by Billy Wong
"At least you won't have to struggle over whether to kill him."
"Why not?"
"Because if he is intent on vengeance, the only way to stop him will probably be to kill him."
"Kyle, I really wanted to hear that."
"All that aside," Ann said, "the place to explain ourselves probably won't be in Arrith. Do you Widalian nobles have some higher authority you answer to, like a king? Stupid question! Of course you have a king."
Owen sighed. "Yes, but he is far away and by the time we reached him rumor would have condemned us to the deepest pit of hell. For once, I think your usual brazen approach might be ideal."
"Go on."
"As crazy as this may sound, I think it might be in our best interests to take the new Duke hostage. With him at our mercy, we should be able to keep the forces of Arrith at bay long enough to expose his father's treachery and get our reputations cleared."
"Kidnap that bully Marcus? All right, now we're talking!"
Mark could not believe what he was hearing. What in the world had he gotten himself into, searching for his mother? Then again, a confrontation might have been inevitable if the Duke was after him. More baffling yet, had that last insane suggestion come from his father? He had known Owen was brave, but he was usually so controlled. From where did he get the urge to be this bold? Could it be possible that Ann rubbed off on even him?
Maybe his plan was not quite that crazy.
Mark sat heavily against a tree. "This is all really overwhelming," he said in a distant tone. "I don't know if I can handle it."
Ann knelt beside him. "Mark, snap out of it! In the last couple of months you've fought giant monsters and killed men, seen magic and had sex. Lived the stuff of legend just like your mother said. Come on, is finding out your main enemy's dead that bad?"
He looked up, and realized he had survived greater... experiences. "It's just amazing we killed him without knowing it. But I guess I can manage."
"Now, how are we going to get into Arrith?"
#
Walking briskly downhill beside Ann, Mark marveled on reflection how much had really happened. He had experienced more intense emotion in the last few months, fear, anger, relief, and despair, than he could remember in years. Right now, he felt mainly a slight disappointment. His father, it seemed, still did not quite trust him to the most challenging of tasks, as he had split the group up into two pairs.
Along with Kyle, Owen himself would gather intelligence about conditions inside the city from surrounding settlements, while Mark and Ann were sent to ask the help of a noble family Owen referred to as "Lady Sheila and her clan." Kyle naturally had objected to being separated from Ann, but relented in deference to the older earl in the end.
The dense forest around Arrith gave way to far less vegetated lands, almost like the drained home of the Ironhoof tribe. At the same time both day and night grew shorter and shorter, while a bleak twilight stretched out to fill up the clock. Geography could hardly explain this change, for Mark and Ann had not gone far from Arrith. What was going on around here?
"Are you sure you're following your father's directions properly?" Ann asked. "I can't imagine what kind of nobles would want to live in such a place."
"I'm pretty sure I got the directions right. Although I do agree this is getting weird."
Eventually they came across the first human being they had seen for leagues, a small relief as the lack of people had been another source of unease. A burly man of imposing height even seated on a rock, he wore extensive armor and carried shield, mace, bow, knives, and spear. He appeared to be around forty, though his thick beard made it hard to tell for sure. Was he on military duty of some kind, or did local conditions warrant such armament?
"Excuse me, sir," Mark asked the well-armed man, "would you happen to know where the Lady Sheila lives?"
He looked up from the wood carving he had been busying himself with with a friendly grin. "Ah, visitors! I've missed seeing the likes of you. What business do you have with the fair Lady?"
Mark did not really desire an extended conversation here, even if the man seemed less threatening upon hearing him speak. "We were hoping to ask for her aid, on my father's behalf."
"Her home is straight up ahead. Just stay on the road, you can't miss it. It's the big fortress on the left."
"Thank you. By the way, would you mind telling me if you're a soldier of some kind?"
The man scratched his chin. "I suppose you could say I am. I am Gerrard, Lady Sheila's foremost guard—and her husband. So, what is it you need my wife's help with?"
With that new information in mind, and though he suspected Sheila's opinion carried more weight in their home, Mark decided he now did want to engage in further conversation with the man. Considering Gerrard's amiable mood, he figured garnering sympathy in him would be a suitable first step towards making a favorable impression here.
"You see, Lord Gerrard," Mark began, "there's this canal being built from Julpy, and..."
#
"Interesting tale," Gerrard said some hours later on the road, as he had been quite curious about many of the details of Mark's journey and getting through the story took longer than expected. "I think my wife would like it, especially the parts about your mom."
"What, and not about me?" Ann asked with disappointment that might have been real. "I'm a 'strong woman,' too."
"She might find your exploits amusing. But Sheila's interests lie more with serious drama than comedy."
"Did you hear that, Mark? He says I'm funny! I'm hardly funny when I'm beating some big turd into the ground."
Gerrard chuckled. "I mean no offense. But you must admit, many of the deeds you claim are not very believable."
"They happened, didn't they?"
Mark stepped in. "So Gerrard,"—the man insisted on not being called Lord—"if you live around here, what were you doing so far from home? There don't seem to be many people around for you to keep track of, are there?"
"I was checking around for signs of trouble. Those tend to show up strongest around this time of year."
"Trouble? What kind of trouble?"
Gerrard's sociable manner withdrew, his eyes darkening for a moment. "It's nothing for you to be concerned about. You're only here to ask for our help, aren't you?"
Mark wondered what this secret trouble might be, but let it drop in hopes of salvaging friendly relations. They continued on the road for a few miles more before coming into view of a long, wide fortress atop a low plateau, the smooth-worn battlements of which bespoke vast age. Mark assumed that Sheila probably claimed descent from past masters of the fortress, while her husband had married into her clan. A less common arrangement, but nothing unheard of.
Approaching the gray structure, Mark spotted upon its walls she who must be Lady Sheila. A beautiful, young-looking woman of modest height, she wore light, flowing robes of green. Unremarkable physical stature aside, her straight posture and granite expression made her radiate power and confidence.
With her was another man, slender with long blond hair and a nearly feminine grace, who hung half a step behind her as though in acknowledgment of her dominance. Mark would have thought him just an advisor, but the way he spoke into her ear and caressed her shoulders now and then indicated a more intimate relationship. If Gerrard saw the same, and Mark was sure he must, he showed no sign he cared.
"Gerrard!" Sheila said from the wall. She did not seem to try hard, but her voice carried with ease from afar. "I see you bring guests. Did you not warn them about our troubles this time of year?"
"I doubt mere words would be enough to turn them away," he called back. "Their business with us seems quite important, if you can believe that."
They continued to the front of the fortress, where the great timber gates groaned apart to admit them. From the entrance, Mark could not see anyone who might have operated the mechanism to open them. Gerrard led him and Ann up through stark gray halls, among which they saw no other residen
ts. Neither did they smell like a place where people lived. Was this great fortress inhabited by just three?
Gerrard brought them onto the walls, where the strength of the sun proved a warm surprise on Mark's face. Lady Sheila and her companion turned, the former even more impressive up close. Mark could practically feel the aura of strength pouring off of her.
"I am Sheila," she said, extending a finely kempt hand, "caretaker of this land." She glanced back with a warm smile to the blond man. "And this is my husband, Rand."
"Husband?" Mark looked at Gerrard. "But, um, aren't you..?"
Gerrard nodded. "Yes, and so is he. We are both her husbands."
Mark stared, knowing he was being rude but unable to help it. He knew plenty of men took multiple wives, but had never heard of a woman marrying more than one husband. No wonder Owen called them "Lady Sheila and her clan." Vague awareness that society considered it wrong aside, he himself had nothing in particular against such an arrangement, but suspected his father would disapprove. Yet Owen had sent him here for help. He must respect Sheila in some way, if not for her ideas about marriage.
"What are you gawking at, Mark?" Ann asked in a sharp tone. "If I can handle having more than one man, and I sure as hell can, who's to say Sheila here can't do the same?"
"I don't think anything's wrong with it." Without thinking, he added, "As long as everyone can get along, at least."
Sheila's prettier husband frowned awkwardly and averted his gaze, but Gerrard responded without visible discomfort. "She's woman enough for the both of us," he said. "We have no reason to fight when there's plenty to share."
Sheila herself looked unaffected, as she probably always did. "So, you say you need our help? It would help if you told me what you need it for."
She invited them inside for lunch, over which they recounted their long story once again. Would be all right to write it down, and just show it to the next person who wanted it told? It really did sound like something out of legend, though— relative helplessness of the hero notwithstanding.
Though she never seemed to hurry, when serving food Sheila got herself from place to place almost too fast for Mark to follow. It was like she moved outside time, and he wondered what abilities that delicate frame might hide. Gerrard ate at a relaxed pace, never eschewing the chance to talk for fear of the food getting cold. Unlike Gerrard, Rand was typically silent, but also ate slowly and seemed content in being so. After repeated badgering by Gerrard to demonstrate his skills with the flute, he showed that he could indeed blow beautiful tunes.
"I've met your father," Sheila said at the end of Mark's tale, "and he's a good man. We'll do whatever we can to help, though as you see we won't be providing an invasion force for the city. I have some ability as a seer; perhaps a glimpse into your future will aid you in finding your path."
So they had come all the way here for information, and not necessarily reliable information at that? If Owen knew Sheila, he must have known what kind of help she was able to give. Apparently he really didn't trust Mark, and had just sent him away for the sake of his tentative safety...
"Stop thinking so much," Ann said as they followed Sheila to the very spacious master bedroom, "and pay attention to what's happening!"
Sheila retrieved a large, rectangular mirror from beneath the canopied bed and set it on the dresser before which she sat. She raised her hands in front of her face and waved them in circular motions, and curiosity displaced Mark's earlier unhappiness. She was going to do magic!
He and Ann leaned over Sheila's shoulders to watch the clouding surface of the mirror, expecting it to resolve into a prophetic image any second. Instead, the haze within it thickened into a shifting wall of gray, then altered color and speed into a veritable roiling storm of black and red. In the ears of his mind Mark heard a roar like living thunder, and from Ann's unblinking eyes she did likewise. Without needing to know the meaning, Mark shivered. On instinct alone, he knew he had felt the touch of power.
"What does it mean?" Ann asked.
Sheila lowered her hands, and the mirror returned to its normal reflective state. "If you continue on your course," she said, "you will cross paths with a great and terrible force. How to deal with it will be up to you, but remember that it may not allow you to bypass it without danger."
Great and terrible force? Was that mystic talk for the new duke of Arrith and his resources, or did some truly daunting foe loom in their future? "No specifics, huh?" Ann asked for Mark, who cared too much for tact to do so. "That's not much help, beyond just saying 'be careful.'"
Sheila showed no reaction. "Think of it as an extra strong warning, if you must. But before getting too disappointed, let me tell this is not all I can help you with."
The words pleased Mark. It would be a welcome change if someone would provide aid beyond mere advice. "What do you mean? Can you help us get into Arrith?"
"We may not rule much at this time, but my name is still respected by the king and most noble houses. Under the guise of being under my employ, you should be able to divert suspicion enough to get into the city."
"You'd do that for us? But wouldn't your reputation be at risk if we're found out doing this?"
"If your cause is just as you say, we can only benefit once the situation is resolved and the Duke's wrongdoing brought to light. Besides, even if my reputation is tarnished, it will not affect me much one way or the other out here."
"Thank you," Mark said. A good person Sheila was, despite her unusual way with her men. Again he thought of Lindy and feared. No, he told himself. Sheila was much more adept at taking care of herself than Lindy. But Lindy had been a warrior, hadn't she?
Rand's high yell from outside startled him. "Sheila, beware! He is here!"
He who? Mark and Ann hurried after Sheila onto the walls, the latter walking with a haste never seen before. They looked out over the fortress gate, and saw facing them a man. A tall, armored man, in whose large, piercing eyes and strong stubbly jaw Mark saw something of a resemblance to Gerrard. Gerrard, he noted, who was nowhere to be seen.
"Rand!" the warrior boomed with a shake of his curved sword. "Come down so I can strike your head from your shoulders and use it as a bowl!"
"Go away!" Sheila shouted back, her voice near deafening when raised. "How many times have I told you are not welcome back until you can accept my loves?"
"How can I accept the man who stole you from me? I'll not relent until I drink soup from his head!"
"He stole nothing from you, you selfish fool! I never rejected you. You are the one who refuses my offer of peace and love. If you are so intent on keeping me for yourself alone, would you kill your own brother too?"
So he was Gerrard's brother, as Mark suspected. No wonder Gerrard wanted no part of this conflict. The man hesitated, then said, "I will settle for nothing less than your entire heart! How can you claim what you have is true love, if true love is oneness between two?"
Sheila frowned. "There are many kinds of love, and mine is the truest I know. Can you say that your love for me is true, if you cannot abide that which makes me happy?"
"You can have happiness with me! Weren't you happy when it was just the two of us, warring against the odds? Don't you remember how it was to be free, with me?"
"I still love you," Sheila sighed, "but I cannot stand to speak to you like this. Come back when you find your reason, and we can sit down and talk." With that, she turned stiffly and walked back into the fortress.
"You will change your mind!" her old lover yelled after her. "I'll kill your womanish love slave, and you will change your mind!" He shook his fist at the gate, then stormed away.
Ann started after Sheila, but Mark took her hand. "Don't disturb her now, I'm sure you know how it feels to have troubles of the heart." Himself curious about the situation, he paused. "Let's try asking Gerrard instead."
Gerrard too found it somewhat awkward to speak about the love rectangle he was in, but under cheerful prodding by Ann his natural talkativ
eness pulled through in the end. "So your younger brother Garrick was Sheila's first love," Ann summarized, "but refused to stay after she fell in love with Rand. Where do you come in?"
"I saved Rand when Garrick tried to murder him, but he was still badly hurt. Sheila fell in love with me while he was recovering."
"And you want her to let Garrick in now? Why? Aren't you afraid he might be violent again?"
"I think we could deal with him if he acts up. Besides, I am his brother. I don't believe he would kill me if it came down to it. He deserves a chance to discuss things slowly with her, and to regain his happiness."
"But if that's how you feel," Mark asked, "why don't you let him in yourself?"
"Sheila has told me very clearly she doesn't want me to do that. I don't know if she would let me off easy if I did. But I would greatly appreciate if someone were to do it for me."
Some time later, in the room Gerrard granted them for rest, Ann said, "I think we should help them."
"Help who, the brothers?"
"Yeah, who else? Gerrard practically asked for our aid. He may not be allowed to let Garrick in, but he can hardly be blamed if we do it for him."
Mark worried they might do more harm than good if they didn't mind their own business. "And how do you propose to do that? We don't know how to open the gates, and even if we can get out another way we can't count on getting back in."
"Oh, I'm sure I could figure out how to sneak in and out, but we probably don't even have to do that." She cupped her chin in thought. "We can just ask to go out, find Garrick, pass him off as someone we know, and bring him back in."
"But how are we going to find him?"
"Now that's easy. He hasn't been gone long, and the ground's full of dust. How bad do you think my tracking skills are?"
Mark, of course, was defeated. Though still dubious about the outcome of such a charitable act, he knew using that as the basis of an argument would get him nowhere. "So what kind of excuse do we use to leave the fortress?"
"Your father's a powerful earl, isn't he? I don't think it's out of the question that he might be sending us help as we speak, even in reality..."