Free The Improbable Adventures of Scar and Potbelly: Ice Terraces of Crystal Crag by Brian S. Pratt

supply of the larger, fallen branches.
    “The fire’s a risk, no doubt,” Potbelly said.
    “True, but we are far from the road and I doubt if they would bother coming up here.” Placing more fuel on the fire, he watched sparks burst and rise into the air. “If I were them, I would lay in wait for us at Cara.”
    Potbelly nodded. “I wonder if Tork told them of Matlin?”
    “Doubt that,” Scar replied. “Matlin’s a friend of his from what I gathered and he wouldn’t want to land Garrock on his friend’s doorstep.”
    Chuckling, Potbelly agreed.
    “In the morning, we’ll see if we can’t find a way east through these mountains.”
    “And there is no reason we actually need to set foot in Cara,” Potbelly said. “All we need to do is find the old wagon trail heading up into the mountains. If we circumvent the town, we should come across it.”
    “My thoughts exactly.”
    “Let Garrock cool his heels in Cara while we go get the map and the treasure.”
    Laughing, they watched the fire, made plans of what to do with the treasure once they found it, and waited for the sun to rise.
     
     
     
     
-6-
     
     
     
    When the sun climbed from its nightly rest, they took stock of the situation.  Of the trail they followed to get there, or thought they had followed, there was no sign. The rolling hills they had originally fled into had turned into mountains with steep canyons and flowing valleys.
    The Sorba Sea was nowhere in sight, mountains they had passed through now blocked it from view. They had a rough estimate where Cara lay and knew it would be a long couple of days slugging it out through the back country.
    To the east, the land dropped dramatically into a valley, beyond which rose another ridge just as steep and foreboding as the one they were about to work their way down. Trees lined the slope like soldiers on a parade ground; tall, straight, and packed together.
    A large rock protruded from the top of the ridge and they stood upon it as they sought the best way to reach the valley floor.
    “Not going to be easy,” Potbelly observed.
    Scar shook his head. “No, it won’t. But nothing for it. If we’re going to do it, it would be best if we got started.”
    They headed out and forged through tree limbs and closely packed undergrowth. Not long after beginning their descent, they encountered a game trail which provided them with slightly easier passage. It serpentined its way for an hour until reaching the banks of a stream. There it ran alongside it all the way to the bottom.
    The stream joined a river that carved its way through the bottom of the valley. They forded the water where the river widened after a bend and left the game trail behind. Once again, they slugged it out amongst the branches and bushes.
    Midway up the eastern slope they encountered a small clearing. A wisp of smoke rose from ashes within a fire ring.
    Potbelly dismounted and knelt by the pit. He used a stick to stir the ashes revealing a collection of small embers.
    From horseback, Scar surveyed the campsite. He saw a single area about the size of a bedroll where the grass had been compacted. “Looks like it was one man.”
    Stirring the ashes a moment longer, Potbelly said, “Left near sunrise best I can figure.”
    “I would agree.”
    A quick check revealed a set of footprints followed by those of either a horse or mule had departed in a general, northerly direction. Except for the rustling of the breeze through leaves, the forest was quiet and still.
    Then Potbelly caught a whiff of a rancid odor; it drew him to a cluster of bushes some distance from the clearing. A swarm of flies buzzed around a pile of recently skinned carcasses.
    “Trapper.”
    “He’d know these mountains, then,” Scar observed.
    “Yes,” agreed Potbelly, “but do we have time to find him? Even if we did there is no way to know if he’d be willing to act as a guide.”
    Scar nodded. “For all we know, he might be a friend of