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

by Sandra Kopp

  “We’ll talk about it on the way to town.” Arris clapped Hans on the shoulder. “Now let’s hitch up and be on our way.”

  Peter Rainer smiled as he handed his customer her basket of groceries. “There you are, Mistress Allen, everything you need for those apple pies. Good day to you now.” Still smiling, he turned his attention back to his ledger, where he and Frederick Ellison settled accounts. Frederick was a tall robust man of about fifty with steel gray hair and calm gray eyes. A thoughtful expression etched into his deeply lined face lent him an air of quiet dignity. His demeanor seldom changed and his mouth, when he smiled, appeared lopsided. While lacking his wife’s flamboyance, he had a pleasant temperament and wry sense of humor.

  The men glanced up as the door opened and Arris and Hans stepped inside. Peter smiled broadly. “Master Marchant, a pleasure. We don’t often see you in town but it’s always good to have you. I see you’ve brought a friend. Who might you be, sir?”

  “Hans Ogilvie, Arris’ wartime confederate, formerly of Garris, now married to the daughter of Arronmyl and living in Rama-Rauth.”

  Frederick regarded him quizzically. “Uncommon name for a Liedoran.”

  “My father hails from Garris, but I bear the first name of my maternal grandfather, Hans Auerbaur of Ha-Ran-Fel.”

  “I know of him,” Frederick returned. “He’s a personal hero of mine, for he persuaded the Horse Lords to forsake their more savage traditions. I can’t fathom the agony of being skinned alive and then have to watch them make trappings out of my sorry hide.”

  “I can’t fathom even doing that to someone. I’m glad the blighters finally listened to reason.” Hans hesitated. “I need a good dagger. Lost mine to a mishap along the road.”

  “Well, I’ve got some right here.” Peter turned and pulled a box off the shelf behind him and set it down on the counter. “Go ahead, take a look.” He watched for a moment as Hans pulled out one knife after another for inspection and then asked, “Rama-Rauth, eh? How fare matters in Barren-Fel?”

  “Well, sir, not the best but I believe that Theodus could alleviate the growing tension with the appropriate measures.” Hans launched into his narrative as Peter and Frederick listened intently.

  “I have to agree,” Peter said when Hans had finished. “Every kingdom except Barren-Fel has been restored to what they had before this all began. Barren-Fel needs that land.” He thoughtfully rubbed his chin. “I will gladly add my voice to yours before the king.”

  “We can’t convene the council,” Frederick put in, “for the younger men will oppose us. However, Peter and I can draft a letter of support for you to present to Theodus. We’ll sign it, as will a number of the others, and the Marchant brothers can add their names as well. When will you leave?”

  “Tomorrow at sunup.”

  Frederick’s mouth twisted to one side. “I will draft it this afternoon and then visit each man that I know will stand with us. My son, my brother-in-law, and his son are also traveling to Langhorn tomorrow. We’ll meet at Cedar’s Junction and you can all ride together.”

  “I would welcome the company,” Hans returned.

  “Good. I’ll give you the document then.”

  “Excellent!” Hans held up a dagger. “This is a fine blade. I’ll have it.”

  “A good choice.” Peter beamed as he took Hans’ money and dropped it into the drawer. “I’ll not see you again before your journey, so I’ll bid you Godspeed now and safety along the way. My thoughts and prayers will follow you.”

  “Thank you, sir, and good day.” Hans turned and followed Arris outside.

  Shortly after sunup the following morning the seven men—Frederick, his son, Joseph, and brother-in-law and nephew, along with Hans, Arris, and Davon—converged at the old grove near the point where the foothills trail met the main road linking Teptiel to Langhorn. Frederick Ellison produced his document and, after reading it, Hans and his companions praised its eloquence. Arris and Davon added their signatures and handed the parchment to Hans, who carefully rolled it up and tucked it into his coat.

  “Thank you for your fine work, Master Ellison.” Hans reached over and clasped Frederick’s hand. “And thank you, gentlemen, for traveling with me. I enjoy good company.”

  “As do we,” Joseph Ellison returned. “Along the way we discussed your errand and have decided to stand with you before King Theodus. A delegation may prove more influential than one alone.”

  Relief flooded Hans’ face. “Gentlemen, I am grateful.” He turned to the Marchants and continued, “I appreciate your care more than words can say. Farewell for now. I will keep you apprised as matters transpire.” He touched a hand to his hat and turned his horse toward Langhorn.

  “Godspeed, Hans,” Davon called after him. “Our thoughts and prayers go with you.”

  “I will send my hawk. Should you require our help, you have only to send word back with him,” Arris added.

  Hans turned and waved. “Many thanks.”

  The Marchants and Frederick Ellison watched as the quartet jogged up the slope and disappeared around the corner. Turning their horses then, they set off toward town. A short way down, they reached another trail winding into the foothills, and here Arris bid his brother and Frederick Ellison farewell.

  Barada jogged smoothly up the steepening slope. Arris smiled to himself. In the company of three strapping fellows Hans would surely travel safely.

  “When I arrive home I will try to reach Angelika. She must have news by now.”

  Arris crested the hill. His home, perched atop a higher hill a mile to the northwest, shone like alabaster against the gray backdrop of Mitrovnia’s lower slopes. A fleeting shadow swept across the terrain before him. Arris cast a wary eye toward the mountain but saw nothing and relaxed. The shadow expanded, darkening the land like an approaching storm. Alarmed, he cast his gaze to the sky. A puffy white cloud too small to obscure the sun drifted overhead. Heart pounding, he faced forward again. “What devilry is this?”

  Nedra’s ghostly voice whispered down the canyons: “Arris. . .”

  Barada thundered across the meadow toward Ramon Marchant’s estate. Arris leaned low on his neck, trying to urge the horse on faster. A single thought filled his mind: He must reach Angelika, and if his parents’ attempts had also proven fruitless, Arris must travel immediately to Aerie.

  The shadow had lifted and the foothills again basked in abundant sunshine. Mitrovnia’s face remained clear. Barada’s strong legs swiftly covered the miles and soon they reached Ramon’s estate. Arris swung out of the saddle as Barada slid to a stop and darted to the house.

  “Father! Mother! I must speak to you now!” He pounded the door, but no one answered. He tried to open it, but found it bolted from inside. Filled with dread, he raced to the back of the house where a large forsythia bush concealed a narrow entry known only to Davon, himself, and Merewyn. This he opened and burst inside. “Father! Mother!”

  He received no reply. Fear heightened to terror as he raced from room to room, searching and calling. He found no one and returned to the sitting room where he stopped, wiping his sweaty face as he tried to think. “Nothing has been disturbed. They appear to have left of their own accord; but why did they say nothing?”

  He shook his head and then made for the door through which he had entered. “I must leave for Aerie at once. Baldimora must grant me an audience and, if not, I shall go to the king. I’ll not leave until I know how Angelika fares and where my parents are.”

  Arris stepped outside, quietly closed the door behind him, and slipped through the bushes to the yard where Barada waited. He quickly mounted and patted the stallion’s neck. “You desire a quest, old friend. Today we begin one.” He clicked his tongue and Barada set off at a brisk trot.

  As they headed toward home Arris scanned the countryside, hoping to espy his parents’ approaching carriage, but the roads remained empty.

  The path curved before sloping gently to the grove of quaking aspen where he had last met
Angelika. Arris’ heart leapt. His lips moved in an Arganian chant. He slowed Barada to a walk and then stopped when they reached the grove.

  “Angelika! Do you hear me? I need your help. Our parents have gone, I don’t know where, and I’ve no idea whether they left of their own accord or if they’re alive or dead. Nedra spoke to me today. Have you been able to reach her? Could she have harmed our parents?”

  Dead silence.

  “Angelika! Please! Give me some sign if you can hear me.”

  She did not answer. Arris threw back his head and cried out. Leaning forward, he dug his heels into Barada’s sides. The stallion jumped ahead and then balked, stopping so abruptly that Arris nearly pitched over his head.

  “Barada—” Arris stopped, dumbstruck, as a patch of air near the edge of the grove thickened. It shimmered and then turned blue. Instinctively he grasped his sword, remembering Ryadok had also enrobed himself in electric blue light. A man’s image appeared within the patch as it glowed, first blue and then white, the colors alternating so rapidly and with such intensity that Arris held up a hand to shield his eyes. Under him, Barada reared and bucked. The patch exploded in a brilliant flash. Arris felt himself suspended in midair for a second before hitting the ground with a jarring thud. His hand flew to his sword as he scrambled to right himself. Barada, snorting and trembling, stood a few steps away.

  A tall, thin man with snow-white hair stood before him. Although advanced in years, he exuded dignity, regality, and power. His flowing blue robe hung in loose folds to his ankles. A gold belt circled his white tunic. He held a white staff topped with a blue glass orb. His hawk-like face displayed a mixture of amusement and hauteur as he gazed down his long nose at Arris.

  Arris caught his breath and slowly rose. The hand grasping his sword fell to his side. “Baldimora!”

  Baldimora dipped his head. “Arris Marchant.” His eyes narrowed as he raised his head still higher. “You fear for your family as a good son should. Never fear. They are all safe.”

  “I have tried to reach my sister. Why hasn’t she answered me?”

  “She suffered a mishap in the Corridor.” Baldimora raised a hand as Arris started to speak. “She is quite safe and in the care of my son, Stefan.”

  “And our parents?”

  “They are in Aerie with Angelika. I brought them to her just today.”

  “You might have told me.”

  “And what could you do? You have your own family to consider, as does your brother.”

  “This mishap in the Corridor: Did it involve Anhuapta?”

  Baldimora sniffed. “Of course it did. We engage no one else these days.”

  Arris’ shoulders sagged. He hung his head. “I brought this upon her. I should have stayed, but I thought—”

  “Indeed. However, you did not, and now any opportunity you might have had to destroy this evil is gone from you. I know you try to reach her, and I know you try to regain your lost power. Cease these efforts, for it shall never be granted you.”

  Arris hesitated and then without looking up, said, “You know both my character and my reasons for leaving Nimbia. King Euratio would have welcomed me to the Order upon my return.” He raised pleading eyes to Baldimora’s face. “I wish only limited power for a short time, just long enough to see this crisis through. Would you grant me empathic capacity, at least—”

  “You want the ability when it suits you and then afterward would cast it aside,” Baldimora broke in. “The power you desire, regardless of its strength, demands total commitment and dedication to acquire the discipline and discernment necessary to function successfully within it. You have lost both. First, your beloved warrior queen and now your son distract you. Second, you refuse to dwell in Aerie among mature Arganians who have learned to harness the power and use it for good. And third, you renounced these powers because you discovered their origin and even now consider them evil.” Baldimora’s voice rose. “Do you understand my dilemma, Master Marchant, in granting you anything?”

  Arris hung his head and slowly nodded. “Yes. Forgive my presumptuousness.” Swallowing hard then, he continued, “Have I no redeeming qualities, that you would consider—”

  “That you possess all the desirable traits for an Arganian post I cannot argue, but you chose another life!” Baldimora thundered. “Rely now on your bow and your sword, as do other mortals when trouble arises.”

  “Anhuapta stalks me.”

  “Assuredly he does, for as an Arganian you did him some hurt.” Baldimora’s voice softened. “But never fear. We do not leave you to face him alone. Yes, you will be tested; but if you are at all the man I believe you to be, you will defeat him even now.”

  Arris raised his head. His eyes misted. “My family is indeed safe?”

  Baldimora smiled. “They are, and your parents will return home within two days.” He held up a hand. “Farewell, Arris Marchant.”

  Arris opened his mouth to speak, but swirling blue light enveloped his former mentor, who disappeared in a brilliant flash. Arris put a hand to his forehead and sobbed.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Late July

  June passed, and most of July. Melinda found that Eldor divided his time between working his fields and attending newly-acquired holdings in the foothills. He rarely came home, claiming the Wyar herdsmen demanded his full attention, and that too much distance divided them, the fields, and the house to warrant travel each day. He refused Melinda’s repeated offers to help him, relegating her instead to the care of the house and yard.

  At first, Melinda had been content. With Eldor away the house remained clean, leaving her free to devote much-needed attention to the yard. She worked tirelessly, clearing weeds and grass, planting bulbs and seedlings acquired from Luwanna Topyl and Gilda Rainer. She bought yarn and spent her evenings sitting cross-legged on the bearskin rug, knitting scarves and capes for the winter. And she learned how to make a torasch, a delectable concoction of creamy pudding and thick sauce made from fresh fruit—usually raspberries—slathered between alternate layers of sweet moist cake and flaky pastry and topped with whipped cream and fresh berries. “Give Eldor a taste of that—that’ll keep him home,” Emma Bryant had told her with a wink.

  Melinda enjoyed the work and felt gratified by the fruits of her labor. She saw her yard blossom and bloom. A goodly supply of beautiful and useful articles filled her linen shelf. She attended teas and quilting bees at area homes. She hosted a tea at her own home, and to her delight reaped endless compliments concerning her décor and beautiful yard.

  But Melinda grew lonely. Braun and Luwanna Topyl, it seemed, did everything together. Braun proudly praised Luwanna’s every accomplishment, and even results that proved unsuccessful. Their mutual devotion only deepened the wound of Eldor’s rejection.

  Early one morning Melinda awoke strangely refreshed. Sunlight filled her tiny bedroom, and the rose-scented breeze and birdsong wafting through the open window lifted her spirits. She yawned and stretched and then threw back the coverlet and sat up.

  It’s going to be a good day!

  Melinda clung to that thought and set about her chores. She cooked eggs for breakfast and then went outside to tend to her yard. A recent rain had soaked her garden. Melinda pulled some weeds and then circled the house. On the opposite side the yard narrowed into a triangular corner heaped with rocks Eldor had discarded from the garden plot. Melinda beamed as the image of a beautiful garden took shape in her mind. For a moment she stood, hands clasped together, and then turned and raced to the barn for a shovel.

  For the rest of the morning she arranged rocks and shoveled dirt, and by noon had transformed the weedy, shapeless heap into a tidy circular, four-tiered rock garden. Without stopping for lunch she transplanted a colorful array from her over-crowded flowerbeds around the house to her new plot. By two o’clock she had finished. Flushed with pride, she wiped her brow and stood back to admire her achievement, so engrossed she failed to notice an approaching wagon.

  “
Beautiful!”

  Startled, Melinda spun around so quickly she almost fell. Braun Topyl, driving a heavily-laden hay wagon, pulled his team to a stop.

  “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to frighten you. This thing makes so much noise I would have thought you’d hear me miles away.”

  “Oh! Braun, no, I didn’t hear you.” Melinda laughed and pressed a hand to her chest. “I guess I was too engrossed in my latest project.”

  “And it is breathtaking! I must bring Luwanna to see it.”

  “Please do! I just need a few minutes to fix some lunch and clean up.”

  “Maybe later, if she feels better.”

  Melinda sobered. “Is Luwanna ill? Can I help?”

  Braun smiled. “It’s—you know.” His smile broadened and he patted his stomach. “Baby.”

  Melinda gasped. “Luwanna’s with child?”

  Braun nodded. “Yes. We’re very happy.”

  “And I am happy for you! Congratulations! I’ll come up if she needs help around the house.”

  Braun sobered and shook his head. “Maybe tomorrow. Luwanna wishes to rest today. I’ll look in on her on my way through. She’ll probably come down tomorrow. If not, I’ll bring you word.” He touched a hand to his forehead. “Good-bye now; and again, your garden is beautiful. Eldor should be pleased.” He chirruped to his team. The wagon lurched forward.

  “Good-bye. Please let me know if I can do anything.”

  Luwanna. . .pregnant. Envy pierced Melinda like a knife. She trudged to the barn and put the shovel away before returning to the house, trying to sort the disjointed thoughts tumbling around in her mind.

  Why does Eldor never touch me? Why would he even marry me if he finds me repulsive, unless he needed a wife simply to obtain that council seat. Why not introduce me to his father? Is Eldor ashamed of him—or of me? I’ve seen Eldor speak to that old white-haired man many times, and from the things they tell each other I suspect that’s his father. How can I bear this? Why should I bear this? I almost wish I had stayed in Garris!