The Great Pandemonium: Nobilitas Obligat

Part III. Moors of the Danelords (cont.)

Part III. Moors of the Danelords (cont.)

For days Drystan followed along behind Coord and Sacha, always with the Imperial capital at their backs and the rocky highlands of the horse lords ahead of them. It was a bit disheartening to know he was not going to get the chance to look upon the silk-clad beauties rumored to inhabit the towers of Harenholl.

Still, the Outremer was almost as nice to look at, with its rolling grassy hills rife with patches of colorful flowers of the early summer. It was a refreshing change from the dense forests and rocky snow-peaked mountains that surrounded Whiteshire, that much was certain. There was something he found remarkably relaxing about being able to see the lands stretching on for leagues around instead of wondering exactly was lurking in the shadows of the treeline. Even when the landscape became less grassy and more rocky, he was still glad for the scenery change.

At the middle of the seventh day they came to the edges of the moorlands where the old capital of the province they were in, Wilder's Call, had been built not long after the founding of the Empire. Almost twenty years ago, when the previous Magnate had been ousted, the province's capital had been relocated almost overnight to a castle much further south in the Jurian Valley. Rumors ran rampant through the Rectory as to what had happened to the old Magnate's keep, and most of them said it was now a haven for Pandemonium fiends unleashed by a vengeful band of Enkiri. Most reports said there was really no discernible activity, but rarely did a coup the scale of the one Weist had orchestrated leave no lingering consequences. Drystan had always assumed that the consequences were more of a political nature, but obviously something else had gone horribly wrong to give Antenox cause to pry into what in many places of the northern Empire was still an open wound.

They made camp at the eastern edge of the moor beneath a black tor that was oddly shaped like the head of the horses they rode. Sacha built the fire which Drystan gathered the kindling and brush for while Coord scrambled to the top of the tor and situated herself between the two pointy rocks he thought formed the horse ears, her shield resting across her lap as she took a whetstone to the lower half and honed the edges.

“Is this the point where you warn me about having my soul sucked out during the night by a witch of the fog?” he asked after Coord had decided to remain silent too long for his liking.

“Anyone foolish enough to attempt such a thing with two Inferi about deserves the death they will be tendered.” The Inferi glanced down at him, the look of an aged tactician having settled itself upon her features once again. “I suppose it is time we tell you why we brought you along.”

Sacha stabbed a smoldering stick of heather off towards the west and south before she snapped it in half and tossed it into the flames. “You were born there, in Nighttyr Keep.”

More than familiar with what had happened at the Keep he asked, “Would this be before or after it was burned to the ground by the current Magnate and the Inquisition?”

Coord chuckled at his sarcasm. “It wasn't burned.”

“Not according to everything I've had to read. The Nighttyr investigation was beaten into we recruits as an exemplar of what not to do when investigating Imperial nobility.”

“The keep was quietly given over to an Oratio by the name of Nocis as compensation for his help in overthrowing Owen Nighttyr,” explained Sacha as she speared the small but growing fire with a new stick of heather. “The current Magnate of these lands, Weist, was more than happy to hand it over—apparently he really doesn't like being this close to the Éadoren.”

“Not really surprising seeing as how Nighttyr's wife was from of one of their more powerful clans,” said Drystan with a shrug. “I'd wager they want his hide tanned and flying from a flag out in the steppes somewhere.”