They were huddled together in the wreckage of the boat, arguing or trying to argue-their mouths were stiff from cold and it was difficult to talk-when the argument was interrupted by a hoarse cry, a roaring and bellowing sound, as of some creature in pain. Ordering the rest to stay in the boat, Derek and his knights left to see what was wrong. Tasslehoff immediately chased after the knights. Sturm chased after Tas, and Flint went with him. Gilthanas said he did not trust Derek, and he followed, accompanied by Elistan, who thought he might be of some use. Laurana had no intention of remaining behind alone, and thus the entire group trailed after Derek, much to his ire.
They came upon an enormous white bear being attacked by two kapak draconians, who were jabbing at the bear with spears. The bear was on her hind legs, roaring and batting at the spears with enormous paws. Red blood marred the bear’s white fur. Laurana wondered why the bear did not simply run off, and then she saw the reason. The bear was trying to protect two white cubs who crouched together behind her.
“So the foul lizards are here, too,” Flint stated dourly.
He fumbled at his axe, trying to draw it from its harness on his back. His gloved hands were clumsy from the cold, and he dropped it. The axe fell to the ice with a clang.
At the sound, the draconians halted their attack and looked over their shoulders. Seeing themselves vastly outnumbered, they turned and started to run.
“They’ve seen us!” said Derek. “Don’t let them get back to report. Aran, your bow!”
Aran removed his bow from his shoulder. Like Flint, the knight’s hands were chilled to the bone, and he could not force his stiffened fingers to grasp the arrow. Derek drew his sword and started to run for the draconians, shouting for Brian to come with him. The knights slipped and slithered over the ice. The draconians, getting far better traction with their clawed feet, soon outdistanced them, disappearing into the white wilderness. Derek came back, cursing beneath his breath.
The white bear had collapsed and lay bleeding on the ice. Her cubs pawed her wounded body, trying to urge her to get up. Heedless of Derek’s shouts that the wounded bear would attack him, Elistan walked over to kneel at the bear’s side. The bear growled weakly at him, bared her teeth, and tried to raise her head, but she was too weak. Murmuring to her comfortingly, Elistan placed his hands on the bear, who seemed soothed by his touch. She gave a great, groaning sigh and relaxed.
“The draconians will be back,” Derek stated impatiently. “The creature is dying. There is nothing we can do. We should leave before they return in greater numbers. I’m going to put a stop to this.”
“Do not disturb Elistan at his prayers, sir,” said Sturm and when it seemed Derek was going to ignore him, Sturm placed a restraining hand on Derek’s arm.
Derek glared at him and Sturm removed his hand, but he remained standing between the knight and Elistan. Derek muttered something and walked off. Aran went with him, while Brian remained to watch.
As Elistan prayed, the gaping wounds and bloody gashes in the bear’s chest and flanks closed over. Brian gasped and said softly to Sturm, “How did he do that?”
“Elistan would say that he did nothing; it is the god who brings about this miracle,” Sturm replied with a smile.
“You believe in… this?” said Brian, gesturing toward Elistan.
“It is difficult not to,” Sturm replied, “when the proof is before your eyes.”
Brian wanted to ask more. He wanted to ask Sturm if he prayed to Paladine, but asking such a personal question would be ill-mannered, and therefore Brian kept silent. He had another reason. If Derek found out Sturm Brightblade believed in these gods and actually prayed to them, it would be yet another black mark against him.
The bear was starting to try to regain her feet. She was still a wild beast with young to protect, and Elistan prudently and hastily backed away, dragging Tasslehoff, who had been making friends with the bear cubs. The group returned to the boat. Glancing back, they saw the bear on all fours starting to lumber off, her cubs crowding near her.
Derek and Aran were talking over the fact that draconians were this far south.
“The draconians must be in the service of Feal-Thas,” Derek was saying. “They will report back to him that three Solamnic knights are now in Icereach.”
“I’m sure that this news will have the Highlord shaking in his fur-lined boots,” said Aran dryly.
“He will guess we are here after the dragon orb,” said Derek, “and he will send his troops to attack us.”
“Why should he immediately jump to the conclusion that we’re after the orb?” Aran demanded. “Just because you are obsessed with this artifact, Derek, doesn’t mean everyone is-”
“Did you two see that?” Brian cried excitedly, joining them. “Look! The bear is walking around. Elistan healed her wounds-”
“You are such an innocent, Brian,” said Derek caustically. “You never fail to fall for some charlatan’s tricks. The bear’s wounds were only superficial. Anyone could see that.”
“No, Derek, you’re wrong,” Brian began, but he was interrupted by Aran, who took hold of each man’s arm and gripped it tightly, warningly.
“Look around. Slowly.”
The knights turned to see a group of warriors clad in skins and furs heading their way. The warriors were armed with spears and some of them held strange-looking axes that glistened in the chill sunshine as though they were made of crystal.
“Get everyone into the boat!” Derek ordered. “We can use that for cover.”
Brian ran back, shouting at the others and yelling at them to run for the boat. He grabbed hold of Tasslehoff and hustled him off. Flint, Gilthanas and Laurana hurried after them. Sturm assisted Elistan, who was having difficulty keeping his footing.
The warriors continued to advance. Aran began blowing on his hands, trying to warm them so he could use his bow. Flint peered out over the hull, fingering his axe and staring curiously at the odd-looking axes of the enemy.
“These must be the Ice Folk the griffons mentioned,” said Laurana, hastening up to Derek. “We should try to talk to them, not fight them.”
“I will go,” Elistan offered.
“It’s too dangerous,” said Derek.
Elistan looked at Tasslehoff, who was blue with the cold and shaking so badly that his pouches rattled. The others were not much better.
“I think the most urgent danger we face now is from freezing to death,” Elistan said. “I do not think I will be in danger. These warriors have not rushed to the attack, as they would have if they thought we were with the armies of the Highlord.”
Derek considered this. “Very well, but I will be the one to talk to them.”
“If you will allow me to go, Sir Derek, it would be more prudent,” said Elistan mildly. “If anything should happen to me, you will be needed here.”
Derek gave an abrupt nod.
“We will cover you,” he said, seeing that Aran had managed to warm his fingers enough to be able to use his bow. He had an arrow nocked and ready.
Laurana stood close to Tasslehoff, pressing the shivering kender against her body and wrapping her coat around him. They watched in tense silence as Elistan raised his arms to show he carried no weapons and walked out from the shelter of the boat. The warriors saw him; several pointed at him. The lead warrior-an enormous man with flaming red hair that seemed the only color in this white world-saw him too. The lead warrior kept going and urged his warriors forward.
“Look at that!” Aran exclaimed suddenly, pointing.
“Elistan!” Brian called a warning. “The white bear is following you!”
Elistan glanced around. The bear was trotting over the ice on all fours, her cubs running along behind her.
“Elistan, come back!” Laurana cried fearfully.
“Too late,” said Derek grimly. “He would never make it. Aran, shoot the bear.”
Aran raised his bow. He started to pull back the string, but his arm jerked and he lost his grip
.
“Let go of me!” he cried angrily.
“No one has hold of you,” said Brian.
Aran glanced around. Flint and Sturm were standing on the other side of the boat. Tasslehoff-the most likely suspect-was shivering in Laurana’s grasp. Brian stood next to Derek, and Gilthanas was over beside Flint.
Aran looked foolish. “Sorry.” He shook his head, muttered, “I could have sworn I felt someone.”
He lifted the bow again.
The bear was on Elistan’s heels. The warriors had seen the animal as well, and now their red-bearded leader called a halt.
Elistan must have heard the warning shouts. He must have heard the beast scrabbling over the ice close behind him, but if he did, he did not turn. He kept walking.
“Shoot!” Derek ordered, rounding on Aran furiously.
“I can’t!” Aran gasped. He was sweating, despite the cold. His hand grasped the arrow, his arm shook with his great effort, but he didn’t fire. “Someone has hold of my arm!”
“No, someone doesn’t,” said Tasslehoff between chatters. “Should one of us tell him?”
“Hush,” said Laurana softly.
The bear reared up on her hind legs, towering over Elistan. She lifted up her great paws, held them over him, and gave a great, bellowing roar.
The leader of the warriors gazed long at the bear, then, turning around, he made a motion to his men. One by one, they threw their weapons onto the ice. The red-bearded warrior walked slowly toward Elistan. The bear relaxed down on all fours, though she still kept her gaze fixed upon the warriors.
The red-bearded man had bright blue eyes and a large nose. His face was seamed and weathered, and his voice rumbled like an avalanche. He spoke Common, though with a thick accent. He gestured at the bear.
“The bear has been hurt. She is covered with blood. Did you do this?” he asked Elistan.
“If I did, would she walk with me?” Elistan returned. “The bear was attacked by draconians. These valiant knights”-he pointed at Derek and the others, who had come out from the shelter of the boat-“chased them off. They saved the bear’s life.”
The warrior grunted. He eyed Elistan and he eyed the bear and then he lowered his spear. He bowed to the bear and spoke to her in his own language. Reaching into a leather pouch he had tied to his belt, he threw some bits of fish to the bear, who ate them with relish, then, rounding up her cubs, the bear lumbered away, heading at a rapid pace over the glacier.
“The white bear is the guardian of our tribe,” the warrior stated. “You are fortunate she vouched for you, otherwise we would have killed you. We do not like strangers. As it is, you will be our honored guests.”
“I swear to you, Derek,” Aran was saying as the knights went to meet Elistan, “it was as if someone had hold of me in a grip of iron!”
“Good thing, too,” remarked Brian. “If you’d killed that bear, we would all be dead now.”
“Bah, he’s missing his liquor, that’s all,” said Derek in disgust. “He’s having a drunkard’s dream.”
“I am not!” said Aran, speaking with dangerous calm. “You know me better than that, Derek. Someone had hold of my arm.”
Brian caught Elistan’s eye.
The cleric smiled and winked.
The Ice Folk made them welcome. They offered them smoked fish and water. One took off his own thick fur coat to wrap around the half-frozen kender. The red-bearded warrior was their chief, and he refused to talk or answer any of their questions, saying they were all in danger of frostbite. He hustled the group back to the camp, which consisted of small snug tents made out of animal hides stretched over portable frames. Trickles of smoke rose from the center holes in each tent. The heart of the camp was a longhouse known as the chieftent. Long and narrow, the chieftent was made of furs and hides draped over the large rib cage of some dead sea beast whose carcass had been frozen in the ice. The small tents were used only for sleeping, being too cramped for much else. The Ice Folk spent most of their time either fishing the glacial pools or in the chieftent.
Those gathered in the chieftent sewed hides, braided and repaired nets, hammered fishhooks, fashioned spear and arrow heads, and performed countless other tasks. Men, women, and children worked together, and while they worked someone would tell a story or the group would sing, discuss the fishing prospects, or share the latest gossip. Little children played underfoot; older children had their tasks to perform. In this harsh clime, the tribe’s survival depended on every person doing his part.
The Ice Folk gave their guests clothing designed for living on the glacier, and they snuggled thankfully into the warm fur coats, slipped their feet into thick fur-lined boots and thrust their chilled hands into heavy gloves. Laurana was given a tent of her own. The three knights shared another, and Sturm, Flint and Tas had a tent to themselves. Elistan was on his way to his tent when he found his way blocked by an elderly man with a long white beard, heavily bundled and wrapped in furs and a gray robe. All that could be seen of him was a hawk-like nose poking out of a gray cowl and two glittering eyes.
The old man planted himself squarely in Elistan’s path. Elistan halted obligingly and stood smiling down at the old man whose bent body did not come to his shoulder.
The old man snatched off a fur glove, revealing a gnarled hand with enlarged joints, permanently crooked fingers, and spider webs of blue veins. He lifted his hand toward the medallion Elistan wore around his neck. He did not touch it. His hand, shaking with a mild palsy, paused near it.
Elistan took hold of the medallion, removed it, and pressed it into the old man’s hand.
“You have waited long and patiently for this, haven’t you, my friend?” Elistan said quietly.
“I have,” said the old man and two tears trickled down his cheeks and were lost in his fur collar. “My father waited, and his father before him, and his father before him. Is it true? Have the gods returned?” He looked up anxiously at Elistan.
“They never left us,” Elistan said.
“Ah,” said the old man, after a moment. “I think I understand. You will come to my tent and tell me all that you know.”
The two walked off together, deep in conversation, and disappeared into a tent slightly larger than the others that stood near the chieftent.
Laurana sat for a time alone in her tent. Her grief burned, her sorrow ached, but she no longer felt as though she was lost at the bottom of a dark well, with the light so far above her that she could not reach it. Looking back on the past several days, she could not remember much about them and she was ashamed. She saw clearly that she had been walking a terrible path, one that might have led to self-destruction. She remembered with horror how, for a brief moment, she had wished the stranger in Tarsis would kill her.
The griffons had saved her. This frozen, white, stark world had saved her. Paladine, in his mercy, had saved her. Like the white bear, she had come back to life. She would always love Tanis, always mourn him, always think of him, but she resolved now that she would work for him, work in his name to bring about the victory over darkness he had died fighting to achieve. Laurana said a silent prayer giving thanks to Paladine, then went to join the others in the chieftent.
Peat fires burned at intervals in the tent, the smoke rising through the holes in the ceiling. The Ice Folk sat cross-legged on the floor on furs and hides, going about their work. Their songs and tales were silenced, however, as they listened to the conversation their chief was holding with the strangers.
The chief’s name was Harald Haakan. He spoke to Derek, who had taken it upon himself to announce he was the group’s leader. Flint huffed at this, but was quieted by Sturm.
“You said ‘draconians’ attacked the bear,” Harald said. “I have not heard of such creatures. What are they?”
“Monstrous beings never before seen on Ansalon,” Derek replied. “They walk upright like men, yet they have scales, wings and the claws of dragons.”
Harald nodded, scowling. “Ah, so that�
��s who you meant. Dragon-men we call them. The foul wizard, Feal-Thas, brought these monsters to Ice Wall castle, along with a white dragon. None of us had ever seen a dragon before now, though we have heard tales that they lived here in ancient times. None of us knew what the great white beast was, until Raggart the Elder told us. Even he did not know these dragon-men, however.”
“Who is Raggart?” Derek asked.
“Raggart Knug, our priest,” Harald replied. “He is the eldest among us. He reads the signs and portents. He tells us when the weather is about to change, when to leave the pools before they are fished out and he shows us where to search for new ones. He warns us when our enemies are coming, so that we may prepare for battle.”
“Is this man a priest of the white bear, then?”
Harald was clearly put out. He glared at Derek. “What do you take us for, Solamnic? Savages? We do not worship bears. The bear is our tribal guardian, honored and respected, but not a god.”
Harald had a temper to match his fiery hair, it seemed. He muttered to himself in his own language, shaking his hairy head at Derek, who said many times he was sorry for the mistake. Eventually the chief calmed down.
“We worship no gods at the moment,” Harald continued. “The true gods left us, and we wait for them to return. That could happen at any time, according to Raggart. The white dragon is a portent, he says.”
“By the true gods, do you mean Paladine, Mishakal and Takhisis?” Sturm asked, interested.
“We know them by other names,” Harald replied, “though I have heard them called such by the fisher folk in Rigitt. If those are the old gods, then, yes, it is for their return we wait.”
Laurana looked about for Elistan, thinking he would be interested in this, but he had not come with them into the tent and she did not know where he had gone.
Derek steered the conversation to the Dragon Highlord, Feal-Thas.
Harald said that Feal-Thas had resided in Icereach for hundreds of years and up until now the wizard had kept mostly to himself. Harald had heard that Feal-Thas was calling himself a Dragon Highlord, but Harald knew nothing about that, nor did he know anything about dragonarmies or the war raging in other parts of Ansalon.
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