Moira picked at a small dent in the large wood table, “I feel awful about what happened.”
“It was not your fault,” Brom said as he pulled a chair back from one of the long tables and sat down. “If it’s anyone’s, it is my own for bringing her here.”
“What else were you to do?” Moira stood, her hands on her hips. “She’d be dead if I left her care up to you.”
Brom glared at Orrven as he chuckled. “You would have done no better,” Brom pointed at his brother-in-law.
“I would have at least washed the stench from her before dumping her in someone else’s lap.” Orrven stood and pointed back at Brom.
“Now, now,” Moira stood and clapped, “you two boys mustn’t fight.”
“Who’s fighting?” Orrven chuckled again.
“Pan’Dale!” They all turned when a deep booming voice came from the courtyard, “Get out here ya bloody bastard!”
“Fal’Traqer,” Orrven stood, gathering his sword where it lay on the table in front of him, “what does that demon man want?” Orrven tied his belt and sword around his waist as he walked to the front doors. Moira followed behind curious as to why another Arl was shouting for her husband. Orrven threw open the doors to the Keep, “What are you yelling about old man?”
Curious, Brom came to stand beside his sister to see what the commotion was.
Antash, the Arl of Fal’Traqer stood at the base of the steps with his arms crossed over his chest, most of which was hidden behind a fiery red beard. At his feet a woman cowered in fear as she clung to a man who lay unconscious, his hands bound behind his back. “This man stole my daughter and then took her. He’s one of yours Orrven, and I expect payment for his actions.”
“Father!” The weeping girl shot unbelieving eyes at the man standing above her.
“The lass is useless to me now,” Antash bellowed. “What man would want another’s seconds?”
Moira’s eyes darted to her husband. He’s furious, she thought. He had no love for the Fal’Traqers who lived along the southern border of the Pan’Dale holdings. They were continuously raiding the villages and farms along the border, stealing goods and killing those that fought back. Orrven had put a stop to it years ago, but it seems the raids had started to increase again. The Fal’Traqer Tohm was known for its skilled warriors and had often been called on by King Norden to defend against Duenin invaders. They were no strangers to blood and battle. They were also no strangers to raiding their neighbors either and were often admonished by the realm for doing such. As recompense, Fal’Traqer’s lands have shrunk over the years as payment to the other Tohms for their misdeeds.
“Father, please!” Antash’s daughter pleaded, “I love him.”
“Shut up whore,” he pushed her away with his booted foot.
“Enough!” Moira jumped when the command erupted from Orrven. He walked down the steps, so he was on even ground with Antash, his hand moving to the pommel of his sword. “You have the gall to step one foot on to my lands and demand repayment?” Antash was a huge man and stood a good head over Orrven. “You, who have ordered your warriors to raid my lands and kill my people, demand retribution?” Orrven took another step forward, “I demand repayment for the lives you have taken and the goods you have stolen.”
“You damn whelp,” Antash took hold of his own sword and slid the steel blade from its sheath. “You were just a mere thought when I was fighting knee deep in blood. You dare threaten me?”
As the argument gained volume, so did it gain spectators. Orrven’s men had started to gather around the two men. “I don’t threaten,” Orrven unsheathed his own blade after motioning to his men to move the unconscious boy out of the way. Antash’s daughter followed them, weeping and clinging to his hand.
“These lands should belong to the Fal’Traqers, but you Pan’Dales stole them from under us.”
“You think history that is over fifteen-hundred years old gives you the right to kill my Tohmsmen?” Orrven’s voice was deathly calm, “Think again Antash Fal’Traqer. I’ll have your head mounted on a pike if you dare raid another village.”
“Orrven, you bastard!” Antash bellowed as he charged with his sword at the ready. Orrven took the full brunt of Antash’s weight with his sword and pushed the larger man back.
Antash steadied himself and brought his heavy broadsword over his head, charging Orrven while swinging the blade with full force. Moira held in a scream as Antash forced Orrven back, his feet sliding in the dry earth. She looked around at all the warriors watching, cheering the combatants. Mixed in with the Pan’Dale warriors were those of the Fal’Traqer Tohm that had accompanied their leader. They were so focused on the battle that none appeared to be upset by the fact that Orrven was struggling against Antash’s larger form.
“What’s all the commotion?” Moira looked over her shoulder to find Drake and Culan running across the Great Hall.
“We were told to come help Orrven, that he was being attacked,” Culan said, with his sword drawn.
Rory, Orrven’s second in command came up beside her. “Don’t worry,” he said, “that Orrven is stronger and wilier than he looks.”
Moira glanced at Rory then back at her husband just in time to see Antash’s elbow connect with Orrven’s jaw. “Orrven!” She quickly covered her mouth not wanting to distract her husband.
A great roar went up when Orrven launched himself at Antash. His shoulder connected squarely with the older man’s chest, knocking him to the ground. Both men were breathing heavily as Orrven stood over Antash. Orrven’s sword tip held steady just inches from Antash’s neck. “I’ve had eno…”
Orrven was cut off when Antash twisted his body, catching Orrven off guard and throwing him off balance. Antash’s sword sliced through the air razing across Orrven’s chest. Blood spread across the front of his shirt as he put a hand to the wound. Moira turned to Brom, “Please stop this. You know you are the only one strong enough to stop them.”
“I cannot interfere, you know that.” Brom did not take his eyes from the two men facing off. His hand was raised, rubbing the back of his neck at the base of his skull. It was a gesture she’d seen hundreds of times. When there was trouble the Veillen would know about it before anyone else. She thought that it must be the battle taking place before them that was the cause of his discomfort. Moira turned at a loud grunt only to see her husband go flying into his men. They pushed him back into the fray with a loud cheer.
“Brom, please. You are the only one here that is strong enough to stop them. All you have to do is step in.” Why was he being so stubborn?
“I cannot,” Brom repeated himself, “Veillen cannot interfere with Tohm politics. It is forbidden.” Brom gestured towards the men, “Besides, your husband does not need my help.”
Moira turned to find Orrven sitting on top of Antash’s chest his sword buried in the ground only a hair’s breadth from the older man’s right ear. Antash’s sword had been kicked a way out of reach. “I warn you now Antash Fal’Traqer, if I find you or any of your Tohmsmen have entered my lands again I will bring the full force of my army down upon your head. Do not misinterpret my warning as a threat. That is a promise.”
Orrven stood and stepped back allowing the older man to stand. Without saying a word Antash sheathed his sword and skulked to his waiting horse. The men that had accompanied him mounted silently, their heads bowed at their leader’s disgrace.
“Antash,” Orrven called after him, “your daughter is now a Pan’Dale, do not attempt to see her again. But know she will be treated with the dignity that an Arl’s daughter deserves.”
Antash nodded and kicked his horse into a gallop, leading his men home. The remaining Pan’Dale warriors disbursed some grousing that there had not been more bloodshed.
Orrven waited until they had all left before sheathing his own sword. His hand went to his chest where the blood had spread even more. He mouthed something to himself, but she could not hear it over the pounding of her heart in her ears. �
��Orrven Pan’Dale.” Her fear had been replaced with anger over her husband’s recklessness.
“I’m all right, woman,” he bellowed as she approached him. “Tis just a scratch.”
“Let me see,” she ordered as she yanked the fabric of his shirt open. “Just a scratch, eh?” The wound was not that deep but if she left it, it would fester. “Come along then.”
Moira cleaned the wound, which was deeper than she thought. “You’re going to need sewing up, husband.”
“Leave it,” Orrven groused, “I hate that damn needle.”
“You’re such an ima,” Brom laughed.
“I’m not a baby,” Orrven glared at Brom.
Moira listened to them banter while she prepared the needle for sewing. She was happy they got along so well. When she’d fallen in love with Orrven she’d feared Brom would not approve of her husband. But the two seemed to understand and respect one another.
She quickly cleaned the wound, knowing that it would leave a scar. It would probably become one her husband would display with a great amount of pride. “Alright, husband, this may sting a little.” Moira sat down in front of Orrven, the curved needle poised to stitch the long cut that ran across his chest.
“I am ready,” Orrven said with a great sigh and leaned his head back, his eyes closed as if preparing for the worst. Moira couldn’t help but chuckle. As strong as he was, Orrven was like a little boy when it came to needles.
“Ima,” Brom said again.
Both Culan and Drake laughed at Orrven’s childlike behavior. Brom continued to rub his neck when he looked at the two men, “Why are you not upstairs?”
Sterling heard the commotion from her window but could not see what had drawn the entire training field full of men to the other side of the Keep. They had been busy sparring, as they did every day, and then all at once they dropped their weapons and ran to the other side of the building. They were yelling something about a fight and then ran off.
“Like a bunch of kids,” Sterling mumbled to herself. She put the book down that she was reading and stood to stretch. Sterling looked around the room. Although Moira had provided her with books and needlepoint, Sterling was bored out of her mind. “Needlepoint,” Sterling glared at the distinctly feminine past time, “as if I’d ever do that.”
Sterling never thought she’d miss the hard labor of working on a farm. She’d been in this room since Brom brought her to Pan’Dale ten days ago. The burns on her arms were healing along with the other wounds she’d gained from Sionaad. There were new cuts and bruises given to her by that monster of a woman, Gilda. Sterling wandered over to the mirror and examined her hair. Despite having endured Gilda hacking it off, Sterling was fond of the length after Moira had trimmed it for her. It’s easier to manage now that it doesn’t hang in my face.
Sterling stepped back from the mirror and turned, knocking the stool over with the skirts of the gown Moira had forced on her. They’d made a bargain that if Sterling wore the dress Moira would take her to a tailor for new clothes. Sterling picked up the skirts and wandered the room, pacing back and forth. I’m bored, she thought.
On a whim Sterling walked toward the door that separated her room from Brom’s. She had a lot of questions about the man who had saved her from the Severon. His presence seemed to calm her nerves, whereas any other man sent shivers down her spine and made her nauseous. A couple of times she’d woken from a nightmare only to find him sitting next to her in the bed, her hand in his. She felt an odd comfort from that small gesture.
Sterling opened the door and stood in the entrance, examining his room. It was a mirror opposite of hers with the fireplace on the far wall from the door. His bed, like hers, was huge and the other decorations were distinctly masculine. The walls were a dark blue in contrast to the light blue of hers. Sterling nervously took a step into his room and looked around. It was a room that seemed to be rarely used. The furniture looked brand new and there were no personal items on display.
Sterling turned to leave, but the skirts of her dress caught on the wardrobe, “Damn dress,” Sterling said as she tripped, falling against the piece of furniture. Something inside thumped hard against the door, pushing it open and falling to the floor with a loud clang. Sterling stooped to pick up whatever had fallen to the floor and nearly jumped out of her skin when a voice sounded behind her.
“What are you doing in master Brom’s room?” Sterling looked over her shoulder to find Gilda standing over her. Before Sterling could react, the older woman grabbed hold of Sterling’s arm and flung her back into her own room. She crashed into the chair and table knocking the vase to the floor, the glass shattering.
Sterling, tangled up in the dress, tripped while trying to stand, her hand coming down on the shards of glass. “Devians,” Gilda spat the name at her, “you’re all alike… manipulative, conniving, and deceitful.” Gilda reached for Sterling, yanked her to her feet and back handed her across the face.
Sterling grabbed hold of Gilda’s arm as she went flying backward taking the older woman with her. They toppled over in a tangle of skirts. Sterling was the first to her feet, but Gilda was fast and wrapped her hand around Sterling’s ankle, tripping her. Sterling went down with a thud, knocking the wind from her lungs. Gilda, for someone of her age, was surprisingly nimble and scrambled to her feet. She stood over Sterling, pulling a long knife from a pocket in her skirts, “It’s your kind that killed my Baeron, my son.”
Sterling backed away from Gilda, pulling the skirts out of the way, she was able to stand and face the older woman. “I’m sorry about your son,” Sterling said as she put her hand to her chest, “but I didn’t kill him.”
“The Devian that killed my son escaped, but I’ll have my justice!” Gilda screeched, raised the knife and charged Sterling. Sterling dodged Gilda, pushing the woman away from her. Gilda fell against the bed, her gray hair falling out of its bun. “If you stay you’ll bring nothing but bad luck to Moira and Brom. You’ll kill them too.”
Gilda pushed off the bed and charged Sterling again. Sterling backed away but tripped on the long skirts. The two went down again, with Gilda on top of Sterling. Sterling managed to dodge the knife, turning her head at the last moment, the knife tip sticking in the floor. Sterling pushed Gilda off her and rolled away. These skirts will be the death of me, Sterling thought as she lifted the heavy mass and ran to the door, “Help me!” She yelled, pounded on the door, and tried turning the knob, but it was locked.
“No one is going to help you,” Gilda laughed before coming at Sterling again, the knife poised over her head.
Sterling backed away as Gilda stabbed the knife into the door. Sterling stumbled backward into Brom’s room, landing on the floor next to the object that had fallen out of the wardrobe. Her fall disturbed the fabric revealing the tip of a black sword.
“Get out!” Gilda yelled, charging at Sterling again.
Sterling wrapped her hand around the fabric that covered the hilt and tried lifting the sword. It was heavy, but she managed to lift the sword just in time to deflect Gilda’s blow. Off balance, Gilda fell backward giving Sterling time to run for the door. She prayed that it too was not locked. She dragged the heavy sword behind her and with her bloodied and cut hand she tried to turn the knob only to have it slip out of her grasp. Sterling looked over her shoulder as Gilda charged at her again with the knife. Sterling frantically turned the knob until it gave way and the door fell open and she stumbled to the floor. She kicked at Gilda’s legs, throwing the older woman off balance.
Sterling lunged into the hallway, turning and lifting the sword as Gilda brought the long blade down, the knife slicing through the fabric wrapped around the sword. The covering on the sword ripped up to the hilt causing Sterling to lose her grip. The sword fell to the floor with a loud thud. Gilda screamed and lunged at Sterling, but the knife hit the wall and lodged in the paneling. Sterling rolled away grabbing the sword as she stood. “You’re a mad woman!” she screamed at Gilda as she ran down the hal
l toward the stairs.
Blood was dripping from the wound on her left hand as she scurried down the stairs. She heard Gilda’s footsteps close behind, but she dared not look for fear of tripping. At the bottom of the stairs, a door blocked her way, but with her momentum carrying her down the stairs she fell against the door with her shoulder. Gilda was on her before she could open the door. With both her and Gilda’s weight, the door fell open spilling both into the Great Hall.
Sterling’s skirts went up around her head as she tumbled into the room, knocking her head against one of the tables. She pushed her skirts back down and stood holding the sword in both hands, facing Gilda as she rose to her feet. Gilda’s eyes were shining bright with insanity as she charged Sterling with the blade.
Somewhere in the back of her mind Sterling thought she heard a gasp and then loud shuffling of feet, but her attention was trained on the old woman running at her. Sterling prepared herself for the impact, but just as Gilda reached her, Sterling was suddenly plucked off her feet, the sword falling to the floor with a loud clang. Gilda screamed as she tried to free herself from Orrven’s bear hug, “You killed my son!” Gilda sobbed, “You killed my Baeron.”
28
Faren
“You killed my son!” Gilda repeated, slumping in Orrven’s arms, sobbing the words over and over, “My Baeron, my Baeron.”
“Orrven, carry her to her room,” Moira said softly, laying a hand on the older woman’s arm. Orrven lifted Gilda and carried her up the stairs, her head buried in his shoulder as she continued to grieve for her son. Culan and Drake silently followed Orrven to the upper floors leaving Brom and Sterling alone in the Great Hall.
Sterling waited for Brom to release her, but he continued to hold her with his arms around her waist, “You can let me go now,” she said pushing at his arms.
Is he angry? Sterling could not judge his mood.
The Elemental Union: Book One Devian Page 20