by Rick Johnson
“See any place to shelter for the night?” Christer asked. “Pretty much bare rock and boulders around here.”
“There’s cracks and crevices,” Helga replied. “Maybe we can fnd a place big enough to take cover,” Helga replied. “Let’s look around.”
Working their way along the ridge just below the summit, they explored numerous crevices, but none of them were large enough for shelter. Then they reached a place were the mountain broke off into a frightful chasm. They were crossing along a ledge on the side of the precipide, going to investigate a promising natural opening, when the air suddenly got cooler and there was an eerie stillness. “Uh-Oh,” Helga said, pointing to a red, swirling cloud that seemed to explode on the horizon. It whirled towards them with frightful speed.
“The Destroyer!” Helga cried. “That’s the ferocious sandstorm they say happens around here sometimes. We’ve got to get off this ledge and find shelter quick!”
Scrambling over loose rock, and trying not to listen as some of the rocks fell over the edge, they hurried on until they spotted a cave opening. Reaching it, they found they could both get inside. Collapsing inside, they gasped for breath. Then, as Helga lighted a field-lamp she carried in her pack, they had second thoughts about staying the night. Skeletons of beasts were slumped and piled together, as if they had all perished as a group. The bones were nearly buried in drifted sand.
“By the Ancients!” Christer whistled. “What happened to all these poor beasts?”
“Looks like they got caught by the sandstorm,” Helga said. “Look how they’ve got their clothes pulled up over their faces.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Christer said. “I’d rather sleep outside like we’ve been doing, than in this creepy place.”
“Well, we can’t leave until the Destroyer passes,” Helga said. “Here it comes!”
A wild, tearing wind now swirled down on them, with a force that was staggering. Even in the cave, millions of grains of sand slammed into them like tiny knives. Completely surprised by the ferocity of the wind, the two beasts threw their arms over their eyes. Thick dust and sand flew everywhere. Despite holding pieces of cloth over their mouths and noses, the fine dust penetrated under and around their masks.
“There’s no shelter here,” Christer yelled. “We’ll end up like those skeletons if we stay here. Maybe it’s safer deeper inside.”
The stifling dust was quickly stopping up their ears and noses, leaving the two Wood Cows wheezing and panting for breath. Groping their way further into the cave, they stumbled through the dusty darkness.
Helga’s enclosed field-lamp, protected from the wind, lit the way with a fluttering, fitful glow. As they moved, the floor of the cave crunched under their feet. Holding the light down, Helga gasped. The floor of the cave was littered with bones as far as she could see. Most appeared to be the remains of lizards, but as they moved forward they also came upon the skeletal remains of several more beasts.
“By the Ancients!” Helga breathed. “Protect us. What have we gotten ourselves into?” Still fighting for breath, they kept moving as quickly as they could toward the interior of the cave where the dust did not penetrate. Coughing and spitting, they stumbled on, until the air seemed to clear enough to breathe more easily.
Taking off her mask, Helga was distracted for a moment, and pitched forward, taking a fall over a drop in the cave floor. Christer was quickly at her side, helping her to stand up.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes,” Helga answered. “Just a bit startled and a small bump on the head.”
“Well, that’s the good news,” Christer said. “It’ll be a climb to get up there again when we leave. I’d sure hate to stay here. As soon as the storm passes, we’ll go back outside.”
Feeling tired and a little sore, Helga slumped to the ground to rest. Christer was just about to join her, when both of them screamed. A fearful noise erupted; living, yet somehow deadly! Helga was instantly back on her feet, Christer clutching her tightly. A chorus of piercing, penetrating clacking resounded through the cave. From the depths of the cavern the sound echoed back. Casting her light about, Helga saw that the walls and ceiling of the cave were completely covered with swarms of large—almost unbelievably large—beetles! Hundreds of beetles, each as large as small turtle, shrieking and cackling! As the two Wood Cows peered about, they could see that the sound increased wherever the light penetrated.
“Look at those jaws!” Christer exclaimed. “That’s the source of the noise.”
“Yeah,” Helga agreed, watching the scissor-like pincers clacking together. “Sounds like those things mean business.”
“They don’t like the light,” Christer observed.
“They probably depend on creatures stumbling into them in the dark, then it’s snack time,” she gulped. “Glad we’ve got a light.”
“Do we keep going?” Christer asked.
“I think you’re question was just answered,” Helga replied, pointing. The beetles were streaming across the walls and ceiling, then down to the floor of the cave behind them. Advancing on the Wood Cows, the beetles moved forward, staying just out of the main circle of light.
“They’ve got us surrounded,” Helga said softly. “So long as we’ve got light, doesn’t look like they’ll come at us, but when our light goes out…”
“So forward or back?” Christer replied.
“We’ve got to go back,” Helga declared. “That’s the only way out, so far as we know.”
“We’ll have to climb and hold the lamp at the same time,” Christer said. “How’ll we do that?”
Taking a small piece of cord from her pack, Helga ran it through the ring at the top of the lamp. Tying a knot to keep it from slipping, she tied one loose end around her waist, and Christer did the same with the other end. Looking grimly at each other, they began feeling their way up the wall.
The lamp swinging between them made climbing difficult, but the piercing clacking of the beetle horde emphasized how important the light was. It was almost impossible to climb evenly together, and they constantly found themselves tugged this way and that by the cord.
About halfway up the wall, the cord broke! The lamp fell hard against the wall and broke. When the light went out, the loud screeching and clacking stopped also. Although Helga and Christer couldn’t see what was happening, they could hear the beetles scuttling across the stone.
“We’ve got to…” Helga began. She got no further. “YEEECH!” she yelled, feeling beetle pincers slicing through her pantleg. Furiously kicking her leg, she flung the beetle away, hearing it smash against the cave wall. It was no use, however. They couldn’t kick fast enough, or knock beetles off their shoulders fast enough. In terror, they realized that in a few minutes, they would be overwhelmed.
With beetles all over her, more in panic than by decision, Helga began scrambling across the floor, crablike. Unable to see in the dark, it was the only way she could move without falling completely. Somehow, moving seemed her only hope—and it had to be fast. Walking was too slow. Already she could feel the beetles climbing on her legs. If she wasn’t moving faster, they’d soon completely cover her.
“Oh, Ancients, dear Ancients, please help us!” she cried. “Christer! Scramble on all fours!” Scrambling, kicking, slapping, she plowed forward. Unable to see Helga, but sensing where she was, Christer dropped to fours and barged after her. Slashing, kicking, smashing, they battled through the horde.
As more and more insects joined the attack, the waves of beetles now scurried on top of each other, reaching higher and higher with their pincers. The thought raced through Helga’s terrified mind that this might be what it felt to drown.
And, then, as quickly as it had begun, it ended. As if by some ancient command buried in their insect brains, the beetles dropped away and retreated from their prey. Continuing to scramble, Helga and Christer lunged another twenty yards through the cave before they collapsed, weak and panting. Although parts of
their clothes were shredded, their heavy clothes and boots had limited the cuts to their arms and legs.
“How are you?” Helga asked. “I’m bleeding some, especially from my arms, but not too bad.”
“I’m all right,” Christer replied. “One of those fellows got me pretty good on the back of my leg, but I can keep going.”
“Where did they go?” Helga gasped. “What happened?”
“Too cold for ’em,” Christer replied. “I was so panicked, I didn’t notice it, but it’s a lot colder here than it was where we were attacked.”
“Too cold?” Helga said. “But we’re way up near the summit—this place gets buried in snow in the winter.”
“It’s kind of like eat until you can’t eat any more, then die,” Christer chuckled. “They just lay eggs and die off for the winter.”
“YEEECH!” Helga grimaced. “I’m glad they didn’t get us.”
“Yet—” Christer replied. “We’re not out of here yet, and they’ve got home field advantage back there.”
“What now?” Helga wondered.
“No way I’m going to try to go back through them again, right now,” Christer declared. “I think we should stay here, maybe explore a little around us, just to see if there’s another way out.” He paused, gave a deep sigh, then said, “And, if there isn’t, we rest up and try to run back through them.”
“The lamp is gone,” Helga observed, “but I’ve still got some matches.”
“Let’s use one to take a quick look at where we are,” Christer suggested.
Lighting a match, their investigation of the area around them did not go far. Their attention was instantly riveted on an enormous mass of ice, crystal clear, polished to a gloss, in the shape of a giant inverted cone. A range of huge icicles and massive pillars of ice covered half the chamber they were in. In front and above them, everything was ice. It was only a brief glimpse, but it was astonishing.
Quickly lighting another match, they quickly scanned the rest of the chamber. The chamber was so large that the light of the match could not reach every corner.
“I think the cave keeps going behind the ice,” Helga commented. “It looked like all that ice comes from above, but is pretty much free-standing.”
Moving over to take a closer look, they used several more matches to explore. They found that Helga’s guess was correct. Water dripping down from the top of the chamber had formed the ice, and the cave continued beyond it. The floor around the structure was slick and the two Wood Cows slipped and slid as they explored.
By the time they had reached the back side of the ice formation, their matches were running low. “We’ll have to figure out some kind of a torch before run out of matches,” Christer said. “We can’t afford to burn them all up now.”
In the light of the match, they made an encouraging discovery. The ice cave continued, but now with thick ice clinging to the cave walls where springs fed the ice. The exciting part was that the ice sheets had been cut by saws!
“Look!” Helga exclaimed. “Ice-cutters have been here!” It was clear that blocks of ice had been carefully cut off and carried away.
“Yar! There’s a way out of here,” Christer said happily.
“Yes,” Helga agreed. “I wonder who’s doing the cutting?”
“We’ll need some light to find that out,” Christer replied.
“I’m going to use one more match,” Helga said. “I just realized I saw something earlier.”
In the few moments of illumination, Helga slid across to were a torch had been discarded by the ice-cutters. It was a mere stub of its original size, but still useful. It took almost every match they had left to get the torch to take fire. Soon, however, they had a working torch and could begin investigating in earnest.
“Those scratches in the ice on the floor are sled marks,” Christer pointing to the long traces heading away from the cutting area. “Getting a sled in here means there must be a good passage that way.”
Walking as quickly as they could on the slippery surface, the Wood Cows hurried along, following the sled tracks. As they walked, it was obvious that ice had been cut in the cave for a long time. The crystal walls went on and on, and had been harvested again and again. Ancient, broken tools had been left behind in places.
“This must be where the Ice-Cutting Road from Tilk Duraow leads,” Helga said.
“Probably,” Christer responded. “I wonder how far before we get outside?” They walked for the better part of an hour before the ice deposits in the cave pettered out, and the sled track ended. Several sleds were parked at the end of the ice. From there, wagon tracks carried on for another twenty minutes. Then the passage opened to the outside. Emerging from the cave, the night was moonless, dark as pitch. By the light of the torch, they could see that a road passed the cave entrance.
“Look how rutted that road is,” Helga observed. “Must be a lot of wagons that pass this way.”
“Where do you think we are?” Christer asked.
“Too dark to tell, but nothing about this place looks familiar,” Helga replied. “Do you think this is the Ice-Cutting Road on our maps?”
“Maybe,” Christer replied, “but we were following it before we entered the cave, and that was a long time ago.”
“Yes, hard to tell where we are,” Helga said. “The way these mountains play tricks on the eyes, we could be anywhere. We’ll have to wait for morning.”
“Look, Helga!” Christer said. “Over there. See? What is it?”
Off a fair piece in the distance, a long line of lights had appeared, bouncing and swaying as they came toward them.
“Wagons!” Helga replied. “Coming up the road. And running at demon-speed. They must be in a big hurry to get somewhere. Pretty risky to run that fast in the dark.”
“Friend or foe, do you reckon?” Christer asked.
“No friends I know of out here—and surely not any’s got that many wagons!” Helga said. “What shall we do?”
“Let’s pull back in the cave until they pass,” Christer suggested. Quickly, they went back inside the cave and climbed up behind a line of massive stalagmites rising from the floor of the cave.
“No beast is going to find us here,” Helga said. “And here’s to hoping they just fly on past without stopping.”
“Aye,” Christer replied. “They’re in a frightful hurry. Maybe they’ll just keep going.”
Not long after they had slipped into their hiding place, they heard the wagon train approaching. Cracking whips, rumbling wagons, cries of the drivers, and—making Helga’s blood run cold—the snarling and hissing of dragons! The accompanying stench left no doubt about what was coming.
“Wrackshee dragon-train!” Helga hissed.
Galloping along, the tremendous sound of the caravan grew louder, until the snorting, snarling, hissing beasts were stopped just outside the entrance to the cave!
“Speak! You dust-brained maggot! What’s the trouble?” a deep, ugly voice roared.
“A broken harness, Bozz—can’t run with it this way. A few minutes is all we need, but it’s got to be changed,” a second voice responded.
“See to it then! And with hell’s own haste! These dragons will be getting hungry soon, and we’ve got to make High Boulders Ranch before we feed them!” the first beast snarled. “I want us running again in fifteen minutes, or I’ll run you through with my rod—not just once, but a dozen times!”
“Yes, Bozz,” the second beast cried, running off to see to the harness.
“Hackenbutt! Bring the prisoner into the cave. I want to talk to him while we wait.”
A Weasel stepped into the cave, carrying a large lantern in one paw, and holding a devilish-looking snug in the other. The snug’s tip glistened—freshly dipped in the trademark poison of the Wrackshees. Herded along in front of him was an unusually large Badger. Bringing up the rear was a small Wolf, carrying a great iron rod, nearly twice his height. The Wolf walked with a limp, one leg obviously being shorter than
the other, and the foot turned out at a sharp angle. His left eye was overhung by a long red, drooping eyebrow; the right one entirely hidden by an enormous wart. The Wolf’s protruding lips flopped over crooked, jagged teeth sticking out every which way. His ears were shaped like those of a donkey, but half the size. Pulling it all together for maximum effect, the Wrackshee leader wore a look that combined hate, cruelty, and whimsical idiocy.
The small size of the Wolf did not diminish his strength, however. Handling the long rod with lightning speed and amazing skill, he whirled the rod above his head, and brought it down, point first, between the legs of the Badger. Despite his size, the Badger winced as the point of the rod sliced open the side of his boot as if it were warm butter.
“Now, Badger,” the Wolf said, “state your name, and tell me what you were doing in Silverpreen.”
“I’m ThunderUp, of Wrack, recently Shark Luger at Tilk Duraow,” the Badger replied. “I barely escaped with my life when the dragons rampaged through the mess hall.”
“Barely escaped? Dragons rampaging?” the Wolf snarled. “What do you mean?”
“Tilk Duraow is no more,” ThunderUp replied. “Not a single Skull Buzzard left. The slaves are in complete control of the fortress!”
“And no one else escaped?” the Wrackshee gasped.
“The dragons hit the fortress at Evening Roast, and the troops were caught by surprise in the mess hall.”
“What of the slaves?” the Wracksee asked.
“They control the fortress,” the Badger replied. “Don’t know anything more than that.”
“No!” the Wolf roared. “It can’t be! Lying Badger! I won’t hear that rot!” Whirling the rod again, the Wolf let it fly at the stalagmite formation where Christer and Helga hid. The missile slammed into the pillar of rock and stuck!
“See how the point of my rod sticks into stone as if it’s wood?” the Wolf said. “That’s the strength of my arm. The same arm I will use to crush your head between my paws if you don’t tell me what I want to know. Now speak!”