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

by Sandra Kopp

  Sick and weak, Angyar sank to his knees and vomited. Forcing himself to his feet then, he lurched to the branch and retrieved his tack, saddled Patuka, and rode away.

  A reddish cast stained the late afternoon sun which, pierced by the jagged peak upon which it had settled, shot crimson streaks across the horizon.

  Even the sky bleeds! Angyar sighed dolefully and urged Patuka into a gallop. One mile passed, and then another. Angyar looked neither right nor left as they swept over the foothills.

  But as they reached the level stretch bordering Rauwyar’s north end, something drew his attention to a large stone house situated in a shallow bowl several yards off the trail. Some thirty people stood in a circle, heads bowed as another man appeared to read from a book.

  Angyar reined in Patuka and peered through the waning light. The men held their hats in their folded hands. Several women wiped their noses or dabbed at tears. The man reading from the book made a sign strange to Angyar and then pairs of men began placing tall stones at one end of each of five long mounds in their midst.

  Angyar caught his breath. Graves! The Liedorans had just buried five of their own, no doubt the family who had lived here. Cumah had begun his grisly work. At that moment he saw the man with the book and two others staring back at him. Angyar removed his hat, held it over his heart, then nodded politely and nudged Patuka forward. His mind churned. Now more Wyars would die and then an equal number of Liedorans. Had Cumah been seen and the killing continue, Liedoran troops would arrive. More Liedorans meant more Wyar deaths. . .

  Sudden strange warmth arose in his belly and spread throughout his body. Angyar caught his breath. Had not Cumah told him to beware his thoughts, lest they become actions that could not be averted? The score had been evened: Five Wyars to five Liedorans. Cumah need kill no more, for Angyar himself should possess the power to rout the Liedorans! His eyes gleamed. He might even possess the power to destroy Cumah!

  Of course, Cumah would deny this. After all, Angyar’s ignorance made him Cumah’s slave.

  But I am not so ignorant! Cumah, you exposed a weakness while I was so distraught you considered me incapacitated. My thoughts, you said. . .my thoughts can elicit events!

  He began to laugh, a harsh, mocking cackle that erupted from his throat and sounded alien to his own ears. It rang among the mountaintops and probably back to the ears of the grieving Liedorans. Angyar did not care.

  Leaving the trail, he rode up the mountainside until Patuka’s labored puffing told him she had endured enough. Angyar dismounted and tied the horse to a small fir. A rock ledge jutted from the mountainside several feet above and he scrambled to it, hardly breaking a sweat as he hoisted himself onto the highest rock and settled back, smiling with satisfaction as he surveyed the valley through the gathering gloom. He began to imagine houses, barns, and fences spontaneously bursting into flame and the fleeing forms of screaming invaders darkly silhouetted against the rising conflagration. Possibly he could imagine the valley in its former unblemished state and have it so, as if the invaders never were. Possibly—just possibly—he could resurrect his brother and Jovah!

  And Cumah? Angyar might simply will him to disintegrate, or perhaps ignite from within—yes! Ignite from within and then burn very slowly in a prolonged, excruciating death.

  What felt like a hammer blow glanced off the back of his head. Angyar saw a blinding flash and fell forward. Panicked, he tried to jump from the rock but an invisible force hauled him back. In that same instant he felt a terrible burning pain as if his scalp was being peeled off. Angyar shrieked and grasped his head with both hands. The back of his head seemed to stretch out behind him. A strange white mist floated past his left ear and positioned itself before his face. Angyar’s hands froze in midair. His chest heaved with gasps and whimpers and then he screamed as he beheld the grisly, weathered skull just inches from his face. Narrowed, hate-filled eyes bored into Angyar’s; grisly teeth snapped at his face, tearing his cheek and nose.

  Angyar’s screams filled the night.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Edwin Greene frowned as he pored over his ledger. Of all the tasks at Greene’s Willow Inn he disliked balancing accounts the most. “But,” he muttered, “as Emily says, this is our bread and butter.” He paused to rub his itching right eye and then continued working.

  It was half past four on a Tuesday afternoon and most of their guests had either gone into town or were strolling along the river, enjoying the scenery and beautiful day. All but two rooms had rented, but Edwin did not mind. Since reopening, the inn’s profits had exceeded his expectations, and two vacant rooms meant two less to clean in the morning.

  As anticipated, he found his accounts in order. Edwin closed the book, pushed it into its slot on the desk’s bottom shelf, and closed the lid. Glancing up, he saw two men dismount by the tie rail and hand their horses’ reins to Will, who waited for the men to unload their bundles before leading the horses to the stable.

  Edwin smiled as the men approached. He had never seen these two before, and new faces meant fresh topics for the dinnertime conversation. He rose and hastened to the front door, opening it just as the men reached the stoop. “Welcome, gentlemen. I expect you’re looking for a room.”

  “Aye. Two, if you have them.” The speaker, a tall, robust, fair-haired man of about thirty stepped through the door and deposited a bedroll and two satchels on the hall floor. His companion stood somewhat shorter, had brown hair, and appeared to be closer to forty. Both wore blue breeches, tan tunics, and leather belts from which hung sheaths containing hunting knives. They also carried bows and quivers packed full with arrows. Besides his bedroll and satchel, the older man carried an axe.

  “You’re in luck. I have two rooms left, clean and in order,” Edwin told them. “I’ll just need to fetch you some water. Now, if I could have your names, gentlemen.” Edwin bustled to the desk and pulled out his ledger.

  “William O’Dell and Robert Sharp,” the older man answered. “I am O’Dell.”

  “I’m Edwin Greene. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Edwin opened his book to the needed page, dipped his quill pen, and hastily scribbled their names. “How long will you stay?”

  “One night,” William replied.

  Edwin quoted the rate and the men paid for their rooms.

  “Let me fetch some water, sirs, and I’ll show you upstairs.” Edwin bustled into the kitchen and filled two pitchers from the hand pump on the sink. Taking a pitcher in each hand, he returned to his guests and bobbed his head toward the stairs. “This way, gentlemen.”

  Edwin led them upstairs and down a short hall to two cheery rooms situated side by side. Their large windows had been opened to let in the fresh air and ample sunlight, and the plump, downy mattresses upon each bed promised unsurpassed comfort and an excellent night’s rest. Edwin entered the first and set a water pitcher on the small table beside the wash basin.

  “Here you are, sirs. Two rooms, each with a clean comfortable bed, wash basin, and fresh water.”

  “Thank you, sir.” William dipped his head. “We appreciate your kind service.”

  “My pleasure.” Edwin noted their weary faces and dusty, travel-worn clothes. “Supper’s at six, but we can rustle something up now if you’re really hungry.”

  “We would enjoy some good ale,” William returned.

  “And perhaps a plate of hot biscuits and butter? We have some fresh out of the oven.”

  His guests exchanged glances and smiled. Robert nodded. “Indeed, yes. Thank you again.”

  Edwin beamed. “Excellent. I’ll have it for you downstairs. Come when you are ready.” He delivered the second pitcher to the adjoining room and retreated downstairs.

  A few minutes later, washed and wearing fresh clothing, William and Robert entered the dining room and seated themselves at the long table. Edwin set two pints of ale before them. “Here you are, lads. Drink hearty and good health to ye. I’ll be back in a minute with the food.”

  The me
n acknowledged with a nod and started drinking, neither stopping until they had emptied their mugs. Edwin stared. “Thirsty, eh? Well, I’ll bring you some more.”

  Without hesitation the men surrendered their mugs.

  “Be right back.” Edwin took the mugs and retreated to the kitchen.

  Emily had just dumped a pan of hot biscuits onto a towel to cool. Edwin leaned over and kissed her cheek. “We’ve a couple of hungry guests in the dining room. Would you mind taking them a plate of biscuits and some butter?”

  “Not at all,” she returned, and set about preparing the plates while Edwin took the mugs to the ale room.

  Emily had already delivered the food when Edwin emerged with the ale. As he approached the dining room he heard the men talking quietly; but they immediately fell silent as he entered.

  Edwin set down the mugs, took a seat across the table from them, and smiled. “Where you fellows headed?” He quickly sobered when the men stopped chewing and exchanged glances. “Oh, don’t mind me.” Edwin waved a hand. “Your business is your own. I don’t mean to pry.”

  “We didn’t mean to give the impression you were, sir. It’s. . .” William swallowed the last of his biscuit and washed it down with ale. “Umm. You’re wife’s a wonderful cook and your ale the best I’ve ever tasted.” He set down the mug, folded his arms on the table, and leaned forward. “Our errand is a bit unorthodox. It seems Barren-Fel’s new ruler fancies the pelt of a rare breed of fox and, as we are hunters by trade, has appointed us to find the creature.” He paused. “Personally, I doubt it even exists.”

  “What?” Edwin half-laughed, half-coughed as he glanced from one to the other. “Foxes abound throughout all six kingdoms. I do some hunting myself and have seen plenty of red and silver foxes. Never have I encountered what I would consider an extraordinary breed.”

  “She craves the pelt of the black fox, the last of its kind,” William said. “However, I believe that one was captured or killed years ago. I don’t know where she would have seen or even heard of it.”

  Black fox! Not a black fox, but the black fox. Edwin went numb, for he understood the true meaning of William’s words. His guests spoke, not of an animal but of Bertrand LeConte, the indomitable mercenary known as The Fox. Bertrand had never trusted Nedra San-Leyon nor recognized her rulership over Barren-Fel. He had made no secret that he considered her in league with, first Ryadok, and now Anhuapta. Had Bertrand truly gone mad, the treacherous Nedra must have cursed him with it. Now she had placed a price on his head, and every miscreant in Epthelion hunted him!

  Trying to hide his discomfiture, Edwin asked, “A black pelt would indeed fetch a pretty price, but where would you seek this creature, particularly if you believe it already dead?”

  “In various places.” William shrugged and resumed eating.

  “Again, we doubt it exists,” Robert added dryly.

  “Well. . .” Edwin folded his hands on the table. “. . .good luck to you.”

  William grunted. Robert cast an upward glance at Edwin as he stuffed the last of his biscuit into his mouth and reached for another. They finished their meal in silence and, declining further conversation, retired upstairs.

  “You’re welcome to join us for supper. Six o’clock,” Edwin called after them. Neither answered. Edwin heard their doors close, heard a few footsteps as they moved about their rooms, and then nothing. He tightened his lips. Their news had left him heavy and sick with dread.

  If Bertrand dies. . .or has died. . .Edwin dared not finish the thought.

  He crept to the dining room door and waited. Several minutes passed with no sound from upstairs. Edwin glanced at the staircase. Hopefully both men had fallen asleep. With bated breath he stole outside and, as fast as his bad leg allowed, hobbled to the stable. Inside, Will had just pitched a forkful of hay into the last stall. He stopped, his pitchfork frozen in midair, as Edwin burst inside.

  “Papa, what’s wrong? You all right?” Will dropped the pitchfork and dashed to Edwin.

  Edwin paused, chest heaving as he caught his breath. “I’m all right,” he whispered. He took a deep breath and exhaled. “Listen, son. I need your help. I need you. . .” Edwin paused and looked back at the door, then took Will’s arm and ushered him into the space between the feed bin and stall at the rear of the barn. Will’s back faced the wall and Edwin stood before him.

  Barely whispering, Edwin went on, “Your friends, Dane and Garrett. Do they still seek work?”

  Will nodded shortly. “Well, not work. A quest.”

  “Good. I can provide one. Those two men. . .” Edwin looked around again. “I want them followed. They’re looking for Bertrand, for evil, I fear. I must know how he fares and if he is safe.”

  Will started. He gave a little gasp while making a short slashing motion with his hand. Edwin whipped around. His heart sank and his mouth went dry as dust. William O’Dell and Robert Sharp stood behind him and from their expressions he ascertained they had heard every word. Robert cocked his head as he fixed Edwin a piercing stare.

  Edwin’s strength drained away. Woodenly, mechanically, he turned to face them. “Don’t hurt my son,” he said quietly. “Do what you want with me, but please—”

  “We’ll not harm your son or you.” Robert’s mouth twisted to one side as he studied Edwin more closely. “I knew I had seen you before but could not fathom where. Then, when you gave us your name, I remembered: At Kapras Rock with Bertrand and Fortius after pursuing Ryadok.” He stepped closer. “You interpreted correctly what ‘Black Fox’ means, which removes all doubt concerning your identity.”

  Edwin gulped. The skin on his neck prickled, his heart pounded, and tiny streams of cold sweat trickled down his back. “I was there, along with scores of other men.”

  “But you stood apart.” Robert’s features relaxed. “My true name is Robert LeConte. Bertrand is my older brother. He spoke often and fondly of Edwin Greene, trusted friend and ally, as well as skilled mercenary.” He chuckled ruefully. “When Lucius Mordarius seized Valhalea I journeyed to Langhorn, joined Fortius, and served under his captain, Theodus. How often I wished I had joined my brother’s cohort and fought alongside them. How often— ”

  Robert broke off and swallowed hard. “Do not follow, I beg you. Leave us to this task. Theodus and not Barren-Fel seeks Bertrand, for Bertrand—” He looked askance and heaved a short sigh. “That is all I can say.”

  “You have my word. I only wished to ensure Bertrand’s safety, for I value his friendship as well and would guard his wellbeing with my life,” Edwin told him.

  Robert looked back at Edwin, his face troubled. “I would ask one other thing: That neither you nor your son say anything to anyone of our mission, or that you even saw us.”

  Edwin looked at Will, who nodded assent. “I will tell no one,” Will promised.

  “Nor will I.” This from Edwin.

  “Good. I will send you word, regardless of what I find.”

  “Thank you,” Edwin returned. “Please know that I will help in any way I can, even to traveling, whatever the distance.”

  Robert nodded shortly. “I am grateful.”

  Voices and hoofbeats outside told them other guests had returned. “I’ll take you around through the trees and into the inn while Will sees to their horses.” Edwin ushered his guests out the back door while Will darted to the front to greet the new arrivals.

  A pigeon cote stood just outside. Edwin paused and carefully opened the door, then removed a small gray bird. “Take this with you,” he whispered. “Whatever you find, send me word.”

  Robert nodded and held up his arm. Edwin placed the pigeon on Robert’s hand and the trio moved on. They entered the inn and, after again expressing their thanks, William and Robert returned to their rooms.

  Edwin walked into the library. Dash’s cage stood on a table beside his chair and he wearily sat down and ran his finger along a slender bar. “Perhaps soon you will carry good tidings to your master,” he whispered. He sighed then
, and with an upward glance whispered a prayer.

  A week passed. Greene’s Willow Inn enjoyed a thriving business. Edwin and Emily, along with three of Emily’s six sons, had all they could do to keep up with the steady stream of guests. Edwin welcomed the work but could not ignore the gnawing worry as each day passed with no word from Robert LeConte or William O’Dell. Over and over again he read the scribbled note Robert had pressed into his hand as he and his companion departed the inn, a single word that read: Brackenlea.

  The word filled Edwin with dread. Destroyed by Lucius Mordarius during the Great War, Brackenlea’s east side—where Bertrand once dwelt—still lay in ruins. The thought of his dear friend holed up in that wreckage saddened him. And, since Bertrand had always called Brackenlea home, was that not the most likely place Theodus would search?

  Edwin pondered that perhaps he should simply ride there. But what if Bertrand had fled? What if he had never gone to Brackenlea? Edwin would have journeyed in vain.

  And what of Charles and Davon? Had they found the weeping hill? What dangers now imperiled them? If only he knew what to do! If only someone would send word! But he could only sit, helpless and useless, amid the turmoil brewing around him.

  On the afternoon of the eighth day Edwin emerged from the barn just as his pigeon alighted on the cote roof. His heart leapt as he beckoned the bird to him and removed the note from the carrier tube. Its bold script read, “BrackVal, east end hostel.”

  He knew the place: The old hostel in Brackenlea’s east side, in the kingdom of Valhalea. He could sail down the Ashgard from Garris and reach Brackenlea by nightfall.

  Edwin darted for the barn, wincing as his bad leg protested. Inside Will was pitching fresh straw into a stall. Will noted Edwin’s flushed face and frowned.