Chapter 27: Shining Mountain

Updated 11/29/23

Amidst the Atmosphere of Lorness

Owakar left The Lion and Tiger Inn with his package. He waved as Alocrin left. He pondered all they had discussed. A bubble of excitement made him smile. Discord shivered through the halls of Lorness Castle since the earl and his wife regularly sparred with barbed words. Alocrin recalled to him all the advances his auxiliaries had made through the faithful. Prayers were on the rise and more people walked by the spirit, considering the words they knew of the Book of Life. For J’shua was never more than a thought away through the spirit.

He sensed a turning of the tide somewhere as if a lever had been pulled and stream had been diverted. He entered his thoughts into his luach and it responded.

[But he gives more grace. Wherefore he says, God resists the proud, but gives grace unto the humble.]

“J’shua? Is this how we win?”

Lexandria

Rebekah had stopped in this tavern as Tomas Bekh many times. However, today, man of mystery, Tyrone Beecham, watched out the window, waiting for a courier. Two of her men stood outside on either side of the door. Three more took seats throughout the tavern. Something caught her attention.

A couple of young men followed a maid. The furtive glances between the men set Rebekah on edge.

They were hunting. The girl was their prey.

Noticing them, the maiden walked faster, but a third lad blocked her path. She tried to push past, only to be grabbed from behind.

One put a hand over her mouth, as they dragged her toward an alley.

Rebekah narrowed her eyes, rising from the table and unsheathing one of her daggers. She was about to step outside when a dozen hooded townsfolk appeared, carrying staves and shillelaghs.

Intent on the girl, the three youths didn’t notice them. Moments later, their screams and pleas for mercy drew everyone’s attention. People on the street stopped to watch. Those in the tavern with Rebekah crowded the window.

“Serves them right,” a gruff voice snarled beside her. Others agreed.

“This time, they’re on the receiving end,” a serving girl hissed.

Then silence fell outside as the watch dragged away the three boys. “Licht Gegen is on watch,” a voice declared behind Rebekah.

She felt a warm glow of pride.

Rebekah eased back in her chair. She’d never imagined their small colony and her meeting with the Gonnels family would have grown into this.

“Are you Tyrone Beecham?” a soft voice asked.

Rebekah turned to see a young woman, dressed in a thick woolen cloak over a well-made surcoat and shift. A woman of means by her shoes alone. The woman pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at Tyrone Beecham.

“Yes, madam, I am. Do you have a message for me?”

“Yes, sir. There is news. Another will deliver it on the new moon.

Rebekah knew the time and location for the meeting already. She would be there.

Farr Castle

The day after his promotion, George Rosewud glowered at the docent abasing himself in the center of his interview room. He hoped this one would be competent. Few of them were of any use.

Recently promoted from Lesser Docent, this Rhaylth fellow had an unsavory personality. He’d no doubt sell out his closest friend for advancement—just as he’d done with his predecessor, Streib. This was always the rub. Either the acolytes were submissive and obedient or they were ruthless and self-serving. Both were useful, but difficult to manage. Usually he dealt with them as he was inspired.

Rosewud stepped closer and paced before this supplicant tapping his shillelagh in his palm. “So,” Rosewud said, doing his best impression of Melazera’s condescending tone, “Caileagh Melazera gave you an important task. A critical task. Yet I—your newly appointed master—had to find out about this from your fellows. They don’t like you very much. They blame you for…many things. Some of which may even be true. So, why should I have any faith in you? Why shouldn’t I simply reallocate you to a new role?” He lifted Rhaylth’s chin with the outstretched club. “Perhaps as the sacrifice in some petty ritual?”

The silence stretched out.

“I am waiting.” Rosewud crossed his arms, cradling his shillelagh.

“I…my lord, I—”

“I am not a lord,” George sneered. “I am, publicly, Secretary to the Duke of Lorness. Within our Order, I am your Master.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Better, much better. So, you didn’t report to me because…?”

“Lady Melazera insisted I report only to her. She—”

Rosewud scowled. “Tut-tut. That was before I replaced her. Report. Now.”

“Lady Melazera had intelligence that Otual’s wife may have become involved with the fools opposing the God of this Age. And that she may have lived within a community hidden within Frei Forest for a time.”

Easing back in his chair, Rosewud decided he needed something grander, more throne-like. But on a smaller scale than Melazera’s, of course. “I see. And what progress have you made?”

“I’ve sent men to scour the Frei, as ordered, and located a source, someone able to track down a whore’s lost virginity. For enough baden, he’ll find the Otual woman.”

“And what of the lost daughter? Otual’s wife was last seen confronting Commandant Greysun. The lazy fool. He should have reported it and set someone to follow her. I want both the girl and her mother found. I don’t care about cost—only solutions. Produce results for me, and I’ll see you ascend. Have nothing for me next moon, and you’ll descend to the pit. Go!”

The fearful docent scrambled out the door. He might be useful.

Signaling to one of his trusted men, he instructed, “Follow him. See where he goes and who he speaks to. Monitor and report who, if anyone, captures or kills him.”

***

“Has no one seen that incompetent Rhaylth?” Caileagh demanded of the docents assembled before her.

The chorus of “No, Your Grace” was not what she wanted to hear. She needed a result. With Gaelib’s ever-decreasing need for her, she had to demonstrate her worth.

Had to!

Especially after what my accursed husband told that incompetent peacock! Giving Rosewud control over my funds, over my Black Robes!

Worse, she had to do so quickly. Her husband had not forgiven her attempted assassination of Her Majesty. He’d even insisted she only act with his permission and refused to hear anything of her visions.

Phah!

She would show him.

“Put a bounty on Rhaylth’s head. Five thousand alive. A thousand dead. Make it known he’s failed me once too often. Scour Frei Forest. If there ever was a settlement there—hidden or otherwise—I want it found. I want to know when it was occupied and by whom. I shall promote the one who succeeds. Go!”

They scurried out with self-assured, greedy smiles, glancing furtively at their competition.

Shining Mountain

Jonathan rested beyond bowshot, watching. Blackhawk had not moved for an afternoon and a night, despite recovering his horses,.

Jonathan considered withdrawing again. The family would be safe.

Yet…

Blackhawk was there, just out of reach.

He knew he should withdraw, but there were enough soldiers at the base of the mountain to make that difficult. Nor could he head upwards; it might lead the soldiers to the cadet knights training there.

What do the young ones think of my actions? Can they understand? Would the daikons approve? Have I indulged my need for vengeance? Or am I acting as J’shua’s agent? I cannot tell. Nor can I break off.

***

James gulped as Major Blackhawk stalked over, demanding, “Explain this!”

“I…” the young man pretending to be a black robe tugged at the ropes binding him.

“I was not talking to you, whoever you are. Captain Raynaud?”

“A sentry spotted him bound to a tree. Thought this fellow might be a stalking goat set out by Otual. Instead of reporting it to me, he…uh…fetched this fellow on his own initiative.”

Blackhawk eyed the Black Robe. “Why would he do that, Captain?”

“Because he’s the one who’ll never use his left arm again. He wanted to prove himself still useful. And, if it was a trap, sacrificing himself might save some of us.”

“Oh.” The major’s uttered word was no more than a whisper. “Commend him for his bravery and tell him not to do so again.”

“Yes, sir,” Reynaud said.

“Now you,” Blackhawk took a menacing step closer, “may explain yourself.”

“I…” James bowed his head. The few moments of respite had given him time to take stock of the soldiers’ camp. There’d been thirty of them when they went up the mountain two days ago…or so the daikon had told him. He counted four badly wounded men, one dead, and at least a dozen injured. “Bounty hunters captured me. They mistook me for some other on the royal guards’ list of runaways. I’m Lesser Docent Lambreth of the Order of the Black Robe. My docent tasked me with…”

“With what? My patience is limited. I’ve neither the time nor the inclination to worry about the tribulations of some clerk, whatever their rank.”

“Of course, of course,” James nodded nervously. “The order sent me to confirm details about the burning of the Knights’ School. There are reports of new graves, indicating there may have been survivors.”

“Were there?”

“No, not that I found. The burial mounds were all old, but created at different times in different ways. Some were well crafted. Others were mere stacks of stones.” All of which was true, but had nothing to do with meeting Daikon Crispus to…He couldn’t afford to get distracted or caught. Not if this Blackhawk was truly involved with Gaelib Melazera.

“So how did you end up roped to a tree? Did your captors think so little of you?”

“They spotted someone dressed as a Knight of J’shua. One thought it was Otual…and they didn’t want me to slow them down. That was around midnight. They hadn’t returned when the sun came up, and your man,” he raised his still bound hands, “freed me.”

Nor were “they” likely to. The old Knight had told me what I had to do and then lashed out with his staff… to make it look real.

“Can you ride? Do you know horses? Do you know anything of healing?”

“I…ride tolerably well. Horses like me, sometimes. And, no, only how to tie a bandage. I’m a scribe, sometimes a messenger, and an investigator on rare occasions. But…”

“What?” Blackhawk snapped, then took a step backward and breathed in and out slowly. “I’ve troubles enough. I can’t protect you against bounty hunters. I’ve no one to spare.”

“Uh…may I ask a question? Maybe more than one?” James asked softly.

“What?”

“Are you the Major Steven Blackhawk?”

“I am.”

“And, do you think that the rebel knight Otual is really nearby?”

“He…may…be,” the major growled, taking a step closer with each word.

James took a step backward, holding up his bound hands defensively. “Then, I want nothing from you. In fact, I want to get as far from you as I can. You’re not safe to be around.”

Blackhawk blinked. “Wha… explain yourself.”

“Surely you know that…”

“That what…?”

“Oh…um…” James hesitated yet again. He couldn’t seem too eager. It would make it harder for Blackhawk to accept the tale he’d been told to spin.

“Unless you’d like to be retied to that tree and left behind, spit it out!”

James fidgeted. “Uh…that is…according to rumor, about a year ago, the Earl of Lorness had you…deal…carnally…with the wife of a Knight of Joshua.”

“That’s a lie. Even if true, it would not be common knowledge.” Blackhawk crossed his arms.

“It’s more widely known than you might suspect.” James took a step further back only to bump into Reynaud.

“So, Otual has found out about this and wants revenge? Is that what you’re telling me?”

Gulping, James shook his head. He did not know if what he was about to say was true, only that the daikon wanted Blackhawk driven into a frenzy. “No, Major. I’m telling you he wants revenge because you violated his daughter-in-law. The girl’s name was Cynthia Otual.”

“That’s…”

Not the reaction I was hoping for. Let’s try again.

“It’s said, in certain circles, his anger is both righteous and holy. That he’s sworn vengeance against you and those who…”

“Who what? I grow tired of your prevaricating. Spit. It. Out.”

“Otual’s wife and daughter were supposedly taken in a debt collection in ten years ago, in the twenty-ninth year of King Edal. Accounts vary. They say his wife escaped a young lieutenant…”

Am I accusing Blackhawk of stealing away Sir Otual’s daughter? Well, it’s what I was told to say…if I couldn’t get a big enough reaction.

“…who’d let them retreat into their house. A sergeant named Jonsun disappeared last year, with a lot of baden that didn’t belong to him…after making allegations about…you. I don’t know if they’re true. I don’t want to know.”

“You—!” Blackhawk snarled, grabbing James tightly by his black robe.

That’s more like it.

“It’s said…” James squeaked, causing the major to loosen his grip, “the sergeant worked for some group that opposes the Melazeras. That he’d been feeding them information for years.”

Blackhawk growled, squeezing harder again.

“Look, I may be putting this together all wrong.” James gasped.

Blackhawk dropped him.

“But whether you were involved, he thinks you raped his son’s wife. I don’t want to be anywhere near you, Major, if even a fraction of that turns out to be more than tavern gossip. I value my life. So, please, untie me and let me go. I’ll gladly take my chances with the bounty hunters rather than sit next to a target like you.”

If that doesn’t work, nothing will.

I hope this insane errand Daikon Crispus required proves I’m quick-witted enough to become a Knight.

***

What he said couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t.

Drawing his dagger, Blackhawk cut the Black Robe’s bonds. “Get out. If I ever hear you’ve repeated your slanderous statements, I’ll cut out your tongue.”

The Lesser Docent ran off like a scared rabbit.. Not a hundred and fifty yards from Blackhawk’s camp, the man went down, rose grasping his leg, then limped away.

“Captain Reynaud, we may have a problem.”

“No one would believe those vile tales, sir.”

“I am not worried about that. Our men are loyal. No, I am concerned that Otual may believe them. He has a high price on his head. Who knows what stories someone might spread to provoke him to make him easier to track?”

Someone like Melazera. Blast him.

“Are you suggesting that…” Reynaud paused. “You think Otual will not flee because he may want revenge on you?”

“Something like that, Captain. Recheck the camp’s defenses.”

No, the stories cannot be true. That would mean Little…It’s not possible. As for the tale about the knight’s son’s wife, it would be just like Melazera to put a target on my back so Otual would seek me out. Blast him. Blast Caileagh’s birds. And blast the rumors they spread.

***

Major Blackhawk checked the final preparations personally. His hands still trembled with rage.

Melazera put a price on my head. A price that’ll never go away. Even once Otual is captured, some other zealot may think it virtuous to avenge the rape.

He pushed the thought aside and tried to send his anger with it.

Of the five men he’d counted as dead, three still clung to life. They were good men, not just good soldiers. If he could get them off the mountain, one or more might survive.

Is Otual waiting in ambush? Did he hear Melazera’s story? Did he start the avalanche to kill me? How did this become so complicated?

Complicated…

That word brought back memories and a child’s face. Little Soldier’s image often came to mind unbidden. She was only six when he’d met her. She might be married now. If she still lived.

He’d thought he was saving her, but…

His fingers rose to the simple tokens beneath his shirt. She’d made his life more…complicated. She’d also opened his eyes to…but such thoughts were for windy nights, warm fires, and cold ale.

“Move out,” Blackhawk commanded.

The three not-quite-dead were carried in hammocks between horses. Soldiers guarded each animal’s flanks as their vanguard widened the too-narrow paths. Another walked between each pair of mounts, talking soothingly to them, moving them in unison.

The wounded men who could walk followed. Those who couldn’t, they strapped to a horse’s back. As were the bodies of their dead, except for the two they hadn’t found. That left Blackhawk a fighting force of seven men, including himself.

***

Blackhawk looked at the gap between the rocks, knowing it was a trap.

Are you waiting for me on the other side, knight? Or am I seeing phantoms where there are none?

He growled. The only choice was to go through or backtrack for over an hour. Men might die because of that delay, making it no choice at all. “Wait here. Protect the wounded.”

“Yes, sir.” Their acknowledgment was lackluster. Exhausted was probably fairer.

Cautiously, Blackhawk advanced. There was a hazard. A nasty thing that would have skewered him—or a horse—multiple times. Its points were coated in dung. If struck, it’d mean a slow death. Using his axe, he destroyed it and then moved into the small clearing beyond.

Only the whisper of a sword gave any warning.

Blackhawk barely deflected the strike. He pulled his knife and thrust.

The knight spun out of reach like a dancer and a graceful stroke of his sword trailed behind slicing through the outer layer of his brigandine.

Then his axe met the knight’s agile blade again with a clang but the sword slid away easily and came back in fierce reply.

The burn of the knight’s blade as it cut into his shoulder spurred him to push back.

Blackhawk drew a dagger. The axe in his right hand lashed out.

Otual parried high, twisting as he did. The knight was off balance.

The knight’s sword swept in toward the major’s shoulder again. His being off-balance was a deception.

Blackhawk brought the knife up, desperate to intercept it.

Otual dropped, the flight of his sword reversed, leaving a long gash in Blackhawk’s calf.

But that left the knight open. Blackhawk swung his axe.

Blood spurted from the knight’s chest, and he backed away.

Blackhawk’s leg was afire. He wouldn’t be able to stand for long.

***

Jonathan studied his foe, weighing the odds.

Leave, the still, small voice insisted.

The axe had opened a bloody gash in his chest. Not an incapacitating wound—if treated quickly.

The growing crimson stain on Blackhawk’s shirt had slowed. But the slash on his leg oozed ever more quickly. It might prove fatal. It would prevent pursuit.

Jonathan stepped beyond the major’s ability to lunge and then gave him a courtly bow. His eyes never left his opponent as he backed away. He had no intention of exposing his rear to a thrown axe.

New Moon, Late Spring

The Road to High Keep

Faster! The king’s internal commandment did little. The Royal Coach bounced and rocked over the rough road. Wood strained. Wheels creaked. The driver’s whip cracked. The horses’ sweat was as thick as morning dew.

His escorts were doing everything they could to make the trip a swift one.

It is written:

[I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.]

Yet, he chafed at returning to High Keep by carriage. It was too slow. He’d rather have ridden, not that any member of his guard would have permitted him to do so. Their job was to keep him safe. The protection of a carriage wasn’t something they were going to compromise merely because he wanted to feel the wind in his hair. Or go faster.

Faster, he willed yet again. I want to believe the comforting words of the daikon Commander Taelor sent, but…

She is so precious, so special. She makes me capable of…more.

He prayed.

He strategized.

How much time have my gambits bought? Three years? Maybe.

Yet, even with the need to study and rearrange the pieces on the board, his thoughts kept returning to Melyssa. He not only respected her but had feelings for her. He might even love her. That was a luxury he’d never thought he’d have. His life was dedicated to Freislicht before all else, before love, before wife, before children.

When they finally rolled to a stop within High Keep, he stumbled out of the carriage with as much dignity as he could muster. He quickly changed his clothes and rushed to the Queen’s rooms. Guards opened the doors before him and then closed them.

“Oh, Your Majesty!” Blubbering women facing the curtained bed, crying.

His knees wobbled. The lamenting attendants around her bed broke his heart. Stabbing pain consumed him.

She’s dead.

He strode to her as ladies-in-waiting noticed him and scattered.

As she finally came into view, Melyssa sat up with a yawn and a sleepy smile. “You’re here.”

“H-how?” he spluttered.

She blinked, looking around the familiar room. “I…don’t know.” Melyssa touched her bandaged hand. “A snake bit me. I walked toward the castle.”

Sagen sat on the bed, pulling her close. He kissed her gently, his face wet with tears.

“You really must have more faith,” she teased, giving him a push. Even with brows furrowed in concentration, her eyes twinkled.

“More faith? Is that the best you can come up with?” he laughed. “You’ve had me scared out of my wits for the best part of a week.”

All her maids and ladies left the room and closed the doors.

“That long?” She looked surprised. “When I felt the snake bite, I prayed with my understanding. Then I prayed in the spirit. I remembered the missionary travels of the light bringer, Paul. A viper bit him, but he was unharmed. I perceived this a deliberate attack, so I thought it best to feign weakness. However, as I entered the castle, I did feel faint, and then a still, small voice said, ‘Sleep.’ So I did.”

She pulled her knees to her chin. Her blue eyes peeked through blonde lashes. “I had dreams of you, of us. I saw you make Gaelib Melazera a duke. He crowed like a cockerel and then walked into traps you’d set before him. Colonel Gonnels stood by your side, supporting you, admiring you. And I saw my family, but they were blurry, as if I was looking through tears. Then the same voice said, ‘Wake,’ and I was here at High Keep.”

Sagen took her hands in his. “My queen, you look well. Do you feel well?”

“Yes, husband, I have awakened refreshed.”

“Then shall we plan the downfall of our new duke?”

Lexandria

Rebekah collapsed into the chair, clutching her chest, her breath coming in gasps. She was not sure why the news had hit so hard, only that it had. After years of following and re-following the same leads from every direction, she finally had a new clue.

The last villain.

Initially, she’d only known the name of one of the three men who’d come to her parents’ farm so long ago: George Rosewud, Undersecretary to the Earl of Lorness. She, and spies from Licht Gegen, had investigated and learned everything that could be known about him: his habits, both good and ill, his friends, and his accomplices. They knew of his fluctuating wealth, gambling debts, blackmail schemes, silent partnerships, taste in women, and other, less savory, aspects of his nature. They knew of the properties he owned, who owed him money, and who he owed. They knew the out-of-the-way places he liked to go.

Yet, none of it had led her one step closer to Sarah.

After much effort and many covert actions, they’d learned the name of the grizzled sergeant that had accompanied Rosewud: Jonsun. However, that old man had proven elusive, having disappeared completely a year earlier.

No matter the effort spent, they’d not discovered the identity of the boyish-faced lieutenant who completed the trio—the one who’d ridden away with Sarah. Finding no record of his involvement on that day on any military payroll meant his participation had been covert.

Had…

The messenger standing before Rebekah was not yet a man. Tall and thin, he’d yet to put on muscle. His mop of white-blond hair made her think of Jonathan…and the Knights.

Surely, the lad before me is a cadet knight. How does Daikon Crispus know of Tyrone Beecham? It doesn’t matter. All I care about now is Sarah.

“Tell me again,” she said, almost forgetting to lower her voice into Tyrone’s.

“Sir, they have instructed me to say only the following words to you.” The lad gulped, placing his hands behind his back and bowing forward slightly. “I am not at liberty to disclose who sent me, but am to return your reply if there is one.”

“You said that before.”

“As I must every time I deliver the message.”

“Continue,” Rebekah-as-Tyrone commanded, not sure how—or if—she would reply. First, she had to hear the message again.

“The third has been identified. He still serves within the Royal Army. He is prominent. Very prominent. His heart is that of a slaver: cold, pitiless, and black. Should he become aware of your interest, he will strike with the speed of a hawk.”

Again, she put the pieces together.

Given that “prominent” was used twice, the boy-lieutenant was promoted to captain and then major. Putting that together with the last words of the remaining sentences…

Major Blackhawk.

He’s close to the king. That will make it difficult and dangerous to act. Yet…

“Reply with, ‘Watch from a distance. Learn all you can. Be invisible.’”

“Yes, sir,” the messenger said, straightening up.

Rebekah reached forward, holding out a pouch of baden. “For your trouble.”

“Thank you very much, sir.”

She had the third name at last.

Sarah, I’m coming!