“King Barkon’s slaves built him a hundred galleys, and he loaded his wives, and his army, and many slaves and craftsmen, wizards and priests, and set sail from the southern shore of Ansalon. Following the guidance of the Willful One, he came to these shores, to the land called Icereach.”
“How long ago?”
“Fifty-five centuries,” the prince said with certainty. “King Barkon departed Ansalon twenty-eight centuries before the elves founded their ancient kingdom.”
“What is that elven kingdom called?”
Gonnas curse him-why did the dwarf always have to ask the questions that Grimwar wasn’t prepared to answer? He had been studying
“That is not the question-name the realm of the elves!”
“Silver … silver … east … silver something,” he started lamely, then roared. “I don’t know that one!”
“Well, you
“I was going to say that,” growled the prince, who felt that he should get credit for at least being close. “Why in the name of all the gods should I be concerned with a place that lies across the sea, a place no ogre of my kingdom has seen for thousands of years?”
He knew he had made a mistake. This kind of challenge Baldruk Dinmaker couldn’t help but answer. Though Grimwar had heard it all before, he slumped into a chair, resigned to the lecture he knew was coming.
“You must always be vigilant against the elves,” began the dwarf, “because it is the elves who have been the bane of ogrekind throughout the rest of the world. Those great capitals you mentioned, most of them are gone now, sacked by elven armies and inhabited by human rabble and worse.”
“Yes. I remember your lessons. Neraka is a land of men, and the great ogre port of Parlathin has become the place humans call Palanthas. Daltigar, too, is now in human hands, while Bloten and Kern are small, backward kingdoms, mere shadows of the empire that had once united all the world. But those places that have fallen are now claimed by humans, not elves, so why do you insist that elves are still our greatest enemy?”
“Because humans are like cold clay: They can be shaped by artisans of many kinds. Here in Icereach we are shaping them to serve us. Can you imagine what Winterheim would be like, without your human slaves to do all the work?”
In truth, Grimwar couldn’t imagine that. Everything from farming to smithing to mining and building was done by the men and women enslaved within the ogre kingdom. If those humans were gone, the kingdom-or at least the life that Grimwar had been born to know-would cease to exist.
“That simply means that we have vanquished the humans here-we have been strong enough to prevail.”
“Because the humans of Icereach are few, and they are barbarians. They know nothing of the elven civilizations that have spread to other corners of the world. You must understand this: In the First Dragon War, the army that broke the ogre power on the central plains consisted of ninety-nine humans for every one elf. Yet it was an elven army, an elven king-Silvanos himself-who won that victory, in a battle that sealed the fate of the ogre realms on Ansalon.”
“But not here.” Grimwar was anxious to prove that he had been paying attention.
“No, because
“I know that!” Grimwar shuddered inwardly, remembering the prophecy of his wife, the message from Gonnas the Strong. “Did we not search every village, interrogate every prisoner, on the summer’s campaign? The humans know nothing of elves, and as you said yourself, men are fit only to be our slaves.”
“That is not what I said. You would do well to pay closer attention,” the dwarf said in disgust. He glanced at the window. The short period of full daylight had arrived, and Baldruk shrugged. “That is all we have time for, today-we don’t want to keep your father waiting.”
“These are fine bears,” Grimtruth Bane said proudly. “The best I have bred.”
The prince, riding beside his father in the large, open cart, could only agree. Four massive ice bears lumbered in harness, pulling the royal sled along the vast curve of Fenriz Glacier. The bears’ motley white pelts matched the dirty ice of the path, and the animals lumbered along at an easy trot. Golden muzzles caged each fierce maw, but their long claws were bare, necessary to hold the smooth, hard path.
Baldruk Dinmaker and Queen Thraid were seated facing the two bull ogres. Above their bench was the driver, a loyal ogre of advanced age known as Kod Bearmaster. The iron skids grated over the snow as the big bears loped along with comfortable speed.
The sun was a pale orb, low even at noon, and soon it would vanish behind the shoulder of the great mountain. All around loomed the huge peaks of the Icereach Range, the loftiest mountains in the world-at least, according to the teachings of Baldruk Dinmaker, who had traveled far and wide. Those summits ran along both sides of the glacier, jagged teeth extending toward the far frozen south.
The glacier was a river of ice that made a splendid highway leading from the fortress mountain toward the ridges where the kingdom’s richest gold deposits had long been mined. The broad surface extended northward for nearly a hundred miles, until it spilled into the gray waters of the Courrain Ocean. As they entered the shadow of Winterheim, Grimwar felt the chill penetrate his clothes and his flesh, seeping into his very bones, but he huddled even deeper under his bearskin and knew better than to make any complaint.
“We will now look at the mines in the valley,” the king said, addressing the driver.
Kod Bearmaster held sturdy reins and a whip but coaxed the bears along with a series of barking commands. Now he guided them onto a steep sheet of ice that spilled down the valley between two great summits to merge onto the main glacier. All four of the bruins strained in the harness, taloned paws gripping the smooth surface firmly as they hauled their royal cargo.
In a surprisingly short time they had reached the pass between those summits, the best vantage in all Icereach for seeing into the world beyond. In places they could glimpse the surface of the Snow Sea, saw the dark waves of blizzard heaving and tossing. Again Grimwar involuntarily shivered to glimpse that power, the unrestrained might, waiting for the release that could only be provided by the king of Suderhold.
“Where did you get such an unusual pelt?” asked Queen Thraid, who was riding with Baldruk Dinmaker on the front seat.
“Yes, who ever heard of a black bear?” wondered the king.
“I found it in a human’s hut, in the last village we sacked,” the prince explained. “All during the summer we had heard of this particular talisman. It was supposed to be the symbol of the high chief of the Arktos.” Grimwar chuckled grimly. “He’s dead now, and I have his sacred cloak.”
“It is good you killed him,” the king said. “I do not like to have these humans thinking of themselves as chieftains. Far better when they only have a mind for slavery.” The monarch beamed, baring his impressive tusks, as the bear cart glided around a bend in the glacier. “Look. See what they can accomplish as slaves.”
The prince saw the long, scarred face of mountainside, pocked by the holes of hundreds of tunnel mouths, great heaps of yellow-brown tailings strewn in fans at the foot of the vast cliff. The workers were using the few hours of daylight to make last, frantic progress before the Sturmfrost marked the end of the mining season.
The Highlund Valley was a great bowl in the mountains. Lofty, snowcapped peaks rose above the rim, but the heat of the miners’ activity had melted any trace of snow within the vale itself. A dozen low, sooty smelters were at work, black smoke belching from the chimneys, huge piles of coal rising like small mountains beside each of the buildings.
The mines were linked by a grid of ledges and catwalks, some of the scaffoldings rising hundreds of feet in the air to provide access to the higher tunnels. The stink of smoke and bitter fumes was thick and a dark haze obscured the view. Hammers and picks clattered in a regular cadence, and as the bears slowed their pace and the cart skidded to a stop Grimwar could hear men shouting, ogre overseers cursing, and mining carts rumbling along the numbers of tracks that linked mines, holding piles, and smelters.
The king’s driver steered them to a stop before a sturdy building of gray granite sculpted into a miniature fortress. Two ogres stood guard at the massive iron door, but they quickly pulled the great portal open as the king, queen, prince and dwarf climbed down from the cart.
“Welcome, Sire,” said one, making a low bow. “The goldmaster has set out the ingots for your
