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

by D. H. Aire

  #

  “Wake up.”

  “Argh, let me sleep,” Lawson moaned.

  “You want those goblins to catch us?”

  He opened a bleary eye. “Please.”

  “Don’t worry, Yel’ane going to ride double with Casber.”

  “My back thanks you.”

  “I’ve rigged the straps so you can carry Ani’ya and En’sta, instead. Their weight should balance evenly,” he said with a mischievous smile.

  Lawson got up on his elbows, “Oh, thank you, you—”

  “Watch your language, impressionable girls might hear you.”

  Ani’ya and En’sta hurried to Lawson side and pulled on one of his arms, encouraging him to regain his feet. He did, sighing.

  Greth nodded, “Much better, my friend. Ladies, walk with him to the stream. He needs to drink his fill.”

  “We’ve already filled the water skins,” Ani’ya said, ever so pleased with herself.

  “Very thoughtful of you,” Greth said.

  Yel’ane looked miserable and Nessa rather satisfied.

  He frowned, thinking Lawson looked miserable, too. He blinked. No, that boy couldn’t be as stupid as that. He paused in thought, wondering just how close in physical age Yel’ane and Nessa were to Lawson. “Eek,” he muttered, not wanted to pursue that thought at all. Lawson was only an adolescent with no more… Grimacing, he told himself to stop thinking about it.

  The unicorn nodded, feeling fate playing about them.

  #

  Nessa climbed back into the straps. “Greth, where exactly are we going, now that we’re here?”

  “Well, our unicorn friend seems doesn’t have a clue where to find your Sisters, but happens to have a very good idea where we might find your mother.”

  ‘And your friend, George, of course.’

  “But first we need to find some help just in case those goblins are on our trail.”

  “And you think they are,” she said as he belted her in firmly.

  “Yes, I’m afraid I am.”

  Nessa glanced at the unicorn and Yel’ane, riding double, her arms around Casber. Yel’ane smiled back at her. She grimaced, wondering if she had miscalculated.

  Ani’ya muttered, “Move over.”

  “You move over!” En’sta demanded.

  Lawson sighed, realizing how much easier it had been dealing with Yel’ane alone. “Girls,” he said sweetly.

  “Yes, Lawson?” they chimed back.

  Wincing, he glanced back, first at Ani’ya and said, “If you don’t behave, I’m going to make this run worse than you can imagine.”

  Ani’ya paled.

  Then he glanced at En’sta, “My first thought is to have you both strapped in upside down.”

  The girl gasped.

  “We’ll behave,” Ani’ya promised. En’sta nodded.

  “Excellent.”

  Part II: Dragonmount

  Chapter 22 – Edous and the Thorns

  The Guard’s Commander, formerly Lord Gerig’s bodyguard, said from the High Counselor’s office doorway, “Are you sure about this?”

  “It will be all right, Reth.”

  “Only you,” he said to the leader of the refugees, who looked like invaders to him.

  The disarmed man smiled back, then passed him.

  Entering the office, the commander shut the door behind him, watching his companions.

  “Lord—” he began to say in greeting as the High Counselor met his gaze. “Gerig.”

  “Gwilliam, the last person I ever expected to see again.”

  “High Counselor?”

  “I was trying to lay low, but…”

  “You couldn’t stay away from the game.”

  “And outlived the other key players,” he shrugged.

  “If only you would have helped me.”

  “Actually, I did what I could. Remember, you ended up exiled, not executed.”

  “You did…”

  “Fenn thought he was so smart, rigging the game. But, there were those honest enough to know in their hearts you were innocent. I’m just sorry you lost your birthright.”

  Gwilliam gave him a look, then drew out from beneath his jerkin the talisman.

  Gerig gasped, “What! How? I mean…”

  “There’s a new player in what you term the game. Believe it or not, a human mage.”

  “Lord Je’orj.”

  “So, he did pass through here.”

  “And apparently leveled a Dark Temple, which led to my rise as High Counselor,” Gerig said, frowning. “But you knew that already didn’t you?”

  “I may have heard something to that effect.”

  “So, he helped you get that back… which means Fenn’s ruling without its power.”

  “He’s still plenty of power without it.”

  “Exactly how many refugees have you brought into the Thorns?”

  “Oh, a goodly number.”

  Gerig gave him a long hard look, “Gwill, two thousand?”

  “I started with a bit more than that when I left Trelor. We’re more than double that number now.”

  “And unlikely to see any more, now that Fenn’s troops have formed their perimeter.”

  “Well, that perimeter’s not as impenetrable as you might think.”

  “The Council has no issue with our levies seeing to the security of our borders, so don’t expect us to help you prove that.”

  Gwilliam shook his head. “Do you really think Fenn is going to leave you alone?”

  “Not for an instant; which is why the two of us are having this little chat.”

  Grinning, Gwilliam said, “I could use weapons. Old but serviceable swords, spearheads, metals we can melt down for arrow or spearheads.”

  “I heard you were long the arms master in Gwire.”

  “True.”

  “You’ve craftspeople, farmers, old and young, but not soldiers.”

  “Oh, I’ve a small troop. Exiled Gwedians, by chance.”

  “Do your best to keep them from my sight.”

  “I shall… save perhaps one.”

  “Who?”

  “Truthsayer.”

  “He’s with you!”

  “He grew sick of Fenn and regrets his part in my betrayal.”

  “Well, he can’t lie about that, at least.”

  “Not in words, he cannot,” Gwilliam agreed. “And he’s been quite helpful in weeding out any of Fenn’s loyaltists or spies. We’ve dealt with them–– sent no few packing.”

  “Should I be worried about any of them coming here?”

  “No, Lord Gerig, they will bring no harm. Many have chosen exile to farther climbs, having been warned that Fenn will kill them for their failures should they go back to him… and their hostage kin will soon be free.”

  “It’s true then. You rescued the Seeress?”

  He nodded, “Or she rescued us. I’m truly not certain.”

  “My Lord… I mean, Sir Gwilliam, I guarantee you the Edous Council will only agree to provide your refugees food, clothing, and what medicines we may, but no weapons.”

  Gwilliam saw the twinkle in his fellow exile’s eyes.

  “I see.”

  “You and I have always understood each other… My Prince.”

  The talisman glowed, reflecting Gwilliam’s normally well––hidden emotion. Gerig shook his head, “Lord Je’orj–– do you have any idea where he is now?”

  “Best guess, he should be in the Empire by now.”

  “My spies say Fenn’s very interested in Niota.”

  “The Imperial Keep was his likeliest destination after I saw him. If Fenn’s interested in Niota, I’ve no doubt Lord Je’orj will make things interesting for him.”

  Gerig laughed, “There’s not a brick standing where that cursed temple stood.”

  Gwilliam grinned, “Good. Fenn distracted buys us time, my old friend.”

  #

  Riding back to the Thorns, his scouts signaled out of the north that another
group of refugees was heading their way. “Six women and children,” his second in command muttered.

  “That’s it, then,” Gwilliam replied. “No larger groups have managed to slip past Fenn’s pickets in a week now.”

  “Not much we can do to change that without weapons, Milord.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “’Sir Gwilliam,’ suit you better?”

  “You know it does. I won’t be ‘Milord’ again until I sit on Gwed’s throne and Fenn’s head is on a pike.”

  A forest lay ahead. Archers stepped from behind the widest trees. “Your army, Sir Gwilliam, here to greet you.”

  With a chuckle, they rode up to the young ladies wearing pants and jerkin, none more than sixteen. “Sergeant, we’ve been signaled that a group of refugees is heading this way. See they’ve a guide to the camp.”

  The sandy haired sergeant nodded. “Well, are the city folk going to help us or not?” she demanded.

  Sighing, Gwilliam replied, drawing up his mount up to her. “I can tell you this, Sergeant Agwin, their Council will give our request full consideration.”

  “Bastards!” she muttered.

  “By kind, they know as well as we do that Fenn’s eyeing their city as his next prize.”

  “They’s still bastards,” Agwin replied, her fellow archers murmuring in agreement.

  Gwilliam laughed, “More than you know… I’ll see you later.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she said, turning about and ordering everyone back to their positions.

  He rode on through the gnarled forest with its many brambles and thorns, all of which helped give the region it name, trailed by his honor guard, a score of retired veterans of Crescent Land mercenary companies and household guardsmen, whose households no longer existed. Fenn du Blain ruthlessly dealt with anyone he thought might stand against him and the most trusted helped the families of those they had served escape to the Thorns before Gwilliam and the refugees he led out of Trelor reached it.

  That he had arrived with the one person they revered was the reason all followed him instead of one of the too young former young men of privilege, who still rankled at his leadership, but dared not do other than follow. That because of the other person Gwilliam brought out of Trelor.

  Minutes later that individual rode toward him down one of the winding paths that could easily lead those less familiar astray as they had many of the new residents. He shouted, “Gwilliam, she said I’d find you here!”

  He sighed, “Truthsayer, such an honor guard.”

  “Truth,” he muttered, glancing back, “these farm boys may be a bit young, but they can wield those axes almost as good as a sword.”

  Gwilliam shook his head, “We use what weapons we have at hand, my friend.” The boys, not one over seventeen, though, all were big for their ages grinned back. “And, they needed little personal training in them.”

  “Truth,” the friend who had once betrayed him muttered.

  “So, why did the fine lady want you to be here at this moment?”

  “Something about needing to prepare for some guests.”

  “Friends of Fenn?”

  “She says just the opposite… and they won’t be here for weeks, but they’ll be followed by… well, best she explain because, though, I know she spoke absolute truth, I’m having difficulty believing it.”

  Gwilliam moved his mount up beside Truthsayer’s, whispered, “What?”

  “Goblins,” he said too quietly for anyone else to overhear.

  He blinked, “How long do we have?”

  “She’s certain it is weeks yet, but not entirely.”

  “There are times I wish you were less right and others more specific.”

  “Truth.”

  They rode back at greater speed, Gwilliam fearing they might not have time to even train with the arms they either needed or had too few of. When hours later they came out of the forest, they came out onto a grassy expanse and faced the ridge and its high wall. The old ruined estate could just be glimpsed behind the edifice, two vine covered towers still being cleared as workers hacked away at it. The third already cleared at the far end of the estate. The fourth tower had collapsed over the centuries of the place’s abandonment.

  Thousands of refugees swarmed the place, rebuilding walls, shaping arrows and making bows, training in use of pitchfork rather than spear.

  “Dragonmount,” Gwilliam muttered, knowing it the perfect home for his fledging army of refugees, old men, women, and children, and men seen as too disabled to be of use of Fenn’s armies since all the able-bodied either served him or died.

  “Truth,” his friend said, “our haven in this ill-omened land against Fenn’s armies.”

  Atop the high wall, stood the Seeress.

  Chapter 23 – Dragonmount

  The Seeress was pleased to see Gwilliam riding out of the wood, having already seen it in a vision. The Edous Council was already in heated debate as Lord Gerig demanded they not only raise an additional levy to see to the city’s defense against when Fenn invaded, and that Gwilliam’s request for all be met.

  “No!” a newly raised Counselor railed, “we can spare no further men for another levy or even a single grain of food for that man and his rabble in the Thorns!”

  “What? You afraid you’ll have to work you own mill if your workers join the levy?” an old Counselor cried, one of Gerig best supporters. “What good will your mill do you, if you and your family are slain?”

  “We can buy Fenn off!” the young man shouted.

  “Like Trelor did?” someone laughed.

  “Heard he slit the throats of everyone in their Council.”

  The young man raised his hand to his own throat.

  “Aye, they did…” another Counselor said. “Just as that witch did to my brother, who dared to decry her acolytes taking more pigs than her tithe to her Temple demanded.”

  Several of the Counselors glanced at each other, knowing the incident had not been actually about pigs, but no one dared gainsay the High Priestess of what had become a Temple to the Dark One, which demanded offerings of blood, which seemed to have too many adherences in its thrall. Adherences, which either awoke the morning after the Temple’s fall, without memory of the horror they had allowed, or remembered all too well exactly what they had done. Many had gone mad with the knowledge of the kin they had cheered at being offered to the Dark One’s private rites.

  Others would be haunted forever by it. They had volunteered for Edous’s first levies. Others, like the young Counselor’s father, took their own lives.

  The young man turned away and the debate continued as she knew it would; seen it had.

  The wall beneath her trembled ever so slightly. The Thorns was known for such. The old estate had been built to withstanding such tremors and worse. There were those that whispered that such was from a dragon stirring in enchanted slumber.

  She clenched her fists. “Mistress?” one of her acolytes said in concern, not daring to touch her without great need while she stood in vision.

  The girl’s call was distant.

  “The unicorn has found the Hand,” she whispered. “Prophecies are in play.”

  “What else, Mistress?”

  “Fenn’s raiders set fire to the Thorns, charging the walls.” The earth shook in her vision as she gasped and fell to her knees.

  “Mistress!”

  “No, I’m fine… None of our people may settle along this wall, don’t let me forget to order that.”

  “I won’t, Mistress!”

  She caught her breath.

  “I will get you some water, Mistress.”

  “No, do not leave me alone. You or Kusins must be close enough to hear anything I say… Remember that when you are a Seeress. You can never be alone.”

  “Uh, yes, Mistress.”

  She blinked, “I mean this child. Trust Kusins.”

  “I… do.”

  “The boy will be a trial, but your daughter will have the gift… I o
nly hope the future I can see but dimly comes to pass as she…”

  “Mistress… Kusins?”

  She shook her head, “Not for a long time, a Seeress must stay unspoiled… until her successor can take up the task.”

  “I’m in no rush, Mistress.”

  “You have a lot to learn first,” she realized she was kneeling on the stone. “Help me up; Gwilliam should not see me so.”

  Her acolyte smiled, helping her up as the portcullis was raised. She liked Gwilliam too, though her fledging sight confused her at times, particularly when she saw the Seeress hugging the man close, then pulling his face down to hers to kiss him.

  Beneath her the girl felt something stirring and thought she heard, ‘Foolish girls.’

  #

  Gwilliam considered climbing the step to the top of the outer wall, which was Dragonmounts’ most notable feature. The inner wall had not fared as well over the years. Women were setting new mortar while others helped lever up the long dislodged stone to set it back in place.

  “I’m coming down,” the Seeress said, gesturing to him.

  Truthsayer asked, “You want me to stay?”

  “No, we’ll come to the Great Hall soon enough.”

  “I’ll see to your men and have food brought to you,” Truthsayer said.

  “Thank you,” Gwilliam replied, glancing around at the bustling former abandoned estate.

  That five thousand refugees cooked, cleaned, repaired, and trained under what mentoring Gwilliam could offer would make those on Edous’ Council reconsider their disdain for these people. Edous would soon find itself at war, but these people understood the only hope they had of surviving was to fight back. To do otherwise was to once more live in fear of their kin being dragged away, or worse.

  Fenn offered his people whatever came readily to hand. Daughters and sons, grandchildren, were stolen from their families, day or night, never to be heard from again; leaving only the memories of their screams.

  The Seeress of Trelor strode down the steps, her apprentice’s hand at her arm. “Gwilliam, you did well.”

  “I now understand what you meant by my meeting with the city’s High Counselor would be cordial.”

  “Yes, though, I did not claim to know entirely why.”

  “Of course, not.”