Kamiskwa, who was in the lead, called for them to stop on a promontory overlooking a small teardrop-shaped lake. Owen studied it, looking for any signs of dwarf mastodons living amid the underbrush and evergreens. Ahead, to the southwest, clouds still shrouded the highest peaks.
The Altashee crouched and pressed his left palm to the ground. “This is an evil place.”
Rathfield frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“Can’t you feel it?”
Rathfield folded his arms across his chest, but Owen went to a knee and touched the ground. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling. He wasn’t sure he’d ever paid attention to what the ground felt like, but there did seem to be something odd. His fingers tingled the way they did when thawing out after a long winter walk. “It is different, Colonel.”
“Are you having me on?”
Nathaniel tipped his floppy-brimmed hat back. “I don’t reckon they are. Been stories told of these mountains. Shedashee have ’em. There’s things what lurk where folks might not want them lurking.”
“So, because of some faery stories told to frighten children, we’re going to stop?”
“This ain’t the onliest way through here, Colonel.” Nathaniel pointed off south. “Backtrack a day, cross the Snake, head on in that way.”
“We already lost a day in Plentiful, Woods. I see no reason we shouldn’t just continue on through.”
Count von Metternin shrugged off his pack. “In the four years I’ve been here, Colonel, I have learned that time sacrificed in the name of safety is seldom wasted-unless there is some urgency to your mission of which I am not privy.”
“With all due respect, my lord, there are aspects of this journey which are known only to those who gave me the assignment.”
Then it began, a rumble which shook them much as thunder close by would-made all the more remarkable because only the barest wisp of clouds existed from horizon to horizon. The vibrations pounded through Owen’s chest and, as they continued, he realized they had nothing to do with thunder. The vibrations were coming up through the ground, causing the earth to shift and trees to sway as if caught in a gale.
His guts knotted and he got down on all fours. A ripple ran through the lake below, starting at the broad end and racing northeast toward the narrows. As the rising wave approached the promontory it picked up speed. Water withdrew from the near shore, curling into a fluid wall. The wave crested, splashing up over the narrow beach and into the wood. The water just kept going, picking up deadfall logs and bashing them against other trees. Taller trees, with their roots already shaken, succumbed to the flood and fell. A second and third wave hit the shore, neither going as far as the first, but when the water calmed itself again, what had once been beach lay beneath twenty feet of water, and what had been a teardrop now better resembled an egg.
Kamiskwa rose and offered a hand to help Rathfield up off the ground. “As I said, it is an evil place.” He pointed toward the tallest peaks, two of which, Owen was willing to swear, stood further apart than they had. “The evil is concentrated up there. A wise man would run.”
Rathfield dusted himself off. “I have my orders.”
Nathaniel shook his head. “Follow ’em and you’ll likely have more scars, too.”
The Norillian lifted his chin. “Are you brave enough a man to follow me, Woods?”
“Iffen you ever do see the far side of those mountains, it ain’t because I been following.” The scout shrugged. “I reckon I can stand a couple more scars. So long as I live to tell the tale, I ain’t got call to complain.”
Chapter Eleven
23 April 1767 Government House, Temperance Temperance Bay, Mystria
Prince Vlad hated finishing the day off with a lie. “Very pleased to have you here, Bishop Bumble. I hope the late hour has not inconvenienced you.” So that was two lies.
The stocky little man limped his way into the Prince’s private office. He shifted a heavy walking-stick from right to left and offered his hand. “So kind of you to see me, Highness. And on such short notice. I’d not expected to see you so quickly.”
“I hardly wished to waste your time, Excellency.” Vlad shook the man’s clammy hand. “Your gout is acting up?”
The man patted his bulbous stomach. “I fear I like rich food too much. It is a curse, but I endure.”
The Prince waved him toward a sitting nook near the fireplace where two chairs flanked a tiny table. A small fire had been laid to take an edge off the evening’s chill, and to heat water in a pot. A silver tea service on a tray, with fine ceramic cups from the far east and a small dish of biscuits beside it, sat on the table. He waited for Bumble to sit, and took secret pleasure in his servant, Chandler, having given the cleric a chair that wobbled beneath the man’s weight. It was a petty victory, but likely the only one he’d see in their meeting.
“You will take tea, of course.”
“You are so very kind.”
Prince Vlad poured each of them a cup, then sat. He did so gingerly, his hindquarter still being a bit sensitive. Mugwump, while doing better when it came to flight training, still landed hard. “Your note said you had urgent business. As this is the only opening in my schedule…”
“Yes, I shan’t keep you over long, Highness.” Bumble smiled, excess flesh piling up around the edges of his mouth. “I wanted to ask after the disposition of the Rathfield Expedition.”
Vlad raised his cup and sipped, burning his tongue, and using that sensation to cover his surprise. “Beg pardon?”
The white-haired man blew on his tea before sipping. “I only know the barest of details, Highness. I’d had a note from the Archbishop that arrived with Colonel Rathfield. Before he departed he attended services here at St. Martin’s and sought some spiritual counseling.”
“Indeed.”
Bumble returned his cup and saucer to the table. “I would not be breaking a confidence to note that he had reservations about how his mission should be acquitted. You see, on one hand, the Crown gave him free rein to do what was necessary to bring the people of Postsylvania to justice. He felt, however, that if they had moved away because of religious motivation, temporal remedies might not be appropriate.”
The Prince nodded. It seemed both a logical conclusion and one in keeping with Rathfield’s character. “What did you advise, if I may ask?”
Bumble took a biscuit and nibbled. “These are very good.”
“Chandler’s wife bakes them. Her brother and sister-in-law own the bakery on Friendship, just south of Prudence.”
“Prosperity Baker and his wife, Lisbet.” The bishop nodded. “I shall visit and even recommend them.”
“Very kind.” The prince snapped a biscuit in half. “You were saying?”
“Oh, my, yes, was I? Quite. I suggested that a devout man-and he is quite devout you know-might be able to serve both spiritual and temporal realms by returning the leader of Postsylvania to Temperance for a trial. It would let the people see that we are quite fair, and would point out the logical consequences of defiance against heavenly ordained authority.”
“An interesting idea, but the charges laid against the Postsylvanians would be treason. They’d have to be sent to Launston to be tried.” Vlad shrugged. “Your plan had merit.”
“It yet does.” Bumble brushed crumbs from his shirt. “You see, I knew about the treason charges. I was thinking of heresy, and a court ecclesiastical. The end result would, of course, be the same.”
Vlad’s eyes narrowed. “But we have a question of jurisdiction, don’t we? Postsylvania is well beyond the borders of Temperance Bay.”
“I’ve already taken the liberty, Highness, of securing the agreement of my counterparts in Richlan and Bounty. My aide, Mr. Beecher, is bound for Rivertown in Fairlee even now. I really anticipate no difficulty in getting the other bishops to agree to holding the trial here. In fact, I would expect two of them to join me on the Tribunal.”