hobbled along behind him.
As it turned out, they made it back with only minutes
to spare. Then the Ice Queen’s warriors strode out of the night
At the head of the procession stalked one of the spirits of the netherworld called an “icy Claw of Iyraclea.” Pale as ice and twice as tall as a human, it had a spiny-shelled, hunched, segmented body, and a long, heavy tail covered in blades. It carried a long white spear in one clawed hand.
Behind it tramped sneering frost giants, blue of skin with silvery or yellowish hair, even taller and more massive than their captain. Several human warriors, recruited or conscripted from elsewhere on the glacier, brought up the rear.
The dwarves cringed before the newcomers. Even then, after all that had happened to mar their pride, they weren’t afraid of humans or frost giants, their principal foes for as long as anyone could remember. But the Icy Claw inspired a terror that even its hideous form and manifest ability to wreak havoc couldn’t quite explain. Perhaps it somehow stank of boundless cruelty and malevolence. In any case, Wurik had never been able to look at one of the things without a spasm of dread trying to close his throat.
Still, as chief, it was his responsibility not just to look but to talk to it. He stepped forward. “The strangers are helpless and ready for you to take.”
The Icy Claw stared back at him. With its antennae; bulging, faceted eyes; and mandibles, its bug-like mask was utterly unlike the face of a dwarf or man, and thus impossible to read. At length it wheeled and prowled to the place where the outlanders lay bound and insensible. The villagers scrambled to clear a path for it.
It picked up Taegan for a closer look, then tossed him back onto the ground. Dorn, Jivex, and Kara likewise each received an extra moment or two of study. Then the spirit gazed back at Wurik.
“An odd group,” it said, its voice a buzzing rasp. “Your orders were to detain them alive for questioning. I assume they’ll wake in time. Otherwise, you’ll be punished.”
“They’ll wake,” Wurik said. “We were careful. Is there anything else you require?”
The icy Claw turned to its subordinates. “Collect the prisoners and their gear.”
Wurik’s shoulders slumped in relief. They were leaving. in a little while, it would be over.
Then the towering, pallid devil oriented on the heap of the travelers’ equipment. It bent down, peering, and plucked an ice-axe from the pile. Wurik realized it was Raryn’s. In their haste, the villagers had simply thrown his gear in with everyone else’s.
“The head of the axe is enchanted,” said the Icy Claw. “You slaves make nothing comparable. But the haft is bone, and looks like an ice dwarf carved it. Even though none of the prisoners is of your kind.”
Wurik did his best to project an air of nonchalance, as if he had no idea what the fuss was about. “The human with the iron limbs had the axe. An Inugaakalakurit must have traded it to him.”
“l think it more likely that he and these others had an icedwarf guide. How else did they survive the journey across the glacier?”
“They’re experienced travelers. They knew what they were doing.”
The icy Claw stared at Wurik, and he felt something alien , to his experience, a psychic pressure on the surface of his mind. The devil was trying to look inside his head.
He had no idea how to resist such an intrusion. In lieu of any more sophisticated defense, he simply thought, I’m telling the truth, over and over again.
Eventually the feeling of pressure abated. He held his breath, wondering if by some miracle he’d succeeded in fooling the devil.
The Icy Claw pivoted toward its minions. “The thralls are playing games. Search the village.”
The frost giants and human warriors obeyed. Since the snow houses were too low for them to enter easily, the former
pounded and kicked the structures apart, and the latter sifted through the remains. The
As it turned out, they made it back with only minutes
to spare. Then the Ice Queen’s warriors strode out of the night
At the head of the procession stalked one of the spirits of the netherworld called an “icy Claw of Iyraclea.” Pale as ice and twice as tall as a human, it had a spiny-shelled, hunched, segmented body, and a long, heavy tail covered in blades. It carried a long white spear in one clawed hand.
Behind it tramped sneering frost giants, blue of skin with silvery or yellowish hair, even taller and more massive than their captain. Several human warriors, recruited or conscripted from elsewhere on the glacier, brought up the rear.
The dwarves cringed before the newcomers. Even then, after all that had happened to mar their pride, they weren’t afraid of humans or frost giants, their principal foes for as long as anyone could remember. But the Icy Claw inspired a terror that even its hideous form and manifest ability to wreak havoc couldn’t quite explain. Perhaps it somehow stank of boundless cruelty and malevolence. In any case, Wurik had never been able to look at one of the things without a spasm of dread trying to close his throat.
Still, as chief, it was his responsibility not just to look but to talk to it. He stepped forward. “The strangers are helpless and ready for you to take.”
The Icy Claw stared back at him. With its antennae; bulging, faceted eyes; and mandibles, its bug-like mask was utterly unlike the face of a dwarf or man, and thus impossible to read. At length it wheeled and prowled to the place where the outlanders lay bound and insensible. The villagers scrambled to clear a path for it.
It picked up Taegan for a closer look, then tossed him back onto the ground. Dorn, Jivex, and Kara likewise each received an extra moment or two of study. Then the spirit gazed back at Wurik.
“An odd group,” it said, its voice a buzzing rasp. “Your orders were to detain them alive for questioning. I assume they’ll wake in time. Otherwise, you’ll be punished.”
“They’ll wake,” Wurik said. “We were careful. Is there anything else you require?”
The icy Claw turned to its subordinates. “Collect the prisoners and their gear.”
Wurik’s shoulders slumped in relief. They were leaving. in a little while, it would be over.
Then the towering, pallid devil oriented on the heap of the travelers’ equipment. It bent down, peering, and plucked an ice-axe from the pile. Wurik realized it was Raryn’s. In their haste, the villagers had simply thrown his gear in with everyone else’s.
“The head of the axe is enchanted,” said the Icy Claw. “You slaves make nothing comparable. But the haft is bone, and looks like an ice dwarf carved it. Even though none of the prisoners is of your kind.”
Wurik did his best to project an air of nonchalance, as if he had no idea what the fuss was about. “The human with the iron limbs had the axe. An Inugaakalakurit must have traded it to him.”
“l think it more likely that he and these others had an icedwarf guide. How else did they survive the journey across the glacier?”
“They’re experienced travelers. They knew what they were doing.”
The icy Claw stared at Wurik, and he felt something alien , to his experience, a psychic pressure on the surface of his mind. The devil was trying to look inside his head.
He had no idea how to resist such an intrusion. In lieu of any more sophisticated defense, he simply thought, I’m telling the truth, over and over again.
Eventually the feeling of pressure abated. He held his breath, wondering if by some miracle he’d succeeded in fooling the devil.
The Icy Claw pivoted toward its minions. “The thralls are playing games. Search the village.”
The frost giants and human warriors obeyed. Since the snow houses were too low for them to enter easily, the former
pounded and kicked the structures apart, and the latter sifted through the remains. The
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