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

by Sandra Kopp

  The smile drained from Arris’ face. His lips tightened as he swallowed hard. “Edwin simply wishes to confirm her safe arrival here, I’m sure.”

  Davon sighed. “He wishes one of us to persuade her to return to Garris with the promise that Edwin will provide for her and her mother and that she doesn’t have to marry this fellow.”

  Arris raised an eyebrow. “Rather an uncomfortable situation though, isn’t it? Living in a small town with someone you refused and who may hold a grudge.”

  Davon nodded. “Aye, and a prominent businessman at that. Garris’s only butcher, to be exact.”

  “How old is the girl?”

  “Nineteen.”

  “She’s a grown woman then, isn’t she? And if she marries well, the family should be happy for her. Her mother could even join her here.”

  “That’s my feeling,” Davon returned. “I sent word with the courier I will seek her out and pass along the message.”

  “That’s all you can do.”

  Davon regarded him quizzically. “You sense something, though, don’t you? Trouble or danger, perhaps? At least, that’s what your initial reaction indicated. Your demeanor changed when I mentioned her.”

  Arris slowly shook his head. “No. At least, nothing foreseeable. She has the right to choose her own path, and with that choice come risks and opportunities. Advise her of her uncle’s offer. After that. . .” He shrugged. “. . .we can render aid if needed; but we cannot compel her to return.” Davon noted his taut face, but before he could speak, Arris asked, “Any more incidents with Eldor Rand?”

  Davon shook his head. “Not that I’ve heard. Pharen is mending well and expects to join you next week.”

  Arris nodded. “Good. I can use the help.” He patted Barada’s neck and chuckled ruefully. “This steed will never warm to herding cattle. He’d rather trample than look at them.”

  “He’s a warhorse, bred from Ruelon’s finest stock. He finds this life too tame and yearns for another quest.” Davon cocked his head and peered at his brother’s mount. “Don’t you, Barada?”

  Barada tossed his head and pawed the ground.

  “No herding cattle for you.”

  Barada shook his head and blew his nose.

  “I swear that horse understands human speech,” Davon laughed. “But then, he belongs to an Arganian.”

  “A former Arganian.” Arris drew a long breath.

  “Do you regret your decision?”

  Arris shook his head. “No. Had I retained those powers I would have lost Merewyn and be dwelling alone in stark stone cliffs above the clouds.” His voice trailed off. A faraway look crossed his face.

  “I’ve seen that expression before, big brother. What are you thinking?”

  “Nothing.” Arris gazed at his peacefully grazing herd. “Just an old habit of letting my mind drift.”

  “Hmph.” Davon studied his brother a moment and then chuckled softly. Arris turned, brows raised. “What?”

  “You say Barada will never warm to herding cattle. I’m just trying to picture you riding one of those Wyar ponies.” Davon grinned.

  “Don’t you have a gathering to prepare for?” Arris retorted, and then burst into laughter.

  But as Davon rode away, fear seized Arris with icy fingers. He cast a backward glance at Mitrovnia before returning to his cattle.

  Melinda tingled with anticipation as the buggy rolled toward Teptiel Grange. For the occasion, she had donned one of the items in her oak chest: A light green dress with short puffed sleeves and a full skirt. Luwanna wore the same tan skirt and turquoise jacket, still immaculate somehow despite the long journey. Both wore their hair in long loose waves. Now, seated behind Peter and Gilda, they could scarcely contain their excitement.

  Peter’s sorrel mare jogged down the lane and merged into the crowd of wagons, carts, buggies and pedestrians already streaming past the mercantile. Melinda scanned the crowd, oblivious to Gilda’s endless chatter. Everyone knew the Rainers, and greetings rang out from every quarter. Gilda answered each with a cheery hello and a wave, while Peter simply smiled and dipped his head.

  Finally they passed the last of the shops. The cobblestone street became a dirt trail curving to the northeast toward a rambling barn-like structure sitting by itself atop a rise just outside town. Throngs of people streamed in and out of the open double doors carrying chairs, covered baskets, stacks of dishes and plates heaped high with food.

  Peter stopped at the door, helped the women alight, and then drove off to make room for the next arrival. Hearts pounding, Luwanna and Melinda followed Gilda inside.

  Tables and chairs rimmed the room, and a long table on one end held bowls piled high with fried chicken, potatoes, rolls, buttered corn and green beans, and an assortment of pies and dried fruits. Wineskins hung from the wall behind another table full of glasses.

  The Glendons had already arrived. Della chatted with two fellows, while Francis exercised his utmost diplomacy attempting to convince an insistent young lady that he already had a wife and two sons. In the center of the room, Marna radiated amid a throng of eager admirers.

  A swarthy, handsome man with thick black hair and intense dark eyes rose from a chair in one corner and approached Luwanna. “You are. . .available?” he asked in a thick Barren-Fel accent.

  Luwanna blushed. Her lashes fluttered as she smiled shyly. Never had a maiden looked more beautiful. She nodded shortly and whispered, “Yes.”

  The man bowed slightly, took Luwanna’s hand and raised it to his lips. He straightened then, never releasing her hand as he searched her face. “My name is Braun Topyl. I was born a Wyar, a herdsman of Barren-Fel. Now I have a farm and some cattle, but no wife. I want a wife—and children.”

  Luwanna’s blush deepened as she smiled softly. “My name is Luwanna Frye. My mother is Rauth, but I was born in Liedor. . .on a farm. I, too, want a family.”

  “You are very beautiful, Luwanna,” Braun whispered. “Might we talk?”

  Luwanna nodded, and Braun led her to the corner, away from the crowd.

  Melinda jealously watched the exchange. Luwanna had barely entered the room and already made a conquest! “Thomas Hammond, why did you die?” she muttered.

  “What did you say, dear?” Gilda Rainer took her arm.

  Melinda started. “Sorry. I didn’t realize you were there. I feel so lost right now. You see, I had a fiancé but he died in the war. I don’t even know how to begin.”

  Gilda clicked her tongue. “Come now, you’re young and beautiful. And if you have trouble—well, there’s Doneara Ellison, our matchmaker, now.” She gestured toward a large buxom woman whose flaming upswept hair clashed somewhat with her flowered frock.

  Melinda sighed. “I don’t know. I left Garris to escape an arranged marriage.” Her eyes swept over the crowd, stopping on a tall, slender blonde man gazing at her from across the room. She clutched Gilda’s arm. “Gilda! Who is that man?”

  Gilda glanced around. “Oh! That’s Davon Marchant, one of our Nimbians. A handsome man, but very much married, I’m afraid.”

  Melinda’s face fell. “I should have known. I’d have liked to meet him.”

  “You’ll get your wish. He’s coming over.”

  “I couldn’t,” Melinda began, but Davon had already crossed the room and now stood before her. “Good evening,” he said.

  “Good evening,” Melinda faltered.

  “I’m Davon Marchant. My wife, Felicia, and I welcome you.” Davon paused. “I hear you’re one of the new arrivals from Garris.”

  If only you were single! “Thank you,” she returned. “Yes, I am from Garris.”

  “Might you be Melinda Greene?”

  Melinda caught her breath. Davon, while retaining his pleasant demeanor, seemed to look right through her. “How do you know?” she asked.

  Davon smiled. “Your uncle Edwin and I became compatriots during the war. He aided us many times and even saved our lives.” He sobered. “Your unexpected departure distresse
s your family.”

  “I will not marry an old man, no matter how rich,” Melinda huffed.

  Davon held up a hand. “You are of age and entitled to your own life. However, your uncle asked me to tell you that, should you wish to return to Garris, he will provide for you and your mother. You don’t have to marry.”

  “That man would make all our lives miserable, Uncle Edwin’s included. We could never show our faces.”

  “I understand. But—” Davon raised his brows—“perhaps a message to your uncle. . .and your mother?”

  Melinda nodded and hung her head. “Of course,” she conceded. “I resented having no say in my future. Mother refused to discuss it and even Aunt Emily seemed to favor the match. However, I behaved deplorably. Heaven knows my mother doesn’t need any more grief. I will send word to them tomorrow.”

  “’Twill lift a great weight off their shoulders. In the meantime, welcome to Teptiel, Miss Greene. I hope you find the life you seek.”

  Davon bowed shortly and walked away. Melinda watched him join a lovely blonde woman who had brought another bowl of corn to the table, saw him lean down and kiss her cheek. Melinda sighed and turned away.

  Across the room, Gilda talked to Doneara Ellison. Peter Rainer wandered through the crowd, exchanging greetings and shaking hands. Braun and Luwanna remained in their corner, oblivious to everyone except each other.

  Melinda collected herself and meandered through the crowd. Already most of the eligible guests had paired off. In the center of the room a half-dozen men swarmed around Marna Glendon. Two tables away, a group of women chatted quietly. Melinda considered joining them, but a mixture of confusion, resentment and self-loathing propelled her toward an empty corner. She should not have abandoned her mother and even now wished to be home. But her uncle’s generous offer could never stand. Sarah Greene would burden no one, least of all her brother-in-law. And with a tidy fortune within her grasp, she would allow Melinda no peace until Melinda married Sam Shaw. Dejected, Melinda found a chair and sat down.

  A hearty laugh rose above the monotonous hum. Melinda looked up. A tall, tanned, muscular man with a youthful face and thick dark hair stood at Marna’s table, exchanging jocularities with Francis Glendon and a slender red-haired man sitting next to Marna. He wore a blue and red checked cotton shirt open at the throat, and the traditional blue breeches and brown square-toed boots of the Liedor farmers. His dark eyes twinkled. A broad smile revealed straight, white teeth. Melinda’s heart fluttered. She moistened her parched lips, trying to gather the courage to walk over and introduce herself, but her leaden body refused to budge.

  Doneara Ellison wandered among the tables, studying the remaining singles but saying nothing. Melinda considered asking her to speak to the handsome farmer on her behalf, but her tongue clave to the roof of her mouth.

  Doneara passed the last table and paused to glance across the sea of expectant faces. Impulsively she bustled to one of the tables, took the arm of a young man from Barren-Fel and led him to a shy blonde woman sitting two tables over. “Taran Lupish, meet Bereniece Schuyler.”

  Bereniece’s pale cheeks reddened. Her mouth twitched into a trembling smile as she looked away. “Bereniece, don’t be shy. Talk to him.” Doneara laid a reassuring hand on Bereniece’s shoulder and moved on.

  Melinda sat, stunned. Taran Lupish was as handsome as Bereniece Schyler was plain; but as Melinda watched, she noticed that those Doneara paired soon warmed to each other. Taran and Bereniece proved a good match, for Taran showed genuine interest in her, and she in him. Like a rosebud opening into a radiant flower Bereniece blossomed, her face taking on a soft glow that transformed her plainness into quiet beauty.

  Several more minutes passed before Doneara announced, “Della Glendon and Erik Tanner; Dara Kane and Philip Drew.”

  Doneara circled back around, her hawk-like eyes now riveted on Melinda, who felt she would choke as the matchmaker approached. “Come now, don’t be shy.” Doneara sat down beside her.

  “I’m not shy. I’m terrified.”

  Doneara’s silvery laughter floated across the room. “Don’t be. I have never made a bad match. The entire village will attest to it.” She paused and studied Melinda. “You have known loss. What is your name?”

  “Melinda Greene. My father and fiancé both died in battle. Thomas was a wonderful man whom I loved dearly. Even after a year I mourn.”

  “I am sorry. But life goes on. You’re in a good place among good people. Teptiel is strong and growing. Many who came here lost everything but now lead happy, productive lives.” Again she studied Melinda. “I perceive you are not afraid of work.”

  “I love gardening and cherish being outside. Thomas and I hoped to have a farm one day.” Melinda sighed as she regarded the group at Marna’s table. “That is still my wish, but. . .”

  “But?” Doneara pressed.

  Melinda chuckled ruefully. “The remaining men seem to favor Miss Glendon.”

  “You’ve been sitting in the corner by yourself, encouraging no one. Several other men clustered around her earlier, but have since been paired with other young ladies, with no complaints. Never fear, Miss Greene, your wish shall be granted.” She paused and patted Melinda’s hand. “I have your match.”

  “Who?”

  Doneara smiled knowingly. “You shall see.” She rose and swept to Marna’s table where only the muscular man and another hopeful waited.

  Moments later Doneara announced, “Marna Glendon and Philip Schiff; Melinda Greene and Eldor Rand.”

  The red-haired man raised triumphant fists in a show of victory. Whooping and hollering, he leapt to his feet, scooped Marna into his arms, and twirled her about.

  Eldor’s shoulders slumped. His handsome features hardened into a dark scowl. He stomped toward the door, stiffened, and stopped. “I want Marna,” he shouted and, marching back to Philip, tried to pull Marna from his arms.

  Snarling, Philip shoved Eldor away and gestured toward Melinda. “There is your match! She’s comely enough. Go and meet her.”

  “I don’t want her!” Eldor bellowed. “You take her, if you find her comely.” He lunged at Philip, who sidestepped and delivered a stunning blow to Eldor’s jaw. Doneara Ellison waded into the fray, her shrill voice cutting through the verbal crossfire as she tried to restore order.

  “Enough!” Taran Lupish bolted forward, seized Eldor’s arm and tried to pull him back. Eldor whirled and hurled a fist. Taran ducked and the fist struck Doneara’s cheek, sending her sprawling.

  “Wyar trash! Take your filthy hands off me!” Cursing violently, Eldor jerked free and stormed from the grange, slamming the door behind him.

  “Eldor!” Davon started after him, but Peter Rainer caught his sleeve. “Let him go,” Peter said quietly.

  The crowd sat in stunned silence. Davon and Peter helped Doneara to her feet.

  Melinda sat alone and expressionless, too numb to even cry. Marna’s triumphant sneer, coupled with the pitying glances from everyone else, intensified her humiliation. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, trying to dispel the lump now filling her tightened throat.

  “Melinda!” Gilda swept to her side and wrapped a motherly arm around her shoulders. “I don’t know what to say. What a beast!”

  Melinda held up a hand and opened her eyes. Fighting to keep her voice steady, she said, “I see this as a good omen, really. You see, my fiancé never returned from the fighting, neither was his body found. Even today I cling to the hope that someone found him wounded on the battlefield and took him to the Arganians. He and I talked of coming to Teptiel after our wedding. Perhaps—” Melinda paused and gulped back a sob—“perhaps this means he will come back and we’ll still be together. What would he think should he find me married to another?”

  Tears streamed down Luwanna’s face. “Omen or not, how could anyone behave so deplorably? Has Eldor no regard for anyone but himself?”

  “The man is a cur,” Braun said. “You are far too worthy for the likes
of Eldor Rand. I hope your fiancé does return.”

  Melinda smiled softly. “Thank you. I pray with all my heart he does. But things happen in their proper time. With the townspeople’s kind permission I shall seek employment here.”

  Gilda’s arm tightened around her. “You most certainly do have our permission, Melinda Greene, and you shall live with us.”

  “Come by my bakery tomorrow,” a woman called from across the room. “I can use an extra hand.” A pause. “I’m Emma Bryant, by the way.”

  Melinda nodded her thanks as she wiped her eyes. “I shall. My heartfelt gratitude to all of you.”

  “Hear, hear!” Francis Glendon held up his glass. “It’s all settled. Let’s offer a toast to Melinda!”

  Glasses raised all around. Francis began, “To Melin—”

  “Wait!” Melinda cried. “I haven’t a glass!”

  The room erupted into laughter. Francis shouted, “Somebody bring this girl some wine!”

  Peter Rainer complied, and again the glasses raised. Francis proclaimed, “To Melinda Greene: May she find health, happiness, love, and her heart’s desire!”

  CHAPTER SIX

  The little bakery sat near the end of the street, nestled cozily between the apothecary and Gilda’s fabric shop. Melinda walked briskly, hoping she appeared more confident than she felt. Despite her convincing performance the previous night, Eldor’s rejection seared like a hot iron. Today everyone seemed to stare, some pitifully, others with scorn. Homesickness gripped like a clamp around her heart; but she had spurned a powerful man in Garris and, her uncle’s influence notwithstanding, could never return.

  At least Mother will soon know I am safe.

  Early that morning, Peter had directed her to the couriers, where Melinda had just posted a letter:

  Dearest Mother,

  I sincerely regret the grief my rash and sudden departure has caused you. I tried, but could not reconcile myself to marrying Mr. Shaw and decided to seek a new life in Teptiel. I arrived safely and have already found employment at Mrs. Bryant’s bakery. Please, please forgive me. Perhaps you would even consider coming here yourself. It is truly beautiful and people are kind.