Authors: Garon Whited
Drawing her hands apart with a jerk, she dropped the line of fire to the ground. It lengthened as it fell, covering the whole width of the pass. When it landed in the torrent in front of her, there was a massive, almost explosive hiss. The thin line of white fire blazed up in a towering wall of incandescent gas. The water around my feet abruptly dropped to a trickle as the remainder drained downhill. The oncoming water met the wall of fire and hissed like a war between all the ghosts of every snake and every cat that ever lived. The water converted instantly to steam and shot skyward. I felt a shift in the wind as air from behind me was drawn forward into the heat of the wall of fire. Flames poured upward into a wall of white steam like smoke from a gate to Hell.
I could feel Firebrand snort.
Is that all you wanted, boss? I could do that.
“All night?” I asked.
Maybe.
“If she gets tired, you’ll have to.”
Firebrand was silent for a moment.
Well, maybe not all night,
it admitted.
Tamara turned in the saddle; I could see the movement, but the glare from behind her hid her expression. She said something, but I couldn’t hear it over the roar and hiss. I held up a hand to shield my eyes, but couldn’t see her well enough make out what she was saying. She beckoned me closer and held out a hand. I pushed myself forward, struggling against the furnace-roar heat, until I touched her hand; the heat vanished as I did so.
“Let the storm rage,” she said, and I could hear her clearly, almost as though the flames spoke for her. “We will not wash away.”
I patted her knee. “I had no idea you could do that.”
She smiled a little, tightly; she looked distracted.
“I cannot. But through me, She can.”
“She listens to you,” I replied, “and I am very glad of it.”
Tamara reached down and ran her fingers along the side of my face. Her other hand gripped the saddlehorn tightly.
“She listens to everyone. She just agrees with me more often than most.”
I laughed. “So I see. Shall we go inside?”
She shook her head. “I cannot. I must be close at hand to whatever works I request.”
“Then I’ll stay here with you, if that’s okay.”
“If you wish,” she said. “But do not distract me, please; this is… difficult.”
I nodded and just stood there with her, holding her hand.
I glanced back behind us; people were peeking out of the wagons. Nobody wanted to get out in the downpour, but everyone wanted to see the wall of fire. It was hard to miss. Flames towered at least forty feet in the air, roaring white and yellow as they drank the water and vomited steam.
I tried to estimate the energy required to pull that stunt. With a cross-sectional area of water thirty meters wide and fifteen centimeters high, moving at a rate of two meters per second, given the heat of vaporization of water—and ignoring for the moment the need to raise the temperature from near-freezing to boiling… I got an approximation of about twenty-one
billion
joules per second. That’s not merely amazing, it’s outright appalling. I must have made an error, somewhere. Surely. Right?
It made me think of a trek through the desert with a pillar of smoke by day and a pillar of fire by night.
I’ll say this much: There are
no
atheists in this world.
SUNDAY, MARCH 5
TH
S
unset was no problem. Deep in the mountains, the shadows of the peaks protected me some; combined with the heavy cloud cover of a thunderstorm and a few layers of clothes, I managed just fine. I left Tamara to her wall of fire long enough to roll up in some blankets under the wagon. The wagon, of course, was still stuffed with youngsters; I wasn’t going to lie down and shiver in front of them. It felt more like being slow-roasted than is usual and I resolved to get something better to hide in. A coffin is suddenly looking more practical than I thought.
The rain let up around midnight. The leftover runoff kept coming for a while longer, but Tamara—or her patron—is no fool; the fire defended us from the flood until we didn’t need it anymore.
Even after the flood was done, we stayed camped. There was no firewood handy, but I took care of that. Bronze and I thundered down the pass to check for trees in the more gently-sloped areas. I felled one after checking to make sure I wasn’t about to hurt a dryad. Bronze dragged it back and Raeth handed out axes. Tamara was good enough to light several campfires—green, wet wood being wondrously resistant to normal methods of ignition—and everyone thanked her.
The thanks were extremely sincere and heartfelt. It wasn’t just about some campfires.
I’ve realized something. Most of these people view me as their lord. Okay. I can accept that, I guess. I’m the one who makes policy, gives orders, and has the authority. I’m the Guy In Charge. They trust me, they follow me, and they’re glad they have someone to follow who knows what he’s doing.
Boy, are they in trouble.
But they respect me! True, they also fear me a little; I’m the mysterious wizard-knight with a flaming sword and metal horse. So far, though, they trust me more than they fear me. I’ve overheard people who are
happy
I’m such a dangerous, mysterious person. Sort of a “Our Dad can beat up their Dad” sort of boasting among themselves.
But Tamara… Tamara they love.
Tamara is the one who is always there, even when I’m off doing something else. Kids with scrapes or bumps run to whoever is closer, their own mother or Tamara. I watched one boy, about five or so, jump off the back of a wagon, land off-balance, and plunk onto his butt. He got that look that says, “I’m in a lot of pain but you couldn’t
pay
me to cry.” He got up and limped past a lot of grown-ups, straight to Tamara. She held him and rocked him while she rubbed the injured areas with a glowing hand. A minute later, he was smiling again and she sent him scampering back on his way.
Dad is the one who provides for the kids, plays with them when he can—but duty keeps him busy a lot, so he’s often a mysterious, powerful figure. Sure, Dad loves the kids, but it’s harder to see. He gets the job of the Bad Cop; he hands out the serious punishments. It’s like he’s a temperamental god. When he’s around and in a good mood, he’s great. When he’s not around, you throw offerings on the altar just in case. When you transgress, you take your punishment and promise never to do it again.
If someone else comes along and does something mean to you, heaven help them, because Dad is going to show them what the Wrath of God
really
looks like.
That’s my role.
Mom is always there, caring for and nurturing the kids—she’s the one who provides most of the love. It’s constant. Dad is fun to have around while he’s there, but it’s Mom that makes the kids’ world. Mom is more like an angel. Skinned knees? Go to Mom. Hurt your head? Go to Mom. Someone swipe your toy? Go to Mom. Don’t worry about offerings; she’ll take them if you want to give them, but won’t expect them.
That’s Tamara’s role.
In my world, this sort of stereotype was changing. It might well be that Dad stayed at home while Mom worked, or the kids might wind up in day care while both worked. Or any number of other possibilities. But that’s what I thought of as a metaphor for how our community is structured.
Maybe it’s good practice. I’m going to be a father soon. Technically, I guess I already am. I’m hoping I manage to be a decent
daddy
.
Before morning, we were ready to get out of the pass; when dawn came up, we rolled. Everybody was still in train formation, chains hitching us all together, but we also hitched up a team to each wagon. The grade ahead got pretty steep in spots. I also put Bronze in the tail-end position as our anchor. If anyone started to skid, I wanted a lot of horses disagreeing and a lot of brakes to back them up—and Bronze to plant hooves into solid rock and be definitive about it.
It worked. We went slowly and carefully, taking most of the day to get the rest of the way through; the weather had turned cold and there were icy patches. We had some scary moments, but we kept ourselves to a slow walk. After the first ice slick, I marched out in front, waving Firebrand like a garden hose—that got us out of the pass without further mishap. I felt a great sense of relief; things were looking pretty good. A few more days through gently rolling hills and we would be home. Our new home.
I wonder what it looks like.
MONDAY, MARCH 6
TH
W
e camped well below the pass, wagons circled, sentries posted. Everyone is tired and frazzled; even Raeth is snappish. Getting through the pass was nerve-wracking, especially on that long, treacherous second half. I told Raeth and Bouger that today is a holiday; we’ll rest here and I’ll see to it we have some fresh meat. They both thought that a very good idea.
Not much else happened that night. I cuddled Tamara and reassured her that she’s beautiful and lovable. It amazes me that she can channel so much power and still be so insecure. I guess there’s a difference between being powerful and self-confident.
Hmm. Strike that. It’s the difference between being powerful and feeling loved. She’s got the first part down; I’m working diligently on the second part.
Later, I went out to find us some of the local grazers. I don’t know what to call these things. Longer legs than a cow, fur like a buffalo, horns like a ram on the males. I’ll ask, next time I see one of the locals.
Bronze and I cut a few out of the herd. It wasn’t hard. A quick flick with a fistful of life-draining tendrils and any one I wanted was too tired to run. I tagged three more before the herd went too far to make it worthwhile. My now-exhausted prey just stood there, heads low, trying to rest. I chivvied them along, prodding them with a hot Firebrand here and there. It took a few hours at a walk to get back to the camp.
I half-drained each of them, drinking their blood and almost all of the energy they had left. Their life-energies flickered like guttering candles, threatening to go out. I left them like that; they wouldn’t go anywhere in that condition. In the morning, I had a working party go out to kill and butcher them.
Steak for breakfast, brisket for lunch, roast for supper. Along with a few new fur blankets. Added to a day to rest, it was enough to have most of us feeling fairly frisky and ready to roll along the last leg of our journey.
TUESDAY, MARCH 7
TH
B
ronze was in the lead and hauling for the night; most of us can sleep just fine in a rolling wagon. It’s an acquired skill, but we’ve had lots of opportunity to practice. When morning rolled around, I had Raeth put out scouts on horseback, planning our route. When we were rolling on roads in Rethven, it wasn’t a major issue; this off-road travel is already making me nervous.
When Bronze and I ran along the hills, it didn’t seem too bad. From what I could recall, a wagon shouldn’t have any difficulties—but I hadn’t been watching the terrain with an eye to
rolling
traffic. The wet, soft ground left a lot to be desired as a road. If it had been dry, it would have been fine. At least the grass kept the ground from being a vast sea of mud.
It is both a source of pride and amazement that Bronze never bogged down in hauling the wagon train. The effort of hauling drove her knee-deep into mud and soft earth at times, but she never let up, never slowed down, or even
hinted
this was anything more than a walk in the park.
I have no idea if that’s a measure of her strength or her stubbornness. Both, I guess.
We’re making better time with scouts out. It helps to avoid the excessively muddy areas! The sun is also out, drying the world. As the day gets older, our pace picks up.
I’m working on a spell to help keep Bronze from sinking in mud or water. Surface tension enhancement, perhaps. Changes in viscosity, too. Couldn’t hurt.
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 8
TH
W
e bore more eastward and away from the mountains overnight.
We tried to keep a nice balance between rocky terrain (and the risk of breaking a wheel) and muddy terrain (and the risk of bogging down). We had a slight delay with one busted wagon wheel and bore a little farther east than before, away from the rocky base of the mountains.
We’re also within sight of the mountain. Well, I’m within sight of it. It’s cloudy again and dark as the inside of a dog. No one else will see anything before morning. I’ve ordered a stop until then. We’ll get a good look at it when we have breakfast.
Once the sun was fully up, I came out of the command wagon and looked at the place with nearly-mortal eyes.
The mountain itself was largely unchanged. It still stood mostly apart from the surrounding peaks, a roughly cone-shaped chunk of stone and earth rising from the edge of the plains. Yet the peak bore obvious signs of my tampering. A crown of stone circled the top, walling off everything below a few hundred yards of the rounded summit. A long stretch of cliff descended from the wall, effectively making the wall that much higher from below. The only way in or out I could see was a long, sloping ridge; it ran from the only gap in the wall, down and around the mountain like a ramp.
I wondered how many months a construction crew would have taken to do it. It’s remarkable what you can get if you just ask politely.
We rolled as an open group of wagons now that we were in sight of the goal. There was considerable merriment and good humor as we stepped up to a trot and scattered a little. Raeth didn’t look happy about the open formation—the free-for-all, as-you-will driving—but he didn’t try to get everyone in column. You can only look at the back of the guy in front of you for so long.
The climb up the ridge/ramp was moderately lengthy; a one-in-six grade is fairly steep for horses. A decent car would have no problem with it, but horses get tired and it’s over a mile of uphill slogging.
Inside, the peak of the mountain went right up, just as if it had never been interrupted. Around it was a large, flat ring— a courtyard in the shape of a giant washer. From wall to wall, the whole thing was a few hundred yards across, but the flat space surrounding the inner peak was only about two hundred feet in width. There was still a lot of mountain to climb, if anyone felt like it.
The caves had also changed considerably. Gone were any places where one would have to duck, climb, or crawl. The interior had ramps everywhere in what looked like lava tubes, earthquake rifts, or water-cut channels.
That was the most interesting thing of all the stonework. It all looked
natural
. True, there was a big honkin’ wall surrounding the place—but it was all of a piece, without individual stones, joints, or mortar. Even the crenellations on the outer edge looked wind-scoured and eroded into shape. The courtyard was also a single sheet of rock—a big plate of it, with a hole in the middle for the mountain to grow through.
It was a mountain that accommodated guests. Very kind of it, I thought, and I made sure to tell it so. This was not lost on Tamara. She sidled up to me as I was standing in the courtyard. I was touching the spells I’d woven into the mountain and feeling for their condition; they needed some work. Well, it had been a long time…
“May I interrupt?” she asked, running her hand along my back.
“Sure,” I replied, distracted. The spell-weave was still fairly solid, just drained. The wiring was fine, but the current was low. It needed a recharge. Considering how much had been done, I wasn’t surprised.
“What is it that you are doing?”
“I’m talking to the mountain,” I replied. “Well, sort of. I talk to the spell I put on it and the spell talks to the mountain—a mountain doesn’t talk very fast.” I pushed more energy into the spell, enough to make me a little tired; a little now, a little later, a little more the day after that…
Her hand stiffened against my back. “You can speak to the
stone?
” she demanded.
“To the mountain,” I corrected, and withdrew my awareness from the spell. I turned to her; she was staring at me with an expression of surprise. “The mountain is more than just stone. It’s alive in its own way.”
“The
mountain
is alive?” she asked, incredulous.
“Sure. It’s a really
slow
life, but it’s alive.” She closed her eyes and I could see flickers of light dancing in her hair.
“I sense only your spell,” she said, after a moment.
“I found out about it at night,” I offered. “Even then, I had to look really close. Look past the spell and, well… look deeper and slower, I guess. I don’t know how to describe it.”
She did. I watched as her hair went into full firefall mode and lengthened to the ground. It reached the ground and spread out around her. It kept lengthening and spreading. It started to remind me of a rocket launch.
“Ah,” she said, and the pyrotechnics diminished to extinguishment. “It
is
alive.”
“Told you. You saw it?”
“No, but it accepted the fires I fed it; only a living thing can do so. I have never thought to pour life into the ground before.”
“What about that place over by Baret? The bonfire circle-valley-whatever it is?”
“That is only the residuum of power left from many ceremonies,” she replied. She took my hand again, smiling. “That is different.”
“Is it?”
Her brow furrowed as she thought about it. “Perhaps. I have not considered it before.”
“Neither have I—until just now. Something to look into.”
“Later, please.”
I nodded. “No problem. Something more pressing on your mind?”
“Raeth and Bouger have many people searching and mapping the caverns within the mountain; they are quite extensive.”
“I know. I could feel them. The passages, I mean.”
“As you say. Yet also must our people know how the hallways of their home do run. There are many chambers and passages, enough for all of us and more. We shall need stabling for the horses; there is no chamber that would serve.”
“Did Raeth ask you to tell me that?”
“That, and he would like you to address our people.”
“He does a fine job,” I countered.
“Yes,” she agreed, and took my arm. “For the deeds of each day, he leads them in your name and they follow. Yet you are their lord, and we have come to the place you have chosen. Is it not time you spoke to them?”
“I do that every day,” I noted. She elbowed me lightly in the ribs.
“In passing, and to one or two,” she agreed. “That is well enough to be seen and to be known. Yet now we have a home and a domain. Here, beyond the borders of Rethven, you are our lord and king, albeit of a very small kingdom.” She smiled at me and wrinkled her nose. “I do not see you in a crown. It does not suit your brow.”
“No kidding,” I replied, and found I was smiling with her. “I’m not much on hats.”
“Mayhap a diadem will serve,” she countered. “But do you say something to our people. Welcome them. Close the trek upon which we have so long marched and let them feel that their lord is pleased with them.” She took one of my hands in both of hers. “Please?”
It made sense. Besides, I have a hard time telling her no when she looks at me like that.
“I will. I’ll have to come up with something
to
say, first.”
She hugged my arm and rested her head on my shoulder. “Say whatever you will; be but yourself and all will be well, my lord.”
“Maybe. I still think I’ll talk to Raeth, first.”
So I did. He and Bouger were in the command wagon, assembling pieces of map into a coherent whole. Occasionally, someone would come in and hand over another section of caverns. It looked like it was going to be a while before we had it all sorted out. The caves went deep.
“Raeth? Got a minute?”
“Of course.” He stacked a few pieces of parchment while Bouger continued to add to the main map.
“I understand you want me to give a speech.”
He nodded. “Bouger and I think it wise.”
“What for?” I asked. “We’re here. I don’t have to exhort them to bravery or anything.”
“That’s true,” Bouger answered, from the table, “but they have come a long way and now have a new home—a wondrous one, to be sure, but strange. Cement your authority by addressing them and telling them they have done well. Give rewards for a job well done. Demonstrate power as well as kindness. Then outline the work yet to be done so they can set their hearts and minds on a new goal.”
Raeth nodded. “Yes. Bouger and I have carried out your wishes, and we have made it clear that
we
follow
you.
Everyone knows this. You are our lord. Everyone looks to you to lead. Lead them.”
“Is that why kings hold court?” I asked.
“Partly.”
“All right. I don’t have any idea what to say. Suggestions?”
“Compliments,” Bouger stated. “A formal chain of command, as well. On the road, we had difficulties of discipline.”
“I never saw anything.”
Bouger smiled and Raeth pretended to be busy with his papers. I belatedly realized they’d done such a fine job with the problems in discipline that
I’d never seen them.
“Ah,” said I. “Well done.”
“Thank you.”
“All right. Draw something up for me. I know I’m at the top, Tamara’s next to me, and you two are just below. Everyone else—well, you know their strengths better than I do. I presume this is a chain of command for the military side of things?”
“Of course,” Raeth answered. “The tradesmen and other commoners are simply your subjects.”
I restrained a sigh.
Subjects.
Well, when in Rome, shoot roman candles.
“Fair enough, I suppose. Sort it out and I’ll announce it. Now, what do you think I should say about my upcoming trip?”
Raeth and Bouger looked at each other. Bouger shrugged and said, “We are against it, but understand why you must go.”
“Oh? Good. Explain it to me.”
Raeth sighed. “Very well. If you remain, Tobias will grow in power. He will seek you out and overwhelm you—and us. If you go to him and succeed in killing him, all should be well. If you fail, it will at least avert his wrath from us, for he will have slain you and he will be content—at least, for a time.”
“Succinct,” I agreed. “You still don’t like it.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“There exists the possibility that you will not return,” Raeth replied. “We must have you. You are the founder of this place, the lord of these lands. You are the one with the quest to found a school.”
“And I have,” I pointed out. “If nothing else, this will be the best-educated bunch in all of history. You do not
need
me—at least, not as much as you need me to go deal with a personal threat.”
“It is a personal threat,” Bouger agreed. “Will you at least take a few men with you? A few loyal retainers may mean the difference at a crucial moment.”
“Who?” I asked. “You? Raeth? Tamara? All of you
are
needed here. Even Caeron and Caedwyl. Or do you suggest I bring someone who doesn’t know I’m a nightlord?”
There was a long silence in the wagon. I finally broke it with a sigh.
“We have to face it. I am the one who has to deal with Tobias. I suspect the gods move in sneaky ways to engineer things for their amusement—and this seems like something they’d pull. If they want to watch, I’ll just have to deal with that. So let’s get past that. What do I tell everybody? That I’m off to kill the head honcho of the Hand?”
We were quiet, thinking for long moments. At last, Bouger snapped his fingers and lifted his head, grinning.
“You’re going a-questing!”