by Brian Murphy
“Kill anyone who gets in your way-anyone who helps him.” Hasterck joined his men in rushing toward Finderkeeper.
Finderkeeper’s squeak was even louder than before, as he turned his heels on the Knights and headed south, up the flowing river of ice. Fortunately, the Knights were tired from their forced march and, though longer of stride than the scampering Finderkeeper, they were unable to gain ground on their quarry.
Hasterck cursed as the quick solution to his unhappy situation scampered upslope, out of reach of his lumbering soldiers. He could not let this opportunity slip away, but he also had to see to the kender camp. Something else, something better and more readily taken might be found. As twilight fell, Hasterck divided the squad into two segments. The majority turned back under his Second-in-Command to question, search, and organize the kender that had not taken the chance to skedaddle during their temporary reprieve from the reaches of authority.
Looking back, Finderkeeper was disappointed to see that the second segment included the two largest Knights and the Knight Commander and that they had set up camp on his trail. It seemed like a lot of fuss and bother. Sure, he had found Irda magic, but he didn’t know what it did or what it used to do. Still, it was his magic and he meant to keep it.
Finderkeeper tried to push on, but it was difficult in the dark. The solitary moon had not yet risen to guide him, and the crevasses grew deeper, wider, and more assuredly deadly as he progressed up the glacier. He angled toward the western edge in the hope that it would be less dangerous, when he was suddenly grabbed by his topknot and hoisted into the air.
“Look what I found, Thrak!” bellowed the large, sinewy Ice Nomad holding Finderkeeper aloft. “If huntin’ don’t improve, we can always take this varmint back for roasting.”
“Put him down, Bodar,” ordered a taller, lankier Ice Nomad on the rocky crags at the edge of the glacier. “That’s no way to teach Garn hospitality on his first hunting trip.” He nodded toward a nearby overhang, where a young boy sat sharpening a spear as he huddled for warmth.
Finderkeeper did his best to retain his composure and not flail about as Bodar carried him by his topknot to the edge of the glacier and set him down upon a large boulder covered with lichens. After gingerly smoothing his topknot, Finderkeeper stuck out his hand toward Thrak, obviously the native with the greatest intelligence, or at least the greatest respect for kender hair.
“Finderkeeper Rumplton, adventurer extraordinaire,” he said in as formal a tone as the gregarious kender could muster.
“Thrak D’Nar, my son Garn, and I think you have already met Bodar.”
“There’s ‘met’ and there’s ‘well met,’ “ intoned the kender. “He would do well to work on the latter.”
“Sorry, Rumpled Bum,” said Bodar gruffly. “You haven’t scared off all the game have you? Mammoth are hard enough to find these days, without the likes of you running them off.”
“Rumplton. Finderkeeper Rumplton. And, no, I didn’t see any mammoths, though I very much would like to do so. Do you think any are nearby? Is that what you eat for food?”
“During the winter we dig up hibernating lemmings and ground squirrels because it’s so hard to travel most times,” volunteered Garn.
“Arrr, boy, don’t be telling him we eat frozen rodents,” Bodar interrupted. “We’re hunters. Don’t you worry, Thrak and me, we’ll find you a mammoth. You just be ready, boy. Do what you need to do. That’s what a hunter does to feed his family.”
Thrak looked at Bodar sternly, but without anger. “And if he needs to dig up hibernating lemmings, that’s what a hunter does to feed his family, too, Bodar.”
“Bazfaz!” muttered the Ice Nomad as he turned away and sought out a good place to sit amongst the jumble of rock.
Finderkeeper fidgeted a bit in the ensuing silence. “I would be happy to share some of the provisions I have with me if, in the morning, you could point me in the direction of a good passage to Ice Mountain Bay. I understand that there might be a trail along the shore that I can take… er… away from this place.”
“Provisions or no, the knowledge is yours for the asking. We-all of us-appreciate the hospitality.”
“All the same,” gruffed Bodar, “mind your possessions Garn. Once something finds its way into a kender’s hands, ‘tis seldom seen again.”
The cold hardtack and jerky that the kender had tucked into one of his pouches long ago were surprisingly well received by the Ice Nomads. Finderkeeper found a ready listener to his tales of adventure in Garn and soon after they had eaten, all were fast asleep.
The nights are short in Icewall in the summer, however, and Finderkeeper was distraught to realize that it was fully light when he awoke. He hastily gathered up his meager belongings and was approaching Thrak for directions when he heard a cry from Bodar, high on the rocky cliff above him. “Warriors! On the ice. Three of them.”
Thrak jumped onto a nearby tumble of rocks and looked in the direction that Bodar pointed. Garn joined him. The Knights had seen the Ice Nomads and were headed toward them.
“I, perhaps, should have mentioned that my haste to leave this lovely land was motivated by the compelling circumstance that these Knights, which Bodar has so cleverly located are, erp, well, they are seeking to murder me and take my possessions, which could he interesting… heing murdered, I mean, not having my possessions taken-that’s happened hefore. Somehow, being murdered sounds exciting but vaguely unpleasant and terribly permanent, so if you don’t mind I will just be heading on my way. If you could kindly point me on my way to Ice Mountain Bay, I will thank you very kindly for your gracious hospitality. I am very sorry for any trouble I have caused.”
“Did you steal from them, little one?”
“I, Finderkeeper Rumplton, am not a crook! These… these… ruffians are seeking to seize a valuable artifact legitimately mined from the ice of this very glacier. I dug it out of the ice with these very fingers!” exclaimed the kender, holding out his bruised and scratched hands. “Hmmm. I wonder where that nail-clipper I got from that gnomish merchant is?”
Garn stepped up close to Thrak. “If you are truly on the run from bandits, whatever uniform they wear, honor demands that we protect you. Right, father?”
“You have learned well, son.” Thrak looked at the armor and weapons of the well-equipped and muscular Knights. “But, perhaps, we could negotiate a purchase of your item for your pursuers.” He stood and signaled the Knights that he wished to parley.
Commander Hasterck was even more cranky today than yesterday, if that were possible. A cold night hunkered down on a slab of ice will do that to a warrior. The fact that his armor was as frigid as the glacier beneath him did not help. The fact that he had to traverse gaping chasms in the ice and that his leather boots slipped and slid on the wet sheen of the glacier as the sun rose did not help either. Finding that the elusive kender had found refuge with the natives of this accursed iceland really set him off.
“Zeke, Dirk,” Hasterck growled, “take no prisoners.”
“And the hunters become the hunted,” mumbled Thrak. “They do not seem inclined to talk. Garn, Bodar. Over the ridge as quick as you can.”
Bodar grumbled something about meeting their foes in noble battle, but deferred to Thrak’s judgment to make a run for it. After all, Garn was too young to hold his own in a fight, and a father had to protect his son. Finderkeeper started to apologize for all the trouble he was causing them, but Thrak turned and headed up the ridge. “Hurry. Dragon’s Throat is our only chance.” Finderkeeper’s apologies died on his somewhat bluish lips. “Dragon’s Throat? Sounds interesting, but is that really the most advisable co- Yipe!” Bodar, muttering to himself about how he liked Knights of Neraka even less than kender, snatched his topknot yet again to set him on his way. Looking down the rock-strewn mountain-side at the pursuing Knights and back up at his potential saviors, Finderkeeper decided that the odds were considerably better if he kept up with the Ice Nomads’ trek over the mountain pass
that they kept belittling by calling a ridge. Besides, the Ice Nomads might have something interesting in their pouches to trade. The Knights, on the other hand, did not look inclined to bargain. Yessiree, the Ice Nomads were the best bet in his current ignoble situation.
Moving westward up the steep, granite slope, Find-erkeeper could see that the ridge was the dwindling spine of a considerable upthrust of mountainous terrain to the south from which glaciers spilled to either side.
At midday, they reached the crest of the ridge. To the west was a green valley littered with boulders and clear, round pockets of water. A stream meandered along the surprisingly flat valley floor. Apparently the glacier that Finderkeeper could barely make out far to the south had once reached this far down the valley and had gouged the terrain flat between two spiny mountain ridges. Ice Mountain Bay glittered beyond the next ridge. Finderkeeper searched the sky and the rocky crags for dragons, nesting or flying, but found none. Instead hundreds of terns wheeled in the sky and roosted in holes along the cliff-face.
The way down was quicker than the way up. Following the lead of Thrak and Garn before him, Finder-keeper leaped zigzaggedly from side to side of the goat path, letting gravity do the work, while the loose shale and gravel absorbed some of the speed and allowed him to control his descent. It was tiring all the same and the spongy valley floor was a welcome relief from the sharp corners and loose shale of the descent. The kender expected a mad dash across the valley floor, then another arduous climb over the next ridge separating them from Ice Mountain Bay. Instead, Thrak turned southward, up the valley toward the distant Icewall.
Perhaps, the kender thought, reinforcements live in this lovely valley. Thrak said nothing, but trudged onward. Garn looked about with interest at the surroundings. It became clear to Finderkeeper that the boy had never been here before. So much for reinforcements.
Finderkeeper ran to catch up with Thrak and pulled on his goafs-wool tunic. “Excuse me, D’Nar, but they’ll catch us eventually on flat ground.” Already he could see the Knights of Neraka scrambling down the slope behind them-fortunately not as expertly or quickly as the Ice Nomads and the kender had done.
Thrak did not turn his gaze from the wall of ice far ahead. He looked only at it and at the stream gurgling along on the valley floor. “They won’t catch us before we reach the ice. That’s not what I am afraid of,” stated Thrak. “Garn. You be ready. If I say ‘Go’, you run as fast as you can to the near cliffs and climb as fast and as high as you can. Don’t wait for anything, you understand, boy? Not me, not Bodar, and not the kender. And don’t stop climbing, no matter what. You, Rumplton, do the same. Not that it is likely to help, not with your short legs.” With that, Thrak picked up the pace and Finder-keeper trudged along, too breathless to ask more questions. It was a peaceable valley. What was all the worry?
As they got closer to the wall of ice at the head of the valley, Finderkeeper began to hear rumbles from far ahead, like an approaching thunderstorm. But no cloud appeared in the sky. A particularly sharp crack caused Thrak to stop for a moment and stare. Bodar collided with the back of Finderkeeper as the kender also paused. “I don’t understand,” stammered the kender to his topknot tormenter. “Is it going to storm?”
“Nah, little one,” growled the hunter. “The Dragon’s just coughing a bit Now move along. No time to dawdle here.”
Zeke, Dirk, and Knight Commander Vern Hasterck also enjoyed the soft and relatively clear level ground of the valley floor. The insect pests were admittedly more of a problem here, but not as bad as on the plains approaching Gimmenthal Glacier. Here the pools of water were clear and briskly cold. Wildflowers dotted the valley floor. As the area went, Hasterck thought that this was a good place to settle. That worried him. The Ice Nomads could find reinforcements, though none of them had been able to see any settlement in the flats from their earlier high vantage point.
“Ice folk are too stupid to live in a green valley,” smirked Zeke. “They want to shiver on the ice where they are safe from animals and enemies.”
“Cowards, everyone of them,” agreed Dirk. “Look at them scamper away. When the battle comes, they’ll freeze for sure.”
Both laughed heartily at that, but Vern Hasterck wasn’t so sure. Something was going on. Something he didn’t understand.
It was almost dark as they approached the towering wall of ice filling the valley from spiny edge to edge. Thrak led them to the western cliff-face from whence the ice flowed down, and they climbed high up along the edge of the glacial spill. Finderkeeper looked longingly at the verdant green valley floor below-a better place to sleep if it hadn’t been for the Knights pursuing them. The Knights obviously agreed, as they had made a camp in the valley, complete with a roaring fire for warmth, by the time that the Ice Nomads and the kender stopped climbing.
Finderkeeper was ready to sleep, but Thrak and Bodar obviously still had plans for the evening. “The Dragon’s almost ready,” Finderkeeper overheard Thrak say.
“Aye, you’re right about that. I heard the coughing myself.”
“We need to tickle her throat a bit. That’s all there is to it. I’ll be the one.”
“No, Thrak. I’ll go. You’ve much to teach Garn yet.”
With that, Bodar picked up his axe and headed down the rocks to the top of the wall of ice.
“If you don’t mind my asking,” interjected Finder-keeper as Thrak watched Bodar depart. “What is this Dragon’s Throat you keep talking about? If I am going to die, I might as well die well informed.”
Thrak just turned away, but Garn spoke up. “The valley below is the Dragon’s Throat. I’ve heard of it before, but never seen it. You see, the glacier from the western edge here is not at the head of the valley. The valley continues far back south, where sits another glacier, providing a good bit of melt-off due to how the western winds come through the mountain passes. The glacier here advances down into the valley each winter, crossing it and grinding up against the eastern ridge. The advancing ice completely blocks the water from the melt-off up-valley and a lake forms behind the dam of ice.”
Scratching his head, Finderkeeper peered into the darkness to the south. Indeed, he could see a huge lake almost even with the top of the ice dam extending far to the south.
“As the spring and summer come, the ice dam begins to melt and the blocking glacier begins to retreat. At some point, the rising water begins to spill over the ice dam-a trickle at first, but quickly and fiercely erosive. Within minutes the water begins to cut through the ice dam. In less than an hour, the Dragon roars and the entire lake empties out down the valley. That’s why no one lives there. It’s not safe.”
“But where did Bodar go?”
Thrak, who had listened approvingly to Gam’s explanation, interrupted. “She’s not quite ready, but with Bodar’s help, she’ll go hy dawn.”
Indeed, in the distance, Finderkeeper could hear the methodical wet smack of Bodar’s ice pick on the top of the ice dam. If the Knights heard it, they paid it no mind. Thrak could see their flickering campfire below.
Hasterck was up at dawn. Today they would catch the Ice Nomads and the kender, and the Irda magic, whatever it was, would be his-or at least his master’s. He took care of his morning ablutions and then squatted at the stream to fill his canteen with the clear, cold water that flowed from the edge of the glacier. It must be warming slightly, he thought. The stream looked higher than he remembered from the evening before.
Suddenly there was a sharp crack, as if lightning had struck nearby. He turned to see a huge slab of ice break off the face of the ice wall several hundred yards up-valley. Though startling, it did not immediately frighten him. Their camp was far enough back that the slab would do it no harm.
What did frighten him severely an instant later was the cascade of water flowing rapidly over the scarred edge of the ice that had just calved. The glint of the crystal water rushing over the deep cobalt of the freshly exposed ice flank was beautiful, but he also knew it was dea
dly. He ran as fast as he could to the western cliff, yelling for Zeke and Dirk to awake and follow. He knew that they would not make it in time. He was unsure if he would. He climbed as if his life depended on it, because it did.
Bodar’s arms ached with a weariness he had never known. His hands no longer responded to his commands. They were fixed in a death grip on the handle of his axe. The freezing water dulled the pain that had fired through his hands for the first few hours, but he knew that the best he could hope for from his evening’s activities was that both his hands would turn black- frozen more solidly than the hibernating lemmings they dug up for food. As the early dawn approached, his efforts had grown more and more fevered. Finally, he had completed the narrow trench, and the water had begun to flow.
It all happened so fast after that. One moment, he had been hacking through still water of the makeshift trench in the top of the ice dam. The next moment, the water was moving swiftly through the trench, doubling its depth in seconds. Then the water seeped into unseen cracks with a gushing force that opened them ever wider. A rumble caused the trench to fork and he realized, too late, that he stood on the most unstable portion of the dam. A sharp crack and the huge V-shaped slab of ice on which he stood broke free of the dam and plummeted down the face of the ice cliff. A torrent of frigid water raced the berg.
He knew as he died that the Dragon had roared in time.
Thrak, Garn, and Finderkeeper had watched through the night, sleeping only fitfully. They worried as they saw the Commander of the Knights awake and begin to break camp. Then they, too, heard the crack of the glacier’s thunder. For a moment, they glimpsed Bodar, upright, before the ice sheeted off beneath him and the water started its tumultuous rampage.
A moment before, the tremendous lake behind the ice dam had been a placid mirror, reflecting the red and purple of the sun rising above the snow-capped spires of the eastern ridge of the valley. The wake of a water bird spread out over the calm surface and lapped gently at the top of the dam as a loon heralded daybreak in the distance. But Bodar’s trench was more than a mere slit in the ice dam, it gave the coursing water a way into a multitude of cracks and fissures in the melting glacier. The surface of the lake lurched downward and crashed into the valley below. Rumbles quickly became pops and huge, thunderous claps, as the disintegrating glacial dam shuddered and broke into giant, tumbling slabs of ice.