by Sandra Kopp
“I know.” Davon glanced at the sky. Churning clouds gathered from every direction, forming towering, boiling heaps. “It’s far too hot for so early in spring. We’re in for a monstrous storm, I fear.”
He patted the pack on the saddle behind him and edged closer to Charles. “I brought clothing that may serve as a disguise,” he said quietly.
“Excellent,” Charles responded. “Now, let’s not appear to share secrets. Someone is sure to be watching.”
Hans frowned as the low rumble of distant thunder rolled ominously from the night-black clouds. “’Tis as I feared. We’ll not make the Wayward Heart before that storm breaks. You may be getting a bath sooner than you intended, Miss Merewyn.”
“I welcome anything to wash this filth off me,” she returned.
Arris sniffed. “Not a cold rain late in a spring day, particularly when we have so far to travel.”
“And nothing to keep us dry,” Hans added. “We’ll be soaked to our skins.”
Hoping to escape detection by Mordarius’ soldiers, they had kept to the woods, which now receded further and further east. The Inn of the Wayward Heart lay almost due north, but taking a direct route meant traveling in open country. Although the impending cloudburst further darkened the twilight gloom, Hans deemed it too perilous to leave the safety of the forest.
“We can’t stay in the woods any longer,” Arris protested, “or we’ll find ourselves in the wilderness of San-Leyon rather than the warmth of a hospitable inn.”
“Hopefully it is still hospitable,” Hans growled. “If the dogs of Mordarius still hunt us, there won’t be a welcoming place anywhere.”
“What do you propose?” Arris asked. “Keeping to the forest only takes us farther from our destination. It’s fruitless to take the long way around, and then have to cross even more open space coming back.”
Hans cautiously nudged his horse to the edge of the trees and peered out. The woods opened into broad grassland sloping gently to the road some two miles away. Here and there a lone juniper or young pine stood silent watch, like scouts sent ahead of the massive green armies behind them. Once the company reached the road, they would have little cover until about a mile from the inn, where the road again entered the forest.
The sky grumbled louder. Threatening shafts of blue-white light shot from cloud to cloud. The horses pawed nervously and champed their bits. The trio felt their skin tingle in the electric air, now heavy with the sweet smell of rain. Hans stole a quick glance upward before turning to Arris.
“The inn will be full if we tarry much longer,” Arris told him. He nodded toward the fading light. “’Tis almost sundown, and already these clouds sufficiently darken the day to obscure us.”
“Not enough for eyes trained for a single target,” Hans answered.
“Then we must disguise the target,” Arris pressed. “Come, man. It won’t be safe in these trees much longer with that lightning striking so close. Let Merewyn ride behind me under my cape.”
“So then you’ve a hump on your back and a spare pair of legs—a curious sight! And in open fields we’ve no place to hide her.”
“We have swift horses and will only be exposed for a little way. Besides, the night grows and. . .” Arris nodded upward as jagged lightning split the sky “. . .this storm may yet befriend us. Who wouldn’t take shelter during a driving rain?”
“Let’s hope this driving rain doesn’t drive every traveler between Atwall and Brackenlea to the Inn of the Wayward Heart,” Hans growled. “All right, lass. Do what he says. Get on behind him and I’ll throw the cape over you. Stay to my right, Arris, ’twixt me and the trees, when we get to them. I’ll shield you as best I can.”
Merewyn slid off Hans’ horse. Arris pulled his cape to one side as Hans also alit and lifted Merewyn onto Arris’ stallion behind the saddle. With Hans’ help, Arris pulled the cape back across to cover her.
Hans hurried to his horse and remounted. “Let’s go.”
A searing blue flash followed by a crash that shook the ground startled the horses into a panic. The men tried to hold them in as they lunged and reared.
“We’ve got to get out of these trees!” Arris shouted. “Hang on, Merewyn!”
They turned their horses to the north and gave them their heads, bursting out of the forest as the skies opened and icy rain poured down. Merewyn forgot all propriety and clung to Arris as she tried to adjust to the horse’s pounding rhythm. Somehow through the maelstrom they found the road and pushed on until the rivers of rainwater pooling in the wagon ruts slickened the ground, making it impossible to continue their breakneck pace.
By the time they reentered the forest, night had fallen. Flash after blinding flash ripped the heavens. Tortured trees writhed in the eerie glow, furiously whipped by shrieking winds that tore off branches and transformed them into deadly missiles. One struck Merewyn squarely across the shoulder blades and dropped onto the horse’s rump. The startled steed leapt ahead just in time to evade a great pine crashing to the ground.
“Are you all right?” Arris shouted.
“Yes,” Merewyn’s muffled voice came back.
“Hold on. We’ve not far now.”
At that moment a gigantic twisting luminous bolt spiraled earthward, slamming the ground with a deafening crash. A distant fir exploded into brilliant orange, then stood as if stunned, dark but for ghostly waves of bluish-white pulsating up and down its trunk. In the throes of death, the proud tree gathered its strength for a final defiant gesture and flamed up, hurling a ragged fiery fist at the sky. This immediately succumbed to the wind-driven rain, but elsewhere the haloed shards from other shattered bolts rolled and danced. A strange sharp odor filled the air.
The horses reared and bucked. Hans cursed as he fought to control his mount, but it reared straight up, lost its footing, and fell backward. Hans threw himself clear and rolled, barely eluding the animal’s crushing weight. The horse struggled to its feet and trotted off, dragging the hapless Hans, who had managed to maintain his grip on the reins.
“Stop, you bleedin’ reprobate!” he bellowed. “Stop, I say!” Somehow he found his feet and maintained his footing long enough to reach ground firm enough to plant himself and pull the horse down.
“Easy now.” He glanced around, chest heaving. “Arris? Arris!” But the wind tossed his words to the roiling sky.
The horse reared and whirled. A turbulent blast slammed Hans to the ground. His hand stung where the reins tore the skin. His back and shoulders throbbed. He tried to groan, but the fall had knocked the breath from him.
Vague shapes materialized in the continuous flashes of lightning, drawing eerily closer with each illumination. Gnawing fear and the burning pain made him close his eyes.
Gradually his breath returned. Groaning, Hans struggled to his feet and staggered into the night.
AT THE INN OF THE WAYWARD HEART
The Inn of the Wayward Heart, a large log building situated on the banks of the Ashgard River some twenty miles north of Atwall, acquired its name from the innkeeper’s first wife, a buxom blonde with rosy cheeks and ample figure who had consorted with several male customers before running away with a man of means. Most considered her departure a blessing, for the innkeeper’s new wife proved a much finer cook.
Twenty tables, each seating four, crammed the main room. A kindly man with a ruddy face and thinning hair drew ale from the wooden kegs lining the wall behind the high counter at one end. Succulent aromas of rich stew and cornbread wafted from the kitchen. A friendly blaze dancing in the large stone fireplace in the center of one wall welcomed weary, rain-soaked travelers, who tonight filled the inn to capacity. Charles Bordner and Davon Marchant, arriving just ahead of the deluge, barely managed to secure one room.
“There will be five when the party from Tashbuth arrives,” Charles protested.
“I’ll bring you a cot,” the innkeeper returned. “My rooms are all filled on account of this storm. I had to move two chaps in together to get
you this one. Most likely we’ll have people banging on our door all night, and if your party doesn’t come, I’ll have to let their beds out to someone else.”
Charles nodded. “Aye.”
“A friendly warning, sir,” the innkeeper continued. “If a troop rides in, they’ll make room for themselves, even if they have to yank the lot of you out of bed and throw you out in the mud. They’ve no courtesy, believe me.”
Charles exchanged quick glances with Davon. “We’ll deal with matters as they arise.” He thanked the innkeeper, and the pair headed for the door.
“There’s a stable in back for your horses, with clean straw and plenty of oats and hay,” the innkeeper called after them.
Charles turned. “Our steeds will welcome such a haven tonight. Thank you again.”
They warily scanned the other patrons. Finding no soldiers, they stabled the horses and packed their gear upstairs.
Twilight turned to dusk, and dusk to night. Hans, Arris, and Merewyn did not arrive. Charles began to worry. Blinding rain, howling gales, and deadly lightning proved formidable foes. But, even worse, Mordarius’ soldiers might have captured his friends.
He pulled on his oilskin cloak. “I’m going to look for them,” he told Davon. “Stay here in case they come. And try to keep the innkeeper from letting out our beds,” he finished dryly.
Charles hurried downstairs and had just stepped outside when the thunderbolt hurtled from the sky, momentarily turning the night as bright as day. Horror seized him. “Dear God, protect them!” Ere the words left his mouth Arris’ chestnut stallion, bearing its shaken riders, careened into the yard and slid to a stop. “Thank heaven!” Charles exclaimed. “I was coming to look for you.” He reached up and pulled Merewyn out from under the sodden cloak. “Where’s Hans?”
“He may have been thrown after that strike. The horses bolted. We couldn’t hold them.” Arris shook himself. “Gads, what a night!”
“How far back?”
“Less than a mile.” Arris nodded toward Merewyn. “Take the maiden inside. I’ll go back for Hans.”
“First hand me down your cloak.”
Arris complied, and Charles wrapped it around Merewyn. “Now your hat.”
Arris dismounted and placed it on her head. The hat slid over her eyes, and she pushed up the brim a little before carefully gathering the cloak together to keep it from trailing in the mud.
“This will do. I’ll take her inside and then help you look for Hans.” Charles took Merewyn’s arm and guided her briskly to the inn. “Keep moving,” he instructed. “Look neither right nor left.”
They entered the building and slipped unnoticed through the crowd and up the stairs. Charles showed her first to the bathing chamber and then to their room, just across the hall.
“I’ll request they fill the tub for you, and also try to find you a clean robe,” Charles told her. “They’ll knock twice when all is ready. Don’t go out if you hear anyone. The innkeepers believe we are all men, so stay completely covered and do not speak. Undoubtedly most of the guests will be filling their bellies downstairs, but hurry so you’re back in the room before anyone comes up.”
“Understood.”
“Good.” He turned to go, but Davon caught him. “What of Arris and Hans?”
“Arris arrived. We’re going after Hans now.” Charles clapped Davon’s arm. “Look after Merewyn. All appears safe, but there may be spies.”
Davon hesitated and then slowly nodded. “All right,” he conceded, and Charles hurried downstairs.
Arris met him outside. “I stabled Barada. This mud is like grease and the footing too treacherous. We can’t afford a broken leg.”
Charles nodded. “Agreed. Now let’s go.”
Within but a few steps they met Hans’ frightened steed, barely able to keep its footing as it crow-hopped toward them.
“Whoa, Parsius,” Charles commanded.
The snorting horse skidded to a stop and Charles grabbed the mud-caked reins. Parsius tried to rear, but Charles spoke softly and managed to calm him.
“Take this poor fellow to the stable and then get yourself inside,” he told Arris. “You’ve weathered enough already.”
Arris took the reins and led Parsius away. Charles set off, but within twenty steps saw the lone figure through the flashes of lightning. Hans, dazed and muddy, staggered toward him.
Warm and dry, they sat around the table, taking comfort in each other’s company and in the buzz of conversation around them as they filled their empty stomachs and recounted the day’s events. Arris smiled at a pair of merrymakers dancing on a table across the room while those around them sang a rowdy drinking song and clapped time.
“That was quite a ride you had.” Charles set a pint of ale down in front of Arris and took a seat.
Arris’ eyes twinkled and he tossed his head back as if laughing, although he made no sound. “Aye,” he said in a low voice, “and I would have been thrown, had not the lass held both me and the horse so tightly. I couldn’t have jumped off had I wanted to.”
They continued talking while enjoying the delicious hot supper of stew and cornbread washed down with generous amounts of ale. Their ordeal behind them, the quartet was in good spirits. Merewyn, meanwhile, had completed her bath and settled into the cot upstairs.
The innkeeper, carrying a large pot, moved among the tables, stopping here and there to refill a bowl. Charles beckoned, and the innkeeper hurried over. “More, lads?”
“Yes, thank you,” Charles responded. “I wonder, too, if we might take a little upstairs for our friend later. He’s feeling poorly and wanted to rest.”
“Absolutely,” the innkeeper returned. “Say the word, and I’ll bring you up a piping hot bowlful, along with cornbread kept warm in the oven.”
A raucous voice across the room shouted for service and the innkeeper moved on.
“Some folk will revel through anything, including the king of all storms,” Arris noted with a bemused smile. He watched as the dancers finished their jig and jumped off the table. Their boots hit the plank floor with a resounding thud, drawing a rousing cheer from the crowd.
“Humph!” Hans sniffed and dipped a morsel of cornbread into his stew before shoving it into his mouth. “Mmm! Good.” He swallowed and brushed the crumbs off his beard. “I’ve always blessed Minnie Emile for running off. The food tastes so much better now.”
Charles grinned and shook his head as he looked down at the table.
“Not a nice thing to say, but it’s the truth.” Hans dipped another piece.
Davon leaned forward. “Where do we go from here?”
Charles placed his elbows on the table and rested his forehead on his fists. “Brackenlea. We’ll put her on—” he caught himself and glanced around. “Brackenlea,” he repeated, lowering his voice. “Not our original plan, but we can still gather the information we seek.”
“What do you make of this storm?” Davon whispered. “I hear talk throughout the inn that Ryadok himself spawned it. Could that be?”
“I don’t know,” Charles answered. “It bodes ill for all of Epthelion if he’s attained such power.” He sighed. “And we must find out if this rumored indestructible monster of his really exists.”
He stiffened and lowered his hands to the table. Two men across the room had stopped talking and now eyed them intently. Davon’s back faced them, but he sensed their scrutiny from Charles’ demeanor and slowly straightened.
Hans acted immediately. “By Jove, laddie,” he bellowed, slamming his fist down hard on the table. “Your best revenge is to let him have her! Given time, he’ll wish he’d never seen her. You’re too fine a man for the likes of her, anyway. And look what infidelity did for this place: you can actually eat the food now!”
The room erupted into cheers and whistles. Several men stamped their feet. To Charles’ relief, the faces of the two men watching them broke into broad grins.
“Let’s have another drink for the lad,” Hans shouted, jabbi
ng a thumb toward the now red-faced Davon.
Arris grinned. “You’ve a good head on those burly shoulders, Hans.”
“Aye, that I’ll agree with.” Hans took a lengthy swig from his pint. “Aahhh.” But his intended sigh of satisfaction rumbled forth as a mighty belch, drawing a rousing ovation from the other patrons.
“I think you’ve had enough.” Charles rose and walked to the counter. He took some coins from his bag and handed them to the innkeeper, who nodded in Davon’s direction.
“Woman trouble, eh?”
“Aye. The lad’s taking it awfully hard.”
“Well, you tell that young fellow I’ve been through it myself; and although you feel like you’ve had a sword through the gut—well, sometimes it’s for the best. Leastwise, it was for me.”
Charles smiled. “I’ll tell him.”
“I’ll be up shortly with the food.” The innkeeper opened a drawer and dropped the coins in. “Good night, sir.”
“Good night.” Charles beckoned to his companions, and they trooped upstairs.
Charles tapped softly on the oak door, then cautiously opened it and peered inside. Merewyn, wrapped in the bulky white robe left in the bath chamber by the innkeeper’s wife, lay fast asleep on the low cot.
The men tiptoed into the room and quietly closed the door. Merewyn awoke with a gasp.
“It’s only us,” Charles consoled her.
The color returned to her pale cheeks; the delicate hand pressed to her breast relaxed a little. How different from the dirty, defiant wench they had encountered that morning, Charles thought. She had washed away the dirt and grime, revealing creamy skin faintly kissed with rose, and plaited her flaxen hair into two thick braids reaching halfway to her waist. Her face glowed softly in the dim lamplight. Dark brown eyes probed his. Such a delicate flower standing alone against the mindless brutes bent on crushing her!
“Forgive us,” Hans said.
“There’s nothing to forgive. Tired though I am, I cannot sleep for fear of the soldiers.”
