“I think the most urgent danger we face now is from freezing to death,” Elistan said. “I do not think I will be in danger. These warriors have not rushed to the attack, as they would have if they thought we were with the armies of the Highlord.”
Derek considered this. “Very well, but I will be the one to talk to them.”
“If you will allow me to go, Sir Derek, it would be more prudent,” said Elistan mildly. “If anything should happen to me, you will be needed here.”
Derek gave an abrupt nod.
“We will cover you,” he said, seeing that Aran had managed to warm his fingers enough to be able to use his bow. He had an arrow nocked and ready.
Laurana stood close to Tasslehoff, pressing the shivering kender against her body and wrapping her coat around him. They watched in tense silence as Elistan raised his arms to show he carried no weapons and walked out from the shelter of the boat. The warriors saw him; several pointed at him. The lead warrior—an enormous man with flaming red hair that seemed the only color in this white world—saw him too. The lead warrior kept going and urged his warriors forward.
“Look at that!” Aran exclaimed suddenly, pointing.
“Elistan!” Brian called a warning. “The white bear is following you!”
Elistan glanced around. The bear was trotting over the ice on all fours, her cubs running along behind her.
“Elistan, come back!” Laurana cried fearfully.
“Too late,” said Derek grimly. “He would never make it. Aran, shoot the bear.”
Aran raised his bow. He started to pull back the string, but his arm jerked and he lost his grip.
“Let go of me!” he cried angrily.
“No one has hold of you,” said Brian.
Aran glanced around. Flint and Sturm were standing on the other side of the boat. Tasslehoff—the most likely suspect—was shivering in Laurana’s grasp. Brian stood next to Derek, and Gilthanas was over beside Flint.
Aran looked foolish. “Sorry.” He shook his head, muttered, “I could have sworn I felt someone.”
He lifted the bow again.
The bear was on Elistan’s heels. The warriors had seen the animal as well, and now their red-bearded leader called a halt.
Elistan must have heard the warning shouts. He must have heard the beast scrabbling over the ice close behind him, but if he did, he did not turn. He kept walking.
“Shoot!” Derek ordered, rounding on Aran furiously.
“I can’t!” Aran gasped. He was sweating, despite the cold. His hand grasped the arrow, his arm shook with his great effort, but he didn’t fire. “Someone has hold of my arm!”
“No, someone doesn’t,” said Tasslehoff between chatters. “Should one of us tell him?”
“Hush,” said Laurana softly.
The bear reared up on her hind legs, towering over Elistan. She lifted up her great paws, held them over him, and gave a great, bellowing roar.
The leader of the warriors gazed long at the bear, then, turning around, he made a motion to his men. One by one, they threw their weapons onto the ice. The red-bearded warrior walked slowly toward Elistan. The bear relaxed down on all fours, though she still kept her gaze fixed upon the warriors.
The red-bearded man had bright blue eyes and a large nose. His face was seamed and weathered, and his voice rumbled like an avalanche. He spoke Common, though with a thick accent. He gestured at the bear.
“The bear has been hurt. She is covered with blood. Did you do this?” he asked Elistan.
“If I did, would she walk with me?” Elistan returned. “The bear was attacked by draconians. These valiant knights”—he pointed at Derek and the others, who had come out from the shelter of the boat—“chased them off. They saved the bear’s life.”
The warrior grunted. He eyed Elistan and he eyed the bear and then he lowered his spear. He bowed to the bear and spoke to her in his own language. Reaching into a leather pouch he had tied to his belt, he threw some bits of fish to the bear, who ate them with relish, then, rounding up her cubs, the bear lumbered away, heading at a rapid pace over the glacier.
“The white bear is the guardian of our tribe,” the warrior stated. “You are fortunate she vouched for you, otherwise we would have killed you. We do not like strangers. As it is, you will be our honored guests.”
“I swear to you, Derek,” Aran was saying as the knights went to meet Elistan, “it was as if someone had hold of me in a grip of iron!”
“Good thing, too,” remarked Brian. “If you’d killed that bear, we would all be dead now.”
“Bah, he’s missing his liquor, that’s all,” said Derek in disgust. “He’s having a drunkard’s dream.”
“I am not!” said Aran, speaking with dangerous calm. “You know me better than that, Derek. Someone had hold of my arm.”
Brian caught Elistan’s eye.
The cleric smiled and winked.
The Ice Folk made them welcome. They offered them smoked fish and water. One took off his own thick fur coat to wrap around the half-frozen kender. The red-bearded warrior was their chief, and he refused to talk or answer any of their questions, saying they were all in danger of frostbite. He hustled the group back to the camp, which consisted of small snug tents made out of animal hides stretched over portable frames. Trickles of smoke rose from the center holes in each tent. The heart of the camp was a longhouse known as the chieftent. Long and narrow, the chieftent was made of furs and hides draped over the large rib cage of some dead sea beast whose carcass had been frozen in the ice. The small tents were used only for sleeping, being too cramped for much else. The Ice Folk spent most of their time either fishing the glacial pools or in the chieftent.
Those gathered in the chieftent sewed hides, braided and repaired nets, hammered fishhooks, fashioned spear and arrow heads, and performed countless other tasks. Men, women, and children worked together, and while they worked someone would tell a story or the group would sing, discuss the fishing prospects, or share the latest gossip. Little children played underfoot; older children had their tasks to perform. In this harsh clime, the tribe’s survival depended on every person doing his part.
The Ice Folk gave their guests clothing designed for living on the glacier, and they snuggled thankfully into the warm fur coats, slipped their feet into thick fur-lined boots and thrust their chilled hands into heavy gloves. Laurana was given a tent of her own. The three knights shared another, and Sturm, Flint and Tas had a tent to themselves. Elistan was on his way to his tent when he found his way blocked by an elderly man with a long white beard, heavily bundled and wrapped in furs and a gray robe. All that could be seen of him was a hawk-like nose poking out of a gray cowl and two glittering eyes.
The old man planted himself squarely in Elistan’s path. Elistan halted obligingly and stood smiling down at the old man whose bent body did not come to his shoulder.
The old man snatched off a fur glove, revealing a gnarled hand with enlarged joints, permanently crooked fingers, and spider webs of blue veins. He lifted his hand toward the medallion Elistan wore around his neck. He did not touch it. His hand, shaking with a mild palsy, paused near it.
Elistan took hold of the medallion, removed it, and pressed it into the old man’s hand.
“You have waited long and patiently for this, haven’t you, my friend?” Elistan said quietly.
“I have,” said the old man and two tears trickled down his cheeks and were lost in his fur collar. “My father waited, and his father before him, and his father before him. Is it true? Have the gods returned?” He looked up anxiously at Elistan.
“They never left us,” Elistan said.
“Ah,” said the old man, after a moment. “I think I understand. You will come to my tent and tell me all that you know.”
The two walked off together, deep in conversation, and disappeared into a tent slightly larger than the others that stood near the chieftent.
Laurana sat for a time alone in her tent. Her grief burned, her sorrow ached, but she no longer felt as though she was lost at the bottom of a dark well, with the light so far above her that she could not reach it. Looking back on the past several days, she could not remember much about them and she was ashamed. She saw clearly that she had been walking a terrible path, one that might have led to self-destruction. She remembered with horror how, for a brief moment, she had wished the stranger in Tarsis would kill her.