The Improbable Adventures of Scar and Potbelly: Ice Terraces of Crystal Crag (24 page)

“Okay. Let’s go.”

When the sun went down, so did the temperature. It got cold. They donned their warmer clothes and still the wind cut like a knife. The moon rose an hour after twilight. Reflecting off the snowy ground allowed them to continue through the mountains toward Crystal Crag. They took it slow and steady, keeping a careful watch on the area ahead.

Howls in the distance said the wolves were once again active. Scar prayed they were harassing Garrock. As they continued on, the wolves drew no closer. They began to relax.

Trees proved their greatest hindrance. Their branches blocked the dim moonlight and created shadows concealing irregularities in the terrain that could cause their horses to take a misstep. Any such would assuredly injure the horse beyond their capacity to remedy.

They went single file with Potbelly in the lead. Scar groused but gave in when Potbelly offered to wrestle him for the honor. There was no trail and at times branches grew so intertwined that they forged forward in near darkness. Needless to say, the going was stressful and danger-filled.

Several hours later when the night was deep and cold, the early morning air was shattered by the far off roar of a large beast. Scar recalled the claws of the snow beast the merchant had displayed.
Could it have been one of those great creatures? Or was it something else; something much, much worse?
He put it from his mind as something he could do nothing about in any event.

The moon arched overhead as they worked their way up the side of the mountain. It eventually sank beyond the peaks to the west and what little light they had was gone. Potbelly dismounted and came back to Scar.

“Continuing in the dark would be foolhardy,” he said. “We should make camp. At least until dawn.”

Scar was more than ready to stop. Continuous jarring had left his wounds angry and painful. “Yes,” he said. “Let’s make camp.”

“There’s a small copse of trees up ahead. They should give us some shelter.”

Scar nodded and waved him forward.

Returning to his mount Potbelly took the reins and led him forward. The area within the trees was free of snow; even the wind was subdued. He gathered small pieces of wood and built a fire at the heart of the copse; keeping it small so minimize the chance of it being seen by their pursuers.

Scar sat next to it and reveled in the warmth. The ride had been frigid. “Get some rest,” he told Potbelly. “I’ll keep watch.” When Potbelly made to argue, he said, “I rested while we rode.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. You need sleep more than I do.”

Potbelly couldn’t argue. Since Scar received his injuries, he’d lost much sleep. Lying down by the fire, he was out in an instant.

Scar listened to the now very far off howling of wolves. A chuckle came to him upon envisioning Garrock and his men fending off the pack. “What is this, three nights in a row? Ride all day, fight all night… Garrock, you have to be on the verge of exhaustion.”

Then another of the bestial roars, this time much closer. Still not too close, he stoked the fire a little bit more and leaned against a tree. He kept watch on the dark and though the roars continued until dawn, their owners never put in an appearance.

Once the sky lightened sufficiently for them to discern their way, he nudged Potbelly awake and they set out.

It was a beautiful scene as they continued up the mountain. Snow-capped peaks surrounded them, trees laden with snow abounded, and birds flitted about in the early morning sunrise. Crystal Crag loomed even more prominent than it had the day before. Once they reached the summit of the mountain they currently climbed, they should be able to see Crystal Crag in its entirety.

Hours passed and they continued slugging up the mountain. A little before noon, they breached the pass on its western summit. And there before them rose Crystal Crag. Its seven terraces were breathtaking in their scope and beauty.

The cavern through which they had to pass in order to reach the treasure was not in view. It must be farther around to the north. From their current position, they had to descend a ways down the mountainside, cross another small valley through which ran a river, and then up the side of Crystal Crag.

“Almost there.”

Scar nodded. “We could camp in the valley below, then be up to the cavern the next day.”

Potbelly glanced back down the way they had come. “Maybe we gave Garrock the slip?”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” Scar warned. “He’s coming. The wolves may have delayed him, but make no mistake, he’s coming.”

Movement from the corner of his eye drew his attention farther up the mountain. But when he turned, it was gone. Not sure what it was, or even if he had actually seen anything at all, he scanned the area up there for a moment, then dismissed it.

Potbelly kept the lead as they made their way down to the valley.

Several more times Scar thought he saw something at the edge of his vision only to turn and see nothing. He thought it might be lack of sleep or delirium, but after the sixth time, he said something to Potbelly.

“I think I may be losing my mind.”

“I’ve known that for some time,” quipped Potbelly.

“No, I’m serious. I keep thinking I see something only to turn and find nothing.”

“Snow can play tricks on you.”

“How would you know?” Scar asked. “You’ve never been in much snow.”

“Everyone knows that. Common knowledge.”

Scar didn’t think so, though at the moment had no means whereby to dispute it.

Their path wound down the side of the mountain. Snow was deep, nearly up to the horses’ hocks. Ahead lay much deeper drifts. Potbelly paused to try and find a safer way down. To one side large rocks protruded from the snow while the other dropped off sharply to a ten foot drop. Nothing for it, he nudged his horse into motion and pressed forward.

Again the movement came in Scar’s peripheral vision. It was driving him crazy. “I tell you there’s something…”

Potbelly reached the first snow drift and it erupted outward. A gigantic bipedal creature burst out of the snow almost beneath the hooves of his horse. Its face was bestial, eyes dark red and mouth full of fangs. Standing well over eight feet, it was covered in snow-white fur. And it’s claws; they were identical to those Scar saw in the mercantile shop.

His horse reared and Potbelly went flying. A single swipe of the creature’s claw knocked the horse ten feet to the side; its chest a mangled mass of sinew and bone.

The snow beast roared and four other snow drifts erupted more of its kind.

“Here!”

Potbelly looked up as Scar came near with hand extended. He took it and swung up behind him.

Turning to skirt the snow beasts, Scar kicked his horse into motion.

Snow beasts roared and moved to intercept but Scar angled toward the drop off and raced along its edge. Claws swiped but missed and the beasts raced after.

“Oh yeah,” Scar said over his shoulder. “I forgot to mention that there are snow beasts in these mountains.”

“No kidding,” Potbelly replied.

They shot down the mountainside at breakneck speed. Potbelly glanced behind and saw them running in a loping gait. Sometimes on two legs, sometimes on four, they moved with great speed.

Coming to a frozen creek bed, their horse leapt it with ease. The landing jarred Scar’s wounds something awful and he gasped. Potbelly’s arms around his middle didn’t help matters either. Ignoring the pain, he kicked his horse into even greater speed.

Dodging boulders and downed trees, they reached the valley floor.

“Are they still back there?” Scar hollered.

A glance over his shoulder and Potbelly replied, “Yes. We’ve pulled ahead but not by much. We need to find a spot to make our stand.”

It was clear the horse was not going to continue indefinitely at such speed through heavy snow carrying double. They had to find a way to shake them.

The trail gradually widened. Then a statue appeared half buried in the snow. What had been a trail continued to widen until it appeared more a road than a trail.

From out of the trees to their right, a structure appeared. Nearly buried in snow, the front of it boasted a door and it stood ajar.

“Make for that!” hollered Potbelly.

Scar nodded and turned his horse in that direction. The road didn’t lead to the structure so they shot through trees and snow covered bushes to reach it.

Potbelly glanced over his shoulder. Now, instead of the six snow beasts in pursuit, there were eight. “They’re gaining!”

“Almost there.”

Scar pulled back on the reins at the last minute and Potbelly leapt to the ground before the horse came to a stop. Behind them, the snow beasts roared and growled, hell bent on reaching them.

Potbelly raced to the door and threw it open. Scar kicked his horse and it bolted through. Once inside, Potbelly pulled the door closed and finding a bar, threw it shut to secure the door. A moment later came the sound of the snow beasts beating upon the other side.

“Let me light a torch,” Potbelly said.

Removing one of the two left in his pack, he used flint and steel. Sparks landed upon the torch’s flammable head, he blew gently upon it until it caught. As the light filled the room, they saw that they were in a relatively small building.

Six benches sat in two rows of three facing a statue on a pedestal. The statue was of a man in a cowled robe, stooped and bent.

“Is that T’Lea?”

Scar took a close look. “Could be. He is normally depicted hooded and bent.”

The evil god of torture and pain stared at them from beneath the cowl. A shiver went down Potbelly’s spine.

A quick search revealed the door they passed through to enter was the only way in or out. There weren’t even windows.

“Looks like just a small chapel,” Scar observed.

Potbelly walked around to the back of the statue. He didn’t get close to it, but yet a feeling of foreboding settled over him. It felt like the statue watched them.

“We can’t stay here.”

Scar nodded. “I agree. This place is unsettling to say the least.”

The room had grown quiet for the pounding on the door stopped.

They went to it and placed their ears against the wood.

“Quiet,” Scar said.

“Maybe they’ll leave.”

“Let’s hope so. Give it a few minutes and then we’ll check it out.” He glanced to Potbelly. “Too bad about your horse.”

“Yeah, I really liked it.”

Scar pulled a piece of jerky out of his pack and ripped off a chunk. Chewing it, he walked around the little chapel. “Remember Father Francis?”

“Asran, right?”

“That’s him.”

“Nice fellow.”

“That he was,” agreed Scar. “Anyway, he took me into Asran’s chapel one day, forgot exactly why…” he trailed off as he tried to recall.

“Your point?” Potbelly asked, bringing him back to the here and now.

“My point, was that while I was there, he showed me where he kept his stash of rum. It was in a small room accessed by means of a secret door.”

Nodding, Potbelly said, “And you think this chapel may have a similar secret room?”

“Or way out.”

He glanced about the small room. “Where?”

“Well, if it’s secret, it’s not going to go advertising its presence now is it?”

“If there is one.” Potbelly’s tone indicated he doubted such a thing.

“Well, I’m going to hunt for it.”

“Be my guest.”

As Scar started tapping walls and inspecting various objects in the room, Potbelly said, “Why would T’Lea have a chapel out here in the middle of nowhere?”

“He’s a secretive one,” Scar explained. “Does his thing in the shadows.” He came to the statue. Eyeing it, he hesitated to touch it. But that might be where the trigger for the secret door would be. He tried more than once to touch the statue, but his sense of trepidation spiked whenever his hand drew close and he pulled it back. Finally giving up on the statue, he continued on.

Potbelly looked the room over, hoping to find any discarded valuables. He was disappointed. Coming full circle, he returned to where the horse stood. Its head was to the floor where it drank from water that had pooled.

Water?

How could there be water when the temperature was below freezing? Moving the torch around, he found where a very small trickle ran across the floor to the puddle. Bending down, he put his finger to it and found it warm.

“Scar,” he said. “Come here and look at this.”

He showed it to Scar. “Where’s it coming from?”

Scar shook his head. Then he followed the rivulet across the floor to the wall where it oozed from beneath. “Curious.”

“Your secret door?” Potbelly asked.

“Most likely. But how to activate it?” He turned back to the statue. “Bring the torch closer.”

Potbelly was loath to do that, but came as close as he could, until the sense of foreboding grew to be nearly overpowering.