The Graves Crew and the Mountain Fortress

By Kenneth McDonald

The Duke and the White Order believe that the rebel Baron is defeated, but the men of the Graves crew know better. With their leader captured, the gang of laborers defies orders to organize a rescue mission. Accompanied by a rogue mage, the crew travels to the frozen mountains where the last remnants of the rebel army have taken shelter. But bitter cold and the Baron’s veterans are not the only threats that lurk in the mountains, and the crew does not know that a greater power is stirring... and is waiting for them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kenneth McDonald
• Release date: Jun 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463471708

Kenneth McDonald

I am a retired education consultant who worked for state government in the area of curriculum. I have also taught American and world history at a number of colleges and universities in California, Georgia, and South Carolina. I started writing fiction in graduate school and never stopped. In 2010 I self-published the novella "The Labyrinth," which has had over 100,000 downloads. Since then, I have published more than fifty fantasy and science fiction books on Smashwords. My doctorate is in European history, and I live with my wife in northern California.

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The Graves Crew and the Mountain Fortress

Kenneth McDonald

[e-mail]

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2019 by Kenneth McDonald

Cover Credit: the cover image is adapted from the painting, A Storm in the Rocky Mountains, Mt. Rosalie, by Albert Bierstadt (1866). The image is in the public domain.

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Works by Kenneth McDonald

The Ogre at the Crossroads

The Graves Crew

The Graves Crew and the Restless Dead

The Graves Crew and the Damned Dam

The Graves Crew and the Firestar Amulet

The Graves Crew and the Road of Doom

The Graves Crew and the Magical Forest

The Graves Crew and the Mountain Fortress

Refugees of the Crucible

Powerless

Overpowered

Balance of Power

Soul Weapons

Wizard’s Shield

Soul of the Sword

Wizard’s Stone

Tales of the Soul Weapons

The Dwarf on the Mountain

The Colors of Fate

Black Shadows Gather

Green Hearts Weep

Red Vengeance Rising

Faded Yellow Dreams

Blazing White Stars

Shiny Golden Schemes

The Mages of Sacreth

The Labyrinth

Of Spells and Demons

Grimm’s War

Grimm’s Loss

Grimm’s Love

Of Blood and Magic

Of Steel and Sorcery

The Godswar Trilogy

Paths of the Chosen

Choice of the Fallen

Fall of Creation

Daran’s Journey

Heart of a Hero

Soul of a Coward

Will of a Warrior

Courage of a Champion

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Chapter 1

The room where Zullos waited was pleasant enough, as such places went. The furnishings were plain but well-made. There was a carpet to soften the stone floor, and a fire burned merrily in a small hearth. A cup of tea that had long since cooled to room temperature sat forgotten on an end table next to the padded armchair where Zullos waited.

It was almost enough to forget that he was buried under a mountain, and not in a room in some lord’s keep.

Zullos stared at the fire and tried not to fret. He wondered how many years ago the Baron had started preparing this safehold. Had he suspected in the beginning, when he’d decided to challenge the authority of the Duke, that it might come to this?

Zullos knew that these simple comforts were lush in contrast to what the remnants of the Baron’s defeated army were experiencing in their camp at the base of the mountain. When he’d returned, they were preparing for the fast-approaching winter in earnest, digging in where they could. He didn’t know why they all just couldn’t come up here, to the complex of caverns and tunnels known collectively as Scullin’s Folly. But in his time in the Baron’s service he’d learned not to be too curious.

Distracted by the flames, he nevertheless heard the soft creak of the door. He had to make an effort to stay seated as the Baroness came in. She looked much as she had the last time he had seen her, weeks past now, when she had sent him on the mission from which he’d just returned. She was wearing emeralds instead of sapphires this time, a matching pendant and earrings that offset a simple silver band in her hair. He wondered how much food those baubles could have bought for the men in the camp below, but only briefly; better not to ask those kinds of questions even in the privacy of one’s own head.

She walked past him to stand beside the hearth. Zullos, she finally said.

I have been waiting here for hours, he said.

Yes, I know.

And the Baron? Is he still ‘indisposed’?

She turned and shot him a hard look, but after the events of the last few weeks he was almost beyond caring about her almost legendary ire. Careful, she said. You have been useful to us in the past, but you would not like the result if my lord was stirred from his… meditations.

He inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement.

She turned back to the fire, the flames causing shadows to dance over her aquiline features. No one would call the Baroness a beauty, not if they were being honest, but she had a striking presence to her that was separate from her status and the wealth she displayed so casually. She reached out and took the poker from the rack beside the hearth and used it to poke at the burning logs. You had some difficulty, she said.

You said there would be a single mage, he said. You did not say that she would be ranked, or that she would have a squad of the Gray Cohort with her.

You were given resources.

Fortunately so, or I would not have survived to report back at all. Shurshak was competent enough, but the orkh-men were almost useless with all their tribal fears and superstitions.

Shurshak?

Your man, the one you sent over. That’s what the orkhs called him. It stuck, since he wouldn’t tell us his name. He wouldn’t say even a single word to anyone.

Ah, yes. My apologies for the oversight. His name is Dannen, formerly Lieutenant Dannen of Draskin’s Hunters.

Zullos blinked at that. A Ducal soldier?

The Baroness smirked. Indeed. He was one of the first to join our cause. Unfortunately, his lengthy service means that he doesn’t have much to say, these days.

With her eyes on him, Zullos ruthlessly quashed a shudder. I’ve already given my report to Calvren, so you know there wasn’t anything more I could have done in the Graemewyld.

She gave the fire one last jab and then put the poker back in its place. I understand you brought back a prisoner, she said.

Yes. I thought you might find him… interesting.

Who is he?

Again, Zullos had to make an effort not to betray a reaction. He had seen enough strange things in this place to know better than to take anything for granted. "His name is Graves. He was the one that I used to deploy the weapon against the White Order in Kalvanis. I received a detailed description of him from one of your agents there. He was the leader of one of the labor crews attached to the Duke’s army, but he has had a number of connections with the White Order, and apparently is working for them now despite the… mishap at the Round."

Ah, yes. Interesting indeed. You have already interrogated him?

Only briefly, in transit. He was somewhat the worse for wear after our encounter, and the journey here was arduous.

So you know what they were looking for in the forest?

They were seeking a book. Graves said it contained lore that the Order was interested in, and that it was in the custody of some kind of nature spirit.

The Baroness’s reaction was subtle, but with Zullos’s attention so focused he caught the slight flicker of interest before she concealed it. A nature spirit, you say?

Yes. We clashed with its minions ourselves, constructs of plant life in the shape of animals. One of them slaughtered one of the orkhs, and they apparently gave the mage and her allies some difficulty as well.

And yet they found this book.

According to Graves, the mage has it.

The Baroness turned back toward the fire for a moment. Zullos could almost see the wheels turning in her head. Finally, she turned back to him. Well then. Let us go speak with our guest, shall we?

* * *

A heavy sound of metal on metal dragged Graves back from the dark into the light of consciousness.

Pain was quick to rush in to accompany him on the journey. It flared in his head and then spread to his limbs, taking a circuitous route throughout his body until it felt like there wasn’t a single spot it hadn’t visited.

He was in a small room of bare stone, lit by a lamp in a niche in the wall. He couldn’t move. Memory flooded in, and as he began to separate out the layered and unpleasant sensations that filled him he remembered that he was shackled to a crude iron chair in the center of the room. His clothes were soiled and he stank ferociously. His mouth was dry, and his empty stomach clenched as it to assert its claim over the general haze of pain.

The sound came again, and this time he recognized it as a lock being worked. The first noise must have been the bolt being pulled; he remembered it being shut when they’d left him here. He had no idea how long ago that had been, but from the intensity of his thirst it had been hours at least.

The door swung open. The light outside was only incrementally brighter, nothing more than torchlight, but it still stunned his eyes and he flinched back reflexively. It took him a moment to be able to distinguish the figures that stood in the doorway. One he knew quite well. He doubted he would be forgetting the features of his captor, the man whose face had haunted him during the long and difficult journey that had begun in the Graemwyld and ended in this cell. The other was a woman, maybe his age or a little older, but dressed in an impressive finery that made him feel even more shabby and filthy.

Do you know who I am? she asked.

It took an effort, and earned a bit more pain, but he shook his head.

My name is Sherra. Sherra Carredes. Do you know that name, Graves?

Her use of his name caused him to blink, though his sluggish mind reminded him that of course she would know it, Zullos would have told her. The southerner stood at her shoulder, watching the exchange silently. Graves could just hear another figure out in the hall, likely his jailor. He had to squelch a laugh; all of these precautions seemed ludicrous. At the moment, he doubted he could have left the room even if they’d removed the shackles and left the door open.

Graves? the woman repeated. He blinked again, then remembered she’d asked him a question. You’re the Baron’s wife, he said.

Yes.

She stepped fully into the room. If the stench or his current ragged appearance put her off, she didn’t show it. She studied him for a moment then turned to Zullos. Go get something to drink from the other room, she said.

The southerner held her eyes for a heartbeat then turned and departed, leaving her alone with Graves, save for the unseen guard. She pushed the door until it was nearly shut, then stepped forward until he could have almost reached out to touch her even with the shackles. She leaned in until he could not escape her gaze unless he closed his eyes. You may not believe me, Graves, she said, but seeing you like this, seeing anyone like this, it saddens me.

You could let me go, he said.

I don’t consider you my enemy, she said, continuing as if he hadn’t spoken. Our quarrel is with the Duke, and the White Order that gives him both legitimacy and the power to rule. They are intrinsically bound together, joint participants in a system of oppression. That is what we rebelled against, and what we fight against to this day.

They say… much the same… about you, Graves said. Different words maybe, but the same basic idea.

A slight hint of a smile appeared on her face. You don’t strike me as a revolutionary, Graves, so I’ll spare you any lengthy justifications. They would probably sound a little self-righteous anyway. I just wanted you to know, that none of this is motivated by malice. It’s not personal. You have information that we need. I hope that you will choose to cooperate with us, it will make all of this a lot easier.

Already told… Zullos… everything.

Maybe you did. I hope you did. But we’ll have to make certain. Our questions here may be somewhat more… probing. It will be easier if you don’t try to hold anything back.

The door creaked slightly, and the Baroness drew back slightly before she turned to look. Graves saw Zullos, but there was another figure behind him, a dark shadow that quickly took on definition as it came into the room.

Graves barely had a chance to register a middle-aged man, clad in garb that matched the Baroness in finery, before dark eyes locked on his and he felt himself swallowed up in that stare. The Baroness’s presence had been powerful, demanding, but this was something else, a raw domination of the room that held Graves as intensely as the shackles that bound him to the chair. He felt like a moth being drawn to a flame, aware that contact with that power would destroy him but unable to do anything else but fly eagerly toward that doom.

The Baron reached for him. Graves flinched back reflexively, but there was nowhere he could go, not bound as he was. The Baron grabbed for his chin to hold him, but as the other man’s fingers brushed his skin Graves felt a sharp jolt that for a moment drove all his varied pains into the background. Too his surprise it seemed as though the Baron had felt it too; he jerked back his fingers as if he’d touched a hot pan. For a moment the other man just stared at him. Graves got the disturbing feeling that the man was seeing something inside him that he himself couldn’t see.

Deep, the Baron said. His voice was deep and powerful, the voice of a man used to being in command and having his commands followed. Buried very deep, but you cannot hide from me, brother.

My lord? the Baroness asked.

The Baron kept his focus on Graves, who wondered if he’d even heard her. The silence stretched out for a long interval. Get him out of here, the Baron finally said. Take him to the lower camp. Find out everything he knows.

My lord, the Baroness said, inclining her head, but the Baron was already leaving, vanishing from the cell as abruptly as he had arrived.

The Baroness looked from Graves to Zullos, who had come belatedly into the room in the Baron’s absence. Well, Zullos, she said. It seems that you may have accomplished something of use after all.

* * * * *

Chapter 2

Lyra Haddin, mage of the White Order, paced back and forth in frustration. The interior of the tent was spacious, populated only by a few pieces of camp furniture and a cot topped with an elaborate patched quilt, but it seemed to be insufficient to contain her ire. She paused at the cot, tempted to kick it over, but that would have been petty, unworthy of her standing. The owner of the cot and the tent, a short pot-bellied captain, had been quick to offer the tent and just as quick to extract himself from Order business.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this flustered, Haddin, the other occupant of the tent said.

Haddin took a deep breath and mastered herself. She glanced at the slightly-open fold that led out into the camp. She could feel Dermott there, and no doubt he was just as aware of her and her brewing temper. If she kept this up, with her luck, he would come in and strike the man standing near the small square table near the front of the tent. Though the thought did have a certain appeal at that moment.

It’s stupid to give him time to recover, she said. "Clearly he has access to powerful magic. We need to deal with this now, Cavell."

The other mage’s calm exterior did not crack. The Duke feels that the Baron is sufficiently contained in the mountains. He isn’t going anywhere. His forces are depleted…

All the more reason to finish him off, Haddin said.

With the Baron’s remaining forces deeply entrenched in the mountains, and winter arriving sooner than expected, the Duke’s military advisors…

Spare me the party line, Haddin said. I know the role that the White Order plays in these decisions.

Yes. The White Order, which we both serve. Look, Haddin. I know that you and the Proctor have a special relationship. But this… this business you’ve gotten yourself caught up in, it affects all of us. Can’t you see that?

You know that the Senior Council is incapable of handling anything with dispatch, Cavell. They’ll forward this to a committee and will still be discussing it a year from now.

"The Baron isn’t going anywhere. Trapped in the mountains, his army gone, what