Snowcastles & Icetowers Page 16

  The longer he waited, the more concerned he became. He was not frightened of any two people in the Three Tiers, but he realized that these two must have an important, even desperate, purpose for their pursuit.

  He finally recognized the bent shape of the wizard Moag and the slim figure of Mara, bundled and constricted by heavy layers of clothing. The two were struggling against the snow, their clothes, and their own unfamiliarity with the thin air. Mara was helping her grandfather, but Moag was still having difficulty negotiating the crusted snow.

  The sight of the two Underworlders made the Tyrant even more concerned. Not only would they not ordinarily seek him out, he thought, but things had to be desperate indeed for them to brave the cold and the snow. He turned and hurried toward them, his long strides barely breaking the crust of the snow.

  The two laboring figures stopped when they saw him coming, and as he neared he saw that they were breathing heavily. Moag was bent over a cane and did not even raise his head. Mara rested lightly against the hump of his back. She tried to smile at the sight of the Tyrant.

  Greylock did not wait for them to catch their breath.

  “What’s happened?” he demanded. Their expressions were distorted by more than their efforts and the snows, he thought.

  Mara caught her breath first. “There is fighting,” she managed to say before gasping for another breath.

  Greylock could only stare at her in disbelief while she rested further. He had expected an attack from the Underworlders ever since the Room of Glyden had been unearthed; Gartlett had warned him of as much. But he had not expected an assault so soon after Redfrock and Silverfrost had left the High Plateau. The two conspirators had not been idle in the time they had shared a snowcastle, Greylock thought in alarm.

  “But how did they get past Castle Guardian?” he demanded. The wizard and Mara had recently moved out of Castle Tyrant as threatened, and into the ancient snowcastle overlooking the only entrance into the High Plateau from the Gateway.

  “Mayor Tarelton!” the wizard managed to spit out in his fury. The wizard and the mayor had been enemies from the day they had met. He had warned Greylock many times of Tarelton’s treachery, but until now the Tyrant had thought the mayor was safely under the restraint of his own people. “He was at our castle last night!”

  “Early this morning, while we slept, the guards were overwhelmed by the soldiers of Bordertown,” Mara explained. “Tarelton must have let them in.”

  “But why would the people of Bordertown attack us?” Greylock asked in dismay. He had been certain that the two peoples would remain allies, that the tensions would not reach conflict. How had Tarelton escaped the control of the farmers?

  “They are not alone, Greylock,” Moag said grimly. “They have help from Trold.”

  “You must try to escape, Greylock!” Mara said. “You cannot fight the armies of King Kasid. Even if you defeat them, he will only send more. There is no end to his might!”

  “A Tyrant must fight demons no matter how hopeless it may seem,” Greylock said with a boldness he did not feel. Besides, he thought to himself, there was no escape. There was no way off the High Plateau except by the Gateway, and Castle Guardian overlooked that route. The only other possible route of escape was to go over the fhountain, and none who had dared that had returned.

  “Where is Slimspear?” he asked. Only the steward had known where he was headed, he remembered with a shock.

  “The surprise was complete,” Moag said, shaking his head. “Only we escaped, and not by natural means. By the time we reached Castle Steward it was already under assault. Slimspear remained behind to hold them as long as possible. By now he must be a prisoner. They have even taken Castle Tyrant, Greylock! If you had been there—”

  “They will not find it so easy to conquer the High Plateau!” Greylock vowed, angry at himself for not anticipating the attack. Yet, the old man was right. If he had been there, the victory would have been complete.

  But since he was not their prisoner, any victory would be costly. The people of the High Plateau would not welcome the demons invading their homeland, he thought, and even now, most of the citizens of the High Plateau were certain that all Underworlders were demons. They would rally behind their Tyrant rather than let someone else rule the High Plateau with the aid of demons. Carrell Redfrock would be forced to lay siege to each and every snowcastle.

  “Are you going to fight?” Mara asked.

  “The other snowcastles must be warned,” he said in answer. “I must not go myself. Above all, I must not be caught or all resistance will cease.”

  Greylock knew that despite their hatred of the demons, his people would not fight without the Tyrant. If Carrell Redfrock succeeded in defeating him, he would become the next Tyrant, no matter how distasteful that might be to the people.

  “I think I can reach the nearest of the snowcastles, Greylock,” the wizard volunteered. “From there messengers can be sent to the others. But where will you be?”

  “I will be at Castle Priest. Since the ice tunnels do not extend all the way, the Underworlders will have to fight their way over the snows to reach it. Tell my people what I have said, Moag.”

  Greylock knew that he did not hold the love of his people any more than any Tyrant. But the citizens of the High Plateau were accustomed to following their Tyrant’s orders, until that Tyrant was replaced by another. They would fight for him as long as he stayed free and alive.

  “Tell them to harry the Underworlders,” he continued. “But not to fight to the last man. Have them retreat slowly to Castle Priest.”

  The two of them immediately turned to leave at his orders, but he called Mara back.

  “Stay with me a while, Mara,” he said. When she still hesitated, he realized that she had misunderstood him and added hurriedly, “I need your powers as a wind witch, Mara. You may be able to save my people from a great deal of bloodshed.”

  “My grandfather has difficulty traversing the snow,” she said doubtfully.

  “I will be fine, Mara,” the wizard assured her. “I can make it to the nearest snowcastle. It is not far, and I shall be going downhill.”

  Reluctantly, she agreed, and the trio split apart, traveling in opposite directions. Mara watched anxiously over her shoulders until the black speck that was her grandfather disappeared into the white expanse. The old man appeared to be moving much faster than they were, but again Greylock knew this was an illusion.

  The slope became progressively steeper beneath Castle Priest, for the snowcastle was set against the very walls of Godshome. Terraces of snow were piled under the castle, making access difficult, which was exactly what the priests wanted.

  Greylock intently examined the terraces of snow. The ice was piled high in huge blocks behind the barriers of rock and wood, and the snow pack was wet and heavy. The embankments had been erected in Greylock’s youth to hold back the constant avalanches that had plagued earlier generations. It had been the sole innovation of Tyrant Ironclasp’s reign, and the idea had come from a young nephew with a lock of gray hair. The stone barrier had worked beyond his expectations, and there had not been a major avalanche since.

  Greylock had been worried that the recent tremors might have weakened the barriers, and it was the excuse of inspecting them that he had intended to use when he dropped in on Castle Priest. He saw now that the barriers were secure, though the snows had accumulated to unprecedented and frightening heights.

  “Would you be able to send those snows down the slope?” he asked Mara, pointing to the crests.

  “I have told you before, Greylock,” she answered, when she saw what he meant to do. “I do not wish to use my powers of magic. Besides, I am not a water witch. Only the winds will respond to my urgings.”

  Greylock frowned impatiently. “But if I were to have some of the barriers weakened, could you summon a wind strong enough to start an avalanche?”

  “That might be possible,” she said, thoughtfully. “But I would not be
able to stop it once it had started.”

  “We have rebuilt before,” Greylock shrugged. “The demons must not be allowed to win.”

  Even as he said it, Greylock wondered if he was right, and that it was concern for his people and not for himself that made him risk the snowcastles. But he was strangely certain that Carrell Redfrock would be a worse calamity than any the High Plateau had yet faced.

  Greylock watched the developing battle from the turret of Castle Priest’s icetower. At first the Gatekeepers had objected strenuously to having their snowcastle made into a fortress, but when Greylock had explained that it was the Underworlders—the demons—who were attacking the High Plateau, the Gatekeepers had been transformed from his greatest obstacles to his most avid helpers. He did not need to point out that if the demons should succeed in conquering the mountain it was doubtful that the Gatekeepers would be allowed to continue practicing their religion.

  Surely the gods would not stand for such a sacrilege! they had protested loudly. Why that would be as unthinkable as the people of the High Plateau seeking to storm Godshome!

  Greylock had never seen the old Gatekeepers so energetic, or more willing to contribute their ideas and wisdom.

  The Underworlders were having difficulty moving through the snows, as Greylock had hoped, and the more mobile and experienced mountain climbers from the plateau were harassing them from a distance.

  But numbers were beginning to tell, and the Underworld army was slowly advancing. Somehow the demons had discovered where Greylock was waiting, and they were moving unswervingly toward Castle Priest. The black column was surrounded by the disordered specks of the defenders, who darted in occasionally to engage the enemy. Other dots, from both armies, were left behind in the snow, unmoving.

  A few of the younger priests had agreed to serve as messengers, and now Greylock turned to one and barked, “Have them fall away! We need men up here working at the barriers. Tell the commanders to leave only enough men to slow the enemies’ advance.”

  He caught Keyholder looking at him speculatively from the corner of his eyes. His old teacher never seemed to approve of any of Greylock’s actions, and this had not changed with time. The tall, fragile man with bright eyes set in a wrinkled face maintained a demeanor that was slightly disapproving. Greylock suspected that the attitude was meant to keep the younger priests working hard, and his students self- conscious.

  “Do you approve, Keyholder?”

  “Approve?” The old priest raised his eyebrows quizzically.

  “I mean the tearing down of the barriers.”

  “What if the snows should bury the icemelts? It. could be months before it all melts away.” The question sounded merely curious, as if he were only testing his former student to see if he had thought of all the consequences.

  “We will just have to hope that the old walls hold,” Greylock replied. “There is no other choice, Keyholder! At worst, some of the snowcastles will survive. But if the demons should win, nothing of our life will endure.”

  Keyholder raised his eyebrows again, and for a few moments Greylock was sure that the old man would question the logic of his statement, or would rebuke him. But the old man said nothing. Sometimes, Greylock thought, it was difficult to remember that he was no longer the rebellious student when he was with Keyholder, but rather Tyrant of the High Plateau and answerable to no one.

  Suddenly, he noticed that Mara was not standing beside him in the icetower, and he realized that he had not seen her in some time. He called out sharply for one of the messenger priests.

  But before he could send the Gatekeepers hurrying after her, Keyholder volunteered the information.

  “The girl is looking for her grandfather. She was afraid that he had not been told, and that he would be caught in the flow of the avalanche.”

  The young priest was still standing at his side. “Find her,” he directed. “There is not much time. If she is worried about her grandfather, remind her that he is a fire wizard and can take care of himself.”

  The Underworld army was coming dangerously close to the last redoubts, he noticed. As they waited, he paced the parapet of the icetower, while Keyholder calmly watched him.

  Greylock wished irritably that his old teacher would go away, but he dared not insult Keyholder. The Gatekeepers of the High Plateau had been known to defy even Tyrants if it was in their own best interests. Keyholder, with his influence over the priests, was his most valuable ally at this moment.

  The young Gatekeeper, still resisting halfheartedly, finally rushed Mara into the room. She was out of breath, and angry with Greylock for not letting her warn her grandfather.

  “I can’t find him, Greylock! He told one of the soldiers that he was going to stay where he was, in one of the lower snowcastles. He said he was too old for fighting. What if he is buried? What if my magic were to kill him?”

  Greylock grabbed her harshly by her shoulders. “We have no more time to look for him, Mara! If you do not summon the wind now, we will all perish. It is time that you thought of yourself, Mara. You cannot spend your youth looking after an old man.”

  When she still hesitated, he added, with as cold a tone as he could muster, “I will destroy the barriers, Mara, even if you do not help us. But it will mean sacrificing many of my own men beneath the snows. I do not want anyone under that avalanche when it goes, but I will order it if I have to.”

  She did not answer, but stared down at the glacier with a pale, strained expression.

  The barriers were constructed of stone pillars at intervals along the face of the slope, lined by logs. The lumber had been awkwardly knocked away, with just enough of the timber left to hold the snows. There was no way in the short time given to them to pull out the last of the logs without sacrificing men. This is the rea: son why he had wanted her to add the force of her magic.

  “Are you ready, Mara?” he asked softly, guiding her gently toward the balcony. “Do you need to be closer?”

  He saw that she was yielding to his words. As she moved forward compliantly in his arms, Greylock whispered to the young priest over his shoulder, trying not to disturb her resolve.

  “Tell the remaining soldiers to retreat behind the barriers! Quickly! There is no turning back!”

  The last man had barely scrambled behind the terraces before Greylock whispered softly to Mara. The concentration in her pale face grew intense, and a lock of hair fell over her forehead unnoticed. At first there did not seem to be any change in the air currents, only a puzzled silence from the Underworld army. Greylock began to grow fearful that the demons would surmount this last defense before it came down on them. The Underworld army seemed to be startled by the sudden retreat. But finally, fatally mistaking the type of trap that was in store for them, they began to advance.

  Mara’s eyebrows curved downward severely, her green eyes became vacant, her jaw fell slack. Softly at first, and then more noticeably, Greylock began to feel a wind on his cheeks, a cold breeze coming from the frigid heights of Godshome. Then the wind became gusty, kicking up particles of ice, which were sent painfully into the faces of the Underworlders.

  Belatedly, Greylock realized that this blinding storm alone might have been enough to turn the tide of battle. But it was too late for second thoughts. The brief gale was just a warning of the storm that was gathering above.

  When the storm finally engulfed the High Plateau, it was as if one of the mighty storms of Godshome had descended full force upon the lower reaches of the mountain, to remind them that the mountain possessed the power to destroy them. As a child, Greylock had watched the tempests on the peaks of Godshome with a frightened and fascinated imagination. It had seemed to him that the gods were fighting among themselves, or playing with bolts of lightning. The storms of the High Plateau were just hints of those winds.

  Now one of those storms had come down from the mountain with devastating force. The mild afternoon wind turned into a gale that had the men of both armies grabbing anything that
seemed more bulky and secure than themselves. Some were sent rolling over the terraces, and down onto the crusty ice of the glacier.

  The Underworlders could advance no further. Greylock could barely make them out in the blizzard, futilely holding their hands over their faces, drawing their cloaks over their heads. Many had turned around, but none had started back down.

  And then it was too late. The white walls had been eaten away rapidly by the swirling winds, and now the first of the barriers buckled, bringing down the others with it.

  Greylock could hear a few forlorn cries, and then a roar that seemed to shake the very core of the mountain drowned them out. Some of the demons tried to escape by running, but they made little progress before the snows covered them. Others seemed to be facing the approaching tide defiantly.

  Then a billowing cloud of powder obscured the plateau. The spray of snow reached toward the balcony as if it wished to add them to its deadly toll. The rumble of the wave drowned out even the victorious cheers of the men standing in the icetower.

  The clouds continued to rise, but Greylock knew that the avalanche had already surged beyond them. Judging from the sound of the roar, which was receding rapidly into the distance, Greylock feared that the avalanche had flowed far down the glacier.

  The sound subsided at last, leaving in its wake a stunned silence. The cloud of powder fell on them softly, sounding like the spray of an ocean wave.

  Greylock shuddered when he thought of that deadly mass perched above his land all this time, held back by a few pillars and logs that now seemed pitifully inadequate.

  The victorious army of the High Plateau was now silent, not daring to even whisper their awe. Yet the one most shaken by the destructiveness of the avalanche was Mara.

  She stared in disbelief at the devastation that was slowly being revealed, and then turned to hide her face. Greylock went to her and took her in his arms.

  “There was no choice, Mara. It had to be done.”

  She turned her gaze up to his, and he was startled by the anger he saw there.