by Travis Perry
The Brothers of the Shield taught it was better for a true servant of Jesu Christu to remain unmarried, though they did not command it of their riders absolutely. I suppose I always had assumed I would follow that principle for the rest of my life, even though I had never so much planned to do so. But now I would have joy.
When my lord the Govnor of Ascraeus returns, he takes me from his personal tent to a larger, more open assembly, where the senior riders take their meals together. He once again opens the tent flap for me and insists I enter first.
Inside the eyes of Sir Isaac greet me with open hostility. Surely he was one of the ones who doubted me. But I look around the room at the ten riders seated in chairs forming a rough circle, facing inward at one another. No one appears particularly cheered at my presence, though Sir Michael seems neutral. In a flash I realize that many of the senior riders may object to me being there simply because I am not senior. Or because they wonder if I am a spy. Either or both. There is no way for me to know.
My lord speaks from behind me. “All of you know Sir Evan. I have brought him here for a specific purpose.”
“Yes, take a seat,” says Sir Michael, his eyes lowered. Two open seats in the circle remain. I sit to Govnor Pederson’s left. After I’m seated, Sir Michael continues to speak to me from across the circle. “I apologize for bringing you into this discussion so late, Evan. But Roger, er—Lord Pederson, made a compelling case for including you. Can someone summarize the discussion thus far?”
“The thrust of it is that many in this circle do not believe we can continue pushing on to the rim of Olympus.” Sir Isaac puts his hand on the hilt of his sword before continuing. “I say we do. We must attain the rim unexpected, seize the inside of the entryway to the mons before the Olympians realize what’s happening. Then we will be in a position to dictate terms for releasing the passage.”
Sir Michael glances around at several faces before he says, “The argument Sir Isaac so opposes relates to the loss of your mount, Evan. By the way, we all feel your loss.” He pauses a moment before continuing, “Other than him, we do not think the horses can be relied on to mount a rim on a trail that has not been improved. We could proceed on foot and leave the horses behind, but Sir Isaac feels very strongly this would give up a great deal of our tactical advantage.”
Nervous, I begin by stammering, “N-not to mention making it hard to cross the rim at all, sir. At least for me—Gal…um, my, my horse could move better over the mountain heights in thin air than I can.”
Sir Michael meets my eyes directly, his own open with empathy. “We all know and honor the name ‘Gallant,’ Evan. And what you say is perhaps less true for those of us born on Ascraeus than yourself, but it is also true for us. And Olympus stands even higher than our mons.”
A pause where no one says anything stretches out. My lord ends it by turning in his chair to face me, “What are your thoughts on this matter, Evan. You do have at least some personal knowledge of this mountain. What would you do?”
I think for the period of time it takes me to draw in a deep breath. “M-my lord, we must turn south, towards the lower entrance to the mons. We will move out of the ice and…and we should be able to gain full surprise on the Olympians lower down. They do guard the passageway into the mountain, but only with a few riders. The tunnel was cut in the Time of Magic and has giant steel doors to seal it shut. The Olympians rely on this great metal gate to keep their land secure. If we were to act quickly, we can seize this entrance before they can react. They are prepared for an assault to come up the long bridge, but not for an attack to come down from above.”
Sir Isaac frowns. His voice comes out low, almost a growl. “Such has already been proposed by some members of this council of war.”
“To which the noble Sir Isaac has objected in clear terms,” explained Sir Michael.
Isaac glares at me before looking down. “What advantage we gain is limited compared to seizing the inside gate. An armed force at the inside gate threatens the entire Olympic city. The descent down the mountain will deliver tactical surprise that will throw the heretic king off balance. Holding the outside gate only invites riders who hold the inside to cross the rim over paths they must surely have, leaving us surrounded lower down.” Sir Isaac’s eyes meet no one else’s as he says all this in the monotone of an argument already repeated more than once.
I stammer, “B-but, sir, why would we not ride from the outside gate all the way to the inside?”
Isaac looks up a me, puzzled for a moment. He rubs his thick curly black beard peppered with gray. “For all we know, there are other gates within the passageway. Which is very long. We know there must be stopping points along the way, probably with armed men at each point. I judge taking the tunnel from the outside entrance to be virtually impossible.”
I rub the stubble on my chin. Unlike the Ascraeans, the Brotherhood of the Shield taught me to shave my face every day, except for a moustache. Which for me is thin and blond. “I-I don’t think so, sir. The heretic king may have changed the defenses, but the Olympians never even defended their bridge. Which was why it was necessary for my Shield Brethren and I to ride all the way up to the entrance to escort pilgrims. They always seemed very confident to me, over confident even, very reliant on their gate. And in a number of discussions with them, I never heard them mention any gates other than the inside and outside. I…I think there is at least a chance for us, if we seize the gate by surprise, to keep it open by force and charge riders all the way through to the other side. It may involve some hard fighting, but the tunnel will not allow the seven hundred to surround us. Our fifty-four will probably be able to hold a line. I agree that going over the rim would be better if we could do it, but taking the tunnel…I think we have a very real chance to do that. Sir.”
Another pause silences the tent as the senior riders consider my words. Govnor Pederson breaks the quiet. “I agree with Evan. I think the chances are better going south, as much as I want to take the rim. Unless we send some men on foot to take the inside, attempting to time their descent so that they arrive at the same time the outside gate is taken. But I judge that to be quite a risky gamble. Madam Susan does have a pair of broadcaster communicators of long ago, but she tells me they will not transmit through the thickness of the mountain. Getting the two teams in place at the same time will be virtually impossible. The discovery of either one could destroy the chances of both. What do you think of this, Evan?”
My eyes must show to everyone my surprise at being picked out again. I breathe deep once more to gather my mind before speaking, “My lord, I have no special knowledge here. But it does seem to me that men climbing down a crater where many people live are more likely to be seen that riders going down a slope where no one lives. Though from the bridge riders would be visible for some distance. Though because the King of Olympus has shut down the pilgrimage, there may not be anyone on the bridge.”
“What say you of that, Sir Isaac?” Govnor Pederson smiles as he asks it.
Isaac shrugs. “It’s clear that I’m outnumbered in the council, my lord. What else shall I say? If I were forced to pick one of the attacks, I’d go over the rim with a handful of men. Not ride down on the lower entrance from above.”
“Does anyone agree with Sir Isaac?” Govnor Pederson looks into the eyes of each of the riders around the circle, one at a time, before he concludes, “Settled then. We ride south from here to the main entrance.”
“Produce the map, Sir Andrew. I’d like to discuss our route next.”
Andrew, one of the younger riders in the council, a tough swordfighter and daring horseman, not one I think of as interested in maps, rolls a large, hand drawn chart on the fabric bottom of the tent. His map is exactly like Susan’s.
My lord kneels down and points. “Madam Susan has our likely position, here.” The hand chart shows our place, a mere finger width from the rim on this scale, which would be I don’t know how many kims in reality. Too many.
Bet
ween our location and the marked entryway to the mountain lies a rounded circular shape, of the type my uncle Bobber told me is an “impact crater” where a rock flying in from space during the rebellion of Lucifer would have destroyed ground. As opposed to a “caldera,” where lava once flowed long ago from the depths of Mars.
“Evan,” my lord’s thick index finger points at the crater I had just noticed. “Have you ever heard what is there?”
Words flow more easily for me now. “I can’t say that I have, my lord. I did not even know Olympus had a crater on the mountain slope south of the main caldera.”
“Hmmm. Too bad.”
Sir Isaac eyes me with a lopsided grin, a look more suspicious and angry than amused. “Come now, Evan,” he says in a faint tone of mocking. “Perhaps something we say will prod a memory out of your honest mind. You have never heard of a crater above the entryway? Perhaps an upper road passes through this way?”
“Wait.” I put my hands to the sides of my face. “That does bring something to mind.” I pause as the memory fades in. “I once heard an Olympian rider at the entrance to what they call the ‘inlands’ make reference to an ‘upper dwelling.’ Something about his cousin being removed from the gate to cover it. This he said to another rider from Olympus, not me. I happened to overhear.”
“Hmm,” said Govnor Pederson. “Perhaps this refers to a fortress just below the rim, such as we have. If riders still covered it as of—how long ago was that, Evan?”
“Five or six cycles, my Lord.”
“Five or six cycles ago, perhaps the path is still maintained. Though it may be more likely the fortress at the rim is maintained, even though the path is not. The Olympians have their tunnel through the wall of the mountain. There seems to be no reason for them to also have a roadway that goes over the rim.”
Sir Michael speaks, “If so, my lord, it’s easy to make out pathways from above when standing on the rim of a depression. If we arrive at this crater south of us and find a path that’s maintained, should we then follow it back up over the rim?”
Govnor Pederson eyes the men in the tent. “What say all of you?”
“Over the rim, absolutely,” says Sir Isaac.
Several others nod in agreement. Most do not comment either way. “Sir Michael,” says the govnor, “What do you say?”
He shrugs. “It’s the same either way to me, my lord.”
His green eyes meet my own. “Evan, what say you?”
“Um…the choice could go either way. But I think Sir Isaac is more, um, correct. If there is a maintained trail, it is better to go over the rim.”
My lord’s eyes spend several more moments examining the room. “I concur. If we find a trail, we shall follow Sir Isaac and Sir Evan’s thinking.” It occurs to me that perhaps he deliberately puts us together like that.
The next day we strike tents an hour after sunrise and head south. The ground is still treacherously icy and a danger to all. My lord allows me to scout forward for crevasses, to protect the riders and horses behind me, even though this makes for slower going with me on foot. I’m astounded at how much good it does for my heart to be so entrusted, to be able to make sure things are safe for other horses and men.
Though in truth, Ivan and Ricardo, two of the hands who accompany me, are experts in ice in a way I never was. They spot safe ground much better than I and also endure the thinness of air better, which makes me feel weak and leaves me panting hard every day. Yet, by God’s grace, I press on.
Three days pass on our downward slope. I see Rebecca on none of these days, but now I have sweet dreams of being in her presence, of holding her hand, and vague notions of a love between a man and a woman I have never experienced and don’t really comprehend.
Now, just past the dawn of the fourth downward day to the south, I spot a wall rising up where Susan’s map says a crater ought to be sunk down. I walk back for several hours while the two expert hands continue to probe forward for safe pathways through the ice.
My lord Pederson is at the front of the column of mounted men, hands, and the baggage trailing after them in the distance. “Sir, can you see the wall?” Being mounted on horseback gives him a vantage point higher than mine. I cannot see it anymore.
He raises his binoculars. “Is that what that is?”
“Yes, my lord. From lower down it’s clear that it’s masonry work. Fitted without seams.”
“Ah. From the Time of Magic. How wide?”
“Vast, my lord. As wide as the horizon. It seems to fill a good portion of the crater we aim for.”
Govnor Pederson’s voice came partially muffled through the scarf across his face, from which small icicles hung, “Could this be the ‘upper dwelling,’ Evan?”
“Of course it could be, my lord. There is no way to know.”
“Are your hands still marking trail?”
“Yes.”
Govnor Pedrson kicks his mount Deimos and the gray stallion lunges forward. But immediately he draws it to a halt. “No,” his voice declares for a reason I don’t understand.
He dismounts and hands me his reigns. “No, you should go. You know where your hands are. You must call them back. There may be a sentry and they must not be seen advancing on the wall. We will advance by night in the cold suits Madam Susan designed. Take my horse.”
I halt in place. Giving another rider your mount, even for a short time, is so rare I’ve only see it happen once before, when I rode for the Shield. “Um, sir…” my voice trails off.
“Mount up! You must catch them quickly. I’m as capable of walking afoot as you.”
Still shocked, in minutes I’m charging down the mountain on the finest horse of the mountains in all of Ascraeus. But as fine as he is, he is not my Gallant.
By the time I arrive at the hands, Ivan and Ricardo, Deimos has slowed to a trot. I dismount, eying the wall, not seeing any sentry tower.
“Orders from the Govnor, gents. Stop the trail marking until the column catches up. Lie low in case a sentry appears on the wall. Find a hole to stay out of sight.”
As they nod, understanding, I turn my borrowed mount around and nudge him into a gallop. There is more danger I’ll be seen than them, so it is better I leave as soon as possible.
Not even Deimos can run uphill long at this altitude. I allow him to slow to a walk as I search to my right and left. To my right, some hundred meters off, I see what I’m looking for. I dismount and lead the dark horse behind me that direction. I’m very aware that I’m off the marked trail now. My hands begin to tremble. I try not to think of the horse behind me and what happened the last time I led one.
My mouth is dry and I feel sick from more than just the altitude. But I take Deimos into the depression I found, a low place in the ground wide enough and deep enough that all the riders can stage there without being seen from the wall. I walk on an icy flatish bottom between two ice ridges and I can’t help but think that this may be another crevasse with a false top. This may be death for Deimos. The tremors in my hands spread to my legs and I stand there, on this icy ground, trembling.
I turn back to Deimos. He’s calmly eying me, as if wondering who this other man is who is not his master. I take his reigns and tie them to my belt. I touch his soft nose, with ice on his horse whiskers, and say, “If you go down, this time I’ll go down with you.” He breathes a brief snort as if reassured. And I find that I feel better, too. The shakes begin to leave my body. We ensure the ground is safe, together.
I return back first to the marked trail and then to Govnor Pederson. He is walking in a strong stride considering the altitude at the front of his column, not embarrassed in the slightest to be dismounted. From horseback I inform him of the depression I’ve found and he selects key riders to advance with us. “Good work, Evan. I’d like you to show me.” His eyes regard me expectantly. I dismount Deimos.
“Sorry, my lord.”
“Don’t be sorry, son. That’s why I lent him to you. You’ll need another mount to show us
the way. Time before sunset is short. Sir, Michael, do you mind?”
Sir Michael frowns while at the same moment a look of clear relief passes Sir Isaac’s face. But he says, “Certainly, my lord.”
He dismounts and I climb up on his bay. Whose name I realize with embarrassment I do not know.
I lead the column of twenty riders including the govnor to the low ground I discovered. Then I set out on foot for the two hands that were assigned to me and I lead them back to our hiding place, just as sunfall comes.
Immediately the already cold air becomes much colder. The coldsuits I’d had the chance to test have not yet arrived. We turn our backs to the wind and huddle together for warmth, as the riders from Ascraeus have always done at such times.
Thanks to the God and Father of our Lord Jesu, hands arrive with the suits not long after dark. We dress in them, helping one another. Some of the suits seal with an ancient technology called a zipper, metal teeth biting and binding one another in a way unlike any craft of our age. We have no fire for the outer pockets, but the thick cloth protects us well in spite of that. We wait for Deimos to rise enough to give us light, joined by the shining blue gem of Mother Earth and her dimmer white lover, the Man-of-the-Moon, visible at this season more than normal from the closeness of their approach. These distant beacons combined and our eyes adjusted, we see well enough to begin movement across the already-marked trail.
Within an hour we pass what has been marked, walking in deep cold, faces protected by goggles, but eyes still straining within the frozen air, each breath out laying a trail of falling ice flakes from the moisture in our breath. The wall, lit well by Earth-and-moonshine and Deimos’ light draws larger as we continue to walk towards it. We walk one hour, two, until it towers thirty meters straight up over us.