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

by L. M. Roth

  Suddenly, from behind them came a roar. At first, Marcus thought as his heart jumped into his throat, it was a bear with jaws opened ready to rend the gathering apart. Then he spied the human feet below the bear skin, and remembered what Dag had told him and Felix of how two men would carry the bear’s skin in the procession. His heart slowly ceased its pounding and returned to its normal beat.

  The men came on, moving the skin so that the “bear” appeared to rise up on its hind legs. They lifted their voices in a resounding roar. The villagers all turned to them and as one body dropped to their knees and bowed their heads.

  “Stop!” Dag shouted as he rushed into their midst. “Do not do this! You do not know what you do!”

  Chapter XX

  The First Battle

  The stunned Trekur Lenders stared at the mighty man who confronted them with their jaws dropped open in surprise. For a moment no one spoke, as all gaped at Dag as though he had taken leave of his senses. Then Lunt turned from the crowd and addressed his friend.

  “Are you mad? What ails you, my friend? We know what we do; we give our thanks to Bjorrne, the great Bear!”

  The rest of the villagers nodded their heads and loudly voiced their assent. Yah, they declared, they gave thanks to the Bear!

  Dag’s breath escaped in a sigh of frustration as he shook his head and looked at his people. For one moment he closed his eyes. Then he took a deep breath and opened them.

  “Good friends,” he began at last. “I, too, once gave thanks to Bjorrne. Long have I joined you in the song and the dance, and waved the Bear skin as we bowed down to him. But, I tell you now, I can do so no more. For he is not God.”

  A gasp erupted from the crowd, and they all rose to their feet in a flurry of outrage. They spoke with upraised voices among themselves, then addressed Dag.

  “You are mad!” shouted one sturdy man of perhaps forty winters, who Marcus remembered was their Tribal Chief.

  Tall and clad in rough flaxen robes, with muscles still impressive peeking out through his short sleeves, he was an imposing figure, Marcus had to admit. His long dark hair was braided back in a single plait that fell to the nape of his neck. Disdain was evident in every line of his body as he strode forward and planted himself in front of Dag.

  With a sneer he faced him as Dag gazed steadily back at him. They were much the same height, although Dag was the broader of the two. Still, Marcus thought to himself, the Tribal Chief had the lithe body of the born athlete. Such a one usually proved to be agile in a fight, and as such was hard to beat. Marcus would not like to be the one who would face him in battle.

  Now the Chief vent his fury on Dag and attacked him with bitter words.

  “How dare you cast a slur on Bjorrne! You are mad, mad I say! It is you who do not know what you do!”

  All the villagers clamored in agreement, shouting and pounding their feet on the ground. The earth shook beneath the feet of Marcus under their deadly anger.

  Dag did not flinch, but looked unblinkingly into the eyes of the Tribal Chief, his own face impassive, as if unaware or unconcerned that he had incurred the Chief’s ire.

  “The Bear is not a god. There is but One true God we must bow down to. His name is Dominio,” he stated with reverence.

  He turned from the Tribal Chief to the villagers and raised his voice.

  “But you do not know of Him, yah? I must tell you of Him, for he loves you,” he pointed to a small boy, “and you,” he gestured to a young woman, “and you,” he whirled again to indicate the Tribal Chief.

  “We were made to love Him, but our hearts went wrong and we grieved Him. In our sin we lost our way. He sent His Son, Alexandros, to lead us back to Him, that we might love Him and be what He made us to be! He has made a new way for us, and now we are free! You do not need to bow to the Bear, for Bjorrne does not hear you. But Dominio hears you, and longs for you. Give your heart to Alexandros, and let Him set you free!”

  Truly, Dag was magnificent, Marcus thought in admiration. His face beamed, illumined with joy as he shared the Good News with his people. They stared at Dag, however, as if he were out of his mind. They could not understand, Marcus realized in dismay. They were blinded by a lie, but to that lie they clung.

  It was the Tribal Chief who decided the matter. He breathed heavily and turned a stare so malevolent on Dag that Marcus felt as though he had just walked into a wall of ice, so chilling was its expression. For an instant he saw another face behind the Chief’s, one so hideous in its evil that he nearly cried out a warning to Dag. In a flash it was gone. At the same moment, he heard a gasp from Kyrene, and knew that she too had seen the vision.

  Unflinching, Dag stood his ground. The Chief slowly circled around him, hissing with the venom of an adder, and swaying his head from side to side as he gazed at Dag through narrowed eyes.

  “You,” he breathed raggedly, “shame the Bear. You mock your own tribe with your lies. For that, we should kill you, right now where you stand.”

  An angry roar came from the villagers as they raised clenched fists and crept ominously toward Dag. He paled and swallowed hard, yet did not draw back from their hostility and threats.

  “I do not lie, nor do I mock you. I tell you the truth of Dominio’s love, and of my own for you. And as I love you, and want to share the news of His love for you, I will not join you as you bow down to Bjorrne. I will not bow down to a false god.”

  Now the crowd turned into a furious mob as they shouted at Dag. Some spat on him; others hurled stones. Fanchon screamed and ran from his side to escape the flying missiles, while Cort rushed in to fling his small body in front of Dag in a futile attempt to shield him. Dag thrust Cort gently aside and did not dodge the stones. He drew himself to his full height and thrust his spear into the ground, planting his feet on either side. To Marcus, he resembled an oak tree that had suddenly sprung up, and was not about to be moved from its place.

  His courage caught the crowd off guard. They stopped their barrage and looked uncertainly at Dag, then turned to the Chief for guidance. He seethed at Dag and struggled for breath. At last he pronounced his judgment.

  “You,” his voice cut like a knife as he confronted the great man, “are one of us no more. I cast you out of our tribe from this day on, and your son and betrothed with you. Go! Do not come back, or we will kill you. And I will spread the word to all the Chiefs of our tribes, and if they find you, they will kill you!”

  Dag’s eyes filled with tears as he looked lovingly on the faces of his people. He struggled for words, but none came.

  “Go!” the Tribal Chief roared, and pointed his index finger toward the forest.

  They returned to Dag’s house to collect their little boat, where they had packed their bundles before joining the villagers, but did not enter to take any of his possessions. They judged that any delay on their part might make the mob change its mind and kill Dag on the spot.

  Then, with heavy hearts but heads held high, they followed the direction of the Tribal Chief’s finger and headed for the woods.

  As he left the only home he ever knew, Dag did not look back. Nor did he speak of Trekur Lende or his kin in the days that followed. For that life he knew was over, he said. And a new one had just begun.

  Chapter XXI

  Return To Gaudereaux

  A heaviness of spirit descended on all of them in the days that followed. Ruefully they reflected that following Alexandros would bring with it a great price. But was it, Marcus wondered, a price too heavy to pay?

  The immediate decision to be made was how to continue their journey. Clearly they could not head further north to Valerium due to the threat of death to Dag. For he knew how swiftly the word would spread as the Tribal Chief sent runners fleet of foot to all the villages in Trekur Lende. To go further on their way was to court disaster.

  After consultation they decided to retrace their steps and return to the River Zoe. The River would eventually meet the Sea and they could return to Valerium by water rat
her than by land. True, it was the long way, but no one wished to risk the danger to Dag. He declared he did not wish to endanger his friends by traveling with them, but Marcus insisted.

  “After all, Dag, you and Fanchon must return to Gaudereaux and make your home there now. And Gaudereaux is on our way.”

  At the mention of Gaudereaux Fanchon brightened visibly. She had been unnaturally quiet since the expulsion of her intended from his people. Dag saw the logic of Marcus’ reasoning and accepted his counsel. Yah, in Gaudereaux, he agreed, they would be safe. And there they would make their home.

  They looked again on the lush green valley that lay below. Their journey had been swift and serene, as if Zoe wished to comfort them for the pain that the Trekur Lenders brought upon them. Though they were solemn after the turmoil through which they had just passed, a peace filled their hearts and they did not speak of Dag’s trouble. He seemed resigned to whatever the hand of Dominio brought upon him, and accepted His will.

  The heat of July had now come, made more intense by their journey into southern lands. A haze lay heavy above Gaudereaux. Sultry was the air, and even the bees that buzzed around their heads seemed too lazy to sting them, as they descended to the valley.

  Marcus felt his skin prickle in the heat. Used to a cooler climate where the summer was relished for its moderate warmth, the heavy moist air beat down on his body, which felt limp and sapped of energy. He did not wish to complain to the others, and therefore said nothing of his discomfort. Cort, however, had no such qualms.

  “Fanchon,” he moaned, “how do your people bear this awful heat? It is like steam. It is like a heavy, wet cloud of hot air.”

  Fanchon giggled as she whipped her head around. She and Kyrene alone seemed unfazed by the rise in temperature, and Fanchon actually sparkled in her joy of returning to her homeland. She now turned to the boy with a flippant toss of her head.

  “We don’t!” she exclaimed. “We sleep in the heat of the day, after the noon meal, and rise when the clock strikes four to prepare for the evening banquet. Our nap refreshes us to eat, to sing, and to dance, most of all to dance, dance, dance, until midnight, sometimes to the dawn of the day! Oh, how I love to dance! Just to whirl and twirl, whirl and twirl! It will feel good to don a festival robe and shed these traveling clothes, no? And to dine at one of my father’s feasts will be all I would wish for! And speaking of wishes…”

  “Thank you, Fanchon, for answering Cort’s question,” Marcus cut off the torrent that threatened to flow without ceasing. “Now we shall know how best to cope in this climate.”

  Felix smiled and rolled his eyes, but said nothing. He quickly averted his gaze, and chanced to meet the mischievous glance of Kyrene, who stifled a laugh and cleared her throat. Fanchon was still smarting at Marcus’ quenching and noticed nothing of this exchange.

  “Well, then,” she huffed. “Let us go to my father’s house with all speed.”

  They had been welcomed effusively by Fanchon’s parents, Pascal and Gaelle. It had been three months since they last saw their daughter, but one would have thought it had been years to judge by the emotion of their greeting. Pascal picked up the tiny Fanchon and swung her around, much to her delight. Gaelle burst into tears and held her daughter close to her heart.

  Much to the surprise of Marcus, tears poured down the face of Fanchon as well. She had seemed to enjoy the adventure of their travels so much that it never occurred to him that she might be secretly pining for the family she left behind.

  Dag stood aloof but smiling as his betrothed was reunited with her loved ones. The great man all but dwarfed the short, rotund Pascal, who barely reached Dag’s shoulder. When at last Fanchon’s parents turned to Dag, Pascal’s hand disappeared in the huge paw of the mighty Trekur Lender, and the tiny Gaelle had to stand on tiptoe as Dag bent down to receive her kiss of welcome.

  “Come in, come in all of you,” Pascal beamed. “We have much to talk of, yes? Tell us all about your travels. We did not expect your return so soon, daughter. We understood you would visit Trekur Lende and acquaint yourself with your new home.”

  He turned a questioning gaze on his daughter, who quickly ducked her head. A shadow passed across Fanchon’s delicate face, as when a cloud hides the warmth of the sun from a flower. She shook her curls slightly and affected a laugh.

  ‘Not now, Father, but later after we have rested, I will tell you and my Mother all about our adventures. Now we are in need of some rest, for we have traveled far this day. May we retire to our chambers for a while?”

  “Of course!” Pascal blinked and turned to the others. “You shall stay as our guests, for we have many spare rooms. Come, you may retire for a few hours before the evening meal.”

  He summoned an attendant with the aid of a little silver bell that lay on a small marble table. Through the door entered a small, slim young woman who was as dark as Fanchon was fair. Her oval face with its sculpted features seemed as impassive as a house that is shuttered for the winter. Thick dark lashes masked eyes cast modestly down as effectively as a curtain hiding a room from the gaze of the curious. A bracelet coiled above her left elbow proclaimed her status for all to see.

  Marcus realized with a sense of shock that he had not seen a slave since they stayed at the palace of the Ashkani a few months ago. So used to seeing free men had he become that it was startling to see a servant who was owned by another person, their property to do with what he wished.

  The thought that this lovely creature must live her life at the mercy of the whims of others filled him with a sense of outrage at the injustice of it, and Marcus knew that he had truly changed. How often had his demands been met by the slaves his father owned, and not once had he ever given thought to their status. Had he ever considered them as human beings with feelings and dreams of their own that had been trampled by those who possessed them? No; the truth was that he had not. The admission filled him with shame.

  The small band followed the slave girl through the spacious villa as she led them to their chambers. Her sandaled feet made barely a whisper on the hardwood floors, and she ascended the wooden staircase with a posture as erect as Tullia’s. Marcus found himself wondering from what aristocratic home she had been snatched, for he knew that only slaves of the highest pedigree were chosen for house attendants.

  She first escorted Fanchon and Kyrene to their chambers; then showed the young men and Cort to a separate wing of the house. The villa was large enough that each had their own room, a luxury they had not enjoyed for some time.

  As the girl bowed and turned to leave them, Marcus halted her retreat.

  “Pardon me, lady,” he began as she turned back to him. “May I ask for your name?”

  The girl lowered her eyes demurely, or was it sullenly, Marcus wondered, and responded in a subdued monotone.

  “My name is Elena,” she replied with downcast eyes.

  “Well then, Elena,” Marcus answered her. “Thank you for your kindness in escorting us to our chambers.”

  And he bowed slightly to her.

  Elena lifted a startled gaze. Her black eyes blinked at Marcus, and she flushed slightly. Plainly at a loss for words, she merely bowed down from the waist.

  “Is there anything else my lords require of their servant?” she asked in a voice as sweet as honey in the comb.

  “No, I think not,” Marcus responded as he bestowed a smile on the girl.

  Elena bowed again as she lowered her eyes once more. Then she walked backwards from their presence and left them swiftly.

  Felix gazed after her with a slight frown puckering his brow. He turned to Marcus with a puzzled air.

  “May I inquire, my friend, why you chose to embarrass that young lady by engaging her in conversation? It is not the usual custom with slaves, you know.”

  “And a shame it is!” Marcus snapped at his friend. “Are not slaves people such as ourselves, whose only misfortune is to be taken by violence from their homes and forced to serve heedless masters in a str
ange land?” he exclaimed in his newly found outrage.

  “Well, yes, when you phrase it that way,” Felix admitted, as his frown deepened. “I suppose I never really thought about it before, really. And perhaps you never did either,” he remarked in a sudden flash of perception. “You have changed, my friend.”

  “Yes,” Marcus said slowly, his own patrician brow creased by a frown. “I never noticed the slaves in my father’s house, except when I required their services. I only saw them as attendants to answer my needs, and never gave thought to them as people; people that had been seized, their own lives interrupted and the only life they knew ended. And all because of the caprice of a foreign invader who decided to rob them of what was rightfully theirs.”

  Marcus stared into space, heedless of his companions. No one spoke for a long moment. Then Dag laid a hand on the shoulder of his friend.

  “You have changed, yah? It is good, my friend. Once you were cold. You did not see things as they are. But now you are kind. You care for the poor of the earth. Dominio will be pleased, yah?”

  Felix chuckled and nodded his head.

  “Well said, Dag. Well said, indeed. And now, off to bed, for of sleep Cort has need!”

  And Felix casually picked up the yawning Cort, who seemed ready to drop on his feet.

  The conversation ended in a burst of laughter as they bade each other a good night and retired to their rooms.

  Chapter XXII

  The Folly of Fanchon

  It was the evening of the third day since their return. The days had been refreshing as they all felt a sense of respite since the enforced exit from Trekur Lende and the voyage to Gaudereaux. And it was infinitely more pleasant to enjoy the hospitality of a private home, than to be accommodated in a public inn.

  For Pascal and Gaelle had opened their home to them, and picked up the threads of acquaintance with their daughter’s intended and companions with a gracious welcome, and quickly warmed to Kyrene, as they noted the latter’s quiet refinement and appreciated her peaceful serenity. A good friend for their lively, chattering daughter, they said among themselves.