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

by Sandra Kopp

  If only I could reach Angelika or she could sense my thoughts. I must know whether she hears me, for if Hans’ quest fails and war results we’ll need a healer. I possess only limited abilities now. Potions and powders help, but not enough. Has she reached Nedra? Have the High Arganians? Do they even try? And what happened to Angelika in the Corridor?

  That concerned him most of all. Lost in his thoughts, Arris did not notice that he had left the pasture and entered his yard. Barada walked to the rail outside the barn and stopped. When Arris remained mounted Barada turned his head and nickered.

  Arris started. “Ah, yes.” Barada heaved a sigh and groaned as Arris alit and uncinched the saddle. He lifted it off Barada’s back and placed it in the tack room, then rubbed Barada down and led him to his stall where feed and fresh water already awaited him.

  In the house, Merewyn bustled around the kitchen, laying on a delicious supper of buttered peas, roast beef and potatoes, and cheese. Arris stopped to gaze at her, thinking how beautiful she looked in that light green dress and golden tresses that tumbled to her waist. Merewyn stopped and returned his gaze, and then like a flash crossed the room and threw her arms around him. For several minutes they remained locked together.

  “Supper’s getting cold,” Merewyn whispered finally. After a long kiss Arris released her and they sat down to eat.

  Merewyn filled her plate and cast Arris a quizzical look. “I see the Arganian mystic emerging.”

  Arris twisted his mouth to one side. “Do you?”

  “Um.” Merewyn took a bite. “You’re thinking of Hans. I can tell.”

  “Aye.” Arris filled his own plate and began eating. “However, there’s not much I can do anymore. I can only hope Angelika still intercedes on his behalf, for I’ve not been able to reach her.” He sighed. “I am so tired.”

  “Then finish eating and go to bed,” Merewyn told him.

  The meal passed quickly. Over Merewyn’s protests, Arris helped with dishes before retiring.

  Sleep came quickly. Arris’ dreams took him back to his pastures, not astride Barada but floating languidly through the air. He passed over his fields, a river, and finally dense forests. . .

  Now he shivered in clammy air. No longer aloft, and enveloped by darkness, he crept along an icy corridor, feeling his way over slippery, uneven stone. Ice coated the walls. Strange whispers penetrated the stagnant air.

  I’ve been here before!

  “Welcome, Cousin!” Ryadok’s mocking voice rang out.

  Arris started and gasped. “Impossible! You’re dead!”

  Ryadok’s low ominous laugh echoed down the corridor. “No, Cousin. You are!”

  Snaky tendrils encircled Arris’ ankles, jerking his feet out from under him. Upside down, he hurtled through the air and slammed, back first, into a rough stone wall. Irons clamped over his wrists, ankles, and neck, holding him in a paralyzing grip. His body burned as though engulfed in flames.

  Arris awoke with a cry.

  Melinda lay in bed, staring into the darkness as she tried to fathom the morning’s events.

  “Perhaps one of the Wyars angered him,” she told the empty room. “Or perhaps Eldor acts harshly now so that when he finally reveals his surprise I will find it all the sweeter—oh, balderdash! Balderdash! Why do I try to excuse him? He can treat me well and still retain his secret. And if he thinks his gift could compensate for months of abuse—well! I intend to show him otherwise! He can live in that cursed house alone! The wretch never says a kind word to me. He speaks as one would to a petulant child or a dullard. He would praise my efforts if he really cared. I would see love in his eyes. He would hold and kiss me rather than shout and raise his fist.” She caught her breath. “I wonder if he would have struck me this morning. Given the hatred he showed I’ll wager he almost did. I wonder what stopped him. And will he stop next time?”

  She sighed. “He comes from a poor family, he says. So how did he acquire his land and all the men needed to maintain it? He declares concern for my safety, yet thinks nothing of leaving me here alone. And he makes no effort to remember my name! Medella! Where did he get that stupid name?”

  She rolled onto her side. “I should have listened to Felicia and everyone else who tried to warn me. I wonder, is there really a house? And is it for me or for someone else? I must know. And I’ve got to find out what goes on out there, and if someone else satisfies him.”

  She rolled onto her back again and laid the back of her hand on her forehead. “Fool, fool, fool,” she whispered. “Drifting along in blissful ignorance while the rest of the town either laughs at or pities me. Well, tomorrow I mean to discover the truth and then act accordingly.”

  She closed her eyes and moved her mouth in silent prayer. Welcome peace settled over her and she fell into a dreamless sleep.

  Early the next morning she packed a lunch, saddled Meg, and started up the road to the foothills. Eldor must not see her, but along the way she concocted a story in case she met him.

  “I simply wanted to ride into the countryside. I finished my work and now require some fresh mountain air—wait!” She snapped her fingers. “I’m searching for berries to make jelly. After all, every farm wife does that!”

  Turning Meg, she galloped back to the house for a basket. This she tied behind the saddle, remounted, and turned Meg back toward the road.

  The spirited mare set off at a brisk trot. Melinda threw back her head, savoring the clean, sweet air and abundant sunshine. With August’s arrival, many of the green fields had turned to gold, ripe for harvest. Melinda tried to imagine Eldor, deeply tanned, hard-muscled, and handsome, looking up from his sheaves as she came down the road, a broad smile lighting his face when he recognized her, straightening to wave enthusiastically. . .

  Melinda grimaced. Weak and clinging woman, trying to will fantasy into reality! Eldor would only believe she came to spy on him. He would scowl, he would shout and swear. He might even strike her this time. No, she decided, she would take the necessary measures to avoid him and enjoy this day, perhaps even find some berries to pick.

  And if I have to live like this, I prefer living alone. Certainly I’d be happier. I have only to speak to Davon—and I may before this week is over.

  Emboldened, she lifted her head and focused her attention on the foothills.

  The road, a narrow ribbon of rich red soil, bisected a field of golden wheat as it stretched north. Within the week, Eldor’s workers would reap this grain. Melinda eyed the plump full heads and could not help but feel proud of Eldor’s bountiful crops and neat fields. A lump formed in her throat. I can’t help it. I love him.

  Melinda’s eyes glistened as she imagined a magnificent house atop a grassy hilltop overlooking a lake, with the Alpenfels towering behind. Gilda’s words echoed in her mind: Splendid job. . .bright and beautiful. . .can’t wait to see what she does with the new place. . .special gift to my wife. . .spend a few days with you.

  Under her the mare shook, forcefully shaking her head to repel a persistent horsefly buzzing about her ears. Melinda reined her in. “Steady, girl.”

  Meg quivered as the fly landed on her neck. Melinda swatted and watched it fall. “There!”

  The grateful mare blew her nose and stepped out again. Melinda marveled at the horse’s stamina. This brisk jog seemed her slowest gait. Whether in harness or under saddle, and regardless of the length of the journey or heat of the day, Meg never walked. The slightest rein movement or click of the tongue launched her into a gallop—the result of Eldor’s training, no doubt.

  The road left the wheat field and curved northeast as it began its climb into the pastures carpeting the foothills ahead. When they topped the first rise, Melinda reined the mare in and gasped with delight. Currant and elderberry thickets filled pockets cut into the hillsides, and splashes of blue, red, yellow, and orange dotted the grasslands. Hues of yellow, red, and orange tinged the higher slopes of the mighty Alpenfel Mountains, which seemed to hover just above the foothills in an et
hereal dimension all their own. The bracing air gently lifted her hair and cooled her neck and cheeks.

  “How beautiful! I can see why Eldor loves it here. I could love it, too, if only he would let me.” She cast a glance heavenward and whispered, “Will it ever be?”

  She should have felt foolish, and probably would later; but never had she experienced such incredible grandeur and overwhelming passion.

  Meg pawed and pranced, and Melinda allowed her to move on. “I don’t even know where we’re going,” she mused. “I’ve no idea where Eldor’s pastures are. We may be traveling in the wrong direction. Or he may be watching even now.”

  Melinda scanned the hills but saw no sign of men or cattle. The road dipped again, gradually becoming a trail following a dry creek bed. For half a mile they wound along the bottom of the ravine and then made a steep climb of about five hundred feet up the other side. The mare puffed heavily as she reached the wooded hilltop. Melinda reined her in, grateful for the cover the trees afforded. A large, flat rock lay just off the trail a few feet ahead, and she decided to stop for lunch. She quickly dismounted and led the horse to a grassy spot to graze.

  “Here, you.” Melinda tied the lead rope around a branch and affectionately tousled the mare’s forelock. Meg immediately sank her teeth into the tender grass. Melinda seated herself on the rock to enjoy her own repast of cornbread and honey, raw carrots, and peas.

  “I hope I can find the house,” she murmured between mouthfuls. “I’ve got to see this mountain kingdom of his, and who he has for neighbors. He’s never said where the Schiffs live, but I’ll wager they’re nearby.”

  She finished eating and folded the red-and-white-checked cloth she had packed her lunch in. Sliding off the rock, she tucked the cloth into the basket still strapped to the saddle, untied the lead rope, and pulled the horse’s nose up out of the grass.

  Meg flattened her ears and turned her head to nip at Melinda as she mounted. “Enough,” Melinda chided. “Time to go.” She chirruped, and Meg swung into a trot.

  The woods, actually little more than a grove, opened into a broad flat meadow sloping gently upward to another wooded hilltop. Melinda glanced around. Seeing no one, she gave Meg her head. The horse charged across the meadow and up the hill into the trees, where Melinda stopped again to study the terrain. From here a narrow wooded strip fanned gradually to cover the lower slope and then thinned out into flat pasture land at the bottom.

  Keeping to the hilltop, Melinda continued through the trees, stopping when she reached the edge. A soaring wall of bare gray rock loomed before her. She would travel no further, at least with the horse. Melinda frowned and rubbed her clammy neck. “Where am I?”

  Meg stopped and looked around at her. “Well…what now?” her brown eyes demanded.

  Melinda dismounted, tied the horse to a tree and patted the mare’s lathered neck. Meg shifted her weight to one side, half closing her eyes as she rested a back foot. Melinda slipped out of the trees and scrambled up the rocky hillside, relishing the exertion that burned the tension out of her joints and muscles. After riding all morning, the exercise felt good, but by the time she reached the top she was panting heavily and soaked with sweat.

  An old gnarled juniper clung to the cracked stone. As Melinda planted herself in its welcome shade, she spotted the very object she had been seeking. She gasped.

  Across the meadow atop a neighboring hill stood a large three-story house built entirely of glittering white stone. A curtain of pines and firs soared behind it. The roof boasted six gables, three facing northeast and three southwest. A handful of workmen labored on a wide, open deck. Men and wagons streamed up the hill. A short distance from the house, a tree shuddered and crashed to the ground. Four mounted herdsmen meandered among a massive herd on the northern hillside.

  Melinda crept backward until she was just below the top and pressed a hand to her pounding heart. “So, this is Eldor’s house—a veritable palace! He thought to keep that secret?”

  Sudden foreboding overwhelmed her. With bated breath Melinda climbed back to the top.

  A lone horseman streaked past the wagons and up to the house, shouting as he pulled his mount to a stop. Melinda shifted closer to the juniper and squinted slightly, trying to get a better look. She saw only the rider, now gesticulating wildly. After a moment he stopped, and then a second rider astride a black horse emerged from behind the house. With the black horse leading, they raced down the hill.

  That looks like Eldor’s horse!

  Nerves aquiver, Melinda slid to the bottom of the rock. Swiftly she untied Meg and mounted, keeping behind the trees as she urged the mare down the hill. By the time she reached the meadow, Eldor had disappeared. To the west, a dissipating dust cloud drifted languidly across a field.

  The terrain sloped gently to the red dirt road winding among the knolls to the fields farther down. Melinda reined toward it, holding the impatient mare to a trot while staying out of sight amid the trees.

  The woods soon ebbed into open country. A dale deep enough to conceal her from anyone on the road lay before her. Melinda guided the horse down the grassy slope to the bottom and urged her into a gallop.

  After two miles the dale opened into rolling hills. Melinda slowed to a trot. Unexplainable horror seized her, and she stopped near a thicket nestled deep in a pocket between two knolls. A hedge of thick grass lined the road some thirty feet away.

  “Something dreadful’s happened,” she whispered. “I don’t know why, but I can feel it.” She dismounted, tied the horse, and slipped to the hedge, keeping low as she crept forward.

  She had only traveled a short distance when she heard a man’s voice. Another man answered and she dropped to her hands and knees and crawled, scarcely breathing as she inched ahead. A deep scrub-filled wash lay before her, but between trying to hear the men’s conversation, and unable to see far through the thick branches, she did not notice until she nearly fell in. At the same moment the horrid stench of death assailed her nostrils. Melinda froze with her hands half over the edge of the embankment, but somehow steadied herself and drew back onto firm ground. Cautiously she leaned forward and peered through the bush.

  Barely ten feet away stood Eldor’s father. Beside him, visibly shaken, stood another man—one of the settlers from Barren-Fel, judging from his swarthy features; and next to him, with a protective arm around an anxious Marna Schiff, stood Eldor Rand.

  As noiselessly as she could manage, Melinda slipped to a better vantage point. Somewhere in the wash branches cracked and snapped. The heads of two other men appeared as they struggled to extricate something out of the undergrowth. Grunting and panting, they finally hauled themselves out, carrying a broken, bloody corpse between them.

  Melinda’s hands flew to her gaping mouth. Philip Schiff! Jagged bone protruded through the flesh of his right wrist. Sightless eyes glaring out of his twisted features displayed a mixture of shock, recognition, and fury.

  Marna shrieked and buried her face in Eldor’s shoulder. Eldor held her tighter as he looked away and cursed.

  Grimly, the men lowered Philip to the ground. The others drew closer to inspect the body. Marna sobbed something unintelligible into Eldor’s broad chest.

  “Pitchfork,” one of the men mumbled. “Stabbed nine, ten…maybe a dozen times.”

  “More than that!” another said. “And look.” He tilted Philip’s head back with the toe of his boot. “Throat’s cut, too. Nearly took ‘is head off.”

  Eldor’s father turned aside and spat. “Wyar bastards!” he growled.

  “Eli,” one of the men who had carried Philip began.

  “Not Wyar…not Barren-Fel,” the shaken man sobbed. “They not do this!”

  “Who else would?” Eli snarled, waving a hand at the body. “Murderin’, thievin’—”

  “Stop! Stop it!” Marna cried. She turned to face Eli, and Melinda noted her lack of tears, and none of the redness or puffiness usually exhibited in grief.

  Eldor held up h
is free hand. “Father, now is not the time. We’ll find whoever did this and make sure he—or they, as the case may be—get what they deserve.” He clapped the trembling man on the shoulder. “Angyar, don’t worry. We know it wasn’t you.”

  “No Wyar do this,” Angyar insisted. “Philip Schiff was friend to all of us.”

  Eli Rand chewed his lip as he stared at the corpse. “Obviously he wasn’t friend to somebody!”

  “We’ll find the culprit, I promise.” Eldor pulled Marna back to him and nodded toward the body. “Load him up and take him into town; make sure he gets a proper burial.” He sighed. “One of us has got to tell his family.”

  “I’ll do that,” Eli said. “Me and Dan Schiff go back a long way.”

  “Dan will want the body brought straight to him,” one of the other men said. “They have their own plots in the old cemetery on Brooks Hill.”

  Eli shook his head and jerked a thumb toward the mutilated form. “Surely he won’t want to see his boy like this!”

  “Dan’s tough. He’s seen a lot of grief, and Philip’s not the first son he’s lost. Besides, he’s going to find out sooner or later anyway.”

  “Well, maybe it is best to take him straight there and not get the whole town in a panic right away.” Eldor looked down at Marna, who had again buried her face in his shoulder. “I’ll see to Marna.”

  “Della Tanner’s her sister,” one of the men told him. “Take her there. She needs to be with family now.”

  Eldor nodded shortly. “Of course.”

  The men continued talking, but Melinda no longer heard. She watched numbly as they picked up Philip’s corpse again. Marna’s feigned sobs resumed and Eldor cradled her, speaking softly as he led her away. Gradually their voices faded. Springs creaked as a wagon rolled forward. Pounding hoofbeats grew softer and finally died out.