David Cook - Soldiers of Ice

“Varka,” Krote demanded of a small gnoll near the center of the camp, “is your chieftain here? Where is the one called Vreesar?”

Eyes blazing, Varka pointed toward the far end of the camp. Krote noticed something stir near the farthest tent. Movement defined the camouflaged shape of the elemental, reclined against a mound of snow. “I am here, traitor,” it droned in a leaden buzz. “You are not welcome.”

“I bring humans to talk,” Krote shouted across the camp. “Humanz… more than one? I see the female. Who iz the other?” The elemental pushed itself up from the snow and slowly came forward in its stiff-legged walk. The gnolls drew aside and then followed their chieftain, bolder and more belligerent behind the fiend.

“He does not matter,” Krote said.

Martine stepped ahead of the shaman. “I come to end this fighting, Vreesar.” The wind swept away the quaver in her voice.

“End fighting? Why?” The creature cocked its head, as if curious. “It iz fun. I will kill you all, and then I will get my brotherz.”

The Harper took a deep breath. “No, you won’t. You won’t have the stone.”

Vreesar moved closer. Behind Martine, Vil slipped out of his skis, getting ready for whatever might happen next. “When you are dead, I will take the stone. It iz simple.”

“If you kill me, you’ll never get it. I’ve hidden it.”

Vreesar stopped at her words, its iciclelike facial ridges flexing in thought. Then its pinched face seemed to brighten. “I will make you tell me where it iz.”

Martine had expected this. She hoped her voice sounded as firm as her conviction. “It won’t work…”

Once again the elemental’s face flexed as it considered her words. Its claws tapped together like frozen chimes. “Why did you come?” it purred.

Martine’s shoulders softened as every contracted muscle in her body relaxed. “To make a deal—peace in exchange for the stone.”

“Peace?”

“Leave the Vani alone and I’ll tell you where the stone is.”

“Why?”

This question was also expected, and it was crucial. The elemental had to believe and accept her answer. Martine had already thought out several replies, but now it seemed that only the truth would do.

“Because I don’t want them to die. This is not their fight, and I shouldn’t gotten them involved.”

“You did not choose anything, human. I fight them because I want to,” Vreesar said with a sneer.

“Then there’s nothing to talk about. Well fight you, and you’ll never get the stone, creature.” The Harper turned to go. She signaled for Vil and Krote to follow. The gnoll looked at her dumbly, but Vil nodded and also turned to leave.

“Wait, human,” Vreesar barked before the pair had gone two steps. “Perhapz we can reach an agreement.”

Still facing away, Martine smiled. Her bluff had worked.

“Like what?”

“My slavez will not attack the little people.” With its alien drone of a voice, Martine had no way to gauge the depth of the elemental’s sincerity.

“How do I know I can trust you?” she asked, turning back.

“I am Vreesar.” This time she could hear the creature’s shock that the ranger would doubt its word.

“So?” Martine caught Vil looking at her, as if to warn her not to push things too far.

“An oath to the prince of ice!” it spat, frustrated at her rejection.

“So you swear?”

“Yez,” it answered venomously. “Now, human, there iz one thing I want.”

“What”

The elemental pointed at the Word-Maker. “Leave me the traitor.”

Martine had no ready answer for this unexpected turn of events. A quick look at the shaman told her his opinion; the gnoll’s ears were flattened back in the fighting response. Beyond him, Vil shook his head almost imperceptibly from side to side.

“He’s a living creature,” the former paladin hissed. “You can’t barter his life.”

The Harper steeled herself to face the elemental squarely, her eyes focusing on its ice-veiled face. The thing’s tiny mouth rasped eagerly as it waited for her reply. Slowly she shook her head. “Krote is my prisoner. He’s not part of my bargain. He stays with me.” She still needed the shaman to forge a peace with the gnolls once this was all done.

“He iz mine! He iz one of the Burnt Fur, and I am hiz chieftain!” Vreesar shrilled. It started to lunge forward, claws outstretched…

“The stone! Not if you want the stone!” Martine shouted even as Krote leaped backward to avoid the elemental’s icy grasp.

Vreesar stopped suddenly, held by her words.

“Harm him and the deal’s off,” Martine announced. Her sword was in her hand as if it sprang magically from its sheath.

Vil stepped forward to flank Martine, with Krote between them. Behind Vreesar, the gathered gnolls bristled, awaiting their chieftain’s word. The clearing was cloudy with their steaming breath.

Vreesar looked hungrily at the three before him. Its clawed hands flexed slowly. Finally it eased its body back until it was no longer in a hunter’s crouch. “You can have him, human. He iz worthlez.” The elemental stepped back and twisted its gleaming head around to address the rest of the tribe. “Let them leave thiz time, but if you see the traitor again, kill him.

Several eager yowls of bloodlust rose from the pack, but most kept silent, as if judging the worth of their chieftain against that of their shaman.

Vreesar turned back to Martine and under its gaze, she suddenly felt cold. “Now, human, where iz the stone?” The Harper was trembling so hard she wasn’t sure she could remain standing. “On the big island in the river. You’ll find a blazed trail that will lead you to it.” All three of them stopped breathing, waiting to see if Vreesar would kill them now.

The tiny mouth cracked in the slightest of smiles, as if sensing their fears. “Leave, humanz,” the elemental hummed. It pointed to a packed trail across the camp. “Take the short trail. No one will harm you.”

Martine didn’t wait for a second offer, but neither did she let her fears make her bolt Warily she trudged through the camp, her gaze constantly moving from enemy to enemy. As they passed, each gnoll stepped aside slightly, although none were submissive. Neck hairs bristled, ears flattened, and growls rumbled in the throats of the dog-men. At first Martine thought they were directed at her, but then she realized most of their attention was directed at Krote, who was immediately behind her. The shaman walked stiff and tall, never once even glancing at those who threatened him. He seemed almost icy calm in the midst of their animalistic hatred.

As soon as the three entered the forest, they buckled on their skis and snowshoes. The only one who spoke was Krote. “I come with you until Vreesar leaves my people,” he growled, “but I am free.”

Martine shook her head. “That wasn’t the agreement. You’re free when you make peace with your tribe.”

Krote spat. “When I try, you said! I cannot try now. They will kill me.”

Martine shook her head. “Find a way if you want your freedom.” Her voice was firm. Vil, with his sword drawn, pressed it gently against the gnoll’s back.

The measured march through the camp became a hurried flight now that they were out of sight. The trail was well used, but coarsely broken. The skiers bumped and skidded over the trampled footprints of their enemies. In the packed snow, Krote had little difficulty keeping up as they hurried through the tightly packed trees of the slope.

The caws of ravens alerted them that something was up. Before the skiers could slow their pace, a coven of black forms swirled up, screeching, from a line of posts in the trail just ahead of them. A few of the brave birds stayed behind, unwilling to surrender their meaty prizes. The ravens pecked at a row of bloodless heads, jammed onto the ends of crudely sharpened stakes. They were small heads, smaller than a human’s.