by Rex Hazelton
Chapter 19: On the Banks of the Fyne River
The prince, while eating his dinner at Ivy's Inn, began his inquiry. “So Doleman, you say she stole your food and stabbed you with a knife?”
“Yes M'Lord.”
“Sir, let me ask you another question.” Prince Phelp's demeanor was cordial as he held his cup up for Anna to refill with sweet, red wine. “Did you see anything in the woman that lent credence to her story about having escaped imprisonment?”
“Well, since you're askin', I guess there was, M'Lord.” Doleman warily eyed Grog as he gave his answer. “Back then she looked more like a wild animal than a young woman. She was half starved and was wearin' filthy rags for clothes. Now I don't know if she escaped from anythin' or not, but she sure was a wild-eyed demon. I'd say, if she weren't pointed out to me, I wouldn't a known who she was. She's changed considerably since I last had a look at her.”
Politely dismissing Doleman, Prince Phelp called Muriel forward.
Once she declined a chair that one of the warriors politely offered her, the prince spoke to the point. “So, you say you've not only seen the river-children that only exist in Nyeg Warl's myths, but you've also seen their father, a man who calls himself Schmar? Is that right?”
Bowing her head as she spoke, Muriel replied, “Yes, My Lord.”
“Can you lead us to his cave?”
“Sire!” Grog vehemently protested. “Surely you're not going to dignify her fabrications?”
“Well if they are fabrications, we can all relax for there wouldn't be anything to worry about, right?”
“Sire, if I may humbly suggest… you're wrong!” Grog stepped over to stand beside Muriel.
His threatening presence, looming over her, stirred up an odd sensation. Feeling like she had left her body and casually walked to the back of the room, Muriel turned and dispassionately watched a tall white-skinned man standing beside a black-haired woman. Then she heard the tall man say, “If this woman is an agent of the unscrupulous Forest People, as I think she is, then her goal is to spread lies that will riddle the people's hearts with fear and doubt, and, because of this, open them up to greater infections of the soul. By allowing her to speak before a court where you yourself are seated as judge, you run the risk of giving her words more weight then they merit. So, you see, the concern is that your careless attitude will bring harm to Nyeg Warl.”
“I'm glad you have the people's well-being at heart.” Causticity filled the prince's speech. “But I have more confidence in their ability to discern the truth than you do. So, we'll let her speak. The Society's gift for censorship will not be needed this night.”
“I most adamantly protest your reckless behavior!” Grog lifted his voice close to the level of a shout.
“What?” The prince was incensed. “Will the Society now say that my grandmother was one of the Forest People?” Phelp alluded to Briney Gruff's situation, knowing that rekindling this memory would open old wounds the Society had inflicted in Barm. Then changing the cadence of his voice, choosing to speak in even measured tones rather than using sarcasm's lilting bite, the prince went on to sa, “Grog, I'd say your behavior is more reckless than mine. I warn you to be careful! There are things more powerful than your beloved Society.”
“Sire, are you threatening me,” the Commander spat out his question, “for if you are… you're making a grievous mistake.”
Knocking his chair to the ground, angered by Grog's impudence, Phelp bolted to his feet. “Are you trying to intimidate me with the magic that season's your words, thinking your sorcery will make me flee for my life? Will you sick your hounds on me as you were prepared to do if Muriel tried to escape?” Prince Phelp, sweeping around the table, stood toe-to-toe with the hateful commander, before he continued. “You may be able to bluff my father with your bravado, but not me. I know who you are and who your lord is, and it's certainly not my father. Your stooges say your skin is white because of your righteous love of the truth. I say your skin is white because you're a bloodless vermin.”
Reaching for his sword, the commander shouted, “How dare you insult the Society's integrity!”
“Go ahead! Draw your blade! For in the moment you do, you will remove the doubt clouding my father's discernment. Then he'll know you for who you really are, even as I do.”
Grog let go of his weapon knowing Prince Phelp's words were true. He didn't want to awaken the king from his slumber before it was time, so he made a quick retreat, feigning repentance. “You misunderstand me, Sire. My actions are only directed by what is good for your father and his subjects.” Bowing low, the commander stepped back among his troops without further provocation.
Realizing he would no longer have problems with the Society of Truth and its white-skinned commander, Prince Phelp concluded his statements by saying, “Grog, what you and I think my father's best interests are, are as different as night from day.”
“That may well be,” Grog politely replied as he bowed once more.
When Prince Phelp turned to address Muriel, she felt herself reentering her body.
“Young woman, it's time for me to render judgment on your case.” The good prince smiled as he spoke. “I find you guilty of raising questions that need to be answered. So, I sentence you to come to the Eyrie of the Eagle before the next full moon arrives. There, I and Eagle's Vale's lords will endeavor to ascertain the truthfulness of your words. Until then, you can move about as you please.”
Turning to address the crowded room, Phelp lifted his voice so everyone could hear. “Let it be known to all, I am now placing Muriel under my personal protection. Whoever touches her will answer to me.” A mischievous look crossed Prince Phelp's face when he turned to face the white-skinned man. “I think my father needs to hear what she has to say.”
Hearing this decree, Grog ordered his command to pack up and leave the village of Barm as soon as they could. In short order, the sound of horse hooves, pounding on cobblestones, and dogs barking filled the street as the Soldier's of Truth disappeared into the night, even before Prince Phelp and his men had finished their evening meal.
Later that evening, the prince sent everyone to their homes except Muriel, Vav and his family. After standing to his feet, he went over to his father's former guard and hugged him. “Forgive me for not greeting you sooner my old friend, but duty comes before pleasure.”
“It's always good to see you, Sir. But I must confess, appearing like you did tonight nearly reached divine proportions.” Once the prince let go of his friend, Vav added, “May I ask how you came to Barm at such a fortuitous time?”
“Yes, you can ask. I was returning home after spending time with Wombur the Bull King. He and I have become good friends over the past summers. We're much alike and have similar views about many things that are happening in Nyeg Warl. Besides, it's worth making the trip just to see his daughter Sandar.”
“Ahhhh, I see!” Vav, adding a bit of droll theatrics to his words, brought a smile to the prince's face.
Still smiling, Phelp gave himself time to enjoy a moment's reflection on King Wombur's lovely daughter before he continued. “Though I have fallen in love with the beautiful princess, my visit was of a more somber nature. I am convinced Koyer will soon plunge Nyeg Warl into war. He is becoming bolder even as the kings are losing their resolve to withstand him.”
Looking at Muriel, he went on to explain, “I, like King Wombur, believe the Society of Truth is doing Nyeg Warl a great disservice when they vilify those who say things that cast Koyer in a bad light. When war erupts, these lovers of peace- as they so generously describe themselves- will have been one of the main causes for its arrival.”
King Wombur and I are working together to prepare for the inevitable conflagration. He is arming his kingdom as fast as he can, while I am preparing our own forces as best as I can, given the restrictions my father unwisely imposes on me.”
Prince Phelp placed his finger pensively against his lips as he pondered the evening's tr
oubling events. Then, gathering his thoughts, he continued. “While I was planning the trip home, I decided to visit some of my father's villages that are off the beaten path. Noticing the village of Barm on my map, and remembering that this was your home, I decided to come and visit you.”
“Strange as it seems, on this night filled with strange things, I didn't allow my entourage to make camp when they wanted to, earlier this evening. For some reason, I felt compelled to push on into the approaching night, fearing something was amiss. Once we arrived at Barm, proving my intuition's prompting was true, we discovered that blood was about to be shed in this young woman's defense.”
Relaxing in the comfort of Ivy's Inn, Vav, his family, Muriel and Prince Phelp talked about the things that brought Barm to the brink of tragedy until well past midnight.
****
The following morning, the inn was abuzz with people wanting to meet the prince. The darkness of the night before was washed away by the joy of having royalty visiting their humble village. Making himself available to any and all who wanted an audience, Phelp quickly garnered the people's gratitude, and when evening arrived, gratitude spilled over into a great feast that spread out over the cobblestones covering mainstreet. Laughter, music and dancing filled the village with the ambiance of a wedding; wine flowed like water; friendship was the bread they ate. The celebration's magic restored the sense of community the previous day's struggle had threatened to destroy, that is, for everyone except Fadoris, Clouse and a handful of people who supported the Society of Truth.
Wisely, Prince Phelp made it a point to honor Vav publicly. In the middle of the festivities, with everyone listening, he recounted the many deeds and exploits Vav and his three compatriots had accomplished while members of the Eagle King's Elite Guard. The centerpiece of the telling was the story of how Vav had saved the king's life.
What the prince did that night was unprecedented in Barm's history. It secured Vav's position as not only being one of the village elders, but established him as Barm's undisputed leader. In time, when the knowledge of these events spread beyond the valley, reaching the surrounding towns, Vav's role as a leader extended throughout the region.
The following morning, Prince Phelp awakened long before the sun rose and left Barm to avoid prolonged partings. He and his entourage- comprised of mostly seasoned warriors- led their horses out of the stables, on foot, and down the cobblestone road to where the bridge crossed over the Fyne River. There they were greeted by Vav, Hylde, Truamor, Hayrn, Layrn and Muriel.
The prince arranged this clandestine meeting to be the capstone of his visit with Vav. He wanted to privately express his enduring gratitude to his father's savior. So, there in the waning darkness of a moonless night, Prince Phelp stood alone with Vav and his family after asking his men to go on ahead at a pace that would permit him to quickly catch up.
Behind them, an enchantment covered Barm like a cozy blanket, filling the people's heads with sweet dreams. It would be quite some time before anyone would stir from their post-party sleep. In the solitude of that moment, Vav and Prince Phelp exchanged candles signifying the hope each had for the other's well-being.
“My Friend, let's not let so much time pass by before we met again.” Prince Phelp grasped the old warrior's arm as he spoke.
“It probably won't be too long, my Prince, since I'm going to escort Muriel to the Eyrie of the Eagle.”
“Good! Then I'll be seeing you soon,” Phelp replied as he slapped Vav on the back. “Bring your whole family and these two brave young men, as well.”
Taking on a more serious tone, the prince exhorted his friend. “Evil times are upon us! Stay alert! Prepare for what lies ahead as best you can, for the king may have need of your sword and service, once again! Gather trustworthy men together and give them my words!”
Mounting his steed, and after a final farewell, Phelp rode off along the road leading eastward away from the bridge, leaving Vav and his family standing in the darkness of a waning night. The sound of receding hoof beats was heard in front of them while a gurgling noise sounded in the river running behind them. Before long, the gurgling was joined by a swishing, swirling tumult that alerted Muriel to a danger she had faced twice before.
“Uncle Vav!” Muriel cried out, terrified by what she was thinking. “I fear Schmar's children are upon us!”
“To arms!” Vav shouted.
Each drew the weapon they still carried with them as a precaution against any treachery Grog had planned, and, indeed, the scoundrel hatched a plan that included telling the river-children where Muriel could be found.
“Quick! Someone, go to Barm and wake the people!” Vav yelled.
Knowing he was the fastest runner, Laryn took off like a rabbit racing for the safety of a warren. But before the others could follow, black globs, elongated and wet, slid along the ground until they rose up before them, blocking their way.
Looking like a porcupine, all balled up with its spines sticking out, Vav's family stood back-to-back brandishing their blades in every conceivable direction: Truamor was still carrying the sword she had acquired the night before last; Hylde held a long-knife that Vav had given her; Hayrn had his own weapon; Muriel withdrew the stone knife she had made in Schmar's cave; and Vav stood holding a sword in one hand and a long knife in the other.
“Give us Muriel.” A raspy wet voice broke the silence, speaking out of the darkness hiding the river-children.
Trying to gain time for Layrn to finish his race, Vav repied, “Give Muriel to whom and for what reason?”
“Give her to us. She's our father's property.”
“And who might your father be?”
“Someone you wouldn't want to know.”
“Well then, how did the young woman come to belong to your father?” Vav was stalling for as long as he could.
“She's our father's property by the rights of the hunt and because he took care of her for such a long time.”
In the few moments they had been talking, the eastern sky began taking on a grayish cast, heralding the approaching day. The welcome light, dim as it was, enabled the beleaguered group to make out the silhouettes of more than a dozen attackers. Granted partial sight, Vav began to think they just might have a fighting chance of surviving the attack.
Pulling Hylde close, he directed Hayrn and Truamor to guard Muriel.
With the defense in place, the battle-tested warrior puzzled over the creature's willingness to argue with him over his niece. He figured they must surely know he would never give her up without a fight. Then it dawned on him, predators rarely expose themselves to danger; they usually select the weak and defenseless to prey upon, and his family, brandishing weapons like they were porcupine quills, didn't fit the bill for being a good target.
Vav thought how similar this scene was to the one his brother Laz had faced so many summers before. Glancing towards Muriel, he began wondering why the evil powers, lurking in the warl, were so willing to cast caution to the wind to apprehend his niece. But he wasn't given much time to figure this out. Barm began to light up, signaling that Layrn's efforts were bearing fruit. Because the village was waking, the contest's dynamics were quickly changing, but they had become no less dangerous.
Knowing their time was short, the river-children quickly mounted an attack.
Crouching low, they leapt forward!
The bravest of the bunch, reaching for Muriel, was greeted by the deadly point of Vav's sword. The rest of the creatures, wary of how effortlessly their brother had been slain, backed off.
Not long afterwards, once they had time to rethink their plans, three of the river-children confronted Vav to keep him occupied while the rest rushed at Muriel, Truamor and Hayrn.
Death flung itself against the three young people. It was all Haryn could do, just to wound one of the creatures, before the others pulled him away and began tearing at him. Two held him down. A third one bit into his chest and began sucking out his life's blood. The horrifying screams that f
ollowed woke up the rest of the village.
Layrn, recognizing his friend's cry, sprinted furiously down to the river's edge. But before he could get back, Muriel and Truamor came to Hayrn's rescue, cutting down the creature that knelt over his squirming body. By the time Layrn arrived, he found that his friends had been separated from one another. Two different battles were being fought. Seeing Vav was holding his own against the smaller of the two forces, Layrn turned his attention to the creatures encircling Muriel and Truamor, those that were in the process of taunting the young women like cats toying with mice they planned to kill. Leaping at an unsuspecting monster, Layrn plunged his sword into its neck before rebounding to cut a deep gash in another's arm. He swung at a third assailant. This time a jagged-edged sword rose up to meet his blade.
Laryn's vicious attack served to draw away several of those who had been tormenting Muriel and Truamor. Then misfortune struck! Wounded by one of the creature's cruel swords, slashed across the leg, his prospects for surviving the battle seemed remote at best. Falling to one knee, placing his hand over a deep gash cut into his right thigh, Laryn watched Truamor get knocked across the head with a blow that sent her rolling downhill towards the river.
Having removed the threat Truamor and Layrn posed, the river-children turned their full attention to Muriel. Standing guard over Hayrn, who was struggling to keep his life from slipping out of his grasp, her breath came in short adrenaline induced bursts.
Once again, the cat-and-mouse game resumed. Even though shouts of alarm were heard coming out of Barm, and the first of the villagers were seen hurrying over the cobblestone street towards the furious battle being waged on the banks of the Fyne River, the creatures were confident that they could finish their work before help would arrive.
With Muriel facing her inevitable capture, feelings of terror gave way to a fog of resignation that was part of a dark enchantment that first touched Muriel in Schmar's cave. The spell made her think that all she was hearing and seeing was a figment of her imagination. Unfocused like those who had too much to drink, Muriel let the stone knife slip out of her hand as cruel, wet fingers pulled her to the ground and bound her arms and legs together.