The Improbable Adventures of Scar and Potbelly: Ice Terraces of Crystal Crag

by Brian S. Pratt

  The road beyond the village diminished to little more than a pair of ruts cutting their way through tangled underbrush and an ever denser growth of trees. Tree limbs had been cut back to allow unobstructed passage showed that the road remained in use. Midafternoon brought them to a village larger than the previous two combined.

  There was a store, an inn which surprised them, and laughing, playing children in the street. Locals nodded greetings as Scar and Potbelly passed among them. A few even offered friendly “Hellos,” and other forms of salutation.

  “Looks friendly enough,” Potbelly said.

  “Yes,” Scar replied. “That’s what worries me.”

  “I take it the inn is out of the question?”

  Scar turned to him and gave him a look as if to say “You even have to ask?” He nodded toward the mercantile shop. “Let’s get our provisions and continue on.”

  At the shop, Scar dismounted to enter while Potbelly remained mounted to watch their belongings. They did not want a repeat of earlier.

  Inside the mercantile shop, Scar gathered sufficient travel rations and was on the way to the counter to pay when he spied a table set off to the side. On it were displayed a pair of massive claws, easily the largest he’d ever seen.

  “Snow beasts.”

  He turned and found a middle aged man standing behind him. “What did you say?”

  The man gestured to the claws. “They are from a snow beast that had wandered down from the mountains last winter.”

  “Big?”

  “Very. They loom far taller than any man and can kill a bear with a single swipe. It’s unusual for them to come down this far, but it does happen from time to time.” The man eyed Scar. “Stranger in town?”

  “Just passing through,” Scar replied.

  “You’re not heading north, are you?”

  Scar hesitated a moment, weighing the danger in telling this man where they planned to go. But he gauged the risk a little less than moderate and felt he might learn something from him. “That’s right. We plan on continuing up into the mountains.” He then turned back to the claws. “Should we be worried about encountering any of these snow beasts?”

  “Unlikely unless you find yourself among the highest elevations,” he said. “That’s where they live and for the most part, remain.”

  “What should we do if we encounter one?”

  “Make peace with your god for they will kill you and no mistaking.”

  “Thank you,” he said as he turned toward the counter. Crossing to it, he deposited his purchases. “How much?”

  They haggled for a moment then Scar passed him the coins.

  “Be safe,” the man said. “The high country is no place for greenhorns.”

  “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

  Returning to the horses, he stowed the rations away. “Any problems?”

  Potbelly shook his head. “No. Everything is fine.”

  Scar glanced at the people suspiciously. People were just not this nice. What could they be up to?

  Mounting, he turned to a pair of young men walking along the street their way. They nodded and gave a friendly “Howdy,” as they continued on their way.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “This place gives me the willies.”

  Potbelly chuckled, turned his horse back to the road, and followed Scar out of town.

  After a score of additional homes, the road deteriorated to little more than a game trail. The trees closed in and they were forced to dismount, so thick had the branches overgrown the road.

  They slugged through the underbrush, making dismal time. Scar cursed for an hour straight; not quite the greatest length of time, but definitely the most vitriolic. He cursed Old Jim, Tork, Matlin, Garrock and every other person whom they had come across since embarking on this treasure hunt. But mostly, he cursed the three map holders, Old Jim in particular.

  “Damn, old man,” he ranted.

  Pushing aside branches, he received another scratch to add to the collection growing on his hands and arms. “This demon damned forest should be burnt to the god cursed ground.” An exposed root caused him to stumble, a limb slapped him in the face and some creature exploded out of the bush he fell into, its claws leaving a line of red welts across his chin.

  “You know,” Potbelly said, amusement at Scar’s expense poorly concealed, “we could always go back.”

  That got him a lengthy spiel about how he was the cause of all Scar’s misfortunes, how his parentage was in serious question, and that Scar had half a mind to leave him right then and there.

  Potbelly chuckled quietly to himself and trudged on.

  It was with mixed feelings when the trail emerged from the forest and ended at the base of a steep slope covered in loose stone. They were relieved that they no longer had to slug their way through the tangled mass of trees and underbrush, but their relief quickly faded upon realizing their trail had vanished.

  “Up we go,” Scar said with little enthusiasm.

  “Try not to fall.”

  Scar turned and Potbelly’s face was a mask of indifference. Then he broke into a grin and Scar scored a hit on his shoulder.

  “Maybe I should go first so you won’t fall on me?”

  This time he dodged the blow.

  “Shut up.”

  Potbelly merely grinned. “I’ll wait here until you’re up.”

  Scar shot him a look full of promised retribution. He then grabbed his horse’s reins and led the animal up the side of the rocky hill. Every step was a study in unstable rock. It took a bit, but he made it to the top.

  “Your turn.”

  To Scar’s utmost satisfaction, about halfway up the slope, Potbelly hit a large pocket of loose rock that set in motion a mini avalanche. It swept him nearly to the bottom where they had begun. Potbelly ended up covered in loose dirt and stone. He dug himself free and again started up the slope.

  When he finally made it to the top, he saw Scar’s smug look and chuckled. “Okay, okay. Let’s get going.”

  They laughed together and continued on their way.

  There was still no trail, but they decided to maintain their current heading in the hopes of encountering a stream or river. If there was a gorge somewhere up ahead, water had to be going through it. Any small stream or river should at some point join with it.

  Trees were less dense and the rocky ground kept much of the brush they had forged through earlier, away. They were able to ride and made good time.

  Half hour later, the sound of a bubbling brook came to them from their right. They altered course and found where it cut through the rocky ground. The water flowed in a general northeast direction. They followed it.

  Over the course of the afternoon, several other smaller streams joined with it and with each addition, it grew. By the time the sun neared the horizon, the brook had swollen to a good-sized stream over ten feet wide.

  “Do you hear that?” Potbelly suddenly asked.

  Scar reined in his horse and sat still with head cocked to the side. From far off came the sound of a waterfall. “We must be close.” Encouraged, they quickened their pace as the shadows lengthened with the coming of dusk.

  The sound grew louder until they finally reached where the land fell away and the stream flowed over the edge. It cascaded down fifteen feet to a river below. Before them was a mighty gorge running from the southwest to the northeast.

  They stood on the eastern edge of the gorge. It had to be the Gorge of Waterfalls Matlin had referred to for it held no less than ten waterfalls. Three were narrow streams of water while two were of medium size. The remaining five were awe-inspiring. Across the gorge and to their left one cascaded mightily to the river below. The other four were to the north; though in reality there were only two. One was a regular waterfall while the other split into three separate falls falling in tandem.

  “Unbelievable.”

  “It is pretty breathtaking,” Potbelly agreed.

  “I think we should c
amp here and make our way down in the morning.”

  With the sun near the horizon, trying to reach the gorge floor would be foolhardy. “Agreed.”

  They gathered wood for a fire then tried their luck catching fish from the stream. They went back several yards from where the stream formed the waterfall. Using twine and hooks from their packs, they each found a long branch to act as the pole and dipped their worm-filled hooks into the water. Potbelly was the first to get a bite and pulled out a nice nine-incher.

  “Beat that!”

  Taking it back to their camp, he prepped it for the fire.

  Unwilling to be beat, Scar threw his line back in and prayed to Vyll, the god of luck, for a catch to beat Potbelly. The god must have found him worthy for no sooner had he finished his prayer than his pole was nearly dragged from his hands.

  He gripped it firm and pulled back. The wooden limb bent from the effort. Then suddenly, the fish leapt from the river. Nearly two feet long, it spun in midair as it thrashed. Splashing back into the water, it went deep.

  “No you don’t,” Scar said.

  He worked his hands down the pole to where the twine was secured. Then he began rolling the limb, spinning the twine around it as he drew the fish closer to the water.

  “Wait until Potbelly sees you, my pretty. He’s going to be green with envy.” Laughing he continued rolling the twine about the limb.

  The fish soon became visible beneath the water. He kept spinning the twine around the limb and drawing it ever closer. Then when it was almost to the surface, it leapt mightily out of the water and jerked. The twine snapped and Scar stumbled backward as the fish hit the water and swam away.

  “No!” he cried, then proceeded to curse gods and fish in all their forms.

  With no hook he was forced to return empty handed. He did not relish the prospect, but had no choice. Wafting on the air was the aroma of Potbelly’s catch roasting over the fire.

  “No luck?” Potbelly said when Scar returned?

  Spreading his hands wide, Scar said, “I had one that big. If the demon-damned twine hadn’t of broke…”

  Potbelly fought back a grin. “Well, mine will yield plenty for us both.”

  “I lost my hook.”

  “That’s not good.”

  Sullen, Scar sat next to the fire. He had to admit, at least silently to himself, that Potbelly had caught a good one.

  The sun had been down for hours and the common room of The Rested Traveler was bustling with activity. Off in the corner, a bard played a lute and sang a merry tune. Four men sat at a table on the far side and kept an eye on the inn’s comings and goings.

  This was the second day they had staked out The Rested Traveler and they were beginning to think their quarry was not going to show.

  Motion from the front showed five people entering, three men and two women. They made their way through the crowded room to a table near theirs. Two of the men were bandaged; one in the shoulder and another cross the chest. The two women helped them through the crowd and assisted them in sitting.

  “Damn healers,” one man groused. “Just because we didn’t have enough coin all they did was the littlest they could. They did nothing for the pain.”

  “At least we know we’re not going to die,” the other wounded man said.

  “Serves you right,” one of the women said. “You should have known better than to take on two men armed to the teeth.”

  “Scary looking, too,” said the youngest who was barely into adulthood.

  “How was we to know they would attack instead of surrender?”

  “Excuse me.”

  The five turned to see a heavily armed man of fearsome aspect; across his back hung a double headed battle axe. The young man blanched.

  “Yes?” asked the one with the shoulder wound.

  “Did I hear you say that two men attacked you?”

  Realizing there was going to be no trouble, fear and nervousness melted away to a moderate case of uneasiness.

  “That’s right,” Shoulder Wound said. “There we were, minding our business when these two men came riding in, killed our friends, then escaped before we could rally a defense.”

  “Did one wield two long swords while the other a knife and a sword?”

  “Yeah,” replied Shoulder Wound. “That’s them.”

  “Where did they go?”

  “Why? You going to kill them?”

  “Maybe there’s a reward?” said the younger man.

  The man shook his head. “No reward. Now, where did they go?”

  Outside the inn, the four men mounted. “Think that was them?”

  Garrock nodded. “Gather the men. We’re heading north.”

  -12-

  The following morning they worked their way down to the floor of the gorge and then followed it northeastward.

  “Matlin said we needed to find the fall that twines like a snake,” Potbelly said.

  The falls they could see fell straight to the bottom. “It must lie further up the gorge.”

  Potbelly nodded. “Let’s hope so.”

  On the far side of the gorge, fell the three falls in tandem. It was a beautiful sight with rainbows dancing amidst the spray. The roar was deafening and reverberated within them. They couldn’t help but cast glances to it as they continued on.

  It was when they came to the single great fall coming down off the cliff far above on their side of the river that they realized they had a problem. The amount of water crashing to the pool at the base of the cliff created a tumultuous flow all the way to the river that was completely unfordable.

  “Now what?”

  Potbelly shook his head. “I don’t know. But Matlin and the others managed to cross.”

  Scar stared at the swirling, pounding whitewater. “There’s no way we can make it across that.”

  “There has to be a way.”

  “I knew this had to be too good to be true.”

  Potbelly glanced at his friend and rolled his eyes. Throughout this entire venture, Scar had pushed forward with unwavering belief. Potbelly had been the doubter.

  Scar scanned the water and followed it back to where the fall cascaded into the pool. He noticed a dark opening in the cliff face adjacent to the pool. Nudging his horse into motion, he went to investigate.

  The cave went further back into the side of the cliff than the daylight could reach. But before the shadows began, an old fire ring was clearly visible.

  “They stayed here.”

  “Or someone,” Potbelly agreed.

  “Break out a torch,” Scar said. “Let’s see where this cave goes.”

  Potbelly dismounted and removed a torch from his pack and lit it and entered the cave.

  It ran back and to the side, curving to move behind the falls. He saw a narrow opening and stepped toward it. There were definite signs tools had been used to widen it sufficiently to allow a man to pass.

  “They went this way,” he shouted to be heard over the roar of the falls.

  “Can we bring the horses?”

  “I think so,” Potbelly replied. “May be tight.”

  Scar dismounted and led the horses into the cave. They balked at first but after some persuasion they entered.

  With torch in hand, Potbelly worked his way through the opening to the small, open space just beyond. To his left it opened fully and he saw that he was now directly behind the falls. Stepping forward, he reached out and put his hand in the falling water. Cool, the water stung when it struck his skin; he pulled his hand quickly back.

  Scar worked first one horse through the opening, then the other. It proved to be almost not wide enough. Scar’s horse panicked when the walls scraped its sides and almost got stuck. But some pulling got it through. Potbelly’s passed with no problem.

  The wall across from where they entered looked as if it had been hewn away by hammer and chisel. Rocks bearing those selfsame marks lay strewn across the floor of the open space. Matlin and crew had created a way around the
falls.

  Once through the hewn opening, they were in another small cave that opened onto the gorge’s floor. The falls was behind them. Mounting, they continued up the gorge.

  The sun had not yet reached its zenith when they reached where the sides of the gorge began to relax and hold an incline rather than being sheer cliffs. Then just after noon, water from another falls blocked their way.

  This falls streamed down in tiered cascades, winding first to one side then another before reaching the gorge floor.

  “The serpentine fall.”

  Scar nodded. “Looks that way.”

  Rising steeply beside it was the trail. This would be far more challenging than the one they descended on the way to Moonshine Rock. It was narrower and at times steeper. But unlike the other, the path itself wasn’t wet.

  Scar glanced to the sky. “Plenty of time to get to the top.”

  “If Matlin is correct, and he has been thus far, we should be able to see Crystal Crag from up there.”

  Scar grinned. “Then what are we waiting for?”

  Taking the lead as is his want, Scar led his horse to the beginning of the trail, then after putting the hood on his steed, began the ascent.

  The climb was not nearly as bad as anticipated. The trail, though narrow, offered decent traction and held periodic spans of gentle incline. It took a half hour but they made it without incident.

  A plateau stretched eastward for miles toward the distant peaks. And it was to the peaks that their gaze was drawn. Three mountains stand out among the rest. Your goal lies within the left-most peak. Now that they were there, it was clear what Matlin had been talking about.

  Where the plateau ended began a range of mountains; beyond that range rose three peaks and they definitely stood out from the rest. Two were cloaked in snow yet had smoke rising from them. The left-most had no smoke rising. It glittered in the sun even from such a distance.

  “Crystal Crag,” Scar said.

  “Must be the ice terraces that make it glitter so.”

  Scar nodded. “Still a ways to go.”

  From the east, winds whipping across the plateau made it far cooler than it should have been. They pulled out the first of their warmer clothing. With still half a day remaining before them, they rested for only a short time, then mounted and started across the Great Plateau.