Heavier Than a Mountain (Destiny's Crucible Book 3)

by Olan Thorensen

  Not that Maera felt enthused about Yozef inviting all three of his Shadows. Carnigan she liked, but Kales didn’t fit into social situations, and Balwis made her uneasy. She was never sure exactly who he was and how he would react to anything. Yozef’s insistence and his pointing out the advantages of making the men protecting him, her, and Aeneas feel welcome and appreciated needed no further exposition.

  As for the largest babysitter on Caedellium, Carnigan revealed his tolerance when Gwyned’s toddler first favored him as a climbing target. Everyone present felt nothing short of shock to realize that the big man wasn’t just tolerant, but he enjoyed the little girl’s attention, to the worry and then bemusement of her mother.

  Yozef completed the adult foursome sitting on the veranda, as he rocked a sleeping Aeneas. Yozef and Carnigan had volunteered to free up space and mothers while they prepared the dinner. The only image that marred the scene was the armed guard standing thirty feet away, near the door to the enclosed porch. He held his musket by the barrel, the stock on the ground, and his attention alternated between the darkness around the house and the sight of Carnigan playing with Morwena.

  The hetman’s family had arrived half an hour ago and was being entertained in the great room. As Maera updated her parents on details about finishing their new home, such as curtains, to her mother’s interest and her father’s disinterest, Anid and Mared watched Mirramel breastfeed her seven-month-old daughter, Dwyna, and waited for a turn to hold the baby. Ceinwyn Keelan had just asked Balwis Preddi why his last name was Preddi, if he wasn’t a member of the Preddi hetman’s family. The latter concerned Maera, considering her view of Balwis. It puzzled her at the same time, because Balwis studiously refused to talk about his past, yet continued to sit and dodge Ceinwyn’s probes, instead of stomping out of the room mumbling to himself, as she’d witnessed him do more than once.

  Ceinwyn was twenty Anyar years old and had had several visits from potential suitors. Her perpetual spiteful and put-upon manner had mellowed since Maera’s wedding, supporting her parents’ belief she had resented the older sister’s not yet being wed, believing it blocked her path. She had inherited more of her father’s looks, to her chagrin, as opposed to her three sisters, who more resembled their mother. In her mind, she needed as much time as possible to find a husband. She couldn’t be convinced that as a hetman’s daughter, there would be no dearth of suitors.

  In contrast, Anid Keelan was by any criteria a beautiful young woman, seventeen Anyar years old, of kindly and cheerful disposition, and until recently she had been the family member most able to stay close to Ceinwyn. Culich and Breda laughed between themselves that in another year or two, when Anid was of age for suitors, they would need to improve the roads to Keelan Manor to handle the traffic.

  The Kolsko cook, Serys Clithrow, was a whirlwind in the kitchen, moving between the large stove and the island cutting table and shouting orders to the night’s assistants—Gwyned, Anarynd, and Norlin Rumney, the fifteen-year-old servant at Keelan Manor. Norlin had been volunteered by Breda Keelan to help with the evening’s chores. His father ran the Keelan stable, and his mother washed and cleaned the manor and the guest cottages.

  Gwyned served as a second cook under Serys’s direction, while Anarynd and Norlin chopped, stirred, set the dining table, and carried out tasks to get ready for the thirteen people to be fed at Maera’s birthday dinner—not counting the three to be fed by their mothers, two at breasts and one with her own small plate, as she sat on Gwyned’s lap.

  The three guards who accompanied the Keelan family would not sit for dinner, but Serys had already taken sandwiches and water to them at their posts, with a promise of more once the formal dinner started. Serys herself wouldn’t eat with the others, despite Maera’s insistence, only to find out there was one person more stubborn than herself. Serys said she couldn’t do her job properly if she sat at the table and constantly jumped up and ran back and forth to the kitchen. Maera settled for Serys agreeing to partake in the birthday cake, a custom that Yozef had discovered seemed to be universal, no matter where humans landed.

  * * *

  Uzcil cursed when Drifwich fell for the fourth time, as they moved single file along a game trail leading near the Kolsko estate.

  “Did we really have to bring that clod along?” he hissed into Havant’s ear.

  “I wanted to be sure he didn’t scurry off at the slightest noise he heard, like a skittish coney. He can help gather the horses and saddles once we’re finished with the target. I saw no reason for him to have a firearm, so I assured him your men would take care of that part of the night.”

  “I guess I should be grateful he’s unarmed,” said Uzcil. “He’d be more danger to us than any man or woman he faced.”

  Havant only grunted, to which Uzcil responded in kind.

  “How do you know he won’t run as soon as we’re out of his sight and the firing begins?”

  “Do you really think he could find his way back to your camp and the wagons? He can’t show up in Salford if he’s missing two wagons, and I made sure he didn’t bring the escape bags I know he’s prepared. They’re back in Salford. Don’t worry, he’ll stay hidden, pissing himself until it’s over. Anyway, I’ll keep an eye on him, since I won’t be going to the house until you signal it’s all clear.”

  Uzcil understood that the assault itself was not Havant’s responsibility, though he suspected the agent could well take care of himself in a fight. Havant’s duties were gathering information, helping to plan the attack, getting them to the target, and then identifying the hetman’s body.

  * * *

  Maera opened the main door and leaned out. “Everything all right out here?”

  “Fine,” answered Yozef. “Aeneas is still sleeping, and I’m starting to wonder who will tire of horse riding first, Carnigan or Morwena.”

  Maera laughed, shaking her head. “Maybe we need to get the two of you to help with the babies more often.”

  “Providing riding instructions and serving as a climbing object are as far as I go,” rumbled Carnigan. “More intimate tasks I leave to women. I’d rather be fighting the Buldorians.”

  Morwena was in the middle of toilet training, and everyone was astounded that Carnigan could become even redder than his normal ruddy complexion when, a sixday ago, Morwena had asked him to take her to the voiding room attached to the house. He had declined and hurriedly found Gwyned, who compounded his discomfiture by cackling, as she led Morwena away by the hand.

  “How much longer until we eat?” asked Yozef.

  “Until Serys says it’s ready. I was already told this is the one day I can’t give her instructions. Since you men have the babies under control, I’ll leave and get back to my family. And no, Teena, we’ve got things organized inside. Relax. First-time guests shouldn’t be put to work. Don’t worry, next time you visit we’ll make up for today.”

  Kales’s wife had been about to offer, for the third time, whether she could do anything to help. She had brought an impressively large decorated birthday cake, prepared in her bakery at the suggestion of Serys, who had had no issue handing off the cake, so she could focus on the other courses.

  * * *

  Havant stopped and crouched when he caught the first glimpse of lantern light from a window. Like a caterpillar whose rear segments sequentially took fractions of seconds to react, the twenty-one men behind him halted and did likewise.

  “That it?” whispered Uzcil.

  “Yeah,” said Havant in a voice lighter than Uzcil’s whisper. “Three hundred yards away. The brush and trees will only provide cover for another two hundred yards, then it’s more open, with a few scattered trees, fences, and some outbuildings. Too bad there’s no cloud cover tonight, but Haedan will be completely set in about another ten minutes.”

  The larger of Anyar’s two moons hung over the western hills, just touching the treetops.

  Havant leaned closer to Uzcil. “Another hundred yards and I’ll check the front o
f the house to see how many wagons and horses are out front and confirm how many people we can expect inside. I’ll also spot the locations of guards with static positions. I won’t account for any guards who roam, so be aware. If all seems in place, you can proceed.”

  * * *

  Breda Keelan put a hand on Maera’s arm. “Dear, the house is coming along beautifully. I can see for myself why you’re thrilled with it.” Breda gave the arm a squeeze. “And with your family and life. I’m so happy for you. You know how your father and I worried about you.”

  Maera patted her mother’s hand. “No one’s more surprised than me at how much I enjoy being domestic. Me! Maera Keelan! Picking colors of curtains, shopping for just the right ceramic flowerpots for the back patio, and proudly showing Aeneas off to anyone even slightly interested. Oh, it’s not all giddy. Changing Aeneas and walking him when he cries are no more fun than when I saw you with Anid and Mared, though somehow that fades when I feed him, wash him, or when he just sleeps in my arms.”

  “Any lingering regrets at how all this ties you down?” asked Breda.

  Maera nodded. “There’s still some of that, and I assume there always will be. But I manage to spend half my time at work outside the home, even if it’s with Aeneas attached to me. I know how fortunate I am to have so much reliable help. Anarynd is wonderful with Aeneas, and Gwyned is a devil for getting things done. Serys handles most of the kitchen, and Mirramel seems unable to sit and do nothing, if she’s not feeding her daughter or Aeneas. I saw all the help you had, and I might have even more. I’m only just coming to appreciate mothers who have to do it all on their own.”

  “Another ten minutes,” a voice called out from the kitchen.

  “That’s Serys,” said Maera. “I’ll give it five minutes and go retrieve Aeneas from Yozef and tell the others in back it’s about time to eat.”

  * * *

  A low-pitched whistle alerted Uzcil. He replied, and a moment later Havant appeared out of the darkness.

  “They’re all there, although there might be a couple more than we expected, judging by the horses in front.”

  “A couple?” said Uzcil. “What does that mean? Two for sure or more?”

  “Probably two,” asserted Havant. “Nothing this many men can’t handle.”

  “I don’t doubt we can handle that many, but I don’t like surprises.”

  “I’d hardly call this a surprise,” uttered Havant, not hiding his irritation. “We always know any plan is only that—a plan, not an edict direct from Narth.”

  Havant brought the conversation back to the mission before Uzcil could respond.

  “I spotted three outside guards in fixed positions. One each at the front and back main doors. There’s also a third out from the road at the entrance to the lane leading to the house. A fourth guard is walking the grounds. He seems to take the same route each round and takes about ten minutes to complete a circuit. You take care of those four first, and the rest will be easy.”

  “Easy is never a word I use on operations like this, until my men and I are back in our own territory,” said Uzcil. The strike team leader turned to two senior men crouched behind him. “Nirrem, take six men and work around to the front of the house. Leave one at the west side of the house, so no one gets out a window. Leave another man waiting for the guard at the road to come running. After he eliminates the guard, he’s to rejoin you. Wait until you hear the rest of us at the rear of the house, then go in the front door.

  “Arkol, you’ll have seven men. You’ll take care of the walking guard. Wait until he’s out of sight of the house and be quiet about it. Send one man to the east side of the house to stop anyone from getting out a window on that side. I’ll leave it up to you when to start off the assault on the house. Get as close as you can, then kill those on the back veranda and rush inside. I’ll follow with the other four men. If you have little or no resistance, we’ll follow you. Otherwise, we’ll go in the windows on the right side of the house. Havant’s diagrams show a dining room and a large room where we might expect people to have congregated.

  “We can’t tell exactly where they’ll be, since we can’t approach close enough to see in windows without being detected, so we’ll rely on speed and shock. We’ll be at them from two or three sides, and there can be no hesitation. We have to be in and finish as quickly as possible. Kill everyone who can be a witness. That doesn’t include babes too young to speak. We’re not savages.”

  The missing details about how to know in split seconds whether a child was speaking or not amused Havant. He knew any baby would be fortunate to survive this night, especially since the team’s final act would be to set the house ablaze. This was war, even if no armies of tens of thousands faced each other. Noncombatants died, whether intentionally or not, and he didn’t feel squeamish about the reality.

  * * *

  “Should be about ready to eat,” declared Yozef, “although someone I’m holding already ate and, unless I’m mistaken, he’s shit, even if he’s asleep. Time to give him back to his mother or one of the other women.”

  He wouldn’t have dared make such a comment in his previous life, for fear of the PC police, but equal parenting details hadn’t yet developed on Caedellium.

  Yozef gently stroked the soft skin of Aeneas’s leg. There was nothing quite like the feel of a newborn’s skin. He listened to the baby’s breathing and watched the little belly rise and fall in the natural abdominal breathing that most older children quit after adults mistakenly told them breathing should be out of the chest.

  Aeneas’s breathing was so quiet, Yozef lowered his ear nearer. Then . . . the effort to listen carefully made him realize something was missing.

  “That’s odd,” he said to no one in particular. “I don’t know if I’ve ever not heard the niklons after dark.”

  The cricket-sized and sounding Anyarian insect-analogs were ubiquitous on Caedellium, even at higher altitudes. Although several species had adapted to different environs, they all sounded the same to Yozef, and they were always present . . . until now.

  “What—” said Kales, sitting up sharply in his chair, his wife’s hand slipping off him by his sudden movement. “What did you say?”

  Yozef shifted Aeneas in preparation for standing, still with an ear cocked at the night. “I was just thinking I don’t remember ever not hearing niklons as soon as it gets this dark.”

  Carnigan’s horse imitation instantly ceased, to Morwena’s complaint. Yozef heard the big man’s chair creak, as he shifted his weight.

  “Nobody move quickly,” said Kales, his voice low, tight, and urgent. “Act normal, but one by one get up and go in the house. Keep talking loud about anything, like we were doing.”

  “What—” started Teena, but Kales put a seemingly casual hand on her arm to stop her from speaking. Yozef could see her flesh turn white with the pressure.

  “Niklons don’t stop making noise unless there’s something or someone they sense is danger. I don’t hear anything in any direction. It may be nothing, or it might be something is out there or someone. You need to get into the house and caution the others. Now!” Though the last word was whispered, the urgency shouted.

  Yozef’s breath caught in his throat for a second, his heart rate shot up, and he clutched the baby against his chest.

  “Easy, easy,” soothed Kales in a whisper, as he rose, pulling his wife to her feet but keeping his grip on her arm. “I think it must be time to eat soon,” he said aloud. “You all might as well go in. I’ll be in in a minute.” He walked his wife to the door into the enclosed porch. Kales opened the door and guided Teena through, and the others followed.

  Yozef reached the door last. On the way, he heard Kales tell the guard they needed to check the grounds and for the guard to follow him thirty feet behind.

  When Yozef got to the door, he hesitated and whispered, “Do you really think it’s anything, Wyfor? What if it is? You’re unarmed.”

  Kales grinned his “Are you shitt
ing me?” look, which Yozef recognized. Kales opened his coat a few inches with the hand not holding the door, and Yozef glimpsed a pistol stock in a holster fastened to the inside of the coat and two knife sheaths. Kales let the coat close and nodded Yozef inside.

  Yozef held Aeneas tight, his throat muscles tight, his mind racing from an idyllic mood to incipient panic.

  No, no, no, this can’t be happening, desperately exploded in Yozef’s head, as, unbidden, he remembered attempts earlier on the Stent and Hewell hetmen. Kales must just be an alarmist! Please, God, let him just be imagining danger!

  * * *

  Arkol quietly grunted. The people sitting outside were going in. Another minute and they’d have had them like practice targets. He glanced behind at Uzcil, whose shrug was visible by starlight.

  No matter, Arkol thought. Outside or inside won’t make any difference in the end. Now they’ll just be bunched together.

  At the front of the house, all Nirrem knew was that he and four men were almost in position to rush the main door. One man carried a shotgun and another an axe, both to ensure that any door they needed to go through wouldn’t stop them. He had dropped one man at the side of the house to block that escape route for the hetman, and a final man had crept to within forty yards of the guard at the road. In another few minutes, Nirrem expected to hear the chaos start, as Arkol and Uzcil launched their assault on the rear of the house. That would be his signal.

  * * *