After departing from Gremurr, Destrar Siescu and his scout toiled into the isolated mountains, following the icy trail. Raga Var bounded ahead of the two pack ponies to study the path conditions, while Siescu shivered and walked along.
The cliffs around them were steep and slick with snow. Picking his way, Siescu could not imagine how armored mammoths had made the passage, but the shaggy army had not been hindered by snows as they crossed over the passes.
Storms occurred with increasing frequency this time of year, and conditions worsened with each snowfall. Calendars down in Calay would not mark the turning of the season for another month yet, but winter set in much earlier in the high mountains.
In normal times, Siescu would have ensconced himself in Stoneholm with stockpiled firewood and full storerooms so he wouldn’t have to emerge again until spring. Though he had insisted on delivering this load of swords to the Tierran army before the battle at Ishalem, in truth he just wanted to get home and warm himself in the comfort of familiar surroundings.
Siescu kept his head down as the biting wind numbed his cheeks. It had been warmer back at the mines. He locked his gaze on the rocky trail in front of him, on Raga Var’s widely spaced footprints in the snow. He daydreamed about the throbbing heat in the forges back at Gremurr, then he thought of his giant cheery fireplace in the main hall at Stoneholm. He looked up from his woolgathering, startled to see the scruffy scout standing before him. “Destrar, I don’t like this weather.”
Siescu shivered. “It’s damned cold, that’s for sure.” When he saw genuine concern on Raga Var’s face, the fact gave him pause. He had never seen the scout worried about anything.
Mountain weather patterns changed swiftly. Even so, Siescu was surprised to see how quickly the sky had turned a cottony gray. Icy fog settled into the canyons, followed by a veil of snow. Behind him, the nervous mountain ponies snorted and stomped.
“We need to pick up the pace, Destrar. Move as quickly as you can.” Raga Var looked from side to side. “This will be a bad spot for weathering a blizzard.”
“It might blow over quickly,” Siescu said.
“No. It’s a blizzard. We need to get off this pass. Half a mile beyond, there’s an elbow of rock where we can take shelter. I might even be able to find enough wood for a fire.”
“A fire! That sounds nice. Let’s go, then.”
The footing was treacherous; snow and ice packed the trail. The sky now had an angry opacity, and a thick whiteness flurried down. The wind skirled feathers of snow along the ground, and before long Siescu could barely see the path in front of him.
Raga Var came back to grab his arm and pull him along. Behind them, the pack animals snorted, trying to find their footing. One of the ponies stopped and refused to go farther. When Siescu tugged on the lead rope, the pony backed away, resisting. One of its hooves slipped as a rush of snow cascaded from the cliff.
Raga Var grabbed Siescu. “Let go of the rope!” He pulled the destrar to shelter as the shower of ice and snow came down, scaring the ponies, which turned and bolted. Rocks tumbled down with more snow, and he could no longer see what had happened to the animals. Both were gone.
Siescu stared in shock, but the scout drew him on, urgently trying to keep him moving. “This way, Destrar. We still have to go over this defile, and then we’ll find shelter, I promise.”
Raga Var seemed frightened now, and Siescu was so cold he couldn’t even feel distressed at the loss of the ponies. “Freezing…Do you think it’s getting colder?”
The wind howled, and the snow was thicker than before. Raga Var trudged several steps ahead, waited for Siescu to catch up, then trudged a little farther. Finally, the path widened, and large gray rocks jutted out. The scout pulled him around a corner, where the wind became blessedly quieter, although the cold seemed even more bone-chilling than before.
“This is the most sheltered place I can find, Destrar. You can sit here.” The scout found two large boulders and guided Siescu to them, brushing away the snow with his bare hands. The rock shelter trapped and circulated the wind, blowing the snow around in endlessly changing patterns. Though he moved with clear anxiety, Raga Var didn’t even seem cold. “We’ll be protected from the worst of the storm.” He gazed into the thick, blinding whiteness. “Though after the snow passes, we will have difficult going the rest of the way along the road.”
“We must be close to Stoneholm,” Siescu said. “It’ll be warm there.”
“We’re still two days’ journey out, Destrar.”
“Oh. That is…unfortunate.” He huddled down, pulling his cloak and furs closed against the chill, then looked around, dazed. “I had another blanket, but it was with the ponies.”
Raga Var’s face showed genuine concern for him. “Would you like a fire, Destrar? I’ll try to find wood, some scrub brush, kindling.”
Siescu’s teeth chattered. He looked up, saw only swirling snow. “You’ll never find wood in this whiteout.”
“I’ll find wood, Destrar. Just stay here and wait for me. I’ll bring you a fire.”
“Yes, then…a fire would be nice.” He hunched over, pulling his warm garments close, but he couldn’t stop shivering. Raga Var bounded off and within seconds vanished in the swirl of snowflakes.
Raga Var was gone less than an hour, searching in cracks where hardy mountain vegetation would grow. He returned to the sheltered place where he had left Destrar Siescu, worried that he’d been away too long. In his arms he carried dry scrub, twigs, grasses—enough to start a small campfire, he was sure, though it wouldn’t burn long. Regardless, the destrar would be pleased to have the fire. Raga Var hoped it would be enough.
When he came back to the clearing, he saw Siescu still sitting hunched in his cloak and furs. Always cold, the man had never stopped digging deep mines in hopes of finding the last spark of the cooling Fires of Creation. Raga Var had never understood the obsession.
After living most of his life in the wilds, the scout knew how to endure shifting temperatures and could make himself comfortable no matter what situation he was in—although now, he had to admit, it was bone-chillingly cold. The blizzard intimidated him, and he doubted even he could find the narrow mountain road after such a snowfall. They were in a very bad situation.
He dropped the pile of twigs and kindling in front of Siescu, pleased with himself. “See, Destrar? I told you I’d find enough for a fire.” He bent over, took out his flint and steel, and shielded the pile of combustible material with his own body. He struck three times until a strong spark leaped out, catching the grasses. “This will warm you, Destrar. Just a moment more.”
Though Siescu didn’t answer him, the scout continued to nurse the fire until the blaze caught and flames rose bright and golden in the swirling blizzard. “Here, Destrar, lean forward, and warm yourself.”
But Siescu didn’t answer. When Raga Var investigated, he found that the Corag destrar would never move again. The man had frozen entirely solid. Even his eyes, though wide open, were solid ice.
It was not possible in such a short time, yet Raga Var could not doubt what he saw. The blizzard had stolen all the heat from Destrar Siescu’s body, leaving only this icy statue, frozen through to the marrow. Siescu’s pale, hairless face was lined with frost.
Raga Var sat back heavily, but kept adding twigs to the fire, building it brighter. He looked into the petrified face of the man who had been so kind to him. “I’ll just sit here awhile, Destrar,” he said. “I’ll feed the fire for you until I run out of wood, so it can keep you warm.”
Outside of the small sheltered area, the storm continued to worsen, and impenetrable winter settled in over the Corag mountains. In the wind’s voice, Raja Var thought he heard a frost giant laughing.