David Cook - Soldiers of Ice

With all the voices raised at once, Martine did her best to listen, but the tumult was a blend of shouting so thickly accented that the Harper gave up all hope of understanding.

At last Jouka, who would serve as commander of the raid, restored order. Organized back into their companies, the gnomes stood tensely expectant while Jouka huddled with his chosen captains.

“I didn’t think the gnomes had this many warriors,” Martine said to Vil. There were about forty of the Vani packed into the little hall. “They don’t,” Vil said softly. “You can’t count most of these fellows as warriors. Most of them are farmers. A few are hunters who know the valley well, but fighters like Jouka are precious few”

The aforesaid gnome, in the middle of his captains, nodded toward the humans. “The humans are welcome, too. Master Vil you know. The woman can use a sword as well.” There was a murmur of surprise from some of the more traditional farmers. “The thin one is a wizard… or so he claims.”

Martine felt that Jouka’s introductions were somewhat strained, as if he were unwilling to admit their skills. However, the gnome added finally, “They know how to fight, brothers, and every sword will help us. They will travel with me. That way they cannot get lost.” A weak chuckle rose at their expense from the gnomes.

“Elder Sumalo is no longer as young as he once was,” Jouka continued, “so we will have no priest. If your brothers are hurt, you will have to bring them back to the warren for healing. Sumalo will be ready for you. My brother, Turi, and the human wizard are our only magi.”

“Is Turi a good mage?” Martine whispered to Vil.

The warrior shrugged. “Good enough, if you need illusions tricks of light and shadow, phantoms those sorts of things. Better get yourself ready to go,” Vil added with the barest nod to Jazrac. “Does he need skis?” Jouka was already herding his chattering fellows outside as Vil took his skis from the pegs.

“Not at all,” Jazrac cheerily replied, overhearing the question.

Stamping their ski-clad feet to drive out the cold, the gnomes waited impatiently outside for the humans. In the morning chill, their frosty breath caught in their beards and mustaches, coating them with a snow-whitened glaze. The waiting gnomes said little, their gazes fixed grimly on the woods. Their old eyes held no fear, only determination for the mission before them.

Jouka gave the signal to move out. The outer doors parted. “We go!” barked Jouka, barely waiting for the humans. Expert skiers, the Vani set a brisk pace, each following in the track of the gnome before him. Martine was surprised how quickly the short-legged folk could shoot across the snow as she and Vil labored to keep pace. Only Jazrac traveled without the long boards, instead drifting over the surface of the snow, held magically aloft, floating alongside Martine and Vil.

“I thought such magic could be used only for brief periods,” the former paladin rumbled. “We’re likely to be traveling all day.”

The wizard ignored Vil’s evident irritation. “Thats true of spells, yes, but a ring of flying is much more useful.” To demonstrate, the wizard made a pass by the skiing warrior, rising slowly until his feet were level with the man’s helmeted head.

Singularly unimpressed, Vil growled, “I’ve seen flying wizards before. Archers call them flying pincushions.” Martine chuckled, for wizards tended to be pretty useless as fighters. It was their spells and not their fighting prowess that made them powerful.

Appropriately chastised, Jazrac resumed skimming over the snow, stirring up a thin cloud of ice crystals as he went. As she pulled alongside her skiing companion, Martine couldn’t help but notice a sardonic smile on Vil’s lips.

After half an hour of nonstop travel, Jouka whispered back the command to halt. Her throat rasped raw by the fierce cold, Martine was thankful for the slightest break in their march. She wanted to spit, but her mouth was parched by the arid winter air. Her sides burned and her legs felt ready to buckle, reminding her of just how little experience she had had on skis. Knowing the gnome hadn’t halted the column just for her benefit, Martine somehow resisted collapsing into an exhausted heap. Instead, she slowly drew her sword for battle, her fingers muffling the scrape where the scabbard’s metal lip rubbed the blade. The sword’s edge nipped her finger, a sharp sting that she ignored as several drops of blood rolled down her finger and plopped, overlapping, on the snow. The white crystals melted and then spread into a pink areola at her feet.

Jouka carefully issued orders to form a search line. The instructions that followed were simple; the gnome knew he couldn’t expect anything too complicated from his militia. They were to fan out in a line. If they saw anything, they should freeze and stay hidden, then signal those to their left and right, who would pass the signal down the line. Most of all as the gnome said it, he looked pointedly at the three humans no one was to act on his own. No individuals were to rush to the attack, but rather wait until the command was given. To be certain they understood, Jouka had his warriors repeat the instructions. Only when he was completely satisfied that all the farmhands and carpenters understood did Jouka begin posting the gnomes to their positions.

“Do you know where the gnolls are?” Martine asked Jouka privately once everyone had received his instructions. She wondered if the gnome was privy to some information, perhaps brought in by a scout or outlying farmer.

Jouka shook his head from side to side, then pointed toward the northwest. “No reports, but Hudni’s place lies off that way. There’s sheltered ground and fresh water between us and the farm. That’s where I’d camp if I were the gnolls. We’ll search there first.”

The search tine formed a long irregular arc along the edge of the woods. Martine kept Jazrac to her left, and Jouka took up position on her right, forming the center of the line. Vil was somewhere farther to the right, lost to her sight by the paper-white trunks of birch trees. Beyond him was Turi. Martine guessed Jouka was being careful, keeping his ablest fighters close at hand. That way he could quickly change directions when the enemy was spotted.

The gnome waved his ski poles to both sides; a signal Martine dutifully passed.down the line. Tentatively, as if expecting a gnoll behind every tree, the scouting line entered the woods like beaters on a king’s hunt.

After breaking through the thicket-lined edge of the woods, no easy feat on skis, the Harper cast about for her flankers. Jazrac was abreast of her, about ten feet off the ground, gliding easily over the last of the bramble wall she had just labored through. A more experienced skier, Jouka was already well ahead of her. “Damn!” Martine hissed under her breath as she floundered awkwardly on her skis, determined not to be shown up.

Now the trip became considerably more difficult than before. There was no clean track broken by the others for her to follow. The search did not move along any easy paths like game trails, so her route was constantly impeded by thickets and deadfalls that forced her into slow detours. To make it worse, sometime in the last day or two a brief thaw had transformed what had been soft powder into a glazed sheet of ice that slid under her skis like a greased pig. One ski or the other kept unexpectedly shooting forward, only to have it break through the crust and disappear completely into the powder beneath. It wasn’t long before she had worked herself into a lathered sweat.

Eventually the thickets thinned and the forest floor became more open as the raiders plunged deeper into the ancient forest. Regaining her position, Martine continued to scan the woods ahead for signs of their enemy.