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

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Dark Lords of Epthelion Trilogy:Warrior Queen of Ha-Ran-Fel, A Dark Moon Rises, Castle of Blood Page 9

by Sandra Kopp


  At least five hundred horsemen on swift magnificent steeds thundered down the hillside to the very spot from which she had fled. Their armor glinted in the dying sun. Each wore a helmet concealing much of the face and boasting a long horsehair tail fastened to the top. Scabbards hung from their saddles, shields and quivers from their backs. Many carried lances or spears. This was indeed a warrior host.

  They swerved to the west without slowing, just past the place where Merewyn hid, and continued at the same breakneck speed. Merewyn held her breath, fighting to stifle a wrenching coughing fit brought on by the swirling dust.

  It seemed an eternity before the last rider passed and even longer before the hoofbeats died away. The dust slowly settled. A pair of chipmunks scampered to the middle of an overhead branch, pausing long enough to chatter a scolding before disappearing into the foliage. Merewyn turned, sighing deeply as she slumped against the rock.

  Obtaining an audience with Ruelon might prove more difficult than she had thought. What would these men have done to her had they found her? Would they have dismissed her as nothing more than a simple traveler, or would they have captured her as a spy—or to use for their pleasure? Would they have given her a chance to state her business or might they have skinned her alive?

  Feeling eyes upon her, Merewyn turned her head. The mare stared back in silent reproach.

  “Sorry, old girl.” Merewyn stood and rubbed the mare’s lathered neck. “I didn’t know who or what was coming. I panicked—and you, my copper-colored friend, refused to move.”

  The mare nickered softly and nuzzled her arm. Merewyn laughed quietly and tousled her forelock. Stroking the white blaze on the horse’s nose, she continued, “Copper’s a suitable name for you. Do you like it?”

  The mare nickered again. Obviously she approved.

  “Well, then. . .Copper you shall be.” Merewyn quickly sobered and gazed into the sunset.

  “We’re not welcome here,” she murmured. “Those men were armed for war, and I’m a stranger. They would wonder at a maiden alone in this godforsaken land. But I can’t fight Mordarius myself. I must reach King Ruelon and he must hear me.”

  She dropped her eyes and clutched the mare’s shaggy mane, unnerved by the enormity of the task ahead. The mare stood patiently for several minutes before nudging Merewyn’s arm. “Come now, take courage,” her soft eyes said. “We’ll cross most of Ha-Ran-Fel tomorrow, and the day after arrive at Tagenryd. I, Copper, shall deliver you safely there!”

  Merewyn smiled and buried her face in the mare’s neck, comforted by her gentle presence. “I’m so glad I found you.” She raised her head and rubbed the velvety ears. “I’m sorry I whipped you. You’re more than a horse—you’re a true and trusted friend.” She glanced around. “It’ll be dark soon. We’ll camp here tonight.” She gave the horse a final pat, then removed the saddle and bridle and tied the mare to a juniper.

  The brisk evening breeze rustled the branches. Merewyn shivered. Glimpsing a sheltered spot at the base of the largest boulder, she carried the saddle there to use as a pillow, then wrapped the blanket around herself and lay down. For a long time she gazed at the first stars shyly peeking down from the darkening sky. Fatigue overtook her at last, and she fell asleep, oblivious to an eerie howl rising in the east.

  Merewyn rose early and saddled Copper. A brisk west wind nipped her ears with its frosty breath. She wrapped herself in her blanket after mounting and tucked it in around her legs to trap Copper’s body heat. Then, keeping to the gulch, they continued north. Boulders formed forbidding faces that frowned at them from rocky hillsides and crests. The grass receded gradually into low scrub and junipers as the altitude increased.

  By noon the Alpenfels loomed with such clarity and magnificence that, although still many miles distant, Merewyn felt she could reach out and touch them. Reining in, she sat for a moment, marveling at their grandeur. The icy peaks, eternally crowned with glistening glacial ice as hard and shiny as diamonds, regarded her with cold contempt. Bare gray sides plunged precipitously for hundreds of feet before meeting the first thin layers of soil sustaining the fragile alpine flora cloaking the mountains’ brawny shoulders in cascading capes of velvety green.

  Merewyn drew a shaky breath. Thankfully her destination lay in foothills rather than those forbidding cliffs. But how would she find Tagenryd? She had yet to discover even a trail.

  A short rest, a bit of bread and meat, and a drink of water renewed her strength, and with a lighter heart she continued her journey. The afternoon passed without incident, but as twilight fell Merewyn grew uneasy. The chilly air turned dank and heavy and carried a strange odor which, while barely perceptible at first, became unnervingly evident—a nauseating mixture of dung and burning sulfur.

  Merewyn’s pulse quickened. She saw nothing, but her anxiety increased. Something hellish, called forth by the gathering gloom, roamed the foothills. The very air seemed pregnant with unspeakable evil.

  Copper tensed. Her lackadaisical walk stiffened into nervous prancing and crow-hopping. Head high and ears erect, she punctuated every step with a loud snort, sometimes shying so forcefully she nearly threw Merewyn.

  With bated breath Merewyn looked around. At first she saw nothing; but as she scanned the mountains to the northeast she glimpsed a movement at the bottom of a nearby hill.

  Copper squealed and reared. When her front legs hit the ground again, she whirled and lunged. Merewyn pulled the reins with all her might, barely managing to hold her in.

  “Whoa, Copper! Easy!”

  The mare snorted again and froze, every muscle like a too-tight spring about to let fly. Merewyn’s breath came in loud, uneven gasps. Instinctively she knew that Copper’s fastest gallop could not elude the demonic creature stalking them now, but the scattered rocks and boulders dotting the hillsides offered little shelter.

  They must flee! Merewyn turned Copper toward the west, but now the mare refused to budge. Shaking and puffing, she riveted her gaze toward the northeast.

  A menacing growl escalated into an unnatural howl so horrific Merewyn nearly fainted. She had heard that sound—in Valhalea, with Charles Bordner and his three companions! The tautness of her own muscles matched the mare’s, and she feared her furiously-pounding heart would explode.

  The Thing squealed, filling the air with a terrible vibrating resonance that pierced the ears and brain like needles. Louder and louder it thundered through the canyons and reverberated among the peaks.

  Copper’s legs seemed to fly in every direction. The world became a blur of trees, rocks, and sky as the horse reared, bucked, and lunged. Merewyn fought to hold on, but a low branch smacked her solidly in the teeth, knocking her out of the saddle and slamming her to the stony ground.

  Dazed and shaking, she recovered enough to see her bag of clothing fall from the saddle as the mare raced over the hill. She fought for breath, for the force of the fall had knocked it out of her. Wracked with pain, she tried to moan, but no sound came. Somehow she managed to find her feet and lurched toward a nearby cluster of rocks, but her quaking legs refused to support her, and she dropped to the ground and crawled. By the time she reached their welcome shelter her breath had sufficiently returned to allow her short, uneven gasps.

  Again the strange scream sounded, fainter this time, but no less terrifying. Merewyn’s heart plummeted. “Baugonril!” she whispered. “Oh, Copper!”

  She slumped against a rock, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. Night fell with cold indifference. An hour passed. Only cricket song and the occasional hoot of an owl broke the stillness. Merewyn numbly emerged from the rocks, vaguely aware of a metallic taste in her mouth as she searched for her scattered belongings. Only after she had found the bag of clothing did she realize her mouth was bleeding.

  Frantically she dug through her pocket, pulled out her kerchief, and held it to her throbbing mouth, hoping the fickle breeze would not carry the smell of her blood to Baugonril’s nostrils. The wound stanched quickly and she res
umed the search, but in the darkness found neither bag nor horse. Copper was gone—and with her, Merewyn’s food and water.

  Morosely, Merewyn returned to the rocks and wrapped the blanket around her, unable to even cry. Plopping down, she propped herself against one of the stones and gazed dolefully toward the mountains. After several minutes she leaned forward, resting her feverish forehead on her knees while gently rocking in an effort to console herself. “Where are you now, Charles Bordner?” she murmured. “Again I need a rescuer.” She sighed. “But perhaps you need a rescuer yourself.”

  She stopped rocking and looked up. “How I wish I could have gone with you!”

  A bright streak shot across the sky and disappeared over the mountaintops. Merewyn caught her breath and slowly let it out. “I wish. . .” She breathed softly, her lips silently forming the words.

  STANSLAV

  Troubled sleep brought no rest. Copper galloped across Merewyn’s dreams to the edge of a towering precipice, swerving at the last minute to evade a shadowy behemoth hurtling past to its death on the rocks below. Then, with Merewyn’s supplies intact, the faithful mare returned to camp. Indeed, during a waking moment, Merewyn thought she spotted the horse beneath a nearby juniper; but a closer look revealed just another of the many rocks dotting the hillside. Sighing, she settled back again and fell asleep.

  She rose at dawn and set out in the direction Copper had fled, hoping against hope that the waterskin and food bag had been cast from the saddle. Finding only tracks, she abandoned the search. If nothing more befell her, she might yet reach Tagenryd within two days. Merewyn returned to camp, retrieved her clothing, purse, and blanket, and continued north.

  A brisk breeze flowed over the land. Merewyn breathed deeply, drawing strength from its invigorating chill. But struggling up a mountainside some two hours later, her energy waned. What a boon Copper had been! Merewyn felt anew her loss and slowed her pace, trying not to think about the nagging thirst now scratching her throat.

  She finally reached the top and stopped for a moment to catch her breath. Despite her precarious situation, she could not help but admire the pristine beauty of this untamed land. The rolling hills—tempestuous golden waves brightly arrayed in greens, reds, and yellows—swept for miles before flattening into placid steppes to the south and west. To the east they sloped gently to Liedor’s verdant pastures. No commerce or industry exhausted this country’s resources or harnessed its winds. Wild, free, and unfettered, the land seemed a rebellious maiden amid an otherwise well-ordered and disciplined world.

  Merewyn crossed the mountaintop. From the opposite slope, she saw only a broad green valley between her and the Alpenfels foothills. Darker green ribbons zigzagging across the valley floor indicated streambeds. She should reach water within the hour and then, after a well-earned rest, she would turn west. Her hope renewed, Merewyn ran down the mountainside.

  She found no flowing streams. By late afternoon the wind had ceased, and an unusually hot sun beat down from the cloudless sky. Barely halfway across the valley she sank to the ground, faint with hunger, so parched that her mouth felt filled with dust.

  I will travel at night. I will find water—and I will reach Tagenryd!

  But first she must sleep. Merewyn fluffed her bag into a pillow and lay down. Only a few short hours remained until nightfall.

  Twilight painted the western sky with dusky hues of purple and red as Merewyn trudged across the valley. The bag did not feel so heavy now, and if she chanced upon a friendly village she might buy food and a horse.

  Softened earth yielded under her weight. Merewyn looked down. Thick mud oozed over the sides of her shoe. She burst into laughter. Water must be very near!

  But relief succumbed to despair. She found no stream or puddles. The ground that had held such promise mocked her now as, with each hopeful step, it hardened and dried. Returning to the mud, Merewyn dropped to her knees and dug. Mere inches down, her fingernails scraped dry soil, and with a cry of frustration she rose and moved to another spot, and then another. Her futile search yielded only ooze and mud atop bone-dry earth.

  Merewyn collapsed, too numb to even cry. She couldn’t die, not yet—not like this. But the hostile land hoarded its life-giving stores, taunting her with promises but delivering nothing. Barren clouds produced no rain. Restless nights awoke to dewless dawns. She heaved a sigh, laying still as her mind began to work. Remaining here meant certain death. But despair and hopelessness robbed her of the strength for even one more step.

  She rocked herself gently, finding comfort in the undulating motion, desiring only to drift into unconsciousness and then eternity.

  Mordarius’ leering visage invaded her thoughts. Merewyn gasped and sat up. She couldn’t quit! She wouldn’t quit! Not now, not without trying.

  “I will not die!” she shouted, raising her hands to the sky. “Lucius Mordarius will see me again—proud, straight, and strong. And I will be the last thing he sees on this earth!”

  Her energy renewed, Merewyn wiped her hands on the grass and rose. Shouldering her bag, she trudged on.

  At daybreak she stopped atop a rocky rise to rest. A handful of pebbles lay at her feet. Merewyn picked one up and slipped it into her mouth, hoping to elicit enough spittle to coat her dehydrated tongue. Already the unforgiving sun had driven away the chill and the cloudless sky promised no relief. Sighing, she tossed her bag to the shadow of a low scrub and lay down.

  Hot wind hit her face. Through a sleepy haze, Merewyn heard heavy breathing, hushed whispers and the crunch of departing hooves on loose shale. She opened her eyes but finding no one, sighed and brushed a hand across her feverish brow. She must have dreamed—or been driven mad by thirst. Slowly she sat up, gaping at fresh hoof prints in the dirt beside her. She caught her breath. She had been visited. A horse must have sniffed her face.

  Groaning, she prodded her reluctant body to its feet and lurched toward the northern slope, stopping where it inclined sufficiently to afford a view of the terrain below.

  A handful of people surrounded two horsemen near a cluster of thatched cottages. One pointed toward her, chattering excitedly. Even at this distance, Merewyn distinguished the riders as mere children.

  No warriors. Just peasants, like me. Dare I hope they would give me water, at least?

  Merewyn glanced down at her once-crisp blue dress, now stained with grime and sweat. Dried mud caked her hands. Her tangled hair hung loose and unkempt. But the villagers looked as dirty and disheveled as she.

  Impulsively Merewyn mustered what spittle she could and spat on her hands, rubbing them together to dislodge some of the dirt. She wiped them on her skirt, smoothed her hair and tied it behind her, then resolutely shouldered her bag and set off.

  The villagers—either very young or very old—watched her advance. Merewyn noted no more than thirty in number. Some twenty horses milled about the fenced enclosure outside the large barn in the center of the huts. A handful of goats and chickens roamed freely, scratching for gleanings among the sparse stubble of what might have been a grain field.

  A woman accompanied by a much older man approached. The green eyes in her tanned and weather-beaten face softened as they regarded Merewyn. “Nu ah halani?” she asked.

  Merewyn hesitated as she looked from the man to the woman and back again. “Do either of you speak the common tongue?”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “You are not of Ha-Ran-Fel. Where did you come from? Where do you go?”

  Even in the common tongue, his speech sounded guttural and abrupt. Merewyn uneasily wondered how much of her situation she should reveal.

  “From Liedor. I’m going to Tagenryd.” Her swollen tongue struggled to form the words. “My horse ran away with my supplies. I wonder if I might buy food and water from you, and perhaps a horse. . .if you have one you could spare.” Even as she finished speaking, Merewyn knew these people could give her nothing. They were destitute themselves.

  The woman looked at the man, who adamantly shook
his head.

  Merewyn drew a shaky breath. “Thank you nonetheless. Perhaps you could tell me how to find the road to Tagenryd.”

  “Is not safe in Tagenryd,” the man told her sharply.

  “I would speak to your king. My father, Jonah Havalseth, once served him as warrior and counselor. He esteemed King Ruelon very highly. Jonah has died and I go—” Her mind reeled. “Please. . .would you give me just a sip. . .”

  The man pointed toward the northwest. “The road follows the foothills, but you’ll not have an easy path.”

  Merewyn nodded weakly. “How far is Tagenryd?”

  He frowned and drew a deep breath, holding it a moment as he pondered. “Easily four days, perhaps five since you have no horse.”

  The world around her darkened. Merewyn put a hand to her forehead, fighting to keep her wits. “Is there a river. . .or a stream. . .”

  The woman turned and shouted something to a tall youth standing nearby who immediately dashed around the corner of one of the cottages. The man rebuked her, but she answered back, her voice rising and falling in a melodic lilt as she gestured toward Merewyn.

  Merewyn ran her tongue across her cracked lips. She opened her mouth, but before she could speak the boy reappeared toting a bulging skin. Big drops of cold, clear water streamed down its sides.

  “We can give you this, at least, and some bread and cheese.” The woman took the waterskin from the boy and offered it to Merewyn.

  Weeping, Merewyn reached into her purse and pulled out two coins. “You have saved my life! Thank you!” She quickly exchanged the gold for the life-giving bundle and took a long drink, stopping only when her bursting lungs fought for air. Gasping, she lowered the waterskin and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

  The man watched her a moment, then turned abruptly and strode toward the village. The woman smiled softly and stepped forward to take Merewyn’s arm. “I am Lido and this—” she nodded toward the man—“is Nava, my father. We will give you provisions for your journey.”

 

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