Illera's Darkliete: A Coming of Age Fantasy

by Gail Gernat

  “Ashera, stop it. Come right out and tell me, just what is your problem?” Lark stomped about the small cabin.

  Ashera faced him, drawing herself up to her full height, just an inch or so below his. Her face was hard and unyielding.

  “King Ian put me in charge of his daughter. I was to be her guardian and companion on her trip to Frain and here you two louts have taken over, boss me around like a serving wench and have turned the princess against me.” Ashera slammed the pail onto the table sloshing half its contents onto the floor.

  “What? Are you mad woman?” howled Lark, dropping his armload of wood on the floor.

  Illera sat up, holding out a hand as if to prevent the escalation of the argument.

  “My brother and I were sent to Seven Spires by the king of Frain to escort Illera back to his castle and his son. That is our job. We were sent specifically to be in charge of the princess until she could be delivered to King Korul. She’s our responsibility.”

  “No,” Ashera yelled back, “she’s mine. Her father gave her into my charge!”

  “And King Korul gave her into ours.” Lark’s voice rose in a bellow.

  Illera tried to interrupt. “And I am in charge of myself. The three of you are my escorts.”

  Lark whirled on her. “With all respect my Lady, I think it is important to settle this issue of jurisdiction. Who is in charge?”

  “Yes,” Ashera agreed, “Who is in charge of your safety, the men sent from Frain, or the woman picked by your own father?”

  Illera rose from the hard bed, crossing the floor to stand in front of the two.

  Softly she said, “I am in charge. Not Lark nor Raven, and not Ashera. Myself, I am in charge.”

  Ashera sneered. “Yeah, I know. You are in charge and go running away so as not to go to Frain and make all this trouble for us, your lowly servants.”

  Illera felt her hand move of its own accord as she slapped the woman across the face. Ashera flushed red with more than the force of the blow, her hands coiling into fists, stiffened at her sides.

  “I am lenient with the people who work for me, but I think you forget yourself. I am the princess, and I will be Queen of both Madean and Frain. If you feel unable to display the proper respect my position deserves feel free to leave my service and return home.” The frost in Illera’s voice would chill a summer’s day.

  “My Lady?” Ashera turned pale.

  “You are dismissed,” Illera told her in a ringing voice.

  Ashera stumbled out of the door, heading for the attached stable. Illera turned to Lark who was staring at her with his jaw hanging.

  She snapped, “If you feel it necessary to question my authority you may leave and return to your King. You are also dismissed.”

  “My Lady,” Lark went down on one knee and bowed his head, “I beg you not to dismiss me to my lord. That dishonor would kill my mother, a fine and kind woman, who desires nothing more in this life but to see her two sons succeed at court. I could never return knowing the shame my failure would bring upon her. I request mercy.”

  Illera’s face softened, and she placed a hand on the top of his golden head.

  “I’m sorry Lark. This constant bickering is fraying my nerves like an old donkey rope. Of course, you don’t have to leave, unless you want to.”

  Lark leapt to his feet. “Never, my Lady. I have sworn three ways to protect you. Now you should be resting, for one more good day should see us at Dragon’s Lair in Frain where the pages and your luggage should be.” He led her back to the bunk.

  Illera nodded and lay down, listening to the distant thunder of Ashera’s mount as they cantered away, wondering what she had just done.

  Turning on her side to watch Lark build a fire, she said, “Please, call me Illera.”

  He turned and grinned. “I am sorry my Lady, when you behave as one of us, one forgets you are indeed a princess as you just proved. It is good to be reminded of one’s station and to keep one’s proper place.”

  Illera groaned. “If you go all formal on me, like Ashera always was, I will go all royal on you and dismiss you and Raven.”

  Lark laughed, going to the door when he heard the sound of horses galloping to them. Raven strode in, a burlap sack in one hand and the other dragging Ashera.

  “Can someone tell me why one of our companions was traveling the wrong way?” he demanded.

  Ashera wrenched her arm from his grasp. “Don’t ever touch me again pig. I told you, the princess dismissed me.”

  Raven turned to Illera for confirmation. Illera nodded.

  “I am tired of the fighting between the three of you, so I told Ashera I was in charge and she questioned my competence. I dismissed her.”

  Raven moved to the bunk and sat down. “Illera, I don’t question your competence, but I do your knowledge. While you know your kingdom better than anyone I’ve ever known, you know nothing of Frain. I’ve always found that it is a good idea to surround oneself with competent people when entering the unknown. Lark and I know the country very well, but I’ve seen Ashera fight, and you can use all the protection you can get. You don’t know what you are riding into at Korul’s castle.”

  Slowly, Illera nodded. “You are right Raven. Ashera will you rejoin us?”

  The warrior woman smiled a feral grin and Illera did not like the triumph in her eyes, but she bowed her head to Illera.

  “As you wish my Lady.” Ashera strode to the other bunk and stretched out.

  “And I,” Raven clapped his hands, “Have brought a haunch of mutton and bread for our supper.”

  They settled down to eat as the warmth of the fire crept through the cabin.

  The road wound, twisting over the hills and diving into the vales. Small villages dotted the land and flocks of sheep scattered as the horses cantered through them. Illera felt her heart lift as the meadowlarks caroled in the clear blue sky. As the sun warmed the land, the scent of blossoms perfumed their journey. The road ahead split, one broad path curving to the right. A weather-beaten sign hung drunkenly from the shaft of a broken spear driven deep into the earth. The name Ocean Perch was carved sloppily on the shingle of weathered wood. Illera pulled Copper to a halt to look at it, staring for long moments while the horses snorted and blew. Appolon crowded in close.

  “This is the road to the northernmost town in Madean.” Lark touched her on the elbow.

  “I know. I’ve never been out of Madean before. It doesn’t feel right to know I’m leaving my…my place.”

  He turned his horse and continued at a swift walk. Raven followed.

  “My Lady?” inquired Ashera.

  “Yes, I’m coming,” Illera said, as she headed Copper down the main road, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

  Once over the border, the character of the land began to change. The hills grew steeper and the meadows smaller. Shrubs and larger trees increased in number until they were traveling through a dark spruce and pine forest, where the boles towered above them, and the sun presented only in warm dapples of light sprinkled on the open duff of the forest floor.

  “Is all of Frain so grim?” she asked the brothers riding ahead.

  Raven reigned back to ride beside her, forcing Ashera to the rear. His grin was wide and warm.

  “I thought maybe you wished to ride with your thoughts, but I’m glad you are curious about my land.”

  Illera sighed. “I think I must be if I am to be Queen of it. Don’t you think I should know something about it?”

  Raven laughed. “I wish most of the rulers felt as you do Lady.”

  “Illera,” she corrected.

  He smiled at her again, brushing a thick overhanging branch away. “We call this section the Black Forest and this whole area the Bloody Hills. There is a lot of warfare here between Frain and the Shul. These hills are rich with iron for weapons and farming implements. This forest supplies most of the wood for what building that goes on in Frain. Mostly foresters and a few miners live here with their families. King
Korul has a number of hunting lodges scattered through the forest.”

  “What does he hunt?” Illera asked curious about the animal life.

  “Well, the dire wolves of course. They are his favorite. Then there are elk, deer, lion, griffin, and dragons.”

  “King Korul hunts dragons?”

  “Only when he has to. Like most people, he leaves them alone if they leave us alone, but I remember about five years ago, I was a child, newly come to the castle. We had this little dragon preying on one of the mining communities. It had killed more than half the population, so Korul led an expedition against it. Lark and I went along to care for the horses. It cost five good knights as well as the maiden used for bait, but now its head hangs in the great hall of Korul’s castle.”

  Illera shuddered. “You used a maiden for bait?”

  “How else would you get a dragon to a spot where you could ambush it?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never had anything to do with dragons. They don’t live in Madean.”

  “Don’t worry. Lark and I are familiar with them, and we will protect you. Besides, it’s very unusual for a dragon to attack humans without provocation. That small one that I was telling you about, I think, although they never said so, that the miners were working too close to its lair.”

  Illera nodded. “Yes, that makes sense. Animals always do things for a reason. It’s just people who are so hard to figure out.”

  Raven laughed as Illera continued, “Where are we going?”

  “We are going to a town called Dragon’s Lair. It’s the largest town in the forest, and the Earl of this province lives there, Lord Darnovam. He’s…well he’s not my favorite character. Anyway, there are a lot of foresters who live at Dragon’s Lair. And the pages were instructed to wait there with the donkeys and your luggage. It will be safe, and we can all relax for a little while anyway. I’m looking forward to it.”

  Illera smiled ruefully looking down at her tattered and frayed garments. “I guess I need my luggage badly. It will be good to have something decent in which to make an impression on Korul. I could imagine his reaction if I showed up in these rags.”

  They laughed together as they continued through the dense woodland, Raven pointing out different plants and animals to her as they traveled. His pleasant conversation was an anodyne to the growing anxiety that plucked at her mind. The sun set, making the trail seem darker and ill-intentioned. Once they heard the howl of wolves in the distance.

  At first moonrise, they approached a clearing. In the middle, Illera could just make out wooden palisade walls stretching like the wings of a predator to the stygian edges of the forest. Tall, wide wooden doors were closed. Lark stood well away, where they were clearly visible and yelled to the doors. Two metal helmeted heads appeared over the sharp points of the logs comprising the walls.

  “Who goes?” came the challenge.

  “Lark and Raven of the horse herd, squires of King Korul on a mission of escort to princess Illera of Madean, betrothed of Torul, and her companion.”

  The group heard the sound of weapons rattling, and a horse galloped away behind the walls. The travelers sat on their horses watching first moonrise through the trees, gilding everything with its golden light. They could see the light glinting off the helmet and weapons of the guard watching them from the palisade. A horse galloped to the gates.

  “Halloo,” the guard called down to them. “We’ll open the man gate. Dismount and enter one at a time with your hands away from your bodies.”

  They slid from their horses and approached the small door opening in one of the larger gates. Lark went first, stooping to enter. Appolon ducked and scraped his saddle against the wood on either side. Raven followed and Illera after him. Ashera brought up the rear, and the small door slammed and was bolted behind them. Illera felt a sinking sensation in her stomach at the sound of the bolt rasping home.

  Men at arms lined both sides of the entry, swords ready and hands on pikes. Lark and Raven stood still, holding their arms from their sides. A chieftain approached with a lantern and thrust it first into Lark’s face and then into Raven’s and Ashera’s.

  “This is the princess?” he asked with a sneer on his lips.

  “No,” Lark turned his head and indicating with his chin, Illera hidden in the shadows of the horses.

  The chieftain swung the lantern in her direction, shining the light in her eyes. She could see his eyes gleaming in the light, travel down her body and back to her face.

  “What manner of trickery is this,” he snarled.

  “There is no trickery,” replied Lark.

  “No? It is well known that King Ian’s daughter is of such surpassing ugliness that Torul has taken ill in protest to wedding such a hag. This little beauty be no hag.”

  “Nevertheless, this is King Ian’s daughter, princess of Madean,” returned Lark evenly.

  Illera could see Raven’s hands clenching into fists. She smiled at the captain.

  “Tis indeed a wonder that Torul knows my appearance when he had never seen me, nor did his envoy Sir Kyle. Or perhaps in Frain, the standards of beauty and ugliness are different from in Madean.” Illera used her haughtiest tone.

  “My pardon, princess,” the chieftain replied. “I will conduct you to the Earl immediately.”

  He offered her a leg up, and Illera struggled into the awkward sidesaddle and followed him down the broad street. Her companions mounted and followed behind. The houses in the town were strange to her, being made of logs, low to the ground with tiny windows showing flickers of lamplight. Some buildings had carved wooden signs hanging in front, and from the sounds, Illera assumed they were establishments for drinking or less savory occupations. Dragon’s Lair was surprisingly large, the palisades fading into the darkness and houses hugging the ground in every direction. Tall pines loomed over the houses making the town part of the forest that enclosed it.

  In the center of the streets, Lord Darnovam’s castle reared its hideous head. Obviously built by a madman, it lurched three to five stories into the moonlit sky, with an odd tower jutting here and a square, windowless block stuck on there. It seemed an amalgam of building styles; partly stone and partly wood, round cupolas supported by square beams protruding in an unfinished manner. The entire building swarmed with soldiers dressed in patchwork uniforms of leather, cloth, and bits of metal, but their weapons were sharpened and shiny, the hafts polished with use.

  Ushered into the entryway, they trod down corridors lined with stuffed hunting trophies, dead animal eyes staring at them. Shields and weapons decorated the wooden walls. The great hall was similar. Antlers were used to hold swords and pikes, and the flat dead eyes of slaughtered animals were everywhere. A fire was roaring in the large open fireplace, the only stone structure Illera could see. On a carved chair, resembling a throne, sat a narrow man, splendidly dressed in plush red fabric inset with cloth of gold in the slashes. He was dark, sporting a small pointed beard on his triangular chin. Yellow-brown eyes and an extremely long nose reminded Illera of the foxes of her forest. The shrewdness behind the look cautioned her to tread carefully with this lord of Frain. She held her slender hand out to the man and waited for him to arise and come to her, noting the flicker of surprise on his face. His lips tightened into an imitation smile as he rose and grasped her hand, bowing over it and lifting it to his forehead.

  “Welcome to Dragon’s Lair princess,” he told her in a voice both deep and sarcastic.

  “My pleasure, Lord Darnovam and my apologies for my appearance. I’m afraid we have been sorely set upon by the Shul,” she replied in her most haughty tones.

  Lord Darnovam gestured, and a chair was brought for her and placed beside his at the fire.

  “Your servants may go to the kitchen.” He dismissed them.

  “Your pardon,” Illera interposed, “I have been through such an ordeal it would be a great favor if you would allow them to remain close by. I fear I may be overwrought and have an attack of the vapors should
they be separated from me.”

  Darnovam gave her a small sour smile and instructed the serving girls to bring food and drink for the party.

  “If it is your wish, my Lady, they may dine at the fireplace.” He inclined his head a fraction.

  “Thank you, kind sir. I shall be sure to mention your graciousness to King Korul when we meet.”

  Darnovam’s eyes slid sideways, watching Lark, Raven, and Ashera sit on the hearthstones.

  “Most unnecessary, I assure you,” he murmured.

  The serving girls brought a meager supper of bread and stew. However, the wine jugs were full, and they plied the brothers and Ashera with plenty of drink. Illera refused to touch the beverage, asking for tea instead. The food stuck in her throat as she tried to eat in a dainty manner befitting a princess under the gimlet eyes of Lord Darnovam.

  “I trust the food was sufficient to your station Princess?” The earl looked pleased.

  Illera smiled, aware of the verbal trap he was setting for her. “Of course, my Lord Darnovam, one can’t expect one’s accustomed victuals at an outpost so far from civilization, but adequate for the moment, yes quite adequate for the moment considering the circumstances.”

  From the corner of her eye, she could see Lark suppressing a grin, and Raven placed a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. The earl shot a black look at her.

  “Now, my Lady, may we offer you some wine? Of course no doubt it will not be up to your exacting standards, but please, try our vintage.”

  Illera wrinkled her nose. “No thank you, I don’t have much of a taste for wine.”

  “Then perhaps you will try some of our brewing. Dragon’s Lair is renown for its way with the hops.”

  “Again, thank you Lord Darnovam, but beer upsets my stomach and makes me feel ill, so thank you, but no. However, a bed would be most welcomed right now. The trail has been long and tiring. Or a bath, that would be the most delightful thing you could offer me at the moment, followed by a warm bed and some sleep.”