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

by D. H. Aire

  The book was emblazoned with a sigil few were ever privileged to recognize–– the price of a family’s fortune by the Seeress’s Temple in Trelor could beggar a city–state. That this book had been presented instead to her ancestors was their most closely guarded secret.

  #

  Weeks passed. The day began like any other. Ships bearing the Hollif flag and two others representing over coastal city–states were moored in Catha Harbor along with a Cathartan merchantman, returned from patrol. The city walls were defended by Guardswomen, both archers and swordsworn. Women in livery to the Houses and those boundless in less colorful garb went about their business, some carting goods, others selling their wares and foodstuffs.

  Of the houseless, many wore robes, skirts, and blouses which were dull and frayed, denoting their station in life. Although, many wore finer, much finer – often with a colored stripe denoting which House they were allied with, running businesses and enterprises that were lucrative. Even their guardswomen’s gleaming chain mail and better arms showed their wealth of status.

  Several hungover sailors staggered down the streets waving at the ladies they were leaving behind at this port known for its willing ladies–– whose price was a Curse. Those smart enough, their Captain did not brand in warning. Those fool enough to accept the Curse would bed no woman outside this land and would likely live and die on the seas. Those who thought to escape the branding, feigning not to carry the Curse–– such sailors did not long survive to see daylight.

  Cathart was a land both accursed and prized by the traders and sailors that braved these shores. The city of Catha offered unparalleled quality goods ranging from textiles and ceramics, to fine weaponry. Yet, there was not a man who was not warned of the Curse which endangered every male.

  The calm of this day belay the lie for prophecy, which brought hope and despair as women whispered the name of Vyss Secondson in every home.

  #

  “We have little time left.”

  “I know,” Sire Ryff replied, looking out the window at the gardens, patios and buildings across the estate, “and that’s my fault as well.”

  “No, the fault is mine,” Mother Shaman De’ohr said. “Perhaps, we should never have kept my being able to foretell such a secret.”

  “It was our advantage… and so rare a gift.” He shook his head. “How can everything have gone so wrong? Vyss is alive as you saw he would! The other Houses should have feted and honored him ––not –– not be treating him as a pariah!”

  “Our way is threatened. It’s coming to an end, brother mine. They are fighting the prophecy of the Secondson – fighting it out of fear.”

  “We’ve so few men left. For one of the other Lords to try to kill Vyss is… is… obscene.”

  “Ryff,” De’ohr, senior mother shaman of his House, nearly choking admitted, “it’s worse than that… I’ve foreseen the price we’ll pay to fulfill the prophecy.”

  He found he could not look at her as he muttered, “What?”

  “The end of this House… and your death, Ryff.”

  #

  “Nessa, where is she?” Cook shouted, limping toward her.

  “Uh, where’s who?” she replied, wincing.

  “Girl, don’t play innocent with me! Where’s your year–mate, Yel’ane?”

  “Yel’ane,” she shrugged. “I haven’t seen her all day.”

  “Well, when I find her she’s going to be on more than pots and pan duty!” Cook had difficulty stalking off in a huff. “Yel’ane!” she screamed.

  Nessa sighed once the woman turned down the side corridor, “You can come out from beneath the table now.”

  Yel’ane peered up, “Uh, hi.”

  “Heard you’d missed night check last night… Yel’ane, what did you do now?”

  “Nothing really… really, Nessa. It was an accident.”

  “What kind of accident?” she couldn’t help but ask.

  “I was in archery training.”

  “They didn’t give you a bow…” she said in rising dread.

  “Well, you know, I’m better with a bow than a sword, Nessa.”

  “I know. You almost cut your own arm off when we spared last week.”

  “Which is why Mistress Cle’od assigned me the bow today.”

  “Huh? I thought she had you in staff training.”

  “I, um, went to bed early last night, because, I knocked myself out in last night’s extra training session…” Of which Nessa knew she had many. “Or so, Mistress Cle’od told me. I don’t exactly remember, but the Mother Shaman said I was fine when I woke in the infirmary.”

  “And Weapons Mistress let you near a bow?” Nessa wondered.

  “Uh, not exactly… She just assigned me to the bow this morning–– after telling me I would not be training with a staff again for some time… But I wanted to show her… show them all I wasn’t a complete…”

  Nessa stared, “What exactly happened?”

  “Well, I went out to the courtyard and took a trainer’s bow… Fine, my arrow went, well, a bit wide.”

  “Oh, no.”

  Yel’ane shook her head, “It sort of shot up into the air and behind me over the roof… and landed, nearly spent, thankfully… You see, Cook was bent over picking through a basket of fresh picked…”

  Nessa glared at her as she dithered.

  Wincing, Yel’ane admitted, “It landed in her, um, arse.”

  Wincing, Nessa, shook her head, “Yel’ane, you know how many meals you’re going to miss?”

  “Bring me dessert for the next week or so, at least?”

  “Somehow, I don’t think so.”

  “Please, Nessa.”

  “That’s not what I mean… you haven’t heard the rumors.”

  “Huh?”

  “I think Cook was personally checking the baskets of fresh fruits for reason… You see, Yel’ane, while you were apparently knocked out last night…”

  #

  “Mother Shaman, we’ve buried the assassin’s body in secret as you ordered,” the liveried Cathartan woman reported.

  “Which hasn’t stopped the rumors being whispered among the older daughters of the House,” Mother Shaman De’ohr replied, knowing that the children of the House must remain unaware of the attempt on the fourteen-year-old’s life.

  “Someone must have aided the assassin, allowing her to get into the inner household.”

  “There is, no doubt, a traitor in our midst,” De’ohr said, desperately wanting her foretelling to show her the face of that traitor, but such a vision was proving elusive. “What’s most important is that the assassin failed. Your son, Vyss, lives. Must live. He’s the first ever to survive the full blown Curse that kills sons upon adolescence… For that we must be forever grateful to the human mage and the elfblood healer, who found us returning from the Empire.”

  “Seventeen Houses now, which could be eighteen, when once Cathart had hundreds.”

  “Once a thousand, according to the tales, Lady Aly’na.”

  The Curse ruled their lives. The Houses had alliances across the land. To the tens of thousands of women: daughters, wives, and trusted Sisters to the Sires and the thousands of women and their daughters who were houseless – who without trade alliances would otherwise be totally dependent on traders and sailors to father their daughters, they knew no other way to live. Bringing about the prophecy should be something everyone yearned for –– yet, it meant change and the end to the way life had been for thousands of years here… Worse, the Curse followed them, making Cathart the only place that could live without contaminating the rest of the world with their taint.

  But the Curse made them hard. They protected their men and did what they must to preserve humanity from generation to generation. None were harder than the Mother Shamen of the Households, those tasked with the secrets of life and the arbiters of their People.

  Aly’na frowned. “The vision you shared with Ryff. It is madness –– goes against everything he believ
es.”

  “It offers the only hope his younger son, his miracle second born son, has. The traitor has her role to play; else I would see her in my vision.”

  “There must be another way,” Aly’na half pleaded.

  “I wish there was. We can only go by the Book of Prophecy now. Ryff will die, so that his second son and his wives and children survive, and the Curse be broken. Go to him, while you may… I am… sorry, Aly’na. I can offer you nothing more.”

  #

  Aly’na, ran this House in a way that likely maddened Ryff. She’d borne him a daughter and a son, a secondson at that, making her the uncontested queen of this House. When Ryff had left with Vyss to seek a cure, she never expected to see her son again… It was with tears of joy she saw her son, hale and hearty, if far too thin for her liking. She had been shocked to learn that her daughter had been bound to the man, a human mage, no less, who had saved Vyss’s life.

  To say she was furious with not just her husband but Mother Shaman De’ohr was an understatement. That she’d been able to vent that anger at the assassin who had come so close to murdering her son the day before only made it possible to appear calm at her lord’s summons.

  When she saw how pale Ryff looked, all the anger she still husbanded was forgotten. “Milord?”

  Ryff sighed, “I’m sorry, Aly’na. I know what De’ohr shared with you. But there is one thing more…”

  “More than my allowing you to die?” she cried.

  Nodding, he said, “For Vyss to survive what’s coming, we have no choice but to shatter the House.”

  “What?” Aly’na said. “We can’t. Not while I’ve breath in my body!”

  Nodding, he replied, “My love… I beg of you. Live for our son; accept what cannot be changed.”

  “Ryff…”

  He held out his arms to her. “My love, we’ve so little time left.”

  She rushed into his arms, her tears soon mixing with his. “They shall pay for their treachery.”

  “I’m counting on that,” he whispered in her ear.

  Chapter 3 – Barrier Mountains

  ‘The trolls for one… They will be a challenge. Then again, lad, trolls always are…’ He saw the troll creeping forward, heard the girls’ screams and woke, startled.

  The morning light was faint as it entered through the tent’s flaps. He frowned, thrusting aside the dream or nightmare that even now was receding. He listened for his grandfather, heard no signs of his snores. Crawling out from amid his blanket, he went the cloth partition that separated his section off from his grandfather’s, Elder of Clan. It was his honor to serve his elder once his elfblooded uncle had gone off with the stranger, the human mage, to the far off Empire.

  His grandfather’s bedroll was empty, so he went to the tent entrance and peered out. His eyes widened as he saw what looked like a white horse standing outlined, almost shimmering in the early rays of the sunlight, looking past his grandfather at him from the edge of the encampment.

  “You can’t have him,” he heard the old man say.

  The white horse turned its head, revealing the source of light was not the sun at all, but a glowing horn jutting from its head. ‘Fate says otherwise…’

  Casber shook his head, hearing the words without a sound being uttered.

  “No!” his grandfather demanded.

  The unicorn’s gaze bore into his, then the moment he blinked, it was gone. Casber gasped.

  His grandfather turned, stood straighter, “You’re up? Still half asleep I see…”

  “Half asleep?” Casber muttered.

  His grandfather nodded, “Must have been a bad dream to bring you out here, so early.”

  “I thought… I thought I saw…”

  “What?” the old man said, meeting his gaze.

  Casber blinked as the crystal about his neck flashed. He blinked, uncertain as if he had forgotten something.

  Oh. “You’ll be wanting some caf.”

  “Good lad,” his grandfather said, smiling, “go make some caf to help me warm these old bones of mine.”

  Casber turned back into the tent, not noticing the sudden slump to his grandfather’s shoulders.

  #

  Later that morning his brother, Niel, was laughing, but not at him. They were near the clear mountain stream, which made the Winome encampment ideally placed for this time of year. “Grace, you’re going to love being in the Citadel this winter. You’re fourteen. The young men will be falling over themselves offering your father Bride Price.”

  “I’m too young yet!”

  Grace’s older brother shook his head, “Well, Pappa told me to start courting.”

  “But you’re sixteen, Allay.”

  “And just who am I going to court?” he replied, grinning. “Girls your age, Grace.”

  She paled and ran off. His brother and cousins laughed. “I wonder what poor fool will pay her Bride Price?”

  Niel laughed, “You think she’ll draw a real offer? Your father will probably give her away!”

  “Niel!”

  Casber had watched as his father came up behind them and hadn’t said a word. Niel glared at him, then turned, “Father?”

  Whack. “Boy, won’t you ever learn?” Niel spat blood as Pappa grabbed him up. “Well, you lot have proved you’re not mature enough to court at Citadel… and I’ll be recommending the same for you, Allay.”

  Niel glared at his younger brother as if this was all, somehow, his fault.

  Okay, I could have warned him, but, well, they shouldn’t have tormented Grace.

  #

  That night, dinner with the Clan was a grim affair. Grace hurriedly ate her meal and left after her father made Allay and Niel apologize before the whole camp.

  Niel glared at Casber when it was over. Their punishment was official. Grandfather announced it as Elder. They would do no courting at Winter Citadel and might not the next winter if they did not shape up in the coming year. The Clan needed adults –– caring, hardworking adults, to keep the Clan growing and safe. Life in the Barrier Mountains was not easy and such cruelty would not be tolerated.

  Casber listened to that and knew it was not true. The entire Clan had laughed at his “stories,” particularly his story of seeing a battle from the mountain’s height in the Great Waste below… a story that had proved all too true. No one laughed at him anymore, but the trust he had been given since rankled his older brother and cousins.

  Casber saw a blur of white out of the corner of his eye. But when he turned, he saw nothing. His grandfather looked as well and frowned.

  #

  Niel shoved him to the ground, “Cas, you little bastard!”

  He struggled to get away from him. “Let me go!”

  “Allay, give me your knife!”

  “Niel, you can’t!” Allay said.

  “Give it to me!”

  Allay drew it, “What are you going to do?”

  “He fancies my sister for himself, no doubt. So, I’m going to disabuse him of any such notions and am going to geld the little ––”

  There was a blur of white and Allay was knocked to the ground, his knife whirling from his hand. Niel turned to stare as a white horse reared above him. He scrambled back from Casber, who twisted to the left and moved to run.

  The horse moved between the frightened boy and his brother as Casber heard it say in his mind, ‘Mount!’

  Climbing up on a toppled log, Casber jumped and managed to gain his seat, gripping the mare’s mane as if it was the most natural thing in the world. The mare bounded away as Niel and Allay stared after them.

  The horse ran through the camp as his grandfather rushed from his tent and shouted, “NO!”

  ‘Sorry, old friend, but what has drawn me is seeking to corrupt your family! It is better this way!’

  “Casber!” his mother shouted, as they raced past and headed down the winding path across the valley and out of the mountains.

  #

  The horse slowed.


  “You’re not a horse,” Casber said.

  ‘No, I most definitely am not,’ the mare replied, halting and allowing him to dismount.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  ‘To him.’

  “Him, him who?”

  ‘Lord Je’orj.’

  “Gee–orj,” my heart beat faster and he felt warmth at the base of his throat. “Gee–orj and my uncle? So, we’re just going to ride off without supplies and—”

  “Casber!”

  He turned. His cousin, Grace, was standing there. “You’re going to need these.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  ‘We made a deal,’ the unicorn said.

  Grace nodded, “That we have, though, I never thought to see a spirit horse. I pray I made a good bargain and no harm comes to my cousin because of this.”

  “Grace…”

  She had a saddle pack, one filled with travel foods, the other filled with his clothes and coin. She had blankets and filled canteens. “You’re going to need this, too.” She smiled at him, “Casber, you’ve the best heart of all of us, you know.” She unwrapped a silver short sword; granddad’s Imperial wrought prized sword. “Best learn how to use it.”

  “Grace, what did it promise you?”

  ‘It? I am a mare, not an it!’ the unicorn thought at him.

  She smiled, “Promised I’ll only marry for love –– never merely be bid on for the children I can bear like some, well, broodmare. No offense meant, Spirit Horse.”

  ‘None taken… and so, it shall be, young human. This promise has a magic all its own. You shall have no reason to fear the coming winter from that at least.’

  But Casber wasn’t so sure. The look in his brother’s eyes had not been rational.

  ‘When we are gone the force seeking to corrupt your family, changing your fate, shall lose strength. But we must go before a search party can find us… I have no desire to harm Win’s kin.’