blown down fresh from the mountains, but everywhere else the sky was clear. As the pair watched, the gray mass swirled and spread to swallow the adjacent trees within its white depths.
'It seems to be spreading in a circle,' the Harper noted with a sense of dread.
'Does your friend have any weather magic in his gear?' The question caught the woman off guard. 'Jazrac? I wouldn't know'
'It's definitely not natural.'
Krote snorted. 'Storms are things of cold.' 'Vreesar! You don't suppose…?'
Vil nodded, his lips pursed tight beneath his ice-encrusted mustache. 'Vreesar's an elemental. He just might be able to stir up a storm like that.'
'Come on!' Martine launched herself down the steep slope. Rocks and trees sped past as she plowed through the icy snow The Harper skied blindly, barely managing to stay erect. Suddenly the slope ended and the Harper hit the fiat meadow, still on her feet. Skidding to a stop, she barely evaded Vil as the man shot past. Right behind the man came Krote. Martine quickly drew her sword and advanced toward the shaman.
'I must come with you or freeze,' the dog-man snarled as he struggled to stand at the bottom. 'If you kill me now, there is no peace with the Burnt Fur.'
The Harper barely heard his threat. Seizing his arm, she shoved him toward Vil and then started across the frozen bog. Cursing, the gnoll delayed until Vil goaded him into a shuffling sprint, the fastest pace the gnoll could maintain.
The forest ahead of them abruptly changed. A billowing gray-white wall swallowed the forest one tree at a time. The swirling vortex seemed to reach out cloudlike arms and embrace each tree before dragging its victim into its dark depths.
They pulled to a stop, uncertain whether they should plunge into the whirling mass. The line between sunlight and storm was clearly demarcated. 'What do you think's happening inside?' Vil asked.
Martine peered into the gloom as she pulled back the thick hood of her parka and adjusted her helmet for battle. The storm facing them presented a gray wall that swallowed up the forest after only a few feet. 'I don't know,' she shouted over the howling wind, 'but I don't like it. That bastard Vreesar's up to something.'
'If we go in there, well be traveling blind.'
'So what do we do? Just stand here?' the Harper asked in exasperation. 'Help me tie him up.' She nodded at Krote. Unarmed, Krote could only submit. Vil played out a length of rope to serve as a leash to prevent the gnoll from disappearing once they were inside the storm. The gnoll turned to the warrior with bitter smile. 'Vreesar plans to attack. My people may be warm tonight in your warren after all.'
'Not if I can help it,' Vil promised. 'And if they do, where will you sleep, outcast?'
The gnoll snarled at the words, but he followed Martine as she stepped across the line between sunshine and storm.
The biting blizzard greedily devoured the three, wrapping them in its embrace. Barely ten feet inside, all sunlight had disappeared, leaving only a stinging white glare into which everything dissolved. The thick forest vanished and was replaced by individual trunks that faded as the group passed.
In her limited experience with winter, Martine had never been in a blizzard before, much less one summoned by magical force. Almost instantly she stumbled back, driven by the stinging gale. The wind-whipped snow tore at her face until she had to squeeze her eyes to mere slits, and the tears that formed barely started to run down her cheeks before they froze. A push from Vil, bent double against the gale, kept her moving forward.
'What now?' she shouted, her words snatched from her mouth by the wind.
Vil pulled close, dragging the shaman with him, and pressed his helmeted forehead close to hers. 'Keep moving forward. Watch for anything that looks familiar,' he advised, ice and snow cracking from his beard as his lips moved. Even though he was shouting in her face, she could barely hear him over the roar. She waved her understanding and struck out again.
What direction, though? Already she had no idea whether she was plunging deeper inside or moving back toward the outside edge of the storm. The trail had all but vanished, leaving only maddening traces that never seemed to go in directions the ranger expected. Finally she sighted a tree she thought looked familiar. It was hard to be certain because it seemed to keep changing in the storm. She decided to head toward the pine tree she thought she recognized. From there, she targeted for the faint outline of another tree no more than ten feet ahead.
Intent on her goal, Martine bumped into the hummock lying across her path. As she did, her skis jolted to a sudden stop, and the ranger tumbled forward into the mound.
She struck something hard rather than soft snow. It must be a log, she thought, until she saw the red ice beneath the blowing snow. 'Vil!' she shouted as she frantically scraped away the powdery blanket. Underneath, already cool and growing pale, was a gnome. His helm was split, his face shattered by a massive blow that had left no hope of his survival.
'Who-who is he?' the Harper asked haltingly.
'I don't know. One of the gnomes from yesterday's raid?' Martine pulled a mitten off and pressed her hand to the gnome's cheek. 'No. He's still a little warm,' she shouted. 'A scout, I'd bet What about the others?'
Suddenly a howl rang hauntingly on the wind. A gnoll? Martine couldn't tell. The ranger looked quickly at the Word-Maker, to make sure the dog-man did not reply. Krote's expression was blank.
She decided to head in the direction of the sounds. Any goal was preferable to aimless wandering. 'Leave the gnome here. He's dead,' the ranger shouted as she struggled to her feet against the wind. Vil lingered a few moments while he murmured a quick prayer. She didn't wait and plunged ahead.
With every tree that loomed out of the snowy haze, with every hummock and deadfall, Martine expected to be confronted by a snarling rush of gnoll warriors. There was no way to tell if the enemy was near or far or even present at all, although the Harper was sure by now that Vreesar had not sent the humans back on the shortest trail.
It was luck, a fortunate turn on Tymora's wheel, that guided them through the howling storm. They met no gnolls, even though both Vil and Martine seemed to see the beasts in everything. Suddenly the trees vanished and the tracks became more definite-well-cut grooves in the
hardened crust. The three only had to follow these a little way before they came to the heavy doors of the east gate. Their pounding on the wooden gate could barely be heard over the wail of the storm.
The peephole shot open, framing a pair of weary, bloodshot eyes. 'We're back!' Martine shouted. 'Let us in!' The heavy bolts rattled on the other side, and the gate parted cautiously. The Harper pushed the cracked doors open and hurried inside. Vil herded Krote in and got himself through the door as quickly as possible.
Two small guards, old Tikkanen and another, stood tense and hesitant as the trio entered. 'Get those doors shut!' the Harper snapped. 'There are gnolls outside.'
The old gatekeeper's rheumy eyes widened. 'Impossible!' he blustered. 'Iuski would have come back to warn us.'
'Shut the doors, damn it!' the ranger demanded as she kicked off her skis. The fierceness of her command get them in motion. 'T his one you called Luski-did you send him outside?'
'Not me. The council posted him as a scout.'
Martine cursed as she stamped her feet to warm them. Vil already had his skis off. He forced the gnoll onto a small bench to remove the beast's snowshoes. He looked up from his work. 'Your scout's dead, Tikkanen.'
That news motivated the gnomes. The gate was quickly swung closed and shot with bolts and bars. 'Elder Sumalo must be told,' Tikkanen said excitedly once the work was done. Leaving his companion peering through the peephole at the storm, the ancient gnome waddled down the hall as fast as his short legs could take him, scurrying away to warn the others.
'Vil,' Martine said wearily as she sank onto one of the small benches, 'can you take Krote back to his cell?'
The warrior nodded and roused the shaman, who rose resentfully. 'Meet you back here?'
Eyes closed, she nodded, then listened as the former paladin trundled their prisoner away. Her mind was already drifting.
Twenty minutes and a short catnap later, the foyer of the east gate was crowded with gnomes. Jouka stood at the forefront in his spined armor. The survivors of the previous raid milled nervously about. Sumalo stayed to the rear, his charms tinkling with tuneless rythym.
