by Sandra Kopp
“We will talk tomorrow,” Charles answered. “You and I have shared many an adventure, and I trust no one more than you.” Gesturing to Arris and Davon, he continued, “These are equally trustworthy men.”
Edwin nodded slowly. “I know you don’t consort with miscreants.”
A heavy fist pounded the front door. Edwin straightened. “You lads get upstairs. I’ll take care of this.”
A PLAN AND A PARTING
Evening of the following day found the five men gathered in Edwin’s cozy library. Merewyn, still exhausted, had already retired.
“I remember sometime back you and Hans left Tashbuth to go to Nimbia.” Edwin shifted in his plush chair and leaned toward Charles. Nodding to the Marchants, he continued, “I’m guessing that’s where you fellows come from. Now, I told you yesterday your business is your own, but this has galled me all night. Tell me this tale of yours. Maybe I can help.”
Charles crossed one leg over the other, studying the bottom of his boot for a moment before looking back at Edwin, who waited expectantly.
“We left Aerie last year and journeyed through the new settlement at Teptiel to Langhorn, where we boarded a ship south. At Brackenlea we crossed the river and rode to Tashbuth to purchase cloth and trinkets, as well as a wagon and team of horses. By posing as merchants, we hoped to discover Mordarius’ plans and the extent of his power. Upon reaching Atwall, however, an unforeseen incident drew us from our intended purpose and brought us here instead.”
Edwin leaned forward. “The girl?”
Charles nodded, and Edwin pressed, “Who is she?”
“Jonah Havalseth’s daughter. Mordarius had enslaved her. She escaped on one of our horses. We chased her down before Mordarius’ ruffians caught her. Hers was a sorry state, I can tell you—beaten, starved, ragged and dirty. We hid her while sending Mordarius’ men on a merry chase, and then Hans and Arris smuggled her to the Inn of the Wayward Heart while Davon and I returned to Atwall for the rest of our goods. We concocted a story for the stable master to pass on to Mordarius before leaving Atwall.” He paused. “’Twas the night of that terrible storm.”
Edwin sat back. “So you’re wanted men.”
“Yes.”
“Well.” Edwin shrugged. “They’ll not get you here, not while I breathe.”
“They may think we perished in the river,” Arris put in. “We swam our horses across near Donegal’s Inn but the current took us quite a way downriver. Two soldiers trying to follow drowned.”
Hans slapped his knee. “And we nearly drowned, too! Such darkness. . .and giant waves in a current swift enough to crush us!”
Edwin’s fingers tightened on his chair’s arms. “It’s a miracle any of you made it. I see how you ended up north of the river—and it accounts for the fighting in Brackenlea the other night.”
“Fighting?” Arris eyed him keenly.
“Aye. Some say one of the Old Guard tried to muster an army to fight Mordarius, others the soldiers were looking for somebody. If they sought you, and if someone saw you go into the river, they may believe you perished. The Ashgard seldom surrenders a body, but—” He clicked his tongue. “Garris sits too near the border for safety; otherwise, we would welcome the maiden here. I owe my life to Jonah Havalseth.”
“Many a man does, my father and Hans’ included.” Charles paused a moment. “I’m thinking of sending her to Teptiel.”
“Might be best,” Edwin mused. “It’s far enough north, a long way from the river, and not easily reached. A brand-new colony. . .fine men, hard workers. . .farmers from the south of Liedor mostly, with a few herdsmen and farmers from Barren-Fel. They lack enough women, last I heard. Emily and I could put together a bride bundle with everything she needs. I hear it’s quite a pleasant place.”
“It’s a beautiful place,” Charles returned. “Rich soil, good crops, everything new. She could have a good life, and she deserves that.”
“But she wishes to exact vengeance upon Mordarius,” Arris pointed out.
“It would be different if the people would rally behind her,” Charles returned. “But no one in Atwall will fight. They fear to even twitch or blink lest they incur the tyrant’s wrath. Merewyn stands alone. Already she’s endured two years of slavery, and Mordarius hunts her even now. He has given the fat of the land to thugs and miscreants who follow him blindly and obey his every whim. They’ll remain loyal as long as he provides for them.”
He sighed. “I wish I could restore her world. Sadly, she must find her own way through this. She’s strong; she’ll manage. In the meantime, we’ll continue our errand.”
Edwin leaned forward. “What happens when you return to Atwall?”
“Actually, we’re headed for San-Leyon.”
Edwin’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“We heard Baugonril’s howl in that region,” Arris told him.
Edwin paled. “Are you sure?”
Charles nodded gravely. “Terrible, like nothing ever heard on this earth. The devil himself couldn’t have created a more unholy noise.”
Edwin’s shoulders slumped. “None of us is safe,” he whispered. “Not if it’s the demon it’s rumored to be.”
“Unless we can find and destroy it,” Arris added.
“Folks say nothing can kill it,” Edwin countered.
“But you can be sure we’ll try,” Hans said.
Edwin sighed and rubbed his chin, obviously deep in thought.
“No, Edwin.” Charles shook his head. “You have a good life here. It’s been many years since we rode together. And if I survive this, it’s my last quest, too. I’m ready to settle down.”
Edwin nodded shortly. “I’ll give you everything you need.”
“Arrange passage to Teptiel for Merewyn Havalseth,” Charles told him. “She’s our greatest concern.”
“You have my word she will arrive safely there.”
Two days later, Charles Bordner sought Merewyn Havalseth to tell her his plan and to bid her farewell. He found her sitting on a bench outside the willows, watching the sunset. The evening breeze stirred her cascading blonde hair and ruffled the hem of her blue cotton dress. Her back faced him, and as he approached he could not help thinking how lovely she looked.
Awkwardly he cleared his throat. Merewyn turned. The sun’s last rays accentuated the rosiness of her cheeks and the gold in her hair. She smiled but regarded him warily. “Hello, Charles.”
“Good evening, Merewyn.” Charles sat down beside her. “You certainly picked a lovely spot.”
“It is beautiful, isn’t it? Part of me could stay here forever, but. . .” She frowned. “. . .another part of me will never rest.” She paused. “You’ve come to discuss that, haven’t you?”
Charles nodded soberly. “Yes.”
“You will return to Atwall?”
“No. We’re going to San-Leyon. Afterward—well, we’ll see.”
In the ensuing silence, Charles wondered how he should broach his plan, and whether sending her to Teptiel truly constituted the best course for her.
Merewyn spoke first. “You and your friends are not tradesmen, are you?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“I thought as much, even as I hid under the tree waiting for you, on the day we met.” For a moment she hesitated, her eyes searching his face. “Who are you?”
Charles returned her gaze but said nothing.
She drew a trembling breath and looked away. “I will never reveal your secret, whatever your mission. I wish no harm to any of you.”
“And I wish you safety, happiness, and freedom from oppression.”
“What about me, Charles?” Her voice, though quiet, was urgent. “I know I can’t stay here. Where should I go?” She caught his sleeve. “Take me with you. I can fight. I can learn to use a bow or a spear, or even a sword.”
“No,” Charles told her gently. “Merewyn, I find this difficult, for in the short time I have known you I have grown very fond of you. I cannot take you with m
e.”
“I do not fear death!” she cried. “Wherever your path leads, I will walk it with you!”
“Merewyn—”
“You said once that one never knows what the future holds, that our paths may cross again. Why must they even part?”
The pleading in her eyes cut him to the heart. “Merewyn, believe me when I say that under different circumstances I would have no one except you for a companion. . .a wife. But I am pledged to another. When this journey ends and I return home, I am to be married.”
“I don’t mean marriage.” Merewyn looked away, her face flushed. A tear spilled over and ran down her cheek. “I want only to fight the tyrant. I’m tired of being alone and you have all been so kind. But forgive me. I should have thought—”
“There is nothing to forgive.” Charles started to brush the tear away but stopped short of touching her. Silently cursing himself, he closed his hand and lowered it to his lap.
“Tell me, Charles Bordner: where should I go?”
Charles looked down and moistened his lips. “On our journey south, my companions and I passed through a colony called Teptiel situated not far from the Nimbian border. Most of the settlers are decent, hard-working farmers from throughout Epthelion who have gone there seeking freedom and the chance to build new lives. Many of them also lost loved ones to the tyrants, and many arrived alone.
“This may sound presumptuous, but why don’t you go there? Lucius Mordarius cannot reach you. Certainly you will never forget what you’ve endured, but perhaps you will find someone with whom you can build new memories and who can help to dim the pain of past events. My companions and I will muster an army. We’ll exact vengeance upon Mordarius on your behalf.”
Merewyn sat, tight lipped and sullen.
“I know it’s a daunting venture—but where would you have gone had you escaped with my horse and we not caught you? You would have indeed ended up alone, and eventually Mordarius would have found you.” Charles dropped his eyes and sighed. “You’ll not find safety in Garris, for it lies too close to Valhalea. And some powerful people in Atwall have also discovered we’re not merchants. We pose a threat to them.”
“And you think I do not?” she demanded. “I, too, have a score to settle with that murderer! When I find opportunity, I will kill him as he did my father!”
“Merewyn.” Charles took her by the shoulders and stared deep into her turbulent eyes. “We have no army but ourselves, while Mordarius commands minions. If he captures us, he will not kill us swiftly. We will suffer a slow, brutal—”
She pulled away. “Let him do his worst! I would curse him to the very end!” She burst into tears and sank into the thick grass. “Forgive me, Charles. I would not have you remember me thus!”
Charles knelt beside her. “You are not a wicked person. I only want you safely away from all who would trouble you. I can’t erase the pain or the bitter memories, but—”
“Are you certain no one threatens Teptiel?” she interrupted. “Barren-Fel also lies north.”
“But far to the east. Certainly Ryadok has no interest in you.”
“What of the Horse Lords?”
“They keep to themselves, unless. . .Merewyn. . .” Charles raised his brows. “Your father’s association with them occurred years before your birth. The rise of the tyrants and betrayal by those they thought their friends has induced them to return to their old ways. They will not welcome strangers, even an unarmed woman traveling alone. They may believe Ryadok placed an enchantment on you enabling him to spy out their land through your eyes. Either they would kill you before you could reveal you are Jonah Havalseth’s daughter, or they would not believe you. And some among them never knew your father.
Merewyn regarded him narrowly. “I am not so foolish or brash as to believe I could make a league with seasoned warriors. Indeed, I fear them.” Her face softened. “This past week Fortune provided benevolent strangers to befriend me. Now I travel alone to a new colony to live among strangers who may not treat me as kindly as you have.”
“Ah, Merewyn!” Charles smiled and shook his head. “You’ll not be alone for long.”
“When do I leave?”
“Tomorrow at ten. Edwin has already arranged your passage, and he and Emily will take you to the ship.”
“And you?”
“The four of us ride out at dawn. We’ll say our farewells tonight, and then—”
“I know. I will probably never see you again.” Shyly Merewyn reached out and squeezed his hand. “I will miss you, Charles Bordner.”
Charles kissed her forehead. “And I shall miss you, Merewyn Havalseth.”
She smiled faintly and Charles muttered, “More than you will ever know!” He noticed Merewyn staring past him, a quizzical look on her face. He turned. Something stirred beyond the neighboring willow, and Arris trudged back to the inn.
JOURNEY TO TEPTIEL
Early June in Liedor felt more like late August, with mild evenings and hot days. Succulent vegetables transformed some fields into rich green carpets, while ripening grain tinged others with gold. In the orchards trees strained to hold up branches heavy with ripening fruit. Fat, sleek cattle dotted the emerald hills, grazing on sweet clover or contentedly chewing their cud as they lazed in the noonday sun.
Merewyn sighed and leaned over the rail as the Lady Ashgard, sails billowing, majestically pushed her way upriver. She scarcely noticed the beauty around her for the turmoil raging within. Hoping for one last glimpse of her companions she had risen early, only to discover they had ridden out during the night. Edwin Greene apologetically explained that the urgency of their errand compelled them to leave without further delay.
Merewyn sniffed. She would never have consented so meekly to this journey but for the seed planted in her mind the previous night: while Charles and his companions infiltrated Ryadok’s realm in the east, she would join Ruelon’s forces in the west. Mordarius would invade Ha-Ran-Fel eventually, and Ruelon would fight.
And I shall fight as one of them, just as Father did.
She glanced down. The hamper at her feet contained food, a light-green muslin frock, and a purse with twenty-seven gold coins—gifts, Emily had explained, from Edwin, herself and Charles and his companions.
“And I must remember to call myself Marion Greene, niece to Edwin Greene of Garris. ’Twas wise of Edwin to think of this. My true name should not be known.”
Her whispered words melded with the wind filling the sails. Merewyn left the rail to sit down on a small bench near the bow. Sighing, she folded her hands in her lap and looked up the river. Will Fortune smile upon me again? I must believe it will. This venture frightens me, yet surely some justice still exists in this world. I can only continue and see what lies ahead.
Langhorn, a city of some fifty thousand people, constituted Liedor’s thriving and boisterous hub of commerce. Its location at the confluence of the North Fork and Ashgard rivers made it the major shipping port for all of civilized Epthelion, boasting a pier district almost three miles long. The northernmost mile, flanked by corrals with stock corridors leading to the separate docks, served only the cattle boats. From this point, arriving livestock went either to auction, feed yards, or one of Langhorn’s three slaughterhouses situated north of town. Feed barges and merchant ships utilized the middle section. Passenger ships occupied the twelve southernmost docks—all of them now empty—where cozy coffeehouses, raucous alehouses, and rambling inns waited to satisfy a traveler’s every need.
Merewyn, overwhelmed and more than a little intimidated by the clamor on shore, edged closer to the rail as the Lady Ashgard docked. It seemed thousands had turned out to meet the ship, all talking at once as they shouted cheery greetings and passengers’ names. Innumerable torches flickered and danced in the gathering dusk, giving the city the appearance of a gigantic swarm of fireflies.
The ship shuddered to a stop. The captain barked an order; a crewman opened the gate, and the throng of eager passengers spilled down the
gangplank.
Merewyn waited for the crowd to abate before disembarking. For several minutes she stood at the rail and gazed shoreward, trying to orient herself and determine where she might spend the night. Thus preoccupied, she did not notice the last passenger’s departure until firm fingertips touched her arm.
“Time to get off, miss.” The ship’s steward motioned her toward the gate.
Merewyn started. “Terribly sorry.” She gave him an apologetic smile and then hurried down the empty gangplank.
Stepping onto the dock, she tried to navigate through the jostling crowd, but finding that difficult and still unsure which direction to take, she threaded her way to a rustic bench at the edge of the boardwalk and stopped for a look around. Boisterous laughter rang from the row of weathered alehouses lining the pier. Inside, rollicking patrons joked and drank against a backdrop of smoky lamplight. A bearded heavy-set man beckoned to Merewyn through the window. She pretended not to notice and shifted her gaze to a tall white frame building at the far end where a more subdued group prepared to board awaiting carriages.
“Need a warm place to bed down tonight, love?” a voice jeered behind her. Merewyn ignored it and started toward the carriages. A rough hand grasped her arm, but she jerked away, glaring disdainfully at the gap-toothed leer beneath an unkempt mop of stringy blonde hair. “Leave me alone, cur!” she snapped and slapped him hard.
His eyes widened. A loud, obscene whistle escaped through his yellowed teeth. “Ooh! Ain’t we an uppity little baggage?” He grabbed for her again. “C’mere, witch!”
Merewyn whirled and drove the point of her shoe into his shin. Howling and cursing, he staggered back a couple of steps, but now his yellowish eyes burned with rage. Merewyn’s own eyes flashed as she braced for his next move.
“Enough! Off with you!” A tall, rotund gentleman in a top hat and frock coat stepped between them and brought his cane down hard across the attacker’s shoulder blades. The cad’s thin lips writhed in a curse. Another blow to the side of his head sent him scampering.
