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

by Sandra Kopp

“Ah! Ah!” Twice Hans thrust his right arm forward and lifted it triumphantly to display two Baugonril whelps impaled on his sword. Dropping them to the ground, he planted his foot on the topmost beast, jerked the sword free, and turned to meet the next attacker.

  Beside him, the Marchants stabbed and kicked. Their blows sent several whelps headfirst into the tree trunks, snapping their necks or cracking their skulls.

  Charles thrust a young beast through. From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a great black shadow rearing up behind the man on his right. “Look out!” he shouted and, fitting an arrow to his bowstring, whirled and let it fly. The missile lodged in the beast’s neck but did not bring it down. Snarling and slavering, Baugonril leaped upon the hapless woodsman and buried its fangs in his throat. Jaws locked, it defiantly threw back its head, ripping out the man’s entire throat and a strip of flesh extending the full length of the torso. It swallowed almost without chewing, and as the ragged pieces disappeared down its cavernous throat the beast fixed its narrowed, blood-red eyes upon Charles.

  Automatically Charles’ hand flew to his quiver. With lightning speed he whipped out another arrow and sent it straight into the beast’s heart. Yelping and convulsing, Baugonril collapsed onto its side. Charles leveled a kick at the shaggy head, gratified by the crack of fangs shattering under his boot.

  Dozens of snarling, snapping whelps swarmed over the fallen woodsman. The ferocity of their frenzied feeding stunned the men, none of whom could approach without incurring a bite themselves. Yelling and cursing, they kicked, stabbed, and clubbed. Somehow Davon waded into the midst of the melee, carrying his flint.

  “Back! All of you!” Charles thundered, alternately waving Davon forward and the men away. “These beasts burn like tinder. Let the Nimbian through, and let’s finish them now! Come on, Davon, light it! The rest of you, give him some room, damn it!”

  Davon shoved aside a woodsman still clubbing the beasts atop the dead man and struck his flint. The writhing pile exploded into a flaming tower, singeing the surrounding branches and scattering the men in every direction.

  At that moment a gigantic Baugonril bounded through the trees straight for the fire. Propelled by the smell of blood and realizing too late the danger before it, it slipped and slid in a futile attempt to stop. Its own speed and weight worked against it, and with a terrible howl the helpless beast plunged into the flames.

  The men stared, paralyzed by the indescribable horror unfolding before them. Baugonril ignited internally and flamed outward. Even as it burned, it remained in a half-crouch, its terrible baying transformed into screams that sounded almost human. Fully engulfed, it sprang from the flames straight at Davon, who jumped aside, narrowly eluding the beast as it hurtled past. Baugonril skidded to a stop and whirled. Tongues of fire swirled out of its gaping mouth and eyeless sockets. Again it crouched; but as it leapt, it disintegrated into a shower of sparks, leaving only a smoldering trail of charred bones and ashes.

  The flames died out. Arronmyl walked into the midst of the men now standing in shocked silence among the ruins. Stench-laden smoke curled toward the sky, the black tendrils dissipating into gray wisps that fanned into nothingness as they rose above the treetops. Thick, greasy soot coated the lower branches and most of the men’s faces and clothes.

  Arronmyl pointed a trembling finger at one pile. “What was this?”

  “Baugonril,” Charles responded in a low voice.

  Arronmyl pointed to the other pile. “And this?”

  A woodsman quavered, “Faleo!” and broke into sobs.

  For a moment Arronmyl glared at the weeping woodsman and then hung his head. “His brother,” he said grimly.

  Charles put the back of his hand to his forehead, shaking his head in anguish. “Cursed shot,” he muttered. “It should have brought the beast down!”

  “Charles, my friend.” Arris laid a comforting hand on Charles’ shoulder. “No one could have shot better.”

  “Curse me! It was off the mark!”

  “It was not!” Arris insisted. “You made a mortal strike, but Baugonril is no ordinary beast. You saw this last one afire and how, even fully engulfed, it retained enough of its faculties to attack my brother. It would have killed him had not his body consumed away first.”

  “This beast embodies hell itself!” Arronmyl said bitterly.

  “How many others died?” Arris asked.

  “Seven, that we know of.” Arronmyl’s face filled with pity as he regarded Faleo’s grieving brother. “In war we expect death. But even one is too many. We’re too few as it is.” He glanced once more at the charred remains and walked away, shaking his head.

  Charles despondently yanked an arrow from the trunk of a nearby fir and shoved it into his quiver. “I have no stomach for war.”

  Arronmyl turned. “None of us does. But war has been thrust upon us. If we don’t fight, we’ll either die or become slaves. So—what say you? Be we mere sheep to be herded about and slaughtered? Or be we men, having backbone to persevere even as we stare down Death’s throat?”

  Charles set his jaw. “We’re men.” He nudged a carcass with the toe of his boot. “Any more of these things?”

  “Let’s find out.” Arronmyl paused. “I wish we’d known earlier how easily these burn.” He turned to his men. “Those who are injured report to the Nimbians. The rest of us will search for more of these monsters.”

  They checked the entire corridor along both sides of the canyon. Then, satisfied that no more creatures remained, they gathered the dead and wounded for the journey home. Charles and his companions cut branches and constructed pallets for six of the bodies. Faleo’s brother, Tonio, removed his jacket, gathered Faleo’s bones into it, and carefully rolled it up.

  “Our steeds can carry either dead or wounded, whichever you like,” Charles told Arronmyl.

  “It’s our duty and privilege to carry our own dead, but the wounded would gratefully accept your kind offer,” Arronmyl returned. “Thank you.”

  Charles beckoned to his companions, who untied their horses and helped the most severely wounded to mount. They waited then for the last of the woodsmen to file past before falling in behind them.

  A gnarled hand pulled aside the brambles behind them. Raspy breathing rose and fell as the creature watched them go.

  NEDRA

  At Dewey Hollow, Charles and his companions turned aside while Arronmyl recounted the events to those left behind.

  “Do you mean to go to Arronmyl’s village?” Arris asked Charles.

  “We can hardly leave,” Charles returned. “Look at them. They’re worn out. At least six cannot walk. We can’t leave them to hobble or crawl, or make the others carry them.”

  “I intend no callousness, but sense great urgency in reaching Barren-Fel,” Arris said. “Ryadok will learn of this and move his breederies.”

  “True,” Charles conceded.

  “You and Hans have three horses between you, which will suffice the six wounded, if they ride double. Davon and I will continue to Barren-Fel.”

  Charles shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. If something happened to you, we’d have no idea where to look.” He paused as Arronmyl joined them. “Arris feels he and his brother should ride immediately to Barren-Fel before Ryadok can relocate his other beasts,” he said in response to Arronmyl’s raised brow.

  Arronmyl scratched his bearded chin. “I agree. Ryadok’s retribution will be swift, even for a stray pack. But two can’t go alone. You’ll find the packs up north not only larger but heavily guarded.”

  “We’ll do nothing rash or foolhardy,” Arris told him. “Your people have already suffered enough. Return now to your homes. My medicines will sustain the wounded for many days.” He bowed shortly. “Thank you for your aid, and my sincere condolences for your loss. I wish you a safe journey.”

  Arronmyl adamantly shook his head. “We know now how better to destroy the beasts. Let’s strike while they possess this weakness and there are enough of us to qui
ckly kill them. I’ll summon volunteers to accompany you. We’ll procure horses from the Rauth settlement along the river. We’ve traded with them before. They hold no loyalty to Ryadok.”

  Charles exchanged glances with Arris, who almost imperceptibly shook his head. “Are you sure you can trust them?” he asked Arronmyl. “What reason would you give for needing horses?”

  “We must travel farther these days to find game. You four, aliens to Barren-Fel and San-Leyon, would make them wary. A handful of woodland hunters, however—” Arronmyl absently waved his hand—“means nothing to them.”

  Arronmyl faced his company. “I need twelve men to go into Barren-Fel. ’Twill be a hard journey, so weigh your decision carefully. Consider your families. Already you have fought valiantly, so fear no dishonor in returning home. The Rauths will provide us horses—” His stern eyes swept the group—“then we hunt more Baugonril. The rest of you take the wounded and the dead home. See to the village and your families. Do what hunting you can.”

  A young man stepped forward. “I’ll go, Father.”

  One by one, eleven other men trickled forward to stand beside Arronmyl’s son, Marcos. Arronmyl planted his leathery hands on his hips, nodding his satisfaction. “I couldn’t have chosen better.” Triumphantly he turned to Charles. “We’re ready.”

  “Not till I join you, Father.”

  The husky feminine voice came from the trees behind them. A shadowy movement preceded the delicate stirring of pine boughs brushed aside by a gentle hand. A lithe maiden emerged onto the grass surrounding the hollow. Her chestnut hair, bound with leather thongs into two thick tails, tumbled over her shoulders and breasts. Long tapered fingers curved around the longbow in her right hand. Like the men, she wore leather breeches and jacket, with a full quiver of arrows on her back. Her dark brown eyes—clear, resolute, and unafraid—traveled slowly over each member of the group, stopping when they reached Arris. The faintest trace of a smile curved her full lips.

  Five other maidens, similarly attired, and seven young men leading ponies accompanied her. One pony carried a sizable load of beaver pelts, the rest leather satchels.

  Arronmyl beamed. “Well done, Nedra. You remedy the problem of carrying our wounded home.”

  “I came to find you,” the girl returned, her eyes still fixed upon Arris. “I and my friends will accompany you.”

  “You must lead our people while I and these twelve journey to Barren-Fel.”

  Nedra’s eyes fell. Edging closer to her father, she whispered, “I would speak with you alone.” She glanced again at Arris before setting off across the hollow with her father.

  “Ooh!” Hans sucked in a breath. “A comely lass—but a gravely flawed taste in men.”

  Arris shook his head. “We do not need women. We’re burdened enough.” Muttering in his native tongue, he untied Barada and led him to the north side of the hollow.

  Davon followed. “You’re not happy about this.”

  “No.” Arris kicked at the dirt, sending tiny clods tumbling across the grass. “The battlefield is no place for a maid. And why must she stare at me so?”

  Davon smiled knowingly. “I think it’s obvious. The lady fancies you. Besides, she may prove useful as—” he shrugged—“a distraction to some guard, perhaps.”

  “I can’t believe you’d suggest such a thing.”

  “I perceive she’s both clever and cunning.” Davon smiled slyly. “I would pity the guard.”

  By now Charles and Hans, leading the rest of the horses, had joined them. “You object, I know,” Charles said to Arris. “But we need the woodsmen’s skill as well as their numbers.”

  Arris nodded dolefully.

  Hans cast approving eyes at Nedra. “She’s a feisty little filly—a lass after my own heart!”

  “Perhaps you can keep her occupied,” Arris retorted.

  “Perhaps I can,” Hans boomed.

  Arris scowled. “Quiet, man!”

  Hans lowered his voice. “Why don’t you put those Arganian arts to a truly good use and concoct a potion to give her a shine for red hair, rather than that yellow fluff stuck to your head and chin.”

  “Oh, I’ll concoct potions for you both: one to give your maiden the beard and chest hair of a warlord, and another to make you as smooth and bald as a baby all over!”

  “Will ye now!” Hans squared his shoulders and drew himself to his full height.

  A look of disgust clouded Arris’ face. “Jackass,” he muttered and turned away, shaking his head.

  Davon laughed but sobered immediately. “They’re coming back.”

  Arronmyl and his daughter had already circled the hollow and now advanced a few yards away. The same alluring smile lighted Nedra’s face as they approached. Her demeanor discomfited even Davon, who wondered uneasily what effect her obvious affections would have on his already troubled brother.

  Charles stepped forward. “What’s your plan?”

  “Except for eleven and myself, the men will return to the village with the young men and two of the women,” Arronmyl told him. “We’ll take two ponies with supplies. The pelts will prove useful in trading with the Rauths, with the women as excellent barterers. They’ll buy us fine horses.”

  Arronmyl turned and beckoned to Marcos. “Return to the village. Make sure our defenses, and dispatch hunters to search the southern forests and mountains for game herds. Muster every able-bodied man and strong lad you can find and join us in Barren-Fel. Leave the wounded home. If Ryadok’s pack lies north of Kapras Rock, we’ll leave a scout there to guide you to us; otherwise, we’ll meet you at the rock ourselves. Now go, and let’s put an end to this witch-king!”

  Marcos bowed. “I’ll join you within the week, Father. Farewell and Godspeed.”

  “And to you, son.” Father and son clasped hands, and then Marcos ran to the woodsmen to prepare them for the trip home.

  Arronmyl waved his bow to the remaining eleven. “Our journey begins!”

  Arris seethed as he led Barada up the gravelly trail into Barren-Fel. In deference to the fair sex, the four companions had yielded their mounts to Arronmyl’s maidens for the arduous trek to the Rauth settlement. Naturally Nedra had selected Barada, for never had she seen such a magnificent steed. Might Arris permit her the pleasure of riding him? In her father’s presence, Arris could not refuse, and as graciously as he could manage, helped her into the saddle.

  Arronmyl’s niece, Elvia, rode Charles’ bay. “A beautiful horse, and so spirited! What do you call her?”

  Charles smiled. “Vitimihovna, which, in the language of Ha-Ran-Fel, means Valiant Heart. I call my black horse Majesty.”

  “Has anyone other than you ever ridden Vitimihovna?”

  “Only the warrior of Ha-Ran-Fel who trained her and a maiden from Valhalea.” Charles paused, puzzled at Arris’ strained expression.

  The other maidens, Raina and Tabitha, followed close behind with Hans and Davon. Hans paid no heed to the exchange in front of them, but Davon noted the developing tension between his brother and Charles Bordner

  The slope steepened as they ascended the rocky, windswept ridge marking Barren-Fel’s southern border. The trees thinned in favor of native scrub and coarse grass. Loose shale and scattered boulders littered the rough terrain. The horses puffed and the men panted as they wound their way to the top, taking care to skirt one particularly treacherous tongue of scree scarring the mountainside. Twenty minutes later they scrambled to the top and stopped to rest. The maidens dismounted and rejoined their people.

  The four companions moved away a few steps and opened their water skins. They drank long and deep, savoring the wind in their faces and the cool water coursing down their parched throats. The brooding forest stretched before them like a vast and turbulent sea. Gusty winds tossed the treetops, lending them the appearance of wind-driven waves. Far to the north and west, the forest hue changed to the lighter greens of rolling pastures and farmlands.

  Arris drew a deep breath. “Well,” he sa
id quietly. “We stand upon our enemy’s doorstep.”

  Charles nodded. “And he expects us, I’m sure.”

  Arris turned his back to Nedra’s relentless stare. “’Tis like she would read my heart,” he murmured. “She searches for something, for what I cannot tell.”

  “I marvel Arronmyl says nothing to her,” Charles said. “Doesn’t he consider her manner inappropriate?” He shrugged. “Or perhaps it’s just their way.”

  “Perhaps these forest maidens, especially that one, choose their own men,” Arris returned.

  “Then I don’t know whether to offer my deepest sympathy or my heartiest congratulations.” Charles clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s hasten to this Rauth village, after which we’ll enjoy some time to ourselves.”

  They rejoined Arronmyl’s host, and the journey resumed. To Arris’ great relief, that which he dreaded did not occur. Nedra had scarcely taken her eyes off him during their respite on the ridge; yet she made no bold advances, nor did she ask prying questions. He endured no boasting of her prowess as a huntress or her status as a warrior princess.

  Indeed, she spoke very little, and Arris wondered if he might have misjudged her. But although she acted quiet now—even demure—he sensed in her a manipulative nature, a desire to dominate and control. Arris had never felt uncomfortable around Merewyn, but Merewyn had been a lonely, frightened fugitive. Never had she cast an alluring glance or a seductive smile. Nedra, however, made him feel like a fly in a spider’s web.

  He twisted his mouth to one side. If Merewyn had favored anyone, she had favored Charles Bordner. Arris recalled her wistful gaze as Charles walked away from her at their camp near Brackenlea, felt afresh his own longing as he placed his folded jacket under her head, knowing this gesture would never turn her from Charles to himself.

  “Something troubles you.” Nedra’s voice invaded his thoughts. When Arris did not answer, she continued, “Arris, I think you will find me a great help. I know the ways of the forest. Outsiders consider it dark and forbidding, fraught with danger and devilish beasts. But this is my home. The shadows, the trees, the mountains—all are my friends, as are the great stags that rule these woods. I, too, feel things. I knew, even as I left our village, that seven of our number had died, and that Faleo had suffered a particularly awful fate.”