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

by Sandra Kopp

  Nedra’s soft laughter floated from nearby.

  “Treacherous witch,” Marcos hissed. “Show yourself.”

  “Right here, brother, standing before you,” she answered.

  “I see nothing!”

  Indeed, the entire company saw only forest radiating softly in the bough-filtered sun. But as Marcos watched, the air in one ray thickened and then shimmered. A murky figure took shape, and now other figures formed in the air now thickening around their entire circle. The murkiness solidified. The air cleared.

  Nedra, smug and haughty, sat astride the Red Horse. Around her assembled at least a hundred Rauths, and at her right hand—Ian Abuttska.

  “You!” Bertrand tried to lunge, but invisible bonds held him fast.

  Abuttska coolly raised his head and stared Bertrand down. Impulsively he dismounted, strode to Bertrand, and planted a kick in the taller man’s groin. Bertrand grimaced. He tried to groan, tried to buckle, but could do neither. He could only tremble, shedding great tears of pain as Abuttska delivered two more kicks to his injured manhood.

  “Enough now,” Nedra chided. “You shall yet enjoy vengeance to the full.”

  Abuttska snorted, spat a brown stream into Bertrand’s face, then turned on his heel and marched back to his horse. Mounting again, he sat, smirking down at his hapless victim. Bertrand glared back, suppressing his whimpers while desperately struggling to maintain what little dignity remained.

  Charles seethed. This scene, coupled with the Red Horse’s plight aroused in him a desire to kill unlike anything he ever experienced before. Hans Ogilvie, unmistakably the creature’s human component, still bore the bruises, gashes, and welts inflicted only a day before. Cruel thongs bound his arms behind him. A large ring hung from his nose, possibly inserted just hours before, judging from the blood encrusted upon his upper lip and beard. Nedra held the ends of two leather straps, the opposite ends of which were tied to the ring, which she pulled capriciously, keeping Hans’ head high and tilted back. Hans rolled his eyes, trying to meet Charles’ gaze, and during the fleeting seconds he managed to do so, Charles again saw recognition in those anguished, pleading eyes.

  Nedra watched him; Charles could feel it, and despite his best efforts to resist, he shifted his focus to her. Nedra smiled sweetly and stroked one of Hans’ arms. Charles’ blood surged hot within him. If he could have moved, he would have shot an arrow straight through her black heart! But regardless how he tried, his body remained immovable; and Nedra’s smile grew smugger still.

  Charles’ mind raced. There has got to be a way to break this spell!

  “Such an army you are! Your enemy stands before you and none of you does anything.” Nedra alit and sidled to Bertrand. Her eyes traveled down his frame and up again and then she stepped closer and cupped his chin in both hands.

  Bertrand jerked his head back. “Take your filthy hands off me.”

  “Blackguard!” Abuttska vaulted off his horse and stormed toward Bertrand. “How dare you disrespect a queen?”

  “On your horse, knave.” Without turning or taking her eyes off Bertrand, Nedra waved Abuttska away.

  One of the Rauths extended his spear across Abuttska’s path to halt his advance. “Milady,” Abuttska protested.

  “Away! I don’t need you.”

  Abuttska retreated, grumbling.

  “I myself will teach this ponchek some manners!” Nedra’s eyes narrowed. Teeth clenched, she slapped Bertrand with her riding crop and then dug her fingernails into his bearded cheeks and raked them downward. Bertrand tensed and emitted a strangled groan.

  “Now then.” Nedra released him, nonchalantly picked bits of hair and skin from under her fingernails and smiled. Taking Bertrand’s chin in her hands again, she purred, “So, you would ascend my throne.” She stroked sensuous fingertips along his cheeks, across his brow, and down to his chin. “You would rule Barren-Fel. Lofty aspirations for a mere peasant, for a beggar who kills for his keep and hides in the ruins of those he plunders.” She shook her head and clicked her tongue. “Mighty warrior, or so you think yourself. Sly, black fox, cleverly evading the hunter’s snare.” She sniffed. “But look at you now; you can’t even move!”

  Bertrand’s chest heaved. He glowered down at her.

  “Ah, you like my touch?” Nedra gushed. “You enjoy my caresses? Perhaps a kiss?”

  She leaned forward, pulling his face to hers. Bertrand spat, but she leaned aside, evading his spittle, and laid her fingertips over his lips. “Naughty, naughty. You know, I really could enjoy you.”

  Chuckling, she traced her tapered index fingers down his neck and chest and then dropped her hands and cocked her head. “I would see you try to usurp me, valiant one. Yes. I would love to see you try to enter my palace and sit upon my throne. But first—to honor this celebration I announce the reinstitution of a traditional but long-forgotten Barren-Fel ritual.”

  Turning slowly, Nedra raised her arms and surveyed her host. “According to the old traditions we will sacrifice—beginning at Rama-Rauth tonight—and then each and every night afterward to gain the Dark Lord’s favor and his blessing as we reclaim our sacred valley. And then—”

  She dropped her arms and faced her captives, studying them a moment before pointing to Bertrand, Marcos, Benno, Royce and Charles. “These we keep for the final sacrifice—in the courtyard of the Castle of Blood when I—” she tapped her chest —“I ascend my throne as Sorceress of all Epthelion!”

  A resounding shout rose from the assembled Rauths.

  Nedra rested her gaze upon Bertrand, then flashed him a patronizing smile. “Of course, I shall first allow you the chance to dethrone me, for that attempt I simply must see! I shall even restore your full faculties for the occasion.” She turned back to the Rauths and pointed at Bertrand. “Hail the impotent would-be king!”

  Nedra, the Rauths and Ian Abuttska howled with laughter.

  Charles felt sick with dread. Bertrand’s earlier taunts had driven Abuttska straight to Nedra, rather than King Theodus. Even if Theodus arrived now with ten thousand men Nedra would render them all as helpless as Charles and his company.

  If Hans could just break free and break her neck! Maybe that would break the spell.

  But for now, all he could do was pray.

  The Rauths’ laughter continued as they hoisted up their hapless captives and threw them like sacks of flour across their horses’ backs. Charles grunted as his ribs impacted his saddle’s pommel.

  Nedra leapt onto the Red Horse. “To Rama-Rauth!” she cried, and dug her heels into his sides. The startled creature snorted and reared, but she brought her whip down hard across his buttocks, launching him into a full gallop.

  Several Rauths seized the bridles of their captives’ horses and dragged them along. Those that balked received a stinging lash from another Rauth’s whip. Several captives, unable to hold on or even brace themselves, tumbled off onto the rocky ground, only to be thrown back on and their mishap repeated.

  Perhaps Fate will prove merciful and all of us bash our heads open against these cruel stones. I would rather die thus than endure Nedra’s grisly charade, Charles thought grimly. But the Rauths, tired of repeatedly stopping to pick up the fallen, threw them back across their saddles and lashed them tight, holding them fast.

  They maintained a hurried pace, and by three-thirty that afternoon reached Rama-Rauth. Their helpless captives, already battered, bruised, and winded from the choppy ride, they unstrapped and threw to the ground where they lay, still immobile. A smiling Nedra guided her mount among and over them, evidently pleased with her take.

  “No, let them keep their weapons,” she told several Rauths who had begun relieving the captives of swords, knives, quivers and bows. “What greater torment than to have one’s weapons at arm’s reach but not be able to move the arm to grasp them?” Snickering, she rode away.

  Ian Abuttska dismounted and strutted over to Bertrand, spreading his legs apart as he stood over him and opened his pants. Bertr
and stared up at him, fury rising in his face as he realized Abuttska intended to urinate on him and that he remained powerless to evade the insult.

  Meanwhile, Nedra had circled and just ridden past them again when Hans balked. She barked a command and dug her heels into his sides, but Hans tossed his head and began dancing, backing steadily toward Abuttska as he did so. Absorbed in further vengeance upon his nemesis, Abuttska took no notice and Hans, now only a step away, swung his equine hindquarters around, knocking Abuttska to the ground and causing him to wet himself. Nedra cursed, soundly whipping her mount while jerking him toward the village. Blood coursed from Hans’ nose. He clenched his teeth. His powerful legs slowly crumpled and he lowered himself to the ground.

  “Sit there, then!” Snarling, Nedra leapt from his back and swung her whip, raking the lash across Hans’ bare chest before storming away.

  Hans rolled to one side, but before he lay down he turned and looked at Charles.

  Tears sprang to Charles’ eyes. He knows us! Praise heaven, he knows us! I promise you, friend, that your hand shall slay this witch! It cannot end like this. It must not end like this. We shall get free!

  Abuttska, soaked and humiliated, had risen and again stood over Bertrand who, despite his predicament, could not hide his amusement. “You laugh, eh,” Abuttska snarled. “Well, you ponchek; laugh this off!” He cocked his leg, intending to drive his boot into Bertrand’s midsection, but a passing Rauth shoved him aside.

  “Leave it,” the Rauth growled. “Only a coward continually pummels a helpless man.”

  “He pummeled me—” Abuttska sputtered, but the Rauth shoved him again, harder.

  “Go, worthless dog!”

  Another Rauth pointed to a nearby hut. “Proceed to yonder lodge. The woman inside will change you.”

  The Rauths roared with laughter and Abuttska, red-faced, slinked away.

  Nedra moved about the camp, issuing orders and overseeing preparations for the evening sacrifice. “Build the fire there,” she directed, indicating a wide glade at the west end of the settlement. “Set up three stakes; we’ll burn three here tonight and three more each night as we cross Barren-Fel.”

  “Mistress.” A lanky Rauth with a hawk-like nose and red feathers hanging from his ears stepped to her side. “You speak of traveling to the castle. Should we not first drive the invaders from Rauwyar and reclaim our valley? Will that not better serve to secure your throne and establish your role as supreme ruler?”

  Nedra pursed her lips as though pondering and then shook her head. “No. Once we reinstitute the old order we shall garner Anhuapta’s favor and he shall restore our lands without a single Rauth marching to war. All Epthelion will be ours. Those who persecute us now shall be our slaves.”

  She paused, her mouth writhing into a malicious sneer, and waved from the captives to the trees surrounding the glade. “Drag them over and prop them against the trees,” she instructed. “No reason they should not share our revelry. Come, make them feel welcome.”

  Several Rauths sprang to the task and dragged the captives—some by their feet, others by their arms, and an unfortunate few by their necks—across the glade where they slammed them in a sitting position against the trees. Bertrand, Charles, Edwin, and Marcos they placed together, followed by Bertrand’s men, the woodsmen, and finally the Little People.

  Nedra smiled. “I trust you are comfortable, gentlemen. Now. . .until this evening. . .” She blew them a kiss and then strolled to where Hans, arms still bound, lay on his side.

  “What you want done with him, mistress,” a wiry Rauth asked.

  Nedra sighed, lifting her head high to gaze down her nose at the emaciated creature. “He seems content. Let him be.”

  The Rauth grunted. “Looks thirsty to me.”

  Nedra leaned over and studied Hans’ ashen face. “Why, you’re right. Very well, fetch me a waterskin.”

  The Rauth scurried away and soon returned bearing a bulging, dripping skin. Nedra thanked him, took the skin and opened it. She started to kneel but stopped halfway and poured the entire contents over Hans’ head. Hans started, partially raising his head, but laid down again and remained motionless.

  Nedra rose and handed the waterskin to the Rauth. Without a word, she walked toward the village and disappeared among the milling Rauths.

  The captives watched her pass. “Any ideas how to get out of here?” Edwin asked dolefully.

  “If only we could move, at least,” Marcos huffed. “That would give us somewhat of a chance.”

  “Well, we can’t.” Edwin blew out a breath. “I can’t begin to think of a solution. Charles, what about you?”

  “Concerning our present predicament, I have nothing. She wields a sorcerer’s power. We cannot withstand her.” Charles hesitated. “Hans lost much blood, yet she compelled him to carry her many miles at a furious pace without him collapsing. Just minutes ago, however, she seemed unable to control him and he set Abuttska on his back.”

  “For which he’s earned my eternal gratitude.” Bertrand tried in vain to move his arm, or a leg or—something. He groaned in frustration. “Ach! I wish I could wipe that blighter’s filth off me.”

  “Was she unable to force him, or had she simply tired of the game and let things go,” wondered Marcos.

  “I wonder that she didn’t—I mean, consider her damaged dignity, since this happened in front of everyone.” Charles groaned then, for the stub of a broken limb stuck into his lower back and he could neither shift nor lean ahead to ease his discomfort.

  “I doubt her power ebbs,” Edwin said. “For reasons unknown she simply did not coerce him.” He sighed. “Hans is very weak. She may just let him die.”

  The shadows had lengthened. Amid an air of gaiety the Rauths erected three stout poles and piled tinder and branches around them. Others brought additional wood and piled it to the side to use for stoking the flames as the fuel consumed. Another group set up twelve poles, spaced evenly a few feet in front of the trees comprising the glen’s perimeter. The prisoners smelled baking bread and roasting venison. Men streamed from the river, bearing tubs filled with perch and trout. Women emerged from the forest with baskets of mushrooms. Charles’ stomach rumbled, but he could not have coaxed the smallest morsel down his straitened throat.

  Royce managed a grin. “Suppose they’ll offer us supper?”

  Benno sniffed; otherwise, no one answered.

  “I wonder which three of us she’ll burn,” Benno said glumly.

  “I don’t know,” Marcos whispered.

  The shadows pooled into one as the sun settled behind a distant hill. The ominous THUMP-thump-thump of a solemn drumbeat rose amid the huts, accompanied by the lilting song of a wooden flute. A dozen Rauths bearing torches filed into the clearing and fastened them onto the poles erected earlier. Nedra, adorned in a feathered bonnet and cape and carrying an ornately-carved staff, followed and took a position near the middle stake. After her came the flutist and two columns of drummers. The flutist stopped a few steps behind Nedra. The drummers parted, one column moving to the right around the perimeter in front of the captives, the other column moving left. The rest of the villagers assembled among the surrounding trees, clapping and swaying to the music. Ian Abuttska stood with them, taking care to choose a place where Bertrand would see him.

  Still immobilized and utterly helpless, Charles and his companions could only watch. He felt the cold sweat running down his back and prayed his pounding heart would explode and hurtle him into death’s welcoming embrace. Three companions would burn alive, and he deemed watching this horrendous spectacle as unbearable as enduring it himself. Nedra couldn’t have become so heartless. But her black eyes and stony expression lacked compassion or empathy—indeed, she displayed no human emotion of any kind, not even for her brothers.

  Power-drunk, completely possessed and beyond redemption! He pitied Marcos, knowing the rugged woodsman mourned his sister even now.

  Six broad-shouldered, heavily-armed Rauths adva
nced and stood at Nedra’s left. Nedra turned to the flutist and made a slashing motion with her empty hand. The flute fell silent, but the drums’ steady cadence continued. For a moment she studied the ashen-faced prisoners before her. Her shoulders rose and fell. She tilted back her head and then abruptly pointed the end of her staff at Mason, then Robert LeConte and finally, Edwin Greene. A strangled cry arose from the company.

  “No!” Bertrand cried. “Let them go! They’ve done you no harm. It’s me you want. Take me instead!”

  Abuttska put his hands to either side of his mouth and called, “Nah, we’ve got a special rite for you, mate. Sit back and enjoy the show, you bloody skunk. I bloody will, watching your bloody brother cook!”

  The six Rauths seized the condemned men and hauled them to their feet. Incredibly, once upright, their strength returned. Mason jerked one arm free and slammed his fist into the nose of the Rauth on his left, then drove the heel of his heavy boot into the other Rauth’s shin and scraped downward, stomping hard on his foot. The Rauth’s roar of pain cut short as Mason delivered a stunning blow that knocked him unconscious. Mason whipped out his knife and lunged at the Rauths still holding Robert and Edwin, freeing them to join the fight.

  The remaining captives tried to move, but remained paralyzed. For a time it seemed their comrades might prevail and their hopes revived; but a dozen Rauths spilling into the glade overpowered the three and bound them to the stakes.

  “A little entertainment. I trust you enjoyed it.” Nedra smiled at the remaining captives, many of whom sobbed quietly. “Take heart,” she cooed. “The torment lasts but a few minutes, and then their purified ashes shall waft upon the river’s cool waves on their journey into oblivion. What greater honor than to be sacrificed to the all-powerful and beneficent Anhuapta, who graciously rewards his faithful ones! Such a privilege you enjoy. I almost envy you.”

  A ripple of laughter rose from the assemblage.

  Nedra glanced to her left and nodded once. Three Rauths wearing masks and feathered bonnets and carrying torches moved in, each taking a position beside a condemned man. Charles noticed that every flame now flickered unsteadily.