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

by Sandra Kopp

  Eldor haughtily raised his head. “Is he here?”

  “While you haven’t named him specifically, I assume you’re seeking Pharen.”

  Eldor nodded shortly.

  “Pharen possesses a remarkable talent for soothing frightened and injured animals, which today I’m employing in the higher pasture.” Arris paused. “Obviously you also value his skills.”

  Eldor sobered. “He’s a good herder—the best I’ve ever seen, in fact—but stubborn. Even so, he shows promise, and I think that with a little work we could get along just fine. I would welcome him back, not just as a herder but an overseer, with no questions, threats, or retaliation.”

  “Or beatings?”

  Eldor snorted. “Beatings? I mete no punishment beyond what a situation warrants. Look, I’m a self-made man who learned early in life that nothing gets handed to you. I broke my back to get where I’m at. Those cattle cost me dearly and I can’t afford to lose even one to a bad herder.” He jabbed his thumb at his chest. “I own the cattle, I set the standards for their care, and I chastise any herdsman who doesn’t comply.”

  “I saw Pharen the day after you ‘chastised’ him,” Arris returned evenly. “The man could hardly walk.”

  Eldor shifted. One side of his mouth twitched. “He lied, first to your brother and then to you. They brawl in those camps and then say their employers beat them. You’ve not dealt with Wyars long enough to know their true nature. Most of them show no interest in conforming or integrating with the rest of us. They even refuse to speak the common tongue. And, rather than fight us, they quietly confiscate our land and property while posing as faithful employees. Naturally, I have learned to be wary.”

  “Those I know simply desire a new start, like the rest of us. They live quietly and they speak the common tongue.”

  Eldor rolled his eyes and swung one leg over his saddle. “Ah, the noble Nimbians, those pillars of. . .” He stopped abruptly, his attention now riveted upon Merewyn, who had quietly slipped to Arris’ side. “Mighty Merewyn, legendary queen of Ha-Ran-Fel. Magnificent, indeed! I say, Master Marchant, you’ve done very well.”

  “So, you are Eldor Rand,” Merewyn said softly. “I’ve heard much about you.”

  “And I you. Local folklore abounds with tales of your heroic exploits.”

  “Your wife did not come?”

  “Master Rand came to persuade Pharen to return to his employ,” Arris cut in brusquely.

  Eldor absently waved a hand. “And as Pharen’s not here to speak for himself, I’ll be on my way. Fields and herds await, and they’ll not tend themselves. Please pass my proposal on to Pharen, if you would be so good. Then, as you say, the choice is his. He can return or not. Either way I’ll bear no ill will nor seek retribution. I wish no quarrel, particularly since we’ll soon be neighbors.”

  In response to his hosts’ stunned expressions, Eldor turned and pointed to a high hill situated a mile to the west. “Do you see yonder hill? I own that now. I’ll build my new house just on the other side.”

  “By all accounts, yours was among the poorest families in the district; yet now you buy the choicest land. How did you acquire your wealth?” Arris challenged.

  Eldor smiled broadly. “My god has dealt bountifully with me. Yes, I do worship a higher power. And now. . .” He swung his leg back over the horse and replaced his foot in the stirrup. “. . .I bid you good day, Master Marchant.” He dipped his head to Merewyn. “Your Highness.” Turning his horse, he galloped away.

  Merewyn’s eyes blazed. “Insufferable ass! I’d rather Ryadok dwelt beside us!”

  “Me, too,” Arris muttered.

  “If he really does build a house over there I’m going to set some fires.”

  Arris snickered. “Just be sure the wind’s blowing straight from the east when you do! We don’t want you torching our home, or my parents’.” He put an arm around Merewyn’s shoulders and walked her to the house.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Mid June

  The roan gelding jogged easily up the red dirt road. His weary rider, basking in the noonday sun, cast a wistful gaze at the verdant hills and soaring Alpenfel Mountains. “Ah, Parsius! I could love it here. Fresh air, open sky. A beautiful scene! Forests are lovely for a season, but a man tires of endless trees.”

  The gelding nonchalantly blew his nose and continued his unhurried gait. Groaning, Hans Ogilvie shifted his weight and then stood in the stirrups a moment to stretch his legs before settling into the saddle again. The tranquil countryside had raised his spirits somewhat; but he had risen long before dawn and this, along with his funereal mission, enervated him. Once again, Barren-Fel, land of the Dark Lords, seethed like a menacing cauldron. Soon another tyrant would cast his malignant shadow across Epthelion. No man had dealt more effectively with the sorcerer kings than Hans’ comrade-in-arms, Arris Marchant, whose advice Hans now sought.

  Peering ahead, he glimpsed the first of the outlying farms surrounding Teptiel and heaved a sigh. “Shouldn’t be far now,” he muttered. “At least, I hope not. This blamed saddle ain’t agreein’ with my backside.”

  The road sloped downward, winding along a narrow gully between two knolls before leveling out into open grasslands flowing toward the grain fields farther west. Trees and cattle dotted the rolling swells. Hedges as thick and impenetrable as walls lined both sides of the road. A house and barn peeked through a row of trees a short distance into one field. While Hans could not see them clearly, the buildings looked no different than any other farm buildings he had seen. Yet something about the place unnerved him; something devilish, he felt, lurked very near.

  The hedgerows ended near the beginning of a cornfield just ahead and Hans began to relax. But before they reached the open road the gelding froze, punctuating the air with loud snorts. The sickening stench of burning feathers assaulted Hans’ nostrils and then a piercing shriek shattered the stillness as a hooded, black-robed figure leaped around the hedge. A razor-sharp tip gleamed at the end of the spear in the creature’s gnarled, upraised hand. With lightning speed, the creature let the weapon fly. Hans watched, paralyzed, as the missile spiraled toward his heart. He braced for the deathblow but his horse jumped aside and the cruel tip grazed his shoulder instead.

  Shocked into action, Hans drew his sword and opened his mouth to bellow a challenge. But the words died on his lips, chilled into silence by unspeakable horror. The creature, completely enshrouded except for its hands, stood no taller than four feet high but exuded such incredible hatred that Hans went numb with fear. The hands seemed only blackened bones with long claws. A black void filled the space where a face should have been.

  Something resembling two live coals ignited within the hood. A deafening caterwaul that sounded like a roar, a scream, and a howl all in one erupted from the creature’s throat. Swift as an arrow, it bounded toward him, throwing itself into the horse with such ferocity it sent the animal crashing onto its side. The impact jarred Hans’ breath out of him. Searing pain shot through his rib cage. His right leg, pinned under the horse’s weight, had no feeling.

  Savage claws raked his face and throat. His ears rang from the continuous shrieks. One arm was pinned under him, while the creature lay on the other. His crazed horse flailed and kicked, grinding Hans’ trapped leg tighter to the hard-packed earth. Frantically he twisted and squirmed but, unable to move and his strength draining rapidly, ceased struggling. He felt his consciousness fading and desperately willed his collapsing lungs to start working again. His entire body felt on fire. . .

  His breath returned in a sudden choking gasp. Wheezing, he mustered his strength, let go of his sword, and threw his arm up. The back of his hand struck what felt like a chin. Grunting, the creature fell backward but immediately righted itself and leapt at him. With a strangled cry, Hans kicked his top foot free of the stirrup and drove it into the creature’s middle, knocking it onto its buttocks. Snarling, it bounced to its feet, its fiery eyes flaming higher as again it lunged. Hans readied for
another blow, but instead heard a resounding pop! followed by a howl of pain. He clung to the saddle and somehow managed to retrieve his sword as the horse struggled to his feet. Glancing down, Hans saw the creature sprawled in the road, the dusty outline of a hoof imprinted on the top of its hood.

  Hans sheathed his sword and launched the horse into a full gallop. His body throbbed and his face and throat burned as if afire. He stole a backward glance and saw the creature in hot pursuit, its spear poised to throw. Facing forward again, Hans leaned low to his horse’s neck and urged him on faster.

  Dodge! something screamed inside him. He reined to the left just as the lance streaked past his right ear. He heard an ear-splitting shriek, and then the overpowering stench of burning feathers almost made him vomit.

  A lone horseman appeared on a hillside a quarter mile away, hesitated, and then raced toward him. Weak and gasping, Hans reined his dripping mount off the road to meet the approaching rider.

  Arris leaned against the fence, admiring his twin calves. He had feared the worst, for during their birth the two appeared inextricably tangled in their mother’s womb. Pharen, however, had skillfully maneuvered them apart and delivered them safely. Her trauma past, the black cow rallied immediately. Now all three thrived.

  “We’ve made a good start this year,” he mused. “A few problems, yes, but thanks to Master Rand, I’ve acquired another good man. Right, Barada?” He cast an affectionate glance at the stallion which, saddled and bridled, waited at the tierail outside the paddock.

  Barada neighed shrilly, his keen eyes fixed toward the south. Arris followed his gaze but, unable to see what had caught the stallion’s interest, climbed the fence and straddled the top rail, pausing as he sighted Davon approaching with another horseman. Arris gasped. Even at this distance he recognized the red hair and burly build astride the prancing roan and, with a cry of delight, swung off the fence and dashed to Barada. The startled stallion snorted and tried to rear. Arris untied him and leapt onto his back. “Ho!” he shouted, and Barada broke into a gallop.

  Arris waved as he tore down the hill, but as he neared his guests, consternation chased the smile from his face. Parsius, led by Davon, half pranced and half side-stepped while Hans, hand pressed to his right side, slouched in his saddle. Arris drew closer and noted Hans’ bloody right shoulder and the deep scratches on his welted face and throat. One side of Parsius’ lathered body bore several cuts and scrapes.

  Hans forced a grin as Arris reined in beside him. “Ach, man, ‘tis a grand place you’ve got here!”

  “Never mind that. What happened to you? You look like the devil himself worked you over. We’d better get you to the house.” Arris fell in beside them and, with growing alarm, listened as Hans poured out his story.

  “What did he look like? Can you describe his face?” Arris asked when Hans had finished.

  “I don’t think the blighter had a face.” Hans shuddered. “I don’t think he was even human. It all happened so fast. All of a sudden he was there, growling, hissing, screaming. He stunk of burnt feathers and never stood still. . .I mean, the way he moved, it was like a. . .like nothing I’ve ever seen. Two-legged, but bounded more like a deer, darting here and then there, almost too fast to follow. And on foot—on foot—he was catching us—and we were on a dead run!”

  Arris went cold. Trying to maintain his composure, he said, “We’re almost home. Don’t worry, I still have my medicines and can care for you.”

  “I wasn’t sure I could even find you. Happily Davon came to my aid; otherwise, I don’t think I’d have made it.” Pain twisted Hans’ face and he slumped forward, groaning.

  “Just hold on,” Arris told him. “You’ll be all right.”

  They reached the house a few minutes later. Arris and Davon dismounted and together helped Hans off Parsius.

  “I’ll put the horses up while you see to Hans,” Davon told Arris, who nodded as he put a supportive arm around Hans and helped him into the house.

  Merewyn, a towel draped over one shoulder, paced around the spacious living room with her son, humming softly as she patted his back. She turned as they entered. Her face lit up.

  “Hans!” Noting his injuries then, she gasped, “What happened?”

  “A creature attacked him as he traveled here. I need my things,” Arris answered. He continued into the sitting room with Hans, while Merewyn put the baby down and raced for Arris’ satchel of potions. Arris guided Hans to the divan along the wall just inside the door. “Lie down here.”

  Groaning, Hans carefully lowered himself onto the low couch and lay back. Arris knelt beside him and gingerly felt around his side. “I don’t feel anything broken, but I’ll wager you’ve cracked some ribs.”

  “It hurts like blazes,” Hans rasped through gritted teeth.

  “I’ll give you some medicine and then wrap you up.” Arris turned as Merewyn entered the room and deposited the satchel, a cup, and a full waterskin on the floor beside him. “Thank you.”

  Merewyn sat in a nearby chair, regarding Hans with mock reproach while Arris examined Hans’ leg. “Hans Ogilvie, can’t you stay out of trouble for more than a day?”

  Hans managed a shaky smile. “On my honor, Mistress Marchant, I’m just an innocent traveler. . .”

  “Who is lucky to be alive,” Arris finished grimly. “Thankfully your leg’s not broken, either, but will definitely be sore for a few days.” He poured two powders and some water into the cup and briskly stirred the mixture. “Whatever attacked you carried poison in its claws. This potion will drive that out and will also ease the pain and make you sleep, which you need now more than anything.”

  Someone rapped softly and then opened the front door. “In here, Davon,” Arris called. “Come, I need you to help Hans sit up so he can drink this.”

  Davon appeared in the doorway, his face pale and clouded by a troubled frown. In the living room the baby began to cry. Merewyn excused herself and left to tend her son.

  “Come in, Davon, and close the door,” Arris instructed. Davon silently complied and as he joined them, Arris whispered, “What’s wrong?”

  Davon hesitated. “Strange shadow,” he whispered back. “Terrible eyes. It looked at me, spoke to me.”

  Arris bowed his head and then nodded toward Hans who, with Davon’s help, sat up and drank the potion Arris offered.

  “You’ve not lost your knack for making healing brews, that’s sure.” Hans moaned as he carefully lay down again. “I feel better already.”

  Arris inspected Hans’ face. “These are deep.” He poured more water and added enough of another powder to make a thick paste. Dipping in his finger, he carefully daubed the paste on one of the scratches. Hans flinched and grunted, but as Arris continued he gradually relaxed.

  “No human did this.” Arris dipped his finger again and applied more paste. “The Serpent has begun to move. I perceive, Davon, ‘twas a serpent’s shadow you saw.”

  Davon remained silent, his eyes downcast.

  Arris cast him a sideways glance. “I, too, have seen his shadow and in my dreams heard his voice. I sense grave danger.”

  He paused and then turned to Hans. “Yours is not a social visit, my friend. Some weighty business brought you here.” Arris put the cup aside and wiped his fingers with a towel. Hans tried to sit up but Arris motioned him down. “Just lie back and tell us what troubles you.” Gathering his supplies together, Arris moved to a nearby chair and motioned Davon to another.

  Hans stared up at the ceiling. “I need your help,” he said finally. “The Rauths are preparing for war, seeking to reclaim the lands Liedor took—the Rauwyar Valley, in particular. I’ve not seen this myself, but hear rumors that Castle Ryadok is rebuilding itself. And. . .” Anguish twisted his rugged face. “. . .Nedra speaks to someone, who I don’t know. Arronmyl’s health is failing and she plans to replace him as ruler over Barren-Fel and San-Leyon, even driving her beloved brother into exile to accomplish this.”

  Arris hung his head.
“The Serpent beguiles her.”

  “How do I help her?” Hans croaked.

  Arris looked up. “I will send word to our sister. Angelika holds a position in the High Arganian order now. I know she can help us. Concerning the Rauths: Liedor seized most of their arable land out of greed and must return it.” He paused. “Who rules Liedor now that Fortius is dead?”

  “One of Fortius’ captains, a fellow named Theodus. He survived the Langhorn attack. I don’t know him well, but from what I’ve seen he’s a sensible chap. Edwin’s old comrade, Bertrand, likes him. Before I left Langhorn I sought but could not obtain an audience. I’ll try again on my way back.

  Arris frowned thoughtfully. “Other voices added to your own would bolster support. You already have Davon’s and mine, and several noble and reasonable men sit on our council. They meet in three days. Perhaps, if we apprise them of the situation, we may be able to persuade them to draft a letter to the king.”

  “It’s worth a try.” Hans wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “Oi! All of a sudden. . .so tired. . .I can’t. . .”

  “The potion I gave you has begun its work,” Arris told him. “You have nothing to fear. Get some rest.”

  Hans sighed and promptly fell asleep.

  Across the room, Davon remained mute. “What aren’t you telling me?” Arris asked quietly.

  Davon shook his head. “Not here.”

  “Very well. The library then.”

  They rose and exited, closing the door behind them. Merewyn, carrying the baby, had just disappeared into the nursery upstairs. The men slipped into the library and Arris closed the door. “Tell me now what troubles you.”

  Davon drew a shaky breath. “’Twas not the serpent’s likeness I saw on the mountain’s face.” He paused and then raised troubled eyes to meet his brother’s. “It was yours.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Beads of sweat broke out on Arris’ face as he stared, incredulous, at his brother. “Mine!”