The Black Chapel
© 2014 by Walter Reimer
Drawing by  whitearabmare


Part 12.


The main yard of the fortress early the next morning was largely deserted, apart from the night watch and a simple four-wheeled wagon that was being readied by a raccoon and a bear.

“You didn’t sleep well, Halvrika?” Marok asked as he tossed a last bundle up to her and she nearly dropped it.

“I confess, Master, I didn’t,” she replied, strapping the bundle down in the back of the wagon with a length of cord. “I was thinking about Amb.”

“Tell me, then.” The bear leaned against one of the vehicle’s wheels. “What were you thinking about?”

“Mostly how he used to act when we were Novices,” and Halvrika looked down at the older man. She licked her lips and said, “No matter what we were being taught at the time, he always seemed to act as if he knew more than we did.”

“He did have a strong aptitude,” Marok pointed out. His words weren’t empty compliments; students with as deep a sense of the Writ as Halvrika’s had to be taught gently, if the example of Jeresh the Black four hundred years earlier was any indication. “Almost as strong as yours.”

“I know – and he never let anyone forget it, either.” She frowned as she recalled what went on in the dormitories after the lamps had been extinguished. “I just can’t see how he could have gone so bad.”

“People grow, young one, and over time who knows what may happen. Is everything tied down up there?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good. Go to the sutler and fetch the animals. I want to be on the road before I have to face Priest Gond again.”

Halvrika laughed as she climbed down from her perch. “Why, Master! I thought you said that you and he got along famously.”

The bear raised a finger. “I said that I was civil, and friendly. Strive always to be accurate in your recollections, young Hringurhali. Now go and get the dray-beasts, or my boot and your backside will get along famously.” He grinned as she jogged off, laughing.

After a quarter-hour she returned leading two dray-beasts by their halters. The animals had short-clipped coats of dense fur in a mottled black and brown pattern, but each also had reptilian features that included stubby claws and scaly muzzles. One opened its mouth and hissed, revealing rows of short, peg-like teeth that transitioned into molars partway down the jaw, a hint of its herbivorous diet.

Despite its little outburst, it docilely allowed Halvrika to harness it and its fellow to the wagon.

She helped Marok climb up into the front bench of the wagon and was getting ready to climb up herself. “Not so fast, Adept.”

“Tra – excuse me, Your Highness?” the raccoon said, hopping down off the wagon and bowing.

The elk doe smiled at her and gestured for her to straighten up. She was flanked by Thegn Kenef and her uncle, Prince Meki. “Where do you think you and Arch-Adept Dinest are going?”

The Adept blinked at her and glanced at the bear before replying, “We’re heading back to Shuganath. Arch-Adept Dinest said that you and he had discussed it, Your Highness.”

“That’s quite true,” Trasta said coolly. “But you have not formally taken our leave.”

Halvrika looked up at her teacher, and Marok arched a brow. “Well then, Your Highness, may we have permission to depart?”

Kenef and Meki grinned at each other as Trasta inclined her head. “You may. I have several scrolls for you to give to my royal father when you arrive.”

“We’d be honored to take them,” Marok said. The doe took three scrolls from her uncle and gave them to the raccoon. As Halvrika took them, her fingers met Trasta’s.

She hardly needed her Sight to read the message in that touch, or in Trasta’s eyes.

Halvrika returned the look, and echoed the sentiment before placing the scrolls inside a leather dispatch case before climbing up onto the wagon’s seat. The Princess and her officers stood out of the way as the raccoon gathered up the reins and slapped them against the beasts’ flanks. The furry reptiles hissed and the wagon started off.

It was a two-day ride from Engery to Shuganath, and by the time the Great Range reared its way skyward before them, Marok and Halvrika were glad to reach the end of the journey.

As the dray-beasts toiled to haul the wagon up the last foothill Halvrika saw the bear shift and suppress a wince. “Are you all right, Master?”

Marok gave a short, snorting chuckle. “These seats are not as comfortable as my chair, young one. At times I am reminded that I am three times your age.”

“And you don’t look a day over twice,” she said with a grin. She giggled and ducked as he raised a paw to box her ears. “Still, you are still in good health, and have a life held in Balance, Master. You still have many years of life ahead of you.”

“Perhaps, perhaps. Still, I may retire soon, to rest my bones in warm sunshine and meditate on my life.” Marok gave a slight shrug and patted her knee reassuringly. “But not today.”

“I’m glad. I still have a lot to learn,” the raccoon remarked as she nodded to a passing farmer, his own wagon heaped high with sheaves of wheat.

The bear sat back with a smile. “That is the best attitude to have, my dear Halvrika. Always look on everything as a lesson, and learn what experience teaches you.”

The highest peak of the Great Range was the Silver Mountain, the abode of the gods of the Pantheon. It got its name from the silver-gray rock that formed it, and the snow on its peak that glittered in the sun. The city of Shuganath sat at the base of the mountain, symbolizing the nearness of the Royal House of Issem to the gods.

The walls of the city were made of the same stone that formed the mountain, and parts of the walls still bore scars from the wars that helped forge the kingdom. The three sieges were the stuff of ballads and legends that had only grown in the telling over the six hundred years of the Issem’s ascendancy. The Royal Keep towered over the rest of the city from its perch on the highest point within the walls.

The Royal Standard on the gatehouse proclaimed that the King Aroki, fourth of his name, was in residence.