325
The next morning arrives bright and windless. The sun pierces the thin layer of cloud, bathing the east in a soft pink glow. This beautiful vision reminds you that your Kai masters once told you that the light of Kalte is unlike anywhere else in Magnamund. With tent and equipment packed, you leave the pass and venture out onto the Hrod Basin; one hundred miles of open ice now lie between you and Storm Giant Pass.
At first, the journey is easy. The Basin has been worn smooth by the wind and no crevasses lurk unseen beneath the hard, dense snow. But at dawn on the third day, events take a turn for the worse. You are awoken from a deep sleep by Dyce shaking your shoulder. He is frightened. ‘What’s wrong?’ you ask, still bleary-eyed and sleepy.
‘Ice Barbarians … on the horizon. Twenty, maybe more. Five wind sledges and a warrior escort. I think they’ve seen us.’
In an instant, you have all climbed out of your sleeping furs and begun to pack away the tent. Dyce is correct, they are Ice Barbarians and they are heading towards you from the west. ‘If they catch us, we’re as good as dead,’ says Fenor, as he ties the last of the equipment to the sledge.
The Ice Barbarians of Kalte are a fierce and war-like race of nomads. For thousands of years they have travelled this icy wasteland, trapping furs and herding mammoths. Their only contact with the rest of Magnamund is through the trading post of Ljuk. In summer, when the coast around Ljuk is free from ice, they journey there to trade their furs for weapons and tools, as there is no iron or wood in Kalte. They hate all except their own kind, and kill anyone they find who dares to trespass in their icy domain. You soon hear their war-cries less than three miles distant, and for the first time since you landed, you pray for a blizzard to hide your escape.
