'But he has escaped!' said Lord Onosh. 'And – and my sons!
Eljuk! Morsh! He's got the boy as prisoners!'
'Then my lord will have to reconcile himself to the imprisonment of his sons,' said Jarl formally, 'and perhaps in the fullness of time my lord will also have to reconcile himself to the death of those sons.'
'And to the loss of my empire, mayhap?' said Lord Onosh grimly. 'Guest's escaped, and with him those wizards in their treachery. All of Ibsen-Iktus is his unless we hunt him down and break him. Within that mountain fastness, he can gather his forces and prepare to break the very empire with his onslaught.'
'My lord,' said Jarl, finding himself hard-pressed to stay calm in the face of the Witchlord's agitation. 'Ibsen- Iktus is but a parcel of rocks, useless for all purposes excepting those of suicide.'
'A fastness,' insisted Lord Onosh.
'If my lord means that the mountains are a castle,' said Jarl, 'why, then so they are, but a very bleak and barren castle, empty of all the necessities required for either siege or outright war. In those mountains, my lord, there is everything a rock could need for the full satisfaction of its appetites, hence rocks live there in great multitudes in the full independence of their rightful kingdom. But rocks – my lord, the boy can scarcely recruit those rocks to his fighting force, nor can he use bare stone to feed the mutinous rabble which serves him.'
'But he could push through the mountains to escape,' said Lord Onosh.
'And what of it?' said Jarl. 'Beyond the mountains of Ibsen-Iktus lies the Swelaway Sea.'
'And Safrak,' said Lord Onosh, naming the ruling archipelago of that sea.
'What of it?' said Jarl. 'Suppose the boy can make an alliance with Safrak? What then? Safrak's but a rock, a group of rocks, a lesser version of Ibsen-Iktus, rocks up to their necks in water. Small rocks, my lord.'
'Rocks protected by the Guardians,' said Lord Onosh, who knew all about the mercenaries which served the Safrak Bank.
'So Safrak has a Bank, and the Bank has guards,' said Jarl.
'It has dogs, too. I know it for a fact, since the mangiest of them pissed on my boot when I first reach Alozay. I've been there, my lord. And while I was there, I counted. My lord, the rocks are nothing, for there aren't sufficient women, sheep or fighting men in all of Safrak to pose the slightest hazard to our empire.'
'But Guest has my sons,' said Lord Onosh. 'Morsh. And Eljuk.
He has them prisoner.'
'Yes,' said Jarl, growing weary with the labor of repetition. 'He has, and will hold. My lord, I ventured Ibsen- Iktus in the spring. Its barrens are built for starvation. If trapped upon those heights, then Guest must either transfigure his men to goats or see them starve. Failing transfiguration, he must surrender – to us or to Safrak. If to Safrak, then Safrak will yield him up to secure its trade. Yes, and yield up Morsh and Eljuk simultaneously.'
Thus Jarl, who had no taste for venturing into the mountains after Guest, feeling that pursuit would be unprofitable, for the heights of Ibsen-Iktus would grant great advantages of defense to anyone with the will to hold them.
But Lord Onosh declared that he must have either Morsh or Eljuk by his side. And soon.
'Else,' said Lord Onosh, 'in the absence of any obvious and visible heir, my rivals amongst the Yarglat may choose this moment to try to dislodge me from my throne.'
Jarl was not convinced; but presumably Lord Onosh knew the politics of his own people and his own empire better than did a Rovac mercenary, so at last Jarl saw that he had no alternative other than to let himself be persuaded.
'Very well,' said Jarl. 'So the empire must have an heir.
Then I will get back one of the boys, at least, if not both. Give me a dozen men, a case of gold and the right of pardon. That's all I need.'
'The right of pardon!' said Lord Onosh.
'Certainly,' said Jarl.
'Who are you planning to pardon?' said Lord Onosh.
'Why, the wizards,' said Jarl. 'At least the wizards, and quite possibly Guest himself.'
'The wizards!' said Lord Onosh in astonishment.
Though the Witchlord Onosh was not fully conversant with the details of the long-standing conflict between Rovac's warriors and the wizards of Argan's Confederation, he had nevertheless heard something of that ancient enmity from Bao Gahai and Zelafona (who, as witches, were versed in such knowledge), from Rolf Thelemite (who always pleaded the Rovac's case), and from Zozimus and Sken-Pitilkin themselves.
'Even that,' said Thodric Jarl stoically. 'My lord, I have no wish to pardon anyone, far less wizards. Yet I think a cure by means of pardons and disbursements is the easiest way to secure our cause. These wizards, in particular, are weak and venial creatures, yet cunning in their argument. By combination of threat and incentive, I can win them to our cause, and easily, and they by their guile will win us Guest.'
In truth, Thodric Jarl would rather kill people than pardon them any day of the year, but on this occasion the doughty Rovac warrior fancied that the odds favored diplomacy. But Lord Onosh was dead against it, saying that his rivals amongst the Yarglat would think him weak if he dispensed his pardons too freely, and that this itself might be cause for a coup.
Therefore the Witchlord Onosh declared that he would prove his strength by marching his army into the mountains of Ibsen-Iktus and wresting Morsh and Eljuk from the grip of their captors by main force.
'My lord,' said Jarl, in protest.
'You have another plan,' said Lord Onosh, glaring at him.
'My lord,' said Jarl, in one last attempt to stave off a move he saw as precipitous folly. 'I would not chance it, my lord.
Bottle the boy in the hills then threaten him. Try that for a start, my lord. A threat first, and war then only if necessary.'
'No,' said Lord Onosh. 'We march for the mountains, and we march today.'
'But,' said Jarl, 'the mountains are high, and cold in their highness. If we mean to assail those heights, we must first prepare ourselves for winter campaigning.'
But Lord Onosh was determined, and so marched his army into the hills in search of the high pass of Volvo Marp, the pass which would give access to the frozen wastelands of the Hidden Valley of Yox. A long and dusty journey it was, a journey begun in the full heat of summer; and the continental summers of Tameran are a matter of sun and sweat, of biting flies and nimble insects born with beaks like needles and an unquenchable appetite for human blood.
'Grief of a turnip!' said Lord Onosh, pausing on one steep and dusty hillside to wipe the sweat from his brow. 'I thought you said the mountains were cold. You spoke of winter campaigning!'
'In the mountains, my lord,' said Thodric Jarl. 'But these are not yet the mountains. These are only the hills.'
'This is mountain enough to nearly defy the strength of a horse,' said Lord Onosh. 'If the heights above will deny also the sun, then I welcome them!'
Jarl thought this intemperate folly, but had given up arguing with his emperor. Instead, he was fully occupied by the labor of finding the true path to the high pass of Volvo Marp.
When Thodric Jarl had descended from the mountains to the hills in the days of spring, his mind had been initially clouded by the pain-killing drug fed to him by Ontario Nol. So Jarl's recollections of Volvo Marp were nothing but a foggy blur, and to find the way Jarl had to rely upon certain of the bargemen who had assisted Guest Gulkan in the great work of portage which had seen the Weaponmaster steal away the contents of his father's baggage train.
At last they entered into a ravaged valley with steeply canted sides, a valley of fractured stone and buckled erosion, of thornbush bastions and chikle-gikle streams still chill from the snows of their melt-water genesis.
'This valley, my lord,' said Thodric Jarl to his emperor,
'leads us to the high pass of Volvo Marp.'
'Valley!' said the Witchlord, eyeing the terrain dubiously.
'You call this a valley? The land is tilted like a stairway, and a steep stairway at that.'
'As the mountains count land,' said Jarl, 'anything not a cliff is a valley.'
'Then I think you still in error,' said the Witchlord, surveying the steepness which lay ahead, 'for I count this as a cliff!'
