David Cook - Forgotten Realms - The Harpers 07 - Soldiers Of Ice

Prologue

It was

a bad day for hunting. Old Wolf-Ear knew it would be fruitless. The sun was

already too bright and too high, and the pack was too far from the ragged

darkness of the woods. There wouldn't be any game in this flat snowfield

between the forest and the icefall at the glacier's base. The hunter knew all

this even before it wrinkled back its muzzle to sniff the cold, sterile scent

of pine and ice.

The air carried none of the tingling warmth of deer musk or rabbit scat, only

a suggestion of newborn mice buried deep beneath the snow. The grizzled

stalker toyed with the idea of digging them out, but the tiny morsels weren't

worth the effort. Besides, Wolf-Ear was with a pack and had to uphold the old

gnoll's reputation as a hunter. So instead of digging, Wolf-Ear growlingly

spat into the snow to cleanse out the lingering scent.

"No More hunting. Back to village," Wolf-Ear barked, glaring at the three

whelps accompanying it, keeping its one strong eye on them. Two of the three

younglings properly lowered their heads in submission to the old cur's

judgment. The third, though, glared back defiantly. This one stood slightly

taller than the old hunter, the older gnoll being stooped and bent.

"I go back to camp with a kill." The challenger sneered in disgust, the

blackish lips of its wolfish muzzle curling back to show dirty yellow fangs

that hung over the lower gums. The younger gnoll shifted its rag-wrapped feet

slightly forward in the churned snow to assert its challenge.

Old Wolf-Ear's neck hairs bristled at the move, and its good ear twitched

under the coarse, greasy rags that wrapped its head. The old gnoll caught the

warning snarl building in the back of its throat. As it kept its good eye

unerringly fixed on the upstart whelp, Wolf-Ear unexpectedly lashed out with

its spear to lay on a blow like a schoolmaster caning a boy. The suddenness of

the vicious roundhouse swing left the younger gnoll defenseless, and the spear

shaft delivered a bruising wallop alongside the whelp's ear, where luckily a

thick, matted scarf cushioned the blow. Even with the cushion, the youngling

still reeled,its vision wavering.

Before the stunned gnoll could plant its feet firmly on the slippery ground,

Wolf-Ear almost casually struck again with a chopping whack to the knee. The

youngling dropped like a felled tree into the drift behind it, cracking the

ice crust to flounder in the powder beneath. Old Wolf-Ear stepped alongside

it, and with a quick jab pressed the spear's point against the challenger's

chest. Feeling the tip prick through all its layers of leather and fur, the

whelp stopped floundering.

Its attention gained, the old hunter snarled out, "I lead this pack. Do not

challenge me, pup." Even as Wolf-Ear spoke, the grizzled gnoll made sure it

knew where the other two cubs were.

'you lead, Wolf-Ear," the young cub mumbled, turning its face away. Winter

steam formed thick clouds from its muzzle as its mouth hung open slackly,

showing a purplish red tongue.

Satisfied, the old hunter pulled back its spear and turned to glare at the two

other younglings. They stood there, eager to watch a fight, while the wind

flapped their greasy wraps of cloth and hide. Taken from some unfortunate

traveler, the once-rich cloth they wore was tattered and stained, and

decorated with tassels of animal fur and bits of bone. Wolf-Ear growled at

them just in case they had any ideas. The old gnoll hated working with the

cubs, for they were too eager to impress the females of the lodges. Some More

hard work would serve them right.

'Youngsters want a kill," Wolf-Ear snarled sarcastically.

'Then we hunt on the tall ice." With that, it extended its spear toward the

north.

The pack looked up at the great ice wall Wolf-Ear pointed to. It was the

forward edge of the glacier that capped the northern end of their valley, a

tumbled wall of rock-encrusted ice that had been there since before the gnolls

had arrived. The broken wall, less than a half-mile away, stood about three

times taller than the tallest trees at its base. The gray-black barren peaks

of the mountains were its grim supporters at either side.

"To the top. We spot our kill from there," Wolf-Ear pronounced with grim glee.

There was no game up on top of the wall, but the climb and cold would sap some

of the fire from the young hunters. It they were smart, they would watch

Wolf-Ear and learn how to survive on the ice. Other-wise--well, whatever

happened they deserved. No one in the pack would mourn for weaklings.

In the hour that passed as the group clambered over the loose moraine and onto

the angular face of the ice, Wolf-Ear wa'tched with malevolent pride as the

young hunters struggled. The climb was an ordeal for them, and their hands

quickly became matted with frozen blood from the cuts of jagged stones.

"Climb!" Woff-Ear barked whenever one of them lagged behind, particularly the

tallest one, and they scrabbled harder at the old gnoll's snarl, determined

not to show their pain. Wolf-Ear hoped the climb hurt, for pain would teach

them much More than the veteran hunter could.

As they neared the top, where the rim was a serrated barrier of upthrust

plates pushed out by the glacier's relentless pressure, Wolf-Ear steered them

toward a cleft in the wall. It was an old trail along the bottom of a narrow

crevasse, one that tapered gradually to the top of the ice field. The going

was easier here, and the pack made rapid progress toward the top. At last the

old hunter called a halt and watched, amused, as its charges, bloodied and

exhausted, sagged against their bows. Over and around them, the glacier

groaned and creaked like a protesting spirit upset at their presence.

A grinding squeal shivered down the narrow walls of the canyon, rousing the

group. old Wolf-Ear had never heard a sound quite like that. It wasn't the

rumbling thunder of an avalanche. Instead, it reminded the gnoll of spring ice

breaking up on the river, the floes grating and shifting against each other,

but up here that was impossible, for there were no rivers and the ice never

moved. Curious, the old gnoll motioned the others to follow. They hadn't gone

five steps before the squeal swelled into a shriek. The crevasse echoed with

shrill grinding as the crystal floor began to shake. Ice overhanging the lip

of the top fell in shivering chunks and cascaded down,smashing against the

sides, stinging the gnolls with frozen shards.

And then suddenly, the source of the noise came into view, rushing down the

cleft straight toward them. Avalanche, Wolf-Ear thought blindly, but the gnoll

knew it wasn't an avalanche even as it came into view. It was a wave of solid

ice that flowed like water down a streambed, crashing over the broken snow

blocks and splashing against the side of the crevasse. Icicles sprayed like

froth in the flow's advancing flood.

"Run!" the old hunter barked, fear finally uncovering the compassion Wolf-Ear

really felt for the kits. Its urging was hardly needed. The younglings were

already scrambling, casting their bows and spears aside in haste.

Wolf-Ear wasn't so quick, and before the old gnoll could

pivot, the rushing flood swept over it. The ice flowed over

its body like water and swept it, floundering and gasping,

along with the current.

The tallest of the younglings seized the lead, covering

huge strides with its long legs. Behind it, the other two

vainly tried to keep up, jostling each other in their panic.

There was a thud and scream as the inundation swept the

pair under. Realizing it couldn't outrun the flood of white,

the surviving youngling desperately leapt for a jutting ice

shelf. It was almost out of reach, but the young gnoll's

strong fingers gained a crumbling purchase on the rotten

ice and snow. Fueled by terror, the kit hoisted itself over

the lip, the churning ice splashing on the creature as it

surged past.

Panting on its belly, the gnoll peered over the edge and

watched Wolf-Ear's frozen body flow down the crevasse

until it disappeared over the icy waterfall as the bizarre

river plunged toward the valley below.

One

"A mug of ale, Jhaele," the small

black-haired woman ordered as she

strode through the door and plopped

herself astraddle the hard bench of the

great trestletable in the center of the

taproom's commons.

"Aye, Martine," the landlady echoed.

Her long platinum tresses gleamed in the light from the

open door.

"No, wait. Best make it tea," the young woman called

fi.om the table. She drew her sheath knife and began to fidget

with it, idly poking the tip into the tabletop.

The landlady nodded and sighed. "Tea, then." Wood

tapped metal as she scooped a ladleful of water from the pot

that hung over the fire. "Now, what's troubling you, dear?"

the landlady asked kindly, looking back toward the other woman.

"It's--Jhaele, how did you know I'm upset?" Martine

blurted.

The hosteler ambled over to set a steaming mug on the

Soldiers of Ice

7

table with a solid thump. "For one thing, you haven't been

in here a minute, and already you've got that knife of yours

out. If you spent as much time hunting as you spend carving

at my furniture with that knife, you could be dangerous.''

Martine was suddenly conscious of the small blade in

her hand and the lines she'd been absentmindedly etching

on the unvarnished tabletop.

"Sorry."

"It's a tavern table. It's seen worse." The older woman

dismissed Martine's worries with a reassuring pat on her

shoulder. "So what troubles you?"

"It's just that Jazrac wants to see me."

"Harper business, eh?"

Martine almost gave a start until she remembered how

everybody in this dale seemed to know everyone else's

business, even secret business such as that concerning the

Harpers. "I suppose," she allowed. "He's been my sponsor,

vouched for me, and I'm still not a full member, you know."

I'm saying More than I should, the woman realized even

as she said the words.

"Ah, I didn't, but that helps to explain things." Jhaele

gave a wry smile that only someone who has heard countless

secrets could do. "Don't you worry. He's a hearth-lover,

a stay-at-home. He probably wants you to do some

legwork for him while he hovers around Elminster."

"Maybe," Martine allowed tentatively as she took up the

mug. "But his message said he had important news for

me."

"Hmph. With wizards, everything is important," the landlady

chuckled as she turned to tend the fire.

Jazrac was waiting for Martine on the footpath that

led to the mill. He looked old, but not o old as to be

8

The Harpers

Soldiers of Ice

grandfatherly, nor was she so young by comparison. The

wizard met her with a sweeping bow More showy than

polite, his seasoned head bent till the sharp tip of his salt-and-pepper

goatee brushed against his chest. The rich velveteen

cloth of his robes, impractical dress given the rustic

surroundings, rustled as he rose to his thin, imperious

height.

"Greetings, Master Jazrac," Martine said with a schoolchild's

nervous courtesy and a small bob of her body, as

much of a curtsy as anyone would get from her. In her

buckskin trousers and fur half-cape, such niceties were lost

anyway. 'You have news for me?"

"Indeed, great news. Come, let's walk," he offered and

said nothing More. The wizard deftly steered her onto the

mill path, clearly relishing the air of teasing mystery he was

creating. Martine bit at her lip and followed, since there

was no other choice. Jazrac was born to be overly dramatic,

she knew. It was one thing she had learned in the several

years she'd known him. He could have been a thespian had

his magical talent gone undiscovered.

Though she was bursting with curiosity, Martine followed

the older man into the faded brown woods. Behind

them was Shadowdale, a collection of thatched houses clustered

around a muddy crossroads. The curling spire of the

Tower of Ashaba rose above the rest and was just visible

through the branches of the trees. Jazrac led the way by

half a step. Martine cocked her head to look up at him,

dark bangs of bobbed hair spilling sideways across her

forehead.

"Martine, my dear, I know it seems as if you've been

doing nothing but playing messenger ever since you joined

the Harpers." The huntress bristled at the condescension in

his tone. "Certainly you've been kept busy. In fact, some of

the others wondered if you might be in need of a rest. Four

months trekking in the wilderness is More than enough

time with no inns, no baths--barely even a bed, I imagii

Rest? I don't need any rest. What have I done wra

Martine thought. Her eyes flashed with alarm even as

strove to keep her expression calm.

Jazrac didn't notice any reaction, or at least paid no n

With a muttered, twisted phrase, he made a pantom

sweep of the path ahead, velvet sleeve aswirl. The h

breath of wind in the barren treetops suddenly arched

swirled down at his command, blowing the dead foli

into the woods till the leaves caught their sharp cor

along the bank of the nearby millstream.

Martine barely glanced at the tattered shapes as I

swirled away, unwittingly drumming her fingers on

thigh while waiting for her companion to continue. She

accustomed to Jazrac's little magical displays. She fear

guessed his next words--praise for jobs well done, a

gestion that she needed More time or More guidance, I

an offer of a mission suitable to her talents. Undoubte would be another

package to deliver or a fellow Harp{

accompany on a mission, all so she could watch and le

Only a few More such as these and surely they w{

advance her. A little More patience and seasoning were

she needed. In all this, Jazrac meant well; the wizard

generously watched over her career up to now. Marti

thoughts madly raced to review the scenario she was

tain would follow.

The wizard interrupted her reverie. "Anyway, !wm

tell you how pleased I am--everyone is--with your effi

You seem to have.., well, that Harper stuffing in you. i

thing, too. So if you want to take a rest for a month or

you deserve it." He looked down at her with the best

soling gaze his thin, creased face could manage.

Martine stopped walking and was about to give

very carefully worded protest when Jazrac continued.

"Or," he said ever so slowly, the corners of his m

10

The Harpers

curling up in a tiny smile, "you could take on another mis-sion--a

solo job, a chance for you to really show your

mettle. Are you interested?" Taking a slow breath of the

bracing autumn air, Jazrac paused and then added, "It could

be the big break you've been waiting for--a chance to

prove you really are a full-fledged Harper." The wizard

waited for some reaction from his protege.

For a moment, Martine kept silent, surprised by Jazrac's

offer. The stream and skittering leaves sounded a soft background

to their walk, underscored by the creaking and

scraping of the aged waterwheel driving the grindstone at

the miller's nearby.

"I don't need rest!" the slight ranger blurted, her alto

voice rising eagerly. 'Well me about this mission."

Jazrac smiled with smug satisfaction at his protege's

response. "Do you have any idea just how thin we Harpers

have been spread of late?"

Martine's reply was a quizzical look.

He caught her hand, and with his sharp, bony fingers

gently recited the litany. 'WVaterdeep, Impiltur, Thay, Chult,

gods know where else. It seems as if every distant land has

some problem that needs solving. Now something's happening

in the north, up past Damara. There's been some

kind of eruption, and we want you to investigate."

"Some kind of trouble in Damara?"

"I said an eruption, my clean North of Damara, on the

Great Glacier. A volcano of ice." Jazrac shivered slightly in

the autumn cold and turned back toward the houses and

fields of Shadowdale. Martine fell in step alongside him.

"An ice volcano? You're teasing me." The idea sounded

too incredible to believe, even from a wizard.

'q/ou should know me better than that, Martine,' the wizard

chided, head tilted till his goatee seemed to point at her.

"This is Harper business. I'm serious."

Martine flushed.

Soldiers of !ce

I I

"As I said, we're dealing with a volcano of ice. It happens

sometimes, my dear--a rift in the walls between the worlds.

Elminster and I have been tracking this one. It looks like an

opening to the para-elemental plane of ice."

'Whe what?"

"Sorry. Wizard talk."

"Oh."

"It's an opening to another--um--plane. You know about

the elemental forces--earth, air, fire, and water. Perhaps

you aren't aware of it, but there are others, such as the

para-, the quasi-, and who knows what other elemental

planes, not as strong or important, and ice is one of those."

Martine listened avidly. She'd heard of the existence of

the planes and knew about the four elements, but the rest

was new to her. She hurried to stay alongside him, kicking

away the leaves that had already blown back over the path.

"Anyway, sometimes the barrier between our word and

one of these planes weakens until a hole opens, spilling elemental

matter into our world," Jazrac continued, warming

to his subject. Scholarly research was his meat and cheese,

and he could quickly forget that others did not share his

enthusiasm. "Geysers and volcanoes could indicate the

planes of steam and magma. Yurpide of Impiltur, I think,

even theorizes that rainbows and lightning storms have

their origins in--"

"I get the idea. What I don't understand is why this is so

important." Martine wanted to get the conversation back to

her mission. "It sounds as if you know everything already."

"Ah, yes. Well, there is a danger, you see."

Her neck tingled with excitement 'v'hat?"

The path reached the edge of the fields that bordered

Shadowdale. A cold wind was rising out of the west, pushing

in a bank of flat, gray clouds over Old Skull, the barren

granite mount that overlooked the village. The wizard

looked up and shook his head, perhaps at the prospect of

12

The Harpers

bad weather coming. "Sometimes things cross over and

enter our world. If it's only one or two of these elemental

creatures, it's not much our concern, but if the rift should

expand, it could prove to be a danger. You're going to go up

there and seal it."

Martine couldn't resist a joke. "Suppose I brick it up?"

Jazrac turned his attention back to her with a vexed

scowl. "Very funny. As a matter of fact, that's what I've been

doing for the last few weeks--preparing the seals. Now that

I've finished, it's time for you to put them in place. The

frigid north is not one of my favorite places."

"So that's my big break, eh?" the woman deduced,

adding a flip of her bangs to give just the right touch of sardonic

nonchalance.

"If it all goes well," Jazrac said with pointed emphasis.

Martine realized her flippancy was wasted on the humorless

wizard and assumed a serious expression. Still, her earlier

nervousness was gone, and she felt the need to

celebrate somehow. Wrapping an arm around the older

man's waist, she tugged him toward the town before he

could resist. "I promise not to fail you. Come on. It looks

like snow. You can buy me an ale at the Old Skull and give a

toast to my success."

"For that, I'll have to buy you a bucketful of ale, my eager

young tyro," Jazrac protested as he allowed himself to be

pulled along. The last summer songbirds scolded loudly at

the approaching storm as the two hurried across the fields

for the warmth of the thatched-roof inn.

Over mugs of spiced ale that warmed away the chill,

Jazrac outlined the mission in detail. He spoke softly, for

there were a few others in the taproom, and Harper business

was none of their concern. From his pocket, he produced

five stones, polished and smooth. They glittered like

ice with blue fire at their cores. "Opals from the south," the

wizard explained once he noted Martine's interest. "You'll

Soldiers of Ice

13

have to set them around the rift like this. I assume it will be

a crater." Jazrac spread four of the stones in a circle, deftly

tracing the points of a star with his thin fingers, leaving one

point empty. "Exactly equal from each other. Don't worry,

the stones will glow when they're in the proper position."

He nudged the fifth stone into place, and suddenly five

points of blue luminescence glittered before Martine's

eyes.

'q'hat's it?"

The wizard broke the ring before the tabletop glow could

attract the attention of Jhaele or the beet-faced Dalesman

who sat near the fire. "Not quite." He produced another

stone from a separate pouch. 'Whis is the capstone. Touch it

to each stone as you put it in place. That activates the seal."

"Okay," Martine nodded, taking the stone from his fingers.

It looked like a fading ember, dull red and pitted,

rather than a powerful magical artifact.

"Be careful. Keep it separate from the others. You don't

want an accident triggering the seal while you're traveling."

"Is it dangerous?" The woman looked at the stone with

new respect as she prudently set it back on the table.

Jazrac shook his head as he swept the opals into a pouch.

"Not very--but an accident would ruin all my work." The

words reminded Martine that Jazrac, at least, considered

her journey impor tant

"Another thing. The red stone is a temporary fx. You

have to bring it back so I can cast the finishing spells. Be

careful not to bang it around too much. It's not as solid as it

looks. Once the seal is activated, if the stone breaks, the

seal breaks. So be careful and bring it back with you.

Understood?"

Martine nodded. As she took the pouch of opals, the

stones rattled softly in her hand. "Sounds clear enough,"

she added to cover a sudden twinge of nerves. Her first

important mission... It seemed simple enough, but she

14

The Harpers

couldn't help but worry whether she was up to it.

Across the table, Jazrac smiled, his goatee making him

look cheerfully fiendish. "Good. Now, I want you to stay in

touch with me while you're up there."

"How?"

"I'm a wizard, my dear, remember?" the older man

chortled, letting a tone of condescension slip back into his

voice. He tipped back in his chair. "I'll use my crystal ball. I

can't hear you or talk to you, but I can see you through it."

Martine wasn't sure she liked the idea that Jazrac would

be checking up on her. She hastily took a sip of her ale to

cover a grimace.

"I'm not spying on you. If you write a letter, I'll be able to

read it through the ball. Take this. I'll need an object to

fo'us, on, something to track you by." From deeper still in

his pOCket, Jazrac produced a small dagger. "I know your

fondness for knives. All you have to do is pin your letter up

with this dagger. That way I can find it with the crystal ball.

I have to know what I'm looking for, after all.'

Still uncertain, Martine took the knife and turned it over

in her hands.!It was a decorative knife with a carved bone

handle and a Fed garnet set in the hilt, but the blade was

short, hardly Practical. A typical wizard's choice, she noted

somewhat contemptuously. "If you insists'

Her sponsor ignored the reluctance in her voice. "That's

it, then. How soon can you be ready?" he asked, elbows on

the table, leaning forward till the tip of his goatee brushed

his tented fingers.

Martine rolled the knife in her hands, letting the light

from the inn's fire play off the blade. "A day or two, I'd

guess. Three at the most. It depends on how long it takes

me to get supplies. Astriphie's fit and ready for travel."

Indeed, her mount was growing restless in the stables.

"Excellent. The less time wasted, the better. Here's to a

safe journey and a successful mission, my dear." With

Soldiers of Ice

15

tankard raised, Jazrac toasted her success.

The next day Martine, suffering from a slight hangover,

set to work preparing for her departure. Shadowdale wasn't

a large city, nor even a border town where outfitters thronged,

so it took only the better part of the day to gather all that

was needed--flour, salt, jerky, dried fruit, flatbread, sugar,

lard, arrowheads, oil, extra bowstrings, needles, thread,

and More. She especially wanted soap, since she had no

desire to do without the luxury a bath might offer, even in

some glacial lake. By nightfall, as he stretched her legs

before the fire at the Old Skull, the ranger was relieved to

be through haggling with the village's only trader, the irascible

Weregnnd. Her status as a Harper, which it seemed

everyone in town knew about, didn't make much of an

impression on him, and every purchase had been a battle.

Her supplies were finally complete, though, even the soap,

and tomorrow she and Astriphie could hit the trail. As she

gingerly sipped at her ale, she toyed with Jazrac's little

knife, playfully refracting the flames of the fire from its

blade.

'/ou'll be leaving us tomorrow, then?" Jhaele asked, her

hair the bloody color of a hunter's moon in the blazing firelight.

Pot in one hand, she offered up a fresh ladle of ale.

"Old Weregund told me you were at his place buying SUly

plies."

Martine nodded, tossing back the dregs of her mug. The

innkeeper sloshed another round into Martine's cup. 'Whis

one's on the house."

"Well, thank you, Jhaele." Suddenly flustered by the landlady's

kindness, it was the best Martine could manage.

"Call it a traveler's blessing. May Tymora's wheel turn in your favor."

"And may your house know the joy of Lliira's smile,"

Martine replied. She reluctantly raised her mug to Jhaele,

unwilling to get into another night of toasting.

16

The Harpers

Soldiers of Ice

17

"Fair enough. Here's to the ladies of luck and joy." She

raised her ladle to match Martine's toast. Draining it in a long draught, she

wiped the foam from her chin and looked

down with a kindly expression at the younger woman, still

stretched in the chair. "I'll see that the stableboy has Astriphie

fed and ready in the morning. You'd better rest up for

tomorrow."

'q'hank you, Jhaele.' The landlady was already leaving as

Martine spoke. Left again to herself, Martine settled back

into the small firelit cocoon that surrounded her chair. The

knife blade resumed its flashing in the light, somehow less

playful than before.

Although she'd only been staying at the inn for a few

weeks, Martine hadn't expected the farewells to sting so

much. After all, besides Jhaele and Jazrac, there were few

people she really knew here. She'd been pointedly avoiding

most of the Dalesmen with a Harper's natural instinct for

secrecy. Now, slightly tipsy and pleasantly tired, she felt a

poignant stab of regret at the prospect of leaving the sleepy

little hamlet. The flowing river, the winter-stripped trees,

even the cracked, barren slopes of Old Skull seemed somehow

homey and comforting. I could live here as well as anywhere

else, the Harper thought idly, but she knew she

wasn't ready to settle anywhere just yet. I'll be back, she

told herself before draining her mug and trundling off to

bed.

The dawn came with Martine feeling ill-rested and anxious.

Journeys always do this to me, she noted irritably as

she climbed out of bed. She could never sleep soundly the

night before a trip, always waking up at hours only marked

by their darkness, always jittery with the hopes and the tensions

of wanderlust.

Astriphie's shrill cry from the stable yard got the ranger's

sluggish blood moving. It was time to shake off the numbness

of town and return to the wilds where she really

belonged.

After a quick splash of chill water that passed for a rinse

and a struggle with her traveling clothes, Martine clomped

down the worn wooden stairs and into the yard. The pale

morning sun washed over the cobblestones, the light having

yet to reach the full richness of the day.

Martine was greeted by a harsh birdlike shrill that

turned to a whinnying squawk. "Astriphie, keep still!" she

shouted as her mount reared back, tossing its head so that

it threatened to swing the goggle-eyed stableboy clinging to

its halter clean over the yard fence. Astriphie was no ordinary

steed, but a hippogriff, with the forequarters an enormous

bird and the hindquarters a sturdy horse, the juncture

between the two marked by a pair of golden-feathered

wings. The beast clicked the bill of its eaglelike head,

threatening playfully to snap the stableboy's arm like a dry

splinter. The lad trembled, almost dropping the rope in

abject terror, not being able to distinguish the hippogriff's

playfulness from hunger.

The Harper hurriedly took the reins, and the boy

scrambled to safety behind a stable door. "Astriphie, stop!"

Martine commanded, punctuating her words with a quick

falconer's whistle as the hippogriff reared up again. A sharp

tug brought the creature back down, its front talons scrabbling

on the stone while its rear hooves beat out an irritated

tattoo. It craned its feathered head around to fix one blinking

eye on Martine and then clacked in disapproval until

she reached up and stroked the feathers of its massive

wings soothingly. The long equine tail flicked against its

haunches as if to point out where to scratch next.

"Good girl, Astfiphie," the Harper said softly as she automatically

ran her hands over the saddle straps, checking

their fittings, making sure her packs and saddlebags were

secure. High above the forests was no place to discover a

loose girth.

18

David Cook - Forgotten Realms - The Harpers 07 - Soldiers Of Ice

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