The Tërou Mountains. The second largest mountain range in the world of Belhame. It covered the entire northern part of the small continent Gillica and made up two-thirds of the Grand Duchy of Aeddelgild.
The capital of the duchy, the city of Ezperyme, as well as two of the duchy’s lesser cities could be found within the valleys of the area, protected by the massive mountains surrounding them.
Only two travel friendly roads led in and out of the mountains and both of them belonged to the Grand Duke of Aeddelgild, Argoste vyn Barihd-Hezio. The biggest of the roads, called Duke’s Passing, was a wide road of beige gravel and white sand with space enough for four carriages to ride beside each other.
At the mouth of the road was a large fortress called Gate’s Keep which housed five hundred soldiers. Their jobs were to inspect and tax all traders and merchants seeking entry into the mountains as well as being the first wall of defence against possible invaders.
Past Gate’s Keep, along Duke’s Passing, were smaller guardhouses, placed approximately two kilometres from one another. Each of them had a well, as dehydration was the most common killer in the region, and a small hall with beds for weary travellers.
Protruding from the roof of every second guardhouse were tall beacon towers of sandstone, a large pyre of the driest wood resting at the very top.
“There it is! The last one before Fort Trust,” exclaimed Thera when she spotted a tower in the distance, its walls almost disappearing into the sunlit mountains behind it.
“Oh, thank the Goddess,” Galeforte sighed with relief, “The Blackshields shall not be conquered by heat after all.”
He dried the pouring sweat off of his brow and greedily gulped down the last of his water, knowing he could soon refill his waterskin.
“Where’s your adventuring spirit, commander?” Ephrym laughed as he stepped up to Galeforte and patted him on the back, “This scenery is worth the pain!”
The hireknight let his hand glide through the air to guide the attention of his commander. The part of the road on which they found themselves crept beside the second largest mountain in the region, Mount Barihd. The massive mountain was not much of a sight when standing directly beside it, but opposite the wall of rock was a large valley of sandy hills bathed in golden sunlight.
However, inviting as it was, the glimmering valley was far beneath the mountain road, the only way to enter from where they stood being a steep fall about the height of half of Mount Barihd.
Noa, Ephrym’s brother, trod towards the edge of the road and looked down, remarking in a dreaming tone; “If only the sand was soft enough to dampen the blow.”
“Try it,” said Thera teasingly from a safe distance, “I heard an inventor survived jumping from the top of the Mother’s Spire in Dâl Kou’Rham. That’s a record meant to be broken.”
“Fame in death is what we all aspire to,” Noa replied, “But it is too soon. I should like to turn at least thirty before I go to Kheïros.”
Kheïros was the home of the Eternal Mother where she welcomed all who had been faithful in life when they passed. An endless realm of white and golden fields where the sun shone eternally, embracing all the souls of the dead in a caring warmth and bringing their love for those they left behind on Belhame with it in its rays.
“Can you hear it, brother?” Asked Ephrym while snapping his fingers so their horses would follow.
“Hear what?” Noa asked, turning around and rejoining the rest of the company.
“The thousands of disappointed sighs of souls realising they will not meet you today either,” Ephrym teased, handing the reins of Noa’s horse to him.
“It’s only midday,” Noa retorted.
Noa and Ephrym had joined the Blackshield Company a year after its founding. They were twin brothers, sons of a lesser noble in Thera’s homeland of Caz Carryl. After speaking to Galeforte, and hearing how much gold he and his crew had made as hireknights, they had renounced their titles and joined the company, leaving their indebted father without heirs.
Both being former students of existential philosophy, they had wanted to take hireknight names representing their beliefs. Leaving the noble name of Kenstrand behind, Noa had become Noa of Nothing and Ephrym had claimed the opposite moniker; “of Everything.”
“Can we move on? I’d like to get to Fort Trust by sundown. Rest in a real bed for once,” Rotta of the Gold, the last and fifth member of the company, ushered with a rough voice.
After their victory at Fort Grahl, Rotta had been knighted and her former surname Griss recognized as nobility by the crown of Torlunden as part of Galeforte’s payment. Moments later, Rotta had renounced her noble name, sworn to let logic rather than love guide her in the presence of a king and received an Oath of Neutrality signed by King Krovik himself. In the span of one hour, Rotta had gone from a commoner from a family of bakers to a lady of the Torlundian court to a Hireknight recognized by all regents of Belhame.
A fun story she often told when drunk.
“Thought you were used to stacks of hay,” Ephrym fired with an optimistic smile, joyously ignorant. The muscular woman, who had only gotten bigger since the siege of Fort Grahl, sent a fiery glance and a silencing grunt towards the former city noble.
“I’m sorry?” Ephrym replied, softly pulling on the reins of his horse.
The company had been walking the entire way from Gate’s Keep to spare their horses the additional weight. The animals were already carrying all of their belongings and were complaining about as often as Lord Galeforte.
The Hireknights’ heavy armour clanged in their horses’ satchels, making the only other sound than footsteps and panting as they made their way to the last guardhouse. The only piece of steel armour not in a satchel was Thera’s prized helmet. A piece of equipment made of bluesteel, the toughest steel on Belhame a smith could make without the use of magic, and shaped to fit her head comfortably. On the front was a rounded visor which was always lowered, hiding the upper part of her face.
As they neared the guardhouse, they noticed no soldiers of Aeddelgild stood guard outside unlike what they had gotten used to during the last day and a half of travelling.
“Be greeted, men of Aeddelgild,” Galeforte called out, letting Rotta tie his and her own horse to the nearby hitching post, “We are hireknights summoned by Lord Wendyll Hezio on behalf of his daughter, the Grand Duchess. We are to report at the gates of Fort Trust before the end of the day.”
Galeforte raised an eyebrow as he awaited a response but none came. In the meantime, Thera and the twins secured their horses too while Rotta spent a few minutes using the nearby well to fill the animals’ water trough.
While pulling the bucket up from the well, Rotta let her gaze wander the rock formations expanding into the mountains behind the guardhouse. Light flooded the rocky vale like the gold itself had carved a corner of Mount Barihd.
Red and beige boulders covered the scenery accompanied by a few dead bushes that almost dissolved in the summer wind.
“We’d like to make our presence known so we’re not perceived as interlopers,” Galeforte continued, “For that we are not. We are very welcome in this region. The most welcome, in fact, according to the benevolent Lord Hez -”
“Let’s just go inside and see if they’re sleeping,” Thera suggested, walking past Galeforte towards the guardhouse door.
The building was of simple design, its walls built with unrefined sandstone and its roof made with beige tiles. Thera placed the palm of her hand on the door and pushed it gently, letting the rusty hinges object in unison as she opened it.
“I am not an enemy,” she declared as she entered, “I simply want to see if -”
She looked around the room. A few chests for belongings and a few beds for the occupants. A table flanked by a couple of stools and a fireplace for cooking, but no soldiers.
“There’s no one here,” she announced to the others.
“Maybe they got bored and went back to the city,” Ephrym guessed, “One of the soldiers at the last post told me about a shift called beacon duty, where one of them has to sit at the top of the tower and stare at the pyre. The whole day. Twelve hours of watching a stack of wood and making sure the sun does not set it ablaze.”
“If it was paid as well as we are, I’d do that. Sounds peaceful,” Noa said, “Calm.”
“Noa the Wood Watcher,” Ephrym teased.
“Quiet,” Thera demanded, claiming the company’s attention as she pointed at a few stones sliding between two massive monolith-like boulders behind the guardhouse. The others surveyed their sunlit surroundings, waiting for any movement between the baking rocks.
Galeforte snapped his fingers and nodded towards a newborn dust cloud rising to the north of the guardhouse. The hireknights drew their swords and moved closer together.
“Come out so that we may speak,” Galeforte bade whomever hid nearby, “We are not of this region and thereby not part of any hostilities there may be. We are hireknights, neutral in all things except for what we are paid to take part in.”
“And you were hired by Wendyll Hezio!” Echoed a voice.
“Death to the Grand Duke and all who stand with him!” Sounded another. Suddenly, a group of men appeared in the mountains, emerging from all sides and quickly surrounding the hireknights as they rushed towards them with weapons drawn.
“Company!” Shouted Galeforte, rallying the Blackshields and calling them into formation. The five hireknights formed a half circle in the middle of the road, their front facing the ambushers and their backs turned towards the long descent into the glimmering valley.
The attackers were not many, but more than the company. They were dressed in the armour worn by the other guards they had met, explaining why the guards of this post were missing.
Thera let out a battle cry as she met the first of their enemies with her blade. She knocked his weapon aside and stepped into him, grabbing his shoulder with her empty hand and holding him as she knocked the front of her helmet into his teeth.
The man howled as Galeforte and Rotta felled two of his allies, both of their blades ready for a second victim. Ephrym and Noa joined the fight as if playing by a music sheet, their blades clanging against the steel of their enemy on the beat of Thera cutting the toothless man’s throat.
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She let him fall to the ground and fell back in line. A second attacker launched himself towards her, allowing no space.
The bandits were poor fighters compared to the hireknights, but they were relentless. They abused their numbers, continuing their attack despite the quick loss of five men.
While parrying blades and countering blows, the hireknights slowly retreated towards the edge of the road.
Galeforte caught his opponent off guard and forced him to his knees. He stepped forth and decapitated his fallen opponent, surprising the man fighting Rotta beside them. She seized the opportunity and kicked him to the ground.
She threw her sword and drew her machete, descending upon her victim like a predator would its prey. She roared and stomped the screaming man, cutting into him with merciless strikes. Frenzied by blood, Rotta of the Gold howled like a madman as she cut the arms off of her opponent and threw them around in a fit of murderous rage.
Then she caught the gaze of another bandit, rolled a tiny wooden cylinder onto the tip of her tongue and spat him in the face. A moment of silence. Then the toxin from her mouth dart took effect.
The man screamed. Blood poured from his eyes, ears and nose. He turned to his friends, reaching a hand for his bandit brothers.
“Save me,” he pleaded, before coughing violently. His face turned purple, his eyes red. He could hardly breathe. Release. The man began to vomit blood in excessive amounts. He fell to his knees, vomiting uncontrollably, before planting his face into the blood and dirt at the feet of his horrified comrades.
Upon seeing this, the remaining bandits routed.
“She’s a bloodwitch! Run!” shouted one of them.
“This isn’t worth it!” added another. Their voices were panicked and distraught.
The hireknights stood in silence, watching as the bandits made their escape. None of them lifted a finger to prevent it.
Taking a final heavy breath, Ephrym turned around and looked at Rotta. With his nostrils widened in silent contempt and his tone displeased, he muttered; “You absolute animal.”
Rotta’s wrathful gaze fixated on Ephrym, her frown turning into a grin as she wiped blood from her face, “Got them to leave, didn’t it?”
“Every time!” Ephrym continued.
“Your point?” Rotta asked, slowly getting annoyed with the man again.
“It was very much,” Noa chuckled.
“You cannot brutally dismember someone, just because they are your enemy,” Ephrym complained.
“Don’t be nervous. Rotta’s on our side” Galeforte said, stepping up to Ephrym and patting him on the back, “Where’s your adventuring spirit?”
“That was not adventuring,” Ephrym retorted.
“It saved your life,” fired Rotta, drying her blade with the clothes of her dead adversary.
“Yes. I know. Let me just get used to that,” Ephrym replied.
“They killed the horses,” Thera announced to the group. Four of the animals were dead by the water trough, their throats slit and their blood colouring the water.
“Isn’t that funny?” Noa commented with a chuckle that sounded like his usual self, “My horse is the only one standing and I’m the only one who didn’t name it so I wouldn’t get attached.”
“Shut up, Noa,” spat Ephrym, a sour look on his face.
“We should find out where they came from and what happened to the guards,” Thera suggested.
“No, we move on to Fort Trust,” Galeforte ordered, “We tell Lord Wendyll what happened. His men can take care of it. This is not why we are here. Not yet at least.”
* * *
Continuing their journey, the party packed Noa’s horse with two of the extra armour satchels and took turns carrying the last two.
It took them three hours before ending up at the small road leading away from Duke’s Passing and up a mountain to Fort Trust Plateau. It was the flattened area on top of a broken mountain with an overview of Ezperyme City and the valley around it.
Fort Trust had been built in the centre of the plateau, surrounded by a man made garden and further out a small white wall with a black gate of metal.
“Declare yourself,” demanded one of the four men standing guard by the gate.
“Lord Galeforte Blackshield and his company, here on Lord Wendyll Hezio’s request,” said Galeforte, his tone commanding them to open.
“You are his evening guests,” the guard nodded, a glint of recognition in his eyes as he opened the door, “Lord Hezio is in his audience chambers. Follow me.”
The garden was tended by the green robed members of the Sages of Belhame. A guild of religious wizards who had been quested by the Eternal Mother to bring her green beauty to all corners of the world.
Through their magic, and daily services which the Lord surely paid lots of gold for, a beautiful green garden greeted guests arriving at Fort Trust.
The greenfingered wizards mostly avoided the Blackshield Company as they walked through the garden, passing both cut hedges and trees bearing far reaching, green-golden crowns.
The fort itself was not a fort but a mansion. A lavish building of sandstone, its roof of red and golden tile. It had two storeys and two spires on each side of the main entrance, three additional storeys in each.
Noa walked his horse to the stables while the others made their way to the main entrance.
The guard led them into the entry hall, which was a small white chamber with a table for weapons and a painting of the Barihd Rebellion.
The event that led to the independence of the Grand Duchy of Aeddelgild and put the family vyn Barihd at the heart of it.
The guard nodded towards the table and waited until the hireknights had put down their armour satchels and disarmed. After enduring a prolonged silence periodically interrupted by the clanging of steel, the guardsman took lead and brought them out of the entry hall and further into the mansion.
The second entry hall was larger than the first, expanding in both width and length. The presence of a piano brought a lively feel to the place, along with the lounge area of red sofas and daybeds surrounding it.
The lounge was flanked by a large fireplace carved from marble and adorned with a golden depiction of the Eternal Mother’s face.
A table of silver stood ready by the large staircase leading up to the second floor. Glasses of crystal and bottles of expensive liquor invited guests to pour a drink from their place on top the table.
Noa and Ephrym both poured themselves a glass of Elloryan whiskey as the company followed the guard up the stairs.
At the top of the staircase balcony was a large painting of the elderly lord Hezio, depicting him in his real life size. His small, grey eyes looked out over the second entry hall and his soft smile bid his guests welcome before he himself had met them.
A red, silken tunic with golden threads told the story of a noble statesman, the sword by his side adding a short tale of militant merit.
There were four doors leading away from the balcony. One in each wall flanking the painting wall, the door frames almost touching the balcony railing, and one more on either side of the painting itself. Two guards stood outside the doors by the painting, one of them stepping up to knock on the door behind him when he saw the lord’s guest arriving.
“The hireknights, my lord,” announced the guard through the door.
“Send them in,” replied a gentle voice inside the room.
The guard who had knocked opened the door while their guide stepped back, nodding towards the audience chambers. Having completed his task, the guardsman took a deep breath and returned outside.
The audience chambers were three connected chambers, each furnished for comfort. Lavish chairs adorned with red and purple pillows, sofas of the softest design.
A central fireplace in the first of the chambers lent warmth to all three while windows for making a draft were only present in the furthest two.
No doors were present to separate the audience chambers. Instead purple curtains hung from the door frames with golden rope tying them to the walls.
Lord Wendyll Hezio stood by the fireplace when they entered, his gaze on the newborn flames.
“Lord Galeforte Blackshield,” Wendyll greeted, turning around to face his guests, “Or should I say, Galeforte vyn Kamhergard?”
“You shouldn’t, my lord,” Galeforte corrected, “I have no ties to that family.”
“Your brother recommended your company for this job, you know,” Wendyll said.
“I must remember to thank him then,” Galeforte responded.
“And Thera Edmonnes, Princess of Caz Carryl,” Wendyll continued, turning his attention to Thera, “The ever helmeted heroine. How is your brother?”
“I wouldn’t know, my lord,” Thera replied, “I haven’t spoken to him in three years.”
“I’m sorry to admit that I haven’t heard of the rest of you,” Wendyll said with a performed regret. The lord looked like he had stepped out of the painting outside the audience chambers, the light from the fireplace putting deep shadows between his many wrinkles.
“Think nothing of it, my lord,” Galeforte said on behalf of his men.
An oaken table stood near a filled bookcase, seven stools surrounding it. The table was covered by a white tablecloth and packed with trays of silver serving both fruit, freshly brewed tea, melted chocolate, cheese and alcohol.
“Take a seat, friends,” Wendyll bid, taking a step towards an upholstered chair, “We have a few things to discuss before I call for my grandson.”
“Your grandson?” Thera inquired, moving closer to the table as well.
“Patrise. The earl of Ocarynne. A promising young man who’ll take you from my estate and into the city once our meeting is over,” Wendyll explained. He pulled out the chair in front of him and sat down, pouring a cup of tea for himself before silently offering to pour for the others.
“I’ve arranged for two rooms to be prepared at the Dustmaiden Inn for you tonight,” Wendyll continued while the hireknights took their seats around the table, “Then tomorrow, you’ll be moved into the castle or sent on your way depending on the outcome of your conversation with my daughter.”
“Why would we decline the job?” Galeforte asked, anticipating any factors that would affect their decision to accept residency in the city of Ezperyme.
“As I mentioned in the letter, we should discuss my daughter before we discuss the contract,” Wendyll said, “Now, let me preface this conversation by removing all doubt about my love for my daughter. The Grand Duchess is my pearl. My diamond. She is the pride of my line. But she does face certain challenges that you should be made aware of before accepting her gold.”
“What challenges?” Galeforte asked as he took a bit of cheese and dipped it in the chocolate.
“Erafina is paranoid. She believes everything is out to kill my granddaughter. And I mean everything. Last I spoke to her, she told me of the walls wanting the head of her beloved Muriella,” Wendyll explained, “A month ago, her madness caused a small revolt when she, convinced of his intent to murder her daughter, stabbed and killed the husband of the Grand Duke’s cousin. Anneka's thugs still roam the mountains.”
“Shouldn’t she be locked up?” Rotta asked, stuffing the pieces of a peeled orange into her mouth.
“She is. Now. Confined to her quarters and under constant watch and care of the court’s physicians,” Wendyll told, “Nevertheless, she has not calmed. Her worry for Muriella only grows worse and in an effort to help her, the Grand Duke bade me contact a company of hireknights to keep watch over their daughter.”
“Why not use the city’s own knights?” Galeforte asked.
“According to Erafina, the Grand Duke’s men cannot be trusted. No one can be trusted,” Wendyll said, letting out a small chuckle at his son-in-law’s dilemma, “Except for me and my grandchildren. Apparently, we are untouched by the supposed curse plaguing her husband’s court.”
“I see,” Galeforte said in silent contemplation, “So, we are to watch over a duke’s daughter -”
“The heiress of Aeddelgild,” Wendyll corrected.
Galeforte nodded and incorporated the correction, “Watch over the heiress of Aeddelgild because of a madwoman’s suspicions about murderous conspiracies within her own court?”
“Yes. And your company will be paid three thousand gold pieces for doing it. A thousand when you accept the contract and another two after the Day of the Mother,” Wendyll explained, “Six months, residing in Ezperyme and befriending a sixteen-year-old noble on the verge of womanhood.”
“That’s a monthly wage of a hundred gold,” Ephrym burst, his eyes widened, “That’s five times of what I earned as a knight in service to the court of Caz Carryl.”
“It’s an important business,” Wendyll said with a nod confirming Ephrym’s calculations, “The wellbeing of the Grand Duchess and her child matters to all people of Aeddelgild. You are here to put her mind at ease and thereby ease the minds of many worried subjects.”
“We will look into every matter she presents us with,” Galeforte promised with a wide smile. He was pleased with this new revelation. Their contract in Ezperyme would be half a year of extremely well paid vacation under the Gillican sun.
“She will only present you with one,” Wendyll said, sucking chocolate off of his thumb, “Keep Muriella safe.”