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

by Brian S. Pratt

  Not far from gaining the plateau, they came across another fire pit.

  “They stopped here,” Scar said.

  Potbelly looked down at a pit devoid of everything, including ashes.

  Off to the side, several yards from the pit was a stone cairn; rising from one end stood a large thin sheet of stone. “Rosen Carenthrall,” Potbelly read.

  “Lost one before they ever got there,” Scar commented. He glanced about the plateau, visions of snow beasts played through his mind.

  “Wonder why?”

  “We’ll question Tork when I’m beating him to death for sending Garrock after us.”

  “Now you’re not going to do that.”

  Scar turned a determined look upon him.

  “Until we know why he told Garrock,” Potbelly said, “hold off on the beating.”

  “But if he did?”

  Potbelly shrugged.

  They left the cairn behind and continued across the plateau.

  The distant peaks grew as the miles fell away. Ever present on the horizon, Crystal Crag stood like a beacon, inviting them forward. Scar rode with visions of gold, jewels and rare and exotic weaponry dancing through his head. Before he knew it, Potbelly was calling for a halt. Night was eminent and camp needed to be made before they lost the light.

  Very little fuel could be scavenged in the barren land. A few dead bushes, some sticks that had come from who knew where, and dried scat.

  Scar was less than pleased with the handful of scat Potbelly brought back with him. But despite the unpleasant aroma, it burned well and kept the fire going throughout the night.

  Noon the next day, mounds off to the north came into view. Situated at the base of a series of hills dotting the area, they looked out of place.

  “Should we take a look?” Potbelly asked. When Scar looked about to balk, he added, “They’re not that far and they could be burial mounds.”

  The chance for possible loot had to be taken. They altered course and made for the mounds.

  There were six. Each rose to roughly ten feet, with half that again in width and length. There were no discernable ways to enter.

  “They don’t look like burial mounds,” Scar said, disappointed.

  “If not, then what are they?”

  Scar shook his head. “I don’t know. But I think we just wasted an hour for nothing. Let’s get going.”

  They left the mounds and the enigma of what they were behind.

  Not long before it came time to make camp, another set of six mounds appeared to the south. They investigated and just as the previous set, these were uniform in size and no visible way to enter.

  “Odd,” Potbelly said.

  “To say the least,” agreed Scar.

  Potbelly suggested making camp amongst them to keep the wind at bay. Scar on the other hand felt it prudent to not tempt fate and keep their distance.

  “The air has grown much cooler,” Potbelly argued. “Last night, even with the fire, I never quite got warm. Tonight will be worse.”

  Scar eyed the mounds suspiciously.

  “It’s only dirt,” Potbelly said.

  He had to agree, there was a definite nip in the air. The shelter the mounds would provide would be welcome. “Very well.”

  Once fuel for the fire was gathered and the fire warmed the evening, Scar took a closer look at these mounds. Were they tombs as Potbelly seemed to think? They weren’t of natural construction, of that there could be no doubt.

  From the pile of sticks, dead bushes and scat, he took a stick over a foot long and set it against the side of the mound.

  “What are you doing?” Potbelly asked from where he tended the fire.

  “Seeing what’s in there.” Using a rock, he hammered the end of the stick, driving it into the dirt.

  “Might disturb the occupant.”

  Swinging the rock a second time to drive the stick deeper, he pulled back and turned to Potbelly.

  “If there is a dead person in there,” Potbelly said, “he might not appreciate being disturbed.”

  A week ago Scar would have laughed at him. But now, after having spent the evening in the company of spirits at Moonshine Rock, he harbored doubts. He again turned his gaze to the mound and eyed it nervously.

  Once Scar turned away, Potbelly broke into a grin which he immediately dropped when Scar turned back to him.

  “You may be right,” Scar said as he removed the stick from the mound. He tossed the rock aside. “Not that there are spirits or anything like that, but that the dead deserve respect.”

  Nodding solemnly, Potbelly said, “Good point.”

  Scar returned to the fire and Potbelly hid another grin.

  Midday the following day, the end of the plateau came into sight where it rose to form a series of rolling hills. Beyond the hills loomed snowcapped mountainous peaks, among which reared Crystal Crag.

  Six more mounds sat at the base of the hills. Of these six, only five remained mounds. The sixth was broken open; piles of dirt dotted the ground surrounding it.

  They approached cautiously, unsure what to expect.

  Mixed in among the dirt were sections of hard, thin rock. A dark silver, almost gray, they were streaked with strands of midnight blue. One side was smooth, the other was rough with knobby protrusions ranging from hardly a bulge to two inches in length.

  Scar picked one up and found it to be heavier than he thought. “What do you make of this?”

  “Intriguing,” Potbelly said. He inspected one the size of two hands laid side by side. Running his finger first along the smooth side, he turned it over and examined the protuberances. He found a piece smaller than the palm of his hand, he put it in his pack.

  “Never know,” he replied. “Might be worth something.”

  “Good thinking.” Scar hunted through the dirt until finding one slightly larger than Potbelly’s. If not for their weight, he’d be inclined to take several; but would have to be satisfied with just the one.

  Potbelly found an edge of an exceptionally large piece sticking out of the dirt. With Scar’s help, they uncovered it and managed to get it into an upright position. It stood taller than either of them.

  “Was big whatever it was,” Scar commented.

  Potbelly had Scar keep it upright while he stepped back. He looked at it thoughtfully, eyeing the way the smooth side had a distinct concave curve to it.

  “You know, if this was much smaller, it would look like…an egg shell.”

  “Bah,” Scar said. “That isn’t possible.”

  Potbelly went and gripped its edge. “Take a look for yourself.”

  Scar stepped back several paces and inspected it. He shook his head. “I think you’re daft.”

  “I tell you this was an egg.” He glanced to the remaining five mounds. “Which means these hold eggs too.”

  “What kind of creature could lay something this large?” Scar asked.

  Potbelly shook his head and let go the egg shell. “I don’t know” He then looked to the distant peaks. “And I hope we never find out.”

  Scar eyed his friend skeptically, rolled his eyes, then said, “We have several more hours of daylight. No sense in wasting them.”

  Leaving the mounds and plateau behind, they entered the hills. They worked their way to the top of the nearest, and looked out over a narrow, forested valley wending its way between two large peaks. It lay in the general direction of Crystal Crag. Midway down its length glistened the waters of a small lake nestled in among the trees.

  Gauging the amount of sunlight remaining, Scar said, “We can reach that before nightfall. Trees would make a good shelter and the lake may have fish.”

  Coming down off the hill, the forest began sparse but as the elevation declined, the density of trees increased. Down in the valley they encountered old, old trees with trunks wider than the height of a man. They climbed far into the sky and their outspread branches created a nearly impenetrable canopy steeped in shadow and mystery. As a result, the u
nderbrush was sparse and the going fairly easy.

  Game was abundant; deer and other animals skittered away from the strangers in their midst.

  Beneath the dense canopy, though travel proved easy, keeping their sense of directions was another matter. Without a clear view of the sun, or the surrounding terrain, knowing which way was north proved problematic. Having to steer around deadfalls and other obstacles only compounded the problem; they quickly became disoriented. Shadows deepened with the close of day and they had yet to come to the lake.

  “We should be there by now,” Scar said in the dim light.

  Potbelly nodded. “I would have thought so, too.”

  Gazing at the trees around them and the canopy did little to help. With no direct sunlight getting through, there were no shadows, just a diffuse light that permeated everywhere equally. And that light was rapidly diminishing.

  “We better make camp before we lose the light altogether,” Potbelly said.

  Glancing about the forest, Scar nodded. He caught sight of a stream and there they made camp.

  “It should lead us to the lake,” Scar said as he searched for stones for a fire ring.

  Potbelly gathered wood and soon had more than enough stockpiled for the night.

  The night fell fast in that world beneath the trees. The play of the firelight against the tree backdrop made for disturbing shadows. They picketed the horses close so they stood within the firelight. “In a place like this,” Potbelly had said, “predators must abound.”

  His words proved truer than he had thought. Not long after night had set in with a vengeance, howls sounded from far off.

  “Wolves.”

  Potbelly nodded. More howls came, this time from a different part of the forest. Then another from yet a third area.

  “They’re all around us.”

  Scar threw another large branch on the fire. “At least they’re not close.”

  Over the course of the next hour, the howling did grow closer. Potbelly took a flaming brand from the fire and went to gather additional wood in case the pack should come near. A larger fire would more than likely keep them from entering the campsite. Their greatest fear was for the horses.

  They kept their weapons handy as the pack ranged through the trees. At times their howls would draw closer, other times it seemed that they were moving away.

  “How many do you think there are?”

  “Back home wolf packs were known to be as large as twenty or more,” Potbelly replied. “But I think this one is smaller. Ten maybe?”

  “If they figure us for food, ten would be better though two would be best.”

  Potbelly chuckled. “I could go for that. Why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll take first watch.”

  “Very well,” Scar replied. He settled down between the fire and the bole of a large tree. “Make sure that fire stays lit.”

  “Count on it.”

  Just then a howl came from not very far off.

  Scar sat up and looked in that direction. His swords lay on the ground next to him. He gripped the hilt of one. A second later, the howl sounded again, this time farther away. Letting go the hilt, he laid back down. “This is going to be a long night,” he mumbled as he closed his eyes.

  Potbelly kept to the shadows just beyond the reach of the firelight. His gaze remained on the darkness surrounding their camp to avoid ruining his night vision.

  Hours passed and the sound of wolves continued drifting close only to again move off. Each time they drew close, he contemplated waking Scar, but then they would head deeper into the forest and he left his friend undisturbed.

  When it came time for Scars’ turn to stand watch, he woke him and appraised him on the activities of the wolves.

  “They’re still out there. The last few hours they’ve been coming closer.”

  “Getting up their nerve to brave the fire?” Scar asked.

  “Possible.”

  He buckled his sword belt on and got to his feet. Then a few branches tossed on the fire for good measure and he started his first circuit of the campsite.

  Potbelly’s snores had continued for some time when the first set of eyes appeared out in the dark. Scar had paused by the horses that had grown skittish and was working to calm them when he saw the pair of yellow eyes watching him. He drew his swords and waited. A moment later, the eyes vanished.

  “Easy, boy.”

  Scabbarding one sword, he used his free hand to gently rub the horse’s neck. Both were on edge and that only heightened his sense of unease. Moving to the pile of wood, he tossed several more branches on the fire; he soon had a mighty blaze raging.

  Shadows moved along the fringe of light. He counted six though there could be more.

  “Hey,” he said, nudging Potbelly. When his friend stirred, he said quietly, “We have company.”

  Potbelly snapped awake. He drew his knife and got to his feet.

  “How many?”

  “Six, maybe more.”

  One wolf passed through the light near the horses causing them to rear and whiney. It was larger than the wolves back in Madoc, at least a hand or two taller at the shoulders.

  “Keep an eye on the horses,” Scar said.

  Potbelly moved between them and they settled down.

  Scar removed a burning brand from the fire and with it in one hand and his sword in the other, he moved several paces from the fire. He held the brand up high.

  “Are you sure that’s wise?” Potbelly asked when he saw Scar move deeper into the forest.

  “No,” came the reply. “Just keep those horses safe.”

  Finding a tree with two limbs nearly intertwined within reach, he slid the burning brand into it like a torch sconce, then drew his other sword.

  “Come on!” he shouted. “Anybody hungry? Scar’s nice this time of year!”

  A gray wolf stepped into the light emitted by the burning brand. Its head was low and a growl rumbled from deep within.

  “Well, there you are, puppy dog.” He motioned with a sword for the wolf to approach. “How about you come and give old Uncle Scar a big…fat…kiss.”

  The wolf took a step toward him.

  “That’s it,” Scar said. “A little closer.”

  Growling more deeply, it took another step.

  Then motion from the corner of his eye caused him to dance back as a second wolf shot for him from the side. Teeth clamped where he had been but a second before.

  Years in the pit had honed his skills well. Lashing out with a sword, he scored along its side; fur and the skin beneath parted. Howling, the wolf fled into the night.

  The wolf that had stood before Scar was no longer there.

  “That’s it?” he hollered. Turning slowly in a full circle, Scar laughed. “You ain’t nothing! Come on and show me why I should fear you.”

  The shadows remained quiet; the wolves that had earlier been seen were no longer present.

  He waited for another few moments, then took the burning brand from the tree and turned to head back to the fire.

  “Look out!” Potbelly hollered.

  Scar turned and dodged to the side while at the same time lashing out with the brand. An explosion of sparks erupted when it struck the side of the wolf’s head.

  “Stay with the horses!” Scar shouted as he backed up; brand in one hand and sword in the other.

  The wolf twisted in mid-air, came to land facing Scar and then sprang forward.

  “Hyah!” Scar shouted as it shot for him. He thrust with the sword and landed a glancing blow along the wolf’s jaw, then followed through with a blow to the beast’s neck than shattered the brand.

  Fur smoldered and drops of blood beaded along its chin.

  Scar backed up another step and drew his other sword. Out of the corner of his eye he saw shapes moving in the shadows. Realizing he needed to end this quick, he pressed forward.

  A lunge with one sword slightly to the right of the wolf’s snout caused it to dart left just in time to fe
el the tip of Scar’s other sword pierce its chest.

  Snarling and yelping, it twisted off the blade and darted back into the forest.

  Scar only had time to see that blood covered only the first two inches of his sword indicating the wound hadn’t been fatal before two wolves launched themselves from the shadows. One had blood-matted fur along its jaw; it was the one from before.

  He kept one at bay with a swipe while he thrust at the second that took it in the neck. Blood spurted and Scar kicked the wolf away.

  The first wolf closed again and he dodged to the right; one blade spinning a wall of steel while the other poked through and scored shallow hits twice in quick succession. It backed off beyond the reach of the swords, snarling and growling. Its eyes locked onto Scar.

  “Had enough?” When the wolf failed to respond, Scar said, “Well I haven’t. Let’s end this.”

  Darting forward, he lunged at the wolf with both swords. His left remained back a little farther than the right giving the illusion that there was an opening. The wolf took the bait. Its snout lunged forward.

  Scar twisted his left wrist and the sword dropped into the opening. The wolf’s jaws closed on the blade and in that instant, Scar pulled back on the blade snapping off several of its teeth. He kneed it in the side, knocked it off balance and twirled his other sword so the blade faced down and thrust with all his might.

  The blade deeply pierced the wolf’s ribcage, pinning it to the ground. It flopped about a moment before growing still. Leaving the sword, he scanned the shadows. When he failed to detect the presence of wolves, he stepped back to the dead wolf, put his foot on its side and pulled his blade free.

  “Come on!” Scar yelled. “Don’t give up now!”

  Two wolves laid dead and he had yet to receive so much as a scratch.

  “Got one,” Potbelly shouted in the following silence.

  “Good. Two here and wounded another.”

  The forest remained quiet. When after a minute no further attempts were made by the wolves, he returned to the fire. Potbelly met him there.

  “I think they’ve had enough for one night.”