David Cook - Soldiers of Ice

Krote pushed her toward the largest of the lodges. The chief’s lodge looked no different from the others, only slightly higher and longer. “The main distinctive feature was an arch of painted skulls that hung over the entrance. Invisible by night, the gaudily striped and spotted faces stared down at Martine now. They comprised all manner of creatures. Some, like the elk, bear, and griffon, she could identify. Others were mysteries, although the ranger guessed that at least two small skulls were those of gnomes.

Inside, the lodge was lit by the fire pit, whose dull glow made the hanging bones flicker and dance. The massed gnolls that had filled the hall the night before were gone, no doubt at the day’s work. Krote pushed Martine across the cool earthen floor until she stood once more before the chieftain’s platform.

Meticulously laid out on the far side of the fire in the brief space between the rock ringed pit and the wooden dais was Martine’s gear. Her long sword, leather backpack, and a few sausages from Shadowdale were testimony to what little she had been able to salvage from the glacier. Ignoring the chieftain, who glared at her from his crude throne, the ranger eagerly scanned the gear until she spotted the ivory gleam of Jazrac’s dagger. Right next to it rested the dull black rock that was the seal’s keystone. The Harper’s spirits leapt with both relief and dread. The sudden panic that she might have lost the keystone was replaced by the realization that it was now part of Hakk’s booty.

“Wife, is this all your kaamak?” Hakk’s lips curled in a snarl as he spoke. There was no affection in his words. “Kaamak?” It was a term the ranger had never heard. “Kaamak!” Hakk repeated loudly as he jabbed a sharp finger at her goods before him.

Gear? Magic? Possessions? Martine thought desperately as she tried to fathom the gnoll’s words. She warily shook her head in incomprehension, trying not to provoke another outburst.

Krote interceded, his voice rasping softly behind her. “Kaamak… wife’s payment… gifts to the mate.”

“Dowry?” Martine blurted in Sembian, startled at the suggestion the marriage had anything to do with her wishes.

“Yes, dow-ry,” Krote responded with satisfaction, once more having difficulty with the foreign shapes of the Sembian tongue.

Martine goggled at him, too amazed to attempt any reply. The chieftain was acting as if she had agreed to this wedding, as if she weren’t a prisoner! I hope he doesn’t expect me to have any goats , she thought.

“Is this your kaamak ?” Hakk bellowed, now infuriated with her impudence.

“Answer, female,” Krote hissed. “Be respectful to your mate.”

“Yes, those are my things,” she answered dazedly.

Hakk smiled with satisfaction and ignored her. He picked up the long sword she’d won from a captain of the Pirate Isles and jabbed it into the ground to test its blade. “The sword is good. I will keep it.”

Martine bristled. Winning that sword had cost her an ugly scar across her back. Perhaps noticing her reaction, Krote gave her a cautionary jab to remain silent.

Flourishing the sword, Hakk bit into one of Jhaele’s sausages, only to immediately spit it into the fire with a retching growl. “This meat is spoiled!” he pronounced, kicking the rest of the links into the fire. The coals hissed and spattered as the grease oozed from the casings.

“Those were good sausages, smoked and spiced, you flyspecked idiot,” Martine muttered under her breath, unable to repress her anger. “This time the jab from Krote was considerably harder.

“Krote, I give you the dagger,” Hakk offered expansively after examining Jazrac’s knife. With an easy flip, the chieftain tossed it across the fire to land point first in the dirt.

“Elk-Slayer is generous,” Word-Maker said. “I will speak of your generosity to Gorellik.”

While Krote was busy with formalities, the ranger eyed the dagger eagerly without trying to show too much interest. The dagger was her primary hope. If she could only place it with her scrawled plea for help, then Jazrac might learn of her plight through his crystal ball. True, he might be scrying the dagger right now, but if he didn’t find a letter from her, the wizard would probably give up.

“What is this?” Hakk demanded in brutal tones. In his clenched fingers, he held the pitted keystone of the rift’s magical seal.

“It’s it’s nothing. Just a rock.” Preoccupied with the knife, Martine was caught off guard. She flinched inwardly at her halting reply, which sounded unconvincing even to her. She could only hope gnolls were no better at judging her emotions than she was at judging theirs.

Toss it aside, she mentally urged the gnoll: Just forget about it .

Hakk glared with curled lips at the simple rock, and for a moment, Martine held hopes she was right.

“Krote, why does the human come here to gather rocks?” The shaman behind her sucked the air in between his fangs, clearly without an answer. Finally, he said, “Maybe she is like the little ones, the dwarves. They put much value on stones dug out of the earth.”

“Since the human rame here to get this rock, what you say must be true. I will keep it” With those words Hakk tossed the stone among the furs of his dais.

Martine winced. Krote had clearly guessed wrong, but too well nonetheless.

“It’s just a—a souvenir,” Martine stumbled over the term and at last resorted to Sembian. “I mean, something to remember things by, Chieftain Elk-Slayer. The rock is worthless. I mean, do I look like a miner?” Stepping forward with mock helplessness, the ranger hoped, perhaps futilely, that she might persuade the chieftain by playing up her own ignorance. In the dogman’s eyes, after all, she was only a human and a female at that.

Hakk had let one ear loll as he cocked his head to listen. Before the gnoll could say a word, however, Krote spoke in suspicious tones.

“Brokka said the human had great magical powers, Hakk… that she shattered the tall ice.” Across the fire pit, the chieftain grunted understanding as he eyed Martine sharply. “I keep this rock.” Crestfallen, Martine realized she’d overplayed her hand and underestimated the gnolls, Krote in particular. The gaunt shaman didn’t know why the Harper wanted the stone, but he had correctly read her desire to keep it. Don’t show disappointment , she chided herself. Don’t let on they’re right .

“My power has no need for stones, Word-Maker.” Her words were a softly spoken boast, but one which she voiced with confidence, for it was the truth. All she really needed was her sword, and then Krote and Hakk would discover just how fierce an opponent she was.

Krote’s hard stare told her the gnoll had heard and understood her words. She noticed he kept one paw close to the dagger at his belt. She smiled slightly, just enough to show her pleasure at unnerving him.

“Take my mate out, Word-Maker. She has no more kaamak . Take her back to your lodge and learn her secrets,” Hakk grunted from across the fire pit where he had remained oblivious to the exchange. Stifling a bored yawn, the chieftain scratched at the fleas that infested his golden furred hide and clambered lazily back onto his platform.

Prodding her in the back, Krote hustled Martine back into the cold daylight A pair of female gnolls butchering a rabbit in the bloodstained snow eyed Martine eagerly, their knives flashing too suggestively for her taste.

“What is the significance of the stone?” the shaman demanded as he pushed the woman past the smoldering remains of a fire.

“It’s just a souvenir.” Martine gamely tried to stick to her story. The shaman wanted answers, and she wasn’t about to supply them. So long as that remained true, he would keep her alive, Martine figured.