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.
"Are you sure about the gnolls, humans?" Jouka demanded again as he stepped away from the window slot. "I see nothing but the storm out there."
"And the storm doesn't seem odd to you?" the Harper asked.
"It is winter. Storms come up quickly here."
"No, Jouka," Vil interceded. 'Mis storm's not natural." "And what about Luski?" Martine added.
"Brother Jouka," the guard at the door shouted excitedly, "there's something moving out there!"
Crrrack!
The gate exploded in a sudden crescendo of noise. A screaming rain of sharp wooden projectiles rode the shock wave of the blast, splintered from the shattered doors with all the fury of a hurricane wind. The jagged wood ripped clothes and flesh alike, tangled in Martine's hair, and tore at her skin. The blow slammed the slight woman against the side wall, bruising her good shoulder.
Rising to her feet, the Harper drew her sword and took quick stock of the situation. A shrieking gnome stumbled past, half his ruddy face gouged by the wood. Other screams filled the air. At the back of the hall, the ranger could barely see Jouka amid the upheaval, thrown to the rear by the force of the blast. Vil was sprawled onto a bench opposite her, startled but apparently all right. The gnomes between them reeled in confusion.
The gate itself hung half shattered in the doorway, splintered boards held up by the heavy wooden bar that lay askew in the portal, partially blocking the opening. Cold air whistled through the gaps, one of which was large enough to see through clearly. Beyond, in the eerie golden light of the storm, stood the elemental, its slick body gleaming with the same whitish gold that bathed the ground. There was a look of intense satisfaction on its bestial face as it raised its hands before it. Silver white energy flashed between its fingertips, rapidly spinning into a hardened ball of glowing ice. 'Me creature threw back its wedgelike head with a cry of triumph, a sanguinary howl taken up by the gnolls Martine now saw clustered behind him. It echoed and reechoed through the chamber.
Deliberately the elemental turned his attention to the gate once more, raising the sphere that hovered between his hands.
"Get down, everybodyl" Martine bellowed in the loudest voice she could, while at the same instant translating words to action. The Harper had barely flattened herself on the floor before the second explosion rocketed from the elemental's hands. The ice ball smashed into the partially shattered gate like a stone from a catapult and exploded in a hail of icy, needlelike shards. This second blast felt harder than the first, since the broken gate afforded little protection. The hall shook, and fresh screams rang out as the razorlike ice ripped through gnomes still staggering from the first assault. Dirt sifted through new gaps in the ceiling boards. The gate bar flexed, then snapped with an explosive crack. The remaining door planks burst from the frame and flew across the hall like projectiles. The lintel over the door buckled and groaned, long splits rippling through the carved beam. Snow quickly filled the air through the gaping opening.