“It looks like they stopped here long enough to water their horses,” she said, looking down at the edge of the brook.
“I think we'd be wise to do the same,” Tealor replied, slipping down from his giant animal before offering his hand to his dismounting bride. “Let me help you, my dear.”
“It's amazing that you can still see enough to track in this light,” Kilren observed, offering his own hand to the beautiful ranger.
“Elvish sight is a gift from the Eilian,” she replied, ignoring his hand and sliding down from where she sat in front of Darian.
The elvish maiden stepped quickly past the rogue and began to search along the edge of the stream while the horses drank deeply of the cool, clear water.
“I hope we're catching up,” Darian said, stretching himself slowly before dismounting.
He was used to long hours in the saddle, but not to riding endlessly into the night.
“I don't know how much longer I can sit there – riding behind Erana – without falling asleep. I'd rather have the reins in my hands, than be carried along like a saddle bag.”
Had the light been better, Darian would have seen his companion's mouth drop slowly open at this speech. As it was, however, Kilren's hanging jaw was hidden by the darkness.
“Well...” The young rogue replied, apparently giving the issue serious consideration. “I suppose I could offer to ride behind her on my horse.”
“Would you?” Darian asked, a tone of sincere gratitude in his voice. “I'd really appreciate it.”
“For you, my friend, anything!” Kilren answered, slapping his companion on the shoulder.
“It seems the girl was free to roam during their brief stop,” Erana observed.
She paced slowly back and forth, searching the area carefully.
“Her footprints are everywhere.”
“Obviously, they don't see any danger in leaving her loose,” Tealor said, kneeling to take a drink from the stream.
“Well, had I been in her place, I would have taken the opportunity to flee,” Erana replied, her voice edged with the slightest hint of scorn.
“We can't be sure she had an opportunity,” Tealor pointed out. “Besides, most young girls wouldn't have the courage to try to escape in the middle of the wilderness.”
“Human girls perhaps...” the ranger muttered under her breath.
“We must hurry, dear one,” Serena said, holding out her hand to her husband. “Those who can't escape must be rescued.”
“As usual, you're in the right, my love,” the warrior answered, helping his fair bride into the saddle before leaping onto his own steed. “Speed is of the essence. We must hurry.”
“Erana, Darian's horse has been carrying two riders for hours,” Kilren pointed out as the ranger climbed up on the back of the young knight's horse. “I think we might want to give the poor beast a rest. I'll be glad to share my seat for a while, if that's all right with you.”
The ranger sat in silence for a moment, considering the situation.
“Well, perhaps you're right,” she replied at last, grinning down at him.
The moons, Mannarra and Lennerri, climbed slowly toward their zeniths. The heavenly orbs cast their light across a small plain nestled within the foothills of the mountains. For more than a mile, the level ground stretched out before the fleeing maiden and her pursuing kidnappers. Across this meadow, the beasts of both hunter and hunted slowly trudged; each bathed in silver light, casting dim shadows behind them.
Gwendolyn had driven her horse on for hours that seemed like eons. Her body screamed in exhausted agony with every bouncing step. This wild chase had begun with mounts galloping madly at full speed; now, stiff riders and their exhausted steeds moved at a greatly lessened pace through the silvery night.
Occasionally, the silence was broken by shouts imploring the girl to stop and surrender herself. Barlan's booming voice echoed off the distant hills, promising forgiveness and good treatment along with assurances that escape was impossible. Gwendolyn didn't bother to answer their cries; she saved her energy for flight.
Pursuers and pursued alike swayed wearily in their saddles. The maiden scanned the pale horizon looking desperately for any signs of light. If she could only reach a village, perhaps she could find safety. The men of the hills were said to be a rugged and noble people. They might prove to be more than her eight pursuers could handle. This was the only tangible hope her mind could find to cling to. Still, the Eilian saw all; they would aid her.
Suddenly, a new sound rang out through the night: a sound which chilled the young maiden's blood. It was the long eerie cry of a wolf. The sound had barely died away when it was renewed somewhere nearer at hand.
“You hear that?” Barlan yelled. “You'll be much safer riding with us.”
In reply, Gwendolyn silently kicked her weary horse once more into a trot.
“You don't want to ride headlong into the pack, girl! You need to turn back so we can protect you.”
“So that you...” She tried to yell, but hours of silence had thickened her voice and rendered it barely audible.
Again, the sound of howling echoed through the night; but, it now arose from several wild throats at once. On the horizon of her limited sight, Gwendolyn could make out a few large beasts heading toward her out of the darkness. Her stallion could also perceive the approaching danger and, as the wolves came into view, it once again broke into a wild gallop.
Its last reserves of energy – which no amount of gentle encouragement or fevered spurring could reach – were now freely offered up to its rider. The poor animal fled from the sound of the savage hunters with its last ounce of strength. The ground flew beneath them, the cries of wild men and wild animals blending with the noise of galloping hoof-beats. It was the sound of desperate pursuit on the heels of hopeless flight.
The hooves of Gwendolyn's mount pounded the ground with almost unimaginable speed. However, at last, the beast’s energy reached its end. The creature stumbled and fell. Gwendolyn was thrown to the ground and, before she could regain her footing, she was surrounded. Fortune smiled on her, at least from a certain point of view. She was surrounded by men and not by wolves. Her weary horse slowly raised itself from the ground as Barlan grabbed the maiden by the arm and pulled her up behind him.
An instant later, the forerunners of the pack were upon them. Wild cries of pain and fear filled the air. The few wolves that were foolish enough to step within reach of Barlan's blade soon lay on the ground in pools of their own blood. In less than a minute, the attack was over. Seven large wolves lay dead and a number more were badly wounded before the beasts fled back into the night. As for the mercenaries and their animals, a number of scratches were all the marks they bore of the short, but fierce battle.
“I told you escape was impossible,” the massive mercenary leader said through clenched teeth. “You've put us to a great deal of trouble. I'm afraid you're going to find the end of this trip less comfortable than the beginning.”
He then turned his horse back in the direction of their camp and, with a gentle kick, urged the beast to begin the long return journey.
“I want to thank you again, Kilren,” Darian said, smiling over his shoulder. “I really appreciate this.”
“Happy to help, Darian. Happy to help,” the young rogue replied from where he sat, riding behind his friend. “Although, I admit this wasn't exactly what I had in mind when I offered to let my horse carry two.”
“Oh, I see,” the young knight replied after a brief silence. “For a moment there, I couldn't follow you. I suppose I am a great deal heavier than Erana. Sorry, girl!” he said, patting Kilren's horse on the neck.
“You know, Darian,” the rogue said, slowly nodding his head, “I'm honestly beginning to worry about you...”
“We're going to have to stop here for the night,” Tealor said as the little group reached a small sheltered area at the bottom of a valley. “There's no sense in going on 'til morning.”
“You're right, my love,” Sarena replied sleepily. “We need rest before we meet our foes. I'm certainly not in any condition to face them at the moment.”
“I can go on a little further!” Darian exclaimed, doing his best to sound energetic.
“So can I!” the elvish maiden added.
“It's not a matter of if we can go on.” Kilren said, sliding stiffly down from behind his companion. “It's a matter of whether or not we should.”
“Exactly,” Tealor agreed, gathering sticks for a fire as he spoke. “We need to be as well rested as possible before we come to grips with our quarry. It'll do us no good to find the girl only to fail to rescue her.”
“I don't think we should stop now,” Erana replied. “Those villains could be just over the next hill!”
“She's right!” Darian agreed. “We should keep going.”
“Youth is so wonderfully energetic; if not so very wise,” Sarena said as she stooped down beside the pile of wood that her husband had made. In an instant, fire light filled the small glade they were in.
“How many men have you hunted down, Erana?” Tealor asked, settling down beside the small blaze.
She hesitated a moment before answering him. “This is the first time I've ever tracked men.”
“And you, Darian,” the mercenary said, turning to look at the young knight. “How many times have you faced an enemy where one of you was sure to die?”
“I haven't yet,” Darian began, “but, my training--”
“Was just training!” Tealor interrupted. “Keep that in mind. Tomorrow, we'll find the girl and face her captors. When we do, you need to be rested; we all need to be rested.”
“You two have nothing to fear,” Sarena said, taking a seat beside her husband. “Those whom my noble hero pursues never escape. Do they, my love?”
“No, my dearest,” the warrior replied with a shake of his head, “they do not. Now, let's get some rest.”
For a moment, Darian sat in silent contemplation. Tealor was right; there was no denying the fact. He could barely keep his eyes open. When they finally caught their quarry, he would need all his strength. They could take time for sleep. There was no chance that the kidnappers would escape; the Eilian would never allow it.
“Well, I admit I'm a little tired,” Darian sighed as he climbed from the saddle, “but, we should start as early as we can tomorrow.”
“I agree,” Erana said, pulling herself up into a nearby tree. “We need to get moving with the first light of day.”
“As soon as the sun is up, we'll be back on their trail,” Tealor replied sleepily as he stretched himself out on the ground beside the fire.
His wife lay down beside him, and the pair seemed to fall instantly to sleep. Darian leaned against a tree, wrapped himself in his cloak and closed his eyes. Soon, his foes would face justice. For the moment, he needed to force himself to rest. The voices of the rogue and the ranger were the last sounds he heard as he drifted off.
“Good night, Erana,” Kilren said, moving over to the foot of the tree in which she was perched.
“Good night, Kilren.”
“You know, if you get cold during the night, I'll be...”
“Good night, Kilren.”
As Barlan's steed trudged slowly through the dim light, Gwendolyn felt as if she were part of a funeral procession. The moons had set, and a deeper darkness crept across the land, as well as her heart. The three torches that battled the night on each side of her were like pallbearers leading her to the grave. The men that carried them would gladly hand her over to death or worse as long as they were well paid.
In truth, the idea of becoming the bride of either a venerable wizard or a bloodstained mercenary lord filled the young maiden with a greater terror than death could. Of Galrin, she only knew what her captors had been able to tell her; little of which seemed good. The simple fact that he was old enough to be her great-grandfather made the thought of marriage to him dreadful. As for Valrak, she knew too much about him not to fear him. He had made his fortune spilling blood and taking whatever other men weren't strong enough to hold on to. With him, there was no allegiance or loyalty; he would change sides in the middle of a battle if the price were right. A man like that would never honor the vows of marriage; if he even bothered to make them.
Still, she couldn't be sure of Galrin's intentions. Perhaps marriage wasn't the use he had in mind for her. Maybe she was meant to be a sacrifice in some vile ceremony. At least then, her end would be quick. Of course, it was still possible that all this was a mistake. Gwendolyn couldn't be certain of her fate, and uncertainty is a poor comforter.
As these thoughts circled endlessly within her mind, she began to weep. Although she remained silent, the shaking in her small frame alerted Barlan to her tears.
“I honestly don't understand why you're making such a fuss,” he said gruffly, shattering the silence. “Many a young woman would be thrilled to have the attention of such a powerful and wealthy man.”
“Would they be thrilled to marry a man who was old enough to be their father's grandfather?” she asked, wiping away her tears.
“Well, the older the man, the less you'll have to put up with before you become his widow,” the villain replied with a chuckle. “Besides, I don't think Galrin is the marrying kind. You can be sure he wants you for Valrak, not that I can understand why. Still – whatever the reason – should you marry him, you'll gain wealth, honor, and glory.”
“I don't want to be forced to marry; no matter who the man is!”
At this, Barlan laughed loudly.
“All those who marry are forced to do so. If not by powerful warlords, then by the hands of nature herself. What is marriage, but an exchange of goods and services? The woman receives protection and provision; the man comfort and pleasure. Both of them receive children from the gifts of the other. Even there, nature drives us forward without our consent. A woman wants children because she can't stop herself. A man wants them to survive him and push his will into the future. All marriages are forced; whether the bride and groom know it or not. Galrin and Valrak are men, and you'll soon be a woman. All the other details hinge on personal preference. You haven't even seen Valrak yet; you may find that you fancy him.”
“Even if I like what he looks like, I could never love him. I know too much about him.”
Again, the mercenary laughed loudly.
“Love him? What is love? It's an idea young people have before life teaches them better. Everyone's out for what they can get. I'm a mercenary because I'm too honest to be anything else. I don't pretend not to be for sale and I don't hide behind words. A knight in my position, who had kidnapped you for his lord, would talk about honor and fealty as if they excused his actions. He would tell you of his master's unbridled passions – as if his love would make what he was doing permissible. What would make you love a man? The way he treats you? The gifts he brings you? Whatever your answer might be, that's what you'd be willing to sell yourself for. What you call love is merely the price you set on your marriage. Take my advice: sell it to the highest bidder. No one in these parts can outbid Valrak, so consider yourself lucky.”
Gwendolyn wasn't sure how to reply to this speech. The man who sat before her seemed to have a heart of flint. How could you explain love to a stone or honest, self-sacrificing friendship to a block of wood? She thought the greatest poets and philosophers in Areon would have a hard time persuading this dark hearted villain that anyone in the history of the world had ever done anything for any reason beyond personal gain or glory.
“What if Galrin means to kill me?” she asked, confronting another very real possibility.
“Well,” Barlan said, taking a deep breath, “in that case, you don't need to worry about being forced to marry.”
“Don't you care?” Gwendolyn asked, her voice trembling with passion. “Don't you have an ounce of pity within you?”
“Does nature have pity, little one? Deer are devoured by wolves, fish are
eaten alive by bears. It's the way of life. The strong prey upon the weak. The powerful become more so by feeding on the frail. I'm a child of nature; I do as my mother taught me.”
“The Eilian teach us better,” the maiden said softly.
Once more, Barlan chuckled.
“Better for who? The Eilian teach us different, I agree, but I wouldn't say better. That is to say if the Eilian even exist.”
This was a question that Gwendolyn had never encountered. She couldn't imagine that people lived who doubted the existence of the creators of the world. That many disregarded their teachings was obvious. But, that they didn't believe in them; she could hardly fathom it.
“You don't think the Eilian exist?” she asked after a moment's silence.
“I never met `em,” the mercenary said with a shrug.
“Well... How did Areon come to be?”
“I wasn't there when it happened.”
“Where does the power of the Priests and the Telian Knights come from?”
“I don't know that any more than I know where the power of wizards and sorcerers comes from. However, here's a question for you: If the Eilian are watching us and don't like what I'm doing; why don't they stop me?”
“Maybe they will,” she said quietly.
The rest of the journey was made in silence. There was no need for words. She had no hope of being released by her captors. No amount of pleading or argument would change their minds or soften their hearts. The only language that truly moved them was the offer of wealth, and her family couldn't speak loudly enough in that tongue to change her fate.
As soon as they arrived at camp, Gwendolyn's hands and feet were bound once again. Barlan himself tied her to a tree to ensure that she couldn't make a move while the men slept. He had been right in saying that she would find the end of the trip less comfortable than the beginning.
“I'm sorry about this,” he said as he finished tying the rope around her. “I can't have you trying to escape again. Should you become Valrak's bride, I hope that you'll forgive us, as you'll have no course but to forgive Galrin.”
The Stars of Areon (The Chronicles of Areon Book 1) Page 6