Soldiers of Ice (35 page)

This isn’t right, a voice within her said. This isn’t the way jazrac died. He died fighting for his beliefs. Get up, woman.

Die fighting, like Jazrac. Die like a Harper’s supposed to die, the voice urged.

272

Soldiers of lee

273

Blindly, automatically, the Harper lurched to her feet.

Her hands felt as if they belonged to some other creature, and her side tingled with the cold. Feeling it was her duty, she futilely tried to drag the wizard’s body with her, but his chest was wedged beneath a fallen branch. The body

wouldn’t budge. In her daze, the ranger managed to remember the ring, the one Jazrac had planned to teleport with, but even that was buried beyond her reach. Cold hands scrabbled at the snow, trying to reach the wizard’s lifeless hand, but it was to no avail. The gnoll calls were coming closer; Martine couldn’t wait any longer.

Sword in hand, the Harper crashed through the thicket, alternately ignoring the thorns that scratched her face, then cursing them when they caught her clothing and slowed her down. Smaller than even Martine, the gnomes had chosen paths that were nearly impossible for her to follow. More than once she dropped to her hands and knees to crawl through a gap in the thick thorns. Her only consolation was that the route would be even More difficult for the gnolls who followed.

When she was finally out of the brambled ravine, it still took the Harper almost an hour to reach Vil’s cabin. Snow borne on a stiff night wind helped to cover her tracks, but the same wind froze her blood-dampened clothes stiff.

“Martine! Jazrac!” a voice cried ahead of her and slightly off to the left.

“Over here!” the ranger tried to shout back, but the words choked in her cold-parched throat. Even speaking hurt through her chapped wind-cracked lips.

They must have heard her, however, for within moments, tall Vilheim, accompanied by a pair of diminutive gnomes, stormed into sight, weapons held ready for battle. Spotting the Harper wading through the snow, the man rushed to her side while the gnomes fanned out in both directions.

“What happened?” he demanded, his voice a mixture of 274

The Harpers

relief and concern. “Where’s the wizard?”

“Jazrac’s dead,” she mumbled. “What are you doing

here?”

“Scouting.”

A wolflike cry echoed through the woods.

One of the two gnomes skied to a stop alongside the humans. ‘q’hey’re coming, Master Vilheim.” Fear filled his voice.

“Lean on me, Martine.” The warrior pulled the woman’s arm over his shoulder, holding it in place with one hand while he wrapped his other arm around her waist. He was still on his skis, and she was surprised he could remain balanced, the way her weight tipped him off center. Nonetheless, Vil managed to half drag her along with him.

When the cabin came into view, a dim glimmer of light in the darkness of the woods, Martine was relieved to see the gnolls had not yet discovered the place. Heads bobbed back in forth in the flicker of torchlight. The woman thought the clearing around the building seemed slightly larger than before, but she couldn’t decipher why. As they neared, Martine saw a good deal of activity outside and then realized what had changed. A crude barricade filled the center of the clearing, surrounding the cabin. It was constructed of thin-trunked trees chopped from the clearing’s edge and heaved into place. In spots at the edge of the clearing, the concealing underbrush was cut or trampled for several yards into the woods. The gnomes had been industrious in the short time since their arrival.

Panting, the group reached the solid logs of the barricade and began scrambling over it. The howls of pursuit

were clear now, and the Harper could catch glimpses of movement through the trees. Outlined by the glow from the cabin windows and the torches, she knew they were easy targets. The hiss and thunk of an arrow into one of the logs confirmed her fears. Two, then three More whistled Soldiers of !ce

275

out of the night. One of the Vani screamed as an arrow struck him squarely in the shoulder. The little man toppled into the compound.

“Get him!” the Harper croaked to the gnomes guarding the perimeter, pointing to the injured gnome, who sat dazed in the snow at the base of the barricade. “Vil, are there any archers?”

“Not enough.” Noticing that the Harper did not carry her bow, the man thrust his wooden longbow into her hands.

‘°Take mine. You’re probably a better shoU’

The wood was cool and smooth under her fingers.

Instinctively Martine field-checked it, sliding the bowstring between her fingers, checking the mounts at top and bottom.

The bow was supple, the string a little overstretched, but it would do. Vil stepped behind her and gripped her shoulders in his gnarled hands, guiding her sight toward the trees. “See those shadows over by the bent pine?” he whispered, as if the gnolls would hear. His scratchy cheek pressed against her neck as he sighted down her temple.

Focusing her attention on the area Vii had indicated, Martine finally saw a shadowy shape, tall and feral, then two, then three move out from under the sheltering trees and into the moonlight, stalking. Martine judged the distance and the light.

“I see them.”

‘q’nen send them this present. If we kill a few, that should encourage the others to stay out of range.” The warrior pressed a slim shaft into her hand. With experienced precision, the ranger nocked the arrow and drew back without

looking. As she brought the bowstring to her cheek, she noticed that the leaf-headed tip glowed a silvery blue, radiating its own light She paused; the tip wavered.

“Yes, it’s magical,” Vii assured her, reading her thoughts.

“I’ve been saving these, but I think now’s the time to put them to use.”

276

The Harers

Martine focused on the target. Behind her, Vil slid away to direct the shooting of the others, like a master of archers guiding his unit through a drill.

The bowstring released with a twang, and a silvery

streak shot through the darkness. The Harper didn’t wait to follow its flight, but busily nocked another arrow.

A spitting howl was proof of her aim. Sighting in again, the Harper spotted her target, twisting and staggering, one clawed hand clutching at a shoulder. Twang! A second shot sped through the air. She had another arrow nocked and drawn before the creature screamed a second time. The third shaft hissed away at another target before Martine paused to check her work. The first gnoll clutched spasmodically at the moon, its torso heaving. The third arrow

struck its target just above the clavicle and below the throat. As the second gnoll reeled and tried to stumble away, moonlight flashed off the arrowhead projecting from the back of its neck. The beast took a jerky step and then sagged against its milling companions. The dying gnoll slid facedown into the snow. Another gnoll jumped, struck by another arrow, and then the area around them erupted in little fountains of snow as the few Vani archers released a fusillade. The gnolls broke for the shelter of the deeper woods, leaving behind their wounded companions.

“Hold fire! They’re retreating!” Martine shouted triumphantly.

A clatter of arrows hailed the shelter of their barricade.

The Harper ducked for the cover of the fallen trees. A thick gnomish curse sounded near her as an arrow grazed one of the defenders. The gnome clamped back the pain, determined to stay at his post at all costs.

“Good work!” Vil praised. ‘q’hat’ll hold them for now. Put the torches out, keep watch through the logs, and don’t stick your heads up.” The warrior commanded the Vani with easy confidence. This was clearly not his first big Soldiers of Ice

277

battle. The fires hissed in the snow as the gnomes put his commands into action.

Vil crawled to where Martine sat, cradling the bow in her arms. “What happened out there?”

Martine looked at him dully, for a moment not comprehending the question. “Jazrac’s dead,” she said finally.

“Vreesar killed him.”

‘Wrhat about Vreesar?”

“It’s gone—off to get the stone. Jaz hurt it, badly I think, before he died.”

“Praise Torm for small favors,” Vil breathed. “At least we won’t be fighting Vreesar tonight.”

“It’s coming back, Vil, with More creatures like it! I’ve got to stop him. It’s my duty,” she mumbled.

Vil put a firm hand on her shoulder and pulled her gently toward the cabin door. “Right now you need some rest. Get yourself inside and find a place to bed down if you can. It’s pretty crowded. I’ll get some shifts set up out here and join you in a little while.”

The cabin was More than a little crowded, Martine saw immediately. There was barely sufficient space for all the refugees from the warren. The storeroom entryway was filled with the handful of Vani men who remained. Despite their small numbers, they were packed into the tiny area so tightly that there was only space to sleep sitting up leaning against each other. Most either slept or sat round a smoky pine fire built in the center of the floor. Wives came to sit with their husbands before returning to the task of comforting the new widows. Others tended to the walking

injured among them, bandaging their wounds with embroidered scarves and once-precious lacework. Krote sat in the coldest corner, bound hand and foot. He watched Martine with yellow eyes as she stepped through the crowded group.

The main room of the cabin was filled to bursting, with 278

The Harpers

Soldiers of Ice

279

mothers, their babies and other children, and older Vani.

Nearly all of Vil’s scant furniture had been piled outside onto the barricade. Only the bed remained, and it was loaded with infants. The rest of the floor was covered with makeshift beds of blankets and mats. There was barely space to step across the room. Steam from the tightly packed bodies condensed in the doorway when the outer door was opened.

Vil’s treasured bath was no better. Peeking inside, Martine saw that the small space was filled with about eight wounded Vani, being tended by the womenfolk. The ranger noted with relief that most of the injured didn’t seem to be seriously hurt. If necessary, they could be put back on the line. Most of their wounds were cuts or gashes from splinters of wood and ice received in the initial assault on the warren. The bad news was that one of the few who were hurt was Elder Sumalo. The old priest was sleeping fitfully on a hard wooden pallet, a blood-encrusted bandage

wrapped round his bare chest. Without him, without the gifts of the Great Crafter, there was no healing for the others.

It was clear from the cramped conditions that Martine and Vii could not stay there. The only space that seemed possible was in the crowded entry, with the Vani warriors.

Returning there, the Harper, with much shifting and squeezing, cleared a space for herself and Vil. With her knees tucked up under her chin, she claimed a blanket and almost immediately dozed off.

The rattling of the door roused the Harper, and she opened her eyes just in time to see Vil and a few others slip inside the room. There was a brief flurry of movement as the next shift of guards stepped over everyone to get outside.

The cold from outside caught them in its frigid

embrace, as if welcoming the heat it would leech from their bodies. After the door was dosed, trapping a fresh glitter of frost within, Martine could hear the cabin groan while the timbers redistributed their heat.

Vil settled next to Martine and huddled close so the small blanket could cover them both. The other gnomes wormed in among their companions—except for Jouka.

Still wearing his spiked badger suit, he couldn’t very well squeeze into the tight spaces next to the others. His only choice was to join Krote in his cold corner near the outside door. The gnome glared up at his bound enemy, and Martine swore the gnoll bared his fangs.

“I do not like this, Master Vilheim. We should have More guards posted. How do you know the gnolls will not attack?”

Jouka grumbled, all the time staring balefully at the prisoner next to him.

Vil sighed. “The gnolls won’t attack tonight. Think it through. Right now they’re probably looting your homes.

With any luck, they’re getting drunk and maybe even fighting among themselves. Second, they’re not that desperate.

They’ve got food and shelter, so I don’t think they see any need to hurry. Third, the moon’s just past full. The gnolls are too smart to rush this place on a bright, moonlit night.

The only thing that could get them to change their minds is Vreesar, and he’s gone.” He shifted his long legs, trying to find a comfortable position. “I’ve fought plenty of gnolls over the years, so you’ll just have to trust me. What do you think, Martine?”

‘What sounds reasonable.”

“Why ask her? It was her mission, her plan that got us into this mess.” His black beard bristling, Jouka puffed up his chest, ready to argue. His fellow gnomes were silent, many watching him with interest. ‘q’his is all the fault of interfering humans,” he growled, glaring at Martine. “She came here and caused this trouble. If we had been left alone, none of this would have happened. Now she hides here with that.” The gnome pointed toward Krote, sitting 280

The Harpers

beside him. The gnoll snapped at Jouka’s finger, but the gnome pulled it back quickly.

“And she brought Vreesar here, too, seeking her magical stone. First she risks all our lives by hiding it, and now we’re all in danger because she gave Vreesar the stone as part of some plan of hers.’ Martine shifted uneasily. Jouka’s grumblings were starting to get nasty, and the other gnomes were listening to him.

“Such a good plan it was.., now we no longer have a home,” he ended sarcastically. The other Vani said nothing, their expressions wrapped in thoughtful concentration.

With no one else speaking in her favor, Martine prepared to defend herself. Just then Vil’s firm hand steadied the Harper.

“Let him rage,” the former paladin advised. “He’s lost a great deal.”