The Warrior Returns - Anteros 04 (15 page)

At that moment Talay hurtled up, shouting his brother's name. Talay dived forward, grabbing his twin's wrist and stopping his fall.

But just as I was sighing relief the terror continued. Talu's weight overbalanced them both. And now the two of them were sliding to their doom. He called out to his brother to let go, to save himself, but Talay ignored him, clinging harder.

Then 1 was diving forward, grabbing Talay's legs. I clung to his ankles, digging in my toes to anchor us. They skittered across icy ground, and now I could feel myself being dragged along, as well. Then Donarius' strong hands gripped my calves, his heavy weight dug in behind me, and we stopped.

We clung together like that for a long time. At last our comrades caught up and reeled us in one by one; and soon we were all on our feet gaping at the hidden ravine we'd nearly fallen into, marveling that it had happened so fast Within a few blinks of an eye all three of us had nearly been killed.

After that incident we traveled with more care. It was a good thin
g the accident had occurred earl
y on. We soon saw that the whole region was laced with deep ravines, lying hidden between the rolling waves of snow.

The caravan track was some help. Naturally, it took the easiest route. But the weather had rearranged many things since the caravan we followed had passed. Sometimes the trail across a ravine would be barred by rocks that had collapsed from the sides. The most treacherous places tended to be those that looked the safest. The way ahead would appear smooth and safe. But lurking just beyond might be a deep ravine that had been bridged and hidden by a thin sheet of snow-dusted ice. Waiting for you to set your foot down so it could swallow you up.

We were in a hurry, so by necessity we sometimes had to trust luck and our growing experience, poking at suspicious places with our spears or swords and moving quickly along other areas with nothing but prayers to guard us.

I saw scores of avalanches, thankfully always from a distance.

I'd be looking at a mountain's smooth, serene face when suddenly I'd hear a rumble. Then snow would break away and spill down the mountainside like a thick white waterfall, foun-taining clouds of foamy dust as it plummeted to the ice below.

Visibility was strange under those swirling skies. Sometimes the trail would seem like a river of cloud shadows that moved so swiftly;along the ground that you'd lose your bearings and suddenly find yourself clutching madly at the air to regain your balance. Then the next moment you'd be moving under a blue patch of sky with light so dazzling that you'd become confused and stand there gaping like a dumb beast suddenly set upon a different world. Colors were brighter, objects clearer, but just in that swatch of light. All else would appear fuzzy and surreal.

Game was scarce. I could sense small animals about, little burrowing things. But nothing large. From time to time we came upon frozen streams, or ponds. At those places, I used a trick I'd learned from a nomad to fill our cookpots. It took no magic to perform the trick, unless you consider the wonders of nature sorcerous. But there was enough guesswork involved to edge it close to a wizard's art.

There are freshwater fish in the far south that are frozen rock-solid in the winter. When spring comes they thaw out and swim away as if nothing had happened. The nomad claimed the fish can remain frozen that way for many years without effect.

The trick was to guess where they'd be beneath all that ice, and then chip away the area and see if you'd guessed right. The nomad said you had to imagine you were a fish yourself and look at the breaks in the banks and the bends in the shallows to see where your favorite fishy hiding place would be. I'd guessed wrong the first few times—at the cost of much nasty labor and scowls from my mates, who were wondering if perhaps Lady Antero had lost her mind and her good magical sense.

But I worked on, spurred by memories of Gamelan, who had been a skilled fisherman himself and used similar methods to catch our finny cousins.

And when we finally struck through to the right place, my friends' scowls turned to broad smiles and loud compliments. A school of about two dozen were in the first find, and nearly that number in the second. Then my companions caught on to the trick and it became as certain a dish as if we'd cached supplies in advance of the journey.

Fuel was a constant problem, although we managed well enough picking up bits of brush and frozen grasses as we went. Growth was spotty and sometimes the day would end with nothing but ice over frozen rocks for our beds. A few times, when we were caught out like that, I drew on my magical resources to keep us warm. Other times we actually dug up the frozen animal droppings from the caravan and burned those for heat and cooking.

Water was also not easy to come by. There were no free-running streams, and we had to melt ice or snow to get it. This took time we could ill afford, and we were continually amazed that such big potsful of snow produced so little liquid.

The magical landscape was as severe as the natural. The dogs of sorcery unleashed by the storm had killed mercilessly. All creatures with any magical senses had been slaughtered or crushed, no matter how small or innocent. It may surprise you to know that some plants and even a few lowly worms have small abilities that allow them to tap into the ethers to sustain their life processes. For a wizard, the ethers are always abuzz with such presences, like insects in a garden. But as we trod that frozen land, the ethers seemed silent and lifeless, like a desert is at first glance. Only the spoors and faintly glowing husks of what had been left behind were evident.

Little by little, however, the etherous landscape began to change. I felt magical presences pop back into existence like flowers blooming in the mud after a brutal spring deluge. Like myself, some of my lowly cousins of the sorcerous world had gotten warning and had been quick enough to go to ground and remain there until danger passed.

Although the caravan track twisted and turned, it generally headed south toward a ragged range of snow-covered mountains.

We experienced a few squalls during the early days of the journey, but nothing like the storm that'd nearly killed us. Each time inclement weather arrived, I thought our enemy might be returning. We'd hunch down in a gully or dig holes in the snow to shelter us until the storm was over. Within hours the front would have passed over us without any real danger. I began to wonder if I'd been mistaken about the storm that had marooned us. Perhaps it really had been nothing more than an early winter blow.

"Yer've never been wrong afore, me lady," Carale said one day, when I'd confessed my doubts.

"Still," I said, "it makes better sense if this time I was. If there was an enemy behind the storm, where is our enemy now? Why hasn't he come back? Leaped on us with something new and even more deadly?"

Carale shrugged. "Maybe he thinks he's done the job, me lady," he said. "Yer say yerself tha' ev'n the smallest critter suffered. So maybe this wizard thinks he's done all that's necessary."

"The question is," I said, "what did he have in mind besides slaughter?"

"Yer certain he didn't know we were here, me lady?" Carale asked.

I considered a moment, then nodded. "I'm positive," I said. "That was a blind attack. There was no single target."

" 'N' yer thinks this ice pirate we was after has somethin' to do wi' it?" he said.

"I'm not so certain of that," I said. 'The enemy left no sign of identity I could decipher."

"But yer inclination is t' suspect the ice pirate?" Carale pressed.

"Yes," I said. I sounded more sure than I was. But that short flat answer leaped to my tongue without prodding.

"Then tha's probably who it probably is, then," Carale said. 'Take yer first guess and stick with her is my advice, me lady. Works as well as any thin' else."

"Yes, but why hasn't he returned?" I asked.

"Who knows, me lady?" Carale said. " 'N' does it really matter that much? We'll find out by and by."

"There's another thing," I said. "It's nearly winter. Yet the weather still seems mild for these parts." I gave a rueful laugh. "The cold and gloomy skies we see about us are fair weather down here. More like spring."

Carale grimaced. "Why look for trouble, me lady?" he asked. "Why dare the god
s with such questions? Winter'll
be on us soon enough. And if it's late this year, why, let's bless the gods for favoring us."

"Somehow," I grumbled, "I don't think it's got anything to do with favors, especially from the gods."

Carale's eyebrows shot up. "Yer think there's magic behind that as well, me lady?" he asked, worried.

I shook my head, exasperated. "I don't know. And that's what's troubling me the most I just plain don't know."

Carale clapped my shoulder. "Cheer up, me lady. We'll find out soon enough
...
one way or the other."

He poked at the fire with a twig, suddenly gloomy. "Still," he said, "I'd feel much better if I had a deck under me feet. I'd not be revealin' a deep personal secret to yer, me lady, if I told yuz I don't much like walkin'."

I smiled. It was the old argument between sailors and soldiers.

"I admit I've grown to love the sea," I said. "But I was a soldier too long to trust my fate to a small enclosed space."

"Aye, yer've said that afore, me lady," Carale said. "But yer'11 have to admit we can't walk home."

"No," I said, "that's true. But think what would have happened if we'd have remained on the
Tern
instead of being on land. We'd have been dead along with the others. No ship could have survived that storm."

Carale pursed his lips, considering. Then he said, "Tha' may be true. But we'll never know, will we, me lady? I've always trusted in me seaman's skills, and they've never failed me yet."

He rubbed one of his feet, wincing when he hit a sore spot. 'The gods had a most evil sense of humor when they gave us these, me lady," he said. "Clubby, ugly things. Nothin' so ugly as a foot, if yer thinks on it. 'N' yer toes are so tender, like twigs. Yer can break 'em. Yer can freeze 'em. Yer can plain wear 'em out.

"If a deck timber goes bad, yer can just patch it up with a piece of good wood. Can't do that with toes."

"No, you can't," I agreed. "But you can put your shoes on and run like the hells," I said.

Carale nodded. "Yer right, me lady," he said. "But yer can't run very far. The hells catch up to yuz quick enough when yer afoot."

several weeks out
we came upon a frozen oasis.

There was nothing to mark it at first. A storm seemed to be brewing beyond the horizon, and the sky was an eerie swirl of thick gray and black clouds, making visibility difficult. All color had been reduced to bleak whites and grays and blacks, making us feel like insects crawling across a page of ink-blotched parchment. We'd been marching for hours and were looking for a place to rest our weary bones.

We came upon a valley sheltered by broad-shouldered hills of volcanic rock. The caravan track led through a parting between two of those hills, and we followed it to a place where another trail intersected and seemed to blend in. From all signs, the second trail seemed to have been made by another caravan. The track was fresher than the first but not by much. Although we entered me valley with caution, it was only good habit that bade us to do so, for there was no sign of life.

If it weren't for the trail, we might have missed the squat building in the center of the valley. It was covered with snow and looked like just another small hill to pass by. The caravan track led directly to the building, curving around to the south side, where we found an entrance, more of a broad tunnel than a door or gate. The archway was of dark, hand-hewn stone blocks.

We chipped away ice and snow and found that the rest of the building seemed to be made of the same material. We went inside, threading our way through a series of cantilevered walls that I guessed had been thrown up to block winds coming from that direction. The deeper we went, the stronger became the stale smell of animals and the more sour odor of unwashed humans.

About halfway down the passage dim lights winked on. The light came from little piles of crystals heaped in small stone cups set in niches in the tunnel walls. After inspecting them, I saw the crystals were similar to the stuff we make our fire-beads from. Only our presence was needed to set them alight, much like the way we light the gloomier recesses of our own public buildings in Orissa.

As we entered the low-vaulted central chamber, light bloomed from overhead. The chamber was about the size of a dockside warehouse. The walls and floors were all of dark stone, but the stone had been stained and badly worn from many years of use—centuries was my guess. The ceiling fun-neled upward into what I assumed was an elaborate chimney that would draw out any smoke, yet wouldn't allow the raw elements to get in.

On one side was a large stone corral where the caravan animals had been kept. I noted there were plenty of old droppings littering the corral, assuring us of fuel. There were two main sleeping areas evident, with raised stone pallets for perhaps a hundred or more people. Many of the pallets had little warming ovens built into them. All you had to do was heap your bedclothes on top, stuff in the fuel, set it alight, wait until the pallet got nice and warm, then crawl into your blankets for a blissful sleep.