Free Soldiers of Ice by David Cook

Astriphie’s ice-whitened remains. “So I’m supposed to trust you because you
    aren’t a paladin anymore?” she breathed, the words
    forming ice crystals in the air.
    “I
    woke up one day and my god was gone. I did not sin, if that is what you are thinking.” The man carefully cleaned his knife and slipped it back in its sheath, defensively aware of her unwavering gaze. “It was during the Time of Troubles.
    One morning I woke up and Torm was no longer there.
    Before that day, I could always sense Torm’s purpose in everything. That day the feeling was gone. Torm had disappeared, as a good many of the gods did.”

Martine only
    remembered the Time of Troubles somewhat vaguely.
    She had been young and had not yet taken up the adventuring life. For her, the gods and their turmoils had seemed distant compared to Giles, the prefect’s son, who lived just down the lane.
    ‘q’orm came
    back, though. You could still be a paladin.” Vil spoke softly but resonantly, his voice carrying force across the frozen gap. “Life is never simple. When Torm left me, I was suddenly on my own for the first time in my life, and—and I liked it. You could not know the freedom I felt.”

now
    you want me to trust you? Martine thought. Perhaps it was a raised eyebrow or a quirk in her face that prompted Vil to speak. “I give you my word I will return. I
    am still an honest man, Martine of Sembia. A lifetime of training does not evaporate into thin air overnight.” The man rose with firm resolution, shouldering the saddlebag to go. “Besides, there is no choice. You will not leave, and two cannot stay. I will find you here in four days. Take care, and good fortune in your mission, Harper.”

Martine knew
    she could protest. She could stand out on this glacier arguing until they both froze, but their time spent trading secrets had already chilled her to the bone,
     
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    The Harpers
     
    and she knew the ex-paladin was right. There was no choice. “Travel safely,” she offered. “In four days, you’ll find me here.”
    The words practically vanished in the wind, and the former paladin bent forward as he turned into the gale to
    begin his journey. The Harper didn’t waste any time watching him leave, but instead busied herself gathering up the supplies, the bulk of which he’d left behind. As she worked, the ice heaved again, this time hurling her to the ground with its violence. Three More tremors, each almost as fierce, struck before Martine started toward the edge of the rift.
    The hike was no More than a mile, and the woman made good time with the snowshoes that had survived the crash, a miracle for which Martine thanked Tymora, the mistress of luck. The snow was deeper and softer here, much of it fresh powder from the seething fountain that created its own massive cloud overhead. Through the cloud, light from the the noontime sun was deflected into a million sparkling motes of swirling silver frost. She found that looking at it directly burned her eyes, but at least it distracted her from the ground glare that might otherwise blind her.
    As she drew near the fissure, the tremors and the roaring swelled like some fulsome giant struggling to break its frozen chains. The rift had pushed the glacier’s crust upward and outward to form a ridgelike cone. Not knowing how close she needed to be for the seals to work, the Harper elected to climb to the rim, in order to be certain of success. Besides, coming this far, she had to satisfy her curiosity. No doubt, she rationalized, Jazrac would appreciate an eyewitness description of the rupture.
    The base of the slope was a jagged mass of icy scree.
    Closer now, Martine watched how with each surge, great ice blocks have over the crack’s broken edge, some to fall back inside while others tumbled down the slope. Bound-Soldiers of !ce
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    ing and crashing, these arctic boulders smashed into others below with sharp cracks that sometimes triggered other shifts and slides in the