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

by Sandra Kopp

  “And here are the tracks of two men. Angyar rode alone.” Ramsha stared around the spot and then squinted up the mountain. “The beast escaped and must have taken the carcass with him. Whose blood is this, I wonder?”

  Riko shrugged. “Possibly the beast’s. He may have attacked the horsemen and they slew him and carried him off. Bears make a good feast, as well as a soft rug.”

  Risa shook his head. “They could not have carried a beast so large. They would have had to drag it and I see no such evidence.”

  Riko studied the ground and bobbed his head toward the east. “Horses went this way, possibly minutes ago, for the tracks are fresh. One came off the mountain there.” He pointed to where Aron had descended the mountain and then turned to indicate the tracks along the road left by Maracca when she fled. “Here are others, and still more over here.”

  “Well. . .” Ramsha rose and waved a hand. “These may have been Liedoran hunters who made a kill.” He paused, and then smirked, “I may ask Angyar, just to see his reaction.” He turned to his horse and with some effort hoisted himself into the saddle. “Keep a sharp eye out for beasts. I believe Angyar is camped just north of Rauwyar. Let’s find him, in case he was injured and needs help. Mostly I wish to discover his little scheme. His secrecy borders on sneakiness, and that concerns me.”

  His sons mounted their horses and the trio galloped away. Angyar heaved a quiet sigh, grateful they had not discovered—and followed—the tracks he and Aron left ascending the slope. He waited until their hoofbeats faded and then leapt into his saddle and headed up the mountain, the relief he had felt replaced by disgust. “Sneakiness, eh?” he huffed.

  But foreboding settled over him. He had never ventured up this hill before. Named Beyelor (Forbidding) by the nomadic Horse Lords, it stood higher and steeper than its neighbors. Trees robed its flanks to about halfway up before giving way to bare stone crowned by soaring cliffs. Angyar stared at the summit with a mixture of dread and expectation. For two weeks he had tried unsuccessfully to locate the cumah’s lair. Beyelor’s forbidding peak with its rocky labyrinth seemed most appropriate for such a beast.

  If you find him, what then, his conscience mocked. Will you upbraid him for killing Jovah? Will you warn him to behave himself? Will you demand restitution? Might you protest he has betrayed your trust?

  Angyar clenched and unclenched a clammy fist. His mouth felt dry. Little by little, the realization of what had occurred soaked in, leaving him cold and filling him with a fear he had never felt before.

  “Jovah should not have followed, neither should Aron have urged him,” he muttered. “The fault is partly theirs. I did not wish Jovah dead—only that he turn back.” But his heaviness increased, leaving him feeling as guilty as if he himself had dealt the fatal blow.

  And Ramsha’s spying increases my burden. I should have. . .Why does he not. . . Ah! More pressing matters beckon. I will deal with the liar and his motley brood later.

  Angyar shook off his trepidation and pressed on.

  The hill steepened. Flat slabs of lichen-covered rock provided precarious footing. Angyar dismounted near a lone pine some distance below the summit and tied Patuka before plodding to the apex.

  For what seemed an eternity he climbed until, puffing and wheezing, he finally topped the peak. A massive and precipitous wall of rough black rock guarded the opposite rim. Part of it had collapsed, spilling rocks and boulders of all sizes across the windswept terrain. Angyar stopped to catch his breath while he studied the rocky maze scattered in front of stern cliffs that glowered over the desolate landscape. The entire mountaintop looked as if it had been forged in hell and, when the devil himself could no longer abide it, spewed from the abyss in a shower of charred rubble.

  Fearsome place. Perfect for a fearsome beast.

  Angyar inhaled deeply and resumed walking, choosing his steps carefully among the scree. After several feet he rounded a large domed rock and spied a scrub pine some twenty paces ahead standing amid a tall boulder split into quarters. A dark-haired man lounged on one of the pieces, calmly watching Angyar’s approach. His appearance so startled the old Wyar that he lost his balance and had to clutch the rock to recover his footing.

  The stranger seemed to chuckle, although he made no sound, and nonchalantly waved to Angyar to join him. He was young—probably close to Jovah’s age—lanky but muscular, and clad in blue trousers and a tan vest. Coarse black hair tumbled to his shoulders in loose waves and a thin mustache shaded his upper lip.

  “Welcome, my friend,” the youth called. “Come, sit.”

  Angyar fixed him a quizzical stare and cautiously approached. The stranger settled back, hands folded behind his head, watching Angyar through half-closed eyes. Angyar made his way to a lichened boulder a few feet from the stranger and sat down. “I’ve not seen you in these parts before,” he said. “Who are you and where are you from?”

  The stranger smiled. “From far away—and yet from very near.” His smile widened. “You seem frightened, friend.”

  “A stranger’s appearance and losing a comrade under mysterious circumstances makes me wary.”

  The stranger sat up; and then, to Angyar’s horror, a long, pointed tongue snaked out of one corner of his mouth and then across his lips. Angyar felt his skin crawl.

  “Ah, yes,” the stranger said. “The impulsive lad on the speckled pony. Tragic.” He folded his arms across his chest. His expression hardened. “And yet, how much does his death truly distress you, Angyar?”

  Angyar paled, stunned such that for a moment he could only stare. “What do you mean?” he blurted finally. “He was like a son! And how do you know my name? Who are you?”

  “Your mourning at his burial seemed more pretense than true grief.”

  “My feelings are my own and I grieve in my own way. You can be sure that even now I feel distress beyond words. Now I ask you again: Who are you? How do you know me?”

  “Come now. This past fortnight we’ve observed each other many times.” The stranger’s stare intensified. His voice deepened. “Don’t you recognize me, Angyar?”

  Angyar dumbly shook his head.

  “Take a good look.” The stranger’s eyes took on a reddish glow as he leaned toward Angyar. His form shimmered slightly and Angyar saw, like a wavy aura surrounding him, the shaggy fur and wolfish face, and the faintest outline of a hump atop his shoulders.

  Angyar recoiled. Cold sweat beaded his brow and trickled down his face. His heart pounded so hard its thudding resounded in his ears. “Cumah?!”

  The beastly vestiges vanished. The stranger smiled. “You see? I am no stranger, after all.”

  Angyar gasped and pointed a trembling forefinger. “You are. . .you are a. . .an Anathahite—a shape shifter!”

  The stranger twisted his mouth and bobbed his head from side to side. “Aye. That’s what some call us.”

  “What is your name?”

  The stranger shrugged. “Call me Cumah.”

  Angyar’s head spun. Groaning, he slid to the ground and knelt, leaning his head forward to keep from fainting.

  “Come, come, Angyar,” Cumah chided. “Be a man. Get up.”

  Chest heaving, Angyar took a few deep breaths, and gradually his dizziness passed. Still pale, he hauled himself to his feet and lowered himself upon the rock again. “I have to know,” he wheezed, “did you kill Jovah?”

  A bemused smile crossed Cumah’s face. “He was quite delicious. Young, tender, sweet. A worthy sacrifice.” He noted Angyar’s twisted face and continued, “Although he was already nearly dead when I found him I did not want to distress him further and so did not appear in the beast’s form.” Cumah absently waved a hand. “Instead, I presented myself as the young fair-haired chap now dwelling among us. A difficult guise, but I managed it long enough to put the lad at ease until I broke his neck. Next I took the creature’s form and devoured the sacrifice. Mmm!” Cumah smacked his lips.

  Angyar winced. “Sacrifice!” he croaked. “You consid
er him a sacrifice!? I thought we shared a bond, a mutual respect, not a. . .a. . .”

  “Of course we do.” Cumah’s smile abruptly vanished, replaced by a dark scowl. “I know what you want of me, Wyar: To appear to the Liedorans in Rauwyar as a superlative beast, a monster whose very name puts them to flight. You ask much.” The scowl darkened into a searing, penetrating stare that shook the old herdsman to his core. “What are you willing to give in return?”

  For a moment Angyar could not speak. He struggled to find his voice and finally stammered, “You killed an innocent lad!”

  “You killed him, Angyar. Not me. Hungry for power and hoping to prove yourself more cunning than the sorceress, you opened yourself to the dark powers. Anhuapta deemed you a worthy slave and granted you a sentient aura which reads your thoughts and executes your secret desires. This aura saw Jovah following. Of course, you only wished to turn him back with a good scare and a boot to his arse. Having originated in the serpent’s lair, however, your aura not only knew what you wanted, but what was needed to set your plan in motion. It provided me the needed sacrifice to begin what you ask.” Cumah raised his brows and cocked his head. “Did you not feel power flow out behind you?”

  Angyar stared, bug-eyed, trying to swallow the lump forming in his throat as he remembered the surges of heat radiating off his back. He had thought nothing about them at the time; the sun was hot that day. And yes, he saw Jovah following; but in his haste to meet the approaching Wyars Angyar simply plowed ahead while wishing Jovah elsewhere, even as he acknowledged that Jovah’s presence caused no harm.

  Cumah’s eyes glittered like glowing embers. “And did you not see the lad pulled off his horse and dragged after you?” he prodded.

  Angyar’s heart plummeted. He had indeed possessed awareness of the bouncing, flailing figure of a man trailing behind, even though he faced the road ahead and had never looked back. It had seemed a vision, an errant thought. Angyar had cast no cord around his friend’s neck.

  But the demon did. . .and Jovah died.

  Angyar’s lower lip quivered. Hot tears rolled down his cheeks. He hung his head, unable to hold it up under the unbearable burden of shame this revelation heaped upon him. “I did not wish his death,” he whimpered.

  Cumah’s voice softened. “None of us want to die. But we’re at war, my friend; and even during peacetime death is part of life. And how many of your people have already willingly sacrificed themselves for a loved one?” He paused and regarded Angyar for a moment. “You have power, Angyar. Only take care how and against whom you use it. Guard every thought, lest it become a word or deed that sets in motion events that cannot be stopped or altered.”

  Guard every thought. Angyar drew a shaky breath. How many times, in a fit of anger or petulance, had he wished harm to another, even while never intending to inflict the harm? His private thoughts, known only to himself and never acted out or expressed, had never harmed anyone.

  Until now.

  Now he must watch every thought, every word. Everyone succumbed to passion once in a while and said or thought things in the heat of a moment, only to repent of them later. If he understood Cumah’s words correctly, however, Angyar had no space to repent. How could he possibly maintain the control needed to prevent further calamity?

  A valid contract required a meeting of the minds, something sorely lacking here. The serpent had never manifested itself. Angyar had not knowingly accepted his power. He had been tricked, thus there was no contract. But contract or no, Jovah was dead and nothing could bring him back. Jovah must not die in vain. If Cumah considered Jovah a sacrifice, Cumah must now perform his part and drive the Liedorans from Rauwyar.

  Angyar mustered his waning courage. “You ascertained aright what I hoped from you, and you have received your blood sacrifice. Are you now ready to perform this task?”

  “I received one blood sacrifice.” Cumah held up a long forefinger, the nail of which resembled a claw. “How many Liedorans reside in the valley?”

  The color drained from Angyar’s face. “You cannot mean—”

  “A life for a life. One Wyar for each Liedoran.”

  “I don’t want the Liedorans killed,” Angyar rasped. “I only want them believing that a creature more fearsome and invincible than Baugonril prowls Rauwyar so that they simply flee!”

  Cumah snorted. “You pride yourself on knowing your enemy and yet underestimate them so contemptibly! They will not flee. Nay, they will band together, even rally forces from outside the valley against me. Only death will rout them, and even then others will come to occupy what the dead ones left.”

  Angyar put his head in his hands. “I did not knowingly take this power. I never saw Anhuapta. There must be another way.” He looked back at Cumah, now sitting tall and proud atop his rock. Cumah’s eyes gleamed red, his long hair streamed in the wind. His pleasant demeanor had given way to savage barbarism.

  Angyar straightened and took a deep breath. “I cannot accept your terms. I release you from this task and relinquish all ties with you.”

  Cumah chortled. “Really? Angyar, Angyar. You gave me a deer; I brought you the heart, which you accepted. Now you generously provided a human sacrifice, which I accepted. This cannot be reversed. Our souls are intertwined.”

  “Jovah was no sacrifice,” Angyar shouted. “I did not know you were anything other than a wild beast. I did not know I wielded power; it was thrust upon me privily! There was no agreement—only trickery. I’ll not have it! I will not be bound! I renounce Anhuapta and his cursed power. Cumah, our association ends here and now! Go away and never come back!”

  Cumah smiled and shrugged. Without rising, he launched himself off the boulder and landed inches from the rock where Angyar sat. “Angyar, my friend,” he said amiably, clapping the old Wyar on the shoulder, “I perceive you hold a very. . .” he paused, waving a hand as he groped for a word, and then continued, “. . . contemptuous opinion of others and an exalted opinion of yourself. You think you can lord it over people and manipulate the circumstances to fit your schemes. You consider yourself clever, and you are. But. . .you are not the master you think yourself. It’s time you learned some humility. Here, let me show you something. Observe.”

  He withdrew from Angyar a few steps. His form blurred and pulsated and then, in a flash of white light, the cumah appeared. Panic seized Angyar as the beast grew in stature to six feet tall on its four legs. Baring its fangs, it loosed a roar that echoed through the foothills and reverberated off the Alpenfels.

  Angyar cringed and stopped his ears. A tall pile of rocks behind Cumah caught his eye, close enough he thought he could scramble to it. But before he could move, Cumah faced the tree under which he had sat in the lad’s form and belched a stream of fire that not only incinerated the tree but inflamed the rocks twenty feet beyond and ten feet on each side. Even after the fire ceased the heat radiating off the scorched stones felt like that of a furnace.

  The beast faced Angyar, who could only gawk at this otherworldly presence devoid of mercy and emanating pure evil. For less than a minute they stood thus and then, without another sound, Cumah turned and bounded into the cliffs.

  The sun had dipped low in the western sky, and the lengthening shadows crept between rocks glowing orange in the waning light. The hapless pine, reduced to a fragile, glowing stalk, crumbled into weightless ash that wafted skyward in the wind, leaving its place in the rock black and empty. Angyar slumped to the ground and clung to the unforgiving stone, so shaken he could not stand. He wanted to cry, wanted to scream; but only an alien-sounding squawk issued from his straitened throat.

  What have I done!? What have I done!? What have I done!?

  The words beat into his brain like a drum. His shoulders shook with quiet sobs as he rested his forehead on his hands.

  After several minutes he collected himself, swallowing hard to choke back his sobs. Even now there must be a way. He would not cave in to despair. He would not. . .

  He lifted his head and
squinted for a moment at the sliver of sun still visible above the darkening horizon. Then, mind reeling and body quaking, he somehow found his feet and propelled them forward, lurching like a drunkard down the mountain.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Angyar spent a sleepless night. Having reached his horse and unable to travel further, he huddled against the tree to which he had tied her and wished himself dead. His mind held but a single thought: He had slain a dear friend and delivered the rest of his people to slaughter. That realization nearly killed him.

  The hours crawled by. Angyar’s hands and feet numbed and then ached. He made no effort to assuage them. His back hurt. He did nothing to ease his discomfort. The alpine chill settled over him, damp and clammy. Instinctively he huddled closer to the tree but did not rise for his poncho, which he had strapped behind his saddle. Throughout the night he sat, sleepless, staring mutely into the darkness, unaware of his own thoughts.

  The stars began to fade and he soon discerned Beyelor’s stern peak against the lightening sky. Dawn approached. Only then did Angyar shift his weight, wincing and groaning as hot, needle-like pain shot through his tingling extremities.

  Patuka nuzzled his shoulder, nickering softly. Angyar managed a smile and reached up to stroke her velvety muzzle. “Brave girl,” he whispered. “We survived the night, eh?”

  Patuka rubbed her head on his arm. Angyar scratched her ears. “You need water, don’t you?”

  Patuka nickered louder and tossed her head.

  Angyar stretched, groaning again as the tension eased from his body. He flexed his feet and rubbed his hands to restore the circulation and then coaxed his aching body to rise. That done, he sucked in a deep breath and blew it out again.

  “A new day, eh, Patuka. Today we—” He broke off, swallowing hard as he patted her burnished neck. He wanted to believe yesterday’s events had never happened or that this day would produce the resolution to his dilemma. He wanted to believe Jovah could live again. But he had no such assurance; only the grim reality that he had lost a good and trusted friend and would likely lose many more.