The trail through Black Pass had changed little since ancient times. It had always been a trail for martyrs, mystics, and outlaws—people who didn’t want to use the well-beaten roads that run through Spear and Mission Passes north and south of it. Some frivolous or foolhardy artists and poets took Black Pass for its beauty, but only a few, because passage was a struggle that added a day to any journey from or to the valley and could result in a lost purse as often as a new song or picture.
Baron Rostov and Grigor walked steadily up the trail. As they climbed, the rock walls of the pass closed in on them. Trees lined the walls of the canyon, seeming to hold the hard rock at bay.
Rostov mused, “These trees are ancient, tall, and straight. Why hasn’t this been lumbered?”
“Too steep and too political, I suppose. Who would risk a lumber mill in these parts? Who would you pay off … you know what I mean, pay taxes to?” answered Grigor.
“The Kalnichovs, I suppose; it’s north of the river, though not by much.”
“The Kalnichovs don’t have that much to do with this area, Baron. Yes, they claim it, but they don’t do much here.”
“Curious. It surprises me, but I always learn new things on a journey such as this. Now I will have to investigate why the Kalnichovs claim this area so vigorously but don’t use it for anything.”
The area was rich with wildlife. Some was animal wildlife that both the Baron and Grigor saw, some was magical wildlife that only the Baron saw. These old woods had their fair share of Nymphs and Dryads, and the Nymphs weren’t shy, either. If they caught Baron Rostov staring at them, they would smile and wave and spin about, tossing their scandalously short skirts even higher, the better to show their shapely legs.
The two men had started early and all morning the trail had been lonely to normal sight. But about noon, just before stopping to eat, they were passed by three riders, led by a foppish dandy. Inwardly the Baron smiled. If there was bandit trouble lurking in the pass, that group was sure to flush it out, while he and Grigor moved more slowly and observed far more carefully.
Then he had a thought and turned to Grigor. “Those wouldn’t be yours, would they?”
His investigator barely nodded as he panted beside the Baron. “They’ll keep a high profile until we come out.”
It was late in the afternoon when Grigor said, “We should be at the church in about ten minutes.”
The Baron was happy for the news. The day had turned hot and quiet, and he had used up a lot of water and energy trudging upwards through the still, hot air. Life was harsher here and the mix of species had changed. Where the valley below had held fat, pleasant deer, here there were only thin, shy chamois. The little conies stood at the entrances to their rock burrows and barked warnings at intruders. The magical life, too, looked desperate and hunted. The Nymphs were gone, and the Dryads cautiously stared out with glazed, sunken eyes at the passersby, from gnarled and scattered trees.
Then the wizard spotted the Imp, the same glowing-eyed Imp that had stared at him during the board meeting. It was loitering by the sign that pointed out the path to the church.
“Grigor, there’s a possibility of trouble at the church,” he said quietly.
“Somehow I was thinking the same. We could stop for a rest and wait for Zoltan the Dandy and his men to pass by.”
“That would be prudent. Is he a steady person?”
“The Dandy’s one of the best I know, Baron. This project, in spite of its small size, had several worrisome elements. I spared no expense on this one, as you’ll find out when I submit my report.”
“Good. Is the Dandy familiar with our … local wildlife?”
“No, but he’s worldly. A charlatan’s tricks won’t scare him off.”
“Then, yes, let us take a break … in the shade … over there.”
Rostov had studied the land around them carefully. He picked a grove of tall aspen that stood between the road and a grove of ancient dwarf oak trees. The two men set down their packs on the delightful green grass that grew between the trees. As Grigor again broke out the wine, cheese, and bread, the wizard muttered, “Nature calls me, Grigor,” and wandered into the oak grove. There, he savored the cool shade, and he quietly cast a powerful spell. So quietly, even watchful Grigor did not notice the result.
As they ate, the Baron discreetly watched the Imp. When he noticed it was gone, he muttered, “We should expect a surprise in about ten minutes,” but kept eating.
Ten minutes later Mr. Packer and Miss Booles came riding down the road from the church, smartly dressed in English riding attire. Following them came a small buggy. The driver seemed somewhat inexperienced and was, in spite of the heat, wearing a hooded cloak. They all rode up to the Baron and Grigor. The familiar Imp rode beside the buggy driver, and two more sat on the others’ shoulders, the better to influence them. And these, too, had glowing eyes and little devilish horns. The riders didn’t seem to notice, which was not surprising.
“Why, Your Excellency, how good to see you here,” said Mr. Packer. “Miss Booles and I got wind you might be headed this way, and here you are!”
“Yes, here I am,” said Rostov. “What brings you to these parts?”
“Our employer, Baron: Mr. Porter.” The Englishman motioned to the buggy. Mr. Porter pulled back his hood. He was a blond man with pale skin and little expression. He smiled and bowed to the wizard.
“Baron Rostov. I’m honored. Welcome to our little corner of the world, Your Excellency.”
“Thank you, Mr. Porter. To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”
“First things first, Baron; a little hospitality. I was hoping you might join me for a small lunch at the church?”
Rostov looked around at the grass and the food. “I think this is an excellent spot for lunch. Won’t you join us here?”
Mr. Porter also looked around, shrugged, got out, and stood in the shade of the buggy. “Mr. Packer, Miss Booles, why don’t you bring some of that lunch we prepared out here?”
Mr. Packer hesitated for only a second before responding, “Good idea, Mr. Porter.” The two rode off to the church, the Imps still on their shoulders.
Mr. Porter moved to lean on the buggy wheel, but seemed uncomfortable. He tried sitting on the running board. He made the motions, but his frame never relaxed. He sat like a man driven. The Imp with him grinned and mocked his movements. When Mr. Porter had settled as much as he was going to, he said, “Neutral territory, Baron?”
“Neutral territory, Mr. Porter. You have taken quite an interest in this railway project, and now I find you here on Black Pass. I’m mystified, sir.”
“And curious?”
“Beyond curious, Mr. Porter. Deeply concerned. You seem to have pulled the Kalnichov family from their dark reveries to take an interest in this project. Yet are you Kalnichov, or are you not? What power, what motivation is behind you?”
“Motivation?” Mr. Porter’s eyes were wild. “Motivation! I have but one motivation, and that you will find out soon enough, Baron.” He motioned, and a half dozen more of the strange Imps rose out of the ground. Three sprang upon each of the men. The wizard fended off the attack with a simple wave. Grigor was unaware that he had an Imp clinging to each wrist and one perched on his left shoulder, whispering in his ear, but he saw that the Baron was defending against something. He grinned manically and pulled a wicked looking knife from an inner pocket of his jacket.
“I will protect us, Baron,” Grigor said, but it wasn’t Mr. Porter he moved towards, it was Rostov! Before he had taken two steps, the Baron had frozen his feet to the ground and Grigor stumbled. The wizard was shaken.
Mr. Porter chuckled without humor. “Human allies can be so fickle, Baron.” But he relaxed himself a little more, and looked down the road leading to the church.
“Do you know the name of this church you are visiting, Baron?”
Rostov shrugged his shoulders. “The Church of the Slaughtered Virgin, or some other good Kalnichov name, I believe. I have to admit, Mr. Porter, I don’t get to this part of the valley that often.”
Mr. Porter grinned. “The current name is the Church of St. Theodosia Martyr. She was indeed as you say, a slaughtered virgin. But you might find its old, original name, more memorable: Dey-nom-Nazadlan. Does that name mean anything to you?”
The wizard’s eyes widened.
“Ah, I see that it does. You Rostovs haven’t given up completely on local history.”
“Nazadlan? Here? … Had I only known! Had any of us known!”
“Precisely. The near-legendary Black Manor, home of the Kalnichov family, until it was broken in the time of Ancient Vjekoslav.”
“The height of Kalnichov power. We Rostovs took up our role as guardians when that power was broken.”
“Some time after the breaking, to be precise. Long enough after so you never did learn Nazadlan’s location. What barbarians your family were then. Hah! They came in to stand guard over what Pope Clement had broken. Your family, Baron. That’s why I’m so happy to see you here. We Kalnichovs have proved more durable than the Pope thought. He scattered us but we came back. We rebuilt. Now the time has come to undo the last of the papal smears on us and restore our family name.”
“What?”
Mr. Porter fidgeted more noticeably and did not answer. Instead, he complained, “Baron, I grow restless here in the heat. Let us proceed to the church.”
“Why not sit in the shade of the grove? And take off that cloak?” asked Rostov.
But before Mr. Porter could answer, Mr. Packer and Miss Booles reappeared, carrying no food but leading the Dandy and his two men, who had very distant expressions on their faces. Each of the five humans was carrying an Imp on one shoulder. The Baron looked at Grigor, still frozen and silent with three Imps clinging to him.
“You should release your associate,” said Mr. Porter. “He won’t harm you.”
“What have you done to him, to all of them?” Rostov asked in dismay.
With some impatience, Mr. Porter said, “I have convinced them that assisting me is in their best interests! Now, Baron, if you don’t mind …” And he gestured at the path towards the church.
The wizard’s pause for thought was brief. With a quick wave of his hand, he released Grigor and began walking. Grigor looked sheepish, put away his knife, and made haste to walk beside his Baron.
“What happened?” he asked quietly.
“The evil swallowed you,” replied the Baron, matter-of-factly.
“You’re letting me walk beside you. Do you trust me?”
Rostov chuckled. “Just as much as I did ten minutes ago, Grigor. I knew the power behind Porter was deep and dark. From the beginning, I knew it was showing itself because it wanted something very badly. What that had to do with the railway I couldn’t tell, until now. This has been a ploy to get me here. Now to survive, I must find out why having me here is important.”
They walked in silence. Before them rode Mr. Packer and Miss Booles, followed by the Dandy and his two men. Behind them came Mr. Porter in his buggy.
Then the Baron sighed and murmured, “It’s not good, Grigor. Revealing Nazadlan raises the stakes enormously.”
Rostov had thought Mr. Porter too far away to hear, but now he rode up to them and said, “Yes, Baron Rostov, Nazadlan. Why would I tell you about it?”
The wizard frowned. “Because your master is very sure none of us are leaving the mountain?”
“Spare me, Baron! Eliminating all of you would be melodramatic, and unnecessarily risky. But death is your hope, isn’t it? Because the reality is much, much worse.”
Rostov stopped walking. “Why should I do anything you ask, Mr. Porter? If you’re planning something worse than my death, why should I cooperate at all?”
Taken aback, Mr. Porter gazed at him. Then he smiled. “Look at me, Baron. Look carefully. Come closer.”
Mr. Porter got stiffly down from the buggy, and held his hands forward for the Baron to inspect. Rostov cautiously approached. His breathing quickened as he inspected those clammy white hands, then drew back—eyes suddenly wide in fear.
“You’re no pawn, you yourself are the power!”
Mr. Porter smiled still. It was almost the warm smile of a craftsman or artist showing off a masterpiece, but the skin didn’t stretch quite right, and it was a caricature instead.
“I am the power. You can lead me in going to Hell, Baron, or you can help me bring about the final reconciliation of Kalnichov and Rostov, unifying all that has been divided.”