Chapter 15

Peter found Torl and Carth out beyond the stables, standing near the stone barrier protecting the actual edge of the deep volcanic opening from which the Vent took its name. The pair were leaning over the barrier talking and did not notice as Peter approached. The younger man was hoisting a large chunk of firewood which he tossed over the side. A few seconds later, Peter heard sounds of popping and crackling coming from the pit as the two men laughed and gestured.

“Good morning, gentlemen, enjoying yourselves?” Peter said loudly.

The younger man jumped like he’d been caught pickpocketing.

“Just showing the lad why this place is called the Vent,” Torl replied, shaking his head at his companion’s reaction.

“It’s quite a sight, isn’t it?” Peter said, coming to stand beside them.

He carefully leaned over the stone barrier to observe the ongoing pyro spectacle caused by the log. Almost a hundred feet below, the thin crust of hardened lava had been penetrated by the heavy chunk of wood. As it burned just below the crust, the wood released gasses which caused the magma to splatter, and Peter was reminded of hot bacon grease sizzling and popping in a pan.

“Great way to get rid of their trash,” he commented.

“Aye, milord,” Torl replied, pointing. “We saw some servants doing just that earlier.”

Peter looked where Torl pointed and noted a stone slab that extended out over the chasm a few feet. The stone guard railing had been omitted in that section by the slab which would permit easy dumping. He saw a worn trail leading from the opening back towards the manor.

Torl then pointed to the heavy iron structure just across the vent. “Although, we can’t figure out what that big gizmo over there would be used for.”

It was a horse-sized cage suspended by heavy blackened chain from a stout crane arm. The chain was fully retracted around a heavy metal windlass. Long crank arms extended from each side of the windlass, allowing it to be turned by at least a dozen men. After what he’d observed last night, Peter now knew that the device was used to harvest samandall, but dared not reveal anything to these men.

“How was your night in the stables?” he asked Carth, trying to deflect the topic.

“The quarters above the stables were almost better than staying in an inn,” Carth replied, looking amazed.

Peter saw that Torl looked amused. While they had never previously overnighted at the Vent, Torl had used the quarters above the stables to rest during the times he had had to wait for Peter to deliver and transplant other seeds. Torl had relayed to him how well-appointed the rooms were. Garth had once shared with Torl that the stables had previously been a large two-level barracks from back when the Vent had been a frontier fort. The Mohennial had subdivided the large top-floor sleeping level of the old barracks into smaller apartments almost as nice as those at Henri’s inn.

“Yes, it’s too bad that the stables at the Stoney Brooke have such a small loft area,” Peter replied.

“How fares the girl?” Torl asked.

“She had a rough time of it last night,” Peter explained with a serious face. “But she is doing much better today.”

“Good,” Torl said, looking relieved.

The Mohennial’s plant cells where the delivery had taken place were on the side of the manor that faced the stables which meant that it was likely the two men had heard the girl’s screams. They stood there silently watching the sputtering below die out. Finally, Torl looked to the sun as if gauging the time.

“The pass should be melted enough to travel when we arrive, milord,” he reported. “Also, the mountain ponies are rested and the carriage has been greased and inspected.”

“We will be staying another night, coachman,” Peter replied. “The girl won’t be ready to travel until tomorrow morning.”

The two men looked at one another. The younger man looked clearly relieved. Peter noticed his expression and raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“That’s good, milord,” Carth said. “The dragon and wizard will have another day to settle their affairs.”

“Aye,” Torl added. “Hopefully, they’ve moved well away from the pass by now.”

Peter agreed with the others. He planned to speak more about the battle with the Mohennial when he met with her again. Maybe he could hire her veteran knight Captain Shayde and a few of the zombie guards to ride the pass with them as an escort? Even better would be if she would permit her housecarl Garth to accompany them, although he doubted that Sala would let the more-experienced man-at-arms stray.

New activity coming from the watchtower caught their attention. They heard the sounds of a vocal challenge followed by clanks and groans as the outer portcullis began rising. A few minutes later, a four-horse team pulling a heavily-constructed Order prison wagon came through the tunnel. As it circled around in the inner courtyard, Peter saw that the prison wagon contained a half dozen occupants.

Four Order soldiers on horseback emerged through the tunnel following the wagon. As more of the Mohennial’s guards arrived and formed a cordon around the wagon, the horsemen diverted their mounts and headed directly toward the stables. The wagon’s driver, a sergeant, and his companion chaperone, an Order lieutenant, hopped down and stretched their legs. The lieutenant and Sala’s day guard captain exchanged salutes before engaging in quiet conversation. From the officer’s repeated gestures towards the wagon, the subject had to be the prisoners.

Carth began to walk closer to overhear before Torl called him back. “Best to hold back, lad,” he said. “You do not want to be too close to what’s about to happen.”

“Yes,” Peter agreed. “In fact, both of you return to the stables and keep out of sight until this business is over.”

The two men did as he instructed, quickly returning to the stables via a circuitous route which avoided the courtyard. Peter also departed from his position by the edge of the volcanic pit and headed to the steps leading up to the side entry of the Mohennial’s manor. His destination would be distant enough from the courtyard so as to not be a threat but also close enough that he would be able to overhear the guards.

He arrived at the new vantage just as Sala’s senior day guard, a hard woman known as Trance, was stepping up to open the rear gate of the wagon. Two other guards were holding the wagon’s occupants away from the rear with long pikes. Trance used a long pole with a leather loop dangling from its end to snag one of the captives and drag her out of the wagon.

Peter saw that it was an adult light-elf woman and from the torn state of her dress, she’d had a miserable ride with the other prisoners. The woman came out submissively and was led over to a flat paved area near the main steps of the manor where a row of large stakes had been driven into the ground. The elf woman was then forced to kneel before being shackled to one of the stakes. She was shivering from the cold or whatever trauma she had endured.

Over the next ten minutes, the other five captives were also removed from the wagon and shackled next to the first. The last two, male Kreven-humans, had fought throughout the process and were now lying on the ground dazed and bleeding. Finally, with all the prisoners in place and with the guards standing behind them dispensing punishment if they talked or struggled, the Mohennial emerged from the manor.

The ancient yet young-looking woman was wearing her official Order uniform but hers was black with a wide crimson slash. The Mohennial was also flanked by two large hulking male mountain trolls. The beasts towered over the imposing woman and were also wearing various pieces of armor. Peter saw that they had their full unclipped tusks. Despite this, both trolls appeared wooden and fully compliant, even their gait in unison. Sala had them firmly under her mental control.

The lieutenant from the wagon approached and saluted the Mohennial who simply nodded in response. The officer then began speaking quietly while pointing to each of the prisoners. Finally, Sala dismissed the officer. She then moved to one of the rebellious men, standing in front of the wooden stake securing him out of reach of his shackled hands.

The dazed man had recovered enough by now to snarl and spit toward the Mohennial. Within seconds, the large muscular man began screaming and thrashing about as if he were being burned alive. His suffering continued for almost a full minute until the man passed out and collapsed to the ground. Mohennial Sala then signaled to Trance with a throat-slashing gesture. The hard woman nodded and immediately directed two wooden-faced guards to unshackle and drag the man away. They did so without concern or emotion as the guard captain lead the way toward the greenhouse cells where Sala kept her Pupadominus plants.

The next four prisoners, three human males and a dark-elf female, were also mentally inspected by the Mohennial. Each screamed as loudly as the first and Peter had to wonder if Sala was wearing some sort of ear protection or was utilizing some sound-dampening spell. Unlike the first man, the next four were not sentenced to become plant food. Instead, after each finally collapsed from exhaustion, they were unshackled and helped to stand.

Once they were steady enough, they were led to the rear of the manor where Peter knew the servant’s quarters were. Peter noted that the guard leading them did so casually, as if the prisoners were no longer a threat. Apparently, these redeemable criminals had been rendered temporarily safe by whatever mental torture the Mohennial had subjected them to. Peter noted that, unlike her emotionless assistants and lesser guards, the criminals still displayed fear or curiosity. They could look forward to more mental conditioning in their future.

The final prisoner, the light elf female who’d been the first removed from the wagon, did not scream when the Mohennial stood in front of her. She did not move at all for over a minute and just knelt there with her head bowed. Finally, Peter saw that the woman had tears streaming down her face. Sala motioned Trance to release the elf and to help her stand. The Mohennial then stepped very close to the woman and began speaking to her too softly to overhear.

Peter finally saw the sad elf woman respond, giving an occasional nod or shake of her head. Finally, the Mohennial stepped back and spoke formally in a louder voice. “Then it shall be so. Let fire cleanse your guilt, Shestana. Go, and be at peace.”

Trance led the now-calm elf towards the volcanic pit. Peter watched amazed as at the vent’s edge the escort stopped, but the elf woman simply kept walking forward. She did not slow or hesitate in any way, but marched right off the trash dump platform, plunging to her death into the lava. Peter did not hear any screams but soon heard the pops and hisses of the woman’s body burning in the lava. Trance returned looking pale and shocked.

Peter was also shocked and confused over what had just happened. If the woman was too far gone to be mentally conditioned, why had Sala not simply ordered her taken to her cells to be used as plant food? He looked towards the Mohennial but the ancient woman simply stood waiting in the yard, staring off into the distance.

Soon, another group emerged from the servant area of the manor. The four were dressed like servants but also wore winter over-cloaks and travel boots. Peter watched the two women and two men step up to the Mohennial one at a time. As they did, Sala gazed at each of them for a few long seconds, after which, they seemed to look around confused, almost as if coming out of a daze. Once they had all been so dismissed by Sala, Trance instructed them to get into the wagon.

Shortly after, the Order driver and the lieutenant got back on the jail wagon and departed, heading back out through the watchtower portal. The four Order outrider guards still at the stables were busy caring for their mounts and did not appear to be in any hurry to follow the wagon. This indicated to Peter that the prison wagon’s passengers for the return trip no longer warrant guarding.

With the strange business now concluded, the Mohennial seemed to take a deep breath before turning to reenter her manor. As she did, she noticed Peter watching and signaled him to follow. Peter could not gauge her mood from her expression. Hopefully, he was not in trouble for having loitered to witness the prisoner exchange.

He followed her into the manor and down the long corridor to the small sitting room. Peter relaxed as he saw that two tea settings had been prepared and that there were two small plates with scones. This was apparently to be just a pleasant discussion. He didn’t have much of an appetite at the moment after what he had just watched but politely took his place next to the Mohennial.

“I imagine you have questions?” she began after taking a sip of her tea.

“Yes, the elf woman?”

“A rare case,” Sala replied, with a troubled look. “A guilty criminal, if an inadvertent one. The woman was also skilled in enchantment and mental magic so I could not affect her like I did the others.”

“Why did she kill herself?”

“She was broken and full of grief,” Sala explained. “She also had once done me a favor so I owed her. I offered to eradicate her memories using plant venom but she begged to be allowed to take her own life instead. I respected her wish.”

The Mohennial looked troubled so Peter changed the subject. “I visited Taylor earlier. She was able to stand and use the chamber pot on her own.”

“Good,” Sala nodded. “She will be recovered enough to travel with another night’s rest. I assume you will wish to return to your fearful island as soon as possible tomorrow?”

“Yes ... with your leave, of course, Mohennial,” Peter replied formally.

Sala waived his concern away and continued. “After our brunch earlier, I was able to scry out the location of the battle wizard you spoke of and contacted him mentally. Wizard Harkon reported that after drawing the cryo-dragon away from the western slopes of the pass, he managed to injure the creature severely enough to temporarily force it to flee. The wizard now waits at an inn near the east pass as he recovers from his own injuries.”

“Shit,” Peter muttered.

Mohennial Sala noted his response with a questioning look.

“I was hoping to avoid the wizard on my return,” he explained. “It now appears likely that we will bump paths.”

“Why should a meeting concern you now that the seed has been delivered?”

“I ... um,” he hesitated.

“Tell me,” Sala demanded.

Peter swallowed and explained, “If the wizard is staying at the Stoney Brooke, I fear for the daughter of the innkeeper.”

Peter then explained about Bemi and her potential magic. He also told the Mohennial about his partial ownership of the inn and his long association with the inn keeper, Bemi’s mother Henri.

“But if Wizard Harkon discovered the girl and reports her, the Order will see that she is properly trained including bearing all costs.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Peter conceded. “But you know the risk that comes with Order training. I would prefer to train the girl myself, in safety. This would remove her from the petty machinations of the other students.”

“And also, to utilize her powers for your own ends,” Sala added, nodding.

Peter was about to defend his reasons but the Mohennial held up her hand forestalling his protest.

“I understand, Peter. I have taken such students for my own purposes many times in the past.”

He was smart enough to remain silent at her self-serving narrow interpretation of his reasons. He also had to admit that he did have a lot to gain personally from having such a powerful apprentice. Sala sat back as if pondering something. Finally, she stood, signaling as she did that he should remain seated, and left the sitting parlor. A few minutes later she returned and handed Peter a large golden amulet. Inside the gold frame was a thumb-sized ruby-like gem.