by John Marco
"I'm going above," he said.
"Yes, run away," taunted Leth. "That's what little girls do, isn't it? Go up and sulk in the rain while the real men stay warm playing cards."
"You're a drunken bastard," said Alazrian, and closed the door behind him. He heard Leth shout something after him but it didn't matter. By tonight his father would have forgotten all about it. Once the drink wore off he would be his old lousy self again. Alazrian stood outside the cabin door shaking from the confrontation. He had never stood up to Leth like that. His hands trembled and his heart was racing as if he'd run a mile.
At least he'd learned something valuable. Now he knew that Leth was hiding something about the Highlands. And he knew that he still hated Elrad Leth, and that he really could betray him to the Triin. He would ride at the forefront of a Triin army and Leth would see him, sitting tall and unafraid, and he would cringe after the boy he'd so often called a weakling and rue the times he had struck him.
"That's right," Alazrian vowed, staring at the closed door. "Mark my words, Father."
Noticing that he was alone in the corridor, Alazrian considered where to go. Above deck it was still raining, so he made his way instead to the tiny galley at the back of the ship. There was always a cauldron of soup available, and the rain put Alazrian in the mood for something hot. The ship swayed beneath him as he walked, and in a moment he arrived at the galley, a tiny room with a single bench and an enormous pot hanging over a brick hearth. Inside the hearth burned glowing embers, keeping the cauldron perpetually warm and making the little galley unbearably hot. Usually the galley was empty except for the cook, a seaman named Ral. Today, however, Ral was nowhere to be found. Instead, Alazrian discovered a wrinkled man with a grizzled beard and a mop in his hands cleaning the galley floor as he whistled through broken teeth. He was dressed like the rest of the crew in dirty trousers and a shirt that had once been white but had long since turned grey. Alazrian hesitated. The man was oblivious, whistling happily until he turned and saw the boy in the doorway. Then he straightened, propping himself up on his mop.
"Greetings, young master. I'm just cleaning up a bit. The men are like pigs." He looked at the floor distastefully. "They act like the ship is some kind of swill trough. I'll be out of your way directly."
"You're not in my way," said Alazrian. "I'm in yours. I'll come back later."
"No, no." The man stepped aside and waved Alazrian in. "Come and eat. Don't pay Kello no mind." He smiled, displaying diseased gums and yellow teeth.
Alazrian hesitated. "All right," he said uneasily, stepping into the galley. The man seemed harmless enough, so Alazrian took a metal mug from a peg on the wall and went to the cauldron. Peering inside, he saw a surprisingly appetizing soup of potatoes and vegetables steaming in broth.
"It's good," the man remarked. "Ral knows what he's doing. Take some. You'll like it."
There was a dipper beside the pot. Alazrian drew out a hearty portion of the soup, pouring it into his mug. The porter found a spoon and held it out for Alazrian.
"Thank you," said Alazrian. He looked around the empty room. Unfortunately, there were plenty of places to sit. "Well, I guess I'll get out of your way now," he said.
The man looked disappointed. "You're not in my way. I told you. Here, sit down right there. It's raining above, you know. That's no place to eat."
"Right," agreed Alazrian. He couldn't go back to his cabin, not while Leth was still drunk. So he took his mug over to the table and sat down on the long bench. The porter's eyes followed him curiously. Alazrian tried to ignore him. He sampled the soup and found it excellent, hot and perfectly salted. The potatoes were soft, just the way he liked them, but the gaze of the stranger kept him from enjoying it. Finally, he put down his spoon.
"Are you waiting for me to finish?" he asked, trying to be polite.
"Sorry," said the man, collecting himself. "I'm staring. Beg your pardon."
Quickly he went back to work with his mop, dunking it into the bucket of scummy water and swabbing the floor. Then he started whistling again. Alazrian sat back, shaking his head and studying the man. He had the same rough brogue as all the Gorkneymen. But Alazrian liked the sound of it. There were often Gorkneymen in the northern harbors of Talistan. They traded up and down the northeast corridor sailing from Gorkney to Doria and Criisia, then finally bringing their wares to Talistan. But Alazrian had never sailed with them before. In fact, he was astonished that there were any Gorkney ships so far south. For a vessel from Gorkney to reach the southern coast of Talistan, it would have to sail clear around the Empire, or completely around Lucel-Lor, a dangerous voyage that might take a year to complete. Alazrian puzzled over this as he watched the porter work. He probably had circumnavigated the whole Empire.
"Your name is Kello?" Alazrian asked suddenly. His curiosity had gotten the best of him, and he could tell the porter wanted to talk. "Mine is Alazrian."
The man stopped mopping at once, beaming at Alazrian. "I am Kello Glabalos," he said proudly. "Of Widinfield, Gorkney. But you just call me Kello, young master. At your service."
"And you just call me Alazrian. Of Talistan. Well, Aramoor."
"Aye, I know who you are," Kello said. "And your father. You're important cargo for us."
"Yes, I suppose so. My father hired you out, after all."
"Oh, no sir," said Kello. "Governor Leth didn't hire this vessel. We're in the employ of Duke Wallach. This is his ship. For as long as he pays us, anyhow."
Alazrian frowned. Duke Wallach was a name he was hearing often these days. He remembered Leth talking about the duke, a wealthy ruler in Gorkney, and there was chatter among the staff in Aramoor castle about him, too. Leth was working with Duke Wallach, that much was plain. But why?
"This is the duke's ship?" said Alazrian innocently. Kello looked at him, and somewhere in his mind Alazrian could see suspicion dawn. Don't be afraid, Alazrian urged the man mentally. Just keep talking.
Deciding he should take a different tact, he said, "She's a fine ship. You must be very proud of her."
"Oh, yes," said Kello with some relief. "The Rising Sun is a good ship. I've been aboard her for ten years now. Captain Lok hired me himself. I was on the street in those days trying to make a living. He needed a cabin boy and there I was."
"A cabin fcoy?" asked Alazrian. "Pardon me, Kello, but you're a bit older than that, aren't you?"
"But I can do the work of twenty youngsters. Don't let the bad teeth fool you. I'm still fit."
Alazrian smiled. "No doubt. And ten years is a long time. I bet you know this ship as well as anyone. As well as the captain, even."
"I'd say so," agreed Kello. " 'Course the captain gives the orders. I'm not really anything but a cabin boy. I clean up, work the ropes, maybe help Ral in the kitchen. That's about it."
"But you've probably seen a lot," Alazrian continued. He paused, taking a sip of his soup. "You've probably been dozens of places, huh?"
"Oh, yes. I've spent time in Criisia, even met a woman there. Been to Doria countless times. And Talistan, too. That's your home, but I bet I know its docks better than you do."
"Probably so," agreed Alazrian. "But where else?" he asked curiously. "You must have seen a hundred better places than that. What about Dahaar. You ever been there?"
"That wasteland? How could I have done that? That's leagues away from Gorkney. It would take forever to get there."
Alazrian frowned in puzzlement. "But you must have had the time. I mean, how else could you have gotten into these waters?"
Kello stopped mopping. He cleared his throat, blinked a few times, then picked up his bucket distractedly.
"Looks pretty good in here, eh?" he remarked. He surveyed the galley with a nod. "Yes, I think I'm done in here."
"Kello, wait," said Alazrian, perplexed by the porter's evasiveness. "I didn't mean anything. I just wanted to talk about your voyages. You don't have to run out."
"Lots to do, young master, lots to do," said Kello. Again h
e smiled. "We'll talk again soon, all right? I'm around. We'll talk before you get back to Aramoor."
Alazrian shook his head. "You're hiding something," he said. "And I bet I know what it is."
Kello blanched. "Oh?"
"You didn't sail around Nar at all, did you? You sailed around Lucel-Lor to get to the south. My God, that's amazing!" The idea of Lucel-Lor set Alazrian's imagination aflame. "Please tell me about it, Kello," he implored, leaning forward on the bench. "I really would like to hear. I swear I won't tell anyone. If Duke Wallach has trade routes around Lucel-Lor--"
Flustered, Kello plunged the mop into the bucket and held up his hands. "I can't talk about it," he insisted. "Please, don't ask me anymore."
"Kello, I just want to know--"
"No!" Kello snapped. He took a few breaths to steady himself, looked around to make sure no one was around, then whispered, "You keep your mouth shut about these things, boy. Duke Wallach doesn't like questions, and neither does your father. It's forbidden. Do you understand?"
Alazrian nodded slowly, totally confused.
"Good. So let's hear no more talk of it, eh?" Kello scowled, cursed, then picked up his mop and bucket. Walking to the door, he gave Alazrian a final look. "Forbidden," he repeated, then turned and left.
Alazrian slammed his mug down on the table. "All I did was ask a question," he grumbled. He'd almost gotten Kello talking. But what about? What was so forbidden? Alazrian considered the ship, sure that it was somehow mixed up with Leth's scheme. And no doubt Kello was only doing what Duke Wallach commanded. Alazrian didn't know much about the duke, but he'd heard that Wallach was a resourceful man, and probably had secret trade routes throughout the Empire. If he had any in Lucel-Lor, he would certainly want to keep them to himself. And if Leth was involved, asking questions was dangerous.
NINE
Morning brushed the mountains with a dazzling sunrise, and a breeze stirred through the towering hills, the only sound disturbing the silence for miles. Spring had come early, and the ice on the mountains had thawed, coaxing wildflowers up from between the rocks. It was a perfect morning in the Iron Mountains. The air was sweet, and the view from the highest summits supplied a vista fit for heaven. To the east, Lucel-Lor beckoned, a mysterious riddle yet to be unraveled. To the west was Aramoor, lush and green, its giant pines standing like soldiers, guarding the gateway to Nar. And between them both were the Iron Mountains, the formidable range of cliffs that had separated the two since the infancy of time.
For Jahl Rob, the Iron Mountains were a cathedral. Better than anything built by man, they showcased God and His infinite abilities. They had saved and inspired Jahl. In these awful days of homelessness and despair, the Iron Mountains provided shelter and a hideout. They were his home now, and he worshipped them.
He opened his book and looked out over the group. The little congregation had gathered along with their horses for his blessing. Behind them, the beauty of the mountains unfolded.
"If I fly with dragons, and dwell in the darkest parts of the earth," Jahl Rob read, "even there will Thy right hand guide me, and Thy light will shine a path for me."
It was a passage from the Book of Gallion. Bishop Herrith had loved the Gallion writings and had taught their meaning to all his acolytes. This had been one of his favorite verses, and it had stuck with Jahl Rob these many years. In times of crisis, the passage always occurred to him. He looked out over his little crowd of followers and gave them an encouraging smile. Today his Saints of the Sword had a special mission, and he knew they were frightened. Young Alain, Del Lotts' brother, sat at the front of the group resting cross-legged on the grass looking up at Jahl hopefully. For him, today's incursion meant everything. Jahl tried to sound encouraging when looking at the boy.
"It's all in here, my friends," said Jahl, holding up the book. "God is with us everywhere. He is here in the mountains, He is in our hearts, and He will be with us when we ride today. Have faith and He will protect us."
The men nodded hopefully. There were twenty-five of them now, not including Alain, and though most of them weren't particularly spiritual, they dutifully listened to Jahl Rob's sermons. In fact, Jahl had hardly known many of his Saints before they had joined his crusade. They hadn't attended services regularly, and they hadn't given to his church collections. But they were good men and strong-hearted, and Jahl respected them. And now they needed him. Desperate people were like that. When everything else failed, they turned to the Lord.
Jahl lowered the book. There was business to attend to, so he took a step closer to the group and sat down on the grass, the way he always did when discussing plans. The men closed in around him in a conspiratorial circle. Alain sat beside Jahl, his ears perked with interest. Even the horses seemed to listen. There were four of the beasts, one for each of the Saints who would ride into Aramoor today. They had been stripped of almost every heavy burden, making them light and fleet-footed. Two had bows fixed to their saddles. One of these belonged to Jahl.
Ricken, Taylour, and Parry were nearest Jahl inside the ring. Jahl looked at his companions in turn and noted their apprehension. He reached out for Ricken and patted his leg.
"We'll do it, Ricken," he said.
"I know," said Ricken. "I'm not afraid."
Jahl grinned. None of his men were afraid, or at least they never claimed to be. They were men of honor willing to fight, and that was why they had joined the Saints of the Sword. Like Jahl, they had all been wronged by Elrad Leth. Since the Jackal's betrayal of Aramoor, all his people had suffered. But some had suffered more than others. Ricken was one of those. His wife had been raped and murdered by Leth's soldiers, and his horse farm had been confiscated to fill Talistan's overstuffed coffers. Now Ricken Dancer was a public enemy, one of Jahl Rob's avenging angels. He was one of twenty-four others that called the Iron Mountains home, fighting an outlaw war for their homeland's independence.
"You know, we'll have to be quick," observed Parry. "Jahl, if you miss Dinsmore, you won't get a second shot."
"I won't miss," promised Jahl. "Divine Providence will keep my arrow true."
"What about my brother?" piped up Alain. "Who will rescue him?"
Jahl Rob nodded toward Taylour, who raised a hand.
"Him," said Jahl. "Once I take out Dinsmore, Ricken will get the axeman. He'll be so confused he won't know what hit him until it's too late." The priest mussed Alain's blond hair. "Don't worry about your brother, boy. We'll get him back for you."
"You promise?"
"I promise we'll do our best," said Jahl honestly. "That's all I can tell you."
Alain looked disappointed. He was afraid for his brother, and had been since arriving in the mountains two days earlier. Jahl took his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
"I'm just telling you the truth, Alain," he said softly. "Anything else would be disrespectful. It's going to be difficult, but we're going to try."
"I know," said the boy. "I know you'll do your best. And Roice will be there to help you."
"He'd better be," joked Jahl, looking at his comrades. "If he isn't, we'll all be on the block!"
Once he'd received Del's message, Jahl had hoped to rescue his friend from the Tollhouse, but it was worse than that now. Last night, Roice had come to their hideout with the news of Del's impending execution. This afternoon Del was to be taken to the block and beheaded. But Jahl Rob wasn't a man who turned his back on friends, and Del had been his most outspoken ally.
Saving Del from the axe posed some challenges, though. There would be people around, and Leth's soldiers would be present. According to Del's note, Leth himself wouldn't be there, and that was one bright spot, but Dinsmore would, and he would surely be on guard for the Saints. Jahl had worried that the rescue would be impossible.
And then a thought had occurred to him. There would be droves of people at the execution, and emotions would be tense and dangerous. That had seemed like a detriment at first, but it wasn't. Jahl and his men could hide in the crowd,
moving among them as easily as flies. Best of all, Roice and his people would be there, and could cover their escape.
Jahl Rob had started to think his plan might work, but he needed a diversion. He couldn't just rescue Del. It was time to strike another blow for freedom. It was time for Dinsmore to die.
"You don't have much time," remarked one of the men. His name was Fin, and he wasn't going with the foursome, but he could tell from the rising sun that they needed to be on their way. Jahl looked at the horizon and agreed. It was a long ride into Aramoor, and if they were late, even by a second, Del's head would roll. The priest rose and swatted the grass from his backside. He had done everything he could to prepare for this raid; he had worked out the details with Roice and the others, had prayed mightily for guidance. God would not abandon them now.
"Let's make ready," he told his comrades, turning toward the horses. Ricken, Taylour, and Parry followed close behind, while the other Saints stayed back. They would remain in the caves until their leader returned, and if he did not they would carry on without him. But Jahl Rob had every intention of returning. There was too much unfinished business for him to die today.
When he reached his mount, Jahl paused at the edge of the cliff, looking out over the terrain. They had all been safe here. Jahl Rob had never before seen the hand of God so clearly in anything. The murder of his friends, the rape of his homeland, the river of blood let loose by Leth; it was all a sign to him, a message to stand against tyranny. Leth's vaunted soldiers couldn't reach him here because they were terrified of the Iron Mountains, and they were still convinced that the Triin lion riders made their home here. But Jahl Rob hadn't encountered a single Triin in the entire year he'd been in the mountains. The Triin were gone, and the lions that supposedly guarded Lucel-Lor from Nar's aggressors were gone with them. The Iron Mountains belonged to Jahl and his Saints alone.
"Look for us before the dusk," Jahl called to his men. "They might actually follow us into the mountains this time, so be on guard for them. If it's a fight they want, we'll give it to them."