by Sandra Kopp
Beads of sweat broke out on Erik’s forehead. He twisted his mouth to one side, looked askance for a moment, and finally clicked his tongue. “I see. Well. . .I suppose a mother should have a say in such matters. However, Eldor blames himself for her death and—”
“Eldor is still young with many years ahead of him,” Arris broke in. “He will remarry, have a family, and continue on. Will burying Melinda here assuage his guilt? Occupied by his fields and herds, he will soon forget her. Melinda’s mother has nothing left. Perhaps she can find some comfort in tending her daughter’s grave.”
Erik moistened his lips. “We will find who did this. Eldor has sworn—as have we all—that he’ll not rest until her murderers—”
“Does Eldor know who did this?” Arris broke in. “Can he even identify his own attackers? If not, would he allow the sheriff to conduct a proper investigation, or would he execute actions based on who he believes responsible? You who ride with him: Would you conduct the accused back to Teptiel to stand trial, or administer your own ‘justice’ wherever you find them?”
Arris’ questions pelted Erik like hailstones and annoyed him as much. He closed his eyes a moment and drew a shaky breath. “Two clans with ties to Pharen and Bennie have already fled. It stands to reason they killed Melinda and attacked Eldor. Sheriff Reid enlisted a group and rode after them yesterday.” Noting Arris’ quizzical expression, he continued, “Why would they run if not guilty?”
“Because they know people will believe they sought vengeance for their friends and that, regardless of their guilt or innocence, they will die.”
Erik remained silent. Arris hung his head and sighed. “The war’s cessation should have brought us peace,” he said quietly, “but clearly, it hasn’t. I just pray for an end to this senseless killing.”
“Amen.” Della glanced toward the coffin. “Might we see her?”
Arris adamantly shook his head. “Brutalized as she was, you really don’t want to. Remember Melinda as she looked in life.”
“We’ll just. . .pay our respects then.” Erik took Della’s arm and they proceeded to the wagon.
Arris glared after them. Yes, he thought, and you can tell that murderous, son of a snake future brother-in-law of yours that he has successfully shed this burden and can continue his sorry life however he chooses—and may he burn in hell for it!
Arris stalked to the wagon and motioned Peter Rainer and Frederick Ellison aside. “After Philip’s death, Sheriff Reid sanctioned Pharen’s executioners to rule as they see fit,” he told them quietly. “I now expect Eldor Rand to wantonly murder any Wyar in his path in the name of ‘justice’ for Melinda.”
Frederick Ellison nodded. “The Wyars cower. I expect many to flee. I sent my son to Langhorn for help. I know the magistrate there; he’s a good man.” He frowned. “Had we not involved ourselves with your friend of the Rauths those people might still be alive.”
Arris boldly returned Frederick’s stare. “Had the sheriff thoroughly investigated Philip’s death and arrested his true killers, rather than kowtow to a lynch mob, Melinda Greene and four innocent men would not have perished. I knew those men; there was not a murderer among them. They received no opportunity to defend themselves, but were tried and convicted by that mob before their arrest.”
Arris paused to let his words soak in. “You might want to consider the confrontation between Eldor Rand and Philip Schiff at the gathering last May.”
Frederick Ellison shifted uneasily and exchanged glances with Peter. They’re both scared to death, Arris thought. What does Rand hold over them?
Finally Frederick spoke. “We’ll launch our own investigation and demand an accounting from Reid. As sheriff, he should not have behaved so.”
“In the meantime, we’ll do what we must,” Peter added.
“Thank you.” Arris turned and walked to the back of the wagon. Davon, leading Trevor and Barada, joined him there.
“We’re in for trouble,” Arris whispered. “This town blames Hans and us for inciting the Wyars.”
Davon tied the horses to the back of the wagon. “I know. I’ve overheard the innuendos.”
“You brought your sword, right?”
“Stowed beside yours under the wreaths behind the seat, along with my quiver and lots of arrows.”
“Good.” Arris glanced around and noted Erik Tanner, although among a group, eyeing them intently and taking no part in the conversation around him. “Let’s go before Tanner starts something. I half expect trouble on the road as it is.”
Davon nodded shortly, and the brothers returned to the front of the wagon and climbed into the seat.
Felicia and Merewyn mounted their horses and, as the wagon moved out, fell in behind it.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Midnight, two days later
Heavy fists hammered the front door. Arris moaned as he rolled onto his side and snuggled deeper into the pillow, trying to will his dreams into a pleasanter realm. The pounding continued, increasing in volume until it reverberated through the house.
Merewyn gasped and sat up. “Arris! Someone’s at the door!”
Instantly awake, Arris sprang from the bed and threw on his robe. Grabbing his sword, he bolted downstairs with Merewyn, also robed and armed, on his heels. Weapons ready, they slipped to the door.
“Mr. Arris! Please! We need your help!”
“Soren?” Arris unbolted the door and, as he pulled it open, Pharen’s eldest son tumbled inside. Behind him the wounded man from the camp, bloodied by a fresh wound, and another man carried the limp form of Bennie’s brother.
“Inside, quickly!” Putting up his sword, Arris ushered them into the house and closed the door.
“Put him in here on the sofa.” Merewyn hastened into the sitting room, took the blanket draped across one end, and spread it on the cushioned seat. The wounded man and his companion laid the boy down.
Arris loosened the boy’s tattered shirt and noted the angry rope burn around his neck. Live, I beg of you. Praying silently, he pressed two fingers to the lad’s clammy flesh and detected a weak pulse. His shoulders relaxed as he heaved a sigh of relief. “Still alive.” He glanced around. “Merewyn, my—”
He hadn’t seen her leave, but at that moment Merewyn reentered the room and deposited his satchel of powders on the floor beside him. “I’ll get some water,” she said and left again.
Arris turned his attention back to the youth. “Who did this?”
The wounded man moistened his lips. “He himself.”
“Why?”
“He said he should have died instead of his brother, that it’s his fault Bennie was killed.”
Merewyn returned, bearing a bulging waterskin and five glasses. She filled one glass, which she handed to Arris before filling the others and passing them to the rest of the group.
“Thank you, Mrs. Arris.” Soren gulped down the water.
“My goodness, Soren, what are you doing out at this hour?” Merewyn tenderly brushed a lock of hair off Soren’s forehead.
“Jovah need help, and Angyar and Aron not know where to find you. Papa always said Mr. Arris had good medicine and can heal anybody. So I bring them.”
Would that were true! Arris tried to swallow the lump in his throat as he poured some white powder into the glass and stirred it. Glancing at the wounded man, he said, “I treated you at the camp the other night but never learned your name.”
“I am Angyar.” The wounded man gestured to his companion. “This is Aron, my brother.”
“Why does Jovah feel he should have died in Bennie’s place?” Arris asked.
“Jovah took cheese to kinsmen working for Jim McNeil. His own horse went lame, so Bennie lent him Maracca. Beautiful sorrel, white spots all over; only horse of its kind. On the way back Jovah had to stop in some trees. He find Eldor Rand and that harlot wife of Philip’s in the bushes. No clothes, just—” Angyar gestured dramatically. “Jovah afraid Eldor see him watching and kill him, so he jump back on horse a
nd run. But Eldor must have seen horse. He knew horse was Bennie’s and that only Bennie rode him. So Eldor killed Bennie to keep his secret safe not knowing that Jovah, not Bennie, had ridden Maracca that day.” Angyar sighed heavily and threw up a hand.
Arris handed the potion to Merewyn and began patting Jovah’s cheeks. “Jovah,” he whispered. “Wake up. Come, you did no wrong. Wake up.”
Jovah’s eyelids fluttered open but he closed them again and lolled his head from side to side, moaning.
“Jovah!” Angyar barked. “Be a man! Live, and avenge your brother!” He leaned toward the stricken youth and slapped his cheek. “You do Bennie no good dead. Only by living can you bring him peace.” Jovah remained unresponsive, and Arris winced as Angyar slapped him harder. “Up!” Angyar shouted.
Jovah stopped moaning and opened his eyes. Arris spoke to him softly and, with Angyar’s help, sat him up and made him drink the potion.
“A tu anah,” Arris murmured.
“He will live, yes?” Angyar asked.
Arris nodded. “He will live.” He turned to Angyar. “You have yet another wound. Let me see.”
Angyar grunted and, aided by Aron, removed his shirt.
“Oi!” Arris studied the festering wound, swollen, inflamed, and filled with pus. “This is bad.”
Angyar shrugged. “If I die, so be it. I know of fates far worse than death. I weep for the living and what they must yet bear.”
“You’re not going to die.” Arris pulled another pouch from his satchel and filled the glass a quarter full of pale pink crystals.
Merewyn left the room again and returned with a thick towel, which she folded in half and spread on the floor. “Lay down, with your head and shoulder on this,” she instructed.
Angyar nodded shortly and complied, wincing as his injured limb pressed into the cloth.
“You’ll need something to bite on. This is going to sting,” Arris told him.
Aron produced a leather thong from his coat pocket and slipped it between Angyar’s teeth.
“Good.” Arris nodded and turned to Aron. “Hold him down and as still as you can.”
“OK.” Aron knelt beside Angyar and placed one hand on Angyar’s good shoulder and the other on his forehead.
Arris filled the glass with water, transforming the crystals into effervescent foam. He glanced at Angyar. “Ready?”
Angyar grunted and clamped his teeth into the leather.
Arris pressed his fingers into the swollen flesh surrounding the wound, spread them to force the gash open as much as possible, and then poured in the mixture. Angyar loosed a strangled cry and tried to arch his back, but Aron held him down. Merewyn daubed Angyar’s streaming brow with a soft cloth as Arris worked the cleansing potion in deeper, stopping only to wipe away the bloody pus and to mix another dose.
Finally the wound bled cleanly. Exhausted and panting, Angyar relaxed and closed his eyes. Arris made a paste from two other powders, worked it into the wound and bandaged Angyar’s shoulder.
Arris noted the scabs and scars on Angyar’s body. “You’ve taken quite a beating lately.”
Angyar grunted. “My kinsman tell me Rand make trouble for Pharen. We leave for Pharen’s camp, but Tom McNeil and his boys catch us, tie us up in barn. I get away, they chase me, shoot me near the foothills. Stefan and Rafer ride between me and them, trying to drive them back with their own arrows, but Luke McNeil come from behind and kill them both.”
“My herdsmen.” Arris paused. “An arrow did not make this last wound. What happened?”
“Wolf come out of nowhere. No time for knife or bow. Wolf bit arm, Aron killed wolf.”
Arris sighed, looking askance as he rubbed his forehead. “You took care of the wolf, but Rand has yet to answer for what he’s done. I’ve got to speak to the council.”
“Eldor Rand is a Wyar matter,” Angyar returned.
“Not entirely. He—”
Angyar sat up and raised a hand. “Enough now. Arm better, Jovah better. We go back to camp.”
“You’d best rest here tonight.”
Angyar’s shoulders relaxed. “You are kind, Mr. Arris, but we go back to our families. Now I tell you, don’t make trouble for yourself or for us. Council afraid of the Rands, the McNeils, the Tanners, and even the Schiffs. Eldor Rand and those with him will answer for what they’ve done. I know you talked to Rainer and Ellison, but say nothing more. Leave matters as they stand.” Angyar paused. “You take girl back to family? Eldor’s wife?”
Arris nodded shortly.
“Eldor not try to stop you?”
Arris shook his head. “We expected he might, but encountered no one.”
“I promise you, Mr. Arris, he watched.”
“I’ve no doubt.” Arris hesitated. “Will the Wyars all leave Teptiel?”
“Some will; some won’t.” Angyar drew himself up proudly. “I and my clan stay, work for Eldor Rand.”
Arris stared in disbelief. “You’re not serious.”
“We are—how do you say—” Angyar waved his hand as he searched for a word—“bound together, he, his father, and I. I have known them a long time, since Eldor a baby.”
Arris hung his head. “I would like to provide for Pharen’s family, and Stefan’s and Rafer’s as well.”
Angyar shook his head. “You have a good heart. But Wyars care for their own.”
He spoke to his companions in the Wyar tongue and they silently rose and filed outside.
Early September
“Ummmmm!” Eldor groaned and rolled onto his back. Marna propped herself on one elbow, stroking his throat and chest with delicate fingertips as she whispered and cooed. The warm wind stirred the bushes around them and caressed their naked bodies.
Despite the Wyar exodus, the farmers still retained sufficient labor for the harvest. Eldor Rand, in particular, worked long hours but still found ample time for what he deemed a well-earned respite.
“What would little Medilia say if she could see us now?” Marna teased.
“She’d have a screaming fit, I’m sure. But we’ll never know, will we?” Eldor snickered. “Pathetic, deluded little mouse. She actually believed I wanted children with her. Do you know she even made baby clothes and knitted a blanket?”
Marna tittered. “Oh, well. It kept her occupied.” She rolled onto her back and waved at the sky. “Yoo-hoo, Medilia! You up there? Your husband’s a wonderful lover. Oh, but you don’t know that, do you? Poor thing. We’ll do it again so you can watch, in case you didn’t see us the first time. And while we’re at it, why don’t you pretend you’re me and try to imagine what it feels like?”
“Oh, you are wicked!” Eldor laughed and reached over to tousle her hair.
Marna giggled and, rolling onto her side again, brushed her fingertips up and down Eldor’s bare thigh. Eldor gasped, lolling his head from side to side as he arched his back. Marna blew into his ear, and seconds later found them locked together, writhing and moaning in the heat of their mutual lust.
Finally they separated. Eldor stretched out to let the wind dry his sweaty body and then rolled his head aside and smiled at Marna. “Sunday we marry.” His chest swelled as he chuckled softly. “Lawful at last.”
Marna smiled back and traced a finger along his lips. “Rather takes the fun out of it though, doesn’t it? I have to confess, I always hoped Medilia would come along and find us.”
“Minx!” Eldor laughed and pulled her close.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
October came, and with it the end of harvest. The reapers beat out the last of the sheaves and carried their baskets to granaries already filled to capacity. Others piled cured fodder into haylofts. Farmwives gathered their remaining vegetables into well-stocked root cellars. With the crops in, the farmers set about tilling the fields to be sown with winter grain.
Flushed with success and astride a newly-acquired black stallion, Eldor Rand surveyed his empire. All he had ever wanted he now possessed. He dwelt in a palatial home with t
he woman he had coveted for months. His herds and crops flourished. And he shamelessly trumpeted the news of his first child’s impending arrival in February, unaware that people throughout the area placed tongue-in-cheek wagers concerning whether the child would sport red hair and freckles or a swarthy complexion and black hair.
The Wyars, meanwhile, obediently performed their daily tasks. The names of Pharen, Bennie, Stefan, Rafer, Philip Schiff and Melinda Greene were never mentioned.
The morning of the seventh—the day of the new moon—Angyar rose early. He rode from field to field, calmly carrying out his duties while issuing a cryptic call to forty carefully-selected men who, bound by a blood oath, had awaited this day. He kept his usual steady pace, tarrying no longer in each field than was necessary to insure the workmen understood their tasks while pretending not to notice Eldor Rand, astride his prancing stallion, watching from atop the ridges.
Dusk approached as Angyar left the rolling fields and started up the winding road into the foothills. A half-mile ahead the road forked up the hill to the Rand estate, and here Eldor waited. He held up a hand as Angyar drew near.
Angyar nodded. “Mr. Rand, good evening. We finished sowing the high field with grain. With good snows you will have a fine crop.”
Eldor threw back his head and smirked down at the wizened herdsman. “Good man, Angyar. If only all of your ilk worked as you do! That would lighten my burden and they, too, might enjoy some measure of prosperity.”
Angyar stoically returned his stare. “Oh, yes. My ilk might also possess a wagon, a tent, a horse. . .maybe even a blanket, as I do.”
“Angyar, Angyar. Do I detect bitterness in your tone?” An arrogant half-smile played beneath Eldor’s half-closed eyes. “I offered you much more but you refused it.”
Angyar regarded him narrowly. “We have all we need for ourselves and our families, and we sleep well at night.” Angyar made a sweeping gesture. “Tell me: Did you acquire all of this through work alone? And with all your wealth, what burdens you now?”
