Empress Aurora Trilogy Quest For the Kingdom Parts I, II, and III Revised With Index (Quest For the Kingdom Set)

by L. M. Roth

  With a sudden surge of dislike Marcus realized that Fanchon reveled in Dag’s anger at Cort. She is pleased by all of this, he thought to himself. Why, she is actually jealous of Cort because Dag loves him so. Clearly she is one of those women who brook no rival for attention, even when it is a child in need of care. No, I do not like Fanchon, Marcus thought.

  He felt a stab of guilt at such an admission, for he knew that Dominio loved all of His creation, although their actions sometimes displeased Him. Truly, I have much to learn and much growing to do, Marcus rued. Dominio, help me to love Fanchon even as you do. Help me to see her through Your eyes of love, he silently prayed.

  Now as they lay in the dark, Marcus sought to find some way to bring peace between his two friends. He tried to think of an opening ruse, but none came to mind. Finally, he decided it best to be honest.

  “Dag,” he ventured, the absence of snoring an indication that the great man was still awake. “You must realize that Cort was afraid of discovery by anyone; he lied to all of us about his identity. Yet, we are not angry with him. Why are you?”

  Dag snorted and grumbled like a bear disturbed from its winter sleep.

  “Think you,” he growled, “that I would have made friends with a foe if I knew who he was?”

  “I doubt it,” Marcus admitted. “But you have befriended him. And you love Cort. Why can you not forgive him?”

  There was a long and heavy silence, the kind Marcus thought, that he felt in winter months if he ventured out for a walk in the moonlight: no singing birds broke its stillness, no leaves rustling in a breeze on trees now bare relieved it. The quiet was absolute, almost deafening in the absence of any noise.

  Then Dag sighed, a long and drawn out sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his being. At last he spoke.

  “I once,” he explained, “loved a maid in Trekur Lende. She was free from care and glad of heart, with hair the hue of corn and eyes like a cool lake. I gave her furs and fruit to woo her, as is our way, and she was glad to take them. I gave her my heart, and she gave me her hand. She was my konnae unnae, as we say, or lady love, you would say. We were to wed in the spring, but first I set out on the hunt in the long, cold months. When I came back, she said, when the sun was high once more in the blue sky, we would take our vows, and she would be my wife.

  “I left for the hunt, my heart was glad, and my laugh was loud and long. But I found no joy in the hunt that year. The days crawled by as I tracked my prey in the cold, and the wind, and the long, dark night. How I longed for the spring, when I would wed her!

  “But when I came back I found she had wed a man who had more furs to give her, more beads for the traders, more than I could give her. When I asked why she did not wait for me, she said she lied to me. She did not love me; she had not loved me at all. She took what I gave her to make the man mad, so he would wed her. He had been cool in his love, so she used me to gain his heart.”

  Dag fell silent for a long moment. Marcus was profoundly moved by the recital, and understood all too well the pain of having one’s heart rejected.

  Dag continued.

  “I will not take lies from those I love,” he said simply.

  Marcus did not know what to say, so stunned was he by the tale of Dag‘s rejection. That he had been wounded deeply was evident by his insistence on being able to trust those to whom he gave his affection. Then an inspiration came to him.

  “But Dag,” he began, “Cort did not lie to use you. He lied to protect himself. And he continued to lie because he feared losing your love. Can you not see that?”

  “He lied,” Dag stubbornly declared.

  “Only to keep your love,” Marcus insisted. “It was wrong to lie, and perhaps worse to continue to lie once you were friends. But Cort adores you; you are as a father to him. All of us see that.”

  There was a momentary silence, as Dag considered the arguments Marcus put before him.

  “Well,” Dag muttered. “It may not be the same. Still, a lie is a lie. I do not know: I will have to think on this.”

  But Marcus heard the hesitancy in Dag’s tone, and felt his spirits lift. The great man with the appearance of a bear and the heart of a dove was already wavering.

  In time, Marcus thought, in time.

  He waited for further comment from Dag. But none came. The room was quiet once more. Until the stillness was broken at last by the sound of bear-like snores that rumbled in the night.

  Chapter XVI

  The Decision of Dag

  In the morning they prepared to continue their journey. Refreshed from a night slept soundly in a comfortable bed, and a hearty breakfast served in the common room, they felt fortified and prepared to meet whatever befell them next. Communication was limited to contented smiles from those who felt rested after their slumbers, and lazy yawns from those who were waking up at their leisure, instead of being forcibly roused to take a turn at the watch. Their fellow travelers joined them, and they were regaled with merry accounts of adventures from those who, like themselves, had journeyed over long distances to reach the trading post.

  Once they were all assembled and had eaten, they set out for the pier, but a constrained silence hung over them, now that they were alone and not mingling with strangers in the common room. The events of the day before weighed heavily upon them, and no one knew quite how to break the ice to get the flow of conversation started.

  Dag had not addressed Cort, who looked at him with the same puppy-like devotion he had always given his hero. Yet Marcus was hopeful that Dag would soon relent. He had heard the note of hesitation the night before, and he knew how fond Dag was of Cort.

  The morning was fine, and a gentle breeze stirred the air and set the wind chimes dancing and singing their melodies. The song birds chimed in as though not to be outdone, and on this impromptu concerto, they strolled leisurely with a lightening of their hearts. Who could be downcast on such a morning!

  They had stowed their bundles into the boat and were about to board it when a sudden commotion at the pier caught their attention and halted their embarking. A tall and brawny man dressed in the coarse garments of Trekur Lende was running toward them and shouting angrily. Cort attempted to hide behind Marcus, but it was of no avail.

  “Cort!” the man shouted. “Cort Asbjorn! Come out and face me!”

  The man was now at the boat and reached behind Marcus and pulled Cort roughly by the right arm and into his view. He immediately hit Cort hard across the face, causing his skin to first whiten, then flush where he had been struck. Marcus grabbed the man’s arm and placed himself between him and Cort.

  “How dare you strike this child?” Marcus railed at him. “Do not touch him again!”

  Undaunted, the stranger defied Marcus.

  “That,” he said, pointing at Cort, “is my son! He ran away some months ago. I looked everywhere for him, and finally gave him up for dead. It was only last night that my good friend Kells told me he was here. I will take him with me and he will repay the trouble he has caused me!”

  Marcus turned reluctantly from the stranger to Cort.

  “Is it true, Cort? Is this man your father?”

  Cort trembled uncontrollably and with a look of stark terror on his face, admitted it, even as his eyes darted around as though looking for a way to escape.

  “Yes, he is my father. But I do not want to go back home! I will not! He will sell me to the Hoffingi, and the Hoffingi will beat me! He will beat me even more than my father does!”

  “Yes, and I will beat you as well after running away as you did!” Cort’s father interjected, with a face red with fury. “I would have had my debt to the Hoffingi paid in full if you had not run away. Now I have to work it off, and it is hard work for an old man like me!”

  This statement was too much for Marcus to stomach. The man did not look as if had seen more than thirty winters, and with his tall and powerful physique was far hardier than the small boy whom he clearly terrified.

  “Come, you
do not look all that old to me,” Marcus challenged him. “You would be able to bear hard work much easier than this young lad. Why, I think it is cruel to expect him to work for this Hoffingi who will beat him as well. Pay off the debt yourself; he would not dare lay a hand on you.”

  Cort’s father turned to Marcus with blazing eyes.

  “That is not our way! I need to work my own field to provide for my family. I have no other son to help me and must do it all myself. I cannot do that if I work for this Hoffingi!”

  Marcus saw the logic of such reasoning, cruel though it would be to Cort. Accustomed though he was to slave labor in his father’s household, he realized that those who could not afford slaves or even hired hands must do all of the work on their own land themselves. He pondered for a moment, seeking some way to solve Cort’s dilemma, then came to a decision.

  “Very well then; tell me what the Hoffingi would have paid you to take Cort as a slave. I will give that same price to you on the condition that Cort remains with me as my servant. And he shall never return to your cruel care again!”

  If the man’s face lit up at this announcement, Cort’s face was brighter still.

  “Really, Marcus? Oh, thank you! I shall be so grateful and serve you truly and well! Truly, I will!”

  “Well, sir, I accept your generous offer,” Cort’s father said, all smiles now as he groveled before Marcus.

  “Name your price, man,” Marcus spat out in disdain as he sneered at the man bowing before him. Poor Cort to have had such a father!

  “Very well, sir! My price then is…”

  But before he could finish Dag interrupted.

  “Wait!” he said with one arm upraised. “I will pay for him, the same price that this man would give,” he said, pointing to Marcus. “But he will not be my slave: he will be my son.”

  A gasp went up from both Cort and Fanchon at this announcement. Tears sprang to Marcus’ eyes, and the faces of Felix and Kyrene were wreathed in glad smiles. Fanchon alone did not smile, nor was she moved to tears. Her countenance paled, and she looked at her intended with a face that no longer looked as delicate as though sculpted from china, but as hard as if chiseled from stone.

  “Oh, that is most kind of you, sir!” Cort’s father said as he rubbed his hands together. “But I would prefer the other gentleman’s offer. Cort would make a good servant to such a fine man. For he has seen something of the world I can tell, and would no doubt find Cort very useful.”

  Marcus had not thought it possible for the man to sink any further in his estimation, but he did.

  “I think we should leave it to Cort to decide his fate,” Marcus stated. “What will it be, Cort? Will you be a servant to me: or a son to Dag?”

  Cort turned to face Dag with shining eyes and caught his breath.

  “Do you mean it, Dag? Do you truly, really mean it?”

  His gaze fixed on the tall man with such hope and trust that it touched Marcus deeply. What a life Cort must have had with this man who would have sold him into slavery!

  “Yes, Cort,” Dag smiled gently as he smoothed Cort’s hair. “You will be my son. I will take care of you.”

  And he knelt down on one knee and hugged Cort long and warmly. For a moment, no one spoke as Dag and Cort said all they had to say in that one embrace.

  Marcus did not dare risking a look at Fanchon for fear of what he might see in her eyes. He turned to Cort’s father.

  “Well, then,” he said. “It seems that the matter is settled.”

  Chapter XVII

  Land of the Long Day

  With harmony at last restored among the small band, they proceeded with lightened hearts to Trekur Lende. As they traveled farther north Marcus and Felix noticed that the days grew longer than usual, even for the eve of summer. Dag explained that this was normal for Trekur Lende, which was closer to the top of the world than Valerium.

  They should arrive in time for the great festival of Bjorrne, he told them, when all celebrated the Long Day, as it was called. During the three days preceding and just after the first day of summer, Dag explained, the sun never set at all and the land rejoiced in the light by giving thanks to Bjorrne.

  The opposite was true in the winter, he said, when for three days before and after the first day of winter the sun did not rise. This was known as the Long Night. The earth grew very cold at that time without the sun to warm it, so all of the people rejoiced in the time of the Long Day, when they could once more behold the light and warmth of the sun.

  Marcus noticed a shadow flit across the face of Fanchon during this recital by her betrothed, but he could not read the meaning of it. Indeed, Fanchon had been unusually quiet since Dag and Cort had made peace and the great man had adopted the boy for his son. Marcus felt that the giddy young girl was not wholly pleased by this turn of events. But she said nothing of it.

  Cort himself was pleased just to have Dag forgive him and speak to him again. But he could not, he confided to Marcus, believe his good fortune in being adopted by Dag. Dominio be praised! It was the answer to all of his prayers! And he could at last be called by his real name, Cort Asbjorn. But no, his name was Cort Adalbart now because he was Dag’s son.

  They had left the River Zoe now and landed at a natural harbor only five miles from Dag’s village. They had not traveled that way to the trading post in the winter because the river had been frozen until spring, but now it ran freely and carried their small boat without incident.

  Through the forest they traveled, hardly pausing to rest, so eager was Dag to return to his home and wed Fanchon, with all of his kin and friends around him to wish him joy. And the woods truly were lovely with the trees now clothed in their coats of green, and not denuded as they were during winter’s reign.

  This time Marcus actually enjoyed the trek through the deep forest, and genuinely admired the beauty of its sylvan domain. They paused only to admire the bright wildflowers of mauve, yellow, and white that dotted the forest floor here and there. Over their heads the birds called to one another as if they also rejoiced in the longer days; robins warbling a merry tune, pigeons cooing secrets in intimate friendship, and wood thrushes tweeting to their young. Somewhere they heard the knocking of a woodpecker echo through the trees.

  The pristine forest cast an enchantment all its own, but Dag cautioned them to be on the watch for bears and boars who claimed the woods for their realm. They were here first, he said, and did not give the land to man. They fought to keep it, and to rule it.

  Fanchon glanced around nervously at this statement, and Kyrene moved slightly closer to Felix, who walked beside her. He gently touched her elbow and smiled into her eyes. She returned the smile, but cast her eyes down somewhat shyly.

  Marcus noted this exchange and a slight frown furrowed his brow. During their days in Lycenium when he refused to speak to Felix his friend had spent a great deal of time with Kyrene and Cort whenever Dag wanted to be alone with Fanchon. He had thought nothing of it at the time, since Felix was a sociable creature and simply hated being alone. But the manner in which the two looked at each other just now…

  Was Felix only flirting with Kyrene in his notion of chivalry, or was he already healed from the wound of Tullia’s rejection and pursuing another? Or was he seeking consolation elsewhere to forget Tullia? And Kyrene: did she cherish a regard for Felix, or did his attentions to her merely embarrass her?

  A sudden shout from Dag called him out of his musings and back to his companions. They had arrived at the village in the clearing in the forest floor, with the wooden wall that surrounded its circumference. A knock on the gate from Dag brought the sentry who admitted them. There were the two dozen or so little wooden houses that Marcus recollected, with their oddly slanting roofs.

  A wave of relief swept over him as he surveyed the tiny settlement. Small though it was, the houses and the walled enclosure represented safety and civilization, no matter how primitive. He recalled all too vividly his own encounter with a bear last winter, and how D
ag saved his life. Truly, there were dangers in the wild that he was glad to leave behind in the shelter of a community of his own kind.

  The others appeared to share his relief. A smiling Felix returned the handshakes of several villagers who turned out to greet them, remembering him and Marcus, and calling them by name. Young Cort seemed to have grown several inches taller as he proudly declared himself to be part of Dag’s family. Kyrene savored the warm welcome and the quaint settlement with shining eyes that revealed her enjoyment of the adventure.

  But Fanchon looked around her in dismay as she observed the tiny village with the plain houses, the villagers in their crude garb of flax, and the simple speech of the inhabitants. Her face reflected the look of one who has been dreaming in their sleep, and has suddenly been rudely jostled awake out of a make-believe fantasy, to be confronted with the brutal harshness of reality.

  Dag, however, was delighted to be home among his people. Travel was not enjoyable for the rugged Trekur Lender, who preferred his simple life in the woods to exploring strange lands and visiting large cities. It was good to be back home, yah, he exclaimed as he greeted old friends.

  He quickly introduced his new companions, and Marcus saw the pride with which he presented first Fanchon, then Cort. Some of the men poked their elbows in one another’s ribs and laughingly spoke in their own language to one another as they gazed at Fanchon, who looked uncomfortable at the exchange. She did not blush with offended modesty as she had when ogled by the Ashkani, but seemed uneasy as if uncertain what was meant by the gestures of these primitive men in regard to herself.

  Dag did not reveal Cort’s given name; he merely introduced him as his son, a lad they met on their trek and adopted for his own, thereby protecting Cort’s identity. Marcus remembered that Dag’s tribe was sworn to kill on sight any member of Cort’s family, so secrecy was imperative.