by Allan Cole
"Never been in one wi' such a tight fit," Lizard muttered.
"Well, I have," I said. "I was lost in the West for nearly two years. The people I was with, other than my Guardswomen, were poorly trained and motivated. Tell the truth, if I wasn't the only hope they had of getting back, they'd of slit my throat in the night. Although that was tried when it looked like we were nearly home.
"We're in a much better position here. We know which way home is. All of us are here freely, and we've had no lack of training. All we need to do is keep going. If we find a port, we'll find a ship. Then it's only a question of how we get our hands on that ship.
"So let's not fix on the idea of revenge just now. There'll be plenty of time for that. And plenty of help to carry it out in Orissa."
Carale waved a hand, taking in the chamber of stone. "If savages they be," he said, "they got more brains than most. 'N' from the looks of this place, they've been around for a longer time'n most, as well."
"This wasn't built by the current crop," I said. "Just as you judged, this is an ancient place. From the shape of the doorway where we found poor Lord Serano, it was constructed during the time of the First Ice Bear King."
I picked up a broken piece of paving stone. "There was magical labor in the making of this, as well as physical. But it's old sorcery. I'm not saying our enemy isn't capable of doing the same thing. It's just that I don't think he's been around long enough to accomplish a project so grand. I'd bet a fat purse of gold that as we travel we'll find other such comfort stops.
"My guess is we're still dealing with an upstart. Someone trying to wear the mantle of a great and legendary king who spent his whole lifetime adding to the work of another great king who came before him.
'This is the remnant of an empire, my friends. An empire someone is attempting to rebuild."
CHAPTER EIGHT
People of the Ice
OUR FIRST SIGHT of them was through a swirl of fog rising off a broad frozen lake.
The mist had enveloped us as soon as we'd set foot on the ice. We were four days out of the oasis when we came upon the lake. The caravan track vanished at the edge and we lost many hours examining the shore in both directions before we were certain they'd headed out across the ice. Even though a much larger group had crossed before us, we were uncertain as we made our first timid steps on the lake's frozen surface.
It seemed as solid as true ground, but the knowledge that we could break through at any weakened point made us nervous. A person could die in a few short minutes in water so cold. Our whole group could be gone just as swiftly if we all went in.
The proper way of crossing would have been to stretch out in a long line, rope ourselves together, then move along with as much distance as possible between us. If one went in, the others could instantly drag him out. Even if that plan failed, at least only one of us would be lost.
We didn't have enough rope to take such precautions. We got together what line we could, which was barely sufficient for three people with seven feet or so between them. Those three took the lead, testing the treacherous path for the others.
But the fog became so thick that even that small precaution proved useless. We were forced to stay within a few feet of the person in front or we'd all be lost.
We must have strayed from the path during the early part of our effort, because at one point we all walked out on a weakened area.
The first warning was a sudden series of loud pops and cracks, like the breaking of bones. The ice shifted under us so suddenly that no one even had time for a warning shout.
We stood still for what seemed like eons as the surface buckled beneath our feet, tilting crazily this way and that What made it even more frightening was that we couldn't see the danger. I heard the splash of open water somewhere in front of us and smelled the musty odor of lake bottom.
Then all became still. The shifting and crackling of the ice ceased.
We waited as long as we could, then gingerly made our way around where we imagined the break to be.
About an hour later, to our vast relief, I picked up Searbe's faint sorcerous scent. Then the twins found some castoffs from the caravan. More certain of our direction, we struck out at greater speed, following the trail.
The fog billowed around us, making us feel like we were in a world of bleak dreams and smothering nightmares. The wind was slight but seemed to whistle a ghostly song in our ears. The waves of fog formed monstrous shapes, broke apart, then reformed to even more ghastly images. We had no idea how far we'd come or how much longer we had to go before we reached the other shore. We were tense, sweating under our parkas, imagining that unseen danger would erupt at any moment.
I was at point when we saw them.
I felt them first—a heavy pressure in the air of a large moving presence. Then the fog parted and I saw something broad and gray cut through. It swung toward me, then away.
I heard a strange voice shout an order, and we dropped flat on the ice. Then I heard another shouted order and a distinctive rasping sound, as if something heavy was being drawn along the ice.
The fog whooshed to one side, and to my amazement I saw what appeared to be a ship tack a few yards in front of me. The ship leaned to one side, steadied, then righted itself and disappeared into the fog bank.
I waited until all was silent again. Then I gave two sharp tugs on my rope, signaling the others to stay where they were. I untied the rope and crept forward. I'd seen a ship and thought that at any minute I'd come to the edge of the ice and find water. Instead the surface remained steadfastly firm and frozen. My hand struck a ridge in the ice. I stopped and came to my knees, peering down at what I'd found.
There was a large slash in the ice about three hands wide. I moved along the slash for a short distance and saw that it was more of an unbroken track than a cut. Using the track as a starting point, I crawled away on a diagonal. About ten feet from that point I came to a second track identical to the first. I signaled and the others moved up.
Just as they reached me, I felt a shift in the air pressure, like pillows pressing in. I heard a heavy presence grate on the ice and we all dived out of the way as the fog parted and a shadow bore down on us.
I lifted my head as the ship went by, sailing across the ice on great wooden skis.
The ship looked spectral, haunted, with fog billowing all around and the mast and sail and lines all faintly aglow. They looked like the trails heavenly bodies make on starry nights— a whisper to the eye to sketch a pattern that might not really be there. Ice particles shimmered within that sketch, making the ship appear more ghostly still.
I saw a large shape at the tiller, heard barked orders come from that shape, saw other manlike shadows scurry to carry them out. No one was looking in our direction, and I doubt if they could have made us out if they did. Then the fog shifted again, obscuring all but the figure at the tiller.
A trick of light made his face suddenly glare into startling clarity. It was long and pale as new ice, and the eyes were painted black circles, rimmed with dark blue and white. Blue streaks highlighted the long cheekbones, and the chin was pointed and tipped with black. The lips were stained blue, and there were black streaks to indicate fangs.
I tensed as the man's eyes swept over me, ducking my head so I wouldn't draw attention. Then they moved on and the ship was gone.
Lizard was nearest, so I tugged on his sleeve to pass the word for us to move back and regroup. A few moments later Lizard tugged my sleeve in return. Everyone was ready.
We started to slither back, but then stopped as a big bell tolled from that direction, the tones rolling and booming through the frigid air. I flattened on the ice again, hesitating, wondering which way we should go.
The bell took up a steady toll, about once every two breaths. Then I heard other sounds coming our way—headed toward the bell.
This time I could make out many voices, barking dogs, and much movement. Quickly, I cast a spell of confusion to aid the fog, then I s
ignaled Lizard to tell the others to spread out. As he moved away, lights bobbed into view all around us, flitting about like monstrous fireflies.
Two shadows hurtled toward me. I shifted on my side to present as small an edge as possible. The shadows became hooded, fur-cloaked men drifting across the ice at high speed. They were only a few feet apart, and I tensed, hand clawing out my knife as I braced for one of them to stumble over me in the fog.
I caught a glimpse of wooden skates, and then the men moved smoothly past on either side. One of them brushed my parka with his skate, yet didn't notice. I heard one man say something to the other. It must have been humorous, because his companion laughed.
Dogs yipped, a whip cracked, and then a whole line of shaggy figures plunged into view. A dog-drawn sled rushed down on me, and I thought for certain the animals would sense me and howl the alarm. The whip cracked again and I had to roll to the side as the dogs and men the sled shot past.
A whole group of voices followed in the sled's wake. I barely breathed as a crowd of fur-cloaked people skated by me. Their conversation was casual. I heard snatches of gossip. Remarks about market prices. Complaints about husbands and wives and lovers.
We remained flat on the ice for hours. Cold crept into our bones, tweaking the painful scars we'd suffered at Antero Bay. At least a score of dog sleds passed, perhaps a hundred people or more—both in groups and singly. Two more ice ships sailed past Yet during that whole time no one saw us, or even suspected our presence.
If the fog had lifted, we'd certainly have been discovered. It was like hiding out in a great field of tall wheat that was about to be harvested. While we waited, dreading that moment of discovery, a large group of people we feared might be our enemy was passing through that field like a gap-toothed rake. Only luck could keep those gaps spaced wide enough so no one would find us.
Our luck held, and finally the crowd thinned to a few stragglers. And then the bell stopped.
I took my best guess on which direction would lead to safety, and we withdrew as quickly and as silently as we could.
We barely got off the ice in time. Just as we reached the rocky shore, a wind came up, sweeping away the fog in long, lingering wisps, and we had to sprint for the cover of a low boulder-covered hill.
I skittered over the top, flipped around, and as my men swarmed past, I raised up on my elbows to get a good view of the area from which we'd retreated.
The landscape was a scene out of a devil's dream. The lake was a broad plane of ice rimmed with ugly black fingers of ruination. As far as the eye could see, the southern and northern shores appeared as if they had been gouged by giant claws.
Hills had been pared down, mountainsides blasted with fire. Dirty snow and ice ringed those wounds, and here and there I could see jagged roads and paths slicing through the rock. They led to the mouths of huge caves that seemed shored up by hand-hewn rock. There was no sign of activity on the roads or near the caves, although I thought I could make out vaguely familiar equipment scattered about here and there. I could also see clumps of large stone buildings with huge, black-streaked chimneys. Fire glowed in some of the chimneys but there was little smoke.
Then I heard a whoosh in the air, and from around a bend in the lakeshore came a graceful ice schooner. It was built for war, with a heavy ram fixed to the front and shields hanging from the sides. I saw fur-clad men with spears and other weapons standing on the deck.
Fluttering from the mast was the flag of the Ice Bear King.
The ship tacked for the point where the lake bowed into a bay. There was an ice port there, with dirty brown docks and a jumble of warehouses. Several smaller ice schooners were pulled up at the docks, and I saw figures swarm along the longest one to meet the incoming ship.
Crowded around the port was a warren of homes and buildings that made up what appeared to be a small city. The town was easily a mile long and was ringed by hunched mountains of gray, streaked with fingers of bare black rock. The homes and buildings were narrow and seemed to be constructed of rough timber, with high, sharply peaked roofs to shed snow. Other than the figures on the docks and ice schooners, I couldn't see anyone about.
Then the big bell tolled again and my eyes swiveled and found the source of the sound.
At the far edge of the city was a huge shaggy shape, easily twice the size of any of the buildings.
I jolted back.
It was a bear. A giant bear, reared back on its hind legs, jaws gaping wide for the attack.
The bell tolled again and I suddenly realized the sound was coming from between those massive jaws, which looked like they could engulf a ship. Then my breathing steadied and the bear came into better focus.
It was carved from stone and there was a wide staircase that led from its feet to big gates set in its paunch. The gates were open and I saw people swarming through.
"What in the hells is it, me lady?" Carale said. He'd come up beside me.
"Some sort of temple, I think," I muttered, but my mind wasn't on the answer. Instead I was gathering myself to cast out my senses. I motioned for him to be silent, then carefully slipped a feeler forward, like an eel slithering from its den and tasting the water for some sign of prey.
I caught a few magical particles olrifting in the etherous breeze, noted they came from Searbe—our kidnapped Evocator—and followed that trail. The particles became fresh clumps of spoor-sign the nearer I came to the town.
I pulled back, took a few deep breaths to moor my physical self, then turned to Carale. "He's still there," I said, pointing toward the town.
"Lord Searbe, ye mean, me lady?"
I nodded.
"Do we try t' go in and get him?" he asked. I hesitated, then said, "I don't see how we have any other choice."
Carale nodded glumly. "I afeared as much, me lady," he said.
He peered out at the city and the bleak landscape surrounding it.
"Minin' town from the looks of it," he said. "Filthiest people in the world, mine owners is. 'N' it 'pears they been diggin' away here since Te-Date was a babe in messy blankets."
I could see he was right. The caves were obviously entrances to mines. The equipment scattered about was digging and hauling equipment, including wagons and hand trolleys to haul the ore along wooden rails set into the roads. Some of the buildings, I was now certain, were places where the ore was crushed and separated from the mined rock. Others—the ones with the towering chimneys—would be where the ore was processed into metal ingots.
The bleakness of the landscape now made much more sense. It had a purpose, ruinous as that purpose might be.
The only thing that still puzzled me was why there was no apparent activity in the mines and foundries. From what I could see, nearly the entire population was gathered inside the huge, bear-shaped structure.
Perhaps it was a festival day, a religious celebration of some sort. Whatever it was, it had to be of great importance. Mine operators are not known for such kindly gestures of devotion as closing their foundries and tunnels to give their workers time off to honor the gods.
Then from out of the ethers came a blast of sorcerous energy that seared my Evocator's skin. The pain was ferocious. I tasted blood and realized I'd bitten my lip nearly through to keep from crying out I quickly quashed all my magical senses, pulling all feelers back like a squid folding in its tentacles to avoid a sea lizard's attack.
I felt Carale's hands gripping my shoulders and realized I was doubled over from the assault I weakly waved him off and raised my head to get another look.
Then I heard the roar of many voices shouting in unison, and my head jerked to the right, eyes sweeping for the bend where the ship had appeared. There was a roll of big-bellied drums, the rhythmic clang of swords hammered on steel shields, and then from out of the mist that still girdled the bend came score after score of fur-clad warriors.
They shouted again, and the shout was like thunder. Hundreds of savage warriors poured around the bend and skated toward the har
bor in long, deceptively slow strides that carried them an amazing distance in a short time. Their beards were thick and frosted white from their steaming breath. They wore peaked helmets draped with the pelts of small beasts with the heads still attached and jaws fixed in permanent fang-rimmed snarls. They had knee-length capes of rough fur that billowed out behind them, showing off their light mail, metal bracers, and wide, hook-fisted gauntlets.
As they skated they hammered on their shields with short swords roaring this chant:
"Magon is coming— The enemy trembles! Magon is coming—
The enemy flees! Magon is coming—
Hearts be glad!"
The soldiers fanned out into an ever-widening phalanx that was soon joined by other warriors, except these men had their swords sheathed, their shields slung over their shoulders. They beat on heavy, scoop-bottomed drums with padded clubs and joined in the thunderous chant...
"Magon is coming— The enemy trembles! Magon is coming ..."
An ice ship hove into view, then two, then three. They were larger than the first, painted in blinding colors and draped with dyed furs. There were soldiers on the deck who seemed to wear richer costumes and armor than the skaters and who brandished finer weapons, as well. All the ships flew the flag of the Ice Bear King.
Long canoelike craft shot out, all filled with warriors— pikemen and bowmen mostly—and all powered by burly men in ragged furs and gaunt, haunted faces, who skated alongside, pushing at heavy poles protruding from each side of the canoes. Men with whips skated around them, lashing and cursing any miscreants they thought were lagging.
Then the most amazing craft sailed into view. It was an ice galleon, double decked and with a flying bridge jutting above the decks. The wind was quite brisk now and the galleon's sails were straining, carrying the ship swiftly across the ice on its massive runners.
A huge bearded warrior posed on the flying deck, helmet removed and long hair streaming back. He wore a great white bearskin cloak thrown over shining armor of black specked with gold. In his left hand he grasped a long black spear, planted into the deck butt first. In his right, cradled in the crook of a brawny arm, was a woman.