Volvo Marp: a high pass connecting the riverlands of the
Yolantarath with the uplands of the Ibsen-Iktus Mountains. The
climb to Volvo Marp is steep, and takes one to such perilous
heights that it is difficult for the newcomer to find air enough
to breathe. Beyond this pass lies the Hidden Valley of Yox, a
barren rift bereft of trees and unyielding of water; and a transit
of this wasteland allows an assault upon Zomara Pass, the conquest
of which will bring the traveler into the valley of Ul-donlok,
home of the wizard Ontario Nol.

                                  * * *

        The Witchlord Onosh and the Rovac warrior Thodric Jarl
thought their defeated enemies would surely make a stand at
Locontareth, and in this expectation they marched in good order
downriver, hoping to tempt the rebels from the city and smash them
in a decisive battle.
        "If that proves not possible," said Jarl, "then we will take
the city by siege."
        Thodric Jarl rejoiced in sieges. To him, a siege was even
more satisfying than a pitched battle. After all, in the heat of
battle, one's enemies are apt to fight with hope in their hearts -
and rightly so, for battle is the province of chance. But the
slow, sure, remorseless, clutching, clamping, throttling
procedures of siege give the victim far fewer resources by way of
hope. Those besieged are by definition defeated already, so in
many ways a siege is like having your enemy staked out helplessly
beneath the burning sun, and putting your boot to his throat, and
putting your weight to the boot.
        Then crushing down.
        So while Thodric Jarl advanced upon Locontareth, he was
diligent in planning for siege, and sifted from the ranks of his
army all those who were habitual citizens of Locontareth, or who
had been through there often in the course of military service or
activities of trade. The Witchlord Onosh, who lacked Jarl's
experience of siege, monitored Jarl's preparations with all the
diligence of an ideal student granted the privilege of watching
his master at work.
        Only on arrival at Locontareth did Thodric Jarl and the
Witchlord realize that Guest Gulkan had fled. The city opened its
gates to them, so they were spared a battle - but the important
thing was to catch Guest, for the boy must be captured and quelled
lest he prolong the revolution.
        So Thodric Jarl began to research Guest Gulkan's whereabouts,
and the first people to help him with these researches were the
dralkosh Zelafona and her dwarf-son Glambrax, who were discovered
living in an abandoned dog kennel in the shadows of the ruling
hall of Locontareth.
        From that dog kennel, mother and son had been running a
vigorous business, selling roast rats and an ersatz brew cooked up
from acorns. This is scarcely surprising, for the witches of the
Sisterhood were ever able in business, and indeed it was the
supreme commercial skills of the Sisterhood which first led
witches into conflict with wizards, for since its very inception
the Confederation of Wizards had struggled to dominate trade and
commerce in all those lands under its dominion.
Thus it happened -
        But that is ancient history, for the great pogrom against the
witches is long over, and this text concerns itself not with the
days of antiquity but with things still fresh in the minds of
living men (and living women, too, if women be admitted to have
minds, which seems a reasonable proposition, for all that nearly
half the world disputes it).
        With Zelafona discovered, and with Glambrax uncovered
likewise, it was soon found that they had played no part in the
recent troubles, for Zelafona had early disguised herself as a
beggar woman, and Glambrax had soon betrayed his forced oath to
the revolutionary Sham Cham, deserting from the revolutionary army
to be at his mother's side.
        Thus Jarl was forced to seek other sources of intelligence,
which he did. And thus the gray-bearded Thodric Jarl discovered
that the young and athletic Guest Gulkan had fled to Stranagor,
and to Nork, and to Favanosin, making his way to all three
destinations simultaneously.
        "If Guest has gone toward Nork," said Jarl, "then his swords
will be of little danger to our peace. The country thereabouts
lies in barbarous wilds of forest and hill, fraught with bogs and
bear barrows. In such a wasteland, he'll find no allies apt for
recruitment. Rather, he may have to fight for a bitter season
simply to win his way to the coast. At best he can secure his
escape, and no more."
        "So," said Lord Onosh, absorbing this.
        "If, on the other hand, the boy has fled to Stranagor," said
Jarl, "then we face a far greater danger. The countryside between
here and Stranagor is rich and well-populated, with much
discontent there to be found."
        Jarl did not itemize the reasons for that discontent, for
some margin of diplomacy remained to the Rovac warrior despite his
upbringing, and the sorry truth is that the discontents of
Stranagor flowed largely from the derelictions of the Witchlord's
tax policies.
        "And Favanosin?" said Lord Onosh, pursuing the question of
Guest's third option.
        "If the boy has truly withdrawn to Favanosin," said Thodric
Jarl, "then I think him planning to ambush us on the road, or to
cheat our troops down that road then fall in force upon
Locontareth itself."
        "So what would you suggest?" said Lord Onosh.
        "The greatest danger is Stranagor," said Jarl. "So I suggest
we send a full two-thirds of our army to seize, secure or besiege
that city, as the case may be. Meanwhile, we should send probing
patrols in strength toward Nork and Favanosin, at least to be sure
that no thousands lie waiting there in ambush."
        Thus it was done; and so the Witchlord's forces had been
greatly diminished by the time the news came that Guest Gulkan was
in their rear.
        "He has made an error," said Thodric Jarl calmly. "To launch
himself upon a civil war he must rouse a major city to his cause,
whereas it seems he had chosen to turn bandit. As such, he becomes
a nuisance, but is no longer a danger. I suspect he has taken the
advice of wizards, which cowards have more concern for their own
skins than for the conquest of empire."
        Here a difference in perspective. While Guest Gulkan's
tutelary wizards had been very much concerned with securing the
safety of their own skins, the Rovac warrior Thodric Jarl and the
Witchlord Onosh had been concerned rather with the possibility of
finding themselves with a full-scale civil war on their hands. By
their standards, Guest and his wizards had proved to be
pusillanimous cowards by flinching from the challenges of civil
war.
        "What now?" said Lord Onosh, when it was discovered that
Guest had crept round behind his father, and, like a mouse
triumphant in its devastations, had successfully gnawed away his
father's baggage train to nothing.
        "Now?" said Jarl, who saw no need for the question, since he
thought the rightful disposal of a nibbling mouse to be far too
obvious to require anything in the way of debate. "Why, now we
turn. We turn. We march. We catch them. We smash them. But all
this we do with care, because there is a danger that they will try
to trick their way around our flanks."
        Though Jarl had by now decided that Guest, Sken-Pitilkin and
Zozimus were a trio of cowards, he nevertheless realized they had
been trickier than he had expected, and might be trickier still
before this game was through. Accordingly, he left a strong force
in Locontareth, and advanced cautiously with scouts riding far out
on his southern flank, and with scouting parties riding the
northern bank of the Yolantarath just in case Guest had sneaked
his army across the water and was attempting some ambitious
manoeuvre beyond the visible horizon to the north.
        The end result was that Guest and his people had got clean
away to the mountains by the time Jarl closed with their previous
location. Furthermore, in his retreat, Guest had got away with his
brothers Morsh and Eljuk, two captives whose fate Lord Onosh
lamented bitterly.
        But at least the mystery of Guest's precise circumstances and
intentions appeared to be at an end, for the boy had left behind
him evidence and witnesses in plenty - most notably, witnesses in
the form of the barge crews and their captains, who had been
turned loose after cooperating with the labor of the withdrawal.
        "Then he is gone," said Jarl in satisfaction, "and that is
the end of him."
        "But he has escaped!" said Lord Onosh. "And - and my sons!
Eljuk! Morsh! He's got the boy as prisoners!"
        "Then my lord will have to reconcile himself to the
imprisonment of his sons," said Jarl formally, "and perhaps in the
fullness of time my lord will also have to reconcile himself to
the death of those sons."
        "And to the loss of my empire, mayhap?" said Lord Onosh
grimly. "Guest's escaped, and with him those wizards in their
treachery. All of Ibsen-Iktus is his unless we hunt him down and
break him. Within that mountain fastness, he can gather his forces
and prepare to break the very empire with his onslaught."
        "My lord," said Jarl, finding himself hard-pressed to stay
calm in the face of the Witchlord's agitation. "Ibsen-Iktus is but
a parcel of rocks, useless for all purposes excepting those of
suicide."
        "A fastness," insisted Lord Onosh.
        "If my lord means that the mountains are a castle," said
Jarl, "why, then so they are, but a very bleak and barren castle,
empty of all the necessities required for either siege or outright
war. In those mountains, my lord, there is everything a rock could
need for the full satisfaction of its appetites, hence rocks live
there in great multitudes in the full independence of their
rightful kingdom. But rocks - my lord, the boy can scarcely
recruit those rocks to his fighting force, nor can he use bare
stone to feed the mutinous rabble which serves him."
        "But he could push through the mountains to escape," said
Lord Onosh.
        "And what of it?" said Jarl. "Beyond the mountains of Ibsen-
Iktus lies the Swelaway Sea."
        "And Safrak," said Lord Onosh, naming the ruling archipelago
of that sea.
        "What of it?" said Jarl. "Suppose the boy can make an
alliance with Safrak? What then? Safrak's but a rock, a group of
rocks, a lesser version of Ibsen-Iktus, rocks up to their necks in
water. Small rocks, my lord."
        "Rocks protected by the Guardians," said Lord Onosh, who knew
all about the mercenaries which served the Safrak Bank.
        "So Safrak has a Bank, and the Bank has guards," said Jarl.
"It has dogs, too. I know it for a fact, since the mangiest of
them pissed on my boot when I first reach Alozay. I've been there,
my lord. And while I was there, I counted. My lord, the rocks are
nothing, for there aren't sufficient women, sheep or fighting men
in all of Safrak to pose the slightest hazard to our empire."
        "But Guest has my sons," said Lord Onosh. "Morsh. And Eljuk.
He has them prisoner."
        "Yes," said Jarl, growing weary with the labor of
repetition. "He has, and will hold. My lord, I ventured Ibsen-
Iktus in the spring. Its barrens are built for starvation. If
trapped upon those heights, then Guest must either transfigure his
men to goats or see them starve. Failing transfiguration, he must
surrender - to us or to Safrak. If to Safrak, then Safrak will
yield him up to secure its trade. Yes, and yield up Morsh and
Eljuk simultaneously."
        Thus Jarl, who had no taste for venturing into the mountains
after Guest, feeling that pursuit would be unprofitable, for the
heights of Ibsen-Iktus would grant great advantages of defense to
anyone with the will to hold them.
        But Lord Onosh declared that he must have either Morsh or
Eljuk by his side. And soon.
        "Else," said Lord Onosh, "in the absence of any obvious and
visible heir, my rivals amongst the Yarglat may choose this moment
to try to dislodge me from my throne."
        Jarl was not convinced; but presumably Lord Onosh knew the
politics of his own people and his own empire better than did a
Rovac mercenary, so at last Jarl saw that he had no alternative
other than to let himself be persuaded.
        "Very well," said Jarl. "So the empire must have an heir.
Then I will get back one of the boys, at least, if not both. Give
me a dozen men, a case of gold and the right of pardon. That's all
I need."
        "The right of pardon!" said Lord Onosh.
        "Certainly," said Jarl.
        "Who are you planning to pardon?" said Lord Onosh.
        "Why, the wizards," said Jarl. "At least the wizards, and
quite possibly Guest himself."
        "The wizards!" said Lord Onosh in astonishment.
        Though the Witchlord Onosh was not fully conversant with the
details of the long-standing conflict between Rovac's warriors and
the wizards of Argan's Confederation, he had nevertheless heard
something of that ancient enmity from Bao Gahai and Zelafona (who,
as witches, were versed in such knowledge), from Rolf Thelemite
(who always pleaded the Rovac's case), and from Zozimus and Sken-
Pitilkin themselves.
        "Even that," said Thodric Jarl stoically. "My lord, I have no
wish to pardon anyone, far less wizards. Yet I think a cure by
means of pardons and disbursements is the easiest way to secure
our cause. These wizards, in particular, are weak and venial
creatures, yet cunning in their argument. By combination of threat
and incentive, I can win them to our cause, and easily, and they
by their guile will win us Guest."
        In truth, Thodric Jarl would rather kill people than pardon
them any day of the year, but on this occasion the doughty Rovac
warrior fancied that the odds favored diplomacy. But Lord Onosh
was dead against it, saying that his rivals amongst the Yarglat
would think him weak if he dispensed his pardons too freely, and
that this itself might be cause for a coup.
        Therefore the Witchlord Onosh declared that he would prove
his strength by marching his army into the mountains of Ibsen-
Iktus and wresting Morsh and Eljuk from the grip of their captors
by main force.
        "My lord," said Jarl, in protest.
        "You have another plan," said Lord Onosh, glaring at him.
        "My lord," said Jarl, in one last attempt to stave off a move
he saw as precipitous folly. "I would not chance it, my lord.
Bottle the boy in the hills then threaten him. Try that for a
start, my lord. A threat first, and war then only if necessary."
        "No," said Lord Onosh. "We march for the mountains, and we
march today."
        "But," said Jarl, "the mountains are high, and cold in their
highness. If we mean to assail those heights, we must first
prepare ourselves for winter campaigning."
        But Lord Onosh was determined, and so marched his army into
the hills in search of the high pass of Volvo Marp, the pass which
would give access to the frozen wastelands of the Hidden Valley of
Yox. A long and dusty journey it was, a journey begun in the full
heat of summer; and the continental summers of Tameran are a
matter of sun and sweat, of biting flies and nimble insects born
with beaks like needles and an unquenchable appetite for human
blood.
        "Grief of a turnip!" said Lord Onosh, pausing on one steep
and dusty hillside to wipe the sweat from his brow. "I thought you
said the mountains were cold. You spoke of winter campaigning!"
        "In the mountains, my lord," said Thodric Jarl. "But these
are not yet the mountains. These are only the hills."
        "This is mountain enough to nearly defy the strength of a
horse," said Lord Onosh. "If the heights above will deny also the
sun, then I welcome them!"
        Jarl thought this intemperate folly, but had given up arguing
with his emperor. Instead, he was fully occupied by the labor of
finding the true path to the high pass of Volvo Marp.
        When Thodric Jarl had descended from the mountains to the
hills in the days of spring, his mind had been initially clouded by
the pain-killing drug fed to him by Ontario Nol. So Jarl's
recollections of Volvo Marp were nothing but a foggy blur, and to
find the way Jarl had to rely upon certain of the bargemen who had
assisted Guest Gulkan in the great work of portage which had seen
the Weaponmaster steal away the contents of his father's baggage
train.
        At last they entered into a ravaged valley with steeply
canted sides, a valley of fractured stone and buckled erosion, of
thornbush bastions and chikle-gikle streams still chill from the
snows of their melt-water genesis.
        "This valley, my lord," said Thodric Jarl to his emperor,
"leads us to the high pass of Volvo Marp."
        "Valley!" said the Witchlord, eyeing the terrain dubiously.
"You call this a valley? The land is tilted like a stairway, and a
steep stairway at that."
        "As the mountains count land," said Jarl, "anything not a
cliff is a valley."
        "Then I think you still in error," said the Witchlord,
surveying the steepness which lay ahead, "for I count this as a
cliff!"
        But regardless of how the Witchlord counted it, they had no
choice but to climb it.
        And as they climbed it grew cold; for on the heights the
unyielding ice and snow persists the full year through. Worse, the
steepness of the track was such that the greater number of the
horses had to be abandoned. Thereafter, the Witchlord could not
ride, but must necessarily walk.
        And the nights!
        Stripped to the lightness of their summer campaigning, the
Witchlord's forces found the mountain nights near unendurable in
their cold. True, they all knew the harshness of Tameran's
winters, but they were always forewarned of those winters, and
went into them heavily padded, in imitation of the bear.
        Only Thodric Jarl's experience allowed them to survive the
sudden weather-shock of the heights of Ibsen-Iktus. For Jarl had
campaigned in the Cold West, and proved equal to the task of high-
mountain survival. He counseled the mutual huddling of bodies at
night; the improvisation of insulating pads from lightweight cloth
stuffed with leaves; the making of fires; and the cunning practice
of covering a half-burnt fire with a great heap of loose stones,
and thereafter using those stones as a warm bed to assist with
survival through the bitter frosts of night.
        So the Witchlord and his Rovac general forced their army to
the heights of Volvo Marp, the first of the great challenges of
the mountains of Ibsen-Iktus.
        And Guest Gulkan and his forces were waiting upon the heights
of that pass - or seemed to be - in a position they had heavily
fortified. Lord Onosh and Thodric Jarl could see banners flying
from the fortifications; and men appearing at random; and the
smoke of fires rising in the thin air. So the Witchlord and his
Rovac-born general organized a slow-motion advance through the air
of the heights, the air which was so bitterly thin and difficult
to breathe; and Guest Gulkan sent an avalanche crashing down on
them from above.
        Down came the avalanche, a whale in its roiling, a dragon in
its roar. Boulders bounced, some huge as houses, mulching the
strength of the army.
        A few survived.
        Those few were the few who had been closest to Guest Gulkan's
fortifications when the avalanche was launched. Naturally, those
few were those who were greatest in courage, and most eager for
battle - and these included the Rovac warrior Thodric Jarl and the
Witchlord Onosh.
        Jarl was unhurt, but for a slight wound inflicted by a
splinter of ice which, sent shattering through the sky by the
impact of a house-sized boulder, had driven through leather and
chain mail to nick the Rovac warrior's back just beneath his left-
sided shoulderbone. But a more serious blow had been delivered to
his pride, for he had been defeated by Guest Gulkan, who was but a
boy, albeit a boy protected and counseled by wizards.
        Of course, the wizard Ontario Nol was as much to blame for
Jarl's defeat as anyone, for it was Nol who had drugged Jarl into
a state of stupefaction to keep him quiet on their earlier journey
through the uplands of Ibsen-Iktus; and so it was that a clear-
eyed Guest Gulkan had been able to scan the landscape for
possibilities of ambush while Thodric Jarl had been concentrating
on the difficult business of putting one foot in front of the
other.
        As for Lord Onosh, he was entirely unhurt, at least so far as
flesh and bone was concerned, but he was so shattered in his wits
that he could not speak for two days, and it was even longer
before he had sufficient control of his hands to hold a cup in his
hands. Because of course, to Lord Onosh, that avalanche had struck
like the wrath of the gods themselves, precipitating grotesque
outrages of death out of a clear sky.
        An avalanche is such a terrible weapon of mass destruction
that, in the past, the making of avalanches has often been
explicitly outlawed in the treaties which civilized nations have
made to regulate the conduct of their wars. But both Lord Onosh
and his son Guest Gulkan were of the Yarglat, hence their actions
owed nothing to civilized usage.
        And so it was that the Weaponmaster smashed the Witchlord's
army with the savagery of a landslide, and thus made himself the
lord of the battlefield, and made prisoners out of both his father
and his Rovac-born general.