by Lee Bezotte
The man from the north maintained eye contact with the slaver but observed the Malitae and his restless companions the best he could. He resisted the urge to keep his hand close to his sword as he spoke. He also did his best to keep his iron fist hidden. “I intend to purchase her,” he announced.
Tcharron raised an eyebrow and scratched his jaw. Looking Dulnear up and down, he said, “Purchase her? What do you mean by that?”
Dulnear tried to keep the sarcasm from his voice as he answered, “I would like to give you money in exchange for this slave.”
The slaver shook his head, then glanced at the others at the table. With a caustic grin, he asked, “And what are you prepared to give me for this used-up runaway?”
The man from the north retrieved one of the leather pouches from the inside of his coat. It was more than enough to pay for multiple slaves. He set it on the table in front of Tcharron. “This should suffice,” he said confidently.
Tcharron opened the pouch and examined its contents. His eyes grew wide for just a moment before his face turned serious. “Pursuing a runaway slave is expensive,” he said. “And the Malitae do not work cheap. How do you plan to make that right?”
Dulnear produced another bag of coins and placed it on the table. “This should more than cover your expenses,” he said. Then he placed a third leather pouch on the table and added, “And this is for your man that I killed. I deeply regret that. I hope this helps in making up for the loss”
Tcharron swallowed hard as he looked at the silver and gold in front of him. The men seated at the table stared greedily and whispered to each other. Finally, the slaver started to laugh. “I accept your payment for the old strumpet. You, however, are perhaps the dumbest man in all of Aun. On the night you came in here, you should have just walked away. She is not worth all of this.”
The man from the north noticed that Faymia was hanging her head, trying to inconspicuously wipe a tear from her cheek. He looked at Tcharron squarely and exclaimed, “She is worth it to me.”
“Very well,” the slaver said. He whispered something to the man sitting next to him and he produced a parchment. After signing it, he said, “Here are her papers. She’s yours to do with as you please.”
Dulnear stuffed the scroll into his coat and gave a final stare toward Tcharron before nodding and turning toward the door. As he and Faymia were stepping out of the pub, he could hear the group of men explode in raucous laughter. He gritted his teeth and continued out into the street, resisting any temptation to give the slavers what they deserved.
When the two of them were several paces down the road and away from the tavern, a voice called out, “Northerner!”
Dulnear peered back and was surprised to see the Malitae warrior standing in the street. His muscles tensed, and he stepped in front of Faymia. “What do you want?” he called back.
As the southern warrior approached him, the man from the north could see that he was carrying a familiar weapon. The Malitae handed him a large sword. It was the one he had used for most of his life. He had lost it in the Fuar River and believed he would never see it again. His mouth fell open and he uttered, “Thank you. How did you recover it?”
The man said nothing in response to the question. Without expression, he turned around and began walking the way he came. Dulnear watched him and, to his surprise, he didn’t return to the tavern. Instead, he continued to walk south until he was out of sight.
Dulnear and Faymia were out of the village and almost to the clearing where Son was waiting. The man from the north stopped in the road and placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “How are you faring?” he asked.
The woman swallowed and looked up at him. “I feel strange,” she said. “I fear that I am going to wake up and discover that all of this is a dream.”
“This is very real,” Dulnear assured her. He then pulled the slave papers from his coat and opened them. After quickly reading them over, he rolled them up and handed them to her. He also gave her one of the pouches of gold coins. “You are free, Faymia. No man owns you, and you can do anything your heart desires.”
The woman grasped her cloak just below her neck and gasped, “I don’t know what to say! It’s been so long. I owe you my life.”
“You owe me nothing,” the man answered. “If not for you, I would have died on the road to Blackcloth. You have saved my life in more ways than one.”
“But,” Faymia stammered, “what my heart desires most, more than anything, is to be with you.”
Dulnear’s stomach felt funny, and he felt a strange tingling on his skin. “I would like that very much. But not because you feel obligated or—”
“I love you,” the woman interrupted. She then blushed deep pink and looked down.
The man from the north froze. His heart was warm and happy. Finally, he drew closer to his friend, lifted her chin, and kissed her lovely, soft lips. Their kiss became an embrace, and he lifted her off the ground as they wrapped their arms around each other. “And I you,” he said before gently returning her to the ground.
The two stood there, looking into each other’s eyes. “How could you love someone like me?” Faymia asked.
Dulnear smiled and thought for a moment. “As I told you before, I have very high standards,” he answered.
The woman returned his smile and hugged him again. “You are my Layoak,” she said with a smile.
“Layoak? How do you know that word?” the man asked. “It is northern speak for hero.”
“Aesef taught it to me,” she said. “And that is what you are.”
Dulnear chuckled. “Well, this Layoak is ready to go home,” he said, and the two of them made their way back to the waiting Son and their horses.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE DANCE
Dulnear, Faymia, and Son rode up to Aesef’s house to find Maren sitting on the donkey with a book. “They’re back!” she yelled before sliding off the animal and running inside, slamming the door behind her.
The three travelers looked at each other. “I guess she went to find Aesef,” Son observed as he dismounted his horse and began to unfasten his saddlebag.
Dulnear and Faymia came down from the wagon. As they were gathering their things, the door of the house swung open. Maren had Aesef by the hand, pulling him outside with all of her might. “I’m coming!” the farmer assured her as they rushed to welcome their friends.
The man from the north knelt on one knee and the young girl threw herself into his arms. “It is wonderful to see you again!” he exclaimed as she squeezed his neck tightly.
Maren leaned back and looked the man over. “You still have a metal hand,” she said.
“Yes, I do. I do not believe I will be getting my old one back,” he replied with a grin.
“Did you smash things?” she asked, swinging her fist.
“Yes, I did,” he answered. “It is very good for that.”
“Good!” she said, and ran over to Faymia, who crouched down to hug her. After gripping the woman tightly, she looked intently at her eyepatch. She gently touched the edges of it and asked, “What happened to your eye?”
“It was injured in Tuas-arum,” the woman answered. “Son made this patch for me.”
Maren smiled widely and declared, “It’s neat!” She then ran to the boy and cried, “Son!”
The boy picked Maren up and she wrapped her arms and legs around him as he held her tight. “I missed you,” he said.
“I missed you,” she returned. “Aesef gave me a new book.”
“Do you like it?” the boy asked.
“Uh huh,” she replied as she rested her head on his shoulder. “It’s about pirates and magic ships.”
“I’m glad,” he said. “I can’t wait for you to tell me all about it.”
“Okay,” she said, then paused for a moment. “Son?”
“Yes?”
“Could you make me an eyepatch like Faymia’s?”
“Of course,” he said with a chuckle, a
nd set the girl down.
Aesef walked over and embraced the man from the north. His nose was red, and he looked as if he had been holding back tears. “I’m relieved to see you,” he said.
“It is finished,” Dulnear replied.
“All of it?”
“Yes, Faymia is free now. My home is with her and the children.”
The tear that Aesef had been trying to hold back escaped, and he smiled so wide that it looked like it would never fade. “Praise the Great Father!” he exclaimed. “Maren and I prayed for you every night.”
“Thank you,” Dulnear said.
Aesef then hugged Faymia and asked, “How does it feel?”
The woman teared up as she looked beyond the farmer in thought. “It’s going to take some getting used to but it’s wonderful beyond words.”
“And so are you,” the old man said. He then turned toward Son. “And you, loyal young champion, how was your journey?”
“Dulnear had a mansion,” he answered. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Then he burned it down”
The farmer’s eyebrows shot up. “Burned it down, eh? I suppose that’s one way to keep your eyes on the road ahead of you,” he said. “I’ll bet you didn’t know that your friend was a nobleman, did you?”
“I guess not,” the boy said.
“Never judge a book by its furry cover,” Aesef said, laughing. “And don’t worry about the house. Mansions do not make one noble. Acts of sacrifice, like the ones Dulnear made, are more noble than all the land and wealth in Aun.”
The old man then turned his attention back toward Dulnear. “How did Tapp and Mor do for you?” he asked.
“They are exceptional beasts,” the man from the north answered. “Strong and swift.”
“Good. I want you to keep them,” the farmer said.
Dulnear’s eyes widened as he protested, “I cannot take your horses. I am just as happy on my feet.”
“I insist,” Aesef said. “It is a long walk to Laor, and you can use them on your farm.”
Conceding, the warrior answered, “I could never repay you for all of your kindness.”
“It is completely my pleasure,” his friend beamed.
Dulnear’s demeanor then suddenly shifted. His mouth became dry, and he scraped his hand through his hair. He lowered his voice and said, “Before you offered me the horses, I was going to ask a favor of you.”
“Anything, my friend,” the farmer said.
The man’s voice got even quieter, and he leaned in so no one else could hear. “I would like to have a wedding before returning to Laor.”
“A wedding?” the farmer said as he jerked his head back.
“Yes,” the man from the north said as he swallowed, trying to return some moisture to his mouth. “I intend to ask Faymia for her hand in marriage.”
“When?”
“Tonight,” he answered. “After dinner.”
Aesef smiled thoughtfully and rubbed his chin. “I know a friar, and I can have Phel prepare the barn. Does that sound adequate?”
“More than adequate,” Dulnear answered. “You are a true friend.”
“One question. Do you have a ring?” the farmer asked.
The man from the north raised an eyebrow and discreetly produced a ring from his coat pocket. “It was my mother’s,” he explained.
Aesef quietly chuckled, “It’s a bit large for her wee finger. Don’t you think?”
“I suppose you are right,” Dulnear said. “Perhaps I can place it on her big toe.”
“You just keep that in a safe place,” the farmer laughed. “I think I have just the thing.”
Dulnear smiled in appreciation, realizing the absurdity of his idea. “Thank you,” he said. “I am just a bit nervous. I am not very knowledgeable about the ways of love.”
“It is indeed a lifelong education,” Aesef said. “But I think you’re off to a good start.”
After dinner, Dulnear and Faymia slipped outside while the others tidied up. An unusually warm breeze gently blew over them, carrying the scent of nearby wildflowers. They walked away from the house together but didn’t go far, since the light from the inside was the only thing keeping their surroundings from being completely dark.
“I think Maren is quite taken with you,” the man from the north observed.
“She’s lovely,” Faymia said, smiling. “Quirky and honest.”
Dulnear chuckled, “That, in part, is the graymind. I do not believe she is capable of being dishonest about her opinions. I hope you did not take offense to her eyepatch.”
“None at all,” the woman said. “She looks adorable in it, and she plays a proper pirate.”
“I agree,” the man said. He continued to make small talk, trying to find a natural way to transition to the question of marriage. “So, are you looking forward to journeying to Laor?”
“I’m a bit weary from traveling,” she answered honestly, “but I am looking forward to seeing where you and the children live.”
Dulnear realized that the moment he had at present was probably going to be the best he was going to get. His left hand was sweaty, and he wiped it on his coat before taking Faymia’s hand. They stopped walking and he looked at her. As he did, the whole earth seemed to be spinning around him and a strange dizziness threatened to disrupt his footing. Her face was lovely, but seemed to move closer and further away as he looked at it. “Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yes. Why do you ask?” he said, squinting in a peculiar manner.
“It’s just that you look ill,” she said.
It dawned on Dulnear that his expression may have given away the nervousness he felt, and he now wished that he would have walked her further into the darkness before taking her hand. He tried to swallow but his mouth refused to cooperate. He cleared his thoughts and began, “Faymia, you know that I love you. You are dearer to me than you will ever know. You are my Elayainn, the warmth in my heart. Will you travel to Laor with me as my bride?”
Faymia smiled. All of the lines she normally wore on her face seemed to disappear, and a tear slowly made its way down her lovely face. “Oh, my Layoak, you know that I will,” she said.
The two stood and stared at each other for quite some time. Finally, Dulnear remembered something. “Oh, I almost forgot,” he said. Then he knelt on one knee and took a ring from his pocket.
Faymia’s eyes lit up and she held out her hand as her friend placed the ring on her finger. “It’s beautiful!” she exclaimed. “Where did it come from?”
“It belonged to Aesef,” the man from the north explained. “His love wore it, and he wanted us to have it.” He then stood and hugged Faymia. “I am so grateful for you!” he exclaimed.
“And I you,” the woman gushed.
Suddenly, a small voice could be heard calling out from the house. “Hey! Have you done it yet?” Maren shouted, wearing an eyepatch identical to Faymia’s.
The couple laughed and Dulnear called back, “Yes, I did it.”
“Yessss!” the girl celebrated, and she ran out to join them.
Not far behind were Son and Aesef. “Great going!” Son cheered as he hugged his warrior friend. He then turned and hugged Faymia. “I’m so happy for you both,” he said, beaming.
“Congratulations,” the old farmer said to Dulnear. “All of the adventures you’ve had until now are nothing compared to what lies ahead.”
“I believe that to be true,” the warrior said. “But I am ready.”
The five of them celebrated the engagement long into the night. As they shared stories and made plans for the wedding, all of the trials and struggles of the previous months seemed to be forgotten, replaced by the kind of lightness that one wishes would last forever.
The inside of the barn could scarcely be recognized. Phel and the other farmhands had turned it into a beautiful chapel. Flowers were transformed into strings of garland that hung from the ceiling, chairs were brought from inside of the house, and tall candelabras, with candles burni
ng bright, lined either side of an aisle that ran down the center of the makeshift church.
The seats were full, and Son, Maren, and Aesef were situated in the front row, dressed in formal clothing that the old farmer had provided. As the bride and groom made their way down the aisle, young Maren pointed to the crown of flowers on Faymia’s head and whispered to Son, “Those are just like mine!”
After their walk down the aisle, a young friar stood with Dulnear and Faymia under a beautiful arch made of wild twigs and flowers. He nervously cleared his throat and began to read from his book of liturgies. His hands shook so badly that he often lost his place and had to repeat himself as he searched for the last sentence he’d read. With sweat running down his temples, he continued, “Lord Dulnear, do you have anything you would like to say to the Lady Faymia?”
The man from the north suppressed a smile. He wasn’t accustomed to being called lord, and he was entertained by the nervous, wobbly friar. He looked at his bride and noticed that she also had an amused smile forming across her lips. Finally, he spoke. “My Elayainn, you have my sword, my heart, my strength, and my undying commitment. I am arrested by your beauty, your passion, your kindness, and your love, and I am yours forever.”
The friar wiped a tear from his eye, then swallowed. “And you, Lady Faymia, do you have words?”
The woman smiled and gazed into the eyes of her groom as she said, “My wonderful Layoak. You have set me free in so many ways, and I am profoundly grateful that you are in my life. I give my love, my affection, my devotion, and my years to you and only you.”
The friar then wiped another tear from his eye, sniffled, and announced, “Inasmuch as the Lord Dulnear and Lady Faymia have pledged their troth to be married this day, we call upon the Great Father to bless this union.” He then continued nervously, “If anyone can show just cause why they may not be joined together, let them now speak, or else hereafter keep silent for all time.” He then cleared his throat and added, “Also, if you have an objection, Lord Dulnear will be waiting for you outside with his sword.”