Regdar nodded, his jaw clenched in muted tension. "Let's hurry. We should try to cross the River Berron by sundown. We're supposed to meet the party from Atupal there."
The neighboring cities of Atupal and Klionne had a lengthy history of friendly rivalry. At this moment it was a little less than friendly, owing to a trade dispute. Walled frontier cities familiar with orc raids and other dangers, they were generally insular places, content to keep to themselves and heavily distrustful of adventurers, but this strange, new development, this wave of winter fanning out from the little-visited Fell Forest, threatened both cities equally, so arrangements were made for Regdar and Lidda to meet a team dispatched from Atupal for the same purpose-investigation. The magistrate of Klionne privately issued dire warnings to them about not trusting this group too much. It was possible, he cautioned, that Atupal might even be behind the entire problem. Lidda doubted that and paid little attention to the magistrate's paranoia. In all likelihood, the people they would meet would not be Atupalans at all but convenient adventurers recruited to act on the city's behalf, just like Regdar and Lidda.
The two trudged through the snow, awed by this bizarre, new landscape. Under any other circumstances they would think it beautiful, like an untouched fairyland of brilliant white. The air was not oppressively cold but crisp and energizing, with only the barest wind, like a pleasant winter day. There are two kinds of cold, Lidda thought. One is this, a cold fit for making snowmen and snow forts and snowball fights, a cold that brings about rosy cheeks and warm mittens, the cold of fondly recalled childhood. Then there was vicious cold, the cold of frostbite and lost toes, of death, of frozen layers in the Abyss where foul gods ruled over ice-shrouded courts. Lidda knew this cold, too. It haunted the corners of her childhood, and she feared that she would know it again all too soon.
It was difficult to enjoy the snow even now. Knowing the strange and unnatural character of this cold zone made it hard for Regdar and Lidda to see it as anything other than a blot on the land and a potential threat to untold human lives.
It was much brighter now because of the sun reflecting off the carpet of untouched snow. The two of them needed to avert their eyes periodically, lest they be blinded. Turning to look behind them, Lidda saw their footprints trailing off into the distance and vanishing. Under other circumstances, she thought, this might make her laugh, but not today.
They continued on their way silently for most of the afternoon. Lidda thought seriously before putting her concerns into words.
"I've heard it claimed," she said, "that all the world, or at least a lot of it, was once frozen. The sages call it an 'ice age'."
"In my experience," said Regdar, "the sages frequently say things that can't be proven. It makes them seem smarter."
"Yes, yes, " Lidda said, "but what if this was true? What made this ice age? What made it go away? What made the ice retreat to the far north only? Could we be seeing the beginning of a new ice age here?"
"Look, here's the river."
Regdar pointed out the bank of the River Berron, neatly changing the subject from the dire predictions Lidda was making. Neither of them had seen the River Berron before. In the blanket of white, the river was almost perfectly camouflaged from any distance away. As they stood overlooking it, they wondered what it looked like under normal conditions. It was reasonably wide, at least by local standards, but did it trickle or rush? Was it warm or cool? Did fish jump out of the water, and were those fish now frozen solid beneath the ice, waiting for a spring thaw that might never come? Regdar picked up a heavy rock and tossed it onto the frozen surface. It bounced.
Regdar checked the map given them by the magistrate of Klionne. It showed Atupal, Klionne and some lesser hamlets on the south side of the river and winding north of them the mighty Berron, crossed only by the Berron Bridge somewhat west of their current location. Detail of the far side was sketchy, as few except some dedicated hunters and adventurers crossed it regularly. The hunters didn't need maps, and the adventurers either didn't come back or didn't want anyone to know where they'd been. No logger ever touched the Fell Forest. Local lore suggested it was haunted by things far worse than gnolls. Beyond the forest stood the suddenly snow-capped mountains called either the Mountains of Klionne or the Atupalan Range, depending on where you lived. It was a small blessing, perhaps, that there were no inhabited centers on the other side of the river and under immediate threat.
"We should follow the river to the west," Regdar said. "It shouldn't be far to the bridge. From what the magistrate said, tribes of orcs and gnolls have been known to cross the bridge from time to time. We should be on the ready."
"Right," said Lidda, drawing her short sword from under her furs. Some time had passed since they last saw action, and she knew well that Regdar perked up noticeably after a good fight. She supposed combat was just another thing to get his mind off Naull. Lidda's blade glinted with frost. She wet her finger, ran it along the blade, and felt it stick to the metal.
The sun was almost sinking by the time they reached Berron Bridge, spanning a narrow section of river. It was obviously untended and in a fairly advanced state of decay. Nobody in his right mind would take a wagon across it, but they judged that two people could get across without any trouble. In a nearby tree, gnarled and dead, two songbirds confusedly chirped their winter calls. Some white mounds stood nearby, which they took as boulders placed near the bridge to mark out roads coming from different directions. Regdar knocked away the snow covering a sign next to the bridge. It said "Cross at Own Risk," though this should have been obvious to anyone but the blind. The only safety precaution was a rusty, metal handrail on either side of the bridge.
"I take it we're first," Lidda observed, scanning the area and seeing no sign of the other party. "Our friends from Atupal haven't arrived yet."
"Maybe they're not coming," said Regdar. "Maybe Atupal's withdrawn its services. Maybe they've gone ahead. But it's nearly dark. Let's cross the bridge and set up camp. We can wait for them there."
The two stepped onto the bridge, feeling with their toes for the uneven, wooden slats beneath the snow. The bridge creaked audibly under their weight.
"Take it nice and steady," Regdar advised.
"And don't look down," Lidda added, griping one of the handrails, hut she didn't take her own advice. The frozen river was twenty feet below, and a misstep could send one of them plunging to an awfully hard landing.
They made it about halfway across when they heard a sound from the opposite bank. It was voices, too soft to understand.
"Greetings," Regdar said. "We were dispatched by Klionne. Are you the Atupalan party?"
Four figures in armor stepped in front of the bridge. They weren't the party from Atupal but rather orcs, armed and ready for combat. The bridge shuddered under their additional weight.
Regdar unsheathed his greatsword, a long, thick weapon few men could handle. One of the orcs tossed a spear. It just missed Lidda, embedding in the side of the bridge behind her.
"You missed me, pig!" she shouted, flourishing her sword.
The orcs' response was a sharp battle cry as they charged. The bridge heaved and sagged under the pounding weight. Almost immediately a slat gave way beneath one of the orcs, who tumbled through to the river below. The ice shattered where he impacted. The others continued unperturbed.
Regdar was startled when he felt the quarrel from a crossbow zip past his head, almost striking his helmet. The bolt came from behind them. He whirled about to see six more orcs rushing onto the bridge from the other bank, their armor covered with snow. Another quarrel struck him in the chest but bounced harmlessly off the steel breast plate beneath his winter furs.