Saint Elm's Deep (The Legend of Vanx Malic) (5 page)

At least Poops is warm
. Darbon wiggled to fit the woolen blanket tighter around his shoulders.

The sound of footsteps crunching on snow came up from behind him. He didn’t have to turn to know that it was Vanx. Xavian wouldn’t leave the cozy confines of his magically heated tent unless they were on the move, and Vanx had gone in it a while ago. His return was expected.

“What does our esteemed warlock have to say about it?” Endell asked.

Chelda and Brody both looked up to hear Vanx’s reply.

“You are correct, my friend,” Vanx answered. “There is an old hollow under the foot of the ridge, but he says it’s empty, at least for the moment. He thinks that one or more of ‘em is using it for a reclusion, that it feeds elsewhere.”

“Hah!” Endell blurted out with a mystified grin of grudging respect. The steam from his breath caught the color of the flames and roiled into a flickering cloud all around his head. “He’s no fraud, that one. Though I’ve no idea what in the seven hells a reclusion is. This shre—”

“A place to rest, a den, or the like,” Chelda said.

Endell rubbed his unshaved chin and took that in before continuing. “Our shrew would likely hunt the open expanses beyond the ridge. We’re still sort of close to the settlements outside the ice wall here, though. Despite what people say, those fargin big moles would rather dine on a fat leaper or a grizzly than the lot of us. Its prey is too canny to linger. They do little more than pass swiftly through these often-hunted parts.”

“So what do you suggest?” Vanx asked.

“Go around the ridge in the morning and find us a niche where the snow is too shallow for something hungry to get under us. I’d like us to get there as quickly as possible and make a real camp.”

“What about the wind?” Brody asked.

Darbon pulled his head out from under his blanket to hear the answer.

“We make a wall of blocks of snow,” Chelda said, as if it were obvious. “After one night, it will look just like another drift from the tundra side, and I know how to use the ropes and tarps to close the top off without getting us buried in a collapse.”

“We’d b-b-be in a blo-block of ice our-ourselves,” Darbon protested.

“It’ll be far warmer than it is here or out in the open tundra, I assure you,” she told him with a little less cockiness in her voice. “Trust me, boss. You would rather be under a few feet of loose windblown than in the belly of a hungry frost-wing.”

Darbon nodded and sank back into his woolen shroud. She was right about that.

*

“So that’s the p-p-plan for the morrow, then?” Vanx asked. He had more to say but didn’t want to chatter on like Darbon and the others. It wasn’t that cold. He turned and made his way back to the tent he and Darbon shared. The warmth he absorbed while speaking to Xavian was seeping away. He wasn’t as comfortable out here after being in the exceptionally warm tent, but he knew he could manage it. There was something else bothering Vanx, some uneasy feeling growing in the pit of his stomach that he couldn’t explain. It was a sensation he had maybe dreamt about, or had felt in his earlier youth, and had long forgotten. It was as unsettling as it was familiar, and it had grown stronger the farther he went from Orendyn, or more likely, the closer he got to the thing of which the old sailor had told him.

He had to tell himself to quit being foolish. The Hoar Witch wasn’t real. It was just another of the dozens of tales that revolved around his father, Captain Saint Elm. He shivered as he walked away and found himself thankful for the frigid temperatures, for it made the worrisome feelings plaguing him that much easier to hide from the others.

He decided to speak to Darbon about it, but that could wait until they had a safe shelter and were settled. Tonight, he just wanted to rest. Hopefully he would wake and the feeling would be gone, but deep down inside he knew it wouldn’t be.

*

The next day started well. Camp broke quickly, and they were soon underway with bellies full of hot apple oats and cinnamon brew. Endell and Xavian rode the only big haulkat that wasn’t pulling a sled. They led the group, moving slowly and carefully, searching for hollows, tunnels and open fractures in the snow field with both the tracker’s experienced eyes and Xavian’s magic.

The Skmoes rode the heavily laden sled behind them, while Skog rode the haulkatten that was pulling it. The cat didn’t need anyone to steer it along. It would mindlessly follow whatever was in front of it, but the Skmoes insisted, saying something about Skog’s ripe scent.

Behind them, a riderless haulkatten pulled the next sled. Brody and Smythe sat on its lidded toolbox at the back, Brody with a loaded crossbow in his lap, Smythe huddled in a miserable heap beside him.

Bringing up the rear was the sled hauling Vanx, Darbon and Chelda. While Vanx and Darbon sat on the bench seat as if they were driving the thing, Chelda rode facing backward on a high, throne-like seat formed of packs and blankets. Like Brody, she also had a loaded crossbow resting on her lap. After first break, it would be Darbon’s time for rearguard duty.

The day was clear and comparatively mild, but it was still cold. Darbon and Smythe could attest to it in great lengths of incomprehensible chattering, but the sun’s rays made it bearable. The sky was open, an endless expanse. Other than the dark pockets of brown and gray, which marked the rocky base of the ridge they were about to skirt around, the rest of the world was the purest white.

It was just about time to stop for first break. The haulkattens had to be fed and rested twice during each hauling day. The big cats lived on ground fish and oats. It was a dry, powdery stuff called fishmeal, and they burned it off quickly out here working in the cold. Nearly half of all the supplies they were carrying were forty-pound sacks of the stuff.

No one thought to be alarmed when Xavian raised his head high and called for a halt. They all figured they were stopping for the morning break. Darbon, though, figured it had to be more than that.

“Something is wrong,” he said to Vanx, throwing off his blanket and grabbing the long bow and quiver he had stashed there.

“He’s calling the break,” Vanx said.

“No. The wizard doesn’t have a clue about the cat’s needs.” Darbon slipped the bow string in place and nocked an arrow.

Just as Vanx realized that Darbon was right, both Xavian and Chelda yelled out over each other.

“I feel something ill,” called the wizard.

“Frost-wings!” Chelda yelled loud enough to mostly drown him out. “Three of them from the southeast.”

A mad scramble ensued, and if it weren’t for the cool and unruffled experience of the twin Skmoes, Skog, and Endell, the haulkattens would have bolted and scattered their supplies.

Inda, or maybe Anda—it was hard to say which—bolted to Vanx and Darbon’s cat; his brother went to the Parydonian’s. One of them grabbed the reins of their employer’s beast in hand, while Skog kept control of the one he was riding.

Poops caught the anxiety of his friends and began barking excitedly. Vanx and Darbon were both looking frantically for the approaching predator birds. Neither of them could figure out which direction was southeast, because the sun was almost directly overhead, and there were no real landmarks.

Finally, Vanx found them and pointed.

Following his finger, Darbon spotted them.

“Get the sleds closer together,” Brody ordered in a clear, yet clipped fashion. “Archers, form a circle around them.” Then a little quieter, he said, “Smythe, get my bow for me, and be certain to bring the shafts we sharpened first.”

It all went smoothly, the forming up of the sleds and the defensive ring around them. Even Xavian was fully prepared to defend the group from the big, white-blue feathered birds. He had taken a protected station amid the sleds, but he kept his eyes intently on the beasts. He went through some strange motions and didn’t hesitate to crawl up to the top of the pile of supplies as the winged feeders grew closer.

Skog quickly assembled a long, three-section pike that threaded end into end somehow. It was tipped with a blade shaped like a man’s foot but made of shiny, well-sharpened steel. The shaft was twice as long as Chelda was tall—almost three times as tall as Skog. The Skmoes produced small but powerful-looking bows, but were busy keeping all four of the haulkattens as still as possible.

The frost-wings circled high over them, then one dove down and made a lower pass. When it was close, Xavian loosed his blast, possibly a bit too early, but the comet-like streak of crackling crimson energy scared the creatures badly enough that they bolted away toward the ridge with uncanny speed. After a few moments, they were nothing but specks in the sky.

“Glad that’s over,” Smythe breathed out heavily.

“I’d agree with you, if they hadn’t just flown to where we are headed,” Endell pointed out the grim truth of it.

Chapter Six

Gather in and gather close,
don’t misunderstand.
In the end we’ll wage a war
to keep our sacred land.
-- Balladamned (a Zythian song)

The place they chose for base camp was partially blocked from the brutal wind by its natural shape. Calling it a cavern would be a stretch, Darbon decided. It was more of a depression pushed into the side of a rock face that was on the side of a ridge jutting out directly into the wind. Its greatest feature was that the wind blew past its opening, not directly at it. There was also a bit of an overhang, so that even though it was shallow, it still provided a modicum of protection from above. It wouldn’t be an easy task to turn it into a camp, but they wasted no time getting about the work.

Following Chelda’s lead, Darbon and Smythe made snow blocks. They helped place them so that the windblown snow would build up against them. This, she explained, would force the wind to ramp up the eventual drift and blow over the entrance to the shelter.

She explained that, by morning, the wind would be diverted so that it wouldn’t swirl into the camp area at all. She said they could then stretch tarp awnings from the wall on ropes. This would extend the overhead protection out from that which the rock face naturally provided and also keep the ever-vigilant eyes of the flying predators from being able to lock onto their casual movements from above.

The only real downfall to the setup was the fact that they had to leave the protection of the camp to look out across the open tundra. Vanx and the others agreed that it was a small price to pay for the relative comfort the shelter afforded them.

Brody and Skog unloaded the supplies and stacked the cords of expensive firewood into waist-high walls that formed a pen for the haulkattens. The animals could have casually leapt over it, but none of them had any inclination to do so. The pungent fishmeal was stacked nearby, but under oilcloths so that the moisture couldn’t get at it.

The shelter retained some of the fire’s warmth, and the savory scent of the stew the Skmoes were concocting soon filled it with a mouthwatering aroma.

Darbon was moving about the shelter without his woolen shroud, and neither he nor Smythe were chattering or complaining now. It was as if they’d forgotten just how cold they’d been only hours before.

Xavian came out of his tent looking tired and worn. He stopped to give Sir Poopsalot a scratch behind the ears when the dog greeted him, then found the others at the fire. The Skmoes gave him a wary look but otherwise went about the business of cooking. They were clearly leery of his magic. Chelda told them that in the Skmoe clans, only the shamans possessed the subtle sort of arcane power that gave insight into the near future, or clarified meanings out of events from the past. Both brothers could read seal’s teeth and otter bones, and they both had worked with magi of Xavian’s ilk, but neither had seen the sort of display of destructive power that Xavian had shown today, and neither tried to hide their nervousness.

Smythe, too, had been visibly moved by Xavian’s crimson blast, but he wasn’t moved toward fear. He was in open-jawed awe of the wizard. After they chose their location to build the base camp and helped Chelda build the wind wall, Smythe turned himself into a sort of personal attendant to the mage. Xavian seemed annoyed by this.