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

by Sandra Kopp

  A short explosive breath escaped Eldor’s open mouth. He stared at the old Wyar a moment, and then burst into laughter. “Work—hard work. Rigor and toil which, I’ll wager, few, if any, Wyars know!” His face hardened. “You think all this was given to me? When will you—” He heaved a short sigh and then waved a dismissive hand. “No matter. That’s all behind me. Now I have only to maintain. You manage the herders and field men well, and that alone relieves my burden.”

  “I am happy to serve.”

  Eldor sniffed. “Tell you what: Come up to my barn when the hay is all in and the cattle moved to the winter pasture. We’ll share a glass of wine.”

  “A glass of wine in the master’s barn. A high honor, indeed.” Angyar dipped his head. “Unless you require something more, I go home to my family. Good night, Master Rand.”

  “Good night, Angyar.” Eldor touched his brow in mock salute, then turned and galloped to his house. Angyar shot him a derisive glance and urged his horse forward.

  At eleven o’clock that night the forty men slipped up the hill to Eldor’s grand estate. Most carried clubs or poles. Five carried brooms. Ten carried bows and quivers of arrows. One had an axe, and another a pitchfork. All carried flints and unlit torches. Halfway up the hill they stopped. Thirty waited while the ten archers broke away and crept along the side of the hill, leading the skinny cur they would use to lure Eldor’s range dogs away from the house.

  Minutes passed. A chill breeze stirred the nearby treetops. The men shivered and pulled their woolen hoods tighter. To the east an owl hooted and then launched itself skyward. Overhead, the glittering expanse stretched endlessly in all directions, its lustrous light undimmed by the shadowed moon.

  Off in the distance the cur yipped. Barks and bays answered from the estate. Six big canine forms bounded down the hill toward the west, where the waiting archers felled them with a barrage of arrows. Their task complete, the archers returned to their fellows and the group stole to the top, taking care not to startle Eldor’s horses as they concealed themselves behind the paddocks and among the soaring pines near the house.

  Despite the nocturnal chill, one upstairs window on the side facing them was slightly open. Marna’s little laughs and shrieks, coupled with Eldor’s long groans of ecstasy, pierced the silence. One Wyar snorted and spat in disgust.

  “Hush!” Angyar rasped. “Just settle yourselves and wait.”

  A half hour passed. The house quieted, but still they waited. Angyar inched forward, hesitated, then nodded to the man next to him. One by one, the Wyars slowly emerged.

  Marna’s squeal, followed by Eldor’s booming laugh, erupted through the open window, and again the impassioned noises of erotic lovemaking assailed the Wyars’ ears.

  “Ponchek!” the man who had spat whispered hoarsely. “Does he never get enough?”

  Angyar motioned him down. “It’s the last pleasure he’ll ever know. Let him enjoy it.”

  After what seemed an eternity the pair quieted. Angyar peered through the darkness. Already much time had passed. The Wyars, while patient, grew edgy.

  The door opened. Eldor, wearing only his boots, stepped out. Head thrown back, broad chest heaving, his hair blowing in the brisk breeze, he strutted toward the pines where at least a dozen Wyars hid.

  Angyar’s breath hissed through his teeth. He sensed his men’s tension and tightened his grip on his own weapon.

  Eldor stopped at a bush near the edge of the trees and, groaning, relieved himself. Inhaling deeply then, he stood for a moment, a lusty young stallion surveying his realm. At one point he seemed to stare through the pines straight at Angyar, who instinctively shrank back. But Eldor turned away and, firing off a flatulent burst, strutted back to the house.

  He might have wondered where his dogs were. But wolves and coyotes roamed these hills, often drawing them from the house. For added protection, however, Eldor kept a large, wolf-like hound indoors. Angyar had prepared for this as well.

  By two a.m. the Wyars had heard no sound for nearly a half hour. Angyar signaled the advance. Grimly, methodically, they surrounded the house and carefully propped their poles against the shuttered ground floor windows to hold them fast—except for one, which Angyar and his brother, Aron, pried open.

  “Where is the hound?” Aron whispered.

  Angyar hoisted himself onto the sill, poked his head through the window, then quickly lowered himself again. “I don’t see it.” He grasped Aron’s sleeve. “I am ready. Light the torches.”

  Aron nodded and, as Angyar scrambled through the window, struck his flint and lit two torches. These he passed in to his brother before climbing in after him. Angyar handed him a torch and together they moved throughout the ground floor, setting fires in every room. Last of all, they dragged the fine carpet from the main room partway up the wide staircase and set it ablaze.

  Fed by rich tapestries, thick carpets, and heavily-oiled wood the fires spread quickly. Within minutes, the men found themselves amid an inferno. Angyar seized Aron’s arm and pulled him down the staircase and through the flames to the still open window, where a number of their fellows pulled them to safety. They fell back, leaving the window open, for no one would escape that way.

  Somberly they watched it burn. Eerie shadows danced amid the light of the bright orange flames licking the frame around the open casement. Thick smoke curled out from the cracks between the shutters and under the heavy oak doors. Angyar circled the house and stared up at the bedroom window where already smoky tendrils floated out into the night.

  Fitful coughing rose above the crackling flames. A hound bayed. Marna screamed. Wracking coughs cut her off, but she found her voice again and screamed louder.

  “Eldor! Wake up! FIRE!”

  Through the window the Wyars saw Eldor leap from his bed. For a moment he stood frozen. His expression changed as awful realization struck. Shouting and cursing, he threw the window open wide and stared out, a wild-eyed specter silhouetted against an eerie orange glow and swirls of thick smoke. Terror-stricken and obviously pregnant, Marna appeared beside him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

  “Help me!” Eldor cried, but fell silent, his shoulders sagging as he recognized those assembled below. Seeing Angyar, however, his defiance returned. Pointing a long forefinger at the wiry herdsman, he shouted, “You murderous traitor!”

  Undaunted, Angyar stepped forward. “This is justice, Eldor Rand, for those you have murdered: For Pharen, Bennie, Stefan, Rafer, Philip Schiff…and for your lawful wife!”

  “Damn my lawful wife!” Eldor bellowed and, seizing Marna, savagely shoved her aside. “And damn you! You’re nothing but a weight around my neck now!”

  Marna stumbled a couple of steps and fell. Eldor turned and leapt through a wall of flame. Marna struggled to her feet and lumbered after him, but the raging heat drove her cowering back to the window. Screaming and crying, she leaned over the sill and, holding out her arms to the silent Wyars, begged for her life.

  Eldor bolted to the room on the opposite side where he kept his weapons. After hastily pulling on a pair of breeches he had snatched in flight, he grabbed a club, broke out the window, and scrambled through. Bracing for the impending impact, he slid down the sloping roof, landed, and fell onto his left side. He leapt to his feet unhurt and, swinging his club, rushed at the Wyars in his path. One he knocked senseless; a second Wyar swung his club and knocked Eldor’s from his hand. Snarling, Eldor delivered a blow to the Wyar’s jaw and ran. Several Wyars swarmed around him. Bellowing and swinging, Eldor fought for his life, bloodying noses and knocking several of his attackers to the ground.

  He bolted for the barn, but had covered barely half the distance when a club across his shoulders knocked him to his knees. Eldor cursed. A strapping Wyar wielding an axe loomed before him. Eldor gaped as the weapon descended. At the last minute he threw himself aside, but his attacker had anticipated the move and the blade found its mark, nearly severing Eldor’s left leg just below the knee. A terrible, hi
gh-pitched scream burst from Eldor’s bulging throat. Whimpering and crying, he began to crawl. Again the axe descended, and Eldor screamed again as the bone in his other leg snapped.

  “Kill me! Kill me now!” he bawled. “You want me dead? Kill me! You want me to suffer? I am suffering! Now kill me!”

  The crowd around him fell back. Three Wyars bearing torches moved in. Broken, bleeding, and cowering, Eldor pleaded, begged, and promised. No one answered. Frantically he searched every face for some sign of pity, but found none. Silently, impassively, they lowered their torches. Eldor’s hair and breeches erupted into flames, and now his screams matched Marna’s in pitch. A herdsman dropped an old cloak across Eldor’s bare chest and stood back as another set it ablaze. Eldor erupted into a living torch. His flesh blistered and blackened as he twisted, bucked, and thrashed amid swirling flames.

  Suddenly he threw himself onto his back. An awful choking gasp gushed from his throat. His spine arched into a grotesque bow. His eyes and mouth gaped, but he saw nothing and screamed no more. His curled fingers, with the flesh dropping off, seemed to claw at the sky. There he froze, never to move again.

  Behind them, the flames consuming the grand house crackled and roared. Even from this distance the Wyars felt its searing heat. Angyar cast a backward glance at the bedroom window. Angry flames leapt out above the blackened form now welded onto the sill over which it had thrown itself. With a groan and a crash, the weakened wall collapsed in a billowing shower of sparks, and with it the charred remains of Marna Rand and her unborn child.

  Hellish specters danced through Arris’ dreams, writhing black silhouettes against a towering wall of fire. Amidst the crackling flames rose screams too terrible to bear, and then an infant’s cry, all swiftly drowned in the demons’ shrieking laughter. The inferno died down, only to explode with such intensity that Arris cowered in its heat. His felt his skin blister and then ignite. . .

  Gulping and gasping, Arris lurched into consciousness and sat up, anxiously groping his face and hands. Finding them whole, he sighed and lay back, staring into the predawn gloom as he collected his thoughts.

  Barada’s shrill neigh broke the stillness. Windrunner answered and then both neighed again.

  Arris rose and felt his way to the window overlooking the western slope. He opened, but quickly closed it again as the pungent odor of smoke met his nostrils.

  Linen rustled as Merewyn sat up. “What’s wrong?”

  “There’s a fire west of us.” Arris crossed the room and retrieved his tunic and trousers from the armoire. “I’m riding over to Rands’. Stay here with Jonah.” He hastily pulled on his clothes and started for the door, almost colliding with Merewyn.

  “There may be danger. I’ll ride with you,” she said.

  “And leave Jonah by himself? No! I’ll not rouse my parents this early to care for him, neither will I risk your safety, for I’ve no idea what transpires. Stay here. No arguments now.” Arris strapped on his sword and leaned down to kiss Merewyn’s cheek. “I’ll be back soon.”

  He hurried downstairs, grabbed his bow and quiver, and headed for the barn.

  Windrunner, with Thunderbolt beside her, paced restlessly about the paddock. In the adjoining pen, Barada stood stock-still, ears erect and nostrils flaring as he stared west. Seeing Arris, he whinnied impatiently and tossed his head.

  Arris unlatched the gate as he passed. The faithful steed followed him to the barn door and waited while Arris retrieved his tack. Swiftly Arris saddled the stallion, leaped onto his back, and galloped past the house and down the western slope toward Eldor Rand’s estate.

  The sky blushed with approaching dawn as Arris topped the neighboring hill. His sweeping gaze noted the empty slope to the north where Eldor’s cattle should have been, and then the column of smoke languidly stretching skyward from halfway down the hill’s west side. Arris turned Barada toward it, stifling a gasp as the grand estate came into view. A row of stately pines partially hid the barn and paddocks, which appeared intact. Beyond that, the ruins of Eldor’s palatial new home smoked like an enormous furnace. Part of its roof and eastern wall had collapsed, and greasy soot blackened its proud white stones. A gust of wind brushing the smoke aside revealed bright orange flames still dancing amid the rubble.

  Urging Barada into a gallop, Arris descended the hill and rounded the trees. He slowed then, jogging past the barn and paddocks toward the house, his focus riveted to the scene before him. His throat tightened as he recalled Angyar’s words: Eldor Rand is a Wyar matter.

  Arris stopped a few yards from the house and dismounted. The ground floor shutters stood open, revealing windows shattered by the searing heat. Inside, a tortured beam groaned and then snapped, its demise followed by the crash of breaking glass and falling stone.

  Arris took a few steps forward. “Hello! Is anyone here?”

  Deathly silence answered. Arris slowly approached, carefully scanning the ground.

  “Strange,” he murmured. “This dirt appears swept clean. Did the wind blow this hard yesterday? I don’t remember that it did but. . .”

  He caught his breath as he spotted something among the wreckage. A charred body curled fetal-like amid a pile of burnt timbers and sooty stones. Arris approached, but paused before reaching it and clicked his tongue. “Marna Glendon.”

  Marna’s belly had burst open, spilling her entrails. Blackened skull replaced her luxuriant blonde hair, and the merciless inferno had transformed her impudent sneer into an appalling mask of anguish and terror.

  “Merciful heaven!” Arris hung his head. “Where is Eldor, I wonder?” He turned away, and as he did so, espied a twisted black form halfway between the trees and house. Arris walked toward it.

  At first glance it appeared merely a piece of architecture expelled by the conflagration. A closer inspection, however, revealed the incinerated remains of what had once been a man. Shiny with dew and distorted beyond comprehension, Eldor Rand lay frozen in his death throes. His spine bowed into a gruesome arch, leaving only his head and buttocks touching ground. His knees were bent and splayed apart, and the serrated ends of his broken shinbones pointed inward at each other. Eldor’s cavernous mouth seemed to scream even now. Eyeless sockets gaped skyward. Scorched bones where his fingers had been clawed at the air. Sickened, Arris put a hand to his mouth and turned away.

  Barada’s whinny drew his attention to the road. A lone horseman approached at breakneck speed. Some four dozen others followed a short distance behind.

  Moments later Davon galloped into the yard and alit. “Arris! What happened here?”

  Before Arris could respond, Sheriff Reid, followed by Eli Rand, Erik Tanner, the McNeils and most of the councilmen arrived.

  The sheriff surveyed the scene in stunned disbelief and then dismounted and strode to Arris. “Do you know what happened? Is anyone else here? Did Eldor and Marna make it out?”

  Arris shook his head. “No, no, and no.”

  By now, the rest of the company had dismounted. Peter Rainer and Frederick Ellison joined the sheriff and the Marchants. The others wandered toward the ruins.

  “I smelled smoke early this morning,” Arris said. “I arrived just minutes ago and found the place as you see it now.”

  Luke McNeil let out a yelp. “Blatherskites! It’s Marna!” He turned aside and vomited.

  Eli Rand rushed to Luke’s side and stared at the corpse, then turned, wild-eyed, toward Arris’ group. “Where is Eldor?” he roared. Storming to Arris, he seized him by the throat and shook him. “Answer me! Where is my son?”

  “Eli.” Sheriff Reid tried to pull him back. Eli released Arris and lunged at the sheriff. Peter and Frederick intervened and, together with the sheriff, managed to subdue him.

  “Eli! Eli! Come on, take it easy,” the sheriff commanded. Eli stopped struggling, but his chest heaved with wheezing gasps. The sheriff turned to Arris. “Did you find Eldor?”

  Arris nodded shortly.

  “Where?” Eli bellowed.

&n
bsp; Arris gestured toward the spot. “Over there. But I beg you, sir, prepare yourself.”

  Before Arris could finish, Eli shoved the sheriff aside. He marched toward his son’s remains, but stopped a few steps short and turned, his eyes black and alien in his ashen face. “Not this,” he croaked.

  Arris hung his head and whispered, “I am sorry.”

  Unspeakable horror filled Eli’s face. Turning back to his son, he raised his fists and appeared to cry out, but no sound came from his gaping mouth. His body convulsed violently and then froze. For a moment he stood and then, as rigid as stone, fell onto his left side.

  “Master Rand.” Arris raced to Barada, seized his satchel of powders, and then bolted to the stricken man. Kneeling down, he felt for a pulse which, although weak, still remained. Arris patted Eli’s cheeks. “Master Rand.” He received no response. Eli Rand had become as lifeless as his son.

  Swiftly Arris pulled his satchel open, retrieved a pouch and poured some powder into the palm of his hand. “Does anyone have water?” he asked.

  Sheriff Reid offered his waterskin. Arris made a paste in his hand and pressed it to Eli’s mouth, to no avail. Eli’s eyes turned glassy. His breathing grew shallow. An expression of indescribable terror twisted his face and with a final anguished gasp, Eli Rand shuddered into eternity.

  Arris sat back and shook his head. “He’s gone.”

  “Just as well.” The sheriff sighed heavily as he stared down at Eli. “He couldn’t have lived, not after seeing his boy like this.”

  “What do we do about this, Sheriff?” Jim McNeil snarled.

  “The council and the sheriff will investigate,” Peter answered. “The rest of you, return to your farms.”

  “Return to our—” McNeil marched over to Peter and jabbed a finger to his chest. “Now, see here.”

  Peter’s eyes blazed as he pushed McNeil’s hand away. “You will not touch me in that manner again.” His voice rose. “Hear this, all of you. We will tolerate no action based on idle speculation or rumor. The authority Sheriff Reid gave you after those Wyar executions is hereby revoked. If any of you takes any action whatsoever, we’ll throw the lot of you in the stocks, and I don’t care if there’s a raging blizzard or searing heat when we do it!”