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

by Sandra Kopp

  “And I confirm that.” Frederick Ellison glared at the group, his jaw set.

  McNeil gestured toward the house. “Tell me: How could stone burn? How?”

  “The house is not all stone.” Arris pointed to charred timbers still smoking in the ruins. “You can see it was framed and paneled in wood. A lamp or candle tipped over or placed too near something flammable would have started this.”

  Frederick Ellison planted himself in front of Jim McNeil. “None of us knows what transpired here. The lawful authorities will investigate and, if the evidence warrants, make arrests, conduct trials, and mete out punishment. But the revenge killings stop. If anyone violates that order, we’ll put up a gallows in front of the grange and hang everyone responsible in front of the whole town.”

  Jim and the sheriff exchanged glances. The sheriff slowly nodded. “The council’s right,” he conceded quietly. “Go home, Jim. We’ll take care of things.”

  “What about them?” McNeil’s voice broke as he gestured toward the corpses.

  “We’ll see to them after we’ve looked things over,” the sheriff answered.

  For a moment they stared each other down. Arris’ gaze wandered across the group, and when it reached Erik Tanner icy horror seized him. A hump had risen between Tanner’s stooped shoulders, his head drooped vulture-like, and only the whites showed in his upturned eyes. Arris darted a glance at Davon and then Tanner, only to find the farmer’s normal appearance restored. Arris felt his knees go weak.

  “Jim, I said go home,” Sheriff Reid was saying. “We’ll let you know if we require your aid.”

  Tight-lipped, Jim McNeil turned and mounted his horse. The rest of the McNeils and Erik Tanner also mounted. Casting a last look at the smoldering ruins, they slowly rode away.

  Arris drew Davon aside as the sheriff and councilmen fanned out to inspect the ruins. “Did you notice anything peculiar about Tanner’s appearance?”

  Davon looked at him in surprise. “No. Why?”

  Arris hesitated and then shook his head. “Nothing.” He paused. “You know the McNeils won’t let this rest.” Davon nodded agreement as Arris continued, “You need to consider your own household. In the meantime, I’ll try to find Angyar.”

  “I’ll send Felicia to her parents. When that mob rides you’ll need all the help you can get.” Davon hesitated. “It might be good to send Merewyn, Jonah, and our parents there as well.”

  “Let’s not waste time then,” Arris said, and the brothers went for their horses.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Merewyn laid Jonah in his crib and softly kissed his rosy cheek. “Sweet dreams, little cherub,” she whispered and tiptoed to the sitting room where Arris and Davon awaited her.

  The midmorning sun poured through the open window, lending a golden sheen to the oak floor. The men stood on either side of the stone fireplace, Davon with his hands in his pockets while Arris’ right arm rested on the mantel. Arris straightened as Merewyn entered and motioned her to the couch.

  Merewyn eyed him dubiously. “I think I’d rather stand.” Arris conceded with a nod and she continued, “You say the Rands are dead and that you fear reprisal against the Wyars. What do you intend to do?”

  “Ride to the Wyars’ defense. In the meantime, I want you to take Jonah and go to my parents. I thought first to send all of you to Felicia and her kin, but trouble may lurk along the way. I think Father can provide ample security, but take your weapons and do not hesitate to use them should the need arise.”

  “I’ll not hide while you risk your neck!” Merewyn planted a hand on her hip. “I will ride with you for I, too, have faced and prevailed over superior numbers!”

  “The circumstances differ in that you had neither child nor husband then,” Arris returned brusquely. “Now you have both, and I would have you and our son out of harm’s way. Besides, you cannot wantonly set fires here, as you did in Ha-Ran-Fel.”

  “I know that, but I learned other tactics that can help us now.”

  Arris set his jaw. “These men already deem us enemies and will not hesitate to kill any of us, whether it be you, me, or Jonah. I know this enemy, having once withstood a sorcerer—”

  “As an Arganian!” Merewyn cried. Her shoulders slumped as Arris rolled his eyes and turned away, muttering. Sweeping to her husband, she put her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest. “I am sorry. But when we were apart and I knew not whether you lived or had died I yearned for you, ached for you. I swore to myself that if God granted us a life together I would stand by your side, even if it cost my life.” Merewyn drew back and looked into her husband’s face. “What will you do? Simply throng together and meet the mob head-on?”

  “I would speak with Angyar first, if circumstances allow. He told me once Eldor Rand was a Wyar matter. I must know if Wyars effected Rand’s demise. If so. . .” Arris’ voice trailed off.

  “The foothills abound with rocks and trees. I could conceal myself—”

  “As can any of us, which is what we will do,” Arris broke in. “Now we must act rather than waste valuable time in discussion.”

  “The Wyars may have fled,” Davon added. “However, if they have not and trouble arises, Angelika could rally the Arganians to stand with us. We must apprise her of our situation. Merewyn, when you reach Father, ask him to send a message to her at once.”

  “Well said, Davon. That will help us most of all.” Arris placed his hands on Merewyn’s shoulders and leaned over to rest his forehead against hers. “The decision is made. Take Jonah and go to my parents. Ask Father to send one of his hawks to Angelika with the message that we face civil war and need the High Order to unite with us against the serpent. Do not argue and do not follow.” He straightened. His eyes bored into hers. “Have I made myself clear?”

  Merewyn met his gaze, her lips tight. “Yes. But what if Angelika does not answer?”

  “Pray for us then. Pray, regardless of whether she answers or not.” Arris kissed her. “I love you more than words can tell, and hold nothing more dearly than you and Jonah. Should harm befall either of you I could not continue. Promise me now that you will do as I ask.”

  Merewyn gazed into his face. Her eyes misted. “Beloved, I promise I shall do all you have told me.”

  “Good.” Arris released her. Hastily he strapped on his sword and gathered his bow and quiver. “Let’s go,” he told Davon and the two hurried out the door.

  Thick gray clouds billowed high in the southeast and stretched across the sky, reaching out to swallow the noonday sun as Arris and Davon pounded up the dusty trail into the foothills. A piney fragrance filled their nostrils as they reined in atop one hill and peered toward the Wyar camp nestled into a wooded hilltop a quarter-mile away. Only a handful of people wandered among the circle of tents and wagons. A dozen horses lazed or grazed under the trees.

  Arris’ shoulders sagged. “They’ve not gone,” he said glumly. “I had hoped they would.”

  “Maybe they’ve done nothing and have no reason to flee,” Davon ventured.

  Arris sniffed. “How would we convince Rand’s cronies, should they come?” Davon shook his head, and Arris nodded knowingly as he urged Barada forward again. “Exactly. I doubt that mob’ll even grant us the chance to speak.”

  “I hope Merewyn has spoken to Father.” Davon stared at a large vulture settling itself on the bleached branch of a nearby dead tree.

  “And that she doesn’t then join us here.” Arris cast a glance heavenward. “At least God is with us, even if the Arganians are not. We need His help most of all.”

  “Amen,” Davon murmured.

  The trail sloped gently onto a low hogback joining the two hills, gradually ascending again to a scrubby, rock-strewn knob some hundred feet from the camp. Angyar, Aron, and Jovah stepped out of the thicket and onto the path, bows in one hand, arrows in the other. Recognizing the brothers, their grim faces relaxed and they lowered their weapons.

  “Angyar’s presence here indicates he kn
ows of Rand’s death, for he worked for Rand,” Arris whispered to Davon. He raised a hand in greeting as they neared.

  Angyar stepped forward as his visitors stopped their horses and alit. “Mr. Arris, Mr. Davon, we welcome you.”

  “You expect trouble.” Arris noted a shadowy figure slipping from behind a distant fir into a thicket near the camp’s west side. That’s why we see so few, he thought. The rest lie in wait.

  Angyar motioned them to a cluster of rocks and trees a short distance off the trail. Three Wyar ponies tied there regarded the newcomers with mild curiosity. Aron and Jovah crouched near the outside, watching the trail while Angyar, Arris, and Davon seated themselves on the rocks farther in.

  “Did you ride to Rand’s this morning?” Arris asked Angyar.

  Angyar shook his head. “Crops all in. Rand wants younger men to tend his cattle. He no longer needs me so I stay here.”

  “Did you know of the fire?”

  “We smelled smoke,” Angyar returned quietly. “Jovah and some others ride to the hill above your place—”

  A shriek cut off his words. Howls and cries rose from the camp as streams of arrows from the south rained upon them. Arris and his companions dodged behind the rocks and readied their arrows.

  “Where did that come from?” Davon asked incredulously. “I saw no one approach.” He cautiously raised himself and peered toward the trail.

  “Down!” Arris reached over, seized Davon’s sleeve, and pulled him to the ground just as a flaming arrow tore through the space where Davon’s head had been. At that moment he glimpsed a movement behind a bush near the hilltop. Releasing Davon, Arris whipped an arrow to his bowstring and fired. The projectile passed harmlessly through the branches and struck the ground.

  Arris pounded the rock. “Who are these blackguards and where are they hiding? These missiles seem launched by invisible hands.”

  “Or spawned by the air.” Angyar ducked as another arrow streaked past and embedded itself in a nearby tree trunk.

  The wagons and tents erupted into flames as more of the fiery darts found their marks. Corpses littered the ground. The surviving Wyars scrambled among the rocks and trees. A steady chuk-chuk-chukar passed between them as they communicated in birdsong.

  Angyar nudged Arris. “We have to move. If we stay here, we’re dead.” He jerked his head toward a grove of quaking aspens to the east. “There’s a gully along the hillside. Let’s put the horses there, out of sight. We’ll slip up through the bushes and see if we can spot these poncheks.”

  Leading their steeds, the men darted into the wood, zigzagging in erratic patterns to evade the relentless onslaught. Arris raced ahead to the bottom of the wash where a dry, rock-strewn creek bed wound through a thicket up a wind-swept knoll. He knotted the reins over Barada’s neck and gave him a pat. “Wait here, Barada, but come quickly should I call.”

  Keeping low, he stole out of the thicket and up the other side, an easy target, for only a handful of low scrub dotted the grassy hillside. From the corner of his eye he glimpsed Davon, Angyar, Aron, and Jovah fanning out a short distance behind and to his right. Arris paused and motioned them back. “Stay out of sight,” he hissed. “Maybe I can trick them into showing themselves.”

  “Keep moving,” Angyar shot back. “The men in the grove yonder spotted something on the hill beyond. Maybe we can thin their numbers from on top.”

  Arris nodded shortly and, still crouched, stole forward. Near the crest he dropped onto his stomach and inched the rest of the way, neck craned as he searched for their foes. Gradually the incline rolled onto level ground. Arris stopped to catch his breath, his keen eyes taking in the surrounding terrain. “Cowards! Be men and show yourselves.”

  An arrow sang past, just missing his right ear. Arris threw himself left and rolled, finally stopping behind a bushy thicket hugging a steep-sided pocket just below the hilltop. “What devilry protects these men?” he gasped.

  I have told you, Arris Marchant: I have in Liedor a more worthy son; nay, I now have many sons! Low and deep, Anhuapta’s voice resounded inside Arris’ brain.

  Arris tensed, remembering his exchange with the Serpent in his library at home. “So you told me. I perceived at the time you spoke of Eldor Rand, who has since died. Have you seduced his comrades since claiming his soul?”

  The Serpent disregarded Arris’ query. “Come, mighty one,” he mocked. “Slay me, if you can.”

  Branches snapped. Coal-black eyes beneath greasy slicked-back hair leered directly across the thicket at Arris.

  “Murderous wretch!” Arris yanked out his sword and swung, but before the blade met its mark, the creature vanished, its ringing laughter echoing across the mountains. The force of Arris’ swing threw him off balance. He slid several feet, but managed to grab another bush with his free hand and hang on while keeping his sword poised to strike should his enemy reappear.

  But the attack had ceased. The laughter died away. Arris heard only his pounding heart; otherwise, the world lay eerily silent. He drew a shaky breath while narrowly eyeing the hillside before him. “Anhuapta empowers these men,” he called to his companions. “Watch carefully, all of you, for one of our enemies just revealed himself to me.”

  No one answered.

  Arris glanced to his right, but saw no one. “Davon? Angyar!”

  His panicked gaze swept the countryside, which lay silent and vacant around him. No one moved in the gulch or on the hill. Davon, Angyar, Aron, and Jovah had disappeared. In the camp beyond Arris saw only blackened wagon frames amid the smoke and ashes. The charred remnants of a tent flapped dolefully in the wind, one corner held by a smoldering pole. As Arris watched, the material pulled free and sailed skyward, floating carelessly on the errant wind.

  “What has befallen them?” Arris closed his eyes and bowed his head over his sword’s hilt. A great lump formed in his tightened throat. “Do va ‘a ani. As an Arganian I found the Serpent formidable. What can I do against him now? My brother, my family. . .Merewyn, Jonah! How do I protect them?”

  He opened his eyes and raised his head. “I’ve no time to despair. I must do something.” He paused and then called, “Barada, come!”

  “Barada, come,” mocked a voice from the hilltop.

  “Who are you?” Arris spun around, his smoldering stare riveted to the crest. But the speaker remained invisible. Gripping his sword tighter, Arris hauled himself up. Ahead and to his left an old gnarled cedar stood alone. Its twisted trunk had forked just inches above the ground, forming a ragged V in the middle of the tree. Arris darted to it.

  “Where is my brother? Where are my friends? Reveal yourself and fight, if you’ve any honor or guts at all.”

  Through the forked trunk Arris saw the air thicken and turn sooty black. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead but he defiantly stepped around the tree and, chest heaving, readied his sword.

  He had braced for a hooded serpent, a fallen Arganian, or a demon from hell. But even before the figure materialized fully he recognized the stooped shoulders and high furrowed forehead.

  “Tanner!”

  The murk enveloping Erik Tanner pulsated. Several feet off the ground, it separated into grotesque coiling streams of smoke that writhed skyward and began to rotate. A deep rumble emanating from its midst changed into a high-pitched howl as the plumes tightened into a raging vortex. Lightning flashed as the funnel lifted and hovered a moment, its snaking rope-like bottom dangling some fifteen feet off the ground.

  Abruptly it swept toward Arris, who fought to keep his feet as the monster whipped his clothes and hair. Unbearable pressure pierced his ears and sucked the breath out of him. He tried to run but could not. His sword arm flailed wildly. Arris fought to pull it to him but a tornadic gust twisting his wrist almost to the breaking point wrenched the sword from his hand. Arris watched helplessly as it spiraled up the swirling column. At that moment his legs jerked out from under him, turning him upside down. With a cry of terror, Arris hurtled into the vortex.


  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “Arris!” Davon gaped at the spot near the crest where his brother had simply vanished. “He’s gone! Anhuapta must have taken him! We’ve got to help him!”

  “Wait!” Angyar cautioned, but Davon had already sprinted for the hilltop and the Wyars, unwilling to leave him alone, followed.

  Puffing, panting, and wild-eyed, Davon crested the hill. Grassy terrain, devoid of everything but sparsely scattered trees, stretched before him. He paused to catch his breath while scanning the field for his missing brother. “Arris!”

  “He cannot hear you.” Angyar and his companions had just caught up. The old herdsman laid a compassionate hand on Davon’s shoulder. “Have courage. I do not believe the Serpent will simply kill your brother. He will—”

  “He will kill Arris, for Arris slew—”

  “Patience!” Angyar seized Davon’s shirt near his throat and shook him. “I understand your dismay, but we must keep our wits! Fear and fury empower our enemy. We must not. . .”

  Angyar stopped, his rapt attention now focused on the field. Davon followed his gaze. More than a dozen men had materialized a couple of hundred feet away and now strode toward them. Angyar slowly relaxed his hold on Davon and caught his breath. Davon’s mouth went dry. He knew these men: Sheriff Reid; and Jim and Tom McNeil and their sons. Grim-faced and jaws set, they methodically continued their advance, their eyes burning with an inhuman gleam that sent icy shivers down Davon’s spine.

  Davon sucked in a breath and stepped forward, evading Angyar’s grasp as the old Wyar tried to pull him back. “Where is my brother?”