Despite the chill, the man wore no coat or gloves, and his tasseled woolen cap was pushed far back on his head. His hair was dun gray and short, cut carelessly so that it cropped out over his ears. Dark stains of sweat marked the heavy smock he wore.
As Martine stepped out of the woods, he hefted his axe in one hand, and she noted he held it the way a warrior would, rather than a lumberjack. He was a big man and older than Martine. She guessed his age at forty or perhaps fifty, her father's age, at least judging by his graying brown hair and the slightly stiff way he moved. His nose was crooked, as if it had once been broken, and a thick stubble grew on his chin, the look of a man who had few guests. His expression showed no surprise or emotion beyond the wariness that filled his eyes.
'Greetings,' he said with the same hospitable caution she had shown. The stranger's voice was deep, and when he spoke, haggard lines flexed across his face as if his
weatherbeaten cheeks were unaccustomed to shaping words. 'I am Vilheim, son of Balt: ' He stopped, offering no more information about himself, although his sharp accent was like those she had heard along the Chessentian coast in the south.
'My respects to you, sir,' Martine offered deferentially, taking care not to move any closer. 'I have traveled a long way to see the gnomes of this valley. Do you know of them?'
The man swung his axe with a casual stroke and sank it into the stump. The sharp chunk of the blow echoed dully through the snowy woods. He spread his hands slightly, as if to show that he was unarmed, though Martine noted he never stepped out of arm's reach of the axe. Again there was a long silence that neither seemed eager to fill.
'Gnomes, eh?' he finally intoned. 'You came here to talk to gnomes. That was you flying overhead, right, Miss…?' 'Martine. Of Sembia.' She shifted from side to side to keep her feet from freezing inside her boots. 'I'm hoping the gnomes will guide me onto the Great Glacier.'
The man's weatherbeaten face almost broke into a grin at the relish of some private joke, and then his stoic face regained its composure. 'Forgive me, I have forgotten my manners,' the woodsman quickly said, his voice apologetic. 'I fear you have come a long way for naught, Martine of Sembia. The Vani are not friendly to strangers.'
'The Vani?'
'Me gnomes of Samek.' He spoke in strained tones as he stiffly picked up his coat, a heavy parka of fur and leather, from the ground and brushed away the snow that clung to it.
Martine persisted, stepping forward to press her claim. 'I still would like to try. Can you guide me to them?'
He stopped and suddenly scrutinized Martine, looking at her and beyond her into the gray woods, as if searching for
any others who may have accompanied her. His gaze was startlingly sharp and intense, far more than she expected from an ordinary frontiersman, and it made Martine wonder if she had done the right thing by showing herself so abruptly. This simple woodsman wasn't what she had expected, and that made her nervous.
'Are you alone?' he asked.
'Yes. Are you?' She felt her hand inch unconsciously toward the sword that dangled from her hip.
Vilheim flicked his eyes between the sky and Martine until he finally seemed to compromise and gazed at the trees behind her. He rubbed at the thick stubble of his cheek tentatively. 'Alone? Yes… I'm alone.' Martine thought she detected a trace of sorrow in his voice.
The man met her gaze evenly. A shiver made her legs tremble, and she was suddenly aware just how cold it was as the dry breeze swirled up motes of ice between them.
'You'll freeze out here tonight,' the woodsman said abruptly, a smile finally breaking across his face. 'I can offer you a hot meal and a place to sleep. You are welcome to stay, although you may find me a disappointing cook. Your search for the Vani might best be done tomorrow when there is more of the day.'
Martine accepted Vilheim Baltson's sudden hospitality at face value. She sensed a basic decency in the man. It wasn't just intuition, but also trust in the simple ways of the frontier. Visitors were too few to be abused or driven away. Martine seized the opportunity, thankful for the offer of warmth and comfort. 'Much kindness, Master Vilheim. As soon as I've tended to my hippogriff, I'll gladly accept what I'm sure will be considerable improvement on another meal of boiled jerky and biscuit.'
'I wouldn't be so certain,' Vilheim warned as he pulled the axe free from the log to take it back inside. 'Bring your animal up and come inside when you're ready. I'll straighten
up the place a little.'
Martine trudged back through the snow to fetch Astriphie. The hippogriff was crouched in bloodstained snow, tearing at the carcass of a deer, forcing the ranger to wait until the meal was done. Finally she was able to remount the hippogriff safely and fly to the cabin. After making a quick bed of pine boughs for Astriphie, she knocked at the cabin door.
'Come in,' Vilheim called from the other side.
With one hand close to her sword, just in case, she opened the door and was instantly assaulted by an outrush of steamy warmth. Compared to the cold dryness outside, the cabin was like the tropics, and after days of camping in snow, it was a blessing.
'Come in quickly and close the door, or there'll be more wood to cut,' her host chided from the fire. He was already ladling bubbling stew into two thick, wooden bowls. 'Sit at the table. Please.'
Martine didn't require more urging and pulled up one of the two rickety chairs she saw. The whole cabin was a single, sparsely furnished room-one wobbly table, two chairs, a bed heaped with comforters, and a chest. A wellpolished, dented breastplate hung from a rack by the door, along with a battered war helm, several spears, and Vilheim's coat. The crudely tanned bear rug on the smooth wood floor in front of the fireplace was testimony to her host's prowess with bow and sword. These two weapons hung over the log mantel, both unpretentious but well made. Aside from these martial touches, the rest of the cabin's furnishings were purely functional-pots and pans, lamps, dishes, and the like. Overhead, the scarred wood rafters were carelessly decorated with leather bags hung from pegs and, in one case, a bent-handled dagger driven into the wood. Above the rafters, cobwebs glowed in the flickering light. There was one other door, which Martine
had little trouble guessing led to an attached privy.
She had barely settled in before her host quickly set the table with bowls of hot stew, great brown rounds of bread, and a pot of fresh cheese. The aroma of grease, fried onions, and salted venison belied the threat of bad cooking. After Vilheim pulled up the other chair and mumbled a grace, Martine set to eating with a vengeance. She ate greedily while Vilheim observed silently.
After both had pushed their bowls away and Martine profusely thanked her host, the talk gradually turned to news of the outside world. They talked about trivialities-who ruled where, and what new wonders had arisen. He was particularly interested in how the land's faiths fared, and although she wasn't very religious, she told him what she knew. As the conversation continued, Martine came to call him 'Vil,' and he in turn managed to drop the formal 'of Sembia' from her name.
Yet throughout their conversation, Vil revealed but little of himself. He was from Chessentia, as she had guessed, and had been living in the valley for about three years. He had settled here for privacy, he explained, and it was as good a reason as many she had heard.
She offered little more about herself. No mention was made of her role in the Harpers or of her current mission. It wasn't wise to carelessly advertise one's allegiance. Her host seemed satisfied to let her keep her secrets.
At last the Harper broached the subject of the gnomes.
'I know them,' Vilheim allowed. 'I've been their neighbor for three years now-but a short time, in their estimation. They're good enough neighbors, but in their own way.' Vil paused and sucked on his lip as he tried to think of the right words. 'They prefer their privacy.'
'Do you think I could meet with them?' Martine tried not to sound too eager. Unconsciously her fingers started playing with her table knife, spinning it back and forth. 'Or could you guide me to the Great Glacier?'
Vil leaned back, considering the young woman's question. 'Better you try the Vani first. I usually stay away from glacier country. Tomorrow I will take you to see them, and you can ask for yourself.'
