agreement.'
Still facing away, Martine smiled. Her bluff had worked.
'Like what?'
'My slavez will not attack the little people.' With its alien drone of a voice, Martine had no way to gauge the depth of the elemental's sincerity.
'How do I know I can trust you?' she asked, turning back.
'I am Vreesar.' This time she could hear the creature's shock that the ranger would doubt its word.
'So?' Martine caught Vil looking at her, as if to warn her not to push things too far.
'An oath to the prince of ice!' it spat, frustrated at her rejection.
'So you swear?'
'Yez,' it answered venomously. 'Now, human, there iz one ~ thing I want.'
'What'
The elemental pointed at the Word-Maker. 'Leave me the traitor.'
Martine had no ready answer for this unexpected turn of events. A quick look at the shaman told her his opinion; the gnoll's ears were flattened back in the fighting response. Beyond him, Vil shook his head almost imperceptibly from side to side.
'He's a living creature,' the former paladin hissed. 'You can't barter his life.'
The Harper steeled herself to face the elemental squarely, her eyes focusing on its ice-veiled face. The thing's tiny mouth rasped eagerly as it waited for her reply. Slowly she shook her head. 'Krote is my prisoner. He's not part of my bargain. He stays with me.' She still needed the shaman to forge a peace with the gnolls once this was all done.
'He iz mine! He iz one of the Burnt Fur, and I am hiz chieftain!' Vreesar shrilled. It started to lunge forward, claws outstretched…
'The stone! Not if you want the stone!' Martine shouted
even as Krote leaped backward to avoid the elemental's icy grasp.
Vreesar stopped suddenly, held by her words.
'Harm him and the deal's off,' Martine announced. Her sword was in her hand as if it sprang magically from its sheath.
Vil stepped forward to flank Martine, with Krote between them. Behind Vreesar, the gathered gnolls bristled, awaiting their chieftain's word. The clearing was cloudy with their steaming breath.
Vreesar looked hungrily at the three before him. Its clawed hands flexed slowly. Finally it eased its body back until it was no longer in a hunter's crouch. 'You can have him, human. He iz worthlez.' The elemental stepped back and twisted its gleaming head around to address the rest of the tribe. 'Let them leave thiz time, but if you see the traitor again, kill him.
Several eager yowls of bloodlust rose from the pack, but most kept silent, as if judging the worth of their chieftain against that of their shaman.
Vreesar turned back to Martine and under its gaze, she suddenly felt cold. 'Now, human, where iz the stone?' The Harper was trembling so hard she wasn't sure she could remain standing. 'On the big island in the river. You'll find a blazed trail that will lead you to it.' All three of them stopped breathing, waiting to see if Vreesar would kill them now.
The tiny mouth cracked in the slightest of smiles, as if sensing their fears. 'Leave, humanz,' the elemental hummed. It pointed to a packed trail across the camp. 'rake the short trail. No one will harm you.'
Martine didn't wait for a second offer, but neither did she let her fears make her bolt Warily she trudged through the camp, her gaze constantly moving from enemy to enemy. As they passed, each gnoll stepped aside slightly, although none were submissive. Neck hairs bristled, ears flattened, and growls rumbled in the throats of the dog-men. At first Martine thought they were directed at her, but then she realized most of their attention was directed at Krote, who was immediately behind her. The shaman walked stiff and tall, never once even glancing at those who threatened him. He seemed almost icy calm in the midst of their animalistic hatred.
As soon as the three entered the forest, they buckled on their skis and snowshoes. The only one who spoke was
Martine shook her head. 'That wasn't the agreement. You're free when you make peace with your tribe.'
Krote spat. 'When I try, you said! I cannot try now. They will kill me.'
Martine shook her head. 'Find a way if you want your freedom.' Her voice was firm. Vil, with his sword drawn, pressed it gently against the gnoll's back.
The measured march through the camp became a hurried flight now that they were out of sight. The trail was well used, but coarsely broken. The skiers bumped and skidded over the trampled footprints of their enemies. In the packed snow, Krote had little difficulty keeping up as they hurried through the tightly packed trees of the slope.
The caws of ravens alerted them that something was up. Before the skiers could slow their pace, a coven of black forms swirled up, screeching, from a line of posts in the trail just ahead of them. A few of the brave birds stayed behind, unwilling to surrender their meaty prizes. The ravens pecked at a row of bloodless heads, jammed onto the ends of crudely sharpened stakes. They were small heads, smaller than a human's.
'Oh, gods!' Martine swore. She couldn't stand to look. 'Claim stakes. We Burnt Fur mark our territory with the
heads of our enemies.' Krote's voice echoed with fierce pride.
'We? You're our prisoner now, Word-Maker,' Martine snapped.
As they sparred, Vil knelt to examine the gruesome display. He paused before one in the middle. 'this is Turi,' Vil said softly.
Martine forced herself to look. The birds had done thorough work. The eye sockets of the head were empty, and most of the face was gone, except for a few frozen bits of flesh and the bloody strings of a beard. 'How can you tell?' she asked quickly, trying to hold in her rage.
The man spoke with pain. He gently touched the beads woven into the beard of the little face. ''Turi's braids,' he explained.
The little people will remember not to attack the Burnt Fur,' Krote predicted as they set out once more.
Fifteen
Aghast at what she had seen, Martine shoved the shaman back onto the trail. Krote snarled a warning as she shouldered past to resume lead. 'Be careful, human. Someday I will not be your prisoner.' The Harper drew her sword quickly and, twisting about, let the blade flash in the sunlight. She said nothing but sheathed the weapon and laid into her skis, setting a brutal pace. After a mile of winding through the wood, even Vil, a better skier than Martine, was panting hard.
Just ahead, the trail broke out of the woods and plunged and plunged down a steep slope to the clear meadows of a marshy stream. Just as Martine was about launch over the edge, Vil pulled up short. 'Let's rest here a minute,' he insisted. Fiercely determined to match the Harper's pace, Krote breathed shuddering clouds of steam from the exertion.
Martine stood poised on the brink of the descent, upset at the delay. The longer she stood, the less irritated she
became as she finally felt the effects of her pace. The sweat of exertion quickly cooled in the bitter wind that swept up the slope, drawing the heat from her flushed skin.
Calm down, she urged herself. You can't exhaust yourself here. There's still too much to be done.
As she stood gathering her strength, Vil sheltered his eyes to scan the slope for the best route down. 'That's odd,' he murmured suddenly. 'What do you make of that?'
The warrior pointed a mittened hand toward a thick graywhite cloud that settled over the warren less than a mile ahead. Coiling arms of snow rose upward on spirals of wind, only to fall back to earth. It was like a storm
