It was against the law to interfere with, heckle, or otherwise obstruct an official herald in the conduct of his duties. Removing or tampering with the official scrolls posted around the towns and cities of the realm was an act, not of vandalism, but of rebellion against the state. Those who would publish pamphlets, posters, or newspapers of their own needed to have those publications approved by the emperor-or his local representative, for areas beyond Palanthas-before public dissemination.
Those who violated the edicts would face a wide variety of sanctions, including imprisonment, public humiliation, loss of property, or worse. True sedition would result in exile or execution. Conversely, the new laws built in many rewards, mostly financial, that allowed loyal citizens who reported on the disloyalty of their neighbors to profit handsomely, often with a portion of the properties seized from the designated rebellious miscreants.
Satisfied with his long night’s work, the emperor did not go forth to listen to the announcements and observe the reaction of his citizens. He knew what the heralds would say, and he knew the new laws would be obeyed.
Besides, he was exhausted. When the last crier had left the palace, he devoured a cold breakfast, eating by himself, and went to his private chamber. There, he stripped off his clothes and crawled under the covers.
But it was several hours before he could fall asleep.
Blayne knew he was a captive, utterly under the control of the man in the gray robe, even though no rope or chain had been used to bind him, no gag placed across his mouth to keep him from crying out. He plodded along behind the man without uttering a sound of protest and, despite his profound weariness, without collapsing to the ground. In a sense, it was a relief to turn his life over to another person, to be freed from the terror of flight, of trying to make his way alone through the mountains.
It was not until dawn broke around him that he began to question everything about the strange experience: his own thoughts and emotions, his remarkable endurance, the sense of cooperation and comfort he felt with the unique man. He was no longer cold, despite the fact that the fellow had made no fire. He was no longer wet, though the air remained damp and dew was heavy on the grass, rocks, and boughs of the surrounding trees. Somehow he felt strong enough to keep going, though he had managed only a few hours of frozen, cramped sleep during all of the previous forty-eight hours.
And through it all the young nobleman remained strangely content, numb but in a pleasant, almost dreamlike state, as he followed the gray stranger up a grueling and dangerous climb.
They followed a steep, half-hidden path that Blayne hadn’t even known about, leading away from the placid lake where he had caught the trout. They wended their way up a steep-sided gorge, finally moving through a pass so narrow that they needed to move in single file. Sheer walls of rock rose to the right and left of them, culminating in summits hundreds of feet over their heads. The pass twisted around like a winding corridor, shadowy and cool even though sunlight and blue sky were visible far overhead. In places the cliffs loomed so close that they overhung the path, looking as if they were ready to collapse on them at the merest whisper of sound or swirl of wind.
But when they finally emerged from the narrow slit of the pass, they arrived in a sheltered valley hitherto unsuspected even by the young nobleman who had grown up hunting and climbing in those mountains. The land before him was flatter and more verdant than any place he knew about in the whole of the Vingaard Range. Not only did he spy farms and mills and clusters of buildings that indicated the existence of several towns, but there were encampments across every bit of level ground, tents as far as the eye could see. A thousand cook fires glowed in the early-morning mist, and a whole army seemed to be living there, going about its morning meals and ablutions in such an utterly secret place.
“Who are you?” Blayne croaked, finally finding his voice.
He suddenly found that he again possessed his free will-and that the fatigue of his long flight had caught up with him. He staggered and allowed the stranger to offer him an arm in support.
“Just a bit farther and all your questions will be answered,” said the man in the gray robe. “For now, it is enough to know that I am a friend to you-and an enemy to the emperor.”
That was enough to keep him going. An hour later Blayne found himself seated in the parlor of a large house. A beautiful young woman with striking albino features had brought him a cup of hot tea, and he was sipping the liquid gratefully, sitting beside a roaring fire, gradually getting his bearings. The gray man had led him to the house then disappeared somewhere in the back of it. When he returned, when Blayne was nearly done with his tea, he was accompanied by a man in a black shirt and leggings.
“Thank you for bringing me here,” said the young nobleman sincerely. He knew enough about the stranger to believe him when he said they shared the same enemy. “I presume you will tell me more, when you’re ready.”
The gray man smiled, a kindly expression full of sympathy and understanding. “I appreciate your patience. My name is Hoarst, and this is Captain Blackgaard. It is he who has established the little outpost, and this is his house.”
“I’ve hunted these mountains all my life and never even knew there was a valley like this up here. I can’t understand how it has gone undiscovered so long.”
“I can tell you that this is a very magical place,” said the captain. “Through the centuries many dragons have flown overhead, some carrying human riders. And yet, when they look down, they spot only glaciers and barren rock. It is an illusion of nature, one which I gratefully used to my advantage.”
Blayne looked bluntly from one man to the other. “You are enemies of the emperor? Do you know that he has killed my father, bombarded my home? I will devote the rest of my life to vengeance. If you can use my services, I will gladly join your force.”
Blackgaard chuckled. “My force is quite large enough, don’t you think?” he said dismissively.
The young nobleman’s heart sank, but he could only nod. “I could tell as we approached that you must have thousands of men. Well-trained, well-equipped men. A not inconsiderable army. But why do you have them here, locked up in the mountains?”
“Picture where we are, in your head. What do you see?” prodded Hoarst.
“You’re in the high Vingaard Mountains… maybe twenty miles north of the High Clerist’s Pass. Is that right?”
“More like fifteen miles,” Blackgaard corrected. “Hard mountain miles, but there is a certain route that will take us there. I have men excavating a concealed road even as we speak, to allow us to cross the steepest parts of the trail.”
“I see, you could strike at the emperor there, cut him off from the plains! But… can’t you use my help? I know how to wield a sword, even to command a company. I led the attack that destroyed two of his terrible cannons!”
“I had heard of that attack,” the captain said. “It was well done. But no, I do not need you to join the ranks of my army.”
“I understand your dismay,” Hoarst said as Blayne slumped back in his chair. “But don’t despair. You can help us greatly-in another capacity, not as a swordsman in the Black Army.”
“What do you want? Tell me, whatever it is, I’ll do it!” blurted the young man.
“Have you heard of the Legion of Steel?” asked Blackgaard gently.
Blayne nodded. “An ancient sect of the Solamnic Knighthood, as I recall. They used to be active in the cities, helped to ensure that no one leader became too powerful… too enamored of his own…” His voice trailed off, and he nodded. “They were dedicated to preventing someone like the emperor from seizing too much authority and control!” he realized.