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Authors: Dennis L. McKiernan
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again the land below shuddered and shivered and quaked.
* * *
Once more the predawn hours found Gwylly and Faeril lugging waterskins out to the sledmasters. Sensing the Warrows coming, eagerly the dogs got up from the burrows they had twisted in the snow and shook ice crystals from their fur, a fur so efficient that no heat escaped to melt the beds they slept in.
After a cold breakfast, again the teams began their trek toward the Grimwall, now so close that Faeril felt as if she could reach out and touch the dark mass.
’Strak! Strak!”
called the sledmasters, and the dogs hewed straightly to the course, Gwylly and Faeril, Riatha and Aravan, borne onward, across a snow gone silver grey in the low, glancing light of the Moon. Through the platinum beams they glided, and finally the late dawn lightened the skies. At last the Sun rose, though still they could not see it, travelling as they were in the shadow of the range.
On toward the mountains they ran, straight toward the rearing walls of rock and snow, occasionally the earth shuddering beneath them, quaking in the early day. High above now loomed the Grimwall, and it seemed as if the sledmasters were aiming to drive straight into the walls of granite. But at last, at the very foot of the towering face of sheer stone, they came to a wide river, flat, frozen, the wind-scoured ice dark, grey, its surface raddled with cracks.
“Venstre!”
called the sledmasters, and leftward they turned along this course, running atop the grey ice and alongside the massive flank, black with shadow.
An hour or so they ran, but of a sudden,
“Stanna!”
cried B’arr, stepping down on the footboard mounted between the runners at the back, the dragbrake cleats pressing into the ice, digging in, the sled gradually sliding to a halt as the dogs slowed to a trot and then to a walk and then stopped altogether, peering back and about.
“What is it, B’arr?” asked Faeril, throwing off furs, struggling to get up and out.
Tchuka and Ruluk brought their own sleds to a stop alongside, yet some distance away, maintaining a space betweeneach of the teams, avoiding the risk of a mêlée for dominance between
spans
.
Winning free of the sled basket, Faeril stood and repeated her question. “What is it, B’arr? What’s wrong?”
The sledmaster pointed at the ice, and where he pointed, a small spot was pink. “Blood.”
“Blöd!”
he called out to Tchuka and Ruluk.
“Sørge for din spans!”
B’arr turned to Faeril, Gwylly now at her side. “I tell them to look at dogs. Ice cut feet.”
The sledmaster began examining each dog in turn until he found two with pads slashed, cut by the sharp-edged cracks in the ice. He walked back to the sled and took up a bag, inside of which were—“Booties!” cried Faeril, laughing in spite of her concern when she saw what B’arr was doing. “Dog booties.”
“Renhud,”
grunted B’arr, smiling up at Faeril. He slipped the deerskin booties onto the feet of each patiently standing dog and pulled the drawstrings firm, tying them in place. “Protect from cut. Dogs no like, but wear while run.”
Faeril squatted beside B’arr. The damman ruffled the fur of the dog, Kano, fending off its licks. “But you will bandage them up when we stop for the night, won’t you?”
B’arr pulled another bootie onto the waiting dog’s left hind foot. “No,
Mygga
. Dog no like. Bite bandage off. Lick cut, like lick
Mygga
face. Lick clean. Make well.”
Then B’arr laughed as Kano took another lap at Faeril and again the damman fended him off. “Let Kano lick your face, little one; if you sick, he not make you well, but he make you feel better.” Again B’arr laughed, and Faeril smiled.
Off to the side, Gwylly stooped and examined one of the cracks jagging through the frozen river. In that moment the ground shuddered, and then he knew what caused the riven ice. “Sharp,” he exclaimed, drawing his thumb along the edge. “But I say, B’arr, why is
* * *
Once more the predawn hours found Gwylly and Faeril lugging waterskins out to the sledmasters. Sensing the Warrows coming, eagerly the dogs got up from the burrows they had twisted in the snow and shook ice crystals from their fur, a fur so efficient that no heat escaped to melt the beds they slept in.
After a cold breakfast, again the teams began their trek toward the Grimwall, now so close that Faeril felt as if she could reach out and touch the dark mass.
’Strak! Strak!”
called the sledmasters, and the dogs hewed straightly to the course, Gwylly and Faeril, Riatha and Aravan, borne onward, across a snow gone silver grey in the low, glancing light of the Moon. Through the platinum beams they glided, and finally the late dawn lightened the skies. At last the Sun rose, though still they could not see it, travelling as they were in the shadow of the range.
On toward the mountains they ran, straight toward the rearing walls of rock and snow, occasionally the earth shuddering beneath them, quaking in the early day. High above now loomed the Grimwall, and it seemed as if the sledmasters were aiming to drive straight into the walls of granite. But at last, at the very foot of the towering face of sheer stone, they came to a wide river, flat, frozen, the wind-scoured ice dark, grey, its surface raddled with cracks.
“Venstre!”
called the sledmasters, and leftward they turned along this course, running atop the grey ice and alongside the massive flank, black with shadow.
An hour or so they ran, but of a sudden,
“Stanna!”
cried B’arr, stepping down on the footboard mounted between the runners at the back, the dragbrake cleats pressing into the ice, digging in, the sled gradually sliding to a halt as the dogs slowed to a trot and then to a walk and then stopped altogether, peering back and about.
“What is it, B’arr?” asked Faeril, throwing off furs, struggling to get up and out.
Tchuka and Ruluk brought their own sleds to a stop alongside, yet some distance away, maintaining a space betweeneach of the teams, avoiding the risk of a mêlée for dominance between
spans
.
Winning free of the sled basket, Faeril stood and repeated her question. “What is it, B’arr? What’s wrong?”
The sledmaster pointed at the ice, and where he pointed, a small spot was pink. “Blood.”
“Blöd!”
he called out to Tchuka and Ruluk.
“Sørge for din spans!”
B’arr turned to Faeril, Gwylly now at her side. “I tell them to look at dogs. Ice cut feet.”
The sledmaster began examining each dog in turn until he found two with pads slashed, cut by the sharp-edged cracks in the ice. He walked back to the sled and took up a bag, inside of which were—“Booties!” cried Faeril, laughing in spite of her concern when she saw what B’arr was doing. “Dog booties.”
“Renhud,”
grunted B’arr, smiling up at Faeril. He slipped the deerskin booties onto the feet of each patiently standing dog and pulled the drawstrings firm, tying them in place. “Protect from cut. Dogs no like, but wear while run.”
Faeril squatted beside B’arr. The damman ruffled the fur of the dog, Kano, fending off its licks. “But you will bandage them up when we stop for the night, won’t you?”
B’arr pulled another bootie onto the waiting dog’s left hind foot. “No,
Mygga
. Dog no like. Bite bandage off. Lick cut, like lick
Mygga
face. Lick clean. Make well.”
Then B’arr laughed as Kano took another lap at Faeril and again the damman fended him off. “Let Kano lick your face, little one; if you sick, he not make you well, but he make you feel better.” Again B’arr laughed, and Faeril smiled.
Off to the side, Gwylly stooped and examined one of the cracks jagging through the frozen river. In that moment the ground shuddered, and then he knew what caused the riven ice. “Sharp,” he exclaimed, drawing his thumb along the edge. “But I say, B’arr, why is
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