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

by Brian S. Pratt

  While out he had kept an eye out for a better place to hole up. But the area was decidedly lacking in caves or the like. He set out the three piles for bonfires and waited until the howls began before lighting them.

  However, unlike the previous two nights, the howls failed to draw closer. They remained farther down in the valley.

  “Maybe they found other, easier prey,” suggested Scar.

  “I hope so.”

  Potbelly wasn’t convinced the wolves would leave them alone. He kept watch as the moon rose.

  Crossbow bolts flew through the trees and felled a wolf.

  “To the right!” hollered Garrock.

  His crossbowmen cranked new bolts into place, turned and fired as a pair charged the area where the horses were picketed. One sank into a wolf’s hindquarters while the other glanced off its back doing little damage.

  Horses whinnied in fear and pulled at their ropes.

  “Don’t let them break away,” he shouted.

  Wolves surrounded them; largest pack he’d ever encountered. There must be over a dozen out there.

  The beasts feinted in and charged from the side. His men deflected their attacks and three wolves already laid dead; two from bolts and a third by a thrown axe.

  Whenever a crossbowman saw a pair of yellow eyes, he fired. But the beasts had grown wise to that trick and were deft at avoiding the fired bolt.

  Garrock had his double-headed battle axe in hand in the event one made it through his men. An hour they had been harassed. None of his men had been hurt but should the wolves attack all at once, things could get bad.

  “Biggest damn wolves I’ve ever seen,” Stew commented to no one in particular.

  Garrock positioned his men around the horses to protect them. The wolves kept their distance except for an incursion every now and then as if to test their defenses. Met with steel or a bolt, they retreated.

  Through the night the wolves kept up their vigilance. Hours passed and Garrock and his men remained on alert. The rest each had hoped for after the long day of riding failed to happen. They were tired, irritated and on edge. Not until the sky began to lighten with the dawn did the wolves melt back into the forest.

  “Two hours,” Garrock announced. “You got two hours to rest then we leave.”

  Groans and moans sounded throughout the camp at the paltry amount of rest they would have. Garrock didn’t care. There were two men he wanted to find, meet vengeance upon and steal their map.

  He had pushed his men hard since leaving The Rested Traveler. It was starting to wear on them. Once they found those two miscreants, they would get the rest they so desperately wanted.

  -14-

  Scar felt much improved. He waded into the pool’s cool water to wash away the honey poultice Potbelly had applied. The wounds, though still tender to the touch, had closed for the most part with only a small amount of seepage remaining.

  “Better?” Potbelly asked.

  “Much.”

  Coming out of the pool, he stood by the fire for a moment to warm himself. He grabbed his sword belt and drew a long sword. Swinging it stretched the tender flesh and though he felt he could effectively wield the sword should the situation call for it, knew he should postpone such an event for a day or two longer.

  From their camp, they could see the tip of Crystal Crag off in the distance.

  “Two days?” Potbelly questioned as he gazed at the distant peak.

  “Three at least,” corrected Scar.

  Despite his complaints, Potbelly gave him a hand into the saddle. Even with his friend’s aid, the effort set his wounds to ache. In the back of his mind he thought another day of rest would have been better, but he’d see his wounds rip open before ever admitting such a thing.

  They made a beeline for Crystal Crag and once again entered the forest.

  Potbelly kept an eye on Scar for the first hour, but concluded he was doing okay. A bit stiff in the saddle and his usually good natured complaining was subdued, but otherwise on the mend.

  Noon came and went. He suggested a rest break to have the midday meal. Scar refused saying the horses were fully rested and that a stop was not required.

  Shrugging, Potbelly ate in the saddle.

  The day waned and the canopy overhead grew less dense. Sunlight drifted through enabling them to get their bearings. By late afternoon they reached the end of the valley and entered the foothills beyond.

  Potbelly searched diligently for a place to hole up through the night. He feared the wolves would return, and what that would do to Scar’s recovery. He couldn’t help but remember the claws of the snow beast. What other creatures might infest these mountains that could prove even fiercer?

  Wolf packs will hound you, and other creatures of fearsome aspect haunt those peaks. It is a place no man should ever set foot.

  Matlin’s words had proven true about the wolves. Could snow beasts be the ‘creatures of fearsome aspect’ he had alluded to? And if not, was something worse waiting for them? He had to find a place to spend the night other than out in the open among the trees.

  Rocks became more plentiful the farther into the hills they progressed. Soon, boulders intermixed with their lesser cousins. Then, in the light of the setting sun, a large protrusion jutted from out of the hillside. Brush had grown around it and Potbelly had almost missed it in the waning light. It rose twice the height of a man and the lower portion was a dark, gaping opening.

  A cave!

  Jubilant at the possibility of shelter, he pointed it out to Scar who nodded and they headed toward it.

  “Stay with the horses,” Potbelly said when they reached it. “I’m going to see if it is large enough to accommodate us.”

  “Make it fast,” Scar said wearily.

  The ride had taken more from him than he would have liked to let on. His chest had gone from a dull ache in the morning to a point where every step his horse took caused pain. Even breathing felt like a score of needles were jabbing into his wounds; each inhalation stretched the skin, every exhalation a misery.

  The mouth of the cave was of sufficient height to allow the horses to pass. Bones littering the entrance made him wary; drawing his sword, he paused at the entrance to peer inside. Not seeing an occupant, he walked in.

  The cave itself was somewhat tight and had a downward slant moving to the back. To the right of the opening a jagged, rocky protrusion extended several feet down from the ceiling. This had definitely been the lair of a predator at some point in the past. Bones were plentiful near the opening. Farther back near the rear wall it was clear.

  Returning to Scar, he helped him dismount. “This will do,” he said. “Good defensive and enough room inside for the horses.”

  Scar nodded. When he bent to pick up a stick off the ground, Potbelly heard him groan. “I don’t think so,” he said and took the stick. He motioned to the cave. “Sit down and let yourself heal.”

  “You’re worse than my old Gramma.”

  “And you have the stubbornness of a mule. Now sit!”

  Scar found a spot against the cave’s outer wall where he could look out down the hillside. If he craned his neck he could see Crystal Crag off in the distance.

  Potbelly secured the horses near a swath of tall grass and allowed them to graze while he gathered wood for this evening’s fire.

  Scar was tired, achy and bored. He watched Potbelly break apart fallen branches for a while. His boredom was lifted at one point when a hive of ground dwelling bees was disturbed and Potbelly raced off through the forest with hundreds of the little pests in hot pursuit.

  Night approached and he hated doing nothing. He was bored.

  Potbelly returned with his last armload of wood and discovered Scar walking around the side of the hillside.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Man, I’m tired of sitting,” he said. “Been sitting all day.”

  “Stay close then.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  Chuckl
ing, Potbelly entered the cave and deposited the wood. Once back outside, he said, “How about coming with me to water the horses before we bring them in?”

  Scar nodded. “Sure.”

  “There’s a spring up the hill a ways,” he said. “Not too far.”

  The sun had already dropped below the horizon and the sunset was a fiery burst of color.

  “Red at night…”

  Potbelly grinned. “Fighter’s delight.”

  Taking the reins of his horse, Scar said, “Remember old Canthor?”

  “Remember him?” Potbelly exclaimed. “He made my life miserable my first couple months in The Pits.”

  “Me, too. Don’t know why I thought of him just now.”

  “Maybe it was the fact that he took great joy in scoring long welts along our chests with the practice foils?”

  Scar gingerly touched his chest and laughed, then grimaced from the pain. “Forgot about that.”

  “I haven’t. Still have a scar along my ribs thanks to him.”

  The spring was almost directly up the hill from the cave. They let the horses drink their fill as the two fighters walked around to a series of stone protrusions at the far end.

  “I got him good once, though,” Potbelly said.

  “Really?”

  “Yep. Remember that bandage he wore on the right side of his face for a week?”

  “That was you?”

  Potbelly grinned and nodded. “That lucky shot got me free drinks in the mess for a month. Everyone was glad to see Canthor get his.”

  Scar laughed and then gripped his chest, which made it hurt all the more. “Don’t make me laugh.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. A priest once told me when I was younger that laughter helped a body heal.”

  Potbelly sat on one of the protrusions while he kept an eye on the horses.

  Scar leaned against one, not quite willing to brave the pain to climb up and sit. He idled the time by absentmindedly removing moss, dirt and dried bird droppings with the flick of a finger. After a particular large section fell away, the whiteness beneath drew his attention. He removed some more.

  “Look at this.”

  Taking out his knife, he wedged the tip beneath the crud atop the protrusion and a section roughly six inch square fell away.

  Potbelly ran his finger along the white area. “It’s smooth.”

  “Too smooth to be rock,” Scar said. His gaze went to the rocky protrusion next to it. Stepping over, he used his knife to flake off the layer covering it to reveal a similar hard, white substance.

  “You know,” he began as he for the first time took in the five protrusions, “you may think I’m daft, but…” gesturing to the five protrusions, he said, “don’t they look a little like knuckles?”

  “Knuckles?” Potbelly replied, his tone indicating that Scar may in fact be a bit on the daft side.

  “No, look at them.”

  The five protrusions were spaced roughly the same distance from each other and were of somewhat uniform size. They rose in a slant from one side and disappeared back into the ground on the other.

  “That would make the hand that went with it gigantic.”

  Scar nodded. “Or…the claw.”

  Looking around, they saw several other what they had once thought were just rocky protrusions projecting from the ground, but in light of this new discovery, thought them possibly parts of a skeleton. Taken together, there was a definite symmetry to the protrusions’ placement. There was even a ridged area about ten feet across that ran down the hill toward their cave.

  “You don’t suppose…,” Scar began.

  Potbelly turned and saw him staring back down the hill. “The cave?”

  “Not a cave,” he said turning toward Potbelly. “A skull.”

  “Skull? But that would be…”

  “Monstrous. I know.”

  They gathered the horses and hurried back to the cave. They stepped back from it a ways and in the new light of their discovery, saw how the shape of the opening, coupled with the jagged projection near the opening did resemble a skull.

  Scar went to the jagged projection. “A fang?”

  Nodding, Potbelly entered the cave and looked to the roof. Now that he knew what to look for, teeth along the outer edge of the skull were clearly definable.

  “We’re camping in some beast’s skull.”

  Scar grinned. “Who would have believed?”

  “Not I.”

  “What do you suppose it was?”

  Potbelly shook his head. “I’ve never heard of anything so gigantic outside of a bard’s tale.”

  “Hope there aren’t any more of these around.”

  “Doubtful,” Potbelly replied. “If so, the whole world would know.”

  “You have a point.”

  Potbelly piled wood just outside the cave, or rather, the skull’s entrance.

  Scar laid back and gazed at the ceiling, his imagination working to picture what the creature had looked like. Fangs marked it a meat eater. He couldn’t help but grin at the fact of meat camping in the beast’s mouth and it being unable to eat it.

  Striking sparks, Potbelly set fire to the wood.

  “I’ll stand watch,” Scar announced.

  Potbelly glanced at him from the fire and shook his head. “I can do it.”

  “You’ve only had a couple hours of sleep for I don’t know how long, and all I’ve done is sleep. Doubt if I could fall asleep even if I wanted to.”

  He couldn’t deny his body demanded sleep. At the mere thought of it his eyes felt like closing and a yawn broke out.

  Scar laughed. “See? Now go to sleep.”

  “You be sure and wake me should anything happen.”

  “If the wolves come back, I will be sure to wake you.”

  Potbelly settled into his blanket close enough to feel the warmth from the fire.

  Scar sat against the cave’s inner wall and watched the fire for a time. His eyes drooped a bit and he knew sleep called. Shaking his head, he got to his feet and paced to the back wall where the horses were, and back. He did this several times and had yet to hear the wolves’ howling.

  Moving to the entrance, he worked his way around the fire and passed into the cool of the evening. He kept his back to the light in order to maintain his night vision. The shadows danced as a slight breeze flicked the flames to and fro.

  He walked around to keep awake, never straying far from their camp. The moon came out and shadows grew slightly more distinct. Finally, a far off wolf’s howl split the night. A minute later a second one sounded, just as far away.

  “Not bothering with us anymore, huh?” he chuckled. Not surprised after the thrashing they gave them. Scar gazed out toward where the wolves hunted. For the briefest moment, he thought he had seen a flicker of light. A moment later, he saw it again. The wolves were attacking someone.

  “Garrock.”

  It had to be him. Who else could it possibly be? But he had to be sure. He returned to their camp and buckled on his sword belt. “I am not going back on my word,” he said to himself. “The wolves have not returned. I’m just going to them.”

  Not to fight the wolves to be sure, but just close enough to find out if those out there were in fact Garrock and his men. Quietly, he snuck out and raced down the hill.

  Sometime later, Potbelly stirred and in a half-wakeful state, opened his eyes and glanced around. Eyes closed again, he drifted back toward sleep’s realm. But before he passed the gates, his eyes opened. Something nagged at his befuddled mind. Then he snapped full awake; Scar was gone.

  “Scar!” he hollered. Getting to his feet, he rushed outside. “Scar!” he called again. All he heard was the rustle of wind through the trees.

  “Damn him!”

  Scar raced through the trees toward the intermittent flashes of light; brief glimpses that appeared for a moment then were gone. When he covered more than a hundred yards, the light grew more constant. It soon became appare
nt that over a dozen men stood in an armed ring around as many horses.

  He crept forward in order to get a clearer view of those being assaulted by the wolves. Ever mindful that the wolves could turn on him as ready as the others, he darted from one tree to the next, ensuring that each had limbs low enough to the ground that he could leap to and find safety should the need arise.

  Voices were audible; though exactly what was said couldn’t be determined. That one voice commanded was unmistakable. He darting to another tree for a closer look and froze when a wolf passed by not ten feet away. He prepared to leap into the tree should the wolf alter course toward him, but it kept going toward the camp to join in the assault. Spying another tree closer to the conflict having low branches, he glanced about to ensure the coast was clear, then sprinted to it.

  Once there, he pressed himself against the trunk and worked his way around it to get a better view. Several men wielded crossbows and still more had swords and axes. When one man stepped into view shouting orders and wielding a double-headed battle axe, he knew. Garrock was there. Discovering what he needed to know, he started back to Potbelly.

  Tree to tree as before but in the opposite direction, he steadily worked his way from Garrock and his men. He thought he had made it out unnoticed when a growl from behind stopped him in his tracks. A large wolf stood not ten feet away.

  “Well, my pretty,” he said, slowly drawing his swords. “Surprised to find me here?”

  The motion of drawing his swords sent jolts of pain along his chest. He backed away, ensuring all the while to maintain constant eye contact with the beast.

  Five steps away and the wolf hadn’t done anything more than growl. At ten, the wolf continued to remain where he was. Scar entertained the hopes that there would be no battle, but then he saw the wolf crouch and then launched itself forward.

  Scar held his swords at the ready as the beast charged. Adrenalin kicked in and thoughts of pain vanished. He weaved a web of steel that brought the wolf up short. Then he lunged forward and the wolf danced to the side. He followed through with a slice that the wolf failed to fully avoid. As it darted to the side, the tip of Scar’s sword racked across its shoulder.