Chapter 13

Peter’s yells must have confused the cryo-dragon into thinking that the wizard had moved, or possibly, that it now faced two magical foes and not one. Still facing Peter, the cryo-dragon reared up in preparation to attack its new adversary. Simultaneously, below it, the battle wizard released his own attack just as the dragon became exposed, timing it perfectly so that the beast took the full force on its head and neck.

The gigantic creature stumbled back, scintillating again from the magical assault and bellowing in pain and rage. As it fell, it spun around slamming its long tail into the stone guards at the edge of the turnaround. Dozens of the rectangular dressed-stone blocks were dislodged and tumbled down the almost-vertical cliff falling directly towards the switchback where the wizard stood.

The old wizard quickly whirled his arms casting another spell. The air blurred around his body as a new mini-tornado formed. Up he rose, leaving the road’s surface just as the large blocks crashed by. The wizard continued climbing, moving southeast up the steep slope while circling around the still-stunned cryo-dragon, trying to get to the higher ground of the next switchback above it.

As the wizard slowly rose past the elevation of the dragon, the beast recovered enough to launch another spittle attack. This wild shot of freezing phlegm just barely missed the whirlwind supporting the wizard, instead impacting the bare rocky slope just beyond. Again, where the spittle landed, the rock and ice shattered, almost exploding out from the mountainside. Peter speculated that the cause was from being instantaneous chilled to near absolute zero.

The wizard realized that he was climbing too slowly and was also too near the recovering dragon so he veered away, trading altitude for speed, and flew off towards the southwest, in a long descending curve.

“He’s abandoning us to the dragon!” Carth yelled.

“Quiet!” Peter hissed behind him.

The dragon lumbered to its feet, shaking its enormous head as if brushing off the effects of the wizard’s attack.

“No one move!” Peter added in a harsh whisper.

The evasion was not needed as the enraged dragon was focused only on the departing wizard and was ignoring Peter and his attempt at distraction. The blue-white beast reared up on its hind legs and beat its wings a few times, as if testing them. Where the cryo-dragons wing membrane had been torn earlier, a magical web was now visible, holding or mending the gap. Peter knew intuitively that the previously-damaged wing had recovered enough to function.

The dragon must have reached the same conclusion, as it quickly pulled itself to the edge of the turnaround and uncaringly jumped off. For a moment Peter thought that the huge beast would plummet to the next switchback below, but at the last second before impact, it pulled out of the dive and soared off after the fleeing wizard.

For a long moment, Peter just stood there staring with relief as the cryo-dragon and the wizard grew smaller with the increasing distance. Eventually, they turned back east, disappearing from view entirely around a lesser peak of the Sunsets. It looked like the wizard was leading the dragon into False Pass, an impassable, narrow, twisting gorge that crossed through the mountains and formed the headwaters of the Greystone River. For a moment, Peter worried for the population of Priam’s Cove which lay just beyond the eastern outlet of False Pass.

With the battle shifted elsewhere, all grew silent on the mountainside. They were still alive! In a moment of exuberance, Torl and Peter began laughing and slapping each other on their backs. They sobered quickly when they heard the sound of a cracking whip and yelling coming from higher on the pass. Peter looked up and saw a cargo wagon a few levels above climbing rapidly.

Someone up there far wiser than him was attempting to use the lull to get up the vulnerable switchbacks and onto the less-exposed area of the saddle. Peter realized that they should be heeding that example and sprang into action. After all, the cryo-dragon might well lose the wizard and come back to investigate Peter’s involvement!

“Torl!” he yelled, “see to the horses! Carth, cut loose the drag stone and inspect the carriage for damage! Quickly! I want us off these switchbacks before the beast returns.”

The last part of his statement seemed to have the desired effect and the two men scrambled to comply. Peter then turned to Taylor who rushed into his arms. He clutched the trembling girl, noticing that his own arms were still shaking from excitement.

“Are you hurt?” he asked as calmly as possible.

“Only my wits,” she replied. “As in ... scared out of them!”

“Me too!” he chuckled. “Let’s get in the carriage and get the hell out of here!”

Over the next hour, they made their way as rapidly as possible down the remaining switchbacks. At the first switchback where the wizard had made his stand, Peter halted the carriage just long enough to investigate the damage the Cryo-dragon’s spittle had caused. The rock did appear to have spalled and then fractured. He carefully placed a sample of the still-cold residue inside a glass vile which he then packed in cotton batting and placed in one of the carriage’s storage compartments.

Three other times they had to stop and drag boulders, wagon debris, or dead oxen out of the way. At one of the stops, they assisted two other wagon masters pull an injured driver out from under his crashed wagon. Peter helped triage the man, resetting and temporarily splinting a broken leg. He then made the fellow drink one of his lesser healing tonics to ward off infection from where the bone had broken through the skin.

The Order roadmen camp on this side of the pass was just below the tree line. As they passed by the turnoff leading to the crude roadside keep, they were stopped by four roadmen who had finally found the courage to venture out to assist in the cleanup of the pass. Peter relayed the news about the soon-to-arrive wounded man in the wagon behind them and what he knew about his wounds.

When the roadmen began questioning him further, Peter displayed his Order badge and said that he had his own injured person to take care of. He hoped that Taylor was simply playing along as after his explanation, she emitted a sobbing cry of pain from the carriage. The roadmen dismissed the carriage and even sent a rider ahead to clear the few late-arriving wagons off the road to let them pass. The escort allowed Torl to make better time and soon they had reached the bottom of the narrow, switchback segments.

The last mile of the pass was flatter and well into the tree line of the Near Forest. As they lost sight of the steep slopes behind them, Peter knew the chances of the dragon finding them to seek revenge had dwindled. Occasionally, they still needed to cross open meadows where the trees had been harvested. Before each such crossing, they would pause for a moment, listening and scanning the skies for their foe before proceeding.

Finally, they came to the junction where the Hale Pass Road met the more-heavily traveled Western Road and turned north. The crossroads here had the same smattering of inns just like the eastern junction but this was more of a small village with a few dozen cottages and small steads. There was also a large water-driven sawmill nearby and a timber wagon staging yard.

Peter directed Torl to pull into the Lumberman, the junction’s largest inn. The large inn had its own livery and even a smithy and was a good spot to rest and make repairs. After seeing to a temporary room where Taylor could lay down and rest, Peter met with the liveryman about new horses. They worked out a deal where he could rent the use of a new team for two or three days, exchanging out Berg’s injured and exhausted pair with fresh, but smaller, mountain ponies. The replacements would do fine for the dozen, nearly flat miles to the Vent. Hopefully, upon their return in a few days, the original team would have recovered enough to attempt the return crossing over the pass.

He also paid extra to have the inn’s smith quickly fit replacement brake blocks onto the rear wheels of the carriage as the previous blocks had worn to the point where they were almost useless. While those repairs were being made, Torl and Carth were busy cleaning the glass out of the carriage and fastening tarps over the two broken window openings. The temporary repairs would have to do until the carriage was back in Priam’s Cove where it looked like an extensive rebuild was in order.

Carth said we’d been extremely lucky in only having lost the window glass. He’d seen the boulder break through both windows while passing completely through the empty carriage’s seating compartment. It would have likely flipped the carriage if it had struck the wooden frame, or worse, killed Taylor if she had been in her seat.

Peter returned to the private room and found Taylor lying on her back napping. He had a plate of sausage and cheese and also a small jug of cider. She came awake as he closed the door.

“How are you doing?” he asked, softly.

“I’m surviving,” she replied. “The seed’s been mostly quiet since the pass. It finally started moving again twenty minutes ago.”

From the grimace on her face as she spoke, Peter suspected the woman was in pain, or at the least, very uncomfortable.

“I think the balm I put on the pad before knocked it out somewhat,” he replied. “Before we go, I will treat you again.”

He noticed her attention on the plate of food and handed it to her, smiling as she began eating ravenously. Finally, after two sausages and a small block of cheese, Taylor stopped and handed him the plate sheepishly. He finished the single sausage and cheese that remained.

When their late lunch was over, he removed the soiled pad from between her legs, noting thankfully that the bleeding had been light. He then helped her use the room’s chamber pot before washing her groin area and reapplying a new medicated pad.

“How much longer will it be?” She asked after he finished.

“It’s nearly three in the afternoon now,” He replied. “We should arrive at the Vent just after darkness falls. I intend to have the seed out shortly after.”

“The Vent?” she asked quizzically.

“Sorry,” he replied. “The Vent is the nickname for the Mohennial Sala’s keep. Mistress Sala lives in a restored castle just this side of Rumble Mountain.”

“Why’s it called that?”

“There is a large sinkhole in the center of the keep that opens into an underground lava duct. I suspect the keep gets its heat and hot water from that underground source. There are also rumors of a network of underground tunnels but I’ve never seen them.”

“What’s she like, this Mistress Sala?” Taylor asked, “and why is she buying this seed?”

Peter frowned and did not immediately reply.

“That bad, huh?” she added.

“It’s...” He hesitated as if carefully choosing his words. “The Mohennial is very old, probably too old. Therefore she is unpredictable, sometimes brilliant and charming, other times impulsive and irrational.”

“What do you mean by too old?” Taylor asked.

“There are rumors that she is over a thousand years old. I doubt anyone can live that long while remaining sane.”

“Am I ... are we, in danger?” she asked nervously.

“I don’t think so,” he replied. “I provide something that she covets, and that no one else can. That should protect us.”

At her look, he continued, “It will be fine. I’ve sold seeds to her before and she has always bargained fairly.”

“What does she want with the seeds?”

“She keeps her own greenhouses with Pupadominus plants ... I think for the poison. Hers do not last very long so I have to keep supplying her with replacement seeds.”

Peter was unsure why the mohennial needed so much poison but he did know that she lacked his knowledge of safely hobbling the plant. Therefore, her plants were likely allowed free movement inside their greenhouse cells. She would have had to shackle them at all times in order to utilize them. Peter knew from his own early experiences with the plant that such confinement would weaken them and they would only last a few years at best.

They were silent after that, passing the cider jug back and forth. Finally, a knock interrupted the impasse. “Lord Bent? Your man says that your carriage is ready,” the innkeeper said.

“We will be right there,” he replied.

He stood and offered Taylor his hand. “Come, let’s finish this trip and get you better.”

The carriage pulled up the closed gates of the Vent almost two hours after sunset. They had arrived much later than expected after having slowed on the dark roads. One of the two forward-facing fae-lights had been damaged during the battle on the pass and they had not discovered it until Peter attempted to light them.

“Who goes there?” they heard coming from the watch tower.

Peter recognized the voice of one of the Mohennial’s head guards.

“Lord Bent’s carriage!” Torl called back. “We are expected.”

There was a pause of a few minutes before the portcullis began rising. Likely the guard had to summon helpers to lift the heavy iron-banded oak gate. Eventually, it was retracted fully and Torl guided the carriage into the brightly lit sally port between the outer and inner gates. Four guardsmen stood woodenly before the open inner arched top passage in the base of the watchtower. Each was holding a long pike which was aimed at their horses.

The head guard exited a small side door at the base of the watchtower and moved to the four men.

“Inner gate guard!” The gruff man ordered. “Move aside for Lord Bent’s carriage!”

Pairs moved to each side allowing the carriage to pass. Torl clicked the mountain ponies into action guiding the carriage through the narrow inner sally port. Peter saw the head guard following.

“Those men look like they are in a daze?” Taylor commented.

“They have been broken by the Mohennial,” Peter explained. “Most of her servants are like that.”

The carriage emerged from the tunnel through the watch tower and turned into the central courtyard, pulling to a gentle stop just outside the manor’s main entry. The head guard was standing at attention by the manor steps when Peter helped Taylor down from the carriage.

“Good evening, Lord Bent,” the older man said.

“Good evening, sir,” Peter replied evasively. He’d seen the man from previous visits but had never been introduced.

“Nightwatchman Shayde, milord,” the man offered.

That explained it, thought Peter. He had never been to the Vent after hours, preferring to return to the nearby inn for the evenings after the previous seed deliveries.

“I apologize for our late arrival,” Peter said.

“The Mohennial has been notified of your late arrival,” Shayde explained. “Please wait inside the vestibule for the housecarl.”

Shayde then turned to the coachman. “Torl, the liveryman has retired for the night. Please see to your team yourself. You and your assistant may use the sleeping loft above the stables. I’ll bring you some food from the watchtower if the lady does not have something sent down to you.

“Thank you, Shayde,” Torl replied. “That’s kind of you.”

Peter helped Taylor up the manor steps and into the unlocked smaller side door. Inside was the vestibule just as the nightwatchman described. The inner door was locked so they sat on one of the benches to wait.

“They must not have been expecting us so late?” she commented.

“Yes, the few other times I was delayed, I remained at that last inn we passed until the next morning.”

“Hopefully, she will not be too upset,” Taylor commented, vocalizing Peter’s unspoken worry.

A few minutes later, they heard the unlocking of the inner door. It opened revealing the Mohennial’s housecarl, a hulking man with an angry scar running from his left eye to his chin. Peter caught Taylor’s worried look before she stepped behind him.

“Evening Gorath!” Peter replied jovially. “Sorry to have kept you up late.”

The man-at-arms snorted but also nodded his head deferentially. “Milord, please follow me.”

He turned and led them inside the manor and down a side corridor bypassing the Great Hall where Peter had usually been met by the mohennial on previous visits. At the end of the corridor, they came to a small, private dining room. From the bustle of dishes and pans down a side passage, the kitchens must have been located nearby.