The Forgotten Lord: Tales of Misbelief I

by Barb Hendee

  “Where are you?” I shouted. “Leave us alone! Whatever was done to you, you brought it on yourself!”

  “Did I bring murder upon myself?”

  I whirled around, looking back down the path towards the bridge.

  He stood there, only a few paces away, bathed in moonlight.

  The sight of him shocked me. I couldn’t help it. His previously fair skin was as gray as Byanka’s and the child’s when we had buried them. His shin-length robe was soiled all over, as were his boots and bloodstained shirt. Stark white hair hung out of the cowl in dirty, lanky clumps. His eyes peered out from sunken sockets. A small brass vial, perhaps some strange token, hung around his neck on a chain.

  Though his visage was repulsive, for some reason, I wasn’t afraid. Perhaps I was beyond fear.

  “You sought to take his place,” I flung at him. “You… who are not fit to clean his boots. What did you expect him to do?”

  He smiled, and the sight chilled me.

  “Say whatever you will. I will do you no harm… yet. You nurse him, coddle him, keep him alive. You are useful to me. Go on coddling him, prolonging his suffering. I like to watch. You have convinced me to drain the village more slowly, to take my time. But when all life here is gone, I will come for him… and for you, and then you will know what it means to suffer”.

  He looked beyond me towards the village.

  “Slowly.”

  Without intending to, I turned to follow his gaze toward Pudúrlatsat. The people there might revile me, but it was my home.

  When I looked back, he was gone. And then I was afraid. I never told anyone that I had seen him or what he’d said to me.

  The next day, I began to feel the first hint of despair.

  Was there nothing I could do? I hated feeling helpless, and yet I was. My father ceased to ride to the outlying villages so often, and he began staying closer to home. He also insisted on conducting an evening walk through the Pudúrlatsat village every night to check on the people. Perhaps he felt helpless too and wished to do something, even though there was nothing either of us could do. My father had never been one to turn his face from pain or suffering. He spent so much time outside the manor that his skin began to age. In empathy, I took to making these rounds with him, walking at his side, and my lord’s sweet-natured wolfhound, Shade, often joined us. I think the poor creature was lonely, as Stefan had long since ceased to notice her. But my father appreciated her company and saw to her care.

  It was on one such walk that I spotted our salvation.

  The schedule for arriving barges was surprisingly regular, and I’d forgotten there was one likely due that evening. As I strolled through the village beside my father, I noticed that Shade had suddenly vanished, and I wondered where she’d gone. Then we rounded a corner near the smithy, and my father stopped at the sight of three strangers and an unfamiliar dog.

  Shade, the old wolfhound, was with them, clearly trying to make friends with the other dog.

  I took in the sight of the visitors.

  The one nearest to me was a tall, pale woman. Her long hair was black with blood-red tints that glowed beneath the light of a street brazier. She wore a cloak, but I could see a sword through the front opening. She also wore an amulet around her neck that appeared to be made from bone. A man, only slightly taller than her, came next. He too wore a cloak, and he had it pulled closed, so I could see little about him below the neck. His hair was white-blond and a green scarf covered the top of his head. His skin was darkly tanned, and even from where I stood, I saw his eyes were amber.

  The third member was less exotic, but still… a young, rather pretty woman with wispy, light brown hair and olive skin. Her cloak was open, revealing that she wore some kind of gray robe that reached below her knees. Beneath the robe she wore breeches that were almost hidden by walking boots.

  Their dog was enormous, resembling a wolf with silver-blue fur.

  My father approached cautiously to greet them, but I was completely fixated on the tall, pale woman.

  I knew who she was. Word travels on the wind in a nation like Droevinka, and I had heard tales of a white-skinned woman with blood-red tints in her black hair… who wore a sword on her hip.

  She was Magiere, hunter of the undead.

  Without letting a hint of recognition show, I smiled and led them to the common house to spend the night indoors. My thoughts were churning. At the manor that night, I talked my father into assisting me, into helping me force Stefan to listen. Then I went back to the common house, and I brought these three visitors and their great, silver-blue dog to the manor. To my surprise, Stefan spoke to them. He told them everything that had happened with Vordana—some of which, I heard for the first time.

  After his story, the hunter was reluctant to help someone she considered to be a murderer, and I fought to contain my anger at her unfair sentiments. In the end, when she decided to help the village, my relief was beyond words.

  In fact, it was so great that I don’t recall much of what was said after that, but I did remember Wynn Hygeorht pondering my lord’s curse. She used the words “Tôlealhân” and “will craft,” and then she claimed that Vordana had placed a “hàs” upon Stefan. I stored all those words in the back of my mind.

  The next day, I ran down to the village and told everyone what was happening… that a hunter had come who would be going after the cause of our blight—and that she would need to be paid. For once, no one hissed at me or called me foul names. Instead, their eyes widened in hope, and they hurried to gather what money they could.

  I brought it all to the hunter, but she refused to take it. She took money from Stefan, but she’d take no money from the village.

  I did not understand this strange woman.

  The night of the hunt, my father insisted I stay inside the manor with Stefan, and he made me promise I wouldn’t leave, so I was not witness to anything that happened. Instead, I waited in silence, which was terrible, closing my hands so tightly my knuckles turned white.

  But the strangers I had helped engage proved victorious.

  Afterwards, I was told that it had been Wynn Hygeorht, and not the hunter, who vanquished Vordana. He had pursued the sage into the smithy, and she’d somehow torn the brass urn from around his neck and tossed it into the coals.

  Yet, when she told me this story, something about it felt wrong, as if she’d left out large chunks. I knew she was lying about something… but I didn’t care.

  The curse on the village had been lifted. It was over.

  Sadly, for Stefan… it was not. His curse was different, imbedded deeply inside his mind.

  He was still trapped inside the manor. And this was not the only tragedy to follow our victory.

  The hunter and her companions left the following morning, and that night, my father and a boy called Tenan were found dead outside the village. My father’s neck was broken, and Tenan’s throat torn open. We never learned how this had happened to them.

  I was alone in the world and had no one… except Stefan.

  · · · · ·

  And so, two years later, the village had recovered completely. The people were grateful to me, but Stefan had deteriorated into this shadow of a man, sitting on the floor, leaning against his bed, and begging for death.

  My love for him was undiminished, and I wished that I could tell him about the three sages now sleeping in the common house, about my plan to lure the blue-robed one somewhere alone so I could question him, see if he could unlock this curse that was slowly destroying my lord.

  I don’t know what made me focus entirely on that one sage among the three. Call it instinct, but he was the one with whom I wished to speak. Then… with a jolt, I realized why he had seemed familiar even though I’d never met him.

  He reminded me of Vordana.

  His features and manner and clothing were different, but he was a slender man—with a young face—and long white hair. I was surprised at myself that this had not occurred to me befor
e, and I remembered something else Wynn Hygeorht had told me on her visit here… something about a sorcerer—Vordana—having placed the curse on Stefan, so only another sorcerer could remove it.

  No wonder I felt drawn to that white-haired, blue-robed sage. But I still feared telling Stefan about him.

  It was possible the sage knew nothing, and I was only fixating upon him because he looked like Vordana and exuded an aura of mystery. He could be useless.

  So, I kept silent on my plans.

  “You are over tired,” I whispered, leaning close to Stefan’s ear. “Take another swallow of wine and come to bed.”

  His bloodshot eyes were so bleak, and when the muscles in his jaw tightened, a flash of panic rushed through me.

  Before I could move, his hand shot downward, and he grabbed the dagger again, whipping it toward his left wrist. I had only the span of a breath or two in which to act, and I knew I could never wrest the dagger away from him by force.

  Instead, I did what I always did and let instinct take over. I slapped him… as hard as could. I am small, but I’ve lifted and carried my whole life, and I hit him hard enough to hurt him.

  Without an instant of hesitation, I swung back again, cracking against his mouth with my knuckles, causing sharp pain to my hand.

  I didn’t care.

  I wasn’t sure what to expect, but he appeared too stunned to even roar at me in anger. His mouth gaped. After years of my quiet care, he probably couldn’t believe what I’d just done. But I wasn’t finished.

  Grabbing his right wrist, I ordered, “Get up!”

  He stared first at me and then at the dagger still in his hand, and a hint of awareness crossed his features, as if he was finally coming back to himself and realized what he’d just been about to do.

  “Up,” I repeated.

  By way of an answer, he dropped the dagger. It bounced once off the floor with a loud thud, but I slipped around him and pulled him after me onto the bed.

  “Lay down.”

  He obeyed me like a child. I’d never tried this tactic before, and had only resorted out of desperation, but I was surprised at how well it worked—at least this once. I’d caught him off guard and forced him away from the edge.

  Quickly, I gathered up some of the bedding lying on the floor and helped him get settled. Then, I knelt on the bed beside him. Once he was finally resting on his pillow, I tried to reach out to soothe his head, and he pulled me down against his chest, holding me there so I couldn’t move.

  “Don’t leave me, Elena,” he whispered. “No matter what I say, no matter what I do.”

  “I won’t,” I promised. “You know I won’t.”

  Even as I said this, I wondered how I could get away from him and slip back down to the common house.

  But he didn’t let go of me, and he didn’t fall asleep. Instead, he kept his arm tight, and he went on whispering of his fears and his sorrows late into the night. I clung to him and listened. By some hours later, I was exhausted, and I couldn’t help closing my eyes, just to rest them a little.

  · · · · ·

  When I woke up, Stefan was sleeping beside me. For a moment, I was confused, feeling that I’d forgotten something wildly important. Then I jumped out of the bed and ran to the window, pulling back the heavy curtain over the closed shutters.

  Through a crack in the shutters I could see bright daylight. It was morning.

  Cursing myself, I fled the room, ran down the stairs, and out the front doors. I did not stop running until I reached the village and burst through the doors of the common house, panting for breath.

  It was empty.

  Turning, I ran back outside and down to the river landing, and there I stopped, choking back a sob.

  The barge was gone.

  The sages were gone.

  · · · · ·

  After a half day of self-recrimination, I realized that I could not simply give up. I had stopped Stefan from attempting to kill himself, but how long until he tried it again? Would I be able to stop him the next time? I doubted the same tactics would work twice.

  Slowly, I came to the only remaining choice.

  I was the one who had lost my chance… so I had to take it back. Domin Miderra had said that she and the other two sages were going to Kéonsk to help catalogue some recently unearthed state documents thought lost in a fire. In all honestly, I didn’t fully understand what this meant, but I could reason two things. First, it meant the sages could probably be found at the castle in Kéonsk, as this would most likely be the best place to store such documents, and second… if this was such a complex task that someone of importance in Belaski had learned of it and asked the Bela Annex sages to help Prince Rodêk, it would not be a brief task.

  I knew exactly what I had to do, and yet all my instincts rebelled against it. I would have to leave Pudúrlatsat for a minimum of five days, probably more.

  How would Stefan function without me? Part of this was my own fault, as over the past few years, I had made him dependent upon my care. In the end, I knew I had to leave on the next east-bound barge, and there was no other choice. I began making ready.

  I couldn’t tell him about my impending journey. For one, he would demand to know a good deal more information than I was willing to share—at least at this point. Also, he might not let me go, even if I hinted at seeking a way to lift his curse. He might not love me, but he had come to need me, and I wasn’t willing to give him a choice in my departure.

  So, I wrote a short letter to him, explaining that I had gone on a brief journey and that I hoped to bring him back some welcome news. I promised him that I would return soon. I did not specify where I had gone, as I feared he might go far enough as to send guards after me. I kept the letter inside the bodice of my gown and showed it to no one.

  I knew I’d need money, but that was no hindrance. For years, I’d had full access to the manor’s small treasury, as I was the one who paid the servants and ordered supplies. So, I took what coins I needed, and I hid them in my gown as well.

  From memory, I knew roughly when I might expect certain barges to arrive, but given the nature of cargo exchange, these schedules varied slightly, so I made excuses to go into the village several times a day to get a glimpse of the landing.

  Four days after the sages’ departure, I walked into the village to see a barge at the landing. My throat filled with hope, and I hurried to the river. You can imagine my disappointment when the thick-muscled barge master turned around, and I saw that it was Cooper… coming back from Kéonsk.

  He would be heading west now, down river.

  My face must have shown my feelings because he frowned.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I was surprised that he’d spoken. Cooper had never been one for talking. But his words made me really look at him for the first time. He was about thirty years old, with a broad, flat-featured face. His hair appeared to be dark brown or even black, but he wore it cropped so close to his head it was hard to tell. He wore thick boots, tan breeches, and a loose shirt of faded blue. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing the sinews of his forearms.

  “Elena?” he pressed.

  I was equally surprised that he knew my name. I knew his name because he did a lot of business here, but he’d never shown any interest in anyone beyond cargo exchange.

  “I… I want to go to Kéonsk,” I answered. “I’d hoped this was a barge heading east.”

  “Kéonsk?” His frowned deepened. “Why? You’ve never stepped foot outside of Pudúrlatsat.”

  This entire conversation was beginning to unsettle me, but for some reason, I blurted out. “I want to find those sages… to talk to them. One of them might be able to do something to help my lord.”

  By now, everyone knew something unnatural had happened to Stefan, via which he was trapped inside his own manor. But if Cooper was heading down river, his barge was of no use to me.

  I took a step back and half turned to walk away.

  “Wait,” Coo
per said.

  I stopped.

  “If you want to go to Kéonsk, I’ll take you,” he offered. “It’s only two days up river.”

  I blinked. “You’ll go back now? Without having unloaded any cargo downriver? Why?”

  “I’m in no hurry.”

  That was hardly an explanation, but I suddenly didn’t care. I could feel the time passing, and I feared the next time Stefan fell into darkness.

  “I can pay you,” I said. “Whatever you ask.”

  He glanced away again, as if embarrassed.

  “When can we leave?” I asked.

  “Soon as you’re ready.”

  I took a few quick breaths. Was I really going to do this? I nodded to him. “Let me go and get my things. I’ll be right back.”

  I ran back to the manor and slipped quietly up to my room. Though it was a fine spring day, I changed into a red wool dress and donned my cloak, as it could be cool on the barge at night. I hid my money in the pocket of my cloak—keeping back a small silver coin—and I gripped the letter I’d written in my hand.

  At this time of day, Stefan was usually in the main hall, so I crept down to the kitchens and found Beatrice. This next part would not be easy.

  She looked at my cloak. “Are you going back to the village? It is a warm enough day outside.”

  I held out the letter and showed her the silver coin. “I want you to wait until just before darkness falls, and then give this letter to our lord. Do understand? If you promise to do so, I’ll pay you with this coin.”

  Her eyes widened. She would not wish to get close enough to Stefan to place anything in his hand. I didn’t trust the guards with such a task. But in spite of her fear, if Beatrice made me a promise and took this money, I believed she would follow through.

  “Give him a… why can’t you give it to him?”

  “Because I am leaving for a few days, to try and find a way to help him. Just give him this letter and make sure he eats at least once a day. I will be back soon.”

  I held out the letter and the coin. The piece of silver was worth more than she earned in a year.