by Sandra Kopp
Sighing quietly, Melinda rolled onto her back and opened her eyes. The sun had not yet risen, but Melinda could distinguish some of the furnishings through the predawn haze. The prevailing stillness told her the Rainers remained abed. Gilda had sternly admonished that Melinda not rise until she smelled breakfast cooking.
Melinda smiled. Dear Gilda! But for Baen she would have hovered over Melinda like a mother hen the entire day. Late that evening, as Baen and Melinda reluctantly parted, Gilda moved in and issued her invitation.
“You have just a week,” she told Melinda, “and I have everything you’ll need to make this the finest wedding ever!”
Baen had kissed her then and whispered, “I shall come in Monday to speak with Master Ellison about the land I wish to buy and then we’ll dine at Flanders.”
Tomorrow I see him again. Melinda closed her eyes and settled back into her dreams, now vibrant with the image of a lovely cottage amid a field of golden grain, with a flowering tree and colorful blooms in a yard teeming with frolicking children.
Finally she drifted back. Gentle sunbeams played across her face and fled as the sun peeped through a veil of clouds and then hid again. Melinda yawned and stretched, and now the unmistakable aroma of baking sweet rolls met her nostrils. Rising quickly, she donned the dress Angelika had given her, washed her face and combed her hair, then paused before the mirror to study her reflection. The dress suited her well, she thought. Large brown and black squares composed the full skirt. Its black bodice sported long white sleeves and was laced up in front with a gold cord. Satisfied, Melinda hurried downstairs.
“How lovely you look!” Gilda beamed as Melinda entered the kitchen. Gilda wore a flour-smudged blue apron over her gray dress and had pulled her silvery hair into a tight bun. Six buttery sweet rolls the size of platters cooled on the table behind her.
“Just pulled these from the oven. After they’ve cooled a little we’ll eat.”
“I could eat ‘em right now,” Peter grinned from the doorway. He gave Melinda a wink. “Good morning, young lady. How did you sleep?”
“I never slept better or enjoyed sweeter dreams.”
“I’ll wager not.” Peter’s smile softened. “You’ve a good man this time. He’s been with Arris Marchant since his arrival here, and Arris tells me he’s never known a kinder soul or harder worker.”
“I wish he had come to the May gathering. My life might have been much happier.”
Peter regarded her sympathetically. “True. But Baen wasn’t ready to marry then, and everything happens for a reason. Good emerges from even the worst of circumstances and, despite what you suffered, I think you will find that applies to your situation as well.” He clicked his tongue. “Eldor paid dearly for his sins.” He caught himself as Emily shot him a cautionary glance.
“Arris told me what happened,” Melinda said softly. She paused a moment, head bowed, before continuing, “I loved him once, so deeply that it hurt. As I learned his true nature, my love turned to hate. But that day at Topyls when he pretended concern for me and took me in his arms, I melted. I fell in love all over again—”
Melinda stopped and bit her lip. “I would not have wished that death for him. I can only imagine the horror, the indescribable agony he must have endured. Death could not have come quickly enough. But sadly, I sense that, even in death, he continues to burn.”
“Tut! Enough of this,” Gilda scolded. “That’s all behind us. A glorious future awaits, especially for you, my dear. You’ve a wedding to plan! Master Ellison has a place for Baen to stay when he comes to town tomorrow so he won’t have to make that long trip back and forth in the cold and you two can become better acquainted. And tomorrow—“ she clapped her hands together—“we start sewing your dress. Happy thoughts! No looking back. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Peter and Melinda chorused.
“Good!” Gilda smiled triumphantly. “Now let’s eat these rolls while they’re still warm.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
At nine a.m. Melinda stood in the Rainers’ parlor, arms raised, as Gilda busily measured her for her wedding gown.
“One more and we’re done.” Gilda moved the tape to Melinda’s hips and squinted to bring the numbers into focus. “Good. All finished.” She rolled up the tape.
Melinda lowered her arms. “I feel so wonderful. The only thing that could make this better is—”
She stopped in response to a sharp knock at the door. “Go upstairs and dress while I see to this,” Gilda instructed.
Melinda bounded upstairs. Baen’s voice floated to her ears and she caught her breath, for she had not expected him until noon. I hope everything’s all right, she thought and then sighed with frustration, for in her haste her fumbling fingers could not grasp the buttons.
A moment later she finished dressing and hurried downstairs. Gilda and Baen talked quietly in the parlor, and Melinda’s heart sank when she saw Baen’s downcast face. “What’s wrong?”
Baen frowned. “I’m not sure. Mr. Ellison would not talk to me until I brought you. He never treated Braun so. I don’t know why I am different. While I have only a little money I do not demand the best land. But he will not listen.” Baen swallowed. “I wanted to have a home for you on our wedding day.”
“Don’t you worry,” Gilda cut in briskly. “If need be, Peter will talk to Frederick. But Frederick’s a reasonable man. I can’t see he would not do right by you. Run along now and see what he has to say. Then let us know if we need to intervene. We’ll be happy to do so, as will Arris, if the situation demands it.”
“Thank you, Gilda.” Melinda bent to kiss her cheek, then took Baen’s arm and followed him outside.
Twenty minutes later found them at Frederick Ellison’s council chambers. The councilman sat at a large oak desk busily scratching a note on a piece of parchment with a quill pen. Sensing their presence in the doorway, he glanced up and grunted as he motioned them to two chairs in front of his desk. An enormous map, each corner weighted with a stone, lay on a sloping table to his left. The massive bookcase behind him held neatly pigeon-holed scrolls, with a wide section in the middle set apart for documents. Thick-paned windows in the two side walls afforded adequate lighting but should have been opened, Melinda thought, for the room reeked of stale tobacco and old lamp oil.
Frederick stopped writing, scanned the parchment, then grunted his satisfaction and set it aside. “Finally,” he said. “Took me all morning, but it’s done at last.” He cleared his throat and folded his hands on his desk. “Now, then. . .what can I do for you?” He bowed his head, face expressionless, as Baen began to speak.
“I want to apply for the land east of Dan Schiff’s place.” Baen pulled a bag from his coat pocket, loosened its drawstrings and poured some gold pieces out on Frederick’s desk. “We are marrying Sunday, and with winter’s soon approach I want to ensure I can provide a home for my bride.” His face glowed as he reached over to squeeze Melinda’s hand.
Frederick looked up but ignored the coins. “Not Erik Tanner’s place,” he challenged. “That’s his brother Ty’s now.”
“No. I mean the undeveloped land beyond Tanners.”
“Why?” Frederick asked pointedly.
Baen reddened as he gestured to the coins. “You see I’ve not enough money for developed land, but—”
Frederick sat back, glancing from Baen to Melinda and back again.
Baen tensed. “Given all that happened these past months, you will no longer sell to a Wyar?”
Frederick quizzically met his stare. “You don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?” Baen demanded.
Frederick leaned forward again, and now the trace of a smile curved his lips. “You realize you are about to marry Melinda Greene Rand, Eldor’s widow. As Rand’s lawful wife, she inherits everything he owned.”
Melinda gasped. Baen’s mouth fell open and they gaped, first at each other and then at Frederick.
Frederick’s smile widene
d into his trademark lopsided grin. “You already have more land than you can handle, young man, along with a sizable amount of money. You could even rebuild that big white house and live there, if you wanted to.”
“Ohhh.” Baen propped his elbows on Frederick’s desk and buried his face in his hands.
Frederick rested his bemused gaze upon Melinda. “You didn’t expect that, I’ll wager.”
Melinda put her hands to her cheeks, shaking her head while she alternately laughed and cried. “But,” she stammered, “Eldor never acknowledged me; and after he married Marna—”
“Who died with Eldor without producing an heir. Eldor never divorced you, neither did you die. So, according to Liedor law, you remain his rightful heir. You see, some good did come out of that match, after all. And you deserve it. Both of you.”
Frederick gathered up the coins and let them dribble through his fingers back into the bag. Pulling the drawstrings shut, he passed the bag back to Baen. “Keep your money. You’ll need it later on. We have only to remove Eldor’s name from the deed and add yours, which we’ll do after the wedding. I’ll bring the papers to the church Sunday and we’ll do it right there.”
“Thank you, thank you!” Baen smiled through tear-filled eyes. Rising then, he helped Melinda to her feet.
Frederick stood and walked around the desk. “My heartiest congratulations to you both.” He clasped Baen’s hand and then hugged Melinda. “It is good to have you back!”
“It is so good to be back. Thank you, Master Ellison. Thank you very much,” she gushed.
“Until Sunday then.” Frederick smiled and nodded.
“Sunday.” Baen took Melinda’s hand and led her from the chamber.
They drove straight to the Rainers. Melinda alighted as soon as Baen stopped the buggy and, with Baen on her heels, dashed inside. They burst into the sitting room. Peter and Gilda awaited them in the big chairs flanking the fireplace. Both looked as excited as Baen and Melinda felt.
“Everything all right?” Peter asked.
“More than all right.” Melinda stopped to catch her breath. “Everything that belonged to Eldor is ours!”
“Wonderful!” Gilda jumped to her feet, waving a piece of paper. “And here is more good news! The courier brought it this morning.”
Melinda took the paper, scanned it, and squealed with delight. “Mother is coming! With Uncle Edwin and Aunt Emily—and Hans! Oh, Baen, I can’t wait for them to meet you.”
Baen laughed nervously. “And I them.”
“You’ve nothing to worry about, young fellow,” Peter assured him. “I’ve met Hans. He’s a fine man, and Arris tells me Edwin Greene is much like him. As for Melinda’s mother—well, anyone can see you’re a fine catch.”
“We must make ready,” Gilda said briskly. “They’ll be here tomorrow.”
Baen and Melinda stood in the front of the packed church facing each other, faces aglow with indescribable love as they exchanged their vows. In the front row, Sarah Greene watched through misty eyes. Beside her, Edwin and Emily Green clasped hands, their affectionate gaze riveted on their radiant niece. Hans sat beside Edwin, a faraway look on his rugged face. Davon and Felicia, and Arris and Merewyn occupied the pew behind them.
At the pastor’s direction, Melinda handed her bouquet to Luwanna. Braun Topyl passed the ring to his brother, who placed it on Melinda’s finger. The pastor pronounced them man and wife.
For a long moment Baen stared into Melinda’s eyes. Finally he whispered, “My beautiful Melinda, I love you so much.” And then, amid a rousing ovation, he kissed her.
EPILOGUE
That evening Arris, Davon, and Hans sat down in the sitting room at Arris’ home. Felicia and Merewyn had retired to the library. Edwin, Emily, and Sarah Greene busied themselves at Eldor’s old cottage, helping the newlyweds settle in for the winter. While Davon and Felicia had cleaned and repaired most of the damage, the house required a few touches, which Sarah in particular gladly provided. Edwin and Emily had brought a brand-new chest, bigger than the first, packed with clothing, dishes, and other items. Sarah brought a quilt she had sewn during the summer between jobs. That evening, they would return to town, Sarah to winter with the Rainers, and the Greenes to spend the night at Flanders before returning to Garris.
Hans leaned back and crossed one leg over the other. “I’m happy for her. Baen’s a good man.” He paused as Arris and Davon nodded agreement and then continued, “I hope you’ll not be wanting that empty coffin back. I took it to Langhorn to an undertaker because it made folks in Rama-Rauth nervous. Death box is bad luck, you know.”
Arris shook his head. “We don’t need it.” He paused. “How did you explain to Edwin the need for another chest?”
Hans twisted his mouth to one side. “As Melinda and her new husband traveled home the horse bolted and the buggy overturned. Melinda was only shaken, but the chest rolled down a hill and broke apart on some rocks.”
“We’re grateful for your help, and also that you were able to come and that you arrived safely this time.” Arris sobered. “We’ve not had time to talk, but I know you’ve seen hard times. How fare things in Barren-Fel?”
Hans sighed. “Arronmyl died last month and Nedra has chosen another path.” Grief twisted his face. “She no longer counts me her husband, neither does she bear any love for the brother she once adored. She demands sovereign rule over both Barren-Fel and San-Leyon.” He paused. “The Arganians have failed.”
Arris’ face fell. “The Arganians cannot force her. They exposed the Serpent as the deceiver he is, but she refused to listen.”
Hans stared at the floor. “She thinks she can mold her own destiny. Marcos must either concede or flee, if he wishes to live. I expect he will fight.” He looked up at Arris again. “It begins all over again. Another sorcerer—or sorceress—spawned in the black womb of that cursed land.”
“We must destroy Anhuapta.”
Davon eyed him sharply. “How?”
“Baldimora has granted me power; not in full measure, but power nonetheless.”
“That cannot be,” Davon countered. “Baldimora would never employ such a method. He demands total dedication and total compliance. He would never grant partial—”
“He can and he has. Baldimora relented after I defeated Erik Tanner. He came to me himself.”
“In your fevered state—”
Arris threw up an impatient hand. “I know my old mentor, so say no more. Now. . .we shall destroy the serpent, draw Nedra back, and rid Epthelion of the sorcerers once and for all. A benevolent ruler will arise.” He smiled then and rose. “I must see to Barada now. Sit, you two, and visit a while. I’ll return soon.”
Davon stared after him as he walked outside.
“You don’t believe him,” Hans said quietly.
Davon shook his head. “He’s changed. Even after renouncing his commission he retains power. I discovered that on the night that Eldor Rand attacked Melinda. We were several miles distant, but by the time I reached her Arris had already summoned Angelika telepathically.”
Hans cocked his head. “You consider that a bad thing? Melinda would have died otherwise!”
“Had Baldimora empowered him, no. But Anhuapta entices him continually, and despite his denials. . .” Davon paused and bit his lip. “Baldimora would not do as Arris said he did.”
“Your brother is not easily deceived. He knows our enemy and how to deal with him. Remember how, as we traveled into Barren-Fel, he feigned allegiance to Ryadok in order to protect us? This may prove a similar ploy. For myself, I trust him. I believe all will be well.”
“I hope so.” Davon turned his troubled gaze out the window, where a blood-red moon hung just above the distant hills.
THE END
CASTLE OF BLOOD
Being the third part of
Dark Lords of Epthelion
PROLOGUE
Firendoom’s stony peak glowed red in the waning light. Hans Ogilvie cast a wary eye toward the mou
ntaintop, his trepidation mounting as he led his puffing horse up the last precipitous steps of winding trail. A brilliant sky absolved of clouds had proven Fortune’s favor, for this solitary guardian of the Serpent’s lair, situated in northeast Barren-Fel where the Mystic Mountains collided with the Alpenfel range, was usually shrouded in heavy fog and rarely saw the sun. But even awash in light, the forbidding pinnacle offered neither beauty nor solace. Indeed, it radiated an ominous aura that unnerved Hans. He shuddered. The luminosity cast by a dying sun upon rust-red rock might resemble fire to the Rauths; but in Hans’ mind the mountain appeared caked in blood, and its soil’s crumbly consistency reminded him of a decaying corpse. “Firendoom,” he muttered. “Bloody hell’s more like it
Wheezing, he crested the mountain and stopped to catch his breath. A few fat clouds stained in the orangeish hues of late afternoon lazed placidly overhead. The mountain’s broad summit stretched before him, a thin bare layer of cindery ground that sloped gently into a shallow bowl and then rose to form a low, rock-studded dome some hundred yards away. Fang Mountain—named for the two spires rising fang-like on either side of its craggy apex—stood just beyond, obstructed from view now by the dome. There, if rumor spoke aright, lay the object of Hans’ journey, the discovery of which would probably cost him his life.
If the castle stands, Anhuapta’s strength has returned and a new sorcerer ascends the throne. I only pray it be not she who even now I treasure more than my own life.
Shadow, Arris Marchant’s messenger hawk, perched upon his right shoulder. Hans reached up and stroked the bird’s side. The feel of silky feathers under his fingertips soothed him somewhat, but he took greater comfort in knowing the bird’s swift flight would speed the necessary message to his trusted friend. He dreaded the errand; but, should he turn back now, thousands would die. And in the throes of a broken heart, death held greater appeal than the wretched existence he now endured.
