“The Mad Man’s Stockade,” Verkehla said. She reined her pony to a halt, pointing to a steep hill rising from the floor of a shallow valley a mile or so ahead. The stronghold of Morvil’s Reach lay atop the hill, its dark, weather beaten walls more intact than Sollis had expected. Noting that the western and northern approaches were guarded by the hooked bend of a fast flowing river, Sollis concluded that whatever the failings of the unfortunate Lord Morvil, he had at least possessed an eye for a sound defensive position.
“Your people left the stones in place,” he observed to Verkehla who shrugged.
“The Grey Hawks shun the place,” she said. “There are old stories about the spectres of Merim Her wandering the place on dark nights, crying out to be let into the Beyond. It seems the Departed have barred entry, possibly due to the shame of their defeat.”
“You know the Faith?” Elera asked her. Her tone was one of gratified surprise but Verkehla turned to her with a harsh glare.
“Far better than I would like, sister,” she said, baring her teeth in a harsh mutter. Elera blanched a little but didn’t look away, straightening the saddle and forming her features into a neutral mask.
“The Departed are rarely so judgmental,” Sollis said, nudging Vensar forward to place him between the shaman and the healer. “Those who die in honest battle can expect a place in the Beyond.”
“Honest battle?” Verkehla’s expression softened into one of amused scorn as she shifted her gaze to Sollis. “There was a small settlement on this hill before your people came. What do you imagine their fate to have been? Perhaps your Departed simply refused entry to a gang of murderers and thieves.”
“Getting dark,” Oskin said, voice gruff with impatience. “Be best if we got ourselves within those walls and settled for the night, look for the sister’s precious weed in the morning.”
Sollis raised a questioning eyebrow at Verkehla who nodded and spurred her pony forward, barking a command at the Varnish Dervakhim. “Spread out and scout all approaches. I want to know about any track you find, however small.”
As the Lonak fanned out she led Sollis and the others along a mostly overgrown trail that led to the stronghold’s gate. He judged the height of the walls at a little over twenty feet, overlooked by a single tower. The iron braced oak doors lay in rusted ruin, revealing a small courtyard of moss-covered rock beyond. The tower rose from the centre of the courtyard, its unusually wide base indicating it had served a dual role as main keep and lookout post.
Typical Renfaelin design, Smentil signed as he surveyed the structure. Just a good deal smaller than usual.
“Shall we, brother?” Verkehla asked Sollis, dismounting and gesturing at the unbarred gate. She started inside without waiting for an answer. Sollis told the others to stay put and climbed down from Vensar’s back, handing the reins to Smentil before following the shaman inside.
“I can’t see any spectres,” she commented, standing in the centre of the courtyard and scanning the narrow battlements above. “Perhaps it’s a tad too early for them, eh?”
Sollis ignored the jibe, one hand on the hilt of his sword as he moved in a slow circle, eyes probing every shadowed corner of the stronghold’s interior. “You walk into potential danger with no weapon,” he said. “That is unwise. There could be more slave-soldiers waiting in ambush.”
“There aren’t,” she replied with casual certainty. “We killed them all. And trust me brother when I say I am far from defenceless.”
Despite her words Sollis insisted on a thorough inspection of the structure before allowing the others inside. He found himself impressed with the solidity of the place, the precision with which the stones had been laid and aligned told of skilled hands.
“Lord Morvil knew his business in one respect at least,” he commented to his brothers later. They sat together in the base of the tower around a small fire that sent a column of smoke into the skeletal rafters above. He had pondered the wisdom of lighting a fire that would be sure to advertise their presence here. However, the Dervakhim seemed oblivious to such concerns, those not posted to the walls clustering around their own fires as they roasted meat and followed their nightly ritual of sharing stories.
“Or, more likely his masons did,” Oskin replied. “Poor bastards, following their lord to this forsaken place. It’s safe odds they died along with all his knights and retainers. I hope he paid them well in the meantime.”
Sollis’s attention was drawn to the opposite side of the fire by an unusual sound, one he realised he hadn’t heard in these mountains before. The little Lonak girl was laughing, small hands over her mouth as she regarded Elera with wide, delighted eyes. “Sermahkash,” the sister said, smiling in bemusement as this provoked another round of giggling from the girl. “It’s her name,” she said, catching sight of Sollis’s quizzical frown. “At least I think so.”
“Your pronunciation is a little off, sister,” Sollis said. “Sumehrkas. It means Misted Dawn. The way you said it resembled the Lonak word for ape piss.”
“Oh.” Elera laughed and poked the girl gently in the belly. “Are you making fun of me, little one?”
The girl laughed again then fell abruptly silent as Khela-hahk uttered a curt rebuke. He and the boy sat together at another fire a few feet away, the old man beckoning to the girl with a stern frown on his wrinkled brow. She gave a sullen pout and rose from Elera’s side, starting forward then halting as the sister gently took her hand. “We’re only playing…” she began, offering the old warrior a reassuring smile.
“Sister,” Sollis said softly, shaking his head. Elera sighed and released the girl who stomped to the other fire, slumping down with arms crossed and face set in sulky reproach.
“Don’t feel too bad, sister,” Oskin commented, chewing a mouthful of dried beef. “Probably just trying to win your trust so she can slit your throat when you’re sleeping.”
“What a fount of unsolicited opinions you are, brother,” Elera observed with a thin smile.
“We know what these people are,” Oskin returned evenly. “You do not and would do well to listen to experienced counsel.” He jerked his head at Smentil who sat running a whetstone over the blade of his sword. “Ask our brother. They held him for ten days, visited all manner of outrages on his flesh, not to say taking his tongue into the bargain. It astonishes me he can stomach being in their company.”
Smentil’s whetstone emitted a harsh grind as he scraped it the length of the blade, his eyes fixing Oskin with a glare of warning. The older brother flushed a little and lowered his gaze. “Apologies, brother,” he murmured.
“As ever, idle hands make for useless talk,” Sollis said, adopting a brisk tone as he rose, hefting his bow and settling his sword on his back. “Brother Oskin, take your hound and scout beyond the walls. The Lonak didn’t find any suspicious tracks but that doesn’t mean much this deep in the mountains. Stay within bowshot of the walls. Brother Smentil will go with you. Sister.” He inclined his head at Elera. “My earlier inspection revealed something I believe may be of interest to our mission, if you would care to join me.”
Despite being cracked in places, the winding stairs that hugged the wall of the building were another testament to the soundness of the fortress’s construction, remaining intact all the way to the top. Sollis guided their steps with a flaming torch as Elera followed him into the tower’s gloomy upper reaches.
“For all his prejudice,” she said, “Brother Oskin makes an insightful point. Smentil seems remarkably free of hatred towards our new companions.”
“He was always a difficult man to read,” Sollis replied. “Even in the days when he could speak. In any case, the Faith teaches us that vengeance is folly, does it not?”
“‘A vindictive heart stains the Beyond,’” she agreed with a quote. “As set down in The Catechism of Truth. Perhaps Oskin should pay greater attention to its message.”
Sollis resisted the impulse to impart a brief summation of the many trials Oskin had suffered since his deployment to the Pass, knowing it to be an excuse. What is the point of Faith if it is to be abandoned in the face of adversity? he pondered, silently resolving to speak to Brother Commander Arlyn when they returned. Perhaps it was time for Oskin to take up a master’s role at the Order House where he could impart his wisdom to the next generation of novice brothers.
“In here,” he said, pausing at a narrow doorway. He lowered the torch to illuminate the interior, gesturing for her to precede him.
“Hardly a grand chamber,” Elera said, casting her gaze around the room which was ten feet across at its widest point. “You truly think this was where Lord Morvil held court?”
“No, but I’d hazard this is where he slept. Small as it is, it’s still the largest chamber in the whole fortress.” Sollis followed her inside, glancing back at the doorway before lowering his voice. “I noticed something,” he said, moving to the far wall and crouching. “Something I thought it best the Lonak woman didn’t see.”
He pointed to a mark on the brickwork an inch from the floor. It was small but neatly chiselled into the stone, a rectangular symbol inset with two dots. “Is that..?” Elera began, leaning down and squinting at the marking.
“Far Western script,” Sollis said. “I believe it means ‘book’.”
“You can read Far Western script, brother?”
Sollis chose not to take offence at the keen surprise in her voice. Why would a brother of the Sixth know such things, after all? “Not in its entirety, no,” he admitted. “But I’ve had occasion to fight smugglers and pirates, some of Far Western origin. They tend to mark their hiding places with symbols such as these, believing, not without good reason, that easterners are too ignorant to recognise them as anything but a meaningless scrawl.”
“So, you think Lord Morvil learned the same trick?”
“The accounts of his life are colourful, full of unlikely tales of adventures in far-off lands. Perhaps some of it was actually true.”
Elera let out a small laugh, shuffling closer to run her fingers over the symbol. Sollis made a conscious effort not to notice the soft caress of her hair on his neck as she did so. “It occurs to me your knowledge and intellect might have been better employed in the Third Order,” she murmured.
“I doubt it.” Sollis drew the hunting knife from his belt and worked the tip of the blade into the mortar that bound the marked brick in place. “This might take some time,” he said, handing her the torch. “If you would care to guard the door.”
“Of course.”
It took close on an hour’s labour to loosen the brick, Sollis doggedly scraping away the mortar until he had sufficient room to work his fingers into the gap and lever the stone free. “The torch, sister,” he said, extending his hand as he lowered himself to peer into the small space. He gave a small grunt of satisfaction as the torchlight revealed the dim gleam of a leather binding. Reaching in, he extracted a small volume, the cover and spine lacking any inscription. The leather that bound it was dry and cracked with age, flaking into powder as Sollis ran his fingers over it.
“I think this calls for gentler hands,” he said, handing the book to Elera.
The sister carefully opened the book, revealing pages of yellow parchment inscribed in a flowing, elegant script. Despite the precision of the penmanship Sollis found he couldn’t read a word of it. “That’s not Realm Tongue,” he said.
“‘The Conquest of the Northern Mountains and the Subjugation of the Wolf Men’,” Elera read, her finger tracing across the words inscribed at the top of the first page. “‘Being a true and honest account by Baron Valeric Morvil, Knight of Renfael.’” She raised a caustic eyebrow. “Clearly a fellow not lacking in self-regard.” She smiled at Sollis’s puzzled frown. “It’s ancient Volarian, brother. At one time all scholarly works in the four fiefs were written in this script. In fact, it remained a common practice amongst the more pretentious scholars until King Janus banned its use during the first year of his reign.”
“And yet, you can read it,” Sollis observed.
“My…” she began then paused, Sollis recognising the familiar expression of a servant of the Faith reminding themselves that mention of one’s previous life was frowned upon. “I learned a great deal before I entered the Order,” she added, returning her attention to the book. “The first few pages relate his preparations for the campaign, buying of provisions, hiring of men and so on.” She thumbed ahead, grimacing in consternation. “It seems the Baron’s self-regard is matched only by her verbosity. It will take several hours to fully examine this for mention of the weed.”
“Very well.” Sollis moved to the door. “Best find a quiet corner to do so. I’d prefer the Lonak not see you with it.”
“They object to books?”
“No, they love them, or rather their Mahlessa does. When they raid the only booty they prize more than horses are books. Apparently, the Mountain provides great rewards for any warrior who comes to offer books in tribute. If they see you with that, they’ll almost certainly try to take it.”
Elera nodded and consigned the book to the inner folds of her robe. “Do you believe her?” she asked. “That whatever or whoever destroyed that village is still out there.”
“I do. In fact, I suspect it’s why we’re still alive. The Mahlessa has ordered it, at least as long as the threat to her people persists.”
“A threat she saw in some Dark vision?” Elera shook her head. “I find it hard to credit mere superstition for our predicament, brother.”
“What is superstition to us is real to them. The Mahlessa believes, and therefore so do they, that we have a role to play in ending the evil infesting these mountains. Even should we find the weed, I doubt we’ll be going anywhere until this vision has come to pass. We are expected to spring a trap, and those children downstairs are but bait.”
“And therefore deserving of our protection, wouldn’t you say?”
Sollis saw a glint of wary appraisal in her gaze then, as if her question were a test and she feared he might fail it. “Rest assured, sister,” he said. “I’ll defend them as I would any child, Realm born, Faithful or not.”
She gave a tight smile, stepping forward to place a hand on his, her flesh warm despite the chill that pervaded the fortress. “I must confess to always having harboured a certain… discomfort with the need for your Order,” she said. “Why should a Faith that celebrates life require servants so skilled in the ways of death? I see now, my questions were misplaced…”
She fell silent as he raised a hand, his gaze drawn upwards by a new sound, a faint and plaintive call drifting through the part destroyed roof of the tower. “What is that?” Elera asked.
“Hawk,” Sollis said, handing her the torch. “Make your way back down, sister. I’ll be there shortly.”
The faint moonlight enabled him to navigate to the tower’s roof without undue difficulty where he found Verkehla waiting, head tilted at an expectant angle. “You and the sister spent a good deal of time alone, brother,” she observed. “What could you have been doing?”
“Discussing the finer points of the Catechism of Truth,” Sollis replied, ascending the last few steps onto the patchy stonework that formed the tower’s summit. The thick beams that supported the wall could be seen through gaps in the floor, like the exposed ribs of a massive rotting corpse. The top was ringed by a low crenellated wall which remained weathered but intact. Sollis moved to it, eyes raised to the partly clouded sky and ears alive for the hawk’s call.
“So you heard it too?” Verkehla asked. “A cry in the night from a bird that never flies in darkness.”
“Not just tonight,” he said. “I’ve heard it three times now, once not long before we were attacked by the snow-daggers.”
“Information you might have shared with me earlier.”
Sollis glanced at her judgmental frown and gave a faint shrug. “And have you shared all your pertinent information with me?”
Her face took on an impassive aspect that told of another refusal to answer so he returned his gaze to the sky. “No sign of it,” he murmured.
“It’s there. Whatever commands it will make sure it keeps watch on us.”
“Commands it?”
Evidently his skepticism showed in his voice for her tone was curt when she replied, “You are quite willing to believe the ghosts of the dead gather together in some mystical, invisible realm, and yet you shun evidence of what you call the Dark when it stares you in the face.”
“Your people shun it, do they not?”
“Yes, because they have the wit to recognise the danger it poses. Your people hide behind scorn or choose to blame the Dark on those who deny the Faith, a Faith that preaches peace yet is quite happy to cage heretics and hang them from a gibbet to starve. Ever had to do that, brother?”
Sollis had as yet been spared the duty of accompanying the Third Order on their Denier hunting expeditions. Even so, there were many stories from brothers who had, and they were far from edifying. “No,” he said.
“But you would,” she persisted. “If your Order commanded it, you would.”
“The Faith requires all we have. As your Mahlessa, I’m sure, requires all of you.”
She began to answer but halted as a harsh scream cut through the night air beyond the battlement, quickly followed by the shouts and snapping bowstrings that told of combat. Sollis immediately unslung his bow, notching an arrow as he moved to the wall, eyes peering into the darkness. He could see only vague shapes in the gloom below, shadowed figures whirling in a chaotic dance as the tumult of battle continued, Sollis recognising the screams now. Rock apes!
He spied a loping shadow beneath, long arms and shorter legs propelling across the ground faster than any man. Sollis drew his bow until the arrow’s fletching brushed his ear, centring the vertical line of the arrowhead on the running ape. Before he could loose, a loud, snarling bark of challenge erupted to his right. He spun, seeing Verkehla reeling back from the wall, a fur covered, dog-faced shape vaulting the battlement in pursuit. Drool flew from the ape’s bared teeth and clawed hands reached out to dig into the woman’s shoulders, its massive weight bearing her down as its jaws snapped at her throat.