Victory was assured.
The single tower of Ice Wall Castle, rising high in the air, appeared to be the only part of the fortress made of stone. The castle walls were covered in centuries of accumulated ice. The guards atop the ramparts walked on ice. Stone stairs had long since disappeared, covered by ice. So many layers of ice coated the walls that the tops of the watchtowers were now practically on a level with the ramparts.
As the boats drew nearer, they saw soldiers massing on the icy battlements. The soldiers were enormous, large and hulking.
“Those are not draconians,” said Derek.
“Thanoi,” said Harald, glowering. “Our ancient enemy. They are also called walrus-men, for they have the tusks and massive girth of a walrus and they walk upright, like men. They have no love for Feal-Thas. They have come just for a chance to kill us. So much for a surprise assault. The wizard was warned of our coming.”
“The wolves,” said Raggart the Elder knowingly. “They were prowling about the camp last night. They heard our war-feast and they told him we were coming.”
Derek rolled his eyes at this, but he kept quiet.
“Yet Feal-Thas sent away the dragon,” Sturm said in puzzled tones. “That makes no sense.”
“Perhaps it was a ruse,” suggested Raggart the Younger. “Perhaps the dragon is lurking nearby, ready to attack us.”
“No,” Raggart the Elder returned. He pressed his hand over his heart. “I do not feel her presence. The dragon is gone.”
“There could be many reasons,” said Derek briskly. “The war rages on in other parts of Ansalon. Perhaps the dragon was needed elsewhere. Perhaps this Feal-Thas is overconfident. He thinks he does not need her help against us. What it means,” he added in a low voice to his friends, “is that the dragon orb has been left unprotected.”
“Except by a thousand walrus-men and a few hundred draconians, not to mention a dark elf wizard,” Aran grumbled.
“Don’t worry.” Derek stomped his feet on the deck to warm them. He was in a good humor. “Brightblade’s gods will assist us.”
Sturm did not hear Derek’s sarcastic remark. He was watching the thanoi crowding the ramparts, brandishing their weapons and leaning over the walls to shout insults at their foes. The warriors shouted back, but they seemed daunted. The thanoi clustered thick on the walls, forming a dark, unbroken line of steel that encircled the top of the fortress.
“Feal-Thas brings in thousands of troops to guard the castle, yet he sends away the dragon,” Sturm remarked, shaking his head.
“There are white bears up there,” cried Tasslehoff. “Like the bear we saved!” He turned to the chief. “I thought bears were friends of your people.”
“The thanoi make slaves of the white bears.” Harald told him. “They goad them and torment them until the bears come to hate anything that walks on two legs. They will attack on sight.”
“First draconians, then walrus-men, now mad bears. What next?” grumbled Flint.
“Have faith,” said Elistan, resting his hand on the dwarf’s shoulder.
“I do,” said Flint stoutly. He patted his axe. “In this. And in Reorx,” he added quickly in dwarven, fearing that the god, who was known to be touchy, might take offense.
The ice boats were sailing within arrow range. At first the warriors were not worried. The thanoi, with their thick hands and claws, were not archers. But then arrows began thunking into the ice ahead of them, and they realized draconian archers were on the walls. Two arrows struck the side of the boat, their shafts quivering in the wood, and Harald ordered the boats to a halt. They lowered the sails. The boats slowed and slid to a stop.
The warriors stared up at the walls in grim silence. No cheers, no elation, as there had been when they started. The Ice Folk numbered about three hundred, and they faced an army of over a thousand. They were exposed, out in the open. Their enemy was safely ensconced in a fortress of ice. Derek had not yet admitted defeat, but even he was daunted.
A large boulder, thrown from the wall, crashed on the ice near the lead boat. If the boulder had found its mark, it would have smashed through the bottom of the boat, perhaps snapped the mast, killing any number of warriors. Other boulders began to rain down on them, hurled by the strong arms of the thanoi.
Harald turned to Elistan. “We cannot stay here waiting for them to make a lucky hit. The gods must either aid us, or we must retreat.”
“I understand,” said Elistan. He looked at Raggart the Elder, who nodded his head.
“Lower the ladder,” Raggart ordered.
Harald was astonished. “You mean to leave the boat?”
“We do,” said Elistan calmly.
Harald shook his head. “Impossible. I won’t allow it.”
“We must move closer to the castle,” Elistan explained.
“That will take you into arrow range. They would use you for target practice.” The chief shook his head. “No. Absolutely not.”
“The gods will keep us safe,” declared Raggart. He gave Harald a shrewd look and added cannily, “You either believe or you don’t believe, Chieftain. You can’t have it both ways.”
“It is easy to have faith when you are safe and snug in the chieftent,” Elistan added.
Harald frowned, rubbed his beard and looked from one to the other. The warriors clustered around them, watching their chief, waiting to see what he would do. Laurana was assailed by sudden doubt. This had been her idea, but she never meant for Elistan to place his life at risk. As he said, it was easy to have faith when you were snug and safe. She longed to try to dissuade him. As if reading her thoughts, he glanced over at her and smiled reassuringly. Laurana smiled back, hoping her smile radiated confidence, hoping it didn’t look as shaky as it felt.
“Lower the ladder,” Harald said at last, reluctantly, grudgingly.
“I will go with them,” Sturm offered.
“No you will not,” said Derek. “You will remain with us, Brightblade,” he added in Solamnic. “If this crazy scheme of theirs works, which I doubt, I plan to enter the castle and you will be close by to attend us.”
Sturm didn’t like it, but there was nothing he could do. He was a squire, pledged to serve the knights.
“You could do nothing to protect us anyway, Sir Knight,” Raggart the Elder told him, “but I thank you for the thought.”
The cleric of Habakkuk clasped hold of his medallion in one hand and raised his other hand, calling for silence. The warriors hushed. Many bowed their heads.
“Gods of Light, we come to you as children who ran away from home in anger and now, after years of wandering, lost and alone, we have at last found our way back to your loving care. Be with us now as we go forth in your name, Fisher God, and in your name, Father God, to fight the evil trying to claim the world. Be with our warriors, strengthen their hands, and banish fear from their hearts. Be with us. Grant us your divine blessing.”
His prayer finished, Raggart walked off. He walked strongly, no longer tottering, and he shoved away the hand of his grandson. The old man walked over to a rope ladder hanging from the rail, and, grasping it with firm hands, climbed down it as nimbly as he had when he was a lad more than seventy years ago. Elistan followed more slowly, being unaccustomed to boats and ladders, but at last both stood safely on the ice.
The enemy crowded the walls, curious to see what was happening. At the sight of two elders, one clad in long white robes and the other in blue-gray, walking fearlessly toward them, the thanoi began to hoot and snort in derision.
“Do you send your old women to fight?” one shouted, and raucous laughter went up along the walls, followed immediately by a flurry of arrows.
Laurana watched in terror, her heart in her throat. The arrows landed all around the clerics. One arrow pierced Elistan’s sleeve. Another stuck in the ice in between Raggart’s feet. The two kept walking, unafraid, their hands clasping their medallions.
“The archers will find their aim the next time,” said Derek grimly. “I knew this was folly. Come, Brightblade, we must go fetch the two old fools back.”