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

by D. H. Aire

  “But that’s just legend,” the woman protested, “like there being such things as trolls.”

  “There’s more truth in legend than you know,” Bek’ka replied. “My mother would have been our best guide; she and a few others, those leading the other groups from time to time smuggled items which our Sire would rather not find pilfered or needed to be bribed to carry home along the Caravan Road by the Mercenary commanders. Mother trained me in these tunnels. I guess we’ve known this day would come for a long time.”

  The woman looked uncomfortable and Bek’ka understood. “I know what you’re thinking. But the Green Way is called that for a reason… our biggest challenge is getting the girls accustomed to walk through those tunnels without panicking.”

  “Look at them,” she gestured as the girls milled about, looking uncertain and scared as the older girls who had them in their charge tried to make light of it all. “I don’t think we can prevent that.”

  Bek’ka shook her head, “That’s why once we’re all down there, I think it best we sing…”

  “You can’t sing a note, Bek’ka.”

  “But you can and you know all their favorite songs, don’t you?”

  “Oh.”

  Clasping her Sister’s arm, she grinned, “Help me get them moving… we don’t have all day.”

  #

  The rider cursed the storm, glad to have not lost his horse or provisions to it. He had huddling in the lee of a hill with his mount, lying beside him. One of the messenger birds had come to him in the town outside the Caravaner fortress and he had gleefully past word to the mercenaries, sending them into a bounty hunter frenzy.

  That they had all turned back or been lost to the storm as far as he knew did not mean there were not other ways of his following his orders to find those girls –– and reaping a handsome profit by it.

  These desolate lands offered other ways to gather willing dupes to the cause.

  #

  Throughout the Borderlands along the eastern edge of the Badlands were dotted old fortresses once built to defend against the foul creatures that threatened to cross into the rich fertile lands of the Crescent. Though, no longer peopled by soldier levies from the city-states, those forts which still stood, many with fallen towers or other ruined structures, still had well maintained high walls. Hey served as home to those who had reason to prefer eking out lives there over living in a city-state’s dungeon or worse, had nowhere else to go.

  Loosely ruled, it could be said that those who owned the taverns offered what leadership there was and their brews solace from sorrows and hard work. As the sun set the rider arrived at one such demesne. There was a half-toppled tower visible in the back of it. Though, most of the structures otherwise looked sound.

  The gate lay open as the short stooped night gate as a couple of men pushing wheel barrows with what looked like the local gnarled, but edible, potatoes returned for the night. They glanced at him. He nodded at them. They were armed with daggers and he could see a short bow and quiver, hung from one of the wheelbarrow’s sides.

  “Where can I get a drink of ale?” he asked.

  “If you’ve good coin, the taverns down that way toward the back of the vill. You’ll see the barn. It lay across from it.”

  “I’ve coin enough,” he said, “perhaps to even offer a drink in thanks.”

  The man’s expression eased, “Then welcome you’ll be.”

  “But not by his wife,” his companion said. “She was expecting you for dinner tonight.”

  “She can wait or she’ll have the back of my hand.”

  The man laughed, “Likely you’ll have the back of hers.”

  The rider rode on through the gate and heard the portcullis lowered for the night and saw the other hard-bitten men taking his measure, no few of the women watching him from doorways or windows. One cried, “Dinner’s ready!”

  “I’m coming, Woman!”

  There were no sounds of children. The rider dismounted, that fact did not surprise him. Few children were born in such places here in the Borderlands, which mercs often called the Barren Lands for that very reason. Of course, that didn’t keep people with no hope of better from coming to such places to live out their miserable lives.

  #

  “Ah, stranger, you survived the story unscathed, I hope?” the tavern man asked, offering him a drink in exchange.

  “Indeed, though I think it likely others did not,” he replied.

  He asked for a meal. The taverner told him the price and what they had to offer. It sounded a fair exchange for such a place as this. He set the coin on the table. The taverner nodded and called to his woman.

  As he finished eating the men began to congregate and order drinks, most of which were added to the taverner’s tallies.

  “What brings you out this way?” a man asked.

  “I bring news.”

  “News?” the taverner replied. “News is always welcome here.”

  They eyed the stranger warily until he offered all a round of drinks and paid with good city-state coin, which the taverner appeared very happy to accept.

  “So, what is this news you bring?” one of the men asked before downing his ale.

  “Well,” the stranger replied, “I’ve gotten word that there’s a bounty for Cathartan runaways. I’ve been asked to pass the word, two golds easy, bonuses for more…”

  “Runaways?” the tavern keeper said. “You don’t hear of women running away from Cathart, running to it from man troubles, yeah. Heard tales like that afore.”

  “Girls, actually. Runaways… cursed ones, who need to be sent home to their families,” the stranger said. “No one wants the curse loosed upon the rest of us, now do we?”

  “Girls?” the others mused.

  “Oh, and but don’t think to foist any local girls. The ones paying the bounty say their witch women will know and lay on a worse curse than never having male progeny.”

  “Two golds you say…”

  #

  The old woman stood at the tavern’s kitchen door as her son, the taverner, frowned as the fellow paid for more drinks than any of the locals could remember anyone affording… or being fool enough to pay for.

  His mother headed back into the kitchen and called one of the cooks over and told her about the bounty. “That is… worrisome,” she muttered.

  “I know,” she said. “Perhaps…”

  “Excuse me,” the cook replied.

  #

  There was more than one barn in the forted old village. The one across from the tavern was the most used, but there was a second behind, half buried with a stone roof. It was more cellar than barn, but it was bigger and built deep into the ground. Goats grazed on the gross that covered the stone.

  The cook was the wife of the taverner. She slid back the door, never noticing the ward etched into the lintels. Closing it behind her, she proceeded down the ramp to the structure’s original floor, which was half covered in straw. Several oil lanterns lit the center of the chamber. She heard the faintest rustling sound in the shadows, pausing, “We’ve a stranger at the tavern… He’s news of a bounty for Cathartan runaways.”

  A figure rose behind a tall bale of hay. “One… person?”

  “Just one, but those louts he’s buying drinks for are loyal to no one.”

  “The… storm?”

  “Has passed.”

  “We… leave… soon.”

  “Best you stay here at least a day. Those fools will ride out at first light seeking those runaways.”

  A softer voice said off to her right, “Why are you helping us?”

  “You’re not the first to run away… though, more women flee to Cathart, Curse or no. It’s a better life than many of us left behind.”

  “Do not… betray.”

  “We were warned to look out for any runaways, particularly as young as all of you. Believe me, seeing anyone as so young is a pleasure,” she replied, standing straighter. “We also took good coin against our pro
mise to help… My husband and his mother will not betray you. You’ve my word.”

  Chapter 15 – Tavern

  The hounds raced ahead of them as Casber rode through the night. The unicorn nickered, her horn reappearing and blazing with white light. All the hounds raced back out of the darkness and came to heel.

  She looked into their eyes as the hounds panted, now more than forty in all. Soon they broke into packs and raced off.

  “Uh, what was that about?”

  ‘Divide and conquer,’ the unicorn replied, then they topped the next rise and saw the torchlit fires of a walled –– ‘Village.’

  Casber nodded.

  As they rode closer he felt the unicorn’s back grow more bowed. I will appear to be merely an old downtrodden horse to all who look at me now.

  They approached the closed main gate. Clearing his throat, trying not to sound so young, Casber shouted, “Hello, in there!”

  ‘Hello, in there?’

  He half-whispered, “What was I supposed to say, something like ‘Hail, the Castle’?”

  ‘That would have sounded better.’

  “Who’s out there?” the wizened old guardsman shouted back from the gatehouse window.

  “A weary traveler!” he shouted back, to which the unicorn’s voice in his head made no complaint.

  “We’re watching you! No trickery, mind!”

  He nodded as the gate’s portcullis rose, creaking every foot. They rode through and it closed securely behind them. “Stay there!” the old man shouted, coming down the steps from above the gate. “What’s this? Dwarf or lad?”

  Casber chuckled, wondering the same of so diminutive or likely just so stooped fellow. “Merely short for my age. Out to make my way in the world.”

  “Lad, you’re luckily to have survived the storm riding that old beastie.”

  “Oh, she’s the best horse in the entire world, I assure you.”

  “Lad, you got money to pay for a meal, your horse’s stabling, and a room?”

  He lied, “Not a copper for lodging, but for the horse and I to lodge in a barn and feed us? Enough.”

  “The taverner can help you with that. Just know that he’s a drunken bunch there tonight. If I were you, I’d knock on the side door and stay clear of the front.”

  “Uh, thank you kindly, good sir.”

  The old man shook his head, “Well, no one will try to steal your horse, of that I can promise you.”

  Casber nodded and rode to the side door of the indicated tavern and quickly dismounted. Knocking on the door an old woman answered, looked him up and down, then stared up at his horse. “You best have coin, lad.”

  “I do.”

  “What did that old fool at the gate tell you?”

  “To best come to this door –– after I assured him I’ve money enough for food for myself and feed and stabling for my mare. I’ll sleep with her… I don’t have coin than that.”

  The woman frowned. “Give me your coin, lad. Best you go directly to the barn. I’ll bring you food…” At the coins he placed in her hands, she frowned, “Mountain marks, there weight’s enough that I’ll bring you breakfast, too, in the morning.” They heard what sounded like a table breaking inside. “Drunken louts, they’ll pay for that… Best you move off, now –– and no wandering about the place. Understood?”

  “Uh, yes, Ma’am.”

  “Ma’am, he says,” she muttered as he led the mare away. Frowning, she hurried back inside.

  #

  The stranger glanced at the tavern window and saw the short figure and the broken down horse plodding off to the barn. He frowned, then shortly begged off, asking for directions to the privy.

  The taverner grimaced, gesturing contemplating the shards of the smashed table beneath the snoring drunk.

  The fellow’s greedy companions shouted, “Drink, drink, drink!”

  Another passed out, crashing down upon another table, which could not withstand his weight.

  The old woman burst into the room, “Someone’s got to pay for that!”

  He tossed her a coin and headed outside as the old woman shouted, “You’ve all had more than enough! Find your beds! Off with you!”

  He walked over to the barn and made as if he needed to check on his horse. “Oh, excuse me, I didn’t think anyone was in here.”

  “Don’t mind me,” the boy replied, holding the lantern.

  He frowned, certain this was no girl in disguise. “Sleeping in here, tonight?”

  “All I can afford, Sir.”

  “Hmm, what you doing way out here, if I might ask?”

  Looking at his feet, the boy shook his head, “Uh, seemed as good a direction as any other. My Ma died and they… well, she’s my mare…”

  He nodded, understanding being down on his luck. “Well, lad, your luck could change. There’s said to be runaways, Cursed girls, from Cathart. There’s a bounty of… a half a gold on every head. Happy to split it with you, should you lay eyes on any of them.”

  “Half…” the boy gasped.

  “That’s right, think on that. Sleep well,” he replied, not wanting to remember when he was as young and forced to sleep in barns, or worse.

  #

  Casber frowned and stroked the mare’s flank. “Now what’s that all about?”

  ‘Good question. Best get some rest.’

  “You sure we’re close,” he asked.

  ‘I feel it.’

  Blowing out the lantern, Casber settled down for sleep. Minutes later, the jewel about his neck began to glow.

  #

  The man walked through the village as the drunks stumbled toward wherever they called home. There were no few cries of women less than pleased by their men’s return in such state. That made no difference to him. Come morning, at least a half dozen would join him in the search and Borderlands were good scavengers, they had to be if they were not to starve to death.

  He knew he would be expected to return to the tavern, where the owner would expect him to want a room and earn good coin for it. He headed back, when he heard a sound and saw a small furtive shape.

  Eyes narrowing, he smiled, inching after the figure, which slipped into the barn. Local child? Or one of the Cathartans?

  #

  Yel’ane knew she shouldn’t, but the girls were in need, no matter what Nessa said. They were in desperate need of soap, even if it was only normally fit for horses. There was none to be found in the oddly built cellar, but there would certainly be in the barn. Minimal light came from the tavern and the drunks had made enough noise returning to their homes in the village.

  Everyone else was asleep, even Greth slept more soundly, clearly exhausted. Likely more so after the magical healing of his Hellcat wrought wounds. She couldn’t sleep and she didn’t know why, other than the thought that the girls needed to bathe, badly, even if it meant pouring buckets over their heads in the cellar come morning.

  But that only meant they needed the soap.

  She crept into the barn. The horse stirred. She blinked feeling as if she were being watched. Well, of course, I am. The horses are curious and can see better than I can in here this time of night.

  She paused, knowing that the soap would, doubtless, be near the trough by the door she had seen when they arrived earlier through the village’s rear gate, which had a broken winch that didn’t seem to bother Greth a bit as he pulled it up and let them through.

  That the taverner’s wife was Cathartan born had been clear when Nessa had knocked on the kitchen door and asked if she might purchase a meal for her family. “Where did you come from?”

  Nessa pointed into the Badlands. “We’ve lost our home, but… we’re together.”

  The woman frowned, then saw Nessa’s fingers flick in a “keep alert” sign.

  She gasped, “You and your Sisters, all right, lass?”

  “Huh?”

  “You or someone like you isn’t unexpected… we just didn’t think we’d ever… Come,” she said leading her toward
the cellar, “how many have snuck in with… horses…” She stared, seeing the tall cloaked forms behind the girls, she gasped, hesitating. “But I thought… You’re not—”

  Lawson raised his hand and said kindly, “Friends.”

  The girls nodded, grabbing Lawson’s and Greth’s hands, “They really are our friends. Saved us!” they chorused.

  “Shh,” the woman replied, shaking her head, “fine, I just never thought to see… anyone so tall.”

  That they had a roof over their heads and food in their belly and knew that the locals would have to get past the trolls before anything terrible could happen… well, really terrible could happen, she told herself.

  She blinked, realizing her eyes had adjusted better to the dark. She gathered up much of the soap in an empty feed sack and edged back out of the barn and back the way she had come.

  She never noticed the man following him or his thin smile.

  #

  The unicorn’s horn gave off the faintest light, helping the girl find what she sought. Feeling the pull of fate, she nudged Casber, ‘Come, I think we’ve found what we’re looking for.’

  “Argh, can’t it wait til morning?”

  ‘No, the call is now.’

  Blinking hard, he rose, ignoring the shuttered lantern, as the unicorn’s horn glowed a shade brighter, lighting his way. The jewel flickered and his night sight improved perceptibly. Once outside they saw a large figure heading off to the left.

  ‘She’s being followed.’

  “She –– who?” he muttered.

  ‘The girl with the soap.’

  “What’s this with you and soap?” he muttered.

  ‘Silence.’

  #

  Yel’ane had left the door ajar. As she slipped inside and a hand reached out, covering her mouth as she was grabbed from behind, “Hmmm!”

  She dropped the bag of soap as she struggled.

  “Well, little lady, you aren’t going to make me cut your throat, are you?”

  Eyes wide, she shook her head.

  “That’s better. Now, the others are in here, aren’t they?”

  Swallowing hard, she knew she had been a fool. But, perhaps… She nodded.

  “Playing it smart,” he whispered and dragged her back outside. “I think I’ll come back with some friends. In the meantime, you and I shall have a lovely…”