Fearing to stir under the thin cloak of snow, Elof slowly turned his head and stared into the distance. For long minutes there was nothing, then he thought he saw a flicker of movement. It was like a shadow growing thicker, darker, coagulating into solid form. His scalp prickled. He was seeing something take shape there, out of the empty air, a figure forming on the Ice where an instant before there was nothing. It was there now, and coming forward. But it seemed small and clumsy, like an insect stumbling over rocks compared to the thing that hung there, not two thousand paces distant. He risked a glance at Kermorvan; he also was looking south, and grimly. If they moved on, the cloaked thing might not spy them, but the newcomer surely would. They could only wait like stones, and hope to be taken for them.
Slowly, awkwardly, the new figure approached with none of the other's eerie grace. It seemed shapeless, inchoate, topped with a dully gleaming carapace, like an insect's head. It took Elof a moment to see it was human, and in fact striding over rough terrain with unusual ease. The shapelessness was a wide dark cloak or robe, the carapace a metal headpiece, a helm.
Elof choked. His heart faltered, then thundered against his ribs till it seemed the valley wall must resound as loudly. There was no mistaking that helm, richly ornamented, mailed, masked, though little he had dreamed of the true power worked into it. Of moving swiftly, and unseen … And the walk he knew no less well, the sharp, measured stride that set the robes fluttering like dark pennants in the still air. Just opposite them, two hundred paces at most, the figure stooped, the helm's malign eyes turned this way and that, uneasily. Towering above, the hooded shape swayed patiently, waiting. Then the mail of the mask was swung back, the helm lifted in gloved hands, dark hair that seemed frosted streamed down around wide shoulders, and Elof looked once more on the pale proud features of his former master. Again the Mastersmith glanced from side to side, as if he felt burning eyes upon him, but then he looked up, straight into the smoke-dark shadow of that swaying hood. He gazed a moment, and then, very solemnly, he bowed.
A flash overhead, sudden and startling, tore Elof s gaze away. The starstones were raining thicker and faster now, darting through the paths of the stars like mocking children, streaking the night sky with orange and red until they rivaled the Lights. But then these also blazed out, with a power that charged the air till it cracked like a forest fire and the travelers felt the hair lift and bristle on their heads. Behind the Lights the stars seemed to leap and dance in the distorted air, bent into a mighty corona with its heart among the Lights. They rippled once, twice, three times, even more violently, and then it was as if they folded in on themselves and became solid, like a mantle falling to earth. A great cone of bright radiance hung in the air above the heart of the Ice, pulsating like a heart, and the man and man-shape alike turned to face it. Within that mantle a form took shape, stately, cloud-tall, pale as pearl, thin as smoke, its own light shining through it. A woman's shape, unclad, arms outstretched and long hair streaming out behind her as in some unfelt wind. Slowly, solemnly, the gray hood inclined. But the man bowed deep, deeper, till he sank down upon his knees, and forward still till, arms outthrust, his forehead rested in abject adoration upon the glittering Ice.
"Now!" hissed Kermorvan, for the eyes were turned away. "Now, for your life!" He swept out his sword, then gasped in horror as green phosphorescence leaped and wavered on its point and trickled crackling down the blade.
A mighty gust of panic surged through Elof. He seized the glaring swordblade and quenched the balefire under his clenched fingers; Kermorvan slammed it back in its scabbard, and they turned to run. Down the drift they slithered, crouching like apes to stay in the scant cover, bounding along on their staves, stumbling and falling into deeper patches of snow, never caring for the crevasses that gaped hungry on every flank. Neither dared look back, but ran and ran till every breath came like fire in a raw throat and their limbs were knotted with pain. Once they went slipping and sliding away down into one of the crevasses, but the snow they carried before them broke their fall; they scrambled up and went stumbling on in the shelter of its high walls. Climbing out at the end was less easy. They had to hack steps in an overhanging wall, but when they managed it, and lay gasping on the brink, the radiance at the heart of the Ice lay far behind them, no more now than a cool, distant glare through which no detail could be seen.
At length the two travelers picked themselves up, shaken and trembling, and without a word they turned and went trudging off toward the dark lines of the moraines. Every now and again Kermorvan would turn and look back to be sure nothing was on their trail, but only once, as they crested a heaped moraine, did he clutch Elof's arm, and point. They threw themselves down in the snow. A long shadow wavered across the glacier, but the figure that cast it against the nacreous light was small, striding away southward once again. It seemed to Elof that his head was bare, though it was too far to be sure. When they looked back once again, he had not vanished; shrunken by distance, a tiny figure still labored on across the rubble of the glacier. "Your late master, I presume?" inquired Kermorvan sardonically, though there was a catch in his voice. "I wonder why he does not use the helm once more?"
Elof shrugged, and walked onward.
The way was less far than it seemed, for the moraines on the glacier's northern flank were closer together than on the south, and lower. They crossed them easily in an hour or two, and were glad of their shelter; a wind was rising now, and when they looked up at the sky the stars were still, and vanishing behind the clouds' swift onrush. Beneath them the Ice glittered empty and lifeless once more.
At long last the day dawned, though bleak and gray, with no sun visible. Kermorvan shook his head like a man awaking from a dream. Ahead of them now the peaks rose, and even their stern barrenness seemed more wholesome than the Ice. Only two hours after dawn they stepped off it as they might off a ship. When his foot left its surface the cold fire drained at once from Elof's legs, so immediately he all but staggered and fell with the relief; only a chill, normal and endurable, remained. Kermorvan again seemed to sense nothing unusual. Instead he was gazing up at the clouds and sniffing the air. "Snow indeed!" he muttered. "When it cannot shield us any longer, and we have no way but to climb! Elof, my smith, pray that we may find your mysterious light soon, or it may be the death of us! Come!"
The wind moaned around them as they climbed the valley wall. It was steeper here than on the south side, and they had to keep their arms free to climb, so their cloaks could not protect them against the biting wind. The rock, though hard, was cracked in many places by the bitter cold of the Ice, and more than once what seemed a sturdy ledge would go sliding out from under their probing feet and rattle away in a shower of little stones to crash down at the rim of the glacier. "And reveal where we are, if any follow," grunted Kermorvan."But at least the slope seems to be growing gentler. Here comes the snow!"
The first few flakes were indeed swirling around them, and more came streaming down along the wind, striking the cliff on either side and swirling in their faces as they toiled on up and came at last to a long slope leading up the peak they sought. Soon the snow was lying in their path, great fat flakes that melted only at the edges, that fused together into hard ice underfoot, coating the stone like glass. Elof had to take care not to tread in Kermorvan's steps. By the time they came on an easier part of the slope, it was already deep in snow. Their boots picked it up as a hard shell and grew heavy, so they must needs break it away with the staves. "If this gets any thicker we may miss our way," said Kermorvan anxiously, "and in the mountains that is deadly! But we are not so far below where you saw that light, now. The clearest way up would be to follow this rockwall here—" He touched it, and pulled away his hand with a cry of surprise. "It's warm! At least, warmer than it should be! And see, at the top there, those cracks like great vents—and smoke is rising! Earthfires!" He slammed his staff down furiously. "So that is what the glow must have been! Nothing would live underground where the fires are strong
! We have doomed ourselves, and for nothing!"
"Do not be so sure!" said Elof sharply, though he, too, felt a cold qualm of doubt. "The Mastersmith's house was built over just such a place, and harnessed the fires for the forge! Might not the duergar do the same?"
Kermorvan started to shake his head, shrugged and picked up his staff. A curtain of gusting snow swept down the slope, piling what had already fallen into deeper drifts. "It makes no odds!" he shouted over the sudden roar of wind. "We may as well die looking—"
A huge shadow reared up in the snow. A vast arm outthrust clutched at his throat. It was as sudden as that, and he was hurled spinning against the rock. But Elof had time to duck, and the thing went blundering past him, toward the cliff. Rock splintered and fell away, and there was a bellowing yell of pain and rage. Elof bent down, grabbed Kermorvan and dragged him away from the wall and a little way up the slope. He lay gasping; Elof stood over him, drew his sword and hefted his pick in his left hand. But after only a moment Kermorvan was struggling and cursing back to his feet. "What was that?" he demanded, fumbling with his scabbard.
"A snow-troll, I think," said Elof tautly, "though I've never seen one. Gray fur, black claws and the size—" He licked dry lips, and felt the cracks in them sting. "I think it was what followed us in the forest; they go there sometimes—" The snow swirled, there was another bellow and a sudden rush from behind them. Elof turned, slipped and fell flat. A huge shadow swooped down over him—and then whipped back, with a jarring shriek of rage. Something hot and stinking sprayed across Elof s jerkin, and when he scrambled up he saw a great spatter of red in the snow, and Kermorvan standing with smoking blade. "Back to back!" he yelled, "and we'll hold them! Morvan morlanhal!"
A chorus of shrieks answered him, and dreadful shapes loomed up in the whiteness, closing in around them. Arms swept out, and Elof hewed at them; dark blood fountained, and a huge hand fell writhing into the snow. Behind him it sounded as if an axe smote solid wood, a metallic snapping clang, and Kermorvan staggered back into him as a huge body fell flat in the snow. Off balance, Elof saw a terrible face arise, a snarling, snow-encrusted mask like a fearful parody of a man's, and above it a jagged boulder clasped in black claws. He dropped down past a leg like a gray tree trunk, and even as the stone thudded where he had been he hewed at the monstrous calf. The thing convulsed and toppled, shrieking horribly, and he struggled up and passed his sword through its body. Then he sprang forward into blindness, to where Kermorvan had stood, but was no longer. A gray heap lay sprawled there with a sword-shard glinting in its skull. Troll-shapes loomed around the rock face, three at least, and the warrior was backed up against it, one shoulder streaked with blood, striking out with the splintered stump of his blade. Elof snatched up his pick and hurled it at the broad backs, shrieking mad words of challenge against the wind. One squealed, they turned to face him, and he scythed his sword at them two-handed, the black blade thrumming as it clove the stormblast. He took a step, and astonishingly they fell back; again, and another one loomed up, and was barged aside as once more they gave way. Then as Kermorvan came skidding down the slope Elof sprang forward and hewed in earnest, and they turned and fled. His blade skipped slashing down the straggler's back, and a trail of shrill yelps faded into the snow. "Well fought, smith!" yelled Kermorvan. "But they'll be back, when they're over their fright! Alas, one took my sword in this thick skull!" He was fumbling furiously in his pack with his wounded arm. "A dagger—"
"Forget it! Drop that, and come on! If they're coming back we've got to climb! Climb, d'you understand me? Those vents—maybe we can find one that's safe! They'll be warm, at least!"
Kermorvan nodded, but clutched the pack protectively to him. Elof gave up and went hurrying up the rock face; Kermorvan stayed on his heels with no apparent difficulty. Rime crusted white on their brows and around their scarved faces, where it melted in their breath and sent little damp trickles down their cheeks. The wind yelled, and the snow lashed and stung their eyes till they could hardly even see the wall they followed. But all of a sudden a new wall was looming up in their path, and in it dim shadows appearing and fading as gusts blew across them, the only dark things in a world lost to whiteness. Eagerly they staggered forward into the wide mouth of the vent, feeling the stone warm indeed under their hands, until Elof collided with a rock face. "It's blocked!" he called. "Try for another!"
"Too late!" cried Kermorvan. "They are out there now!" A yammering cry answered him, as if in mockery. Elof ran his hands desperately over the smooth stone; was he dreaming, or could he still feel air moving around him, air warm as a spring breeze?
Kermorvan was bracing himself, clutching his absurd stump of a sword. "Try and get to the next one," he said calmly. "Or away altogether, if you can, while they're busy on me. For busy they'll be…"
"No, madman!" barked Elof. "At least wait! There's something strange here—" His hand slipped across an outcrop of the rock, and his fingers closed under it. It was thin, too thin—and the shape of it… He ducked down and peered through it. Warm air, stale and strange-scented, played over his face, melting the rime of his brows and hair, so he hardly knew whether it was water or tears that came trickling down."It's metal! The wall is a casting!"
"What?"
"See for yourself! Gridwork, in the rock, sculpted to look like it! Angled so cunningly you can scarce see through!"
"Can you open it? They are coming, those out there!"
"Here, take my sword! And give me yours—" Elof ran knowing ringers over the metal, rapped it and listened to it ring. It was beautiful, cunning work, but the weakness of such a casting was that it must look like the rock it was set in; that strange shape would create uneven points, stresses… He rapped again, and again, listening, and finally rang the sword pommel against it. "Quickly, if ever!" hissed Kermorvan. Elof hesitated, dry-mouthed. A low, gloating cry came from the cave mouth. He jabbed the blade stump deep into a slot and with all his great strength bore down on it in one single effort. He felt the ruined sword bend, creak beneath him. Then there was a sudden sharp clang, a glint of bright metal, and one small bar of the grid snapped and bent outward. It was not enough. In utter desperation he set his fingers in the gap and heaved, felt it give slightly, braced his feet against the wall and pushed till the sinews cracked in his broad back.
Kermorvan spun round startled at the grinding squeal of metal against stone. "Kerys! A gate!" But the moment his gaze turned there was a rush and rumble at the cave-mouth, and a great form blocked out the snowlight. Kermorvan whirled and plunged straight at it, Elof's blade outthrust with spearing force. A bubbling yell cut off suddenly, and Kermorvan fell back, freeing the sword with a vicious twist as a huge body slithered noisily down the wall. Without breaking stride he tossed Elof the reeking blade, snatched up his bundle, and before the smith could stop him he plunged like a diver through the narrow slot of darkness, beyond which might lie anything. There was a crash, a slithering sound, the rattle of loose rocks dropping down into emptiness. Elof groaned, and dived after him, only to be caught by an iron arm behind the door.
"Easy, my smith! There's a drop of some kind just beyond! Now let the mice stop their hole again, before the cats recover." Together they dug fingers into the slots and pulled, feet sliding among the rubble, until the gate, screeching and protesting, ground home against the rock.
Elof wedged the runners with such chips of rock as lay around.
From outside came sounds of movement, something slithering over the metal, growls and snuffles. Elof clutched his sword tight. Were the things man-wise? Would they find the broken bar? They were strong enough to slide back the gate… He felt a great weight press against it, then a sudden ringing impact that almost overset him. But this work was made to withstand crude assaults, and agonized brute yelping trailed away, lost in the wind.
He heard Kermorvan chuckle in the blackness. "Somebody has earned a sore toe, I'll wager. Kicking the wall like a brat over a lost treat." The swordsman shifted painfully.
"We have had a sore journey, you and I. Now my fine sword that came from my old home must lie and rot on the mountain. My broadsword was already broken, so now I have none, and that is a worse laming to me than this shoulder. But at least we seem to have come to the right place!"
"Cunning work!" sighed Elof gratefully.
"And a keen mind that saw through it! Now look around you again, my smith!"
"Look?" said Elof doubtfully, but he turned.
After the noise and whirling whiteness outside, darkness and quiet seemed to press in on him like a stifling weight. But his eyes were growing accustomed. There was a faint glimmer, a pool of dim radiance spread out before him. He reached out, but Kermorvan held his arm. "Do you hear?"
Now, as soon as he turned his mind to it he did indeed hear, and feel, for the low, slow throbbing came up through the rock under them. He thought of the wheels turning in the Mastersmith's forge, and the hammers that shook the house. He realized then, remembering the rattling stones, that the light-pool was in truth an opening, a shaft into unknown depths. "A steep drop," said Kermorvan, scrambling forward. "But see there, those regular shadows! Those must be handholds, some carved in the rock, others iron rungs. We can climb down, though our ropes are lost."
"Should we not call down first, to herald ourselves and let them know we come peacefully?"
"Would they heed such a shout? Or even understand it? It is said they do not care for human guests, peaceful or otherwise. We would be too vulnerable on those rungs, they might fill us with arrows and never find out their mistake. Soon enough to explain ourselves when we are on firm ground again."
"I take your meaning," admitted Elof. "Can you climb with your shoulder as it is?"
The Anvil of Ice Page 21