Dark Lords of Epthelion Trilogy:Warrior Queen of Ha-Ran-Fel, A Dark Moon Rises, Castle of Blood

by Sandra Kopp

  “My name is Merewyn—and I am most grateful!”

  “I truly wish we could give you a horse, but we need them all.” Lido frowned toward the northeast. “Baugonril haunts these hills. We leave Stanslav as soon as the host returns from the south.”

  Nava turned sharply. “Sa Vaht!” he commanded, and Lido fell silent.

  They entered the village. Lido hurried into one of the cottages while Nava ordered the tall youth to refill Merewyn’s waterskin. “You have a long way yet,” he told her gravely. “And without a horse you cannot carry as much as you need. A river flows along the road for a way and it teems with fish. You should reach it in two days.” He gestured toward the waterskin. “Use that wisely.”

  Lido emerged from the hut, tying together the corners of a faded blue cloth into which she had bundled some flatbread and goat’s milk cheese. “This should last until you reach the river.”

  “Thank you.” But as Merewyn took the bundle she held her breath, for the cheese had a strong, disagreeable odor.

  “Go,” Nava told her. “Not safe here. I show you to the edge of our village.”

  The villagers thronged Merewyn as she and Nava wound their way among huts, horses, and squawking chickens fleeing through dusty clouds raised by flapping wings. The children skipped alongside, staring at her curiously.

  At the edge of the settlement, Nava stopped and pointed down a narrow trail meandering over the foothills toward the west. “This road goes to Tagenryd, but beware. Ruelon prepares for war. His young captain follows the old traditions and does not welcome strangers. We have done too much for you and may be deemed traitors.” He waved brusquely. “Leave us.”

  “I will say nothing of your aid, or even that I saw you. Thank you.” Merewyn bowed shortly and started walking. Despite her fatigue and Nava’s dire warnings, she felt better. She had water, food and a road.

  The merciless sun sapped her strength and set her scalp tingling. Merewyn cast her eyes at the cloudless sky, recalling the maelstrom she, Hans and Arris had weathered during the flight to the Inn of the Wayward Heart. The memory stabbed like a dagger through her heart, for she felt afresh the pain of their separation. How tightly she had clung to Arris as his charger lunged through the slippery mud, pelted by an icy downpour that even through his cape felt like hailstones! And later, after rejoining Charles and Davon for the journey east, she remembered his gaze, calm but intense, as if looking beyond the natural realm into some unseen world, or perhaps the future.

  She fixed her gaze on the road ahead. The terrain offered little cover. Should someone approach, she had nowhere to hide. The few trees had receded up the higher slopes, leaving the foothills exposed. Covered by native grasses bronzed by drought, they stretched out before her like rolling dunes along a turbulent sea. Here and there a flat white or gray rock jutted out from a hillside, forming a thin shelf; otherwise, only an occasional juniper broke the monotonous expanse.

  A mile from Stanslav, the road began a gentle ascent. Merewyn wiped her sleeve across her dripping brow. The wind had subsided, leaving nothing to diminish the sun’s intensity. At the top she stopped to catch her breath. Here the road dipped again, and near the bottom, a few yards ahead, a solitary oak shimmered in rising waves of humid torridity. Its great branches and spreading leaves promised welcome respite from the sweltering heat.

  Weak with relief, Merewyn hurried to it and gratefully sank down in the shaded grass to pull off her heavy shoes. A gentle breeze fanned her burning feet, and she lay back, moaning. Her empty stomach rumbled. Merewyn sat up again and opened Lido’s bundle.

  The cheese’s acrid odor pierced her nostrils. Merewyn paused to inspect the rubbery lump. Holding her breath, she gingerly pinched off a piece and slipped it into her mouth. It tasted sharp, though not altogether disagreeable. Merewyn bit into the coarse dry bread and, with a jerk of her head, tore off a mouthful while pinching off another piece of cheese. Hunger overcame caution and she ate, alternating small bites of cheese with larger bites of bread. A swallow of water completed the meal.

  Merewyn arranged her bag into a pillow and lay down. For several moments she stared into the lacy canopy above her, contemplating the golden rays filtering through dusty leaves. Gradually gold faded to gray as she drifted off to sleep.

  Wrenching pain knotted her stomach and a disgustingly horrid taste filled her mouth. Cold sweat streamed from her burning body. Groaning, Merewyn tried to roll onto her side, but the stinging sensation of a thousand needles pierced her bloated belly.

  Hot liquid surged up her throat. Merewyn lurched over and barely managed to lift herself onto her hands and knees before vomiting. When the retching spasms subsided, she rolled to one side and, weak and shaking, sank to the ground. She found a somewhat comfortable position on her left side and lay still, forcing herself to think of anything except the awful stench and taste of Lido’s cheese.

  Tuwanee, Merewyn, elskano minya.

  Merewyn stirred. Her eyelids fluttered.

  Mitseevio, Merewyn.

  She tried to moisten her parched lips. “Arris?” she whispered and slipped into unconsciousness.

  A low rumble rose from the east, the sound of a hundred horsemen riding hard and fast. Women screamed and children cried. Men shouted. Invisible arms lifted Merewyn from her chamber of misery back into the real world.

  “Go away,” she moaned, but the rumbling grew louder.

  Rise up, a soundless voice commanded.

  “I can’t,” she groaned. “Let me die. I can bear this no longer!” Her anguished plea melded with the caterwaul rising above panicked shouts and screams.

  Merewyn bolted upright. Stabbing pain shot through her abdomen. Dizziness nearly felled

  her, but she forced herself to her knees.

  Baugonril! Attacking Stanslav! Somehow she found her feet and staggered up the road toward the village.

  Thick choking dust and smoke billowed skyward. A handful of children on horseback fled to the mountains. The rest of the villagers made their way as best they could on foot. Amid the haze, Merewyn made out a huge hulking form twice the size of a horse and blacker than anything she had ever seen. Roaring and rampaging, it bore down upon the villagers, moving with such fluidity it seemed almost liquid. Mounted warriors pursued hard after, but Merewyn knew they would not overtake and kill the beast before it devoured the hapless villagers.

  Two horsemen raced ahead of the host, rapidly closing in on the monster. Merewyn gasped. “It cannot be!”

  She recognized that lead horse—Charles Bordner’s bay! Merewyn watched the rider raise his bow and shoot an arrow into the beast’s left flank.

  Baugonril slid to a stop and whirled, its dreadful howl transformed into a high-pitched squeal so painful to hear that Merewyn covered her ears. The beast lunged and, with a swipe of its massive paw, sent horse and rider flying. The bay tried to rise, but fell again and lay still. Snarling and slavering, Baugonril crept toward the rider.

  The second horseman galloped up and alit, sword drawn as he stood over his fallen comrade. Baugonril lashed out with lightning speed, knocking him to the ground. Back arched and fangs bared, the beast towered over them.

  “Arris! No!” Merewyn reeled. These men had risked their lives to help her escape Mordarius. She must try to save them.

  The wind blew hot on her back as it coursed from west to east. Merewyn fingered the knife still hanging from her belt. Blood—if Baugonril smells my blood he will leave the others and come for me.

  She yanked out the knife and slashed both wrists, not even feeling the cutting pain, and held them up to the wind.

  “If any justice exists in this world, spare those men,” she prayed. Pain and fever wracked her body. Her legs shook so violently she could hardly stand, but stand she did, ignoring the crimson rivulets streaming down her arms and dripping onto her frock.

  “Devil!” she shouted. “You rotten, stinking filth! You want blood—come here and get it! I curse you, puppet of Ryadok!” Her head spun. Sh
e tottered but steadied herself and stood, defiantly facing the monster down.

  Baugonril’s roar became a series of short, excited yips. It whirled, carelessly knocking aside several warriors now surrounding it, and streaked toward Merewyn.

  Merewyn stared, mesmerized, as the inky mass, too black and shimmering to belong to this world, bore down upon her. The beast appeared to float above the ground as it ate up the distance in long, effortless strides. Its terrible stench overpowered her. Merewyn’s breath came in great choking gasps. Her eyes widened in terror as the hellish features became more distinct.

  Baugonril resembled a gigantic wolf with the head of a wild boar. Massive muscles rippled under shaggy black fur that leaped and shimmered like tongues of liquid fire. Savage claws protruded from great paws easily twice the size of a man’s head, and double rows of fangs lined jaws as strong as a steel trap. A sharp foot-long tusk protruded from each side of its ravening mouth. Where eyes should have been, red slits burned with such concentrated evil Merewyn feared her heart would fail. The beast was almost upon her. . .

  The world darkened. Something sang past her ear. Merewyn sank to the ground. Blood matted her arms and the front and sides of her dress. A suffocating blast of hot, foul breath hit her full in the face. Devilish howls pierced her brain and reverberated through the chambers of her consciousness. Searing pain shot through her shoulder. Her entire body felt on fire, and for a moment the world seemed bathed in blinding light.

  Silence fell. Merewyn plunged into blackness.

  TAGENRYD

  Cool air caressed her burning cheeks. Merewyn moaned softly. A gentle voice spoke and a compassionate hand pressed a cold cloth to her forehead. Merewyn tried to open her eyes, but the voice lulled her back to sleep. She had lost all sense of time and place. Indeed, she knew not whether she lived or had died.

  Charles Bordner appeared in her mind, and after him Hans, Arris, and Davon. They smiled, Arris holding out his hand as if bidding her to join them. Elation washed over her. They were alive! Or perhaps they had died and now welcomed her into eternity. Whatever her state, she rejoiced, for the peace and the joy on their faces told her at last all was well.

  But like mist vanquished by the warming sun, Charles, Hans, and Davon evaporated. Arris remained for yet a moment and then he, too, began to fade.

  Do not leave me!

  Arris’ lips moved, but Merewyn could not hear his words. Desperately she strained through the heavy silence for even the smallest whisper. Arris continued to beckon.

  “Arris!” Merewyn screamed. “Help me come to you!”

  But in a blinding flash he vanished, and in his place stood a stern-faced warrior clad in the armor of Ha-Ran-Fel. He would have easily towered over Charles Bordner and any of his companions. Iron-hard muscles rippled over well-formed arms and thighs. He had removed his helmet, revealing a strong, tanned face and flowing mane of golden hair. Deep sadness clouded his dark eyes as he gazed past Merewyn into the far distance. Abruptly his gaze shifted to her, and for a fleeting moment their eyes locked. Then he, too, disappeared, leaving her alone in the darkness.

  The cloth lifted from her brow. A woman spoke quietly in a melodic lilt Merewyn did not recognize. Merewyn’s eyelids fluttered open. Except for subdued candlelight from the tiny table beside her bed, the room was dark. How many days and nights had passed since Baugonril’s attack she could only guess. It seemed an eternity but for the rawness in her wrists and shoulder.

  “Charles,” she whispered hoarsely. “Arris. . .”

  “Hush, now,” the woman whispered. “You suffer grievous wounds and heavy blood loss, and are very ill besides. Yet never fear. We shall bring you through this, and when it has passed you will scarcely remember what befell you.” The woman dipped the cloth into a basin of cool water and carefully daubed Merewyn’s cheeks. “Fortunately I’m here. Such wounds require Nimbian medicine, and you would not have survived the journey into the cliffs.”

  “Nim—” Merewyn croaked.

  “Yes. I am a Nimbian healer come to Tagenryd on a personal matter.”

  Merewyn’s chest heaved as she tried to gather strength and enough of her wits to comprehend and respond to those words. “Thank you,” she finally managed.

  “You are most welcome.”

  “My friends—”

  “Do not speak. You have a thousand questions, I know, but there will be time enough later to ask them.”

  “Charles… . .Arris—are they alive?”

  The woman caught her breath. “You speak those names continually. Do you call for Arris Marchant and Charles Bordner?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where last did you see them?”

  “Stanslav,” Merewyn wheezed. “Fighting Baugonril.” The bed seemed to spin in fast, tight circles.

  “We’ll speak later,” the woman said. “Now you must rest and regain your strength. Otherwise, you’ll not last for either of us to learn their fate.” She dipped the cloth in the basin again and squeezed it out before placing it back on Merewyn’s forehead. “Tell me but one thing more and then you must be still: what is your name?”

  “Merewyn.” A nauseous wave passed over her. Moaning, she rolled her head to one side.

  “Merewyn, my name is Angelika.” Angelika inspected the dressing on Merewyn’s torn shoulder. “I place you under the strictest orders to do exactly as I say—nothing more, nothing less. We shall restore you as quickly as possible.” She carefully adjusted the dressing and patted Merewyn’s hand.

  Merewyn lay still, studying her through half-closed eyes. Angelika resembled Arris somewhat: tall and very slender with wispy blonde hair, fine features, and blue eyes. Her brown skirt fell in loose folds around delicate ankles and intricate designs of turquoise beads adorned her creamy fringed tunic. And like Arris had before her, Angelika faded away. . .

  “You’re still here!” Merewyn’s chest heaved as she blinked back tears.

  Angelika sat down on the bed beside her and wiped her cheek. “Hush. Yes, I’m here. I would not leave you in this state.”

  “But you went away!”

  “You lost consciousness for a while, which was good, for you gained much-needed rest.”

  “I wasn’t sure you were real.” Merewyn’s voice broke. “My other friends. . . came. . .but they left me.”

  “No one abandoned you, Merewyn. Your wounds rendered you delusional. You saw only images, which appeared for a time and then vanished.”

  “Where am I?” Merewyn whispered.

  “Tagenryd. Ruelon’s captain brought you.” Angelika paused. “He attributes to you Baugonril’s destruction before it claimed any lives.”

  “Tagenryd?” Merewyn momentarily forgot her pain.

  “Indeed.”

  “Then they’re alive! They found me and brought me—” Merewyn struggled to sit up, but Angelika gently held her down.

  “Aethelion, Ruelon’s captain, brought you. Rest now. You bear a monstrous wound from Baugonril, along with others I surmise to be self-inflicted. You’ll not heal if you expend yourself.”

  “I must know my friends’ fate. Where are they? Injured? Dead?”

  “I’ve not heard much concerning the battle.” Angelika absently tucked a blonde wisp behind her ear. “Aethelion showed you extraordinary courtesy. He feels deep gratitude and. . . surprise that a foreigner would sacrifice her own life for Ha-Ran-Fel. The Horse Lords have few friends.” She cocked her head and sat straighter. “I perceive, however, ‘twas not Ha-Ran-Fel peasants you acted to save.”

  Merewyn fidgeted under Angelika’s probing stare. “The villagers of Stanslav showed—” Icy terror seized her.

  “Never fear. You performed a brave and selfless act, one the beleaguered people of Ha-Ran-Fel will never forget. But now—” Angelika rearranged Merewyn’s light blanket. “Tada lamach I,” she said softly.

  She ran gentle fingertips across Merewyn’s forehead, down her cheek, across her chin and up the other cheek to her forehead. Merewyn closed her e
yes. That delicate touch drew out all the pain and radiated a tingling sensation into her injured limbs. Hearing the sound of gentle waves lapping a shoreline, she drifted away, wanting never to return. If this was death, she desired it more than life, for never had she known such peace.

  Angelika gazed upon her as she stroked Merewyn’s face, so drawn and pale, yet even now filled with hope. ’Tis no mere maiden you brought to me, Aethelion Aram-Turien. You know this, else you would have left her to die. She stopped stroking and pressed her hand to Merewyn’s forehead, still very warm, but the raging fever she had arrived with had subsided. Angelika rose and gazed upon her charge for a long moment before slipping noiselessly from the room.

  As the days passed, Merewyn slowly regained her strength. Angelika proved a healer indeed, for under her care Merewyn slowly rallied. By the third day she could sit up for short stretches, and although she had little appetite, she tried to eat. Angelika felt pleased but cautious. “We must proceed slowly, Merewyn. While young and strong, you still need much time.”

  “I’m strong enough to talk. Angelika, you told me Ruelon’s captain brought me here. Surely he knows if my friends fought beside him at Stanslav.”

  Angelika swallowed and looked askance. “Aethelion told me only Ha-Ran-Fel warriors fought at Stanslav. Neither have any foreigners besides you and me entered this land. Illness must have affected your sight and reason.”

  “I see.” Merewyn lay still, trying to ascertain what emotions seethed beneath Angelika’s passive demeanor. Angelika had never shown concern for Charles; but clearly she cared for Arris. Sometimes as they talked, Angelika’s stoicism ebbed and Merewyn glimpsed traces of passion, love, fear and, she thought, jealousy.

  Merewyn slowly sat up. “Arris, his brother, Charles Bordner, and another man helped me escape Atwall. They took me to Garris and then went their way, leaving me to go mine.”