the Icewall. Many ogres live at these gates. I was garrison captain of the Bearded Glacier Gate for many years.”
“All over the mountain?” Moreen squinted pensively. “Is there one that is far away … that is not on the mountain?”
“Not to the city,” Broadnose said. “Nope, the only way there is Icewall Pass. That goes into the Moongarden-still a long way from Winterheim!”
“The Moongarden. Sounds magical.”
“Old magic. Stones glow in big cave, make sunlight for lots of stuff to grow. Slaves work there, keep the food coming even in winter.”
“Where is this place? I would like to see it,” Moreen said.
“It’s under the ground,” Broadnose said, shaking his head, trying to graciously conceal his opinion that this woman was clearly not very bright. “You can’t see it, not unless you climb the Icewall and go in!”
“Climbing the Icewall … that sounds very difficult,” she allowed. “There must be a way into this Icewall Pass?”
Broadnose grunted and nodded. “There is, but it starts from escarpment, where the tuskers live. Don’t think they’d let you go there.”
“No,” said the small woman, her eyes narrowing as she thought about something the ogre captive didn’t understand. “No, the tuskers wouldn’t like that, not at all.…”
Kerrick stood upon the familiar rampart of Brackenrock and looked over the vista surrounding this proud, ancient fortress. He had climbed to the highest portion of the keep until finally he emerged onto a wall-top palisade flanked by two crennalated battlements. To his left was the courtyard, where people-Highlanders and Arktos together-went about their tasks in busy good humor. A small market buzzed to the sounds of barter, as produce, goats, tools, and leather goods were traded. There were tanning racks where Arktos were hanging pelts to dry and a long roasting trough where a dozen Highlanders, men who had spent the past few years living in the fortress, were making charcoal. Beyond the walls were more people, gathering and pitching tents and huts on the tundra as humans came from all across the Icereach, drawn by the summons of Moreen Bayguard’s bold quest.
The elf looked to the right, where the vista was open and empty. He saw the green hills rolling away toward the south, leading toward the fertile lands known as the Whitemoor. The rugged horizon of the escarpment and the white outline of the Glacier Peaks rose beyond, just at the limit of his view, and he knew that still farther away the massif of Winterheim rose toward the sky. He had seen that mountain from the sea and had been awed by its majesty, its sheer size. His many journeys along the coasts of Ansalon had never brought him within sight of a comparable peak.
His leg was barely sore, so effective had been old Dinekki’s healing spell. He had climbed this long stairway with ease, relishing the freedom to get about after the weeks of confinement in the tiny submersible. He loved the sight of clouds, of the broad vista of tundra and ocean offered by this lofty vantage. His thoughts were as light, as free as those clouds, and for a time they roamed the heavens, wandering across the landscape of his life. He thought of glorious, crystalline Silvanesti, of soft lute music and delicate elf ladies.
Naturally, his musings grew more focused, turning back to this place, to her. She was a remarkable woman, Moreen Bayguard. The elf chuckled at the realization that he was glad of her new quest, glad that he had a cause.
Of course, on the surface it seemed as though she was mad-completely insane! She was down in the Brackenrock dungeon right now talking to the ogre prisoner Mouse had captured earlier that summer, seeking some idea as to how to enter the stronghold of Winterheim. Meanwhile, Highlander and Arktos warriors were gathering here, camping on the tundra around the fortress, awaiting the commands of their chiefwoman or the thanes. All came willingly and showed great courage in joining this desperate errand-though it was certainly hard for any of them to believe they even had a chance of success.
“I can’t see how we’ll ever get into the place, much less bring Strongwind Whalebone out alive!” the elf said aloud, staring into the southern distance as if expecting the landscape to respond to his statement.
“How do you know?”
The answer came from right behind him, so calmly and quickly that Kerrick almost jumped over the wall in surprise. Instead he spun about, recognizing the voice, certain that he was going mad.
There he was, leaning casually against the parapet, smiling nonchalantly as if he’d been walking beside Kerrick the whole way.
“Cor-Coraltop Netfisher?” the elf stammered, gaping dumbly. “But … but … how are you even here?”
“I asked first,” said the kender, lifting his diminutive frame up to look between two of the stone ramparts, kicking his feet against the wall like an impatient child. “How do you know we’ll never get into Winterheim?”
“Do you know what she’s planning?” asked the elf after a moment, almost stunned into silence by the mysterious appearance of his old sailing companion, the kender whom Kerrick alone had ever seen-and then only aboard
“Too many questions! To the first, yes I know what she plans-she’s going to rescue Strongwind, to bring him home. I think that’s pretty brave,” Coraltop acknowledged. “As to the last, well, of course, thanks for the invite-I mean, a chance to see Winterheim! Who wouldn’t want to go? A whole city inside a mountain, they say. Well, that’s not the kind of thing you find just anywhere-not unless you hang around with dwarves, I mean, and who’d want to do that?”
“Not me,” Kerrick chuckled. “I’m just as happy to have landed among humans. There are times I even prefer them to elves!”
“Well, of course. Humans are lots of fun. More lively, too. Elves can be so … well, serious. They don’t laugh much, have you ever noticed? Present company excepted, of course.”
Kerrick did laugh then, softly, so as not to break the mood of the moment. He relished this time with Coraltop and was certain that if someone else was to stir, the kender would perform his usual vanishing act. He felt a rush of affection for the little fellow.
“The Tusker Escarpment, too-of course you’ll have to get a look at that. Though I’d be careful about that part-you might want to take some strong drink along.”
“Strong drink? Why?” Kerrick asked.
The kender continued as though he hadn’t heard. “Too bad I can’t come with you for the whole way. You know I’m really pretty busy, have lots of things to do-”
“Of course,” Kerrick replied, growing exasperated, remembering the art of conversation the way it was practiced with the kender-as if they were always talking about two different things. “Maybe I should ask where you’ve been. You disappear for years, then pop back up just now? No one else sees you, and they think I’m mad if I even talk about you! You’re off doing those important things, no doubt?”
“Do you even have to ask? I have a life too, you know.”
The elf shook his head again, turning to look over the rim of the parapet. “Yes, we all have our lives,” he said quietly, “and she’s counting on us to sacrifice ours, if necessary, to help her, and by Zivilyn, I mean to do just that!”
He heard footsteps and laughter, as several people made their way up the stairs, approaching the rampart. Kerrick turned around, looking for Coraltop Netfisher, but of course the kender was nowhere to be seen.
Barq One-Tooth actually had several ivory stubs jutting from his gums-at least five or six, Moreen estimated quickly-but it was surely the one incisor of solid gold that gave the rough-hewn Highlander his name. That tooth was in clear evidence as the hulking thane glowered at her from across one of the banquet tables that had been set up in Brackenrock’s great hall. The chiefwoman watched that gleaming chip of metal as the burly, bearded man-clad in fur from his boots to leggings and his tunic and even his huge cloak-tore off a piece of bread and chomped down on it as if it were an enemy warrior’s head.
Repulsed, she turned to the other thane who had emerged as a spokesman from the band of a dozen or more Highlander lords. He, too, was seated at the chiefwoman’s table for this hastily arranged banquet. Thedric Drake
