The assault on Ice Wall Castle. ake up, you two,” Derek ordered sharply.
“Huh? What?” Aran sat up, still half-asleep, muddled and alarmed. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”
Brian reached for his sword, feeling about for it, since he couldn’t see in the darkness. Then he remembered-he’d given his weapon to Sturm. Brian groaned inwardly. A knight without his sword. Derek would view that as a most serious transgression.
“Be quiet,” said Derek in a low voice. “I’ve been thinking things over. We’re going to go along with this insane plan of the elf woman to attack the castle-”
“Derek, it’s the middle of the night,” Aran protested, “and cold as a goblin’s backside! Tell me in the morning.” He flung himself down and pulled the furs over his head.
“It is morning, or near enough,” said Derek. “Now pay attention.”
Brian sat up, shivering in the chill. Aran peered at him over the edge of the blanket.
“So we go along with the plan to attack the castle,” Aran said, scratching his stubble-covered chin. “Why do we need to talk about it?”
“Because I know where to find the dragon orb,” said Derek. “I know where it is.”
“How do you know?” Brian asked astonished.
“Since you appear to be so enamored of these newfound gods, let us say they told me,” Derek returned. “How I know is not important. This is my plan. When the attack starts, we will leave the main body, sneak into the castle, recover the orb, and-” He halted, half-turned to stare outside. “Did you hear that?”
“No,” said Brian.
Derek, muttering something about spies, ducked out of the tent.
“The gods told him about the orb!” Aran shook his head in disbelief and reached for his flask.
“I think he was being sarcastic. This isn’t like Derek,” Brian added, troubled.
“You’re right. Derek may be a stiff-necked, sword-up-the-butt, arrogant lunkhead, but at least he’s been an honorable, stiff-necked, sword-up-the-butt, arrogant lunkhead. Now he’s lost even that endearing quality.”
Brian pulled on his thick boots, figuring he might as well get up. The gray light of dawn was seeping into the tent. “Maybe he’s right. If we sneak into the castle-”
“That’s my point,” interrupted Aran, gesturing with the flask. “Since when does Derek sneak anywhere? This is the same Derek who had to turn the Measure upside down to find a way for us to enter Tarsis without proclaiming ourselves as knights to all and sundry. Now he’s sneaking into castles and stealing dragon orbs.”
“The castle of the enemy,” Brian pointed out.
Aran shook his head, unconvinced. “The Derek we once knew would have walked up to the front of that castle, banged on the door, and challenged the wizard to come out to do battle. Not very sensible, admittedly, but that Derek would have never considered turning sneak thief.”
Before Brian could respond, Derek crawled back inside the tent. “I’m certain the elf was eavesdropping, though I couldn’t catch him. It doesn’t matter now. The camp is starting to stir. Brian, go wake Brightblade. Tell him what we’re doing, and order him to keep this to himself. He’s not to tell the others, especially the elf. I’m going to talk to the chief.”
Derek left again.
“Are you going to go along with this crazy scheme of his?” Aran asked.
“Derek gave us an order,” Brian replied, “and… he’s our friend.”
“A friend who’s going to get us all killed,” Aran muttered. Buckling on his sword belt and taking a final pull on the flask, he stuffed it into his coat and stomped out of the tent.
Brian went to wake Sturm and found the knight already awake. A thin sliver of light spilled out from underneath the tent.
“Sturm?” he called softly, pushing open the flap.
The light came from a burning wick placed in a dish of oil. Sturm sat cross-legged on the floor, rubbing the blade of Brian’s sword with soft, brushed hide.
“Almost finished, my lord,” said Sturm, looking up. The light of the flame shone in his eyes.
Brian squatted down. “The order to clean my sword was meant to be a jest.”
“I know,” said Sturm, smiling. His hand with the cloth glided slowly, carefully, over the sword’s blade. “What you did for me meant more to me than you can ever know, my lord. This is my poor way of showing my gratitude.”
Brian was deeply touched. “I need to talk to you,” he said. He explained Derek’s plan to use the attack as a diversion, slip into the castle, and steal the orb.
“Derek says he knows where the orb is located,” Brian added.
“How could he?” Sturm asked, frowning.
Brian didn’t want to repeat Derek’s sarcastic gibe about the gods, and so he evaded the question. “Derek has ordered you to accompany us.”
Sturm regarded him in troubled silence. The frown line in his forehead deepened. “Far be it from me to question the orders of a Lord Knight of the Rose-”
“Oh, go ahead-question!” Brian said wearily. “Aran and I have been doing nothing else since we came on this mission.” He lowered his voice. “I’m worried about Derek. He’s become increasingly obsessed with this dragon orb. Almost consumed by it.”
Sturm looked very grave. “I know something of magic, not by choice, mind you, but because I was around Raistlin so much-”
“Your friend the Red Robe wizard,” Brian clarified.
“Not friend, exactly, but, yes, he’s the one I meant. Raistlin always cautioned us that if ever we came upon any object that might be magical, we were to leave it alone, have nothing to do with it. ‘Such artifacts are designed to be used by those who have studied magic and know and understand its deadly potential. They pose a danger to the ignorant’.”
Sturm grimaced. “The one time I did not heed Raistlin’s warning, I paid for it. I put on a magical helm I had found and it seized hold of me-” Sturm stopped, waved the story aside. “But that’s another tale. I think if Raistlin were here, he would caution us against this orb, warn us against coming anywhere near it.”
“You make it sound like the orb has something to do with changing Derek, but how is that possible?” Brian argued.
“How is it possible for a dwarven helm to steal a man’s soul?” Sturm asked with a rueful smile. “I don’t know the answer.”
Tossing aside the cloth, he held the blade to the flame, watched the light flare off the gleaming metal. Sturm placed the sword on his bent arm, knelt on one knee, and offered it, hilt-first, to the knight.
“My lord,” he said with profound respect.
Brian accepted the sword and buckled it on beneath his coat. The belt was not large enough to fit over the bulky fur.
Sturm picked up the ancient blade of the Brightblades, his most valued inheritance from his father. He gestured toward the tent’s entrance. “After you, my lord.”
“Please, call me Brian,” said Brian. “I keep thinking you’re talking to Derek.”
It seemed the gods were with Derek and the Ice Folk, at least at the start, for the day dawned clear, the sun shone bright, and a brisk wind sprang up, an unusually warm wind for this time of year, Harald told them. He consulted Raggart the Elder, who said the gods sent this good weather as a sign they favored the venture. And because the gods were with them, he was going to go on the raid.
Harald and Raggart the Younger were both shocked. The old man could scarcely walk on his own. Both attempted to dissuade Raggart the Elder, but he would not listen. He tottered out to the ice boat unaided, carrying with him his frostreaver. When Raggart the Younger tried to assist him, the old man testily ordered his grandson to quit hovering around him like some damn mother bear.
Laurana brought her own frostreaver. She had planned to bring along her sword to use in battle. She was honored by the gift of the axe, but felt uncomfortable using it, since she was not trained in wielding such a weapon. But her sword was not in her tent. Laurana searched and searched and eventually realized it was probably inside Tasslehoff’s tent, along with everything else that had gone missing from the camp during the past few days. She had no time to go rummaging through the kender’s treasure hoard, so, fearing she would be late, she grabbed the frostreaver and hastened out into the morning.
She was gazing into the bright sunshine, thinking her plan might work after all, when Gilthanas caught up with her.
“Don’t you think you should stay here in camp with the other women?”
“No,” said Laurana indignantly and kept walking.
Gilthanas fell in beside her. “Laurana, I overheard Derek talking to his friends this morning-”
Laurana frowned and shook her head.
“It’s a good thing I did,” Gilthanas said defensively. “When the attack starts, the knights are going to use it as a diversion to enter the castle after the dragon orb. If Derek goes, I’m going with him. Just so you know.”
Laurana turned to face her brother. “You want me to stay here because you plan to take the dragon orb for yourself and you think I’ll try to stop you.”
“Won’t you?” he demanded, glowering.
“What will you do? Fight the knights? All of them?”
“I have my magic-” Gilthanas said.
Laurana shook her head and walked on. Gilthanas called angrily after her, but she ignored him. Elistan, walking toward the ice boat, heard Gilthanas’s shout and saw Laurana’s angry flush.
“I take it your brother does not want you to go,” said Elistan.
“He wants me to stay with the women.”
“Perhaps you should heed his concerns,” Elistan said. “The gods have blessed us thus far and I have faith they will continue to aid us, but that doesn’t mean we will not be in danger-”
“He’s not concerned about my safety,” Laurana said. “Derek and the other knights plan to use the battle as a diversion. They’re going to sneak into Ice Wall Castle to steal the dragon orb. Gilthanas intends to go after them, because he wants the dragon orb. He’s prepared to kill Derek over it or at least he thinks he is, so you see why I have to go.”
Elistan’s graying eyebrows came together; his blue eyes glinted. “Does Harald know of this?”
“No.” Laurana’s cheeks burned with shame. “I can’t tell him. I don’t know what to do. If we tell Harald, it will only cause trouble, and the gods are smiling on us this day-”
Elistan looked up at the bright sun, the cloudless sky. “It certainly seems they are.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “I see you carry the frostreaver.”
“Yes, I didn’t want to. I don’t know how to use it. But I couldn’t find my sword. Tasslehoff must have run off with it, though he swears he didn’t.” Laurana sighed. “But then, that’s what he always swears!”
Elistan gave her a keen look, then said, “I think you should go with your brother and the others.” He smiled and added enigmatically, “This time, I think Tasslehoff is telling the truth.”
He walked off to join up with Harald, leaving Laurana to stare after him, puzzled, wondering what he meant.
The Ice Folk kept their boats hidden in a cove created by a natural formation of the glacier. The warriors crowded on board, as many as the ice boats could carry. Those who doubled as sailors took hold of the ropes, ready for the order to raise the massive sails. They looked to Harald to give the command. The chief opened his mouth, but the word died on his lips. He stared uneasily up into the sky.
“What is it now?” Derek demanded, irritated.
“I feel it,” Sturm said, and he crouched in the shadow of a mast and yanked Tasslehoff down beside him.
“The dragon. I think you should take cover, my lord.”
Derek said nothing in reply, but he did duck down, squatting on the deck, muttering in Solamnic that this was yet another attempt by Harald to avoid making the assault.
The warriors sought shelter, either flattening themselves on the deck or climbing over the rails to hide on the ice beneath the boat. Everyone felt a sense of unease. They could hear the wind whistling through the rigging, but nothing more. Still, no one moved, the feeling of terror growing on everyone. Even Derek crouched back farther in the shadows.
The white dragon, Sleet, was suddenly above them, white wings spread, her scales glittering like snow crystals in the morning sun. The fear of the dragon squeezed hearts and stopped breathing. Men cowered on the decks. Weapons fell from limp hands. In the camp, children wailed and dogs howled in terror. The dragon’s head dipped. Her red eyes looked toward the camp. Those warriors who had been able to overcome the terror gripped their weapons and prepared to defend their families.
Sleet gave a lazy flap of her wings. She snarled and snapped her teeth at them, but that was all. She flew on, skimming low over the ice boats.
Those crouching terrified on the boats watched the dragon’s massive underbelly pass over the masts. No one dared move or even draw breath as she flew ponderously above them. Sleet had an odd habit of using her legs to fly, almost as though she were swimming through the air, so that when her wings swooped downward, her legs came together, then spread apart as her wings lifted. This tended to slow her flight and it was some time before she flapped and swam out of sight, flying straight into the sunrise.
No one moved until certain she was gone. Then, the fear lifting from their hearts, they rose and looked at each other in amazement, hardly daring to speak what they were now daring to hope.
“The dragon has left the castle!” cried Harald in disbelief. He stared into the bright sunshine until the tears blurred his vision, then turned to Raggart the Elder and grabbed the cleric in a bear hug that, fortunately, was fur-lined or he might have crushed the old man’s frail bones. “The gods be praised! The dragon has left Icereach!”
Elistan rose to his feet, his hand still clasping his medallion. He looked a little dazed and overwhelmed by the gods’ largess. He’d expected a miracle, but nothing quite this miraculous.
The warriors started to raise a cheer, but Harald feared the dragon might hear and return, and he shushed them and ordered them to get on with their business. They raised the sails. The wind caught hold of the canvas and propelled the ice boats forward, sending them sliding on their sharp blades across the ice.
Flint had, of course, raised objections to riding in the boat, claiming that he always fell overboard. The dwarf had been persuaded by Sturm that the ice boats were not like boats that sailed upon water; there would be no bobbing and tossing on the waves. If Flint did fall overboard, which was highly unlikely, there was no chance he could drown.
“No, I’ll just break my head on the glacier,” Flint grumbled, but since it was either go on the boat or be left behind, he agreed to go with them.
Sadly, Flint soon discovered ice boats were far worse than any other type of transportation he’d ever encountered, including griffons. Ice boats could travel over ice far faster than a boat could sail the water, and they careened across the glacier, sometimes going so fast the wind lifted them up onto one runner and they tilted sideways. The Ice Folk grinned and opened their mouths wide when this happened, swallowing the wind.
Poor Flint huddled in a recessed corner, his arms wrapped tightly around a rope, his eyes squinched shut in order not to see the horrendous smash-up he was convinced was coming. Once he opened one eye, only to see Tasslehoff clinging to the neck of the figurehead carved in the shape of a beaked sea monster. The kender shrieked in delight as tears from the stinging wind whipped off his cheeks. His topknot flapped behind him like a flag. Shuddering, Flint swore that this was the end. He meant it. No more boats of any kind. Ever.
Derek paced the deck, or tried to. He kept stumbling sideways and eventually, realizing this ineptness was impairing his dignity (the Ice Folk had no difficulty standing on the canting deck), he took his place at the rail alongside Harald. Raggart the Elder and Elistan sat on barrels, appearing to enjoy the wild ride. Gilthanas kept near Derek. Sturm stood beside Tasslehoff, ready to grab the kender should he lose his grip and go flying. Laurana kept away from the others, especially Derek, who had not been at all pleased at her decision to accompany them and had tried his best to send her back to camp. He had appealed to Harald, but received no support from the chief. Laurana had been given a frostreaver. She was an acknowledged warrior and welcome to come. Harald might have changed his mind had he known her true intent.
Sitting on the deck, the wind blowing in her face, Laurana considered what she was planning to do and she was appalled at herself. She trembled at the thought and was not certain she had the courage to go through with it. Several times, her heart would fail her and she would decide that when they reached their destination, she would stay in the boat. No one would fault her. Everyone would be relieved. Despite the fact that she’d been given the frostreaver, the warriors were uncomfortable having a woman in their midst. Derek was angry, and even Sturm cast her worried glances.
Laurana had fought draconians in Pax Tharkas and she had acquitted herself well. Tanis and the others had praised her skill and her courage in battle. Though elf women are all trained to fight-a tradition that dates back to the First Dragon War, when the elves fought for their very survival-Laurana was not a warrior. But she could not let Gilthanas end up in a fight with the knights, and she had the terrible foreboding that this was what it would come to if no one was there to stop him. She might have once relied upon Sturm to side with Gilthanas, keep him out of trouble, but Sturm had other loyalties now. He was bound to obey his lord, and Laurana would not force him to make a choice between duty and friendship.
The ice boats sped across the glacier, racing toward the castle. The warriors crowded the sides, enjoying the wild ride. The plan of attack was simple. If the gods came to their aid, the warriors would fight. If not, they would use the swift-sailing boats to carry them away. The only enemy who could catch them was the dragon, and she was gone. But they all had faith that the gods, who had already done so much, would do more.
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.”
“No!” Harald stood barring the way. “They went with my sanction.”
“Then you must answer for the consequences,” said Derek.
Another flight off arrows sped from the walls. These missed their targets as well. More arrows fell around Elistan and Raggart, none hit them.
A warrior started to cheer, but his comrades shushed him. They watched in silence, reverent, awe-struck. The jeering on the walls had ceased, replaced by a rumble of anger and cries of “shoot again!”
Elistan and Raggart paid no attention to the jeers or the arrows. They came to a halt within the shadow of the castle walls. Lifting their medallions in their hands, they held them high to meet the rays of the morning sun.
The wind strengthened and shifted, blowing with unusual warmth, bringing with it a hint of spring. Everyone waited tensely, not one sure what was going to happen.
“They didn’t say the magic words,” Tas whispered, worried.
Sturm hushed him.
The bright sun struck first one medallion and then the other. Both blazed with light. The clerics held the medallions steady and the light grew in intensity until those watching had to avert their eyes. Then a single beam of radiant, blazing white light shot from Elistan’s medallion. The beam, strong and powerful, struck the wall of Ice Wall Castle. A moment later, another beam of light, this one blue in color, lanced out from Raggart’s medallion, hitting a different section of wall.
No one moved or spoke. Many gasped in awe. Everyone stared transfixed, except Derek, who was engrossed in fixing a loose buckle on his sword belt. Sturm started to say something to call his attention to what was happening.
“Don’t waste your breath,” said Brian quietly. “He won’t look, and even if he did, he wouldn’t see.”
Elistan’s beam of light burned into the ice on the castle wall, and the ice shuddered. A sound like thunder splintered the air. The ice cracked and sheered off the wall, sliding down to the ground with a dull roaring sound. Where Raggart aimed his beam of holy light, huge chunks of ice broke apart and slid down the wall.
The two beams shone more brilliantly by the moment as the gods grabbed hold of the sun and hurled it against the walls of ice. The thanoi crowding the battlements had ceased their jeering and were staring down in astonishment. At first they did not recognize their danger. But then one, less thick-headed than the others, saw what was bound to happen if the assault on the icy castle walls continued.
The archers redoubled their efforts. But the arrows continued to miss their marks, while those that passed inside the beam of holy light vanished in puffs of smoke. The ice cracked and sloughed off, and those watching began to see the stone beneath.
Elistan shifted his beam of light to strike the ice-covered battlements. Some of the thanoi standing near that blazing light panicked and tried to flee, only to run into those packed in around them. The trapped thanoi shoved the others out the way. Their fellows shoved back. Roars of fear and rage rose into the air and were drowned by another thunderous crack. The ice on the battlements shifted and shook, and with no more ice to support it, the icy battlements cracked and fell with a sound like an avalanche.
The thanoi, hundreds of them, came down with the ice, their shrieks and bellows terrible to hear. The thanoi standing on the wall Raggart had under assault tried frantically to escape, but their battlement gave a shake and a shiver and collapsed. Ice and thanoi cascaded to the ground.
The cracks in the ice continued to spread outward, like the web of a demented spider, running around the side of one wall, racing up over the next. Then it seemed as if the entire castle was collapsing, its ice walls sliding and slipping, rumbling and falling. Only the stone tower stood immovable, seeming invulnerable.
Harald gave an exultant roar, and, waving a gigantic frostreaver over his head, ran toward the side of the boat, bellowing for his men to follow. He did not bother with the ladder, but vaulted over the rail. His warriors poured after him. The warriors on the other ice boats did the same, and soon the entire force was running across the ice, eager to attack any of the enemy who had managed to survive the collapse.
Derek ordered the knights to wait until the boat was cleared. He leaned over the rail, staring at the castle wall intently, then seemed to find what he was searching for. He ran for the ladder, ordering Sturm, Brian and Aran to follow. Tas did not hear his name included in the order, but he assumed this was simply an oversight. The kender gleefully vaulted over the railing and was soon running happily alongside Derek.
The knight, without missing a stride, gave the kender a shove that sent him flying. Tasslehoff landed on his belly on the ice, arms and legs akimbo. He did a couple of spins before he slid to a halt and lay there, gasping for breath.
Sturm turned to go back to see if Tas was all right. Derek snapped an order at him. Sturm seemed about to disobey.
“I’ll take care of him!” Laurana shouted, hurrying to Tas’s side.
Sturm looked grim, but he turned to run after the knights.
Gilthanas had been right. Derek was not going to join the fight. He was angling away from the battle.
Laurana helped Tas to his feet. The kender was unharmed but extremely indignant.
“Derek said he didn’t need me! After all the help I’ve been to him! He wouldn’t have known anything about that stupid old orb if it wasn’t for me. Well, we’ll see about that!”
Before Laurana could catch him, Tas had dashed off.
“I told you so,” said Gilthanas. He took hold of her, detaining her as she would have gone after Tas.
“I’m not staying behind,” she said defiantly.
“I know you’re not,” he said curtly. “I just want to let them get a head start, so they don’t know we’re following.”
She sighed. Part of her was glad he hadn’t tried to force her to remain behind and another part desperately wished he had. She felt the same dread she had felt when the dragon flew overhead, though she did not know why, for there was no dragon around. She and Gilthanas caught up with Tasslehoff, whose short strides were no match for the long legs of the knights.
“I’m coming with you,” Tas announced, his breath puffing in the cold air.
“Good,” said Gilthanas. “You might be useful.”
“I might?” Tas was pleased, but dubious. “I don’t think I’ve ever been useful before.”
“Where is Derek going?” Laurana wondered, mystified.
Derek had been heading for the castle wall, but now he slanted off, leading his small force around a corner to the back of the castle, on the very edge of the glacier.
Gilthanas squinted his eyes against the bright light to see, then pointed to an area close to the ground. “There! He’s found a way in.”
The ice had broken away from beneath the wall and, like slicing through the side of honey-comb, the removal of the ice wall laid bare scores of tunnels beneath the castle.
Derek chose the nearest tunnel and ordered his small force inside.
Gilthanas and Laurana and Tas held back, waiting for the knights to get far enough ahead so they could safely pursue them. The three were about to enter when they heard heavy footfalls and a gruff voice calling out loudly, “Wait up!”
Laurana turned to see Flint, slipping and sliding, come running clumsily over the snow.
“Make haste! We’re going to lose them!” Gilthanas said irritably. Walking soft-footed, he crept inside the tunnel. “Keep behind me,” he ordered his sister, “and take care you don’t hurt yourself with that thing.” He glared at the frostreaver.
“What are you doing here, doorknob?” Flint demanded, glaring at Tas.
“Gilthanas says I might be useful,” Tas said importantly.
“In a pig’s eye!” Flint snorted.
Doubting herself, feeling she was in the way, Laurana followed. She had to go. Gilthanas was acting strangely. Derek was acting strangely. Neither was himself, and it was all because of this dragon orb.
She began to hope fervently they never found it.