"Careful ! Make sure your safety line is secure !"
The leader of the group was Thormid, probably the most experienced climber among the Niandi Dwarves. But four of his six-dwarf team were relatively inexperienced, youngsters who needed to be watched over and guided every step of the way.
They were three quarters of the way up Fimbulheart. It was one of the tallest peaks in the Niandi Mountains although that range, harsh as it was, shrank into insignificance compared to the fearsome orc-infested Ingrim Mountains to the northeast. The Niandi were an old mountain range, many of the peaks weathered soft by aeons of winter storms. But Fimbulheart was still a daunting challenge for all but the most experienced climbers.
The team's goal was to climb to just above the snowline, to search out the frigid ponds and pools of icy meltwater which clung to the hollows and crevices near the peak. They were almost there now, working their way up safety lines hammered into steep rock faces by previous climbers over the years.
Those safety lines weren't rope; the harsh weather would make them unsafe after a mere season or two. Instead, they were fine but almost unbreakable mithril chains, running through eyelets in pitons that had been melded to the rock through liberal use of stoneshape spells.
Image by David Mark from Pixabay
"I wish we could have just flown up here," grumbled Halfassson. "It would be so much quicker and easier."
Despite muttering it under his breath, Halfassson was surprised to find that Thormid had heard him. "There's not a lot that can fly safely in the treacherous gales up here, boy. Most of what can would rather eat your fat arse for dinner than be your personal carriage. Now save your breath, stop whinging, and climb."
It was just after midday on the third day of climbing that they finally reached the region they had been aiming for. Instead of ascending, they started to work horizontally, looking for the pools that dotted the area.
It didn't take long to find what they were seeking. "I can see some !" called Halfassson, pointing to his right.
Thormid shaded his eyes with his left hand, and grunted affirmatively. "I reckon you're right, boy. Maybe you're some use to us after all. Well lads, gather up what you can reach, but be careful."
The team moved to the edges of the pool. It was a snow-ringed hollow some thirty feet across, with no visible bottom. They knew that falling in or even setting foot in the water would be a death sentence. The freezing water would soak through their thick leather boots and protective garments, and the bitter wind would suck all the heat from them like a vampire. Hypothermia would kill them in less than an hour, and there was no shelter up here to save them.
Their solution was to work in pairs, unravelling cords they had in their packs, holding them taught one each side of the pool, then using them to dragging the blossoms to the edge. There, they could be picked out, dried briefly and wrapped in squares of protective felt.
"Why are these things so valuable ? Aren't they just flowers ?" asked Jarrvin, the youngest dwarf in the team. It was his first climb.
Thormid grinned. "Not just flowers, my lad. These are Pink Lilies. Priests may make nice religious healing potions out of holy water, prayers, and ground up bits of saints. But if you want a good healing potion that hasn't had some old duffer muttering over it, you use these."
He paused for a moment, gathering a few lilies before continuing. "This lot should be especially lucrative. There's some chap asking for a whole load of them at top price. Says he's invented a new potion, calling it his Medicinal Compound. Says it's efficacious in every case, going to save the human race. Don't know if it's true, but he'll pay top dollar for pink lilies, and we'll all drink to his success if it makes us as much money as he's promising."
