David Cook: Soldiers of Ice

“Some kind of trouble in Damara?”

“I said an eruption, my dear. North of Damara, on the Great Glacier. A volcano of ice.” Jazrac shivered slightly in the autumn cold and turned back toward the houses and fields of Shadowdale. Martine fell in step alongside him.

“An ice volcano? You’re teasing me.” The idea sounded too incredible to believe, even from a wizard.

“You should know me better than that, Martine,” the wizard chided, head tilted till his goatee seemed to point at her. “This is Harper business: I’m serious.”

Martine flushed.

“As I said, we’re dealing with a volcano of ice. It happens sometimes, my dear a rift in the walls between the worlds. Elminster and I have been tracking this one. It looks like an opening to the para-elemental plane of ice.”

“The what?”

“Sorry. Wizard talk.”

“Oh.”

“Ifs an opening to another—um—plane. You know about the elemental forces earth, air, fire, and water. Perhaps you aren’t aware of it, but there are others, such as the para-, the quasi-, and who knows what other elemental planes, not as strong or important, and ice is one of those.”

Martine listened avidly. She’d heard of the existence of the planes and knew about the four elements, but the rest was new to her. She hurried to stay alongside him, kicking away the leaves that had already blown back over the path.

“Anyway, sometimes the barrier between our world and one of these planes weakens until a hole opens, spilling elemental matter into our world,” Jazrac continued, warming to his subject Scholarly research was his meat and cheese, and he could quickly forget that others did not share his enthusiasm. “Geysers and volcanoes could indicate the planes of steam and magma. Yurpide of Impiltur, I think, even theorizes that rainbows and lightning storms have their origins in—”

“I get the idea. What I don’t understand is why this is so important” Martine wanted to get the conversation back to her mission. “It sounds as if you know everything already.”

“Ah, yes. Well, there is a danger, you see.”

Her neck tingled with excitement. “What?”

The path reached the edge of the fields that bordered Shadowdale. A cold wind was rising out of the west, pushing in a bank of flat, gray clouds over Old Skull, the barren granite mount that overlooked the village. The wizard looked up and shook his head, perhaps at the prospect of bad weather coming. “Sometimes things cross over and enter our world. If it’s only one or two of these elemental creatures, it’s not much our concern, but if the rift should expand, it could prove to be a danger. You’re going to go up there and seal it.”

Martine couldn’t resist a joke. “Suppose I brick it up?” Jazrac turned his attention back to her with a vexed scowl. “Very funny. As a matter of fact, that’s what I’ve been doing for the last few weeks—preparing the seals. Now that I’ve finished, it’s time for you to put them in place. The frigid north is not one of my favorite places.”

“So that’s my big break, eh?” the woman deduced, adding a flip of her bangs to give just the right touch of sardonic nonchalance.

“If it all goes well,” Jazrac said with pointed emphasis. Martine realized her flippancy was wasted on the humorless wizard and assumed a serious expression. Still, her earlier nervousness was gone, and she felt the need to celebrate somehow. Wrapping an arm around the older man’s waist, she tugged him toward the town before he could resist. “I promise not to fail you. Come on. It looks like snow. You can buy me an ale at the Old Skull and give a toast to my success.”

“For that, I’ll have to buy you a bucketful of ale, my eager young tyro,” Jazrac protested as he allowed himself to be pulled along. The last summer songbirds scolded loudly at the approaching storm as the two hurried across the fields for the warmth of the thatched-roof inn.

Over mugs of spiced ale that warmed away the chill, Jazrac outlined the mission in detail. He spoke softly, for there were a few others in the taproom, and Harper business was none of their concern. From his pocket, he produced five stones, polished and smooth. They glittered like ice with blue fire at their cores. “Opals from the south,” the wizard explained once he noted Martine’s interest. “You’ll have to set them around the rift like this. I assume it will be a crater.” Jazrac spread four of the stones in a circle, deftly tracing the points of a star with his thin fingers, leaving one point empty. “Exactly equal from each other. Don’t worry, the stones will glow when they’re in the proper position.” He nudged the fifth stone into place, and suddenly five points of blue luminescence glittered before Martine’s eyes.

“That’s it?”

The wizard broke the ring before the tabletop glow could attract the attention of Jhaele or the beet faced Dalesman who sat near the fire. “Not quite.” He produced another stone from a separate pouch. “This is the capstone. Touch it to each stone as you put it in place. That activates the seal.”

“Okay,” Martine nodded, taking the stone from his fingers. It looked like a fading ember, dull red and pitted, rather than a powerful magical artifact.

“Be careful. Keep it separate from the others. You don’t want an accident triggering the seal while you’re traveling.”

“Is it dangerous?” The woman looked at the stone with new respect as she prudently set it back on the table.

Jazrac shook his head as he swept the opals into a pouch. “Not very—but an accident would ruin all my work.” The words reminded Martine that Jazrac, at least, considered her journey important.

“Another thing. The red stone is a temporary fix. You have to bring it back so I can cast the finishing spells. Be careful not to bang it around too much. It’s not as solid as it looks. Once the seal is activated, if the stone breaks, the seal breaks. So be careful and bring it back with you. Understood?”

Martine nodded. As she took the pouch of opals, the stones rattled softly in her hand. “Sounds clear enough,” she added to cover a sudden twinge of nerves. Her first important mission… It seemed simple enough, but she couldn’t help but worry whether she was up to it.

Across the table, Jazrac smiled, his goatee making him look cheerfully fiendish. “Good. Now, I want you to stay in touch with me while you’re up there.”

“How?”

“I’m a wizard, my dear, remember?” the older man chortled, letting a tone of condescension slip back into his voice. He tipped back in his chair. “I’ll use my crystal ball. I can’t hear you or talk to you, but I can see you through it.”

Martine wasn’t sure she liked the idea that Jazrac would be checking up on her. She hastily took a sip of her ale to cover a grimace.

“I’m not spying on you. If you write a letter, IT be able to read it through the ball. Take this. I’ll need an object to focus on, something to track you by.” From deeper still in his pocket, Jazrac produced a small dagger. “I know your fondness for knives. All you have to do is pin your letter up with this dagger. That way I can find it with the crystal ball. I have to know what I’m looking for, after all.”

Still uncertain, Martine took the knife and turned it over in her hands. It was a decorative knife with a carved bone handle and a red garnet set in the hilt, but the blade was short, hardly practical. A typical wizard’s choice, she noted somewhat contemptuously. “If you insist.”

Her sponsor ignored the reluctance in her voice. “That’s it, then. How soon can you be ready?” he asked, elbows on the table, leaning forward till the tip of his goatee brushed his tented fingers.

Martine rolled the knife in her hands, letting the light from the inn’s fire play off the blade. “A day or two, I’d guess. Three at the most. It depends on how long it takes me to get supplies. Astriphie’s fit and ready for travel.” Indeed, her mount was growing restless in the stables.