Dark Lords of Epthelion Trilogy:Warrior Queen of Ha-Ran-Fel, A Dark Moon Rises, Castle of Blood

by Sandra Kopp

  “I’d hoped those rats returned to their holes,” Arris remarked.

  “Rats relish a night like this, for it heightens their terror.” Hans groaned and reached over one shoulder to rub his back.

  “You’ve quite a knot there.” Charles noted the sizable lump growing under Hans’ shirt. “You must have landed on a rock.”

  “Aye. I’ve a mind to turn that jackass into stew meat. I’ve never owned such a spooky horse—scared of everything, he is.”

  “Don’t be hard on poor Parsius,” Arris said. “Tonight’s storm terrified the bravest. Barada didn’t stop until we reached the inn, and then only because we encountered Charles.”

  “Well, that’s all behind us,” Charles said. “We’re safe and warm, at least for now.” He smiled at Merewyn, who once again had settled back on her pillow. “The innkeeper’s bringing some hot stew and cornbread. I think it wise to conceal yourself when he comes.”

  “I hear footsteps; it may be him,” Davon whispered.

  The words had scarcely left his lips when someone rapped on the door. Merewyn lay down and pulled the blanket over her head. Davon and Arris positioned themselves in front of the cot and held up Arris’ drenched cape, pretending to shake it out. Charles opened the door.

  “Here you are, sirs, piping hot stew and cornbread fresh out of the oven.” The innkeeper beamed, obviously pleased with their appreciation of his fare, but his smile faded as he recognized Davon as the spurned lover. “You have my sympathy, young fellow.”

  Davon restrained his amusement to a rueful smile. “I’ll live. I’ve a good bunch of mates to cheer me.”

  The innkeeper nodded. “You do indeed. As I told your friend here, I’ve been through it myself. Found myself an even better lass—and you will, too. She’s mighty flattered her cooking’s so well liked.”

  “It’s delicious.” Charles handed him a coin and took the tiny pot, which he passed to Hans before taking the basket of cornbread.

  “Many thanks. Sleep well, lads.” The innkeeper turned and retreated downstairs.

  Charles closed the door. Merewyn pushed back the blanket and sat up.

  “Here you are, miss. A veritable feast, I assure you!” Hans cautiously handed her the pot. “Careful. It’s hot!”

  Merewyn thanked him and began eating ravenously.

  Charles smiled as he set the basket of cornbread on the cot beside her, then stepped to the adjacent bed and wearily sank down. “I’ll wager she’s not seen a hot meal since her parents died,” he murmured.

  Hans had already stretched out on the next bed over. “We’d better set a watch tonight. I’ll take the first one.”

  Charles shot him a dubious look. “Aren’t you done in?”

  Hans snorted. “Done in, but too tired to sleep. I’ll probably rest better toward morning, anyway.”

  “All right. I’m exhausted, so I’ll accept your offer.” Charles lay down and stared up at the ceiling. After a few minutes he looked over at Merewyn. “How’s that stew?”

  He received no answer, and when he rose to check on her, he saw the empty pot and basket on the floor and Merewyn sound asleep again.

  The storm raged all night. Fierce winds rattled the shuttered windows while pouring rain pounded the roof. Despite his fatigue, Charles slept fitfully and felt only too happy to relieve Hans when shortly before midnight Hans could barely keep his heavy eyelids open.

  The night passed without incident. Charles occupied himself with planning the next leg of their journey and trying to speculate where the soldiers might be. Doubtless, Roderick Mehr considered them spies and had already conveyed his suspicions to those close to Mordarius. If so, the danger had increased tenfold, for Lucius Mordarius offered generous rewards for information concerning activities deemed treasonous, whether real or imagined.

  Gradually night yielded to dawn. Charles opened the shutter and peered at the departing storm, black as smoke in the blood-red eastern sky. Slowly and steadily the sun rose, impaling the soggy mass of clouds with burning rays, bruising it into hues of purple, pink, orange, and gold. For several minutes then it disappeared, swallowed by the foreboding darkness. Suddenly the entire cloud exploded with golden light. The flaming orb dispelled the darkness and shattered the storm into fiery fragments that gradually fanned out on the prevailing winds. Charles stared, transfixed, at the incredible beauty unfolding before him.

  A sign of things to come. Surely we and others like us will dispel the clouds of tyranny, just as the sun has dispelled this storm.

  Across the room, Arris moaned and rolled onto his back.

  Charles smiled. “Good morning.”

  “Have you been up all night, man?” Arris raised himself on one elbow. “Why didn’t you wake me? I would gladly have taken my turn.”

  “I couldn’t sleep.” Charles closed the shutter and slumped back onto the bed. “Even now I’m not tired.”

  “Hmph.” Arris sat up. “Has the storm passed?”

  Charles nodded. “The sky’s clear, though a stiff wind blows. It’ll be cool at first, but we have warm wraps.”

  “I don’t suppose we can wait another day.”

  “You know better than any of us we cannot. Brackenlea’s at least a good day’s ride—possibly two, if we find the road badly muddied or blocked by trees.”

  “You know it will be,” Arris said grimly. “I’m glad now we don’t have the wagon.” He nodded toward Merewyn. “Can we get her out without anyone seeing her?”

  “I think so. Davon procured some clothing belonging to Gowen’s eldest son. Merewyn need only tuck her hair up under the hat, and then a raised collar and a cape around her will disguise her well.”

  He glanced at Hans and could not suppress a smile. The burly fighter, head back and mouth agape, was still asleep and snoring loudly.

  Arris grinned. “Too tired to sleep, eh? Ah, but his weariness did win out, and no wonder. His young gelding’s a handful. He had a rough ride last night.”

  He fell silent as Charles stiffened and held up a hand as he listened. Arris cocked his head and listened, too, but heard only the wind.

  Finally Charles relaxed and shook his head in answer to Arris’ raised brows. “Nothing—but we’d best move on.”

  He rose. “Hans! Davon!”

  Something like a hiccup broke Hans’ rhythmic snoring, but he groaned and immediately settled into his dreams again.

  “Hans!” Charles whispered hoarsely. “Davon! Wake up. Merewyn, come. Time to rise.”

  Merewyn stirred and moaned softly. “It cannot be morning already.”

  “Sadly it is, and quite late. Davon brought clothing I believe will provide a convincing disguise. We four will get food and saddle the horses while you dress. I’ll come for you when we finish. Hans!” Charles leaned over and shook Hans’ shoulder.

  “Ach!” Hans awoke with a snort and, with great effort, sat up. “Morning came far too soon.”

  “We have at least two more days of vigilance,” Charles said. “Until we leave Valhalea we must be on guard. But we knew that from the outset.”

  Hans grunted. “Aye. We did.” He tossed back his blanket. “Let’s get to it, then.”

  Downed trees littered the landscape, strewn like stubble by the tumultuous winds. Mud sucked and gasped under heavy hooves.

  Merewyn, riding Charles’ bay, unconsciously fingered the ruffle at her throat, grateful that her blue jacket fit well and hid the bagginess of her oversized trousers. Gowen’s clothing proved an adequate disguise. Wearing them, and with her upswept hair concealed under a blue three-cornered hat, she looked much like the other travelers.

  She had quickly noted her companions’ weaponry, retrieved from Gowen the day before. Besides his dagger, each man bore a sword, a bow and a quiver of arrows. No merchant carried such arms, and with growing apprehension she wondered who they were and what business had brought them to Atwall.

  The swollen Ashgard River churned and foamed. Arris’ mouth twisted to one side as he studied t
he tossing whitecaps. “This shatters any hopes I had of crossing over. It would have lessened the distance to Liedor considerably.”

  Charles shook his head. “The river constrains us to land, for I don’t foresee any vessels sailing today.”

  “Not if the sailors value their craft—and their lives.” Hans winced and rubbed his back.

  Merewyn clicked her tongue. “Kerry’s Crossing lies just ahead, but I fear none of it remains after last night. It’s a small landing with one boat too little to hold all of us, and it couldn’t carry the horses.”

  “We can’t cross there.” Charles scratched his chin. “Beyond Kerry’s there’s only Donegal’s Inn. Let’s pray no soldiers lurk there; otherwise, we’ll have to sleep in the woods.”

  Davon pointed to a gaping hole where the river had undercut its bank, washing out a sizeable portion of the hillside and causing the road to collapse. A stubborn pine clung to the crumbling rim, but as they watched, it slowly leaned and hung for a moment, then groaned and toppled headlong into the raging current.

  “Not good,” Charles said grimly. “We’ll have to find another route.”

  They rode inland about a half mile, their horses winding through and around the tangled debris. Gradually, welcome sunshine dispelled the shadowy gloom. The forest opened into a lovely meadow. Keeping close to the edge, they turned northeast. The mat of thick grass provided better footing and the horses quickened their pace.

  Despite her predicament, Merewyn’s spirits lifted. Gentle hills tumbled to the meadow’s edge in velvety green folds. Patches of lupines formed small ponds and a generous scattering of other blossoms splashed the grassy carpet.

  “How beautiful.” Arris turned to smile at her.

  Merewyn nodded and smiled back. “Yes.” Her smile faded and her eyes grew sad. “How can a world so wondrous harbor such ugliness and hate?”

  “If it could work its own will, I’m sure it would neither tolerate nor allow those feelings to persist.” Arris sighed. “I marvel, too, the highest of God’s earthly creations fosters the basest, most contemptible passions.”

  He caught his breath and tensed. Merewyn felt her pulse quicken. The horses stopped and stood stock-still, ears erect as they stared toward the east.

  A faint howl, much like a great hound’s, rose in the distance, growing into a mournful wail before fading to almost nothing. Rising again, it became a savage porcine squeal, and then an unsettling, otherworldly caterwaul too terrible for words. Merewyn’s blood chilled. The horses snorted and pranced. When silence fell at last, even the men had paled. Merewyn felt a strange tingling in her skin.

  “Zounds!” Hans breathed. The men exchanged glances, their breathing tense and heavy. Merewyn sensed silent, but urgent signals passing among them.

  “What was that?” she whispered.

  Without a word, the men urged their horses forward.

  A NARROW ESCAPE

  They pushed on as fast as the sodden earth allowed. By midafternoon they had reached deep woods. Charles decided to turn toward the river again.

  “We can’t be far from Donegal’s now,” he said. “From there it’ll be little more than a half-day’s ride to Brackenlea, if luck stays with us.”

  “We could do with some luck,” Hans muttered.

  “Especially you,” Charles returned. “How’s your back?”

  “I scarcely feel it. ’Twas stiff this morning, but I’m fine now.”

  Charles smiled. “Good. We’ll rest tonight and rise early in the morning.”

  Arris had ridden some distance ahead and now returned. “We’re but yards from the road, and the inn’s not far.”

  But as they neared Donegal’s Inn, Arris’ face grew taut and his eyes darkened. They rode in grim silence, hearing nothing but the steady squish-squish of saturated earth under heavy hooves. The forest gloom tightened around them, intensified by gathering dusk and the stench of rotting vegetation.

  “Some devilry’s at work.” Arris stared at a solitary light glowing faintly through the foliage.

  Charles signaled the party to stop. “Hans, come with me. The rest of you wait here.”

  “No!” Arris closed his eyes and raised a fist to his forehead. “Aikenye naelani foucher! We’re in grave danger.” He lowered his arm and turned to Charles, his face troubled. “They’ve set a trap. All at that inn stand in league with Mordarius! We must cross the river—tonight! Our lives depend on it.”

  “You don’t think we can reach Brackenlea?” Charles asked.

  “I know we cannot. Brackenlea swarms with troops. If we take any direction except across the river, it means our necks—and who knows what they will do to Merewyn.”

  Hans heaved a long sigh. “That river must span at least a quarter mile. Our horses won’t have strength to swim against the current. We’ll be washed back to Atwall, right into Mordarius’ waiting arms!”

  “Show some optimism,” Charles said dryly. “We’ll likely all drown before reaching Atwall, and nothing that Mordarius does will matter.”

  “I’ll not have my carcass mutilated by that reprobate.” Hans shifted his weight, leaning a little to one side. At that instant an arrow sang past his ear and, with a loud thwack! lodged into a nearby tree. “Run!” he cried.

  Putting spurs to their horses, they tore toward the river, zigzagging between the trees to evade the shouting troops now riding hard on their heels. Hans and Charles kept Merewyn between them as Arris and Davon surged past.

  Arris glanced over his shoulder. “Graver danger lies ahead. Stay close and follow my lead.”

  They broke through the trees into a small clearing, casting eerie shadows in the hazy glow of the full moon overhead. More arrows streaked by, and they lay low against their horses’ necks until they reached a small grove on the other side. Through this they charged and found themselves in open space again.

  Suddenly Arris veered sharply left and pulled his mount down. A precipitous slope lay before them, its precarious descent further imperiled by rocks, trees, and slime. They continued without pause, pushing through austere pines that begrudged their passage with stinging slaps across their faces.

  Near the bottom of the hill, they plunged into thick undergrowth and let their puffing mounts flounder through before stopping in the shadow of a rocky outcropping near the river’s edge.

  Hans glared at Arris as he plucked pine needles from his beard. “Couldn’t you find an easier way?”

  “’Twas far better than the alternative,” Arris returned grimly.

  Blood-curdling cries and a horse’s shrill squeals pulled their attention to the top of the hill they had just descended. A sheer stone cliff soaring some two hundred feet straight up scowled down at them. Five soldiers riding at breakneck speed had realized too late the danger before them and now hurtled headlong toward the river. Merewyn screamed, and her companions winced at the terrible sounds of heavy bodies bursting open on the rocky shore. The dreadful cries stopped abruptly, replaced by the quiet whisper of night breezes through pine boughs and the gentle lapping of waves now licking the carnage from the shoreline.

  “Poor devils,” Charles whispered.

  Silently they watched and listened. Merewyn shivered, partly from fear and partly from the noticeably cooler riparian air. A fine mist kissed her flushed face, leaving glistening beads on her cheeks and upper lip. Once she thought she heard a twig snap behind them, but a look back revealed nothing.

  “We can’t stay here,” Hans whispered. “Let’s move upriver.”

  “Not along this shore,” Charles returned. “Too many rocks and holes.” He caught his breath. “I hear voices.”

  Arris nodded slightly, his eyes riveted to the hilltop. “Someone’s moving up there. They’ve discovered the danger and now descend the same path we did.”

  “We’ve no choice then but to swim for it.” Charles wiped his chin.

  Pieces of shale dislodged by the hooves of approaching horses tumbled down the hillside and clattered across the rocks ar
ound them. “Take courage,” he whispered. “We’ll stay together and look out for each other as best we can. Merewyn, give me your reins. I’ll keep you close to me. You just hang on to that saddle.”

  Trembling, she obeyed.

  The grieving moon withdrew behind a cloudy veil, plunging the land into shadow. Arris drew a deep breath and stared across the bloodstained foam. “May God strengthen and protect us,” he murmured, and nudged his stallion forward.

  Without a word the others followed. Their powerful steeds waded into the rushing stream which came first to their knees and then to their bellies. Behind them soldiers cursed and shouted.

  Barely halfway across, Arris’ horse floundered and went under.

  “Arris!” Davon, with Hans behind him, reined toward his stricken brother. The horses fought to keep their heads up as the churning torrent dragged them downstream. The men’s cries died away.

  “Arris!” Merewyn sobbed. Under her, the mare snorted and puffed, rose and fell. Icy waves washed over her. Merewyn choked and clung tighter to the saddle, her hands so numbed with cold she could scarcely tell whether she held anything or not.

  “Hang on, Merewyn!” Charles gasped. “We’ll try to work our way across farther down. This current’s too strong for the horses to swim against.”

  At that moment the mare pitched upward with such force that Merewyn flew from the saddle. Water flooded her nose and mouth. Flailing, she managed to catch the mare’s tail and held it in a death-grip as she fought for gulps of air between the crushing waves.

  It seemed an eternity before the horses reached shallower water and, trembling and puffing, waded to shore. Feeling land under her, Merewyn released the mare’s tail and collapsed into the mud.

  “Merewyn.” Charles knelt beside her and gently shook her shoulders. “Merewyn, are you all right?”

  Painfully she rose to her knees. “Yes,” she croaked, and with great effort sucked in another breath. “The others—”

  “I don’t know.”

  Moaning, Merewyn fell onto her side. “How could I bring this upon them?”