David Cook - Soldiers of Ice

The woman went to the door. “Stay here till I come for you.

Outside, the ranger hurried down the halls, hoping she could remember the way. At last she arrived in the cold, dirt floored section that contained the animal pens. As she knelt beside a cage, she noticed Hakk’s doll, still lying in the dirt where’d she thrown it. Carefully she brushed it off and pushed it back through the bars.

“Word-Maker?”

“I hear you, human,” echoed the shaman’s hollow voice from the other side.

“Do your people want war with the Vani?” she asked. “Ask the new chieftain of the Burnt Fur,” Krote replied bitterly.

“The pit fiends take Vreesar! I mean your tribe… would they make peace?”

“The pack has no quarrel with the little people.” Martine heard a scuffling in the straw, and then the dog-man slid into the light.

“If I give you the chance, can you convince your people—your pack—to make peace?” Martine squatted down to look Krote in the eyes.

“What do you want, female?” the gnoll growled.

“Will you?”

“The price is my freedom,” the shaman insisted.

“Only if they agree,” Martine countered. “Well?”

Krote licked his chops. “I will try. They may not listen to me.”

“Good enough. Now slide to the back again.” Despite the gnoll’s promise, the Harper didn’t trust him completely. As Krote crouched at the pen’s far wall, Martine cut the ropes that bound the door shut. Once the door opened, she signaled him out and then followed the stooped gnoll through the halls.

The pair retraced her path through the windowless corridors to the room where Jazrac waited. Krote bared his fangs at the gnomish women they passed along the way, taking delight in the way they shrank in terror against the passage walls.

“Jazrac, I need you,” Martine called from outside the door. “Now,” she added when the wizard did not respond immediately.

The door clattered open and the Harper wizard came out, tidying his disheveled clothing in a weak attempt to regain some smattering of his dignity. He paused, hands hovering over his doublet, when he saw Krote. “What’s he doing here?”

“I’ve got an idea,” was all Martine said. She was still angry with the wizard, uncomfortable even talking to him. Most of all, though, she couldn’t abide the thought that he might criticize what she intended to do. “You said Harpers should fix things. Well, I’m going to fix something.” She motioned Krote and Jazrac down the hall.

“Where are we going?” Jazrac asked as he fell in beside her.

“To the council chamber. I’m guessing that’s where Sumalo and the others are—making plans.”

When they approached the council halt, the somber tone of voices inside confirmed Martine’s guess. On entering the outer chamber, where the dance had been held, the three passed through a silent crowd. Wives of council members and some older gnomish children were clustered near the council doors, trying to catch every word of what was said inside. Around them orbited the smaller children, who didn’t really understand what had happened but sensed its importance from the reaction of their elders.

Now the Harper herself could hear the grim litany that echoed from inside.

“Burl?”

“He’s hurt but he made it back.”

“And Heikko?”

“I think he fell at the gnolls’ camp.”

“That makes seventeen.”

“Ojakangas?”

“He’s helping to guard the south gate.”

Martine pushed into the edge of the crowd blocking the door, with Krote and Jazrac following. A ripple of alarm spread through the crowd, and the gnomes parted like water before them. The women eyed Krote with fear, but their expressions changed to hostile scowls when they saw Jazrac. Stories of his role in the massacre were no doubt among the whispers that they passed from ear to ear.

The commotion at the door alerted those inside of their arrival. The hall, always before well filled with elders, was half empty, particularly the upper tiers. Those who were present sat near Sumalo’s chair, where the priest was carefully making notes on a birchbark scroll. All work stopped the instant Martine guided Krote into the hall.

“What are they doing here?” Jouka demanded of Sumalo, as if the priest had something to do with Martine’s arrival. The priest set his quill aside. “Harpers, you were not summoned here,” he said sternly, “and you are not welcome. It’s because of you and your plots that I must add these names to the record of the dead.” The whitebeards around the priest loudly grumbled their agreement.

“It’s because of him!” Jouka cried accusingly, spying Jazrac. The gnome hopped down from the bench and stood with hands on hips. “Where were you during the battle, wizard? Where was your magic? My brother and friends died because of—”

“Elder Sumalo, I ask permission to speak,” Martine asked, trying to prevent the meeting from becoming a shouting match.

“—because of you, you craven—”

“Elder Sumalo, please!” Martine persisted.

Thump ! The speaker’s rod banged on the hollow bench. “Jouka Tunkelo! Hold for a moment!” The force of Sumalo’s words silenced the gnome, though he remained rooted to the spot, glaring at Jazrac.

“Martine of Sembia, what do you have to say to us?” Martine prodded Krote, and the gnoll moved stiffly to one side. The shaman’s lips curled with a slight trace of a fanged smile as he listened to the squabbling among his enemies.

“I have a plan to stop the fighting and get Vreesar out of the valley,” the woman began as she stepped into the center of the hall.

“What is it, human?” Jouka sneered. “Are you and the brave wizard there going to kill this fiend yourselves?” Martine turned stiffly to face the belligerent gnome. “No… I’m going to give him this.” From her pocket, she pulled out Jazrac’s stone and held it up for the gnomes to see. “This is the stone Vreesar wanted.”

“Martine, you can’t!” Jazrac blurted in alarm as he stepped forward to try and reclaim the stone.

The ranger snatched her hand back. “I can and will, Jazrac. Harpers have a duty to solve problems, not let others do it for them.”

“But that thing will reopen the gate! What happens to these people then?

Sumalo and the others shifted uneasily when they heard this news.

“I said I have a plan. Jazrac, do you have a spell that can get you back to Shadowdale quickly?” Martine pressed. She could see that the council was wavering, and she needed to make her point quickly.

“I can teleport with this,” the wizard said, meaningfully tapping the ring on his finger.

The woman breathed an inward sigh of relief, for her idea hinged on the wizard’s magical abilities. “Then my plan is this,” she pronounced, turning back to the council. “Vreesar wants the stone. Once the creature gets it, it’ll head back to the glacier. The elemental isn’t interested in you Vani or your warren. I’ll give him the stone and then he’ll leave.”

Jouka snorted. “What about the gnolls?”

“And the rift?” Jazrac added.

Martine had her answer ready. “That’s why I brought Word-Maker with me. He says he’ll get the gnolls to make peace”

“I will try, human,” Krote growled, “in exchange for my freedom.”

Martine winced at the gnoll’s correction. Her plan was risky enough; she didn’t need to have the shaman make it sound any worse.

Elder Sumalo stirred on his chair, his iron charms clinking. “As the wizard said, this creature called Vreesar will reopen this gate, and then there will be even more of them.”

Martine hesitated. The time had come when she finally had to give up her pride. Pointing to the wizard, she explained, “Mat’s where he comes in. Jazrac uses his ring to get more help from the Harpers because the job’s too big for me. We take the chance that reinforcements come in time.”