9. What Reason?

Bad omens everywhere....

Escape from Ice Mountain marks the start of an epic tale, one where a middle-aged fish-out-of-water librarian (and necromancer!) navigates love, betrayal, and the complexities of power as she struggles to embrace her destiny and uncover the mysteries of her own origins. Yes, there are dragons too! And also magical dogs. It’s gonna be awesome!

Table of Contents

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Traveling by horse was both the best and worst thing Astra had ever done. The worst, because it was uncomfortable and jostled all of her organs as the animal trotted along the trail back to the monastery. The best, because it was amazingly fast. In less than half the time it had taken them to walk out to the Gate of Tears, they were flying through the streets of Buqoai, headed for the front gates of the monastery. The dragon had stayed behind to burn up the rest of the bodies and then hide itself, according to Traz.

At that time of day, the gates were open, citizens and traders and pilgrims wandering in and out under the watchful eye of ranger nuns on the wall. Astra knew they were a spectacle, but she was surprised at just how much of a stir they caused…at least until she realized that they were obviously on Yosoi horses, with all of them covered in drying blood. Zochur moved to take the lead, heading off to one side along a road that wound around to the west ward instead of the east, where Dzrezor held court. Ranger nuns poured out from buildings to follow them, all of them armed and confused.

“Zochur is taking us to Naboch?” Traz asked, nearly yelling the words over the sound of the hooves on cobblestones.

“No doubt,” Astra agreed. It at least made logistical sense as well, as the sibling superior of the north ward was also the commander of all the rangers, second only to the doyen superior himself. Still, it was an unmistakable political statement.

Zochur finally pulled up in front of the Temple of Mamum, where Astra had started her journey at dawn. A runner had clearly dashed along roof-paths and patios to get there with the news of their arrival, as Naboch was standing at the top of the elegant red marble staircase that bristled with high-relief sculptured scenes from the sacred texts, her administrators and priests gathered around her, their colorful smocks emblazoned by the afternoon sun. Her temple dogs sat to each side of her, the huge shaggy beasts looking even darker and stranger in the light of day.

Traz halted his steed behind Zochur, but put his hand firmly on Astra's knee when she tried to get down.

“You were attacked?” Naboch asked, her voice ringing through the holy courtyard like a bell.

“We were set upon by a Yosoi advance party.” Zochur still had their bloodied sword held tight, steadying the horse one-handed, as if they had been born to it. For the first time in her life, Astra wondered if they had.

“Perhaps a small raiding party,” Naboch commented, tilting her head. “Were you where you should not be?”

Astra flinched at that, but Zochur did not.

“We were at the Gate of Tears, but had not stepped a foot past it,” they said, matching Naboch's tone. A quiet murmuring went through the gathered crowd at that. It was definitely a place they should not have been, but it was also a place no raiding party would visit, as there would be nothing there to raid.

Naboch glared at them thoughtfully. “And you know they were an advance party?”

“They wore battle leathers and carried long swords and axes, too cumbersome for a stealthy raid.”

Naboch scratched her chin. “You would know.” She nodded, then turned to the ranger nun closest to her. “Send outliers for reconnaissance. Tell them to use horses, travel fast, and be armed.” She turned back to Zochur, then finally glanced behind them. Her eyes widened in surprise. “Trazkhor?”

“Sibling Superior Naboch,” Traz said, bowing as best he could from the saddle.

“Bad omen, that this should happen upon your return.”

“I was passing through, traveling south. Ashtrakur and Zochur were simply there to see me off.”

A runner took that moment to break through the crowd and pound sacrilegiously up the stairs to Naboch, throwing himself at her feet. A novitiate who was probably no more than thirteen, he was completely out of breath, gulping for air, his dress and smock a-kilter. Traz assumed he had run up all the way from Buqoai.

“What now?” Naboch asked, shifting irritably on her feet, causing her temple dogs to stand up. Several nuns subtly backed away from them.

“Riders from Am-Ayat, your Grace!” The runner shouted at the ground, still prostrate. “Sent by King Eliyan! Seek an audience!”

“And you did not take this news to the Doyen Superior?”

“I…tried?” He glanced up at her.

“You tried.” She gave the poor boy a look of vicious displeasure, making everyone wince.

“There is an unscheduled ceremony in progress, so the Temple of Jaga is closed to anyone outside the east ward,” he shouted at the ground again. “I yelled at the door, but no one answered.”

Naboch pressed her thumb to the middle of her brow and closed her eyes for a moment. “Send word for the Am-Ayat riders to come to here. Mamum will welcome them.”

Zochur advanced their horse a step, showing a complete mastery of the beast that had Astra (and, it seemed, more than a few of the nuns present) in awe. “May we retire to cleanse ourselves of this filth, Sibling Superior?”

“Get out of my sight,” Naboch sighed again, waving a hand to dismiss them.

Zochur did not ask twice, simply spun their horse around and trotted away. Traz kicked his beast to get it moving.

“Wait!” Naboch called out and everyone who had been in the process of dispersing stilled. “Sibling Nun Ashtrakur, I will have a word with you.”

“Don't mention the dragon,” Traz whispered as he lowered Astra to the ground. She nodded and then jogged up one of the ramps that bordered the stairs, as was proper to her rank, trying not to think about the splashes of blood marring her dress and the way her hands were shaking. She bowed to Naboch, who ignored her and walked back into the temple.

Unsurprisingly, they did not go to Naboch's private study. Astra trailed her and her entourage to the courtroom, a mid-sized auditorium that winged off from the main temple sanctuary. The throne on the dais was carved from a solid block of the reddest marble, and was over one-thousand years old and plain in the way that the oldest parts of the monastery were. Its simple geometric designs had been copied throughout the room in ever more ostentatious motifs added through the centuries, all the way to the large sixteen pointed star carved from one glorious, nearly transparent piece of red amber and decorated with pearls that hung behind the throne, known universally as the Star of Ӕther, one of the few remaining pieces known to be made by the ancient sculptor Bryne.

Naboch hopped gracefully into the chair, and her secretary placed a beautifully embroidered pillow on the ground for her feet to rest on. The temple dogs circled the throne once while Naboch settled her skirts, then flopped down behind it. Naboch motioned Astra forward.

“You left the monastery grounds.”

“I did, your Grace.” Astra kept to formalities, given their audience. “But I do not regret it. I was going to say goodbye to my friend.” She bowed her head obediently.

“I know that Trazkhor is as a brother to you, but we are all your siblings, here.” Naboch motioned at those gathered around them.

Astra bowed her head further down.

“Hmm.” Naboch tapped the arm of the chair with a long, painted fingernail. “I am not fond of coincidences. Trazkhor returns from the north; you are beset by Yosoi warriors; a delegation from Am-Ayat appears on our doorstep. It appears that we are under siege from every direction but the sky.”

Astra tilted her head. “I never said Trazkhor had come from the north.”

There was chattering small talk around them for a moment at Astra’s daring.

Naboch sighed again. “I am not so sheltered as you, sibling nun. I recognize the cut of his travel clothes, the make of the short sword he carries. They mark him as having come from the north, perhaps Parthikapum itself.”

Astra nodded in acquiescence.

“Do you agree with Zochur? That it was an advance war party?”

“I trust Zochur's judgment, and do not know enough about the Yosoi to contradict their assessment.” She tried to keep her voice steady as she remembered all the blood from where Zochur had cut down the barbarians.

“I am once again assured that one of your parents must have been a lawyer,” Naboch grumbled, and someone behind Astra laughed. “I was asking your opinion, sibling nun.”

“I think they were. What reason would any Yosoi be near the Gate of Tears, so close to here? They were kitted for battle.” Astra shook her head, holding back tears. “Had Zochur not been there, we would have been cut down.”

Naboch stared at her and a chill went down Astra's spine, but the sibling superior said nothing to challenge her. At that moment, the door to the courtroom reopened with a flurry, and Astra took the opportunity to flee to one side, out of the direct line of sight.

The Am-Ayat delegation walked in, clearly dressed for war, although they had removed their helmets out of respect. The large, renown kingdom was northeast of Ice Mountain, bridging the step hills of the Balashtilat and the arid Tayiba desert, and their brown skin tones and dark tresses spoke to that. They were in a constant state of aggression with several smaller neighboring kingdoms, but from what Astra had read about it, she could not fathom why they would all be fighting over some desert. Or, for that matter, why they would travel so far south to get to Qordashi in particular. The god of Am-Ayat, Olah’ah, was said to be craven and jealous of his adherents, and did not let them go on pilgrimages to the sacred sites of other gods.

One of the older, grayer men—and the delegation was comprised only of men, Astra noted, or at least people who looked like men—stepped forward and bowed. “Mother superior?”

Everyone looked around, confused, and Naboch squinted at them. “Did you not bring an interpreter?”

Astra realized with a start that the man had spoken in Atyim, not Deshilli, and that no one was understanding each other. She stepped forward, causing every gaze to turn her way.

“He asked if you are the mother superior, your Grace,” she said with a deferential head tilt. The man motioned her forward, but Astra waited until Naboch nodded in agreement. She turned to him. “It was asked if you did not bring an interpreter?”

“We did. He died of infection from an injury not long after we set out. He was my brother, and it was a great loss, as well as inconvenient.” The man said simply, although his eyes betrayed his grief. Astra relayed the information to Naboch, who bowed her own head in sympathy.

“Convey my condolences for his loss. To answer his question, tell him I am a sibling superior, and that our doyen superior is sequestered for a ceremony to the great Jaga. He will be informed of their arrival as soon as the temple doors open.”

He did not look happy about that when Astra told him, but nodded. “We are on a quest, merely passing through. We mean no harm to the followers of the gods of the Four Winds, and ask only for food and lodgings, for which we can pay in gold.” He held out a hand to one side and one of the younger men approached, opening a pouch and dropping gold coins into the older man's hand. It was odd that they were not seeking quarters in Buqoai, but it was also not unheard of for official government delegations to request to remain within the walls.

Astra, though, was distracted by the soldier holding the coins. He was wide and solid and, like his fellows, fit and trim of waist, with muscles visible under his tunic and pants as he moved. His face, though, was perfect, and proportioned like a god's, with a strong nose and jaw angled almost to points and a broad forehead. He had heavy eyebrows and black-blue hair that was cut short, trimmed neatly up his neck to a nest of curls on top. Bronzed skin glistened in the reflection of the moonstones and oil lamps throughout the room. The armor tied to him was obviously made for warmer climates, awkwardly fitted over clothes that would better protect him from the cold.

“Sibling nun?” Naboch asked pointedly.

Astra cleared her throat and turned away from the beautiful soldier to relay the older man's words.

“Tell him my name, and ask his,” were the instructions that Astra got.

The man nodded at the request. “By the grace of Olah’ah: I am General Hiloh, from the city of Orar Dehdah in Am-Ayat, and official representative of King Eliyan.”

Naboch replied by granting them temporary accommodations, given approval by Dzrezor when he got around to it (not her exact words, but Astra could read between the lines). She tried to relay the information more diplomatically than that, but General Hiloh seemed to understand the underlying message.

“If one may ask, what is this quest? If you are looking for a southland route to the Butterfly Frontier, I must warn you that such a thing is suicidal folly,” Naboch asked after the general gave his thanks and handed the gold over to one of the under-secretaries.

“Such is not our goal.” He sighed and glanced around, gathering his thoughts. “We seek the Dragon's Grail.”

The words needed no translation. The phrase was a universal one, a legend so old it preceded human language, a tale so fantastic that it was assuredly myth and nothing more. Astra stared at him, slack jawed, while the audience around them erupted in a mix of astonished laughter and mockery. Which, apparently, was exactly what General Hiloh had expected, given his grave continence and locked jaw.

Naboch simply blinked at him for a long moment, then turned to Astra. “Did he actually claim he is seeking the Dragon's Grail?”

Astra nodded, trying not to cringe at the look of disbelief on the sibling superior's face.

“And what in the name of Bu’s talons is he doing looking for it in the damned southlands?”

Astra turned to the general. “Sibling Superior Naboch inquires about why you are looking for it in this region?”

He gave her a wry grin, clearly knowing that the translation had left a few things out. “We are, in fact, following it. We know it has passed this way.”

“How?” Astra asked, forgetting to translate, a germ of an idea gnawing at her mind.

“It has lain dormant for many millennia, but the king's wizard sensed that the grail's magic reawakened years ago. He waited for the right signs before sending out a search party. One of my soldiers is a dowser. He has been tracing the magic that the grail leaves behind, and it has thus far led us here.” He pointed at the ground.

Astra stared at him for a moment. Dowsers were extremely rare and valuable wizards, even if their abilities limited to one skill, and it seemed imprudent for the king of Am-Ayat to let one leave the borders of his realm, even if protected. She wondered which soldier it was but wrangled her thoughts and turned to share that information with Naboch, who looked surprised for a moment, then shook her head.

“It does not rest at Qordashi. We would be far worse off if it did.”

“Our king desires the item, and what he wishes is our command,” the general said when Astra translated Naboch's words.

Naboch tilted her head up, lost in thought. “The Yosoi have their own wizards and rangers. Could it be—”

The temple dogs jumped up and started barking at the ceiling.

There was a gods-awful thump on the roof and then the screeching of tiles, followed by the shouts of people outside. The Am-Ayat soldiers put their fierce bronze helmets on quickly and armed themselves while nuns screamed and ran for the exit, but Astra did not move—she did not need to, because she knew exactly what was happening from the moment she heard the word “dragon!” screamed from outside.

Sure enough, when a big enough hole in the roof was made and everyone but Naboch, the Am-Ayat soldiers, several rangers and Astra had fled, the flightless fire dragon jumped down right onto the steps in front of Naboch, roof tiles raining down around it.

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NEXT: Run for the Tunnels

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