For Whom the Bell Trolls: Hands of the Highmage, Book 1 Read online

  He hugged his cousin Grace, “Thank you!”

  She kissed his cheek, “Send my love to Uncle Bal!”

  “I will!” he loaded the saddlebags, blankets and canteen on the now kneeling unicorn’s back, before mounting once more.

  They were soon racing down the path faster than they had been. Casber laughed, gripping has Grandfather’s old elvin-wrought short sword and thinking of all the dragons he was going to slay. He would miss them, but he was riding this fine spirit horse.

  ‘I am a unicorn… The last of my kind, Casber.’

  “Do you have a name?”

  ‘Yes.’ But it didn’t tell him her name. On they rode as the night grew dark and the unicorn’s horn gave off a light that lit their way all the way through the mountains to the Crescent Lands in the west.

  Chapter 4 – House of Ryff

  “Nessa!” her sister, Mahr, whined as the blonde haired Za’an shook her head, despairing of trying to deal with her best friend.

  There were times the fourteen-year-old Nessa wished she was an only child –– and this was one of them. “Mahr, you’ve got to stop taking it personally that Momma didn’t come back. Lord Ryff bonded her to that elfblood healer the Mother Shaman told us about… You know as well as I that with her skills as an herbalist that to be working with such an extraordinary healer is the greatest gift Lord Ryff could give her.”

  “But it’s our prospects that have been ruined! Totally ruined!”

  Grimacing, Nessa looked at her sister, who everyone remarked was a striking beauty with her luxurious brown hair, perfect cheekbones and skin, and lovely dark blue eyes –– looks Nessa privately envied since her unknown father, apparently, had no such traits to pass on to her. “Mahr, what prospects exactly did we have before Lord Ryff took Momma into this House?”

  “None, which is the shame of her just going off with an elfblood to the Empire of all places. Does she think so little of us?”

  Telling her older sister that their mother had to be the most selfless woman in the world was going to do no good. Mahr seemed to think of herself as practically a princess, though, Nessa and Mahr had been born to the life of the Houseless, those without House or trusted sisters.

  They were lucky to have been taken in by Sire Ryff. To be raised as a stepdaughter was not considered second class in a House, fosterlings –– of which Sire Ryff currently had none ––were, at best, third class members of the Household.

  Momma, if only you were here to deal with this.

  “It’s not fair! Lord Ryff will more than likely just bond me to Vyss!”

  Nessa glared at her as Za’an shook her head, growing terribly angry with her best friend.

  “Oh, don’t give me that!” Mahr cried. “He’s closer to your age, Nessa, than mine –– and he’s so damn skinny!”

  Za’an shook her head, “What’s age going to matter in a few years. You’d be lucky to be bound to Lord Vyss. What can I and my sisters expect but to marry someone years older than us?”

  With a harrumph, Nessa turned and walked away, knowing if she stood there another moment she’d slap her sister’s face. Skinny? It was a miracle Vyss was even alive. And not for the likes of either of them being married to the virtual prince of the greatest prophecy of their people.

  #

  De’ohr dared not admit that her vision about Vyss returning healed from the journey the Empire was more hope from the Book of Prophecy than her visions. Prophecy like visions could be difficult to fully comprehend. It never occurred to her how close to death’s door the boy would be for that foretelling to prove true.

  That they returned home without Vyss’s only full blooded sister, Se’and, or even his only betrothed wife, the young woman Fri’il, among Lord Erone’s first gifts to his Secondson cousin, now proved a matter of fate’s will as well. She saw Se’and and Fri’il beckoning to her from the clouds. Shattered House come to us for succor that all of us might live and bring about the Prophecy.

  She was assaulted by other images – things she did not understand. The worst were of her ancestor Lord Kyrr astride a white unicorn shouting: ‘To me! To me! Thy help I need if the Two-Fold Man is to succeed!’ The black liveried Cathartans at his back raised the black metal swords of legend against the winds of building magery and spurred their mounts to charge the goblin hordes across a vista she only knew from tapestries.

  What nonsense that vision, she thought yet again, shaking her head, as she walked into the main building followed by two bodyguards. Passing through the foyer, she past an aged portrait of the Lord Kyrr, whose hair was steely gray. The Mother Shaman long ago claimed Kyrr had performed miracles that not only saved Cathart, but founded not one, but two lines –– this one and House Erone’s. The House history said far more, but nothing about any miracles, save one.

  Lord Kyrr had been taken in as a boy by the Shattered House after the death of their lord. She stared at his portrait, daring him to explain, daring him to offer another way to save this House.

  ‘All hail the Shattered House,’ whispered a voice that made her shiver. She glanced around, yet there was no one near.

  Stepping back, she headed down to the cellars to the Holy of Holies, the most sacred place in any Household. It lay beneath the main building of the House. There were several younger Mother Shamen finishing their tasks. One of Ryff’s younger wives blushed and said, “Thank you for your blessings, Lady Mother De’ohr… I’m expecting twins!”

  De’ohr smiled, even as she knew these would be the last daughters a wife of Ryff would ever bear. “Wonderful. But you are still early in your pregnancy, do not yet tell the others. Give it another month before celebrating.”

  When the woman left, she turned to the pair, “Quietly, and I can’t stress enough how quietly, pack up the Holy Vessels such that individuals might take pieces unremarked.”

  They looked at her in horror.

  “I know… but we’re done here. It’s Lord Ryff’s command. This city seeks Vyss’s death and they shall learn the price fighting prophecy.”

  #

  “No word at all?” he rasped, seated at his dais.

  “None, Milord,” the woman liveried in orange and black replied.

  He glared at his Mother Shaman. “You told me the plan could not fail!”

  “She may have succeeded… Ryff will want no one to know of the boy’s death.”

  “There would be a hue and cry by now… Accusations. I’m counting on those recriminations!”

  “Once our spies report back, we’ll know the truth… and can take the appropriate steps if need be to make his death more certain.”

  “Without implicating this House.”

  “Of course, Milord. Leave us.” The liveried woman bowed and hurriedly left the chamber.

  He rose and began pacing, clearly angry. The Mother Shaman left him, went out the side door and said to waiting guards, “Our lord needs distraction, send for someone young –– who knows what’s expected.”

  The women nodded, only glancing at each other once the old woman was gone. They headed to the dormitories where their lord’s latest spouses were being trained… which if any other House learned of it would likely bring death to their lord –– and there were too few left by half.

  A young woman, shackled at the ankle, screamed as they “chose” her. She was little more than a girl, but she would do nicely. Better her than either of them, the guards thought, knowing their lord was not particularly finicky about who he tortured in the name of pleasure.

  #

  Things had gone terribly awry. Her stepson Vyss should have died in the night at the assassin’s hands. That his becursed mother had saved him needed to be reported, but the croft was being watched carefully. She’d never get to the homing bird to send a message.

  Worse, Mother Shaman De’ohr was roaming about demanding attendance by scores of Sisters of the House. She took each aside, likely searching their visage for the least sign of betrayal. It made keeping out of the woman’s s
ight paramount.

  She saw Old Ky’ah in her leathers leave the forges to speak with the Mother Shaman. She stepped back into the shadows and frowned. If De’ohr suspected and tested Ky’ah, it would not be long before she sought her out.

  She knew what she must do and her hands trembled.

  #

  “Ky’ah, I need you to lead a group to the border after midnight.”

  “Me? You’ve far better at hand.”

  “Sester, these are desperate times. I’m sending out everyone with experience and the skill to make what I’ve foreseen work,” she replied. “All the girls must slip away over the next couple of nights… while we leave the impression we’ve sequestered them for their safety.”

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve traveled the woodlands and beyond into the badlands.”

  “You’ve traveled the Caravan Road –– and left the, uh, gifts.”

  The old woman frowned. “And passed down the knowledge of where the offerings can be found.”

  “Those trusted sisters will take the trail too… but there are still too few.”

  Ky’ah shook her head. “How many will you saddle me with?”

  “Two score of adolescents with at least that many youngers.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll need at least two to second me –– plus the older girls armed with bows they know how to use.”

  “Aye.”

  “You really mean to send them all out, don’t you?”

  De’ohr nodded. “There will be fifty groups. All two thousand children of this House… Ky’ah, keep your group from the roads and away from the farms, settlements, and worse beyond the border. Get them to the Crescent Lands –– to the nearest coastal city-states, Stanson, or worst case, head to Hollif, where we will keep a ship or two in reserve for any stragglers..”

  “Stanson will take weeks to reach and you’re talking about us going on foot, which will take longer. It’s going to be a grueling trek.”

  “You’ll be able to go where women a-horse can’t.”

  Nodding, Ky’ah said, “If things go wrong, where will the House be bound?”

  “I’m sorry, I dare not tell anyone. A talented Mother Shaman can draw it from your mind… Get to Stanson or Hollif, where ships will be waiting for as long as we dare.”

  The old woman frowned, “I take it I’m not to share that fact with anyone.”

  Best not until you have to.”

  “If we miss those ships, I take it we’re on our own.”

  “Don’t miss those ships,” De’ohr replied, her gaze bleak.

  #

  At dinner Sire Ryff rose and announced to his daughters of the House that there was a threat. “You shall be sequestered to the dormitories. There shall be no lessons until we consider the House safe once more.”

  Nessa and the young women and girls at the table behind them looked at each other. Restricted to the dormitories? The rumors were true then. Lord Vyss’s life was threatened.

  The girls around her whispered and were hurried back to their rooms. Yet, once the last was safely within and the doors Mistress Ky’ah came to her room, “Nessa, Yel’ane, and the rest of you put out your best woodland boots and travel robes, gather only enough clothing that’ll fit in your bedroll… you’re traveling with me and the girls next door through the tunnels and beyond tonight.”

  “But, Mistress Ky’ah, Sire Ryff said—”

  “My brother, your lord, spoke for the benefit of the accursed spy who helped try to kill Vyss last night. The House is in jeopardy –– we’re getting all you children clear of here… Now do as I say!”

  The entire dormitory was in an uproar as girls scrambled, ordered to be quiet, while others cried. Through all the madness Nessa did what she was bid – put on her best, which were her only, woodland boots and hoped her sister, Mahr, was going to be all right.

  “Come on,” she said, encouraging the girls, more than five years her junior, in the next room to finish gathering their things.

  “But I can’t leave my ––”

  “Take it, then!” she yelled, then knelt and helped another put on her boots.

  “I gotta go to use the privy!”

  “Argh,” she muttered, then, “Hest’yr, up to being in charge of the privy brigade?”

  Her year-mate glared, “Oh, joy… You heard Nessa. Off to the privy, then we’ll gather back here!”

  #

  Mahr frowned as she was hustled downstairs into the cellar, which served as an armory, with a dozen other young women her age. There were yawning little girls; several youngers had even fallen asleep. More were soon nodding off as Mother Shaman Jen’ret’s drugs began to work in earnest on them.

  Za’an spoke with one of the House traders, Re’atta, who had traveled across Cathart and sometimes beyond on behalf of Sire Ryff. She was organizing their group, and told Za’an, “We’re putting you with a later group… We need all the Tested Swordswains, no matter their youth, traveling with as many groups as we can. In the meantime, help us get straps on your yearsibs to help them carry the youngest.”

  Za’an glanced at Mahr, who fought back tears as others about her age collected quivers and bows, strapped on harnesses with daggers and throwing blades, sabers and short swords. Mahr blinked as Za’an strapped on a harness. “You can do this, Mahr.”

  “I know…” she muttered, glancing at a three-year-old. “I just know she’s gonna pee down my back.”

  With a chuckle, Za’an nodded, “Oh, believe me, my little sister will do worse than that to you.”

  “Oh, joy.”

  “Well, since you’re terrible with a bow, you’ll want a brace of daggers and a saber?”

  She strapped her bedroll filled with her belongings and travel rations across her belly. Za’an returned and harnessed daggers to her forearms and shins, a short sword to her side. Two sisters lifted the sleeping girl into her back straps, then draped a nondescript dark cloak over her. Another passed her a sojourner’s staff.

  She leaned against it gratefully.

  “Well, now you appreciate all those hikes Sire Ryff ordered everyone our age doing for all these years,” Za’an said with a smile.

  “But that was in the name of exercise… Your little sister weighs more than those damn rocks.”

  Za’an nodded as Re’atta ordered Mahr and her yearsibs to join the line ready to enter the hidden tunnel behind the armory. The trader took a deep breath and flicked back her brown hair, “You lot are going with me. You will not speak. You and you,” she pointed at two girls of about thirteen, “you’ll serve as my scouts, one forward and one to the rear. Now, what you need to know is these old tunnels are near several cellars along the way before we reach the city walls… We can’t risk detection… The drugs will keep the girls asleep for about eight hours. We’ve other sedatives should we have any cases of panic… Each of you are stronger than you know. You’ve been in training for a long time –– just not for anything quite like this.”

  Mahr glanced back at Za’an as Trader Re’atta waved to Mother Shaman Jen’ret, who went to the bottom of the stairs. Re’atta led Mahr’s group into the tunnel as the first members of the next group began lead youngers down.

  “If you see Nessa, tell her I love her!”

  Za’an nodded as the Mother Shaman called her and several others to help her dose the children, whom they were quickly directing to sit along the shelving filled with weapons, and the foundation walls.

  Chapter 5 – Great Waste

  The sun blazed overhead as he topped the next of the seemingly endless rises. He shaded his eyes further, wondering if the Barrier Mountains would look any closer, never noticing the faint movement of the sands.

  The tentacle exploded upward and wrapped itself around his left leg even as another burst free and wrapped itself around his right arm. Dragged to the ground, he fought with all his strength.

  “Mandrake!” someone shouted behind him, which is when the towering figure raced up the hill, gray black
metal sword slashing downward passing his head as the hill that was not a hill quaked as the creature spewed the disguising dirty. Teeth speared into view, almost like a flower petal, revealing a month big enough to swallow two or three men his size.

  The broadsword stabbed downward into that large maw. A moment later, there was a burst of fire and smoke and the ground heaved into the air. The tentacles recoiled from him, spasming.

  His rescuer drew back and stabbed again and again, more fire and smoke rising before he lost his footing and toppled with his foolish friend to the true ground at the burrowing creature’s side.

  “Uh, thank you…”

  His companion rose, glaring at him. “Lawson, of all the fool…”

  “Um, Greth, you were scouting and I thought…”

  “I was scouting over there because I was avoiding these.”

  “But you didn’t…”

  “I told you to do what I say.”

  Lawson frowned. “But this way’s more direct and you seemed…”

  “I was following the rocking ground, Lawson.”

  “Uh,” he muttered looking at hillocks around him. “You don’t think there’s any more of these—”

  “Swarm of mandrakes.”

  “Uh, swarm of mandrakes?”

  “That’s what I suspected until I noticed your strolling up to this one. Didn’t you hear me yelling?”

  Shaking his head, “Uh, I’m so used to being yelled at…”

  “This is me, Lawson. When I yell –– when I tell you anything, listen!”

  “Um, I think I can do that.”

  “You think… Argh, what was Mother thinking?”

  Good question, Lawson thought. “This wasn’t on her map.”

  “You and that damned map you keep taking about. Mother doesn’t know everything. Mandrakes move their nests. Though, it can take them years to migrate far. They steer clear of outcropping of rocks, which may not be the most direct route for us, but at least we won’t get eaten.”

  Lawson followed the man, who was now his guide, through the Wasteland, wondering if their friend gone these many months had fared better.