Chapter 2

Roland woke the next morning, much refreshed. He had told his dad about the trip back, the previous night

He had been awoken by one of the drivers, to find snow that was piling up, and no sign of it stopping. He had made the decision to stay at their camping location.

Luckily, the snow had tapered off, and had stopped later that day. The teamsters' horses got a day of rest, and Roland had scouted the road a bit. He described what he found to the teamsters. They said that their horses should be able to pull the wagon, though they would be slower than normal.

The drivers had walked out to the road, also. They walked down it a ways, and back to the camp. With the information that Roland provided, the decision to proceed was not a hard one. They had been prepared to camp out in their location for a week, if necessary. They were quite happy that it was not.

Roland was surprised when his dad kept the young girl on. He felt he could take care of his father, but his dad reminded him that since he was laid up, it was up to Roland to go out and run all the trap lines. That would take about three days, in this weather.

Berandal and Roland discussed the best route; where to start, and where Roland would sleep the nights. The worst of the trip would be the traps set partway up the mountain. Not very far up, but even with snowshoes, it would be a scramble. Berandal suggested that Roland go to the traps set farthest up the mountainside, first. That way he would climb the mountainside while fresh, and work his way downhill, instead of up.

Making up a pack, and stocking it with five days of food (two days extra for emergencies), Roland prepared for his trip. He ate a hearty lunch, and an even better supper. If he was going to set out in the cold and snow, he wanted to be as strong and fresh as possible.

The next morning he woke early. Still, Beatra had beat him in getting up. The main room of the cabin was already warming, and the smell of cooking filled the air. Roland wolfed down a breakfast of ham, bread, and a breakfast cake smothered in butter and honey.

As light of the morning sun finally filtered through the branches, he went out carrying his backpack. It contained everything he would need for the trip. He dressed lightly, as he did not want to sweat heavily in his clothes. There was nothing worse than soaking your clothing with moisture, then having it freeze when you stopped.

After getting his snowshoes on, he shouldered his pack. His heavier cloak had been folded and placed in his backpack. With a final farewell, he set off at a slow but steady pace. At first he was chilly; but after a short time he warmed to his task, and became very comfortable.

He would stop and rest when he felt himself becoming overly tired, or too warm. He did not want to exhaust himself on the first day out! Three hours later he stopped and removed his backpack and snowshoes, and made himself comfortable for his noon meal.

It was ham on bread. Also, there was 'journey cake', which he liked well enough. After devouring it, he sat for a few minutes and reviewed the route he would take. He had made good time so far, but in the next hour he would hit the slope of the mountainside. Then it would start getting difficult.

Finally, when he started to get cold, Roland groaned and put his snowshoes back on, as well as his pack. He had drunk almost all of his canteen of water, and would have to refill it at the creek. People never did seem to realize how bad it was not to drink enough water in the winter months.

After walking for almost thirty minutes, he came upon the creek. He found a place and filled his canteen to the top. It was good fresh water, clean and cold. He drank his fill, and topped off the canteen. Finally, he moved out, again. The way became steeper.

There was only two hours of sunlight left, when he came upon the first of the upper trap lines. He stopped and rested, briefly, then started following the line. He took the precaution of having his bow out, just in case.

They had caught nothing so far. Half the traps in the upper section, and nothing. Roland frowned. There should have at least gotten snow hares if nothing else. Finally, he came upon something he had only seen once before.

This trap had apparently caught a fox. The fox had gnawed off its foot, in order to get away. He sighed. He felt sorry for it. He felt the blood, but it was frozen. It was impossible to say how long ago the fox had done this.

He remembered what his father had done. His father had dropped everything in order to track the wounded animal. It had to be killed, and put out of its misery. Roland set out with this new purpose in mind: to track the fox.

It was almost dark, and Roland was away from any trail or landmark he knew. He finally came upon the dead body of the fox. It had bled to death. Roland looked around. He quickly skinned out the fox, and pulled out a skin bag to put the pelt into.

Night was almost on him, and he needed to find a place to sleep. There was a small mound covered with old vines, now dead, and he thought he saw a small opening. He went and investigated. There were no tracks leading into or out of the hole in the mound.

He looked at it closely. It was not part of the mountain; at least he didn't think so. While close to a slope, it sat on a small level area. He walked around its circumference. It was about five strides in diameter, and twenty hands high. [Author's note: 15'x7'. A 'stride' is 3 feet. A 'hand' is 4 inches]

Roland took off his pack, and set about lighting one of the three torches he carried with him. Shortly he had it lit. Carefully, he thrust it into the mound through the opening.

Peering inside, he could see nothing after a couple of feet. Taking in a deep breath, he crawled into the opening, and raised the torch after he got inside. The inside was hollow, or seemed to be. He stood, and looked around.

In the shadows before him he could just make out an object of some sort. He tried to drive his torch into the ground, and discovered that the ground was very hard. It seemed to be made of stone. He held the torch down, and looked until he found a crack in the floor. Then he drove the end of his torch into it.

He removed a second torch, and lit it from the first torch. Now he had better lighting. About seven feet in front of him, was what appeared to be an altar or table.

He moved towards it. The light from the torch picked up odd reflections, but other than that, there seemed to be nothing to fear. Finally he got to the altar... no, it was not an altar. It was a coffin! He had seen something like this once, years ago, in the city.

Hundreds, if not thousands of years ago, there had been another race that had lived out here. They had vanished. Some thought in a war, some thought they had opened a magic gate and all had stepped through. Either way, sometimes men found old ruined cities, or fallen castles.

Not many, but enough to keep the scholars busy. Strange things had happened to people who found the old places. They had disappeared, or were changed somehow. The king had finally ordered that none of his people approach any of the old sites, unless accompanied by one from the wizard's guild.

That didn't stop a lot of people from going, anyway. The king had had to set up troops and have his wizards set up spells of protections around known sites. A casket of stone had been pulled through the streets of West Halston when Roland had been but ten years of age. His father had explained what it was. The final resting place of an old one.

They had never found out what was in it. When they had tried to open it later that day, a huge explosion took out the building that it had been carried into. All who were inside the building died, including two wizards from the wizard's guild. That had ended the Duke's efforts at finding out more about the old ones.

Roland felt a thrill of terror go through him. He bowed to the sarcophagus and backed away. He finally retraced his steps to where the other torch was, and looked for the hole in the wall, so as to leave. He wanted nothing to do with this unknown race.