In the High Pass
by Alcuin Fromm
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Table of Contents parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 |
Uncertainty rules in the Empire. Strange tidings from beyond the Harrun Mountains fill the men of the Western realms with apprehension, and a renewed Imperial tolerance of the Magician’s Guild divides the Great Families. Nowhere is the seething anxiety more apparent than in House Ælliri.
Some of the wise and honorable Ælliri can see the gathering storm. Others are not so wise, and still others are not so honorable. Accompanied by his three sons, the Duke of Ælliri brings the Second Army to camp in the High Pass, occupying the strategic entry into the Duchy.
But there is another reason for the Duke’s campaign in the mountains: a dangerous gamble that has more to do with legend than with politics. He sets out from camp one day with the eldest of his three sons. The remaining two will have to deal with the consequences.
part 3
Inside Doustian’s tent, Pavill paced back and forth in smoldering rage. Doustian sat at a small writing stand, quill in hand and lost in thought. He had the habit of busying himself with administration whenever he felt nervous. Since the arrival of Læynolde and Oluumber-Lenn not two hours earlier, he had already composed five letters.
Oluumber-Lenn finally swept open the tent flap and entered, his face bearing a grave, exhausted expression. He lowered and sealed the flap, but a chill still passed through the interior. Doustian rose to stoke the fire in a nearby brazier. Even Pavill could not suppress a shiver, despite the boiling in his blood.
“What is the meaning of this, Guildsman?” he said, storming to Oluumber-Lenn and planting himself in front of the old man.
Oluumber-Lenn frowned and sighed. “I could not...” he began, and he rubbed his forehead, wincing in pain.
“I have never liked Læynolde. I have never trusted her,” said Pavill as he returned to his pacing. “No one, not even Doustian, ever thought her marriage to Cenn was anything other than politically expedient for her own execrable House Thurst.”
Doustian furrowed his brow at the unintentional insult. Pavill continued without noticing while Oluumber-Lenn squinted and grimaced, massaging his temples.
“And, and, Father’s hand was forced into the whole debacle by that fat sow, the Duchess of Thurst. But not even I, in my most fevered nightmares, could have expected her to bring the Guild into our family.”
Pavill stopped again in front of Oluumber-Lenn and folded his arms. “And you let it happen,” Pavill said in a quiet, frightening voice.
“Do you think this is my fault? That I want this chaos?” said Oluumber-Lenn.
Pavill narrowed his eyes, but he held his tongue. Oluumber-Lenn stared back at the young man whom he had helped educate and raise since infancy. For a brief moment, anger seized the chancellor, but he regained control of his emotions, seeing in Pavill’s familiar, irascible gaze merely a grown-up version of the same willful child he had known and loved. He furrowed his brow and began his own pacing.
“Then what the blazes is she doing here?” said Pavill. “And where did he come from? Why is he here? What do they want?”
Doustian walked over to Oluumber-Lenn and placed a reassuring hand on the old man’s shoulder. “Go ahead and tell us what you can, Uncle,” he said in a calm voice.
Oluumber-Lenn stopped his pacing and sat at Doustian’s writing stand, letting his head collapse onto his folded arms. “I wish I knew what they wanted,” he said, groaning and lifting his head. “And I wish this horrible headache would go away. He simply showed up at our caravan on the first day out of Vayria. I objected, of course, but they both kept repeating that she was part of House Ælliri and had a right to be there with whomever she wanted. Technically, she’s not doing anything forbidden.”
“Yes, and technically it’s not forbidden to cut the noses off the servants, but one simply does not do it,” said Pavill.
“They insisted on accompanying us to retrieve Cenn’s body and return it for burial,” said Oluumber-Lenn. “Læynolde said she wished to pay respects to her departed husband.”
“Nonsense,” said Pavill.
“I would agree,” said Oluumber-Lenn. “But here they are.” He paused, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, then slowly opened them again. “Now you tell me something, my lord. What news of Duke Rikkon? What happened to him and to Cenn?”
Pavill motioned to Doustian, who cleared his throat and steeled himself to recall the sorrowful event. “Father and Cenn went out with three other men on a special mission. They intended to travel only as far as the South Pass, then return the same way.”
“Tell him why,” said Pavill.
The tone irked Doustian, and he shot a nasty glance at Pavill. Their older brother was dead, thought Doustian, their father was missing and perhaps also dead, and yet Pavill could still not refrain from being snide.
“Father wanted to make contact with the Fmoi,” said Doustian
“What? The Mountain Dwellers?” said Oluumber-Lenn.
“The mythical Mountain Dwellers,” said Pavill with disdain, “whom no one has seen or heard from for generations.”
“Even you in your skepticism can’t deny their existence, Pavill.”
“No, Brother, I don’t doubt that they may have existed. They may have existed long ago. But anymore? It was a fool’s errand to begin with. And now...” He paused, reflecting. “And now things are worse,” he finished.
“What of the attack?” said Oluumber-Lenn.
“We know little with any certitude,” said Doustian. “Cenn was the only member of the group that returned and he... died without telling us very much.”
“No one else came back?” said Oluumber-Lenn in disbelief.
“Not here,” said Pavill. “We hoped that someone might have gone to Vayria.”
“No, my lord,” said Oluumber-Lenn, “and no messages. Have you sent out a search party?”
“Of course,” said Pavill, annoyed, “we have a constant rotation of search parties day and night.”
“And?”
“Nothing,” said Doustian. “We haven’t even located the site of the attack. We do know two things, however. First, before he died, Cenn said that Father was coming and that we had to hold the Pass.”
“But he didn’t say anything more?” said Oluumber-Lenn.
“No,” said Doustian in a whisper, “he could barely speak even those words.”
“What else?” asked Oluumber-Lenn.
Doustian shook his head to regain his concentration. “The second thing is that we recognized the arrows that killed Cenn. Their fletching with black feathers is a very particular style used by only one group. Emter Noon and his revolutionaries.”
“That brigand?” said Oluumber-Lenn. “That’s all we need.”
“He hides his numbers,” said Doustian, “but Emter must have as many as five hundred swords with him at any time, traveling and hiding in smaller, mobile groups, then forming together for larger actions. You know as well as we do, Uncle, what kind of damage he has already caused the Duchy. Father and Cenn were travelling incognito on their mission, no Ælliri colors. It seems probable that Emter espied them, thought they were a mere band of travelers, and fell upon them.”
“No one knew that Emter was in the area?” said Oluumber-Lenn.
“No,” said Doustian.
Pavill clenched his fists in anger. “That bastard!” he whispered in a slow, terrifying voice. “I am going to kill the son of a whore with my own hands for what he’s done.”
“If we can find him,” said Doustian.
“I’ll find him.”
Oluumber-Lenn suddenly cried out in pain. He covered his face with his hands then looked at his palms, smeared with blood from his nose.
“Uncle, you should see the surgeon and then rest. All of this is too much for you,” said Doustian.
“Yes... yes,” he said, standing on uneasy legs. “I just can’t get rid of this headache. I should rest for a while.”
“I’ll assist you,” said Doustian.
Oluumber-Lenn nodded, then allowed Doustian to escort him by the arm out of the tent. Pavill walked to the writing stand and slowly sat down, his wide eyes fixed on nothing, thoughts of death and violence racing through his mind.
* * *
To be continued...
Copyright © 2022 by Alcuin Fromm
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