do.”

Tanis and Caven were speedily equipped with clothing for a glacial climate—fur parkas, sealskin boots lined with fur and sealed with walrus oil, and thick mittens. The travelers also received a strip of leather with slits cut in the front, and Brittain showed Tanis how to position the slits before his eyes and tie the ends behind his head. “To guard against snow blindness during the brightest part of the days,” Brittain explained.

Brittain told Tanis he would take him on a tour of the village. Caven, on the other hand, surprised them both by gathering some of the village’s warriors and heading back into the area south of the village. “I will show these Ansalon-bound rustics how trained soldiers can fly,” he explained stoutly, tying his leather strip around his head.

Brittain pointed toward the largest construction in the village, a dwelling of packed snow and ice topped with white fur and snow. “We gather there for discussions that affect the future of The People,” Brittain said. He motioned to two children who leaned against
the side of the building and watched the activity with solemn eyes. The rest of the Ice Folk children wore their hair long, but these youngsters’ brown locks had been shorn just below the ears. Their face bore smudges of gray and white ash. Neither child smiled. At Brittain’s gesture, they came swiftly over, their gazes never leaving the half-elf.

“You must forgive their stares. We have heard of the pointed-eared people to the north, but we have not seen them in this village. Terve, Haudo,” he said, his voice gentle, “this is Tanis Half-Elven. He has come to help us fight the evil one.” The boy nodded; the girl said nothing. Brittain dismissed them, sending them to help with the food preparation.

“They are in mourning, as you can tell,” he explained as soon as the children were out of earshot. “We received from them our first word of the evil one’s rapacity. Their parents were killed, and the rest of their village, too.”

Tanis turned back toward the children, but they had vanished into a hut. “What do you know of the size and nature of the Valdane’s forces?” he asked. Then, at Brittain’s quizzical expression, he explained that the Valdane was the name by which he knew the “evil one.”

Brittain stood back to make room for two women who struggled past with a seal carcass. “For the evening’s chowder,” Brittain said. Then he returned to Tanis’s question. “We hear reports and estimates from members of The People who have escaped when their villages were attacked, or who have fled the enemy camps and made their way back to us. Thanoi guards distract easily, apparently.” He sketched in the latest intelligence of the size and makeup of the Valdane’s troops, and where they had established their main
camp. “There had been rumors, of course, that someone of great power had come to the glacier, but the destruction of Haudo and Terve’s village was the first proof we had that the power was of evil intent. Since then, reports of fresh atrocities have arrived nearly every day.” Brittain turned aside and seemed to be struggling with great emotion. When he turned back, his face was composed but pale. “You will forgive me. Terve and Haudo’s mother was my sister.”

Brittain forced a dispassionate note into his delivery. “We have heard that the evil one lives under the ice and that the entrance to his dwelling is nearly impossible to spot. But our spies have located it, and they can pinpoint it on a map. Even better, they can lead us there. Look! One of them is practicing owl flight with your friend!”

As he spoke, four owls whooshed overhead, barely missing the tops of the Ice Folk dwellings. Four parka-clad men clenched the birds by the necks, shouting in a strange tongue. Caven, on Splotch, yelled directions from the rear. The sight brought a faint grin to the Ice Folk leader’s face. “They cry out in the tongue of our fathers for the protection of the polar bear,” he explained. Then he grew solemn again.

“We have heard sickening rumors of this evil one, and they grow worse with each day,” Brittain said, seating himself upon an ice bench next to a dwelling. He indicated the empty space next to him, and Tanis sat, too.

“Rumors?” the half-elf prompted.

Brittain nodded. “Of deadly ice that holds its victims until they die—or are released magically. Our Revered Cleric has an ointment that he believes will offset the ice, but he admits that he has not had the opportunity to test it.”

Tanis stored the information away, urging the leader to continue.

“We know that the evil … that this Valdane has a powerful mage who sometimes oversees the troops. We know the mage appears old and frail, and our Revered Cleric has posited that the mage’s strength wears thin from the oppression of this Valdane. That gives us cause for hope. But the latest rumors have been the most troubling.”

“And they are?”

“That the Valdane has found a new commander who has great practical skills and has led enemy troops, within the last days, into a deadly assault against a village of The People.”

“What do you know of this new commander?” Tanis pressed.

“Only that it is a woman.”

Tanis felt his face grow pale, but he said nothing as Caven and his Ice Folk students returned boisterously from their practice flights. Brittain ushered them all into the large central dwelling for supper—and a planning session.

Chapter 19
The Attack

T
ANIS KNELT IN THE
I
CE
F
OLK VILLAGE, WAITING FOR
the Revered Cleric to begin Xanthar’s funeral. Behind the half-elf were arrayed several hundred owls.

At this time of the year, the Icereach experienced its own version of spring, but the signs were sparse. The bitter temperatures of winter eased slightly. The windswept ranges saw increasing hours of daylight, and dusk lingered long into the night. Although the clatter of the Ice Folk had awakened Caven and Tanis in the middle of the night, it was still light enough to see without the aid of walrus-oil lamps.

Turning a deaf ear to Caven’s grumbling, Tanis had slipped on his travel-worn leathers and covered them
with a long parka of black sealskin. The half-elf had split the lower seams of the garment with his dagger, like Caven and the Ice Folk warriors, to be able to wear the warm coats comfortably while perched on the backs of the giant owls. The villagers had spent hours fashioning sealskin into harnesses like the one that Tanis now tucked into his pack, but theirs had a certain modification—a loop that would carry the Ice Folk warriors’ frostreavers. Slipping the mask to prevent snow blindness into a pocket and putting on the lined boots that Brittain had lent him, Tanis headed for the doorway, bending over at the waist to step beneath the jamb. The Ice Folk kept their entrances as small as possible to conserve heat. Caven followed close on the half-elf’s heels.

The sight of a mound of peat had greeted their eyes. The Ice Folk had erected a low bier of ice blocks, with a canvas sling across the top that held Xanthar’s shrouded body. Peat, a valuable commodity among the Ice Folk, was piled at the base.

It had taken some negotiating, in the form of gestures and much acting out, to persuade the giant owls to allow the Ice Folk to cremate Xanthar’s body. Beyond the trilling and crying that had immediately attended Xanthar’s collapse the previous day, the giant owls practiced no formal rites after the death of a comrade. The concept of “funeral” seemed to confound Golden Wing and Splotch. Tanis had attempted to explain that consigning a body to smoke and fire was a great honor among the Ice Folk and that the ceremony, these villagers believed, would release Xanthar’s essence to continue to soar across the sky in death as the great bird had in life.

Ultimately the owls seemed unpersuaded but resigned. Tanis was left suspecting that the giant owls
believed these humans embraced the astounding view that poor Xanthar was merely frozen and thus would rise from the bier once he was warmed. Their acquiescence was more bemused than sorrowful.

Now the giant owls, no doubt driven as much by curiosity about the Ice Folk as by respect for Xanthar, stood in rows at the rear of the villagers. Silence fell over the crowd. The warriors, attired in sealskin parkas, were kneeling at the fore; others stood behind them, and the owls towered in the back. Tanis was jammed between Caven and Brittain. He sniffed the stench of the special unguent that the Revered Cleric had insisted he and Caven anoint themselves with to protect them from the clinging ice of the Valdane’s warren.

The Revered Cleric stood and spoke to the crowd. Tanis realized that while the ordinary people of the village spoke Common, it was a courtesy to the newcomers and not their native language. He could follow little of the cleric’s untranslated speech this morning, and he soon gave himself up to his own thoughts—first to musing about Xanthar, and then to wondering whether Kitiara had indeed allied herself with the Valdane.

He glanced over at Caven, his rival of the past few weeks. The Kernan’s features were heavy, and Tanis saw exhaustion and sadness written in his eyes. Caught by the half-elf’s stare, Caven turned toward him and nodded gravely. After a moment, Tanis inclined his own head, and then, feeling as though something had been settled between him and the Kernan, he turned back toward the Revered Cleric, who leaned toward the bier with a torch.

A sigh rose from the crowd as the flame touched and caught. The women and children began to sing in
a minor key, high-pitched, with a walrus-bone flute for accompaniment. Then the warriors joined in, baritones and basses adding depth to the lament. The owls suddenly stood at attention, raised their beaks, and trilled a softer version of the previous day’s mourning. All the while, the flames flickered stronger. Finally the canvas that wrapped Xanthar’s body began to smolder just as the ice blocks of the bier melted. Almost magically, the owl’s body sank into the roaring flames.

At that, the Ice Folk rose as one and filed silently from the central area of the village. The owls parted ranks to permit the humans’ passage, then followed.

Soon the warriors were mounted, spiraling into the sky around the column of smoke from Xanthar’s pyre, forming a line, and heading south. Two hundred owls flew without riders. Tanis watched from Golden Wing as the Ice Folk’s chief scout, mounted on a gray owl, eased into the lead, trailed by three other scouts. Soon the four were out of sight, roaming far ahead.

Caven and Splotch flew at the rear, winging from warrior to warrior, offering advice and encouragement to the neophyte fliers. Brittain, atop a gray and white owl he’d dubbed Windslayer, was positioned next to Tanis. The wind was too strong to permit conversation at anything less than a bellow, so the half-elf and the Ice Folk leader communicated mainly by pointing.

An hour later, the scouts hove into view, darting toward the main group. “They’re just over that rise!” Delged, the chief scout, shouted to Brittain and Tanis. “Behind a great wall of ice blocks.”