The Heir Of Westfall [The Alurian Chronicles Book 1]

by Christopher W. Wilcox, Sr.

  The woman slipped her blouse back into place and slowly opened the window to prevent a billow in the curtains covering the alcove. She bent to help the man who had struck the heir pick Rory's unconscious form up and lift him toward the now open window. She gave a soft whisper and waited for a response from outside. When there was none, she called out again.

  The curtains whipped back to reveal two General Gustavs, one in heavy plate armor and the other in more normal mail and light armor. Both held swords whose points were a mere inches form the pair's throats. “Let the lad down gently now. Your friends outside are not going to help you because they are already dead."

  The would-be kidnappers were quietly removed from the ballroom and few people noticed the fuss. Rory was already starting to come around by then and the duke wondered what to do with him until he was fully himself. Leaving him in the alcove was an option, but not alone. Spotting Rachel, he crooked his finger at her in an imperious come here gesture. When she approached, she said, “Your Grace."

  "I never could fool you, could I? I need your help, girl. Lord Rorrick has been attacked. He's all right but just not himself at the moment, still groggy from the hit on the head atop the wine, I suspect. Anyway, I don't want to leave him alone in the alcove. Since you have already been in an alcove with him tonight, would you mind taking care of him as he recovers?"

  "Of course not, Your Grace.” Rachel slipped into the alcove and closed the curtains. She looked about. This was a larger alcove, almost a small room, that had been fitted with a small settee and some bookcases on either side of the windows. The drapes had once again been closed after the window had been secured.

  Lord Rorrick was sprawled on the settee, one hand pressed against the lump on the back of his head. She moved over to the settee and slipped in alongside Rory, pulling his head down to rest in her lap. As he rested his head, she stroked his long black hair and remembered what it was like to be kissed and touched by this young lord. Rachel wondered if the duke had known what he was doing in asking this of her; she was so tempted to take advantage of the handsome young heir while he was still groggy. She would love to know what he would feel like inside her, but she knew she wouldn't. That was just a dream of Festival; her reality would be to marry someone from town or one of the officers in the duke's army. But no matter what her future might hold, she would always have the memory of Lord Rorrick's kiss and his touch.

  Chapter 9

  "There's nothing quite like the bracing effect of wind-blown snow to clear away the cobwebs of too much wine, lad,” Swiftstalker said, his breath a steaming white cloud in the frigid predawn air.

  "Tell me again. Why did we have to leave so damned early in the morning?” Rory groused. “You barely left me time to change from the festival!"

  "It was time to be off. And getting you away from the keep and into the Great Forest to complete your training is very important since someone seems determined to kidnap you,” Swiftstalker said.

  "Are you sure I was the target?"

  "Very sure, lad. While you rested your head in the delectable lap of Mistress Rachel, I was having a chat with the two surviving kidnappers. How they expected to sneak up on the keep past the Wolves of Westfell shows what fools they were. The Wolves have a special winter cloak they wear when it snows. The cloak is made of totally white pelts and they vanish into the snow when they stand still. The outside group walked within inches of the guards without ever seeing them. After assuring themselves the pair was up to no good, the guards made themselves known. The pair resisted and died very quickly and quietly since the guards did not wish to disturb the festival. They notified the general, who then kept an eye on the alcove. When you were lured into that same alcove, he and I took action but not in time to spare you a thump on the head, I am sorry to say. How is your head, anyway?"

  "Tender to the touch. I just remember kissing the woman and then everything went black."

  "While she distracted you with her kisses and more, her confederate slipped in behind you. She must have done something to completely focus your attention on her and he hit you on the back of the head with a soft bag filled with small pellets. They were trying to pass you through the window when we surprised them. So what did she do to make you so unaware of your surroundings?"

  Rory was silent, more than a little embarrassed. “She had ... ah ... slipped her top down."

  "You're hedging, lad. Tell Uncle Swiftstalker all about it now. It will help pass the time."

  "You told me a gentleman never talks about it."

  "That was about amorous adventures, like with young Rachel. I want to know how you allowed yourself to become so distracted that a clumsy stranger could sneak up behind you and hit you over the head."

  Rory's response was even slower in coming. “She started to slide her hand around to touch me someplace no one has ever touched me before."

  "And that would certainly hold your attention, I expect.” Swiftstalker chuckled. “Well, keeping aware in those circumstances would be hard for a saint, let alone a growing lad like yourself. I'll not tease you about it ... well, not much, anyway."

  "So you thought Rachel was attractive?"

  "Lad, the woman is beautiful but she's also going to be trouble to whoever marries her, for he will never know a moment's peace. I've seen her kind before. Sultry and passionate and rarely satisfied with what she has. She will be sneaking out on her husband before they will have been married a year unless the man she marries is a strong one who can exceed her wildest imagination and fantasies. I whispered a suggestion to Duke Richard about a good match for that one. A man capable of taming her without breaking her spirit. Think she will like being married to General Gustav?"

  Rory threw his head back and laughed. “Sweet Rachel and Granite Face? Are you crazy?"

  "Gustav has adored her since she was a baby and doesn't think she will care for him. I think she will see being the wife of the general to be a better future than she could ever expect and will accept.” Swiftstalker chuckled. “The girl is in for a surprise. The good general is much larger than the average man. Much larger."

  They rode on in silence, each wrapped in their own thoughts. Rory's mind whorled in a confusing series of memories from the night before and his few moments with Bethany. Each encounter had taken him a few steps farther along the road from being a boy to becoming a man. Even his erstwhile kidnapper had moved him much farther than the others. Rory suspected that was because she was older and more experienced. Touching him so intimately had been something she found familiar, rather than the profound event it still seemed to him. He found himself wondering what it would have felt like and what it would be like to touch a woman that way in return. That thought terrified him because he realized he had no idea what really happened between a man and a woman that way. Oh, he knew the simple mechanics involved but, like the different forms of kissing, he suspected there were nuances of behavior he had no knowledge of. If he was like other young men his age, he would be learning these things either from a girl like Rachel or an older brother wiser in the ways of the world. Since he was who and what he was, there would be no frivolous encounters with village girls and he had no older brothers to ask. His only relative was his grandfather, and he would certainly not ask the duke about sex!

  * * * *

  It was still early afternoon when they reached the traveler's shelter. Duke Richard's father had established these shelters along the main road to provide a safe place to rest in the heavy weather of winter. These places were kept stocked with firewood, grain and water. There were two rooms within the shelter, one for people and the other for housing their horses. “We'd better stop here,” Swiftstalker said.

  "It's still early."

  "True, lad, but unless you have a hankering for spending the night in the open, we need to stop here. The next shelter is another thirty miles or so, and we will use that one tomorrow.” Swiftstalker slid from his horse's back and led the animal through the door to the stabling area. By the tim
e Rory had gotten Storm inside the shelter, Swiftstalker had already removed his saddle and was wiping the horse down with straw. The two worked on their horses in companionable silence; the only sounds were the hiss of the hay over the horses, and the clop of their hooves as they stamped about. Finally satisfied the horses had been groomed well enough, a ration of grain was placed in the troughs for them, along with some water.

  Swiftstalker led the way into the other room and started a fire in the hearth. After the fire was blazing, he looked around and found an old pot someone had abandoned or lost. He took it outside and scoured it with snow, then filled it with fresh water and placed it on the fire to boil. While waiting for the water to boil, Swiftstalker quickly chopped up some carrots, potatoes, and cubed some of the meat they had brought with them from the keep, adding it all to the pot once the water began to roil.

  Rory had brought their saddlebags in. While Swiftstalker was fixing their dinner, Rory prepared a place for them to sleep. First he swept up all the dirt and debris from around the room. Afterwards, he examined each of the bedframes to make sure they were sound. Nothing more than square frames lashed together with a rope mesh platform, they actually proved comfortable to sleep on—when they held together. As the lashings aged, they became loose and many a weary traveler had been dumped to the ground when the frame came apart as they tossed during the night. Rory checked each lashing very carefully, replacing those he found suspect. He then inspected the rope mesh for weak spots caused by rodents or simple wear and tear. Deciding the beds would probably get them through the night, Rory unrolled their blankets on the two inspected frames.

  The sun was almost below the horizon by this time and the shelter was getting very dark. Rory had closed and barred the exterior door from the animal enclosure. Since the shelter had no windows, the heat from the fire was enough to warm both their sleeping room and the stabling area when combined with the natural heat given off by two large horses and the pair of travelers. Swiftstalker dug through his saddlebag until he found a candle, which he lit from the fire in the hearth. Dripping a bit of wax on the table, he stuck the end of the candle into the cooling wax to hold it upright. The dancing light from the candle seemed bright after the gloom that had descended as the sun had set and they had closed the doors.

  By this point, the stew Swiftstalker had prepared was ready and the pair sat quietly eating. Swiftstalker watched Rory in silence, finally saying, “What's on your mind, Rory?"

  Rory was quiet a few more moments, trying to find the right words. “Swiftstalker, I'm not sure how to explain it. So many things have been happening and they have made me feel ... unsettled."

  Swiftstalker hid the quick smile that crossed his face as he looked at the young man across from him. “Aye, lad, I've no doubt you are unsettled. It's a confusing time in life when a man first starts exploring the interaction between a male and a female. It has to be worse for you since you grew up in a very sheltered place with just Abigail for company."

  "That is it, exactly. I feel there are things I should know that I don't, and I have no one to ask. I certainly can't talk to my grandfather about it."

  "Oh, I don't know, lad. Your grandfather is a wise man with much experience.” Swiftstalker reached into his saddlebag and drew out a flask, pouring them each a bit of wine. After sipping his, he said, “You can always talk to me. The Fair Folk are much more open about these things, perhaps because we live so long and have a different perspective. Humans tend to muddy up the simpler things with their views on property and such, while we stay more attuned to the natural flow of life. Take sex, for example.

  "Humans created this thing they call marriage, where one man and one woman are joined together for life, supposedly. The real purpose is to protect their possessions, what they call inheritance. The human man wants to be sure the children he raises are his and not someone else's, so all he has worked for in his life will be passed on to his own descendants. Most human men are not above sliding into the bed of a woman other than their wife if they can, but do not feel their spouse should have the same freedom because then he would wonder exactly whose child he was raising. That's why I find the tradition of Winter Festival amusing, Rory. For that one night, they relax that strict view and let their natural desires take control. They see someone who attracts them, and they are free to act on it to whatever degree they mutually agree upon."

  "And the Lords of the Forest are different?"

  "Quite a bit. Among our people, we take lovers, not mates for life. An elven female has a child only when she chooses to conceive one, and that is done only when it is mutually acceptable to both people involved. Since we are not driven by possessions, there are no concerns about so-called inheritance so, to us, the actual paternity of a child is irrelevant. What matters is raising that child to be the best he or she can be in whatever area of life suits them. Children are raised communally, with each adult taking an active role in guiding them to reach their fullest potential."

  Swiftstalker took another drink. “When a couple feel an attraction for one another, they are free to express that desire in any manner they choose and it is no one's business but their own. Whether they are together for an hour or a century is only of concern to themselves. Even during a prolonged period of commitment, they are still free to accept an occasional lover if they so desire, with no explanation needed by their partner. Sex among the Fair Folk is as natural as breathing or eating; what we find unnatural is the way humans repress their desires. Do you understand, Rory?"

  "I think so, and I truly appreciate all that you have said, but it hasn't really addressed any of my confusion,” Rory said miserably.

  "Lad, your confusion is natural. You're at an age where your hormones are raging out of control. The limited interaction you've experienced so far has merely whetted your appetite for more, and that is perfectly natural. Look, I know how exhilarating it was the very first time you were really kissed or touched a woman. The All-Father knows how distracting you found the first time a woman went to touch you! These are memories that will stay with you for a lifetime, as will all the other firsts yet to come. They are as inevitable as spring following winter, and seem to take just as long to come as waiting for that first real spring day."

  Swiftstalker stretched and leaned over to bank the fire. “I promise you this. When you finally marry Lady Bethany, you will be ready to teach her about the mysteries between a man and a woman in such a way that she will love you even more than she does now. You just have to trust me to take care of you. Can you do that?"

  "Yes, of course I can and do.” Rory stretched out on his blankets as Swiftstalker extinguished the candle.

  Part Two

  THE GREAT FOREST

  Chapter 10

  It was early afternoon on the third day when they finally reached the edge of the Great Forest near the Tower of the Pact. The ride had been difficult through the blowing snow and bitter temperatures, and they had shared the shelter the second night with a pair of travelers bound for Westfell Keep from the Kendrahl Mountains. The travelers had been eager to hear of the road conditions between this shelter and the village of Westfell, and Swiftstalker had told them what to watch for and how to find the shelter.

  As they rode past the Tower and under the trees, Swiftstalker said, “Rory, do you know what a glamour is?"

  "No, I don't."

  "That's a term used to describe a kind of spell that makes something appear one way when it really looks another. A small example was the slight glamour I used during the festival to look like General Gustav. Do you recall when you last traveled through the forest? Do you remember how there seemed to be some stretches of trees that were just too dense or looked somehow inhospitable so you would take an easier path that appeared more welcoming?” At Rory's nod, Swiftstalker continued, “There are parts of the forest protected by a glamour. It is one of the ways we keep humans and others out of the areas where we live."

  "That makes sense."

  "No hum
an can see through a glamour while some with elven blood, like you, can pierce the illusion easily. I expect you will be able to see through the illusions now that you know they are there, so I want you to concentrate on seeing what is really around you instead of what you may think is there."

  "Okay, but how will I know the difference?"

  "You will know when you experience it. Once you see through an illusion, it will hold no power over you ever again. You will be following me so keep your horse behind mine. You will need to maintain control over Storm since the horse will see the illusion and not the reality. Once we start through the illusions, we will pass several sentries who guard our home from outsiders. Even if you see them, make no sign that you do or they might slay you before I could explain to them who you are."

  Rory nodded his acceptance even as he said, “I will do as you say."

  "Finally, we will reach the Veil. This is one of the final defenses of our home. It is a shield that will only allow those who are truly elven in their body and hearts to pass through it. Prince Brightblade is sure you will have no problem with the Veil, but the potential is there. Should the Veil decide you are not a true Lord of the Forest, you will die before you can pass through it. Should you encounter any difficulty at the Veil, you must stop and back up immediately. If that happens, I will take you back to Westfell."

  Rory swallowed and said, “I will place my fate in the hands of the All-Father. If it is my destiny to be united with my father, I will pass through the Veil."

  "So be it. I expected no less from you."

  Rory pulled Storm into line behind Swiftstalker as they slowly rode deeper into the Great Forest. After a while, he would experience something like a blurring of his vision as he looked ahead, as if seeing two Forests, one laid over the top of the other. The false forest was slightly blurred while the reality was crisp. This then must be the glamour. Rory followed Swiftstalker.