Douglas Niles - The Kinslayer Wars

With a groan, he slumped back against the cliff. They were doomed! He could see no possibility of any fate other than death in this remote valley. His throat ached, and tears welled in his eyes. What good was his court training in a situation like this?

“Kith!” he moaned. “Wake up! Please!”

When his brother made no response, Sithas collapsed facedown on his cloak. A part of him wished that he was as unconscious of their fate as Kith-Kanan. For the whole long day, he lay as if in a trance. He pulled their cloaks about them as night fell, certain that they would freeze to death. Kith-Kanan hadn’t moved—indeed, he barely breathed. Broken by his own anguish, the speaker finally tumbled into restless sleep.

It was not until the next morning that he regained some sense of purpose. What did they need? Warmth, but there was no firewood in sight. Water, but their skins of the liquid had frozen solid, and without fire, they couldn’t melt snow. Food, of which they had several strips of dried venison and some bread. But how could he feed Kith-Kanan while his brother remained unconscious?

Again the feeling of hopelessness seized him. If only Arcuballis were here! If only Kith could walk! If only the giants ... He snarled at himself in anger, realizing the idiocy of his ramblings.

Instead, he pushed himself to his feet, suddenly aware of a terrible stiffness in his own body. He studied the route along the narrow ledge that twisted its way from their niche to the valley floor. It looked negotiable—barely. But what could he do if he was lucky enough to reach the ground?

He noted, for the first time, a dark patch on the snow at the edge of the flat expanse. The sun had crested the eastern peaks by now, and Sithas squinted into the brightness.

What caused the change of coloration in the otherwise immaculate surface of snow? Then it dawned on him—water! Somewhere beneath that snow, water still flowed! It soaked into the powder above, turning it to slush and causing it to settle.

With a clear goal now, Sithas began to act. He took his own nearly empty waterskin, since Kith’s contained a block of ice that would be impossible to remove. As he turned away from the sun, however, he had another idea. He set Kith’s waterskin in the sunlight, on a flat stone. He found several other dark boulders and placed them beside the skin, taking care that they didn’t block the sunlight.

Then he started down the treacherous ledge. In many places, the narrow path was piled with snow, and he used his sword to sweep these drifts away, carefully probing so that he did not step off the cliff.

Finally he reached a spot where he was able to drop into the soft snow below. He pushed his way through the deep fluff, leaving a trench behind him as he worked his way toward the dark patch of slush. The going was difficult, and he had to rest many times, but finally he reached his goal.

Pausing again, he heard a faint trill of sound from beneath the snow, the gurgling of water as it babbled along a buried stream. He poked and pressed with his sword, and the surface of snow dropped away, revealing a flowage about six inches deep.

But that was enough. Sithas suspended his skin from the tip of his sword and let it soak in the stream. Though it only filled halfway, it was more water than they had tasted in two days, and he greedily drained the waterskin. Then he refilled it, as much as possible with his awkward rig, and turned back to the cliff. It took him more than an hour to carry it back up to Kith-Kanan, but the hour of toil seemed to warm and vitalize him.

His brother showed no change. Sithas dribbled some water into Kith’s mouth, just enough to wet his tongue and throat. He also washed away the blood that had caked on the elf’s frostbitten face. There was even some water left over, since Kith’s frozen waterskin had begun to melt from the heat of the sun.

“What now, Kith?” Sithas asked softly.

He heard a sound from somewhere and looked anxiously around. Again came the noise, which sounded like rocks falling down a rough slope. Then he saw a distinct movement across the valley. White shapes leaped and sprang along the sheer face, and for a moment, he thought they flew, so effectively did they defy gravity. More rocks broke free, crashing and sliding downward. He saw that these nimble creatures moved upon hooves. He had heard about the great mountain sheep that dwelled in the high places, but never had he observed them before. One, obviously the ram, paused and looked around, raising his proud head high. Sithas glimpsed his immense horns, swirling from the creature’s forehead.

For a moment, he wondered at the presence of these great beasts as he watched them press downward. They reached the foot of the cliff, and then the ram bounded through the powder, plowing a trail for the others.

“The water!” Sithas spoke aloud to himself. The sheep needed the water, too!

Indeed, the ram was nearing the shallow stream. Alert, he looked carefully around the valley, and Sithas, though he was out of sight, remained very still. Finally the proud creature lowered his head to drink. He stopped frequently to look around, but he drank for a long time before he finally stepped away from the small hole in the snow.

Then, one by one, the females came to the water. The ram stood protectively beside them, his proud head and keen eyes shifting back and forth. The group of mountain sheep spent perhaps an hour beside the water hole, each of the creatures slaking its thirst. Finally, with the ram still in the lead, they turned back along the tracks and reclimbed the mountain wall. Sithas watched them until they disappeared from view. The magnificent creatures moved with grace and skill up the steep face of rock. They looked right at home here—so very different from himself!

A soft groan beside him pulled his attention instantly back to Kith-Kanan.

“Kith! Say something!” He leaned over his twin’s face, rejoicing to see a flicker of vitality. Kith-Kanan’s eyes remained shut, but his mouth twisted into a grimace and he was gasping for breath.

“Here, take a drink. Don’t try to move.”

He poured a few drops of water onto Kith’s lips, and the wounded elf licked them away. Slowly, with obvious pain, Kith-Kanan opened his eyes, squinting at the bright daylight before him.

“What ... happened?” he asked weakly. Abruptly his eyes widened and his body tensed. “The giants! Where ... ?”

“It’s all right,” Sithas told him, giving him more water. “They’re dead—or gone, I’m not sure which.”

“Arcuballis?” Kith’s eyes widened and he struggled to sit up, before collapsing with a dull groan.

“He’s . . . gone, Kith. He attacked the first giant, got clubbed over the head, and fell.”

“He must be down below!”

Sithas shook his head. “I looked. There’s no sign of his body—or of any of the giants, either.”

Kith moaned, a sound of deep despair. Sithas had no words of comfort.

“The giants ... what kind of beasts do you think they were?” asked Sithas.

“Hill giants, I’m sure,” Kith-Kanan said after a moment’s pause. “Relatives of ogres, I guess, but bigger. I wouldn’t have expected to see them this far south.”

“Gods! If only I’d been faster!” Sithas said, ashamed.

“Don’t!” snapped the injured elf. “You warned me—gave me time to get my sword out, to get into the fight.” Kith-Kanan thought for a moment. “When—how long ago was it, anyway? How much time has passed since—”

“We’ve been up here for two nights,” said Sithas quietly. “The sun has nearly set for the third time.” He hesitated, then blurted his question. “How badly are you hurt?”

“Bad enough,” Kith said bluntly. “My skull feels like it’s been crushed, and my right leg seems as if it is on fire.”