Tanis nodded.
'What are you thinking about?'
'That all these people were moved by love to do what they did. Riana and her brother, Karel, and even the mage and his son. But look how bitter the harvests were.'
'Aye,' Flint said, reaching down to help him to his feet. 'Some fruits are bitter.'
Tanis touched the peaceful face of the boy on the bed, thinking that it might only have been sleep that smoothed away the sharp lines of pain and not death. 'And some are never harvested at all.'
Flint was silent for a long moment. Then he smiled, as though to himself. He took Tanis's arm and turned him gently away from the boy's bed. 'Bitter, some, and un-harvested, others. A harvest depends on the soil in which the seed is planted, lad, and the care it is given.' He nodded to Riana, quiet now in Karel's arms. 'Don't you think that theirs could yet be sweet?'
Finding the Faith
The heat of the camp's communal peat fire warmed my old hands, numb from a hard days work. I, Raggart Knug, true cleric of the Ice Folk, had just completed the long, cold task of forging another frostreaver. Sighing with contentment, I munched on raw fresh fish, wiggling my toes a little closer to the flames.
As the sun dipped below Icemountain Bay, others of the camp came to warm themselves as well.
'Tell us again about the time of the strangers!' Men-dor pleaded, his eyes shining with excitement.
Laina, a pretty girl with hair the color of melted walrus blubber, joined in. 'Yes, tell us how the beautiful elf woman and her companions charmed an ice bear and fought the wicked Highlord with-'
'Wait a moment! Who's telling this story?' I interrupted her with a chuckle.
Tired though I was, I could not resist the chance to tell my favorite story, about the time I became a true cleric. Wiping greasy hands on the skins of my leggings, I leaned forward to begin the tale, moving away from this time to another, just yesterday it seemed, when…
Nine strangers came from the north, from Tarsis they said. The guards noticed them some distance from the camp, their colorful robes and thin animal skins making them stand out like spring flowers against the whiteness of the glacier.
I did not wish to join those sent to meet the intruders. With the talk of raiding bands of minotaurs, I was forging the Ice Folk's favored weapon, the fros-treavers, as quickly as possible. Even so, the making of each one still took many, many days. I was alone in my work since, as cleric of the Ice Folk, I am the only one on Krynn with the knowledge, passed down through my family, of how to forge these remarkable battle-axes from solid chunks of incredibly dense ice. I hoped to complete the one I was working on before the sun left the sky, so I kept my face down when our leader came searching for men to go confront the strangers. It didn't work. For reasons of his own, the Great Harald ordered me to join the party.
Grumbling, I snatched up my staff and pack of curatives before heading for the harbor. Almost absent- mindedly, I poked the frostreaver I was working on into the pack. I have no idea why I did that, since I was not strong enough to use it. I had seen sixty winters, and my muscles just weren't what they used to be. Besides, my job would be to moderate with the strangers, not fight them. Although I was once the most knowledgeable guide among the Ice Folk, I saw less and less of the world beyond the camp as the years went by.
My old bones creaked belligerently as I climbed the ladder over the wall of hard-packed snow and made my way to the boats in the harbor. Soon, our lone iceboat, sail extended like a billowing cloud, skittered across the frozen wasteland, carrying twelve Ice Folk toward the dot of color that marked the strangers.
'There are nine,' called Wilmar, Harald's lookout, perched on the port bow.
'And a polar bear, a good omen!' Harald exclaimed. 'Trim the sail!' Admired for their strength and endurance, polar bears have long been revered by Ice Folk.
The iceboat swept in a wide, graceful arc, stopping about one hundred feet from the group of travelers. With a wave of his hand, Harald ordered us to advance on the strangers.
Harald, his massive form swaying, stepped ahead of us some twenty feet. 'I am Harald Haakan, chieftain of the Ice Folk, the people whose land you trespass. Return from wherever you came and we will not harm you.'
'Harm us?' a young, heavily armored man scowled. His moustache bristled with disdain. 'Derek Crownguard, Knight of the Crown, is ordered by no one!'
I watched as irritation swelled Harald's seven-foot frame to full size and weight. In a moment he would order us to attack.
Suddenly, a young, slender elven maiden twisted her way past the knight to stand before the strangers. I must confess, my breath caught in my throat at the loveliness of the woman. Her skin was clean and creamy, not like the soot-stained complexions of the women of the camp. She looked as fragile as an icicle, yet her eyes held the strength of its cousin, the frostreaver.
'I am Laurana, princess of the Qualinesti elves,' she began, her voice light, musical, enchanting. She introduced the rest of the party, though I was so entranced by the sound of her voice that I was only half aware of their names. But I knew Harald might ask my counsel, so I forced myself to listen to her words.
There was another elf among them, a quiet, handsome young man Laurana introduced as her brother. He said little, but his eyes flashed with love every time he looked at his sister.
There were three other men dressed like Derek, ob viously knights as well, though there the similarity ended. The one named Aran, tall and red-haired, seemed easygoing and affable, though it was only an impression- there was nothing to laugh about in our encounter. Another, a quiet one named Brian, exuded a subtle strength.
The fourth knight was more interesting than the rest, mainly because he was not so easy to read. Laurana called him Sturm. There was something unsettled and mysterious about the knight with the double moustache. He stood tall and proud, and honesty shone from his eyes. But surrounded by people, he seemed oddly alone.
'We mean you no harm,' Laurana continued. 'We are traveling from Tarsis to Icewall Castle on a mission vital to the safety of Krynn.'
Harald's chest stopped heaving with anger, but he remained cautious. 'You did not bring the bear from Tarsis,' he growled.
The maiden paled at his accusatory tone. 'No, he was being tortured by minotaurs, so we freed him,' she explained hastily. 'We released him, but-'
'He's fallen in love with Laurana!' a small, childlike creature with a long tassle of hair cried, leaping forward with delight.
Completely undaunted by Harald, the creature started forward, small hand extended. 'How do you do? My name is Tasslehoff Burrfoot and…'
'Hush up, you doorknob,' a stocky dwarf growled, yanking the excited kender back by the arm, 'or I'll feed you to a minotaur myself!'
Laurana smiled embarrassedly and glanced at the massive white bear. 'He does seem rather fond of me.'
Like Harald, I found the presence of the ice bear in triguing. I knew the bear was young from its awkward, clumsy gait. I'd seen many of these lumbering creatures on the glacier, but never had I seen one willingly serve any master, human or otherwise. An iron collar strained at the bear's thick neck and deep red welts marred its white fur, witness to the elf woman's story of the minotaur's tortures.
But Harald's interest turned to the talk of minotaurs. 'How many bull-creatures were there? Did you kill them?'
I could see the elf woman trying to gauge Harald's reaction. Perhaps the Ice Folk were friendly with minotaurs. 'There were seven-and yes'-she gambled, watching him closely-'we killed them all. We've seen no others since.'
Though Harald's wide face spread into a grin, I could see that he did not trust these strangers yet. 'Bull-men have long plagued us. We owe you a great debt. Come to our camp and rest. We will feed and clothe you properly before you continue across the glacier.'
