In the High Pass

by Alcuin Fromm

Table of Contents parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

part 5

The next morning, Oluumber-Lenn oversaw the loading of Cenn’s coffin onto the carriage and finalized preparations for the return to Vayria. The Guildsman unceremoniously informed Doustian that Læynolde had left in the middle of the night on a matter of urgent business but that she would be back to Vayria in time for Cenn’s burial. For his part, he would return with the caravan.

Doustian felt as disappointed to part with Oluumber-Lenn as he felt anxious for the Guildsman to be gone. He did not know what to make of Læynolde’s unexpected exit.

Pavill had left earlier that morning to take his turn in one of the search parties. He did not fool Doustian. For four straight days, Pavill had chosen the early afternoon rotation. To suddenly join the morning party could only mean that he did not want to be present for the caravan’s sad departure. Doustian smiled to himself and wondered if he were the only person in the world who understood his brother’s true character.

“You take care of yourself, lad,” said Oluumber-Lenn, clasping Doustian on the shoulder.

“And you, Uncle.”

Doustian took a sealed envelope out of a satchel hanging from his shoulder. “Give this to our sister, Klyte-Ara, please, from Pavill and myself. Tell her we are praying for her health and the health of the unborn child.”

“Of course.”

They embraced, then Oluumber-Lenn mounted his horse and rode off. Doustian watched the slow carriage for a long time with a sad heart, bidding Cenn a final farewell. Before he turned to leave, a movement caught his eye. He saw a lone rider growing smaller and smaller in the distance. The Guildsman was already far down the valley, riding out ahead of the group.

* * *

Two days passed without incident. Except for the constant coming and going of search parties, life in the camp otherwise returned to the regularity it had enjoyed before Cenn’s death. Each new unsuccessful report from the searchers tested Doustian’s hope, but he clung unwaveringly to Cenn’s dying words and his father’s assurance that he would return. Pavill remained taciturn and unreadable.

On the third day after the caravan’s departure, a search group returned to camp one man short. Soldiers notified Doustian and Pavill, who immediately interrogated the members of the search party.

“It was like a flash, like lightning,” said one soldier. “But blue.”

“What was? Be more precise.” said Pavill sharply. “Was there any noise? Any heat or flames?”

The soldier shifted on his stool and furrowed his brow, trying to remember. “I don’t think so. Just a lot of light, and the horses were all spooked. We got split up. And when we got the horses back under control, Jaran was gone. We couldn’t find him anywhere.”

The other soldiers corroborated the same account, adding no useful details. Pavill fumed in frustration.

“Thank you, men,” said Doustian. “You may return to your normal duties, and we will inform the next group to begin its search where you left off.”

“Now we have to send out a search party for the search party,” said another soldier with a dumb laugh.

Pavill shot him an icy look. The soldier fell silent and lowered his eyes.

They did not have to wait long to find Jaran. The evening search party returned earlier than scheduled, thundering up to the camp on galloping horses, one of which carried two men. Jaran had been shot by two black-feathered arrows, one in each arm. The soldier’s injuries were not life-threatening.

Pavill insisted on seeing Jaran in the infirmary tent even before the surgeon had finished binding the man’s wounds. “What happened?” he said, striding across the tent to where Jaran lay wincing as the surgeon staunched his arm with an alcohol-soaked cloth. Doustian stayed near the entrance, as if that would somehow make the soldier feel less uncomfortable.

The soldier swallowed hard.

“There was a flash of light suddenly, and my horse bolted, my lord. I must have blacked out or something, but I stayed on the horse. I don’t know how that’s possible, sir, but when I come to, I was in a clearing surrounded by trees.”

“The Gastonoth Forest?” asked Pavill. “Your patrol was near there.”

“Aye, sir. I didn’t know then, but once I was out, I realized that’s where I was. Don’t know how I got there, honestly, sir.”

“Yes, yes. What happened there? What did you see? Who shot you?”

“It was Emter Noon, sir. A whole swarm of his men come out of the trees. They stole my horse and took me to a camp like a prisoner, everyone yelling and cursing me.”

“Bastard!” shouted Pavill, punching his palm.

“They brought me into a tent where Emter was sitting on a big chair like a king, really pompous. He said... he said...”

“What? What did he say? Spit it out, man.”

Doustian came over and put a hand on Pavill’s shoulder, but Pavill brushed it off in annoyance.

“I’m just saying what he said, sir, these ain’t my words,” said the soldier nervously. “He said...” Jaran quoted a long, vulgar series of insults and threats against the two living Ælliri brothers.

Pavill flew into a rage, overturning a nearby nightstand with a furious oath. He stormed to one end of the infirmary and back, muttering incoherent words through a clenched jaw. Doustian moved to the injured soldier and leaned over him.

“Did you see Duke Rikkon? Did anyone say anything about him?” he asked gently.

“No, sir. Not at all. But there was one other man that I recognized.”

Pavill spun around and returned to Jaran’s cot. “Who?” he demanded.

The soldier frowned and then said in a quiet voice, “The lady dowager’s Guildsman, sir.”

Pavill looked up, sniffed, then simply walked out of the tent. Cold fear gripped Doustian, knowing that Pavill’s anger had crossed some terrible threshold he had never seen before, even in Pavill’s most furious outbursts. Doustian turned back to the soldier with sad, worried eyes. “How did you escape and get back?”

“They led me back, sir. Told me I was supposed to be a messenger with those nasty words I just said. Then, right outside the forest, they let me go thirty, forty paces before they shot at me.”

The soldier’s voice cracked, but he shook his head and regained control of his emotions.

“Just shot at me for no reason.” He chuckled without humor. “Good shots, too. They aimed not to kill me, just hurt me. I thought I had to walk all the way back to the camp, but the search party came by soon enough and found me.”

Doustian smiled and patted the man on the shoulder.

“Good work, soldier,” he said. “You’ve shown courage in a dangerous situation and served your duke, your king, and your emperor faithfully.”

The soldier smiled and looked at Doustian with admiration. Then his smile faded and his face darkened. “Lord Pavill’s not mad at me, is he? Those words from the bandit Emter, that’s not my words at all, sir.”

“We know,” said Doustian with a reassuring nod. “He’s not mad at you. But pray for him, soldier.” Because he’s mad at everyone else, thought Doustian.

* * *

As Doustian passed through the open flap into Pavill’s tent, the departing Captain of the Third Cohort almost knocked him over.

“Excuse me, my lord, I beg your pardon,” said the captain over his shoulder as he hurried out.

Pavill sat at a writing stand hunched over a scroll. He was scribbling furiously with a quill. For the first time in his life, Doustian felt nervous being with his brother. “Pavill, what’s going on?” he said quietly.

Unaware that Doustian had entered, Pavill looked up, startled by the words. “Ah, Doustian, good. Everything is almost ready. The First and the Second Cohorts will depart at dawn, taking separate paths to the northwest and southeast corners of the Gastonoth Forest, respectively, where they will take up positions outside the woods.

“You will command the Second, with its captain as your lieutenant. Once you’ve secured your ground, I will march with the combined Third and Fourth Cohorts, taking a direct line to engage the enemy, while you are positioned to block their retreat. Now, I have a few...”

Doustian, in disbelief, stopped listening as Pavill kept rattling off his battle plans. The older brother shook his head slowly.

“Which will be best in close quarters fighting in a wooded area...”

“Pavill.”

“Archers would then move to...”

“Pavill!”

The man finally stopped speaking, blinking in annoyance. “What? Are you listening? This is important. Now—”

“Stop, stop, stop! Are you insane? Have you lost your mind? You cannot possibly be intending to take the entire four cohorts into a forest to fight a guerilla battle against an army of unknown size accompanied by a Guildsman!”

Doustian and Pavill stared at each other in silence.

“I knew this would happen,” said Pavill coldly.

“Knew what?”

“That you would object. I knew it, I just knew it.”

“Well, then you see the folly of this, do you not? Tell me you see that?”

Pavill jabbed his arm towards the tent flap.

“We have nearly one thousand bored, frustrated soldiers playing cards in their barracks on the top of a forsaken mountain. For what? For fear of a vague threat from Viscount Myronokor? To hunt for mythical creatures? To cry over Cenn? At the same time, just a single day’s ride away is the bastard who killed Cenn and Father and who is mocking us.”

“We don’t know that Father is dead. He’s coming. Cenn said that—”

Pavill slapped the writing stand in anger as he rose, throwing back his head and rolling his eyes. “Doustian, please. Father is dead. Cenn is dead. And the Fmoi only exist in your childish books back in Vayria. No one is coming. Accept it. We need to live in reality. And in reality, Emter Noon is not dead and is not a legend, and he is very much within our grasp.”

“What about the Pass? Father said to hold the Pass. We can’t empty out the camp running after cutthroats and thieves.”

“We won’t empty it out. We’ll leave a guard of fifty soldiers and be back in less than two days’ time. Do you not have any honor? Do you not care about justice?”

“Of course I do!” yelled Doustian, losing his patience. “I would have Emter hang this very day if I could. But we have other, higher priorities and orders. Father said to hold the Pass. We have to do that. Precisely for honor and justice.

“And what if Father is a prisoner of Emter? Do you not want to free him?”

Doustian sighed heavily and folded his arms tightly in frustration, staring at the ground. Pavill is clutching at straws, he thought. “You know that doesn’t make sense, Pavill. Jaran said he didn’t see Father. And if Emter had somehow managed to capture the Duke of Ælliri, then the scoundrel would certainly have made it known. He would be demanding a ransom, he would be negotiating for something. He wouldn’t sit on such a prize and not act.”

“We don’t know that. We can’t know that unless we go in there and root out that monster.”

Doustian shook his head. “But my heart tells me that—”

“Your heart? Your heart?” said Pavill, throwing his arms up and slapping them against his thighs in exasperation. “I will not continue to waste time with this nonsense. If you persist in your childish dereliction of duty as a soldier and a son, then I can leave a portion of the Second Cohort here in the camp to talk with you about your feelings while the men fulfill their obligations. Leave now and let me finish my preparations.”

Pavill slumped back onto the chair of his writing stand and snatched his quill. Doustian pulled back his shoulders and straightened his back. “As Margrave of Ælliri, I have my obligations as well. I am Commander and have authority over the Major of the Second Army, Pavill.”

Pavill set down his quill slowly, continuing to stare at the parchment. He folded his hands, interlocking the fingers, then looked up, muscles around his eyes twitching.

“Know this, Brother,” said Pavill with deadly calm. “If you choose to contest my plans...” He paused, struggling to keep his voice from rising. “I will mutiny.”

Doustian felt as if his insides had been torn in half. Thoughts of civil war, of the Ælliri house torn apart flashed across his mind. Thoughts of himself and his brother as children and as young men returned to him, filling him with profound longing for the simpler past and an equally profound sense of irredeemable loss.

“The captains are on my side,” said Pavill. “They are as eager to take to the field as I am. As any man should be.”

Doustian’s last stronghold of hope, his hitherto unwavering trust in Pavill, evaporated before his eyes. With a broken heart, he looked at his brother, who stared back coldly. No, thought Doustian with sudden resolve, there is something deeper than brotherly love, something without which brotherly love is not even possible.

“I will not let any division be found in House Ælliri,” said Doustian with a newfound quietude. “Leave me as many men as you can. I shall remain here and hold the High Pass for Father and leave my fate to Providence.”

* * *

Proceed to part 6...

Copyright © 2022 by Alcuin Fromm

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