Penumbra - Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
Mount Nothscar's highest slope was constantly swept by turbulent winds, with squalls of icy rain making the footing more treacherous than any they had faced thus far. Picking its way across the rocky terrain, sheltering in the occasional cleft, the small group made the slow hazardous trip toward the top. There were seven of them: the Beldame, five White Magi, and a Wardant from the Cadre. Some little way behind this group followed a somewhat larger one composed of the other Wardants pledged to the defense of the Beldame. They had become separated in a series of short but fierce battles which had threatened not just to slow but to actually abort their journey. Without discussion, the core crew had pressed forward leaving the more heavily armed contingent to defend the rear. This mission must not be delayed; they were moving to a meeting with Archaos, one that might rid Junonia of the monstrous creature for good and all. The Beldame, the most powerful of their magic users, must be afforded her chance to perform the Banish ritual.
A passage through a short tunnel suddenly debouched them onto the flattened top of the Mountain, the highest point of Junonia, the place of rendezvous. There the sudden stillness briefly disoriented them after the howling of the wind and the lashing of the sleet. The natural arena in which they found themselves was shielded from the storm, and the drifted snow about them muffled the sound of voice and movement alike creating a zone of a peculiar sensory deadness which was compounded by the coiling clouds that nestled there. An obscuring scrim of mist slid aside to reveal a great black cleft slicing across the white surface as though a giant’s knife had dealt a mortal blow and then withdrawn. This was the place the enemy was said to frequent.
Following the plan, the White Magi positioned themselves in a roughly circular arrangement where they could see everything and cast their healing and protective spells where needed. The Beldame took her place near the central edge of the cleft with her Wardant to her left and slightly before. The other guards were dispersing to their predetermined points when, with a shattering roar, Archaos was upon them.
The huge, protean mass loomed from the chasm, towering against the sky, occluding the light that had glittered off the icy surface and producing a sudden twilight. It seemed to coalesce even as the Beldame hastily commenced weaving her spell in a trembling voice which barely disturbed the ensuing heavy silence. A sub-aural hum, carried through the rock on which they stood, buzzed against the feet of the human party which stood frozen in place, transfixed with awe and trepidation. As the mountain itself began to shiver, the bodies of those gathered there were attacked with a fiercely dizzying vibration that disrupted their concentration and equilibrium. Before the terrified eyes of them all, lightning and fire flickered within the translucent gel of the immense being, gathering into a knot of energy, which lashed out with little warning.
The Wardant, with a hoarsely guttural cry, hurled himself on a trajectory to intercept the blow. With what seemed more than human strength, he threw his body before the Beldame, shielding her as the monstrous attack raced forward. For a moment, he spun, screaming as the forces ripped at him, and then fell, broken, scarlet on the white snow at the feet of the horrified and now silent sorceress.
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He started up from his sleep; the spell of the nightmare still strong. For a few minutes, he sat dazed and uncomprehending - where was he? What had happened?
Jaithlym, alerted by his sudden violent movement, wrapped her arms about his waist. “Anjh, wake up! It’s all right. It’s just a dream.”
Slowly his eyes focused and he became aware of his surroundings: the bed, the sheets twisted about him, the room, Jaithlym at his side. There was no wind-swept Mountain, no mass of unknowable enemy, no unbearable agony that stopped too abruptly.
“I died there.”
“Yes, love, yes. It’s all over now, rest,” she cooed as she stroked the clammy skin of his face.
He pushed himself up against the head of the bed, bracing himself with his bent right knee. “I died there.”
“Yes, but that was months ago and you were saved and returned to us,” she crept against him, resting her golden head in the bend of his neck, her hands warm and softly soothing as she comforted him.
He moved restlessly, “There’s some reason I’m having this same dream every night. Why am I being reminded I died on that mountain? Aleo knows I’m not likely to forget what happened there; it’s carved in my body. There’s something else I’m supposed to remember.”
“You Prydain are too conscientious. Sometimes a dream, even a nightmare, is just a dream. If Aleo knows anything it’s that you’ve had enough horrors to account for any number of bad dreams,” she spoke calmly and rationally hoping to dispel his uneasiness and lull him back to rest.
Anjh swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his spectacles and robe. “I can’t sleep. I’m going into the other room for a while to think.” He levered himself up with his cane.
“Do you want me to come with you and be your sounding board?” she asked.
“No, I need to sort this out myself. Don’t wait up for me.”
He closed the bedroom door behind him and moved slowly to the balcony window. The cold glass felt refreshing against his now flushed skin as he gazed unseeing across the sleeping city. There was some message for him in the dreams, of that he was certain but what he was being told was far from clear to his waking mind. He was sure he remembered all that had led to the incident on the Mountain - the memory gaps that had plagued him when he first regained consciousness in his renewed life had long since been filled in. He remembered it all - from the day he had heard about the proposed mission to finally defeat Archaos.
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Harad had come into his rooms excited and intrigued. “Have you heard, captain? There’s a big push on to get rid of Archaos for sure.“
“What this time?” The tall man in the crimson uniform didn’t stir from his sprawled position behind the flimsy table that served as a desk. “Are they going to pray him to death?”
“Kind of. They’re going to send an elite force up to the top of Mount Nothscar and tackle him there.”
“And why do they think he’ll be there?”
“Don’t know but they seem pretty sure. Are you going to get involved with this?” Harad expected his kinsman to deal himself in as he usually did if the campaign was risky enough. Since his father had died almost fourteen years ago, Anjh had made a habit of seeking out danger and this proposed mission would seem to be to his taste. What’s more, Harad sensed that his captain was restless. He had come to Aleofane several months ago to accept the honors and awards of the Council and had been unemployed ever since. It was his longest period of inactivity since he had departed Ban Khatour to take his first mission as a Warrior.
“Yes, I think I will. I’m bored waiting around here doing nothing and there doesn’t seem to be anything else interesting in the offing. If nothing else, a trek up Mount Nothscar will give me an excuse to decline all these invitations that keep accumulating,” he gestured toward a tall stack of white and pastel envelopes. “I got one this morning from the Akamma. They’re having a banquet and want me at the head table. Aleo knows why; I don’t know a damn’ thing about their business... Wonder if they’ll pay me to show up?”
Harad laughed, “Oh, I bet I can explain that one. Their chief is a gorgeous shark of a woman who boasts she always gets what she wants. So watch out, captain; you’re in her sights.” He ducked to avoid the book Anjh threw at him.
“We need to get out of this place and back to where we belong; we’re getting rotten with laziness.” Anjh kicked the table aside and vaulted to his feet, “Who’s recruiting?”
“Karcad at the War Ministry - that’s what they say.”
“Naufrage being too fastidious to soil his dainty fingers with the bloody work, eh? That’s like him. Well, I’m off. Check in with me later and I’ll tell you what happened.”
“I know you, old friend; you won’t take on something like this unless you can run it... Do you honestly think he’ll let you have the command? After all, you haven’t exactly been one of his supporters.” Harad raised an eyebrow.
“Everybody knows I’m not political and if he wants his plan to work, he’ll give it to me. He’s no strategist and certainly no Warrior. No, he’ll give it to me and be glad of it.” There was no doubt in his voice.
Harad was accustomed to Anjh's confidence, even his arrogance, and viewed it as the inevitable result of a career marked by an unbroken string of successes in every arena he had ever entered. He watched with covert amusement not unmixed with admiration as his friend headed toward the central city, a noticeable swagger in his gait.
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Karcad was not surprised to see Anjh standing before his desk at the War Ministry in Aleofane. He had anticipated that the Immortal would be unable to resist the bait of a intriguingly dangerous mission and would volunteer for the planned attack on Archaos. Naufrage had privately assured him that it would be so.
“Yes, we are putting together a team to ambush our enemy on top of Mount Nothscar,” he said. “I am intending to have about a dozen Wardants protect five Magi and the Beldame. Too big a group won’t work; it would warn Archaos off and destroy any hope of surprise. That’s why we aren’t announcing this and publicly asking for applicants. The quieter we keep it the better the chance for success since we don’t know how many Mazoid have infiltrated our ranks. Are you interested?”
Anjh gave a short self-confident laugh, “Of course. You knew I would be and we both know you would have called me before much longer had passed. How much planning has been done? Even you must know your so-called magic doesn’t work most of the time. What makes you think it will do anything against Archaos? I’m concerned about the balance of the party and the identities of those who’re going. What arms are you giving the Wardants? Are you sure the Beldame is up to making the climb; you must have noticed she’s not young anymore? And how can you be so certain Archaos will be there when you expect? If I’m going to lead this team, I need full dossiers on all the members - as well as all the projections your tacticians have come up with.”
The Lamason nodded in agreement, “Slow down. You’ll be briefed. So many questions... Don’t worry about the Beldame - she’s stronger than she looks and we have some information we teased out of captured Mazoid about the comings and goings of Archaos. Unlike you Prydain, we know magic will work but we will let you Wardants carry whatever weapons you want. I haven’t selected all of the others yet. It’s early days and you can help with that if you like; you know most of the prospective Wardants and can weed out any unsuitable ones...” He looked up at the tall man, judging him dispassionately, and unexpectedly asked, “How old are you, Anjh?”
“I’ll be thirty-four in a few days. Why should you care - do you think I’m too old to climb a few hills? Or too young to command respect from the others?”
“No, I was just wondering... As I understand the Prydain, you’re past the customary age to make the Voltefase and it had occurred to me this would make a suitable last mission.” Karcad liked to demonstrate his knowledge of the minutiae of the various Junonian cultures.
“No, you misunderstand our customs. I’m nowhere near ready to lay down my weapons. I’ll be a Warrior for some time yet.” Anjh spun on his heel to go. “Now that I’m head of this expedition, I’ll start preparing. Send me the particulars as soon as you have them.”
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Anjh walked down the street in Aleofane, his step light and rapid, collecting the curious and admiring stares of those who recognized him from the ceremony of the previous month. In truth, he was hard to ignore - being taller than the average Junonian with long dark hair braided and coiled in the manner of his people. Not many of the Prydain military were to be found in the city; they scorned the soft weakness of the religious government and its adherents and felt uncomfortably constricted in the crowded streets. Anjh, in his crimson uniform with the shirt elaborately laced over his hairless chest and the snug-fitting breeches tucked into soft leather boots was a dramatic contrast to the host of ecclesiastic functionaries swishing past in their layers of robes, each stratum communicating an explicit meaning or rank to the knowledgeable.
A single loose side-lock curving from brow to chin, framed the right side of his face and swept back in the wind of his passage like a personal flag. No longer the keen, ambitious youth Brisevant Rispa had sent out to seek what the world might offer, he had matured into a striking man with sharp dark eyes under flaring brows, a predatory nose and cleanly defined if somewhat narrow lips. He had been seasoned by experience and hardened by danger and had become arrogant where he had once been tentative. The change showed clearly in the habitual expression he showed the world. He was not altogether unaware of or dissatisfied with the impression he made.
However, just now, he was not considering how he must appear to the people of the capitol nor was he acknowledging the salutes of those bold enough to try to catch his eye. His mind was occupied with replaying parts of the interview with Karcad. He was familiar enough with statescraft to understand that the Lamason was playing a deep game - one that must involve internal politics on the Council. The stated reason for the secrecy involving this mission did not ring true. What was Karcad really up to; was he engineering a coup? Was anyone else involved and how would it affect his own plans? Most of all, Anjh would have liked to know if Naufrage was being kept in the dark about this oddly ambitious sortie and, if so, why. The machinations of the Lamasoni were intricate and unfathomable to those not of their number; it seemed they sometimes plotted for the sheer delight of seeing how complicated a scheme they could contrive before it all fell apart. Naufrage, in particular, frequently reminded him of a clever spider in the center of a web, reading all the twitches and quivers in the strands he spun with such gleeful precision.
Anjh shook his head ruefully - perhaps the dossiers promised him would yield some clues as to purposes and personalities of this particular scheme. And Harad could be sent out to do a little spying; he was very clever at picking up news that was supposedly secret. There were ways...
With an internal sigh, Anjh admitted that he did not have enough information yet to follow the details of this latest intrigue of the Lamasoni. It might be worthwhile to plant an agent in the household of someone on the Council, maybe that Lilar woman - was Diranda the name? She had some attendants who had indicated that they would be willing to be of help to him for a smile or whatever. And good spies were useful in Aleofane, not just for this puzzle but in general. The most successful denizens of the city had extensive networks. Anjh shook himself again; he was thinking like a man who intended to stay here when his every act was aimed toward escaping the intricate, somehow unclean, snares of urban life and getting back to the simple kill or die clarity of the war. And as to the reason for all the secrecy about Mount Nothscar, he would eventually find out - that was as certain as a truth could be.
On the other hand, just what had the comment about his age have to do with anything Karcad was plotting? It was unlike the man to make personal remarks or to show any interest at all in the private lives of those he intended to use. Maybe he was trying to pretend to a friendship he thought might benefit him. Anjh doubted that since the Lamason was more blunt than subtle in his dealings with others. No, there was something strange going on here. Since the death of his father, Anjh knew he had become increasingly bold in his actions, increasingly careless with his own life. That would have been noticed by his employers and factored into their schemes. If the trek up the Mountain happened to mark the end of his career, why should it matter to Karcad? Why had he said what he did?
Acting on a sudden impulse, he threw himself down on a convenient bench in the park he was passing. The crowds were thickening as noon approached and he was finding it difficult to avoid bumping into pedestrians while preoccupied with the pursuit of his own thoughts. Absently contemplating the soft luster of his boots, he wondered if, indeed, this would prove to be the turning point in the War again Archaos. Somehow, it didn’t feel likely but, he considered, if this mission truly was to confront Archaos head on, it might well be the opportunity he was looking for. When he had performed a deed sufficiently daring to forever drown out Biyonne's calumny, he could make Voltefase and retire content in the knowledge that his honor was immaculate and his name cleared of any taint that might have blemished it.
Since there as nothing urgently demanding his attention and the day was pleasantly mild with a soft, fragrant breeze, he permitted himself to daydream for a while. He could leave the teeming city and go home to Ban Khatour to resume his studies - he rather thought now that he would shun government in favor of teaching - he was very tired of making crucial decisions for other people. He had done his duty to his people for all these years, now he was hungry to immerse himself in quiet and seek blessed solitude, to read and think until he was as deeply dipped in learning as he now was in blood. This could possibly be the battle he needed to sew up the untidy edges of this part of his life, fold it neatly and put it away with the other outgrown costumes from his past. Surely a direct personal confrontation with Archaos would satisfy the most meticulous delver into his history.
Yes, a spectacular success like the slaying of Archaos was the quickest way to redemption. No matter if the mission objective was the banishing of the beast, he would attempt to kill it outright and if he died in the effort...
With that thought a subtle worm began blindly burrowing its way to the surface of his mind. If he died in the effort... It would settle all accounts, clear all registers, expiate his sin against his father and free him from the rack of his own conscience. If he died in the effort... It would be finished cleanly and well.
The implications of that realization made him gasp audibly, attracting the curious notice of a passer-by. Hastily pretending to cough and unable to sit still any longer, Anjh leapt to his feet and began striding, almost running, back to his quarters, away from his own understanding.