Fury in the Wind chp 12 - Hoden's Pass

Four hours after arriving at Potter’s Creek, Devlin and the Battalion were on the move. It was dusk when they exited the tree line; an hour later it was just a dark backdrop as they moved up the mountain. They were now naked to its elements. The wind blew constantly, unfettered by trees, and besides the clusters of boulders that pockmarked the mountainside there was nothing to stop it. Devlin had put on a second coat and wrapped an extra face mask in the hopes of fighting off the wicked chill.

While at the opposite extreme of the temperature index, it wasn’t so very different to Farhjura. Back home hot winds blew stinging sand, here it was the freezing winds blowing flurries. Back home sand dunes and columns of red rock rose up, here it was rocky ridges and massive round boulders. The only wildlife seen here were occasional scavenger birds, in Farhjura it was the resilient and venomous sand eagles. The only difference in dress was the thickness and color of fabrics covering him from head to toe.

Up the mountain, past the boulders, a plateau split two staggering peaks that levelled off at the highest points. There were mountains in Farhjura, cliffs by the sea, and huge sand dunes, but it all paled in comparison to these colossal mountains. These two huge peaks tumbled into comparatively smaller ranges. No life lived up, but rugged bare stone and earth was anything but lifeless. In between these two peaks, called the Flatheads for their levelled off tops, Hoden Pass sat. A series of streams spreading out like frozen spiderwebs spilled down the mountainside. Devlin wouldn’t be surprised if one of these eventually turned into Potter’s Creek.

The Pass itself was about a thousand paces long. The Flatheads rose at a stark angle that made any flanking along the pass impossible. The stone was sharp and ice-covered. The mountains to both sides looked just as impossible to pass, and at such an elevation, Devlin surmised that these conditions never lessened before well into spring. Thus, the only threat to an invasion came from Hoden’s Pass. It was only a few hundred paces wide. There were several large white tents that blended into the scenery as snow piled up anywhere that the 7th Mountain Regiment didn’t routinely walk through.

The only swathe of color was from the pennants along the palisade across the front, blocking entry from edge to edge of the pass. Two watchtowers hugging a double-door gate kept eyes on the horizon. Devlin couldn’t imagine the effort it had taken to get that much lumber up the mountains.

In the growing dark the fires that spotted the encampment looked like fireflies in the desert. But Devlin noticed, as the rider had said at the Scaly Dragon, they were made in pits below the ground, with a small tunnel that fed the blustery wind into the flames to fan them just over the lip of the hole.

It was an intelligent design to overcome the obstacle of the weather, something that he had never seen in Farhjura because the sands would never permit such a tunnel to stand without caving in. The soldiers around the fires smiled and cheered as the Foreign Battalion rode in. Devlin couldn’t blame them. Hoden’s Pass was as uninviting as it had sounded.

The column halted as Longshanks met the commanding officer. A few Astorian Hawks came up alongside the column.

“Welcome to your doom!” They said between guffaws.

Devlin pointed to their tents which whipped in the wind. “Any chance you’re keeping these up for us?”

The closest soldier laughed. “They’re yours if you want them. Tell you what, I’ll swap them for yours!”

As it turned out, the decision had already been made. The regiment was leaving first thing in the morning. The Foreign Battalion would barrack in the two massive mess hall tents, then, when the 7th had left, they would have to construct their own. The 7th had been kind enough to erect an extra stable, which was just several larger tents stitched together to house the two hundred extra horses. In the morning, they could move them into the original stables sectioned off at a point where the mountain that naturally curved, creating a windbreak that the 7th had covered with several layers of tarp.

Spirits were high in the 7th. There were plenty of smiles, laughing, singing, and the like among them. They had been up here for the better part of a year, and not only were they leaving, but they were returning home until the spring campaign to crush the Sadorians for once and all in the Plains of Cahl, where King Ormen was entrenched with his army.

The Foreign Battalion was far less ecstatic. Not just because they were only beginning their commission, but because as much as people had talked of Hoden’s Pass, being confronted with it was something else entirely. It was hostile, freezing, and lonesome. It was them and nature, and nobody else. No wonder the Sadorians didn’t bother trying to take the pass. Past the palisades the snow was piled up to chest height. It felt like they were the child no one wanted, who had been put in the corner to do his own thing, stay out of sight, and cause no trouble.

That night, the battalion sprawled across the massive mess hall, Devlin huddled up beside Amarro, Soltoro, and Gobi. The wind howled outside, pushing on the sides of the thick tent that did its best to keep those inside warm. There were a few pipes with metal stovepipes that led up to the roof of the tent.

“How do they even have fires up here?” Soltoro asked, bundling inside his blanket in the corner.

“Probably wood,” Amarro said. He was sharpening his spearhead.

Soltoro rolled his eyes. “Yes, but from where? Ther’s not a tree in sight for a mile.”

Amarro growled. “Why does it matter? The better question is why we got put up here. Look at this place: it might as well be guarded by a lizard. No one is coming through this pass.”

“It matters because I don’t want to freeze to death, like a lizard would since there’s rarely sunlight up here,” Soltoro retorted.

“I know how,” Gobi said. He was leaning back against his rolled-up blanket, using it as a pillow. He spoke no further.

“Well?” Soltoro said.

“Firewood,” Gobi said.

Amarro hurled his sharpening stone at Gobi. “You are a child,” he said.

Gobi chuckled and tossed the stone back. “And yet I wasn’t the one arguing about lizards.” He sat up. “In truth, I spoke to a private while you were arguing over where you’ll be putting your tents up in the morning. Once a month they take a company and go down the mountainside to restock timber. Also, they have a limited supply of oil in case of emergency.”

Soltoro sat back with a satisfied smile as Amarro retrieved the sharpening stone and turned back to his spearhead. Devlin paced around the tent, careful not to step on anyone. He was already homesick, and being up here made him feel useless. His father was farther away than when he had arrived on these shores, and now he wasn’t even sure if he could trust Farrin to come through for him.

Coming to Hoden’s Pass felt like a funeral. If Farrin couldn’t help him he would be stuck up here until spring, at least, and it was always plausible that the Astorian Army would keep them up here while the spring campaigns were waged. Why use a seasoned battalion to guard a pass they knew was safe? He probably wouldn’t be out of these mountains until summer. And though it had been years since he saw his father, now months suddenly felt like an eternity.

Why had he ever even taken this assignment? There was no draft in Farhjura. He had voluntarily come along, putting himself under the rule of the Astorian king. He knew deep down that getting his father out of Ratkey would have been impossible elsewise, but at the moment he didn’t care. He would rather storm the prison bare-chested and unarmed than idle up here for half a year.

He found his way out of the tent into the bitter wind, wandering aimlessly. Eventually he ended up at the temporary stables. He slipped under the tent flap and meandered down to his mare. She was quietly munching on feed; a single rope tied across her alcove to kept her in place. She shook her mane as he approached. His hand coursed along her strong muscles underneath the skin.

“You’ve behaved quite well,” he said. He patted her long face, holding her chin in his hands. She looked him in the eyes with her big brown pupils. There was warmth in them, a comfort that Devlin was coming to understand. “Still got to name you. If I don’t, Gobi’s going to bury me up here in this desolate place. I didn’t get it before, you know. Why is it important to name you? You’re just a mode of transportation, a pack animal like a camel. But that’s not true, is it?”

His mare wagged her head in defiance.

Devlin smiled. “If you can talk, and you’ve been holding out on me while I try to learn how to stay in the saddle, I will find out, and I will cook you over the fire.”

She snorted at that and pawed the ground. Devlin shook his head. “I suppose we might spend a lot more time together while we’re up here. I’m going to go crazy if I must listen to Soltoro and Amarro’s mind-numbing arguing for a whole season.”

“Aha!”

Devlin jumped out of his boots. He put a hand to his suddenly thumping heart as he turned to face Gobi. “Don’t do that!”

Gobi was too busy doubling over laughing to listen.

“And what do you mean ‘aha’?” Devlin said in a mocking tone.

Gobi tried to breathe. “You said Soltoro and Amarro will drive you crazy but left me out. Which means that as much as you protest, you appreciate my humor.”

Devlin walked past him, patting him on the shoulder before looking back at his mare. “What it means, is that we already know you’re the worst of the bunch.”

Gobi’s face dropped, but Devlin could swear his mare smirked.

“Before you run off, I think you should know, I asked around about our mysterious rider. His name is Captain Orvick. He’s been a captain for the last six months. No one is quite sure where he was at the beginning of the year, but apparently, he knows his way around these mountains. Born and raised if anyone was to wager a guess.”

“And is he on special assignment?”

Gobi shuffled his feet in the hay. “That’s the thing. No one is sure why he took off. Mind you, these are privates that I spoke to. He’s a captain. He doesn’t have to give a reason. Most suspect he;’ been transferred.”

“Oh?”

“Seems he wasn’t the most agreeable man. Highly skilled and resourceful but spent little time with the men. Has disappeared like this once or twice before.”

“And why hasn’t the commanding general spoken up?”

Gobi shrugged. “You would have to ask him. Seems this Orvick fellow is quite intimidating. Maybe the general just didn’t see the hassle being worth it.”

“I think I’ll ask him tomorrow,” Devlin said. “See if he has been transferred, or if he deserted.”

Gobi laughed. “You’ll need a good reason for him to give you the time of day, Dev. I’m sure he’s as ready as anyone up here to get out of this place. Besides, why would he listen to a private he’s never met and knows nothing about? We don’t even have the satchel as proof.”

Devlin ground his teeth. Gobi was right. And even if this Orvick character was up to something, it probably would have nothing to do with them up here at the Pass. It was the fact that Farrin was consorting with him that gave Devlin pause. Or rather, kept him from being able to pause.

He felt like he was on the edge of a knife constantly. Everything he had come to Astoria for was now in the hands of other people. And as Gobi had said, deserting the Battalion was out of the question. Even if no one came after him, how was he to get inside Ratkey, save his dad, and escape in one piece? There was this uneasy feeling in his stomach, like the rocking of the boats in the storms as they had crossed the Breaking Sea. There was this overwhelming hopelessness that action or inaction would result in the same failure.

“Hey.”

Devlin’s eyes shot back up to Gobi. He realized he had been staring at his own boots.

“Yes?”

Gobi’s face was serious now. “This may be a long journey. I am here with you for all of it. I need you to stay steeled. It won’t do to eat yourself up from the inside out. There will be plenty of obstacles to do that work for you.”

“Of course. I’m fine.”

“Lying on night one isn’t exactly a strong start,” Gobi said.

Devlin sighed. “What are we doing here? Why are we investigating? Why did I ever think any of this was a good idea?”

“I like to call it Restless Devlin Sickness. It isn’t becoming of you to just stick to a plan and trust it to work out. You’ve always got to be pushing for it, trying to do just a bit more, fix things a little better.”

“I can’t just sit here.”

“I know. And that’s why it’s a good thing you have me here. Someone must keep the keel even.”

“I can keep myself steady, even alone,” Devlin said half-heartedly.

“I can’t. So, as much as you make my life a whirlwind, I’ll never back out. We’re too far from home to find new allies.”