by RW Krpoun
In the evenings Provine Sael and Hunter would study the notes they had made in the vines, with Pieter assisting on occasion; with Laun gone they had no need for secrecy, as Igen and Kalos couldn’t speak enough of our language to even have a clue as to what was being said.
The weather stayed nice, warm instead of hot, and no rain. There were enough streams to suit our purposes, and game was plentiful. We traveled south, traversing the foothills, Burk and I helping manhandle the cart across the fast-running, cold-water streams and up the steeper slopes, which was good physical training.
Pieter was teaching Burk to whittle and carve wood, which apparently was useful when working with puppets. I spent my time working on the business of writing, which was much more difficult than reading, in my opinion, but it was a skill I needed, so I applied myself diligently.
I pondered the business of tracking time, and slowly got it settled into my mind. The Imperial calendar split the years into twelve months, eight months with thirty days and four months with thirty-one. Each month was named and numbered, and the days within each month were numbered. What confused me was that a week was seven days, but it did not seem to officially exist; weeks could be partially in one month and partially in another. That and the months not all having the same number of the days gave me problems. It did not seem to be proper planning at all: the weeks ought to fit neatly within the months, which should be of a uniform size and standard, I felt. Pieter had something about needing to ensure that the seasons lined up with the months correctly, but that didn’t make sense to me.
Still, for what it was worth, we had entered the eighth month of the year, and fall was drawing close; I figured that given how cool summer was in these hills, that winters here would be very hard. But one thing that a calendar does which impressed me was to put a year in order; it was kind of like a map: you could look at the calendar and know about how long you had before a season was on you. That made planning things much more accurate.
The calendar was something that free people needed to know, I decided, and I started to keep a list on a piece of parchment. Burk came up with a couple, but the list was mostly mine.
“You know, I’m getting sick of travelling in a band of academics,” Hatcher noted to Torl as the girls cleaned up after supper; Provine Sael and Hunter were huddled over their notes, Burk and Pieter were studying a diagram in the puppet book, and I was chalking sentences on my slate “You used to be able to get a game or a conversation around here.” She picked up Rose from the edge of a blanket and moved her to the middle.
The scout smiled a little and carefully glued a feather to an arrow shaft.
Igen passed near me with a pot and I reached out to catch a fold of her dress between my thumb and forefinger. She tried to tug it loose, but I wouldn’t let go until she eased cautiously forward and slapped my hand, a contact that was so hesitant it wouldn’t have annoyed a fly, but I immediately let go. I had started doing that the evening we had left the Gathering, and now, five days later, she was acting a bit less scared of me and Burk. A brute has to prove his worth every day, Master Horne always said.
“Since when did you need a second party for a conversation?” Hunter observed. “Grog had hair when he joined us, but you talked him bald.”
Pieter snickered as the Nisker made a rude gesture. “I try to make things more interesting for everyone around me.”
“You make things louder, that’s for certain.”
“I liked you better when you drank.”
“Once this is done, I don’t plan to be sober again for a year.”
“I have to say, this has been one mean bugger of a year,” Hatcher picked up Rose, who was again about to exit the blanket to escape into the green grass beyond, and hugged her. “Looking back at it, I should see the amazing things we’ve done, but mostly I just see walking forever, and Rose.” She gave the baby a smacking kiss.
“The bards skip the walking and sleeping wet, and cut straight to the drama,” Torl noted quietly.
“For every match I’ve had, I’ve got weeks spent training,” I nodded.
“That is the path of the professional,” Pieter agreed. “Barbarians live for glory, mhm but the professional seeks to perfect his or her craft.”
“Do you miss nailing pieces of Tulg scouts to trees, Torl?” Hatcher rocked Rose, who was watching the scout.
“It will be there when I return to it.”
“That’s good, having something to go back to,” Burk nodded.
“We have the pit,” I agreed. “And escorts.”
“What about you, Provine?” Hatcher asked. “What is waiting for you?”
“The Sagrit.”
I took me a long moment to realize that she intended that as humor, but Hatcher giggled. “What else?”
“There will always be need for a healer, or a foe of necromancy. Or a righter of simple wrongs, as Burk and Grog showed me in Merrywine. I will not lack for purpose. Although so long as the war continues, we should strive to remain in this group. Together we are much more than the sum of our parts, however excellent we are as individuals.”
“So what exactly are we doing?” Hatcher stroked Rose’s cheek.
Provine Sael glanced at Hunter, then absently rolled a sheet of thin leather. “The Dusmen tamper with things they do not understand.” She paused, looking pensive. “Hunter, explain it.”
“First, let me say that the Dusmen weren’t interested in what was on the stones in the vines because they already knew most of it from other sources.”
“Another vine patch?” Pieter asked.
“I doubt it, given the intensity with which the group was studying the vines. As we’ve learned the hard way, the Dusmen have had their vassals activating every First Folk structure or artifact that they can find. We had been speculating that they were doing it just to unnerve and distract the Empire, but after studying the information from the stones, we think otherwise.” He took a swig from his flask. “Also, we did not stop to consider what the Elder Ones had been thinking. Anyway, we now see that the Dusmen, who see the Arts as something like a battering ram, have a plan: they are activating these sites and artifacts to create a specific event at a specific time and a specific place.”
Torl hissed. “The Imperial doctrine: bleed the foe and retreat until all forces are gathered.”
“Exactly. It never was a secret, so by careful study, the Dusmen could choose an invasion date that would ensure that both armies are in the right area at the right time.”
“So what are they going to do?” Hatcher asked.
“It isn’t what the Dusmen are going to do, per se,” Hunter turned his flask over and over in his hands. “Mainly because they are simply trying to bring about something the Elder Ones left in place. The stones in the vines recorded a map of sorts, a map of interconnected places and times. They are going to use the old…well, call it a ‘system’ the First Folk left behind to call forth something in a specific place and time.”
“The place and time being where the two armies are,” Hatcher nodded.
“Yes. Except that the Dusmen’s force is protected by the aura they have created.”
“Or so the Dusmen believe,” Provine Sael interjected.
“Yes,” Hunter took a swig from his flask. “The thing is, we’re not sure what the ‘system’ will call forth.”
“Or what will answer the call,” Provine Sael added. “What is called and what answers is not always the same thing. This ‘system’ is plunging deep into unexplored regions of the Arts.” She considered for a moment. “Unexplored by anyone but the First Folk, I believe, and it is anyone’s guess as to whether they fully understood what this ‘system’ could do.”
Hunter nodded. “Anyway, we are hundreds of miles from the place where the effect will occur. What we learned in the vines was, as I said, a map. And as I’ve told you, the Dusmen are not inclined to the Arts. Pieter was key to our quick understanding of the outline of this business: what the ‘system’ does, to d
escribe it in crude terms, is to gather power from various places and sources, and divert it to a particular spot, much like dams and channels moving water to a specific point.”
“So what can we do about it?” Hatcher asked.
Hunter lifted one of the rolls of leather they had used to copy the marks on the stones. “Two days south of here is a dolman; I won’t bore you with all the arcane explanations, so let us just say that if this dolman ceased to be, the Dusman plan would have to be adjusted, and they do not have time to make those adjustments, assuming they will even be aware of our actions.”
“So that buys the Empire a year?” Pieter asked.
“Perhaps more, perhaps less,” Provine Sael said. “There are stars, places, and seasons involved, so it will certainly involve another place. We cannot prevent the Dusmen from undertaking this course of action, it is far too large. But we can prevent them from achieving it at the place and time they currently intend. How soon they can try again, well, we don’t know.”
“Can we warn someone?” Hatcher asked, absently rocking Rose.
“We could,” Hunter said slowly. “But that would mean confirming things long thought to be impossible. First, there’s a good chance no one would listen; second, and worse, people could listen, and that could lead to very misguided research and applications.”
“The works of the First Folk have been damaged by time and deliberate attack,” Provine Sael noted. “The Dusmen’s crude handling will do the physical aspects no favors. We think it is better to let what we have learned and obtained be destroyed, and hope that this ‘system’ fails on its own.”
“Hunter, you’re willing to pass this up?” Hatcher grinned.
The ‘slinger shook his head. “You don’t know what we have seen. Just establishing this weak point required the study of things…well, let’s just say that you could spend your life deciphering the lore on those stones and fill scores of books. The Dusman plan is crude in the extreme, and our counter is likewise primitive, and frankly, I will be glad when everything we copied is ash. What was on those stones is far past what could be described as rational.”
“How did the Dusmen, or their vassals, miss this vulnerable point?” Torl asked.
“We’re not sure,” Hunter shrugged. “But it was Stavodrag Venatin’s journals that gave us the clue of where to look. He sussed out that for the aura around their army to be so clear, there had to be something big in play, and that it had to be leaking. He headed to the Place of Mounds because it was a good place to start looking. I’m sure others worked out the same idea. Anyway, that put us on the trail, although I’m greatly simplifying all of this.”
“So we hit this place, and bugger up the current Dusman plan. They can try again, but that will take time and effort, not to mention figuring a way to get the Imperial Army in position,” Hatcher shrugged. “Seems pretty straightforward to me. Is it going to be just sledgehammer work?”
“No,” Hunter took another swig. “We don’t believe the Dusmen know about this, but it will be defended.”
“What sort of defenses?” I asked, not liking the way Hunter looked: he was always a confident rascal, but right now he looked like a man who looked into a mirror and saw something that wasn’t his reflection.
“The First Folk’s,” Provine Sael.
“If this is a little dolman that is nowhere particular,” Burk frowned. “Why would it be guarded?”
“I mentioned this business is not just the Dusmen’s plan, but also the Elder Ones’,” Hunter pointed out. “The Dusmen, or rather their vassals, have built nothing new: they’re using something the First Folk left in place, albeit employing it rather crudely. And that is where the rub is: we have come to suspect that the Elder Ones wanted this to be done, and to be performed by people with an inferior knowledge of the Arts as compared to the Elder Ones.”
“Perhaps by preference,” Provine Sael added. “In any case as the ‘system’ becomes active, ancient wards will activated to ensure that vulnerable points are defended.”
“More ominously, there are hints that the ‘system’ is such that beyond a certain point the Dusmen could not halt the coming event, even if they wished.”
“What the blazes is the end result?” Hatcher frowned, hugging Rose.
“No idea,” Provine Sael shrugged. “But I believe that whatever the Dusmen think they are bringing about, is based on false assumptions.”
“Why would someone go to this much work just to leave it behind?” Hatcher shook her head.
Provine Sael and Hunter exchanged a glance. “They might not have left it ‘behind’. It is possible they used it.”
“So we knock out the dolman and we’re done?” I asked.
“Yes. It will be all we can do at this point.”
“What’s the step afterwards?” Hatcher jiggled Rose, who was getting sleepy.
“Head back to the Empire,” Provine Sale was stroking a horn-numb, as she often did when nervous. “When their plan fails the Dusmen are going to be looking for the reason, and they won’t make the same mistake twice; before they try again, they’ll check and re-check everything they know. Once back in the Empire, well, the war will still be on, and there will be many uses for a group of our talents.”
“It’s steady work,” Hatcher shrugged.
Chapter Seventeen
“Sounds like we’re heading for trouble.” Hatcher observed from my shoulders the next morning.
“Trouble is what we do,” I shrugged, my hands resting on her not-new boots. “If there’re traps, you’ll defeat them, if there are enemy, Burk and me will kill them, and if it’s arcane Hunter and Provine Sael will deal with it.” I felt good: knowing the plan always made me feel better, and this was an important plan, one worthy of an Ebon Blade or a Red Guardsman.
“Or we all die.”
“Only one leaves the pit, that is the rule. We’re heading into a fighting pit.”
“How did you do it sixty times?”
“One at a time.”
She laughed.
Our goal was invisible to me when Torl announced our arrival; it was a mound that was so old that the weather and time had sculpted it to look completely natural. I still didn’t see it even after he explained, but after an hour of digging where he told us to, we had uncovered a pair of slabs covering an entry. The next morning we tackled gaining access.
“Couldn’t they learn to build doors?” Burk snarled as we wrestled the slabs out of the way.
“No wonder they died out,” I agreed.
When we finally had the way opened, we were faced with a steeply-sloping passage that headed deep into the ground.
“Goes below the bedrock,” Pieter observed after Hunter sent a ball of light down the passage up to the first turn. The engineer’s cheeks and upper lip were nearly free of scar tissue now, and his chin and jaw were emerging from darkened, flaking scars. He was revealed to have a narrow, sharply developed face. “They built to last.”
“Deep, hidden, and strong,” Hunter shook his head. “That fits. I wouldn’t mind being wrong, but it’s not looking likely.”
Provine Sael, peering into the passage, nodded somberly. “Pieter, take the girls and Rose and make camp along that last stream we crossed. Hatcher, you will clear the passage and then join Pieter. Burk, Grog, I don’t know what is to be found in this place, but you need not face it. This transcends any matter of pay.”
Burk glanced at me. “We are Red Guardsmen, and there are enemies of the Empire down there.”
“This is still an escort job, and when you engage the Ebon Blades you get quality work, that is the rule,” I shrugged.
Hatcher had finished stuffing her hair under the flat leather cap she wore when plying her trade. “Hunter, keep the light a couple feet to my left.”
Hatcher’s job was no quick one: the first five or six feet were safe, but after that hardly a foot went by without her finding a trap or a trigger, and from her comments, whoever had built them was highly skilled,
amongst other things.
“At this rate, this is going to take all day,” Provine Sael noted, watched Hatcher work.
“Enjoy it,” Hunter observed from where he sat on the grass studying the sheaf of notes, which was all that remained unburned of their written works. “It might be the larger part of your remaining lifespan.”
The Dellian glanced at the ‘slinger with a hint of a smile tugging at her lips, and then returned to watching the Nisker ease forward.
When Hatcher reached the first turn in the passage we four made our careful way to where she waited.
“Thirty more feet and it turns left, heading downslope the entire way,” Hatcher pointed with her chin. “How far is this going to go?”
“Not much further beyond the left turn,” Hunter advised. “There are laws of nature they have to follow.”
“Apparently there’s no rules or budget for traps,” the little Nisker sighed. “I wouldn’t think you could do this much with just stone and wood.”
“How has the wood lasted this long?” Provine Sael asked.
“It’s ironwood soaked in something,” Hatcher shrugged. “I can’t guess how many man-hours must have gone into the components alone. They seriously wanted to discourage anyone coming in here, which makes me wonder why they didn’t fill in the passage.”
“Again, certain non-negotiable rules,” Hunter noted absently, studying faint lines carved into the wall. “If they want their dolman to work, they cannot bury it completely.”
“Well, no rest for the wicked.” Hatcher tugged at her cap and then eased forward a foot.
There were fewer traps in this stretch of passage, but halfway down Hatcher dropped flat a split-instant before a volley of flint shards tore through the air over her and shattered against the far wall.
