Plague of Ice

1

"You see those snow-capped mountains over there?" Regdar asked.

"I sure do," answered Lidda. "What of it?"

"A week ago they weren't snow-capped."

"Oh." The halfling shielded her eyes and studied the distant range with new interest.

Pelor's sun shone warm overhead, but Regdar and Lidda were dressed in winter furs as they advanced through a grassy field a day's march outside of Klionne. Birds sang merrily and rabbits played nearby, blissfully unaware of the coming storm. Clouds gathered in the distance, sprawling their white-gray menace across the horizon.

"How much farther do you think it is?" asked Lidda. "I'm starting to sweat. That can't be a good thing. I could freeze when the temperature drops."

Regdar peered into the distance. "The scouts in Klionne said it's moving pretty fast. It won't be long now."

"I don't enjoy the cold, you know that?" Lidda said. "I can't imagine why I agreed to this mission."

"I can." Regdar cast her a half-smile. "It was the reward offered by the magistrate of Klionne. You should thank me for arguing on your behalf. He was wary of hiring a thief."

"A thief?" Lidda feigned shock. "Really, Regdar, you surprise me. Labels like that are so unfortunate. I expected better from you."

"Perhaps you've forgotten our first meeting."

Lidda stamped her foot restlessly "How often are you going to drag that up?"

"As often as possible," Regdar said, "because the lies you tell about it get more amusing each time."

This was a game they'd played many times, and Lidda usually enjoyed it, but between the warm furs and the boredom of waiting, she was in no mood for it today. She let the dialog drop.

Minutes later, Regdar craned his neck upward. "I think I see something," said the warrior. He pointed into the distance. "Do you see it?"

By squinting, Lidda could barely make out a field of pale, frosted whiteness rising twenty or thirty feet off the ground like a roiling wall. As she watched, it grew noticeably in height. Whatever it was, it was headed toward them at an impressive speed.

Regdar faced this strange phenomenon head-on. It raced silently across the fields, generating no wind or vibration as it came, almost as if it wasn't there at all but was a massive illusion. As it drew near, it became clear that it resembled a wave, twisting and flowing as it raced forward, shimmering with shades of white and blue.

At points along its undulating surface, Lidda could see through the wall of white. The world was brighter on the other side, lit by the sun's dazzling reflection off the ground. Through the field's tint, a thick, blue layer of ice seemed to cover the earth. Lidda and Regdar felt like swimmers in the path of a tidal wave. Instinctively, Lidda closed her eyes and crouched as the wave passed over. She expected pain, but all she felt was cold.

The temperature dropped sharply, and even though the sun was still in the sky above them, its rays were weak, lending little of its heat to this new world. The contours of the land were the same, but it was covered with snow. Their feet were planted in it, and snow clung to their shoulders. Metal armor and weapons were instantly frosted.

Regdar and Lidda stood in the very same spot, except that where it had been summer, it was now winter.

"So it's like they said," Lidda observed, shivering lightly and shaking the snow from her hair. She'd half expected the tales to turn out to be a merry prank or the ravings of a drunken hermit.

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.

"Gods," he muttered under his breath. Those weren't boulders at all on the far side of the bridge but concealed orcs. He should have guessed.

"Are they crazy?" Lidda yelled. "They'll bring down the bridge and all of us with it!"

She slipped behind Regdar to face the orcs coming up behind them. They looked crazy, their eyes glassed over with rage. Orcs weren't temperate beasts under any circumstance, and this unexpected event probably had them lashing out at anyone they could blame.

As the orcs drew close, Lidda used her lightness to her advantage by springing from her place and landing on the bridge's handrail. Her blade sliced an orc across its face. The orc squealed in pain and tripped backward. It broke through a portion of the far handrail as it tumbled off the bridge, joining its fellow in the ice below. Another swung its axe at Lidda, but she dodged the weapon easily and jumped behind the orcs this time. She heard wood breaking beneath her feet and barely pulled away before the deck gave way with a loud crack.

Meanwhile Regdar decided to do the last thing the orcs expected and meet their charge. He rushed headlong into the oncoming orcs, greatsword swinging. The sword struck a club from one of his opponent's hands, propelling it over the side of the bridge. The orc drew back in sudden fear. It tripped one of its fellows, who slipped on the icy wood and fell at Regdar's feet. The others trampled it as it tried futilely to pull itself up. The orc with the crossbow fired a second bolt at close range. Regdar barely managed to block it with the blade of his sword.

Lidda swore at the two orcs from the other side of the broken slat, trying everything to get them to step forward and risk falling into the river below. They resisted her taunts and turned instead on Regdar, running toward his unguarded back.

"Behind you!" Lidda shouted. The fighter replied with a horizontal swing of his greatsword as he pirouetted. The blade chopped through the handrail of the bridge on one side and caught both of the orcs in the midsection, slicing through their armor and drawing blood from their bellies. They stumbled back wounded and with all their attention suddenly focused on the human. Lidda hopped over the broken slat to slit the throat of first one, then the other. With that, all the orcs attacking from the far side of the bridge were defeated, so she moved up to Regdar's side to face off against those remaining.

"Hey, friends!" came a voice from somewhere. "Are we too late to help?"

Before Regdar and Lidda could reply, they heard a sound like the whistling of wind and a loud detonation opposite the orcs. One of the orcs was blown off its feet from behind. As it tumbled forward, it narrowly missed crashing into Regdar before falling off the side of the bridge.

"Be careful," Regdar shouted, recovering his footing and trading parries with the remaining orcs. "If there are any snowy mounds over there they might just be…"

An orc war-cry filled the air, confirming Regdar's suspicions. He and Lidda carved through the remaining two orcs on the bridge. When the orcs fell, the human and halfling could see that three more figures had joined the fray on the riverbank. At least four more orcs had also emerged from hiding there. Two of them engaged one man who wore a red leather military uniform and fought with a sword and a large, square shield. A black-robed man with a short spear held back another orc. A third figure, dressed in white and whirring about like a snowstorm, was an indistinct blur confronting the orc farthest from the bridge.

Regdar and Lidda rushed forward, mindful of their footing on the treacherous bridge, past the bodies of what they took to be dead or unconscious orcs. As they passed one, however, the orc's eyes popped open and it slashed Regdar's leg with its sword, leaving a long, jagged wound. Regdar fell forward with all his weight. His face smashed through one of the uneven slats, and he found himself staring down into the icy river and the broken bodies of the fallen orcs. There were jagged, dark holes where tumbling bodies had smashed through the brittle surface. The edge of the broken slat sliced Regdar's cheek.

Lidda served the treacherous orc a swift thrust of her sword into its belly. She was helping Regdar to his feet when she saw the uniformed man on the river bank overwhelmed by his orc opponents. He was clearly inexperienced in this sort of fighting. He held his shield so far from his body that the one of the orcs easily wrenched it aside, allowing the other to slash the man's sword arm. His sword, still gripped by his forearm, fell to the ground and disappeared beneath the snow. Their position was marked by a bright splash of red blood.

The man with the short spear, whose black cloak fluttered dramatically as he leaped and hopped, abandoned the axe-wielding orc before him and rushed to his fellow's aid. One of the orcs had its back turned, and it was immediately speared through the neck. The counterattack was too late to save the uniformed man, however; he had already joined his severed arm in a spreading, red stain beneath the thick carpet of snow.

Regdar rose to his knees with Lidda's help, then clutched the handrail and pulled himself to his feet. He was clearly in pain from his wounded leg, but he hobbled toward the far side of the bridge nevertheless. Lidda and Regdar reached the opposite bank in time to see the cloaked man conjure a pellet of solid magic in his hand and launch it at the orc that stood over the slain man. Trailing green streamers of magic, it caught the orc squarely in the face and sent it tumbling down the riverbank onto the solid ice beyond. The orc he'd turned his back on was rushing forward, axe raised overhead. Lidda leveled her crossbow and squeezed the trigger.

The quarrel buried itself in the orc's side. The brute registered its pain with a toothy snarl but continued toward the magic-user. Alerted by the snarl, the wizard snatched back his short spear from the neck of the slain orc at his feet and spun toward the threat. His turn was too slow. With a swing of its axe, the orc knocked away the weapon before it was in position.

Regdar raised his greatsword, but his wound slowed him too much to reach the orc before it could strike.

With a sudden whirr of snow and a loud smashing noise, something hit hard on the orc's head. The beast dropped its weapon and fell, its skull crushed by a heavy club in the hands of a slender, young woman who looked too weak to wield so massive a weapon. Regdar stared at her. An eerie quiet settled onto the bridge and its bloodied mass of churned snow and crumpled bodies.

The woman's white robes were elegantly functional but far too sheer for this climate. Her face was what riveted Regdar's attention. The warrior was convinced he was looking at a creature from one of the goodly planes rather than this coarse world. She lowered her hood, displaying a short crop of honey-blond hair framing a pale, crystalline face that was smooth and pure. Regdar stared at her until Lidda tugged his arm, bringing him back into the world.

The man who had just been saved by the woman wrapped his arms around her. "You've saved me too many times now," he said. "I'll have to return the favor one of these days."

She spoke, and the sound was like the ringing of crystal. "If only we could have saved him." She looked down on the dead man, who Regdar and Lidda could see was little more than a boy in armor.

"What was his name?" asked Lidda.

"Teron. Teron of Atupal," this unearthly woman said. "He was one of the town guard. I suspect he lied to us when he claimed to be an experienced warrior."

"There aren't too many like him in Atupal," the man said. He turned to Lidda and Regdar. "We should introduce ourselves. My name's Hennet Dragonborn." He gave a courtly smile to Lidda, striking an exaggerated pose as he did, with his shoulders back, head high, and one leg far ahead of the other. Lidda was charmed instantly, and Regdar was wary.

"It'll be nice to work with a wizard again," Lidda told him. "We haven't since…"

"Not a wizard, little miss," Hennet corrected, "but close. I'm a sorcerer. And if you like spellcasters, here's another for you. Let me present Sonja of the North."