The Improbable Adventures of Scar and Potbelly: Ice Terraces of Crystal Crag (15 page)

Scar scanned the nearby area to find the best way to ride around the obstacle. Spying a route consisting of slightly fewer brambles and branches, he turned his horse toward it and nudged it into motion. They made their way around the tree and continued up. Not long after that, they reached the summit.

The wind blew up from the other side, and with it, it brought the unmistakable scent of wood smoke.

Scar turned back to Potbelly and saw that he, too, had smelled it.

“Ha!” he exclaimed. “There is someone out there.”

“Well, let’s go find them then.”

The trail led through several curves until reaching a clearing; they saw the silhouette of a cabin. Scar turned the lantern’s wick down until the flame was barely visible. They sat there a moment as their eyes adjusted to the dimness of the moonlight. The windows were dark and a small tendril of smoke rose from the chimney.

“Someone’s home,” Scar announced triumphantly.

“Yes, and asleep by the looks of it. He’s not going to be too receptive of visitors at such a late hour.”

“Bah. Once he finds out we are here to enrich him, whatever annoyance he may feel will vanish.”

Potbelly wasn’t so certain.

They backtracked down the trail a ways and secured their steeds to a tree, then returned on foot.

“Hello, the cabin!” Scar hollered.

Holding the lantern high, he waved it back and forth. “I say, is anyone there? We mean you no harm.”

“Oh, sure,” Potbelly murmured to himself, “as if murderers and thieves wouldn’t say the exact same thing to lure their prey into complacency.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” he sighed. “Just clearing my throat.”

Scar continued waving the lantern above his head. “Hello!” he hollered.

The cabin remained dark and the shadows quiet. Then Potbelly spied movement.

“I think somebody…” he began then…

An arrow shot toward them and struck the lantern, shattering it; the flame ignited the oil. Scar and Potbelly dove for their lives as the air flashed into a fireball.

“Get out of here!” a voice from the cabin demanded. “Or the next one will find your liver.”

Potbelly scrambled across the ground to a fallen log. He slid over the trunk and sheltered behind it.

Scar remained near where the fire burned upon the ground. Realizing he was fully illuminated and thus a good target, he scurried the other way and ducked behind a tree just as bark exploded outward when an arrow embedded itself into it.

“We don’t want to hurt you,” Scar hollered.

“Yet, I am prepared to end you,” the voice said. “Now get out of here.”

“We’re friends of Old Jim,” Potbelly said. “We’ve just come from Tork.”

Shadows from the fire danced across the face of the cabin. They saw a rustling at the window just to the side of the door; the barbed head of a wicked looking arrow glinted in the firelight.

Silence hung in the air for several moments.

“So?” the voice said. “Now get out of here.”

Scar took the two pieces of map out of his pack and held them out from behind the tree. “We have the other two pieces of the map. We’re here to negotiate with you to get the third.” Waving the maps, he braced to feel the barbed arrowhead pierce his flesh; but that didn’t happen.

“Did Jimbo set you on this path?”

“Yes.”

“He’s crazy. Turn back before you get yourselves killed.”

Scar stepped from behind the tree. In each hand he held a piece of the map and held his hands out to show he held no weapons. “We mean to see this through. Do not mistake us for a pair of dandy’s out on a lark. We can handle ourselves with the best of them.”

The arrowhead pulled back into the cabin. A moment later the door opened and an old man wielding a longbow stepped out. The arrow was to string but aimed at the ground.

“Are you Matlin?”

The man nodded. “I am.”

Potbelly stood and moved slowly with hands clearly visible to stand beside Scar. “May we come in and talk?”

With a jerk of his bow, he indicated for them to come forward. As they passed into the dark interior, they heard him mutter, “Damn fools.”

Once the door was shut, Matlin unshuttered a lantern and light filled the room. Though rustic in nature, it was well ordered and maintained. Not at all like the trail leading there nor the area surrounding the cabin.

He set the bow in the corner and gestured for them to sit at the table. “Let’s see them.”

Scar laid the two map sections on the table.

Matlin leaned over and squinted as he peered closely. “Looks right.”

“I’ve never seen anyone shoot as good as you,” Potbelly said.

Spitting on the floor, the old man shook his head. “Hitting your lantern was luck; I was going for your chest.” He sighed. “My aim isn’t what it used to be.”

“Thank goodness,” added Scar.

Matlin glanced to him and chuckled. “I suppose it would be, to you.”

“Do you have the other piece?” asked Potbelly.

“Somewhere around here. Haven’t seen it for nearly ten years…maybe more.”

Getting to his feet, Matlin went to a cupboard and grabbed three mugs, then collected a pitcher before returning to the table. “Have little to offer,” he said as he filled each mug with a clear liquid.

Scar took a drink and nearly choked. “This is water!”

Chuckling, Matlin nodded. “That it is. Best I have.”

“This will be fine,” Potbelly said, drinking his. He shot a look to Scar saying
it might be best to humor this old man if we want the map
.

Grimacing, Scar took a drink.

“So Jimbo set you on this quest, did he?”

“Yes. Well, actually he sold us his section of the map and then pointed us toward Tork, who sent us here.”

“Did they tell you anything about what you would find?”

Potbelly glanced to Scar. “Uh, no. Why? Should they have?”

“What is it we will find there?” Scar demanded. “Is there treasure? Or is this simply a waste of time.”

“Oh, no, there is treasure to be sure,” Matlin affirmed. “More treasure than you and your animals could hope to carry away.”

“Then what?”

Matlin eyed them silently for a moment, then said, “It is a dangerous trip deep into the mountains. Many creatures up there set to tear you apart and feast on your flesh.”

Scar waved away such considerations. “We have bested creatures of monstrous aspect, shared tales with the dead and all that since we started on this trip. I doubt that whatever may lie up there could compare with what we have already overcome.”

“You’re a confident one,” Matlin said.

“Surety in one’s own prowess, nothing more.”

“I see.”

Scar put a handful of gems on the table. “How much will it take for you to part with the map?

“Nothing.”

Scar’s eyes widened in surprise. “Nothing?”

“Or rather, nothing now,” Matlin clarified. “I think you go to your deaths and I would be ill-omened to profit from such. Now, should you survive and live to return, give me a hundred golds.”

“Hundred?” exclaimed Scar. “That’s outrageous.”

“Not if the treasure’s a hundred, even a thousand times greater.”

Potbelly extended his hand. “Very well. If the treasure to which this map leads is as valuable as you say, you shall have your hundred golds.”

Before taking Potbelly’s hand, Matlin asked, “Is there no way I can dissuade you from this course of action?”

Scar shook his head.

“Then so be it.” He took Potbelly’s hand. “Now, I just have to find it.”

It took him nearly twenty minutes of digging in various nooks and crannies throughout his cabin before coming up with a small scroll case. He pulled the stopper and slid out the third and final piece of the map.

Matlin laid the third piece with the others, completing the map. A route had been traced upon it with what looked to be charcoal.

“Begin here,” he said, indicating where that route began at a crossroads. It was a nameless point on the map. “Follow the trade route along the Sorba Sea until you reach it. There’s an inn there, or was, called
The Rested Traveler.
Take the road north.”

He traced the route with his finger. “It’s a less used road but you will encounter several small villages along it. If memory serves, you don’t want to stop at any. Just continue on until the road enters the Gorge of Waterfalls.” He glanced to the pair and said, “Don’t know if that’s its real name but it has five large waterfalls pouring into the river.”

Matlin closed his eyes as if trying to remember. “There is a trail beside the fall that twines like a snake. Take it up and it will lead you to a plateau. Look to the east. Three mountains stand out among the rest. Your goal lies within the left-most peak. The locals call it Crystal Crag.”

He sighed wistfully. “Crystal Crag is quite breathtaking. There are terraces of ice that ring it. Waters warmed deep within the mountain rise in springs and spill outward along its slopes creating the terraces.

“Look for a cave high on the northern slope of Crystal Crag. It is deep within that cave you will find the treasure.”

“Doesn’t sound so bad,” Scar observed.

“Never does until you get there. Wolf packs will hound you, and other creatures of fearsome aspect haunt those peaks. It is a place no man should ever set foot.”

“Yet you did and lived to tell the tale,” Potbelly said.

“We had a powerful mage and yet still lost over twenty good men.”

“Tork?”

Matlin turned to Scar. “That’s him.”

“He didn’t look like much.”

“Looks can deceive.”

Scar’s gaze roved over their route, setting it to memory. “We’ll need warmer clothes. I would guess up on that plateau and among the peaks there would be a definite chill.”

“A chill and then some,” said Matlin. “When the wind whips down off those peaks you will wish you were back home in front of your hearth.”

Potbelly glanced from the map to Matlin. “Anything else you can tell us about the journey?”

Matlin shook his head. “I’ve told you all I am able.”

Scar stood. “Then we thank you for your time, and the map.” To Potbelly, “We should go if we wish to get an early start in the morning.”

“Yes, thank you,” Potbelly said to their host.

“You boys remember what I said,” he told them. “Be careful.”

As they left, he handed them two torches. “To see you back to the main trade route.”

“Appreciate that,” Potbelly said, taking them. He then used flint and steel to strike a spark and light them.

Matlin remained in his doorway while they walked away. “Damn fools,” he mumbled once again.

Back at the horses, Scar was in high spirits. “Once back at the trade route, we’ll leave Cara behind and find an inn or spot to make camp away from Garrock and his men. By tomorrow night we should reach
The Rested Traveler
.”

“And then to the treasure,” Potbelly added.

Scar grinned and nodded. “And then,” he turned his horse to point back along the trail they followed to get there, “to the treasure.”

He nudged his horse into motion.

Off in the deep shadows of the forest a man sat atop a horse. He kept quiet and still while watching the pair ride off. “
The Rested Traveler
, huh?” Once Scar and Potbelly were out of sight, he followed.

At the trade route Scar and Potbelly turned west. The rider turned east, back to Cara. He kicked his horse into a g
allop and raced into the night.
 

Several miles out of town they came to a lonely inn set in the hills. It was dark but for a single lantern hung in the window by the front door.

“Should be far enough away from Cara that Garrock won’t have stationed any men here,” Scar observed.

“We only have a few hours of night left,” Potbelly said. “Why don’t we just continue?”

“A few hours’ sleep will do us good.”

“True.”

The inn was quiet and deserted when they entered. On the front counter sat a cowbell.

Potbelly picked it up. “Should I?”

“What it’s there for I’m sure.”

Clanking the bell several times, he returned it to the counter. A few moments later a man emerged from the back in his night clothes, eyes half-lidded and fighting back a mighty yawn.

“Can I help you?”

“Need a room and stalls for our horses.”

Another yawn and then he said, “A silver a night. You can see to your own animals?”

Scar nodded and flipped him a silver. “Can do.”