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By Michele aka Ygraul Verdemorte |
Chapter 45. Dolyak |
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day out from Ice Caves of Sorrow, the morning dawned bright and cold with a wind that gnawed them mercilessly as they faced into it. Flowing down the flanks of the craggy peaks, it scoured the landscape, driving phantoms of ice crystals along the ground in beguiling patterns. Muffled by fur-lined mittens, hats and heavy yak-wool scarves, their breath curled and faded in long streamers behind them and ice crystals grew where it condensed on the fabric. Armand was convinced his nose had died at some point, he could not feel it any more. He occasionally took shelter in the lee of Brigit, relieved to be out of the wind as she tramped ahead of him, her hobnails crunching into the crust of snow. Zenaida had trimmed an aspen sapling each for herself and the warrior to use as walking sticks and Armand regretted not bringing his staff as he slipped and lurched up a steep icy slope behind them. His cane was useless for anything but combat but he was determined not to clutch some ragged stick. By noon he changed his mind after falling down a few too many times and having to be helped up by a fussing Brigit. As they stood within the shelter of a stand of firs and boulders munching oily biscuits and washing it down with snow melt and Frida’s mysterious concoction, he cast around for a suitable branch. Zenaida had shed her pack and was out scouting the terrain ahead, tireless and surefooted as she was. When she returned, she proffered a walking stick to him, bowing humorously. “Your staff, Sir Mesmer,” she chuckled and he could not help but smile at her little jest. She had taken some time to ornament it with crude carvings to its top and something that appeared to be a fox skull dangling from a leather thong. For its wrapping, she had obtained one of Asuna’s hair ribbons. She and the monk had a sly sense of humor and he was a little embarrassed that they had guessed his reason for not requesting a walking stick of his own when he clearly needed one. Brigit sneaked up behind him and nuzzled his shrouded ear. Of course, he had detected her approach but he feigned surprise and leaned into her chest as if he were about to fall. She caught him around his chest and he pressed into her gratefully. Their bulky clothes had dampened their normally lively thoughts about one another’s bodies and now he simply delighted in being close to her and basking in her fondness and adoration. He loved her so much and reminded her of that fact as she lowered her face to kiss his cheek. He blushed when he realized Frida, Zenaida and Asuna were watching them with amusement. The rough and tumble cuddling of a warrioress and her delicate mesmer caused them to chuckle, and to his further embarrassment, he realized Brigit was being quite deliberate with her attentions, laying claim to him in case the others had any doubt who he belonged to. He was strangely flattered by this and equally relieved she feared to lose him. The others were gathering up their packs while Frida smothered their little fire with crusty snow. He kissed Brigit lightly on the lips before they parted and took up their marching order. Frida moved on ahead with Zenaida, discussing the next leg of their journey while Brigit took up her place in the center. Asuna and Armand walked in her wake. He was soon grateful for the walking stick as they continued their steady climb toward Ice Dome. They were not alone, of course. Wild creatures disturbed the stillness as they shuffled about in the undergrowth where the snow did not lie so thick upon the ground. Eventually they wove free of the lowland forest and labored up the exposed flank of a hill, the first of many they would ascend that day. The bitterly cold air burned his lungs and wearied them all quickly so that they had to stop at intervals to catch their breaths. Only Zenaida and Frida seemed unfazed by it, but even they grew weary as the low winter sun began sinking westward and the shadows grew long. During their third such break, Zenaida went on ahead to scout for a suitable camp while the four of them huddled in the lee of some boulders. Frida passed them a small brass flask of spirits and ordered each of them to take a swallow. Armand did so grudgingly, hating the burn of the dwarven liquor. Once he managed to gag it back, however, its warmth radiated from his belly and the exhaustion let up a bit. Brigit took him into her arms and he leaned gratefully into her, embracing her in return as they stood on the snow. “Grawl,” Frida murmured softly, her head tilted slightly, “They’re following our tracks.” They were all startled when Zenaida jumped down beside them. The lithe ranger looked stricken, her blue eyes flashing with urgency. Without a word, she gestured them to follow and Armand staggered after Brigit as they hurried upward. Breathlessly they huffed to a ledge of ice encrusted rock. Brigit reached back and grasped Armand’s pack, hauling him up by his shoulder straps with her tremendous strength. Asuna squeaked softly in alarm as the warrioress hauled the little monk up beside him. From this vantage he could see what had alarmed Zenaida. The snowfield below them teemed with shadowy figures. Brutish shapes rooted around where they had walked barely an hour ago, snorting and snuffling as they picked up their trail. There were at least a score of them, far too many for the five of them alone. “Something tells me they’re hungry,” Zenaida muttered sardonically. “As long as I’m not on the menu,” Asuna replied darkly. “There is an ice cave on the other side of this slope. The snow is completely iced over and I think I can hide our tracks. I’ll need to lay down an alternate trail to lead them away, but I’m pretty sure if the rest of you hid in there they’d pass us by.” “Anything living in it?” Frida asked. “It’s too small for trolls, possibly a bear. I did not have time to go down and investigate.” “Worth a try,” muttered Frida, “There is no telling how determined those grawl are. If they haven’t had a good meal for a while, they can be quite persistent.” “Alright, let’s push for it. I don’t think they’ve seen us yet and if we hurry, they never will.” Armand struggled to keep up even as he slid on the sheer ice and his ankles ached as he climbed over jagged shards of ice crust and rock. A few times he lay on his belly after reaching the next perch and gasped raggedly. The horrible dry cold air felt like a saw blade cutting through his lungs. He coughed and tasted blood. Asuna lay down beside him at one point, then gently laid her hands upon him and pressed her healing energies into his heaving form. “Not much farther,” Zenaida soothed as Brigit helped he and Asuna back to their feet. What was wrong with him? He normally kept himself in good fighting trim yet here he was giddy and exhausted. Frida coaxed another swallow of the dwarven liquor down his throat and its burn drove the chill from his limbs. He struggled to his feet, the pack feeling like a boulder sitting on his back. Determined not to complain, he staggered after Brigit. “Come on, Armie,” she said gently, reaching back to grasp his arm and help him walk the last few paces to the crest of the hill, “It’s downhill from here, sweetie, then we can rest.” “I’m sorry I’m so slow,” he murmured, hoping no one else could hear him. “You’re unaccustomed to the heights and the cold,” she replied, putting an arm around his shoulders and guiding him over the lip of jutting stone down to a glistening slope of ice. Their hobnails screamed in protest as Brigit lurched down toward Zenaida. He glanced back to see Frida helping Asuna. The little monk looked as exhausted as he felt. A few times he feared they would pitch down the slope and slide out of control but Brigit negotiated their path, steadying them both with the placement of her walking stick and her feet. Finally they reached the cave, assured by the ranger that it was safe. The blue glow of filtered sunlight suffused the shadowy crevice where the snow had curled out over an outcropping of rock and formed the sheltered pocket. There was just room enough for them to stash their packs and huddle against its smooth back wall, their breathing punctuating the silence. Zenaida took an item of clothing from each of them and resolved to spread their scent around the landscape. She vanished to run her errand and the four of them lay there exhausted. “You alright, Armie?” Brigit whispered in his ear as they lay curled in one another’s arms. He had closed his eyes, not realizing until that moment how squinting against the glare and wind had created a headache and darkness was his only relief from it. “Tired,” he murmured, “Cold.” He had given Zenaida his scarf and now he was regretting it. Brigit unwound hers then wrapped it around both of their necks and faces, gently binding his cheek against her throat. Within her woolen nest of warmth, she caressed his temple and forehead with her kisses. “Gods, I love you,” he said and an inexplicable ache clenched his throat, “Don’t leave me, ever.” She sensed his vulnerability and wrapped her arms around him. The cold and the heights and the ceaseless climbing had drained him of every ounce of energy. If the grawl found them now he was not sure he would be able to fight. He nodded off to the steady beat of Brigit’s heart. “Armie?” He startled awake, his eyes snapping open as Brigit gently nudged him. At some point she had placed him on his side and he lay upon a folded up sheet of oil cloth to protect him from the icy ground. It was dark and the wind shrieked past the narrow opening of the cave. His body ached, stiff with cold and exertion. “Did Zenaida come back?” “Yes, my love, the grawl passed us by. I let you sleep. You were so tired, but you need to eat something. Frida insists.” All he could see were vague shapes in the darkness. A small form was sleeping beside him, pressed against his back for warmth and sharing the same oilcloth for a bed. Brigit helped him sit up and a moment later he was passed a skin of slushy water and three of the oily biscuits. He was famished and choked them back as Brigit fumbled around in the darkness beside him. She was unrolling blankets and making their bed. Now he could see Zenaida’s narrow figure perched in the entrance of the cave, cat-like and attentive. “Feel better now?” Brigit asked him and he had to admit that he did despite the ache of his body. He was not about to complain, however, for he sensed everyone was a little worse for wear. “Yes, much better.” He handed the flask back toward Frida’s lumpy shape and accepted Brigit’s invitation to crawl under their thick layer of blankets. “My turn,” he murmured and she giggled softly, yielding to him and allowing him to take her into his arms and hold her. All day she had been taking care of him and now he lavished his love upon her, gathering her against him and kissing her quietly until both of them gave in to sleep. In the morning, he was shocked to find Asuna curled against him. Casting around, he saw how tiny their hiding place had been and realized four of them must have been crammed under the blankets together while one stood watch. Armand felt mildly annoyed that no one had bothered to wake him so that he could relieve someone during the night. He was not made out of paper. Surely Brigit knew that? Then he tried to get up and winced in pain, his joints full of daggers and his chest on fire. Frida was busy making breakfast, a cold one consisting of biscuit mush with dried fruit and what appeared to be some kind of desiccated meat shavings. On the whole it looked disgusting but his stomach growled gamely. “We pressed too hard last night,” the dwarven woman said quietly, “We are at the foot of Ice Dome. Zenaida has gone on ahead to get the lay of the land and scout for Stone Summit.” “Brigit?” “Scrubbing pots, I think. She seemed a lot better rested than you look, my friend. The mountains in winter can be very cruel to low-landers. Doesn’t help that we walked up hill for three hours in that cold.” He needed to relieve himself and the thought of stepping out in that awful wind and cold had caused him to hold it as long as he dared. Rising stiffly, he tramped out onto the ice field and looked around for a private nook. There was nothing for miles and he could see Brigit upslope using the harsh frozen snow to scour the cooking pot they had used for their last hot meal the day before. Somehow he managed to sneak into the lee of the cave without her noticing him and got it over with just as Zenaida came walking back up the slope from her adventures. To his annoyance she looked downright perky, her golden hair flowing out from beneath her furry winter hat like a banner. She smirked at him and he gazed down to see the steam curling off the ice below him. “You’ll be happy to know it’s going to warm up,” the ranger said cheerfully, waving back at Brigit. “Oh?” he replied, lurking behind her as she unstrung her bow and set it outside the mouth of the cave. “Yeah, warm enough to snow like crazy. That wind is off the sea. Saved us, actually, blew our scent away from the grawl. See that line of clouds? We’ll be socked in by evening.” Frida poked her head outside. “Eat this, you’ll need your energy. I can tell you’re a hard keeper.” Brigit snorted with laughter and Armand tried to detect in what way he had become the butt of their joke. He was unfamiliar with the term but he sensed it had something to do with animals. A water skin was thrust into his hand and Frida ordered him to drink all of it. He obediently ate the bland food as Asuna blearily emerged into the sunshine only to be treated to the same imperative to empty her bowl. It was warmer than the prior day but still cold enough to drive him back inside the cave when he had finished to search for his hat and scarf. Some time during the night his hat had come off and was wedged against the glassy back wall. Feeling remarkably better with a full belly, he helped roll up the blankets and bind them back onto the packs. The soreness left his joints and he was soon ready to move on. They half slid, half walked down the frozen slope, arriving in a treeless vale at the foot of a towering hill before them. He could see signs of Zenaida’s passage across the empty expanse and pushed down his concern for being so exposed. The ranger appeared to know what she was doing and she trod boldly ahead of them now, seemingly unconcerned that they might be visible for miles from the surrounding hilltops. When they reached a thin stand of bare aspen and prickly spruce, they all relaxed a little. By that time it was noon and the low sun was once more heading westward. Gradually the land began to slope upward and their casual pace slowed as they huffed and puffed after the tireless ranger. “A little further,” Zenaida told them as Frida pleaded for a break. Asuna dropped to her knees and panted but Armand stood his ground, determined not to show weakness again. Brigit came to his side and he curled his arms around her. Both of them were so tired they only managed to nuzzle one another and lean into one another’s shoulders. The ranger grew impatient after a few minutes. “That storm is coming. It will break hard when it does. We need to get to shelter and be bedded down well before it strikes. If we get caught out here, I can’t guarantee we’ll survive the night.” Armand glanced southwest and saw a hideous band of angry black and gray clouds flowing toward them. The land below them was shadowed and obscured, no doubt already experiencing heavy snowfall. He noticed also that it was not as cold for the air was no harsh to his lungs. Brigit took pity on the poor little monk and picked up her pack, slinging it effortlessly over her shoulder. Asuna made a small protest, her pride hurt. “It’s alright, darling, just walk for now.” “Thank you,” she murmured. Armand squeezed Brigit’s hand, his heart swelling with love for her. She gave so easily of herself and asked for nothing in return. Zenaida turned her back to them and trod on ahead, her stride eager and impatient. Frida looked confused when the ranger veered from the agreed upon path but Zenaida did not respond and they wove now through thick tangles of huckleberries and the pale trunks of aspen. The aspen yielded to fir trees and the snow thinned beneath their feet. In the dimness beneath the trees he saw their destination. A tiny cottage made of rough logs and roofed with snow-covered sod awaited them. Its crude windows were shuttered against the cold. Half a cord of firewood was piled under an oilskin on its southern flank. “Trapper’s cabin,” Zenaida said to the question lurking behind their startled lips, “No one but us is crazy enough to be here at this time of year. Should be a cozy night. Let’s get a fire going. I’ll leave that to the expert and go gather some snow for water.” Frida grinned and their spirits rose at the thought of decent shelter and a fire. Brigit took out her utilitarian hatchet and he followed her around to the wood pile to help her split logs. Not that she needed any, he noted, as she cut them into manageable wedges without raising a sweat. Instead, he gathered them up and carried them inside. Frida busied herself with the fireplace. The cabin was little more than a single room with two shallow beds built into the southern wall. The floor was of split planks and the walls were of narrow aspen logs, both calked with moss and mud. The trappers had taken anything of value home with them for the winter except for a lone lantern that hung from a ceiling hook. He pulled it down at Frida’s behest. “Bring in some more wood, we may be here for a while,” the ranger said as Armand helped Asuna unpack the blankets and lay out their beds while Frida lit the lantern and began rattling around with the pots and pans. Soon they were settled in for a pleasant night and had a fine hot meal. As predicted, the storm broke at nightfall and as they lay in the comfort of their fire lit shelter they heard the crack and sway of branches as the wind picked up. He bedded down on the floor with Brigit in his arms, glad to shuck off his boots for the first time since leaving Ice Caves. They kissed briefly, then, foreheads touching he gazed into her beautiful eyes before drifting off to sleep at last. Zenaida rose before any of them to assess the aftermath of the storm. Armand was faintly aware of the ranger’s bright curious intellect flitting past him as she pushed against the door. It stuck and she sighed. A finger of cold leaked into the warmth of the cabin and made him shiver. He lifted his head from Brigit’s shoulder and watched as the ranger threw herself bodily against the portal, pushing the snow back and revealing its depth. Overnight it had half buried the door. “Is it still falling?” he whispered, not wanting to wake the others. “A little. The worst of it has passed.” He noted she was scowling. “Something wrong?” “Thought I heard something. I’m going to investigate.” He perceived her fear as a flash of silver, brief and potent but quickly overcome as she closed the door before going to don her furs and mittens, bundling against the cold once more. Zenaida then bounded easily up onto the snow and closed the door behind her. “Hope everything is alright,” Brigit mumbled, yawning and reaching over to squeeze him against her with one arm. “I’m sure it’s fine,” Armand replied, rising stiffly. Just to be on the safe side, he recovered his boots and thrust his feet into them and laced them up. Brigit followed his example while Frida turned her attention to making breakfast and building the fire back up from its embers so that the room was once more warm and bright. Asuna remained in her bunk snoring contentedly. “We’ve got company,” Zenaida said, poking her head through the doorway. Frida swore and stopped her cooking, instead gathering up her fiery staff. Armand sensed the ranger’s agitation and knew it was not a welcoming committee. Brigit shrugged her shield into place and grasped her axe handle and disappeared through the door, joining Zenaida on the other side. Not wanting to let her out of his sight, Armand bolted after her, immediately sinking up to his thighs in snow when he landed. Cursing, he pulled himself out of the drift and followed the rut carved through the once pristine snow. Zenaida waved him down and he huddled behind a thick fir tree as she sat there tensed for battle, an arrow nocked to the string of her horn bow. “There’s two Stone Summit. They probably saw the smoke and came down to investigate. If we don’t kill them, the jig is up. Gods only know how many they’ll bring back with them.” “Show me,” Armand said and followed Zenaida’s gesture. The blackened armor of the dwarves hid them well amid the shadows of the trees. He saw the gleam of the dolyak’s armor first but it had been left tethered outside the heavy stand of trees. Using his mind, he sought for them, finding the archer first and then the vivid burn of a fellow mesmer as the dwarf sought back for him. “They know we’re here,” Armand murmured, swearing angrily as his mind was overcome with fear. He knew the hex and braced himself against it, knowing the phantasm that shrieked and tore at him was an illusion. His body, however, bucked and seized. Focusing, he sought once more for the enemy mesmer and laid his own hex, gratified when he heard a dwarven oath and a cry of pain. “Armie!” Brigit cried. It had all happened so quickly, as was the nature of mesmer duels. Now the dwarf was seeking to steal his energies to heal himself. A nasty smile curled Armand’s lips and he uttered a brutal syllable, lashing his enemy with a deadly spike of chaotic energy and stopping his spell. “Fight!” Armand snapped, concentrating, seeking and finding once more the sharp gleam of the dwarf’s focused mind. He was fleeing, not daring to attempt his healing spell again with Armand on his heels. Staggering through the heavy snow after him, Armand uttered another hex, one that would punish the dwarf if he did nothing at all and a second to kill him should he attempt another spell. “Gotcha,” he hissed, gratified when he heard the dwarf’s dying gasp and the sharp knot of silvery energies dissipated. By that time, Zenaida had pinned the fleeing archer with a perfectly placed arrow, granting Brigit time to dash after the terrified dwarf. Armand uttered the wastrel hex once more and punished the dwarf when it attempted to apply troll unguent, its frustrated cry dulled by the heavy cover of the trees. Brigit felled the hapless scout with a few well placed swings of her axe. “Now to get out of here,” Zenaida said harshly, her words punctuated by her steaming breath, “Go gather our things, I’ll go scout.” Brigit and Armand rushed back to the cabin, helping Frida to put away the pots and pans as Asuna blearily hurried to get dressed. They tossed their packs out onto the snow, put out the fire and sealed the little cabin up, attempting to leave it much as they had found it. By that time, Zenaida had returned looking distressed. “They’re everywhere. We’re never getting out of this place without at least one group of them seeing us. The pass through Ice Dome is thick with them from what I could see up there,” the ranger grumbled, pointing toward the hillcrest above them. “Strip the corpses and dump them down the tree wells. Asuna can ride the dolyak and Frida can be the archer,” Armand said. They stared at him as if he were insane. “You can’t make Asuna wear heretic’s robes!” Frida protested. “What about the rest of us?” asked Zenaida. “We can hide behind the dolyak. As long as we keep moving and do nothing suspicious, they might not look too closely and we can get past them.” “I’m not wearing filthy Stone Summit gear,” Frida protested, bristling with disgust. “Armand’s idea has merit,” Zenaida said, “We can skirt the edges. I can’t think of any other way to get past them beyond risking a fight. And trust me, we won’t win.” With that, Armand strode toward the nearest Stone Summit and began releasing the catches and buckles on its leathern shirt. He tossed the helmet toward Frida. “Unless you have a better idea, I suggest putting this on.” Asuna frowned, gazing upon the supine dwarven mesmer, then shrugged as she knelt to salvage his robes. Frida’s jaw dropped. Gazing upon them sharply, the dwarven woman scowled, seeing she was fighting a losing battle and approached Armand, dropping her pack to begin pulling the loose plates of metal and leather over her furs. Brigit dragged the corpses into a tree well and grasped the reins of the dolyak. The beast emitted a sound reminiscent of a clogged Canthan sewer pipe. Frowning, she jerked the reins and the beast dug in its hooves, refusing to follow. “Even among the Stone Summit, yaks are revered,” Frida complained, tugging the lead from the warrioress’ hand. The dwarf bowed to the beast and uttered a respectful greeting in her native tongue. The beast snorted, blowing a gout of steam before following Frida without further complaint. “I’m supposed to get up there?” Asuna mumbled, craning her head back and blanching. Armand leaned against the docile creature’s armored flank and knitted his hands, offering a boost into the saddle just behind the creature’s withers. Trembling, she scrambled up and nearly fell over the other side, barely catching the pommel in time. She winced in pain as her splayed legs lay over the beast’s broad back. Brigit and Armand shouldered what they could of Frida’s pack and gave the remainder to Zenaida while Asuna was able to lash hers behind the saddle, disguising it with the existing saddle bags. “Which way?” asked Frida, her face almost completely concealed by the helm. Zenaida gestured toward the rise above them and they began their trek, ascending slowly, the dolyak snorting and steaming in their midst. Asuna clung like a burr to the creature’s back. It was immense, a virtual mountain of brass cladding and long wooly fur. Its armor reached nearly to the ground and so it became a mobile wall as they crested the hill. Armand saw now what Zenaida had feared. In the distance he could see milling clusters of Stone Summit gazing malevolently over the wintry landscape. They were out in force that day, dolyaks and herders swelling their ranks. Scores of them lurked around every corner, far too many fight. If they were discovered, they were doomed. And yet the lone archer and her heretical dolyak-riding companion went unregarded, drifting at the edge of the pack on guard duty as Zenaida, Brigit and Armand huddled against the beast’s pungent flank. They approached a clump of chatting warriors playing knucklebones, their herders and dolyaks stamping and tugging their tethers in boredom. As if they were invisible, they slipped past them and threaded through the gate into the pass. A few more groups of Stone Summit wandered past them and then they were alone. “I’ll scout. Pull into the shelter of those trees, “Zenaida said. It was late afternoon and the sky was growing dark by the time Zenaida returned. The dolyak amused itself by chewing fallen branches and farting loudly. The four of them were clustered near its head gnawing biscuits and sipping snowmelt. “We’re out of the pass,” the ranger said, “I see signs of Stone Summit, but they are obscured by last night’s snow fall. They haven’t come through here today. We can probably shelter further off the track near those boulders It will be cold and cramped, but if a night patrol comes through, they won’t see us unless they are actively looking.” “What about this dolyak?” Brigit asked, gazing at the immense creature dubiously. “Keep it for now,” Armand said, “We may need it tomorrow and it served us well today.” “If we do keep it, let’s take off its harness and cladding, then," said Zenaida, "I don’t like the idea of gleaming metal drawing unwelcome eyes. Besides, the beast will be glad of it.” Soon the beast was turned loose to forage, which it did with mindless abandon as they made a cold supper and curled up fully dressed in their blankets. Brigit kissed him and squeezed him proudly. “I’m glad I’m with my clever Armie,” Brigit said and he blushed beneath her admiring gaze. “Whatever it takes to keep you from danger,” he thought, kissing her sweetly. |
