by Brandon Mull
From the southern rim of Highvale, Rachel gazed down at the fat crescent of Northvale, and farther to mist-enshrouded Roundvale. A steep, serpentine path had led up from Roundvale to these smaller, higher valleys, but the way was about to become impassable by horses.
The Amar Kabal had no intention of improving the northward trails. Farfalee had explained that the few routes through the mountains were tricky to find or to follow. The narrow, treacherous windings helped ensure that any attack from the north would come as a trickle rather than a flood. Not that anyone lived north of the Vales. Still, in the warmer months, an invading army could theoretically gain access by crossing the tundra from the ocean.
Rachel glanced to one side, where Drake sat astride a chocolate brown stallion. He had given Mandibar to Galloran for the journey south. She and Drake had wakened early and slipped away from camp. The delegation had ascended to Highvale in the dark, and he had insisted that she shouldn’t miss the view from the southern rim. His flat features did not leave the seedman much of a profile as he glowered down at the misty morning.
“I love these valleys,” Drake said, apparently feeling her gaze. “So many memories. So many relationships. Years upon years. Lifetimes upon lifetimes. It is strange to ride through here unwelcomed. I wonder if I will ever behold my homeland again.”
“It’s beautiful,” Rachel said. “This is my favorite place in Lyrian.”
“I have a cottage deeper in these mountains,” Drake said. “Built it myself. I lived there for more than two lifetimes. Not short, reckless lifetimes like at Harthenham. Long ones. Good ones. I had my own valley. Not very big, but much more than I needed. To my knowledge, nobody else has ever found it. There is no easy way to get there. Winters were long. I needed to hoard plenty of wood and food.”
“Did you get lonely?” Rachel asked.
“Not for a long time. I grew old alone twice—older than I reached during any other lifetimes. I had patience. I really felt the difference after each rebirth. By the third lifetime, I finally began to itch for something else, so I left. Many of my people depart on their own like that. Some never return. These mountains go on and on, nearly spanning the continent. There are plenty of places to hide away. We’ve lost some of our best men and women to solitary living. Maybe they’re the smart ones.”
“Is that what you want to do?” Rachel asked.
He shook his head. “Not now. If I had no responsibilities, possibly. It might enable me to repair my spirit, purge Harthenham from my psyche. But I intend to see this rebellion through. So long as you, Jason, and Galloran stand, I’ll stand with you.” He took a deep breath, looking around and rubbing the back of his neck. “My people despise me. My lives have run out. I don’t belong here anymore. I have no future here. But it still hurts to leave. I miss these vales. I would have liked to see my cottage one last time.”
“You still might,” Rachel said.
“It’s nowhere near our path.”
“I mean afterward.”
He squinted at her. “A whole lot needs to happen between now and then. Including an improbable amount of me not dying. I thought I’d bid these valleys farewell once before. I’d rather say good-bye again, then let it be a welcome surprise if I get to return.”
Rachel thought about her home. Was she crazy to believe she would make it back there? She had to see her parents again. She couldn’t lose faith, whether or not Drake thought their future looked bleak. “Hope isn’t bad.”
“Depends on the person,” Drake replied. “If it works for you, use it. Ready?”
With a brief Edomic phrase, Rachel told her horse to head back to camp. Drake used heels and reins to similarly encourage his mount. She urged the mare to run, and enjoyed the cool wind in her face.
Back at camp, everyone was prepping to hike into the mountains. They all wore the robes of the Amar Kabal and carried heavy winter traveling cloaks. They expected to forage most of their food, but several people still carried packs loaded with nonperishable rations.
Besides Farfalee, five other seed people had joined the delegation. One was a young woman, Delissa, who stood half a head shorter than Farfalee and seldom spoke. The four other men included Nollin, the nephew of Naman, who bore an unmistakable resemblance to his uncle and had served for several lifetimes as his chief advisor. Farfalee had quietly informed Rachel that Nollin was along to help assure that even the most cynical seedfolk would believe the report sent from Mianamon. The other seedmen were named Kerick, Halco, and Andrus, all three reputedly proven warriors and huntsmen.
Galloran no longer accompanied them. He, Dorsio, and their accompanying seedmen had bid the delegation farewell at Roundvale, on their way to East Gate and eventually to Felrook.
“How was the joy ride?” Jason asked as Rachel dismounted.
“There’s a beautiful view of Roundvale from here. The valley looked full of whipped cream.”
“It’s probably better that I didn’t look. Chilled berries in cream was my favorite dish here. I already miss it.”
“Looks like we’re almost ready to go?”
Jason nodded. “Are you going to tell your horse to meet us at the tundra?”
“That might not be very kind,” Rachel said, even though she knew he was kidding. “I bet she’d try. She’s earned a break in a safe place.”
“Too bad we can’t say the same,” Jason sighed.
Not far from Rachel, Drake was transferring gear from his horse into a backpack. Nollin sauntered over to him, a tall walking stick in hand. “Well-timed arrival,” Nollin congratulated. “You managed to skip all of the work.”
“I figured you could use the practice,” Drake said without looking at him. “It takes more skills than speechwriting to survive in the backcountry.”
Nollin’s nostrils flared. “I suppose I have much to learn. Perhaps you can instruct me how to secure food and drink by bowing to Maldor?”
Drake straightened, his expression relaxed. “Based on your politics, I assumed he was already paying you handsomely.”
Nollin glanced sideways and noticed Rachel and Jason watching. “There is a significant difference between recommending defensive strategies to protect your people and betraying them by kneeling to the emperor.”
Drake nodded. “You have a point. I was only killing myself.”
“Seedmen have long been recognized as incorruptible,” Nollin said. “We are unerringly true to ourselves and our people. No seedman in history ever openly accepted a bribe from the enemy. You tarnished the unblemished reputation of—”
“I wearied of fighting the emperor without the support of my countrymen,” Drake shot back, finally losing his temper. The heated discussion was beginning to draw the attention of others in the camp. “How many manglers have you slain? How many conscriptors? How many displacers? I was invited to Harthenham for a reason. Believe me, our reputation was destroyed long before I dined there. You haven’t been abroad in decades. We’re known across the continent as the cravens cowering in the mountains.”
“The rest of Lyrian suffers while we prosper,” Nollin said defensively. “Let them mock. Soon there won’t be any scoffers left.”
Drake shook his head. “The servants of the emperor scoff the loudest, and with the least fear of reprisal. Make no mistake. Under the policies you’ve supported, they’ll have the last laugh.”
“Prudence is not cowardice. If we had declared war against Felrook, we would no longer exist!”
“It’s only a benefit to have a long life if it’s worth living! If we insist on survival, we could always try winning.”
“This from the one seedman who ever surrendered!” Nollin laughed. “The only one who sold his honor to live at Harthenham.”
“Who has less virtue—the man who fought until the lack of support killed his spirit or the man who never fought?”
“You’re very noble,” Nollin mocked. “I’ll admit, while you fought, I gave you no support. You had one thing right when you went to Harthenham
—nobody is going to stop the emperor! The rest of Lyrian lost the war long ago. The war has been over for years.”
“Then why are you here?” Drake growled.
“I’m here to assure an honest report reaches the Conclave. I’m here to watch the oracle confirm what those of us who haven’t spent the last thirty years in a stupor already know. There is no hope for a rebellion. Brave words can’t change that. Neither can bold actions. Neither can Beyonders or orantium or throneless kings with inflated reputations. This journey will only be worth the trouble in order to finally have the matter settled.”
“Don’t disrespect better men than you,” Drake warned.
“Why not?” Nollin replied. “You do it all the time.”
Drake reached for his sword.
“Stop!” Farfalee commanded. “This discussion has limped forward long enough.”
Drake left his sword sheathed. Nollin smirked at him. By now the entire delegation had become engrossed by the argument.
“Yes, we have different viewpoints represented among us,” she continued. “Yes, we have a displacer in our number, and a half giant, and a seedman who publically disgraced us.”
“She’s talking about you,” Drake muttered to Nollin, loud enough to draw a laugh.
“No, Drake, I’m talking about you,” Farfalee corrected. “Nollin’s views are shared by many of our people. Nollin never accepted a bribe from Maldor to hide from his problems in a debasing frenzy of self-indulgence.”
“It didn’t work,” Drake said. “The hiding, I mean.”
“If you speak again, we will leave you behind,” Farfalee threatened.
Drake raised both palms in surrender.
Farfalee smoothed her hands down across her robes. “As I was saying, our delegation represents diverse viewpoints. Some of us have reason to dislike or mistrust one another. But we are all united by a common goal: we want to know what the Prophetess of Mianamon can predict about the outcome of a rebellion. It does no good to speculate about what she will foresee. I think Nollin and Drake have already debated the possibilities enough for the entire trip. I move we don’t discuss the matter again.”
“Seconded,” Kerick said.
“Any opposed?” Farfalee asked, her intense eyes daring anyone to speak up. Nobody did. “Fair enough. Does any member of this group have a problem with the presence of any other member? Be honest. Speak now, or keep silent hereafter.”
“Aram snores,” Ferrin said.
Several people, including Rachel, strained to resist laughter.
Farfalee looked exasperated. “Does this seem like a useful time for humor?”
“I’m not joking,” Ferrin deadpanned. “It sounds like a bear drowning in a tar pit.”
Bursts of laughter escaped several people, including Rachel. Aram really did snore.
“I take no pleasure in traveling with a displacer,” Delissa said. The mood suddenly became much more sober. A couple of the other seedmen murmured agreement.
“Galloran entrusted Nedwin with the piece of my neck,” Ferrin assured her. “He can slay me at will.”
“I just hope it won’t be too late,” Nollin muttered.
Ferrin folded his arms. “Just as Drake can do little about the cowardly reputation of his people, I can’t do much about the untrustworthy reputation of mine.”
The statement elicited an outburst from the seedmen. Drake stared at the ground, lips trembling as he resisted laughter.
“Stop!” Farfalee demanded.
“The displacer isn’t wrong,” Tark said. “The reputation of the Amar Kabal has fallen.”
“Very well,” Andrus said, drawing his sword. “He’s welcome to test himself against me.”
“You’re missing the point,” Ferrin said calmly. “Nobody questions that you’re fine warriors. In fact, your prowess only makes you appear more cowardly. No one blames a weakling for hiding from a fight.”
“You claim to be tarnished by the reputation of your people,” Andrus said, sheathing his blade. “We have scouts, Ferrin. We know about you personally. You’re as slippery as any displacer serving the emperor.”
“Then your scouts should also know I have irrevocably fallen out of favor with the emperor,” Ferrin replied. “I may have been slippery, but until he turned on me, I was always loyal to him. I am now loyal to Jason and Galloran. I have proven that loyalty in every way possible, and will continue to do so. You will likely need my help as we approach the eastern battlefront. There will be considerable imperial traffic to navigate.”
“I do not ask any of us to fully trust the displacer,” Farfalee said. “But I do ask whether any among us cannot abide his company. If so, speak now, so we may replace you.”
“Replace us?” Delissa complained. “For a displacer?”
“For a member of the delegation approved by the Conclave,” Farfalee rephrased. “If he were not willing to work with us, he would be left behind. But he appears willing.”
“We’re willing too,” Andrus said.
“Delissa?” Farfalee asked.
“I won’t make trouble,” she pledged.
“This is no casual exercise,” Farfalee said. “We’re about to pass the point of no return. This delegation must be united. A difficult road awaits us. We can’t afford internal strife.”
“May I speak now?” Drake asked, raising a finger.
“I suppose you’ll have to resume at some point,” Farfalee said.
“Who made you the leader?”
Her jaw tightened. “Take your pick: experience, competence, intelligence, charisma—”
“Also the Conclave agreed to it with Galloran,” Kerick interceded.
“Very well,” Drake said, clearing his throat theatrically. “Now that we have all of this settled, I move, less talking, more walking.”
“Seconded,” Nedwin said tiredly.
The motion passed unanimously.
CHAPTER 21
HOWLING NOTCH
The days began to blur as Jason marched northward into the soaring mountains. At first he had frequently paused to admire the jaw-dropping vistas of rugged cliffs, glittering cascades, chiseled ridgelines, hidden lakes, and craggy peaks. Although he lived in the Rockies and had visited several national parks, he had never witnessed such consistently grand, dramatic terrain.
But eventually the postcard panoramas became so commonplace that he began to lose the ability to view them with fresh eyes. Instead of basking in the beauty, he started to focus on how steep the trail was to the next rise, or how closely the narrow path ran along the brink of the cliff up ahead, or how far the way had to twist and wind to cross a relatively short distance.
There seemed to be no end to the mountains. No matter how high they climbed, when peering ahead or back or off to either side, only more rocky slopes and stony crests remained in view, rank upon rank, a granitic ocean sculpted over eons.
The way became more challenging the deeper they progressed into the maze of canyons and summits. More often the trail became a ledge with a sheer drop on one hand and a steep rise on the other. More often, dizzying crevices were spanned by wobbly rope bridges. More often, carved tunnels or natural caves granted access through otherwise impassible terrain.
Although the sky remained mostly clear, the thinning air gained a chilly bite. Heavy winter cloaks were worn with increasing regularity. Snowy glaciers appeared upon the highest peaks and saddles.
They ate well. Aram reveled in the elk meat prevalent early on the hike, and later in the goat meat featured at the higher altitudes. Jason spotted all sorts of life, especially birds of prey, bighorn sheep, mountain goats, and an unfamiliar breed of shaggy, hopping rodent.
Drake and Nedwin helped scout, but Ferrin invariably remained with the main group. Farfalee and Nollin seldom ranged far ahead or behind, but the other seedfolk spent much of the time away from the delegation, either to hunt or keep watch for trouble.
The demanding trail offered little chance for conversation. Words te
nded to be limited to instructions about avoiding danger along the treacherous route. They hiked long hours, eating hastily and sleeping greedily. Jason was glad the Amar Kabal required no real sleep, because he never had to stand guard.
Jason had overheard no harsh words since Farfalee had called for cooperation at the trailhead, but he had observed plenty of surly glances.
On the ninth day of their hike, they reached a large stone building at the brink of a yawning chasm. With irregular walls and steep angles to the slate-shingled roof, the weatherworn structure could almost have passed for a natural outgrowth of the mountainside. Three thick ropes curved across the chasm, the thickest for walking on and the other two for handrails, all three connected at intervals by slender lines.
Four seed people manned the remote outpost—two men and two women. The building contained a stockpile of edibles and other goods, along with enough space for the entire delegation to sleep indoors, warmed by a blazing fire.
Farfalee counseled with the head of the outpost, a deep-voiced man named Valero. Jason overheard snatches of advice about weather and cave sloths and news from even more remote watch points.
As they prepared to depart the next morning, Jason found Ferrin reclining in an isolated storeroom, munching on dried fruit. He had specifically sought him out because the displacer hadn’t seemed like himself since the trip began.
“You doing all right?” Jason asked directly.
“Never better,” Ferrin said, popping what might have been a shriveled apricot into his mouth.
“You haven’t joined any of the scouting missions,” Jason said.
Ferrin grinned faintly. “I have a keen sense for when my services are unappreciated.”
“You have as much right to be here as anyone,” Jason assured him.
“In theory, perhaps, thanks to Galloran. Not in practice. Don’t fret for me. I’m right at home when most of the people around me wish I were elsewhere. Even among imperial servants, the company of a displacer is undesired.”
Jason frowned. “Don’t let the seedmen get to you.”
