Ancient Badden stood on the ledge before Vaughna, his arms upraised. He began a chant, calling forth the power of the “great worm of the ice.”
“What is he doing?” the thoroughly shaken Olconna asked, or started to, for before he finished, a thundering, rumbling roar shook the ice beneath their feet.
Hanging over the chasm, Vaughna looked down, and her face drained of all color, despite being upside down. She began sputtering and tried to swing herself toward the edge while the trolls began to turn a crank, lowering her from sight. From somewhere below a great beast roared again with obvious excitement. Vaughna began to scream beneath the lip of the chasm, beyond sight. The trolls kept turning the crank, easing the woman a long, long way down. More screams, more roars, and then suddenly it went very quiet.
Suddenly the rope jerked so forcefully that the heavy beam bent and seemed as if it would break. It held, and the trolls began hauling up the rope-no need for the crank anymore.
“Justice is done,” Ancient Badden pronounced, turning about to the gathering, a supreme and contented smile on his old face. He motioned to the trolls to begin herding the remaining prisoners away.
Suddenly another squeal from the chasm turned the stunned prisoners about yet again, this time to see the end of the rope. Vaughna’s leg dangled from it, the flesh of her mid-thigh ripped and shredded where some nightmarish monster had swallowed the rest of her.
“By Abelle,” Brother Jond muttered fervently, head bowed.
TWENTY-FOUR
The Anvil over Their Heads
They’re wanting ye to use yer long legs and wade out for better fishing,” Mcwigik explained to Cormack.
The man sat on a large rock on the northeastern side of the powries’ nearly barren island, staring at the misty waters.
“We’re not going to kill ye,” Mcwigik assured him, handing him a weighted net. “Not unless ye do something asking us to kill ye.”
“I do appreciate the rescue, and your generosity in allowing me to live.”
Mcwigik shrugged. “I’m thinking that the bosses are wanting Prag’s son to get old enough to see if the boy can win his dead father’s cap back.”
“The bosses? Aren’t you one of the bosses?”
“Yeah, but I’m wanting to keep ye alive just because.”
“Just because.”
“Yeah.”
Despite his troubling situation Cormack managed a little grin at that cryptic admission from the rough powrie. He had grown somewhat fond of the dwarf.
“Ye don’t give us any reason to kill ye, and we won’t kill ye,” Mcwigik reiterated. “Now go get us some fish.” The dwarf hocked and spat on the rocks and turned and started away.
“And what happens when you go to battle?” Cormack asked, stopping the dwarf in his tracks. Hands on hips, Mcwigik slowly turned about. “When the powries row out to do battle with the monks or the Alpinadorans, what am I to do?”
“Ye’re a long way from getting us to let you go along,” Mcwigik replied, completely missing the point.
Cormack gave a little laugh. “I could never go to such a fight, and you know it well.”
“Yach, but ye fought them barbarians all the time.”
“Not by my choice,” said Cormack. “Never by my choice. Not against them and not against you powries.”
Mcwigik hocked another large ball of spit, this time landing it near Cormack’s feet. “I’m knowing ye better than to think ye’re afraid of a fight,” he said.
“There is no point to the fighting!”
“No? How about the trolls, then? Would ye-”
Cormack cut in. “I’ll help you kill all the trolls you can find.”
Mcwigik smiled approvingly. “Yeah, we seen what was left of yer boat. Durndest boat any of us e’er seen. Might be a big part of why th’others’re letting ye stay.”
“But I cannot stay,” said Cormack.
“Up for a long swim, are ye?”
“I cannot remain here for long, anyway,” the fallen monk went on, ignoring the sarcasm. “This is no place for me.”
“Ye wanting us to put ye back with the monks?” asked Mcwigik. “Aye, might that we can, but that ye’ll have to earn. So go get the fish, and keep getting the fish-”
“I can never go back there,” Cormack interrupted. “They would not have me, and I would not have them. They set me adrift, thinking they had left me for dead, but somehow I didn’t die.”
“Not somehow, ye dolt,” said Mcwigik. “Was the cap on yer head.” Cormack reached up to adjust his beret in acknowledgment.
“So ye’re not wanting to go back there, and ye’re saying ye can’t stay here…”
“Yossunfier,” said Cormack.
“The barbarians?”
“Yes,” the monk replied. “I would have you drop me there.”
“They’ll kill ye.”
Cormack pursed his lips. “Nevertheless, that is where I would like to go.”
“Well, ye ain’t for going there with us,” said the dwarf. “Not a place we go near. Those folk ain’t like yer monk friends. They know the water and know when anything’s near their island. They been there a hundred years, ye know. And more, lots more. They’re not using stones to throw lightning like yer own. Nah, their magic’s quieter but worse for us if we venture near.”
“Then give me a boat so I can go there alone.”
Mcwigik spat again, this time hitting Cormack in the foot. “Ye’re daft. Boats’re worth more than yerself.”
“I will return it in short order.”
“Then how’re ye getting back to their island after ye drop it back here?”
“I’m not going back to that island or any island,” Cormack said, half under his breath, and it surprised him to see Mcwigik stiffen at that remark, a look of intrigue suddenly upon his face.
“This has never been my place.”
“What’re ye saying, boy? Say it plain.”
“I have a friend-several, perhaps-on Yossunfier who wishes to be gone from this lake. Lend me a boat so I can retrieve her.”
“Her? Haha, but that’s telling me a lot.”
“We’ll come right back with the boat. Then, with your agreement, you can take us to the shore and never think of us again.”
Mcwigik started to respond in several different directions. Cormack gathered this by the way the dwarf’s mouth worked in weird circles with no real sounds coming out.
“Yach, just catch the durned fish!” he finally blurted, waving a hand at Cormack dismissively as he stormed away.
Cormack had no idea what all that might be about, so he took up the net and waded into the warm lake waters.
You keep looking out to the south,” Androosis remarked, walking up beside Milkeila. “You fear that something has happened to him.”
It was a statement, not a question, and an observation that Milkeila could not dispute.
“We took care to make it appear as if our escape had been of our doing,” Androosis tried to assure her. “I doubt that our friend’s complicity is known to the monks.”
“And yet he does not signal… in any way,” said Milkeila.
Androosis put a hand on her shoulder to comfort her. Barely had his hand touched her when Toniquay yelled, “Your duties!” They broke away from each other and turned as one to regard the shaman, who was striding their way. “You spend far too much time seeking an Abellican,” Toniquay scolded.
“An Abellican who saved us,” said Androosis. He shrank back as soon as he uttered the words, surprised by his own outburst at this powerful figure.
“It is true then, what they say,” Toniquay said to Milkeila. “You have fallen for this Abellican named Cormack.” He snapped a glare at Androosis, too, daring the young man to say again that Cormack had saved their lives.
“He is a friend,” Milkeila replied coolly. “A loyal one.”
“Friend,” Toniquay spat derisively. “A mere friend does not betray his own brethren. Nay, there is more at work here than friendship. His betrayal bespeaks fires in his loins.”