by K L Reinhart
Five Brothers and Sisters of the Enclave, five Brechan guards, and two Brechan counsellors, Terak counted up. Even with the addition of him as an Enclave novitiate, it would give the Brechans the upper hand by one person, should things come to a disagreement about their mission.
“Well, I guess it is their city, after all,” Terak murmured to himself as he stepped onto the cobbles and hurried forward. A party of strong and fast Tartaruk ponies had been readied for them, and the elf saw that there were other novitiates and acolytes loading the steeds with saddlebags. A small complement of others was assembled to see the party off—Magister Inedi, Father Gourdain, and of course, the Chief of the Enclave-External.
“Novitiate?” the Chief called brusquely to Terak’s hurrying form. The elf hitched his pack higher on his shoulder and rushed over.
“Yes, sir!” Terak had already slathered himself with the Acai Juice and had stashed the jar at the bottom of his pack, swaddled by the elvish leather jerkin to protect it. The other powders and implements he carried on his person, in the secret compartments of the harness, along with his variety of blades.
“Help me with these feed bags, quickly!” the Chief grumbled, limping over to where a couple small sacks of grain sat by the stable doors that faced into the Eastern Courtyard.
“Chief, sir,” Terak whispered as he reached down to grab the first, Father Jacques grabbing the second.
“I know, I picked those robes out myself for you, remember?” Jacques appeared to have acquired a foul mood in the short time it had taken the elf to equip and prepare. “You have your story?” Jacques muttered.
Oh no! Terak thought. In the rush, he had completely forgotten the important job of preparing a story that he could use for cover should he be asked. He reached for the first name that came to mind. “Tertorlake, sir. Son of a lesser noble family, fallen on hard times.”
“Hmm,” Father Jacques did not sound impressed. “Bloody foolish name though. And which noble family? You know that Aldburg is the capital of Brecha, don’t you? And you’ll be travelling with Courtier Annas, who doubtless knows all of the noble families in the north, the major and the minor ones!”
“Ah,” said Terak, feeling more than a little stupid.
“Change it to Torlake. You were born in the village of Retter, and your family was too poor to keep you, so they sent you to the Black Keep at the usual age. Understood?”
“Yes sir,” Terak said.
“Your fellow Brothers and Sisters have all been chosen by Father Gourdain from the Wall Guard. They may be curious about who you are, but they are a serious sort who know not to ask questions,” Jacques said. They crossed to the ponies, and the Chief directed Terak—or Torlake—on which steed still had the space left to carry supplies.
“Brother Menier had rooms in the Castle of Brecha, of course, but he also had a place where he could conduct Enclave business by the river Ald that runs through Aldburg. Workshop 7,” Jacques said. “Try there first.”
“Sir,” Terak whispered. He secured the feed bag to the pony, who appeared completely nonchalant at this imposition. Tartaruk ponies were like that, and for a moment Terak wished that he could share in their equanimity.
“This is a depiction of the amulet that Brother Menier sent me, and which I verified with the Loranthian Scroll. Your absolute top priority is to retrieve it and return it safely to the Keep, do you understand?” Jacques said in his grumbling voice. “Even if you have to leave the others behind, you get it back behind the walls of the Black Keep safely!”
“Of course, sir,” the elf nodded, although internally, his stomach was churning with worry. Now that we know that there is a traitor in our midst . . . How could there be any guarantee that this amulet would be safe inside the Black Keep?
“Then remember your training, and may the Moons favor you,” Jacques whispered fervently, before turning back to the rest of the party, grumbling and limping as the Magister’s voice rose.
“I know the urgency of your mission, and the depth of worry held by our comrades in Brecha.” The Magister inclined her head with a gracious nod to Counsellor Annas and Adviser Semuel. Annas smiled and nodded in return, but Semuel appeared to only agree with the assessment. He shuffled impatiently on his feet.
“So, I will not keep you long, only to point to this historic occasion: the forces of Brecha and the Enclave united toward a common goal!” she said with a note of victory in her voice. If it was meant to be a rousing speech, however, it did not appear to have the desired effect on the listeners, who were all stern-faced and grim-eyed.
The Magister gave a small sigh. “My fellow Brothers and Sisters here know of routes and locations that will speed your journey. They will see that you all get to Aldburg safely and swiftly.”
“Good,” Adviser Semuel said out loud, somewhat rudely. “Then there is no point in any more delay,” Terak saw him turn to the Brechan guards. “We must ride! For Brecha!”
There was a moment of hesitation amongst the assembled Enclave members, who looked to the Magister for their orders. It was clear to Terak that this was a test of authority between the Adviser and the Magister, but Inedi merely gave a cold smile and inclined her head. It had been decided, clearly, that Adviser Semuel was to be heeded.
Terak wondered if that would prove to be a good thing or bad, as he caught the Chief’s eye. He saw the man give him a slight nod, and he returned it as he mounted the unimpressed pony along with the others. He found himself immediately surrounded by the other black-garbed Brothers and Sisters. It seemed that, all of a sudden, the outcast elf and Null of the Black Keep was a member of the community which had spurned him so completely.
“We ride!” Semuel mounted his own steed with a surprising agility and skill that Terak wouldn’t have guessed for the magician. He appeared to be as much in his element here as he had been at the Lord General’s side by the banquet. He raised his hand and swept it toward the open Eastern Gates.
The Brecha guards surged forward first, the hooves of the ponies striking the cobbles as they raced into the cold mountain dawn. It was hard for Terak to not share the excitement as he felt his pony eager to let fly. The elf leaned forward low over the pony’s neck, and, as the other members of the Enclave joined the charge, so did Terak, his teeth bared in savage delight.
Adviser Semuel set a punishing pace for the first quarter of the day. Again, the elf was surprised at the apparent skill and experience that the thin-looking magician had in such endeavors.
The party had ridden as hard as they dared out of the Black Keep and onto the Eastern slopes. They rushed past the injured body of the Lady of the North as she listed in the air, her hull crawling with teams of Brecha sailors performing repairs. The Ixcht left their mark well, Terak thought a little glumly. They also passed the giant scorch marks on the ground where the strange soldiers of the White-Faced Legion had self-immolated.
Down the slopes of the Tartaruk and onto the ridges, their pace quickened as the ponies found surer ground in the winding path that snaked over the tops of the foothills. They reached meadows and heather-fields where the road forked, and Semuel directed them to take the western track. It wasn’t long before they passed the black and shining stones of one of the Tartaruk way markers, and Terak could almost feel the change in the atmosphere.
They were no longer in the free territory of the mountains and the Enclave, he knew, but were in Brecha proper. This was confirmed as their hooves thundered in front of a very different sort of way marker—a large yellowish stone, with the legend ‘Aldburg, 3 Days’ carved onto its surface.
“Three days!” Terak couldn’t help but blurt out as they clattered down the route. That’s insane! he thought. The Lady of the North will be ready to fly long before then!
“Ha!” One of the Sisters nearby had apparently overheard his exclamation. “It only takes that long on the roadway, not travelling like the Enclave travels!” She grinned, her blond hair escaping her black hood and trailing behind her.
/> How does the Enclave travel, then? Terak wondered. The other times that he had been sent on missions to the outside, he had been on foot. Sister Ella had also set a punishing but fair pace.
Ella who died, saving my life, Terak frowned. For a moment, he wondered if he would have to say the same about any of these other Enclave Brothers and Sisters around him by the time that he was done.
But there was no time for worry or anxiety. There was only the path ahead, wasn’t there? That was what the Book of Corrections had taught him, after all.
All he had to do was follow it.
And not die, he added.
The party pressed on through the afternoon, with the austere gray mountains slowly being passed by, league after league eaten up, and eventually turning into a blue haze. As they descended into the wild lands of northern Brecha, the hills and valleys rose about them. Soon Terak couldn’t make out any familiar landmarks. Instead, their party was surrounded by the endless greens, purples, and browns of the open moors, interspersed with wide dirt roads and forested river valleys. Several times on their trip, they passed by the ruins of deserted farmhouses or the circular footprints of ancient towers.
“The Northern Wardens,” murmured one of the Brecha guards who rode beside Terak, referring to the old bones of the towers. The assemblage had changed over the course of the journey, with the more formal split between the Brecha and Enclave forces diminishing, until they were now sorted according to riding ability and comfort.
Terak found that, even though he had only rarely been astride one of the Enclave ponies before, the animal responded eagerly and well to him. When he allowed his anxieties to lessen and his emotions to fall deeper into his body, as he had been taught, he felt a sort of connection with the beast. He could tell when the creature was confident or tiring and would relax his knees or heels accordingly. He wondered if the other riders had the same experience.
“They are relics of Old Brecha, back when it used to be a proper kingdom,” the young voice of the guard beside him continued. It was hard to make out everything the young human said. As well as the thick fur-lined cloak, he also wore a light gauze covering over his lower face, presumably to prevent the chill of the wind and the sudden inhalation of the moorland insects.
“And it isn’t now? A proper kingdom, I mean,” Terak found himself saying. They had ridden for what must have been hours without sharing a word, and to be honest the elf was pleased for the small amount of connection that he shared now.
Adviser Semuel had called the party to a gentle walk after their exhausting first segment, allowing the horses to breathe and to nibble at the short grasses by the wayside. Terak allowed his horse to clip along beside the talkative masked guard as he stretched.
“Well, Brecha is technically a protectorate,” the guard appeared to chuckle wryly, urging his steed toward a particularly green hump of grasses. “The old King and Queen died without issue some hundred years ago, and the General at the time instituted the line of the Lord Generals, which—ah—seems to have worked well so far,”
Terak cast the guard a look. Was he questioning his liege lord?
“But those,” the guard nodded toward the distant circle of blocks that had once been a tower. “They were built by the old royals to prevent the incursions from the Blood Gate.”
“You know of the Blood Gate?” Terak burst out, before cursing himself for his stupidity. It seemed however, that the young man didn’t see this as an odd question.
“Of course! Everyone in the north knows that just beyond the Tartaruk lies one of the gateways to hell itself!” He said as if surprised that anyone would think to keep such a danger a secret. The guard’s tone changed as he sighed tiredly, looking around the empty moors and hills. “They say that this region used to be very rich, before the Blood Gate opened. It raised good, strong cattle, and the mountains were full of gold and iron. The Brechans were a wealthy people, if you can believe that!”
Terak frowned. When he looked around at the hills, all he saw were weather-swept moors and the ruins of old farm buildings. “I guess no one wants to live near the mountains,” he said.
“Not with the time of opening coming near.” The man’s eyes speared toward the haze of the mountains, and he made a gesture with his hand, as if warding off evil.
Interesting, Terak thought of this conversation. He wondered if everyone in Midhara knew of the Gates, or whether it was just the Brechans? Perhaps the paranoia and secrecy of the Enclave was unwarranted, if an average soldier of their neighbors had such a fear?
Terak was busy thinking these thoughts as the ever-present rain started to spit, earning grumbles from some of the other Brechan guards—
One of the Brechans suddenly crumpled from his pony and thumped on the ground.
What? Terak looked up, as the shapes spiraled out of the storm-laden airs above them . . .
“Attack! We’re under attack!” A human was shouting, as Terak reached for his shortsword.
15
The Estreek
A dark shape that was full of feathers, teeth, and—rather surprisingly—scales, flung itself straight toward Terak’s face. The elf had a brief moment of seeing a fanged mouth like a snake’s, and two black-feathered wings halfway down its sinuous body.
Terak let out a surprised yelp at the sudden horror, slashing upward with his shortsword at the same time as he spurred the pony with his heels. The steed apparently didn’t need any encouragement to jump to one side, snorting wildly at the intrusion.
“Estreeks! Someone’s summoned Estreeks!” Terak heard a voice shout, not that he had time to pay attention to anything else.
The feathered snake—the Estreek—had landed on the path behind Terak, and he turned back to see it flip over, coil its body, and launch upward at him again.
The creature was lightning fast, but Terak was faster. He managed to sweep his blade around just in time to feel the heavy thump as the sharpened edge connected with flesh and neatly severed the creature in two. Rather disgustingly, it fell to the ground where the two halves writhed independently of each other, spilling a thick green ichor into the dirt around it.
“Argh!” Terak heard a horrified shout. He turned and saw that the young Brecha soldier he had been talking to was trying to slice one of the feathered snakes. It had attached itself to his steed’s back leg, wrapping its tail around it and fluttering its wings obscenely as it latched on with its fanged mouth.
Terak could see the problem that the human was having immediately. He couldn’t get a clean strike with his sword without threatening his own steed.
“Wait!” he called, urging his own pony closer.
All around them, the other riders were having similar difficulties with the flying, leaping, writhing creatures. Terak had never encountered anything like them before—either in the mountains or in any of the Father Gourdain’s monstrous bestiaries. Terak had to rein his steed in sharply as another of the Brecha ponies galloped past without its rider, its eyes rolling white with horror.
“Hold, hold!” the younger Brechan soldier was saying, desperately trying to control his horse. In the same moment that Terak spurred his on, he saw the soldier lose the thin veneer of control that he had. The horse—and soldier—bolted across the moors.
“Hold!” the soldier called out desperately, but it was more of a pitiful shriek than a commanding voice.
There’s no way the horse will respond to that, the elf thought as he leaned lower over his own steed’s neck and urged her to chase.
With a lurch of released force, Terak’s pony jumped forward and her hooves went thundering across the moorland after the embattled soldier, who was still waving his longsword in the air like a loon.
Dear First Moon, he’ll cut her leg off if he carries on like that! Terak gritted his teeth, trying to let a calm confidence and authority transmit itself through every line and muscle of his body to the steed he rode.
It worked, and the pony galloped faster, pulling up behind the f
leeing pony, and then, closing in on her shanks.
But now, Terak could see that something else was happening to the steed. It was not only frothing at the mouth with eyes rolling—which he might have expected, given its current state of distress—but its gait was starting to unravel. She was stumbling, and awkward, and suddenly Terak could see why: thick black lines were spreading out from where the Estreek had bitten the beast, forming a creeping spiderweb that stretched from her legs to around her belly and back.
The creature transmits a poison, Terak saw. At the speed that the soldier’s horse was charging, she’d soon throw the rider or crash, killing them both or at least breaking limbs.
“Jump!” Terak shouted breathlessly.
The soldier looked at him frantically with wide eyes.
“You have to!” Terak shouted again.
Then the very worst happened.
Terak had pulled his pony almost alongside the other, but suddenly he was alone. The steed gave a snort and tripped as her leg hit a rock or hole in the moor.
Terak pulled on the reins to swerve his own steed away as the stumbling horse crashed to the ground with a terrible, mortal crack, throwing her rider across the moors in a series of thumps and groans.
Dammit! Terak wasted no time, wheeling his steed around as he kept on murmuring at her, “Easy, easy, easy . . .” He didn’t know if it was doing any good, but at least she wasn’t panicking as the other had. Within a moment, Terak hopped from the saddle to land with heavy feet on the moor. He ran across to the prone form of the soldier.
He was met by the leaping form of the Estreek.
“Ach!” Terak flinched, reacting in the only way that he knew—sweeping his blade across him. There was a thump and a chittering sort of hiss, but the feathered serpent wasn’t fatally injured when it hit the ground.
Terak panted, turning to face the thing. It was no bigger than a regular Black Keep cat. It whipped its head back and forth as it hissed at him, one of its wings limp and awkward beside it on the ground.
