by Sandra Kopp
“How did you two fare?”
Eldor clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Stubborn; headstrong, knows it all. Pharen considers all non-Wyars fools and tells them so. He actually ran two of my best cows into the ground, so I thrashed him and sent him away.”
Eldor leaned across the table. “Pharen may have killed Philip intending to blame me.”
“You’ve been friends with Philip for years and served on the council together. Why would this fellow think anyone would believe you killed him?”
Eldor leaned back again. “Last May at the gathering Philip and I wanted the same girl; but the matchmaker paired her off with Philip, and me with a young lady from Garris. Melinda was beautiful enough but very shy and kept to herself. I was a little drunk and not thinking straight so I tried to take Philip’s match. It turned into quite a fracas.”
Sheriff Reid regarded him intently. “And now?”
“I have a fine wife. But certain people seem to think I still fancy Mistress Schiff.”
“Do you?” the sheriff asked pointedly.
“No!” Eldor returned sharply. “Melinda is a splendid wife—faithful and hard-working, as well as beautiful. I wouldn’t trade her for anything.”
“This Pharen warrants scrutiny. Where is he now?”
“Working for Arris Marchant, last I heard.”
The sheriff rose. “Good. I’ll enlist some men to ride out with me.”
“I am at your disposal, as is my father, both of the McNeils and their boys, and Erik Tanner, along with anyone else out there you care to name. People are really up in arms. We’ll provide you meals and a place to stay, even a fresh horse if you need one.”
The sheriff nodded. “Let’s not waste time then. Wait for me out front while I saddle my horse.”
Ten minutes later found them trotting briskly across the open countryside. Sheriff Reid moved his mount closer to Eldor. “You said there might be a second Wyar involved.”
“I did. His name is Bennie. His people run sheep in the foothills. They keep to themselves mostly, except for the past two weeks the McNeils have seen Bennie lurking in the area where we found Philip. Last week I saw him, too.”
“You’re sure it’s the same man?”
“There’s no mistaking him. He rides a big sorrel spotted white all over. No other horse like that in the country.”
Eldor paused and peered down the road. Two riders pounded toward them, just ahead of a rust-red cloud of dust. Kicking their horses into a gallop, Eldor and the sheriff raced to meet them.
Eli Rand raised a hand as he and Jim McNeil pulled their lathered mounts to a stop. “Tom McNeil and his boys caught Angyar and another Wyar talking in a grove near their place. It seems Pharen left for some kind of celebration in the foothills the day before we found Philip. Angyar and this other fellow intended to ride up and warn him. The McNeils are holding them until we find Pharen.”
“And Tom’s boy, Luke, saw that spotted sorrel tearing across the field east of Philip’s place the same day Pharen left,” Jim added.
The sheriff set his jaw. “Let’s attend this celebration.”
He and Jim McNeil rode ahead. Eldor exchanged a triumphant smirk with his father as they fell in behind them.
Their horses’ easy lopes devoured the miles. Eldor’s cottage came into view, and Eli moved up beside the sheriff and motioned toward the right. “We’ll take the road just over the hill a half-mile ahead. It’s a roundabout way into the foothills. The Wyars won’t see us coming till it’s too late to run.”
Scarcely had the words left his mouth when Tom McNeil, accompanied by six men, topped the hill and pounded toward them.
“Angyar got loose,” Tom panted when they met. “He headed for the foothills. My boys are chasing him down now.”
“Let’s go,” Reid shouted and spurred his horse forward.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Braun Topyl kept one eye on the main road as he rode along the narrow lane separating his grain field from Davon Marchant’s. In less than a week this field would be fully ripe, but the upcoming harvest did not occupy his thoughts. Barely a year had elapsed since the Great War, but already greedy men obsessed with material wealth trampled their weaker, peace-loving neighbors. A young life had perished violently, and now others hung in the balance. Melinda, Braun feared, faced a similar fate. Eldor’s portrayal of a caring husband might convince some, but the coldness he emanated that day made Braun shiver even now.
Braun sighed as he absently rubbed his chin. If Eldor targeted Melinda, Braun could no longer protect her. Indeed, her presence compromised his own family’s safety, but Braun could scarcely turn her away. Davon, a wise and trusted friend, knew Melinda’s family. Perhaps Davon could offer counsel or, even better, return Melinda to Garris.
Braun reached the edge of the grain field, dismounted, and opened the gate to the rolling meadow where Davon grazed his cattle. Davon’s white frame house stood before a row of linden trees, and to its left a large barn and chicken house. Braun led his horse through the gate, closed it, and remounted just as Davon, astride Trevor, emerged from behind the barn. Seeing Braun, Davon waved and rode to meet him. Braun waved back and urged his bay into a gallop.
Davon sobered as he reined in beside Braun. “You seem burdened, my friend.”
“I need your advice.”
“Come to the house. Felicia makes wonderful tea. We’ll have a glass while we talk.”
“I fear to leave my wife alone.” Braun paused and moistened his lips.
“Tell me what’s happened then,” Davon pressed, and Braun poured out his story.
Stunned, Davon could only stare. “We have got to get Melinda out of here and back to Garris,” he said finally. “Rand will hunt her next, and not stop until he kills her, too.”
“You also believe Rand killed Schiff?”
“I would wager everything I own.”
Braun chewed his lip. “Melinda proves especially difficult, for she loves that man and clings to the hope that his performance yesterday reflects his true feelings.”
“Aye. He knows how to manipulate,” Davon agreed. “My Felicia knows that firsthand. Rand pursued her relentlessly for over a year.” He paused. “You are right not to want to leave Luwanna alone, neither are you safe with Melinda there. If Rand is behind Philip’s death, he’ll not hesitate to slay any of you. I will consult Arris, but in the meantime make arrangements to take Melinda immediately to safety.”
Braun stared at the ground. “He calls her ‘Medella.’”
Davon blinked. “Rand doesn’t even remember her name?”
Braun sniffed. “He remembers. In front of us he called her Melinda, but when they are alone together, she told us, he calls her ‘Medella.’ His beautiful wife, who loves him so much! And the poor woman thinks it a term of affection.”
“What, exactly, does the name mean?”
Braun looked up. Outrage coupled with grief twisted his rugged features. “In Barren-Fel folklore, Medella is the hag-fiend, a drooling, unkempt, smelly old crone who seeks children and tears unborn babies from their mothers’ wombs. Eldor Rand knows this.”
“Merciful heaven!” Davon looked away, murmuring in the Nimbian tongue. Turning back to Braun then, he continued, “Return to your home now. I must attend to some things, and then Felicia and I will come for Melinda.” He reached over and grasped Braun’s hand. “Thank you for telling me. You have saved her life—and perhaps your own.”
“Be careful, my friend. And thank you.” Braun turned his horse and rode away.
Davon raced to his house. Felicia was in the garden, shucking the plump ears of corn she had just picked. She paused, an ear in one hand and a wad of husks in the other, as Davon slid his horse to a stop at the tie rail outside the white picket fence and alit.
Felicia dropped the corn into a basket and hurried to the gate. “I saw you talking to Braun. Is there trouble?”
“Philip Schiff was murdered.” Davon tied Trevor and stepped to the fen
ce.
“Oh, no!” Felicia gasped. “Does Melinda know?”
“She was hiding in the brush when they found him. She told the Topyl’s that night. The next morning Rand showed up and said they’d found a body so badly beaten they didn’t recognize it. And then he plays the doting husband! Melinda is staying at the Topyl’s, but Felicia, we have got to get her out of here! Pack some things. I’m going to talk to Arris and then we’ll get Melinda and personally escort her to Garris.”
“I’ll be ready.” Felicia gathered her things and hurried into the house.
Davon remounted and set off for the foothills.
Arris stood outside the paddock, scanning the eastern sky. “The very air reeks of danger. I cannot wait for news. I must ride to meet it.” He turned and strode to the house.
Merewyn had just changed Jonah. She looked up in alarm as Arris burst through the door. “Arris, what’s wrong?”
“Some evil’s afoot. I’ve not felt such foreboding since learning that Baugonril traveled unseen through the air. I must hurry—and I need your help.”
“My sword and bow are yours.”
“I’ll get the horses. We’ll take Jonah to my parents and then ride to the Wyar camp, for I sense trouble there.” Arris dashed outside.
Merewyn laid Jonah on the couch and darted to the cupboard in the den that held the weapons. Swiftly she girded on her sword and slung her quiver over her shoulder. Picking up her bow, she hurried to the nursery for Jonah’s cradleboard.
“You’re going to see Grandma and Grandpa,” she cooed as she strapped the baby in. “Won’t that be fun?” But her insides churned. Armed for war during peacetime? What demons assailed her husband now?
“Demons of pride and greed,” she muttered. “We need no sorcerers to torment us, for men’s hearts spawn evil enough.”
Jonah gurgled and giggled. Merewyn kissed his cheek, picked up the cradleboard and secured it to her back, and then returned to the cupboard for Arris’ sword, quiver, and bow.
Arris arrived with Barada and Windrunner. Merewyn stepped outside and noted immediately the satchel containing his healing powders strapped to the saddle. Swallowing her apprehension, she handed Arris his weapons and pulled the door shut. Arris helped her mount, strapped on his weapons and swung onto Barada’s back. He glanced at Merewyn, who nodded shortly, and together they set off for the elder Marchant’s.
They found Ramon Marchant hoeing a row of peas while his wife, Eudoria, cut long-stemmed roses and laid them into the basket she carried on one arm. Both paused as Arris and Merewyn trotted up.
Ramon wiped his brow with his sleeve. “Had you come armed only with arrows I would say you’re on a hunt, but I see swords as well. This looks like war.”
Arris nodded grimly as he dismounted and then helped Merewyn alight. “Something, I don’t know what, unnerves me. Would you tend Jonah while Merewyn and I investigate?”
“Of course!” Eudoria set down her knife and basket. Arris took the cradleboard off Merewyn’s back, unstrapped Jonah, and handed him to Eudoria. “Such a precious little child,” Eudoria crooned. Jonah squealed as she kissed his cheek.
Ramon regarded his son intently. Arris’ lips tightened as he edged closer to his father. “You need not remind me I should have remained an Arganian. However, I did not, and now I must deal with matters as a mortal man.”
Ramon nodded curtly. Arris returned to Barada and remounted. “We’ll be back as soon as we can.”
“Godspeed. Be safe,” Ramon returned.
Merewyn leapt onto Windrunner’s back. “We will,” she said and galloped after her husband.
No one answered his knock at Arris’ white stone house. Davon hastened to the barn and noted immediately Barada and Windrunner absent. Throat tightening, he headed Trevor into the pasture. His apprehension heightened as he meandered among the grazing cattle, scanning the hillside in vain for Arris, Merewyn, or the herdsmen.
“Something’s wrong!” Davon galloped to the ridge, jumped a stone fence and streaked toward the northeastern hills. He had traveled less than a mile when a man leapt up a few yards to the right, waving his arms as he cried for help. Blood poured from his mouth as he staggered toward Davon, who immediately espied the arrows protruding from the man’s chest and thigh. Davon raced to him and swung off Trevor’s back.
“Come, lie down.” Davon put his arm around the man’s shoulders and tried to make him sit, but the man vehemently shook his head, jabbing a bloody forefinger at some bushes while babbling in the Wyar tongue.
“Stefan, Stefan.” The man continued pointing. Davon saw a leg splayed to the outside of one bush.
“Alright. I’ll see what I can do.” Davon helped the man to his fallen companion, but as he beheld the ashen face and glassy eyes he knew no life remained. The arrow protruding from the man’s neck must have severed an artery, bleeding him out almost instantly.
“I’m sorry.” Davon shook his head. “He’s gone.”
“Stefan.” The man choked, coughed, and then fell to his knees. Davon knelt beside him, but before he could do anything, the man convulsed, fell forward, and lay still.
“No,” Davon whispered. Bowing his head, he uttered a prayer and patted the man’s shoulder. “Hopefully your torment passed quickly, my friend. Now be at peace.” He leaped to his feet and dashed back to Trevor.
“Who else will I find?” he muttered. “Hopefully no one. Hopefully not—” Refusing to even consider the thought, he mounted and continued his journey.
Two horsemen galloped along the hills just north of him. Davon recognized Windrunner’s ebony-spotted white blanket and raced after them.
“Arris! Merewyn!”
The riders paid no heed. Davon dug his heels into Trevor’s sides, waving wildly as the horse careened forward. “Arris!”
Arris glanced around, shouted something to Merewyn, and stopped to let Davon catch up. “We’re riding to the Wyar camp.”
“Well, we’d better hurry.” Davon urged Trevor forward again. “Braun Topyl told me that Philip Schiff’s been murdered, and I just found two murdered Wyars below the hill.”
“Where?” Arris demanded.
Davon pointed. “One was already dead and the other died after I got there. The one still living called the other ‘Stefan.’”
Arris slammed a fist onto his pommel. “Those were two of my herdsmen! They did nothing! How much more blood will this demon demand?”
He spurred Barada forward. The trio thundered along the hills, finally rounding a corner where a collection of tents and wagons huddled among the scattered pines. A handful of horses wandered about while another group clustered near a tree.
With Arris leading, they entered the camp. Overturned tables, broken musical instruments, and pieces of bread, lamb and cheese littered the ground. Some two dozen Wyars, most of them crying and all of them wounded, knelt around another man cringing in agony as an elderly man tried to remove the arrow embedded in his shoulder.
“What happened here?” Arris could scarcely get the words out.
“Men. . .take Pharen. . .and. . .another man. They kill two men who try to help me.” The wounded man’s chest heaved. Sweat poured down his anguished face. He cried out and bowed forward as the arrow pulled free.
“Where?” Arris demanded.
The man bobbed his head toward the south. “That way. Go now! Hurry, lest they kill them!”
“We’ll return to help you as soon as we find them.”
With Davon and Merewyn on his heels, Arris tore down the narrow trail, following the scores of hoof prints leading south. At the main road the tracks turned west, and without slowing their pace they turned that direction. After a half-mile the road sloped upward toward a grove of trees. Arris sighted a group of people thronged about the tallest. Pointing, he shouted, “There!”
He leaned forward, and Barada found one more notch of speed to give him. The road dipped, rose, and dipped again. After less than a quarter mile they reached the grove and pulle
d their lathered mounts to a stop. Arris glanced at the tallest tree and froze.
Pharen and another man—throats cut and bearing several stab wounds—had been lashed to a branch some twenty feet up. A large sign on another branch proclaimed “MURDERERS.”
Their grieving families wailed and sobbed. One woman held up her hands to Pharen, crying his name over and over. Beside her, Soren and Mahanna wept uncontrollably. A youth of perhaps fifteen stood near the other man, tears streaming down his face as he called, “Bennie! Amach ta mo!”
Arris stared up at the dead men. One, his eyes and mouth wide open, displayed unspeakable terror. Pharen, however, wore a reverent expression and even now appeared deep in prayer. Arris slowly dismounted. “Who did this?” he croaked.
Two Wyars standing nearby both spoke at once. “Eldor Rand. . .sheriff. . .McNeils.”
“The sheriff say Pharen and Bennie kill Philip Schiff,” a third Wyar said. “They ride into camp. They already have Bennie and come for Pharen. Pharen ask why they think he do this. He not kill Philip. No Wyar kill Philip. But sheriff not listen. Eldor Rand and his father very evil men. They accuse Bennie and Pharen. And now sheriff say we can do nothing. He appoints men with authority to do anything they want to keep peace. No more bloodshed, the sheriff say. It ends here.” His eyes narrowed. “Mr. Arris! Why this happen? Could you not stop it?”
The others now faced him. Arris stared into eyes filled with hate, rage, and reproach.
Yes, Mr. Arris! Anhuapta’s voice invaded his tangled thoughts. You could have stopped this, had you the power!
“Had I been there I would have given my life to save theirs,” he said.
“These were good men,” one of the Wyars cried. “They did nothing to deserve this! Why this happen? Why?”
