The Wysard (Waterspell 2) by Lightfoot Deborah J

Author:Lightfoot, Deborah J. [Lightfoot, Deborah J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Seven Rivers Publishing
Published: 2013-01-01T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

White Death

They were a week in the high mountains before Carin’s legs stopped hurting. Snowshoeing uphill and down—mostly up—was a painful slog, even with five surefooted Trosdan deer, a sled, and two fellow hikers going in front to pack the trail.

Welwyn’s deer were what made this march up the mountains possible, Carin had realized before they were a day gone from the monk’s glen. Not only did the stout little beasts haul a storehouse-worth of supplies while breaking trail over snow that horses would have floundered in up to their girths, the deer had an uncanny knack for knowing where the trail was.

“The path is faint, at best,” Welwyn had warned them. “In winter it vanishes under the snow. Trust the deer to find the way, or be lost in two days’ time.”

And so the hardy beasts led them, as they might lead adventurers in a droll-teller’s tale, on long traverses up steep slopes. Gaining the crests, they kept to the ridgetops as much as possible, where the wind compacted the snow and made walking easier.

The two deer directly in front of the sled—the heaviest, most muscular of the team—bore the brunt of the pulling, while the three lighter animals in the traces ahead of them took turns at the lead. Their harness was ingeniously designed so that, with a quick interchange of iron rings and catches, the lead animal could be put in the middle of the string to rest, while those which had followed second and third moved up to take their turns at trail-breaking.

Lanse proved as sure a hand with deer as with horses. He walked behind the sled, holding a snubbing line for downhill braking. A long rein in his other hand gave him a modicum of control over the lead animal. By twitching it this way and that, and yelling “Dey!” or “Doy!” he could alter the team’s course just enough—most of the time—to keep the sled from hanging up in trees or on rocks that protruded from the snow.

For all their willing work and their sure skills as pathfinders, the beasts seemed endlessly surprised by the sled that they pulled. Each time it lodged against some obstacle they’d pranced over or skirted too near, the five would strain in their harnesses, struggling to walk on, their confusion showing in their eyes when they could not progress. Then it became Carin’s job to trudge to the head of the train, take the lead deer by its noseband, and force it and thus all of the bewildered creatures to back up, to slacken the ropes between the team and the sled.

By the time Lanse and Verek had the sleigh free of whatever held it, the deer would be frantic to get going again. When the wizard signaled her to release them and Carin stood aside, the team would take off at a trot, the three snowshoers hard-pressed to keep up. No amount of Lanse’s shouting or hauling back on the lines would slow them until they’d made up for the delay.

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