by Sandra Kopp
Nedra faced the stakes and raised her arms. “Mighty Anhuapta,” she intoned, “I praise your boundless power and thank you for endowing me with that power. I offer you these, my enemies, in gratitude for and in expectation of what I shall yet accomplish in your name. I declare my worthiness to rule Barren-Fel, seat of your greatest sorcerers, and anticipate that within a fortnight I shall sit upon the throne and reclaim our sacred—”
She caught her breath, spluttered and gasped. Her face turned chalky white. The staff in her hand seemed suddenly too heavy, for she fumbled and nearly dropped it. “What is happening?”
Charles felt as if a lead weight had lifted off him. Involuntarily he started, and to his joy his limbs responded. He jabbed Bertrand, but already the brawny mercenary was scrambling to his feet. The remaining captives jumped up, weapons in hand.
“Why do you stand there?” Nedra screamed. “Burn the sacrifices!”
The Rauths dropped their torches onto the piles. Bertrand and his band, brandishing swords, knives and clubs, rushed headlong into the horde of villagers now pouring into the circle. Lunging, slashing, clubbing and gouging, they fought their way to their bound comrades. The greater part held the crowd at bay while Charles, Benno and Royce cut the thongs binding them. Rage gave each the strength of many, and every thrust of knife and sword felled an enemy.
From out of nowhere the Red Horse, unbound, revitalized and wielding a club, plowed through the crowd, sending Rauths sprawling in all directions. “Rooooonnnnn,” he bellowed and, seizing Charles, thrust him out of the circle.
Charles hesitated, staring dumbly as he tried to decipher Hans’ gibberish.
“Roooooooonnnnn!” Hans repeated, jabbing his club toward the forest.
Run! He’s telling me to run. Charles turned and bolted for the forest while Hans turned and charged back into the fray.
Through the trees Charles saw the frenzied Rauths now fighting each other. Hans knocked several senseless before herding Bertrand’s band out of the glade and through the woods to their horses. They swiftly untied their startled mounts, leapt into the saddles and, with Hans leading, tore into the woods.
A dense copse surrounding a rock fortress crowned a hill a mile away. Hans led the band to the top and stopped amid a circle of low dome-shaped stones. His chest heaved, his drenched body trembled. Pain twisted his chalky face.
Charles swung off his horse and dashed to him. “Hans!”
Hans groaned, gripping the hair on either side of his head while swaying side to side.
Charles stopped beside him. “Hans, what can I do? What—”
Hans released his hair and clutched his stomach. Groaning louder, he teetered a moment and then fell, thrashing and foaming, to the ground. For over a minute he continued thus, seemingly in his death throes. Charles and his companions could only watch, helpless.
A strange aura resembling red smoke emanated from the creature’s body, so thick that it obscured him. His groan rose into a long, doleful cry.
And then he fell silent. The hooves so furiously scraping the hard-pack ground a moment before twitched and then lay still.
Charles gaped at Edwin in dismay. Edwin returned his stare and slowly shook his head. “No,” he whispered.
Blinking back tears, Charles hung his head. The air above the Red Horse had begun to clear and he cast a quick glance toward it. He caught his breath.
Hans—all of him—lay on his back, and near his feet lay Parsius, his beloved gelding. Neither moved but the steady rise and fall of Hans’ chest assured his friends that he indeed lived. Gone was the dreadful nose ring, and the welts, cuts and arrow wounds on his shoulders and chest slowly faded. Parsius also appeared well enough, save for two scabs on his buttocks.
“Hans.” Charles leaned over and gently shook his friend’s arm. “Can you hear me?”
Hans moaned softly. His eyelids fluttered open. “Charles,” he whispered brokenly.
Charles knelt beside him, unable now to hold back the tears. “You old warhorse.” He laughed shortly. “You need some clothes.”
“Aye.” Hans raised his head, winced and lay back. “That I do.” He moaned again. “Ach, I think I know how a woman feels in childbirth.”
“Just rest.” Charles clasped Hans’ arm.
Edwin approached, a tunic and pair of breeches slung over one arm. “These should fit, and I’ve an extra coat as well.”
“Thank you.” Hans closed his eyes again and chuckled. “It’s getting chilly.”
“Let’s dress you then, man,” Edwin said, and with Charles assistance helped Hans into the garments.
For a moment then, Hans simply sat. Sudden grief twisted his face and he leaned forward, resting his head on his knees as he rocked back and forth. “Ah, the horror, the horror,” he moaned. “She made me into this. . .thing and used me to terrorize the Liedorans in Rauwyar. I became a byword and the butt of every miscreant’s jokes. Just another mutant in the Barren-Fel arsenal and a monster to threaten ill-behaving children with.”
“But that’s over now.” Charles put an arm around his friend’s shoulders.
“I’m not so sure,” Hans wheezed as he raised his head. “I can’t see her powerless for long. She’ll be back; I know it.”
“Let’s just take things as they come,” Charles returned grimly. “In the meantime, try to eat something, regain your strength. A good night’s sleep will help, too.”
Hans nodded and managed a weak smile. “Aye. I’ll sleep well tonight.” He sighed deeply. “I’m so tired.” He glanced up and raised a hand in greeting as Bertrand joined them.
“Welcome back.” Bertrand squatted beside him and offered a piece of jerky retrieved from his saddlebag. “This isn’t much—you may deem it an insult, in fact, but—”
“Nay, man, to me it’s a feast. I’ll relish every bite.” Hans propped himself against a rock and nodded his thanks as he took the meat and bit off a mouthful. “Um. Never thought I could ever look at jerky again, but this: ‘Tis a meal fit for a king.”
“You must be starved,” Bertrand returned dryly and then laughed.
He stopped laughing at the sound of hooves scraping the ground nearby. The men shifted their focus to Parsius, still laying on his side and now carefully stretching and flexing his legs. The horse rolled onto his belly, groaned and then hoisted himself to his feet, raising a cloud of dust as he vigorously shook himself off. He blew his nose and then eagerly attacked the sweet grass.
“You’re free.” Charles smiled and brushed some dust off his cheek. “The curse is lifted.” He nodded toward Parsius and added, “You both seem fine.”
“Aye.” Hans bit off another bite.
“Have you seen Davon?” Edwin pressed.
Hans shook his head. “I’ve not seen the lad since. . .I don’t know when.”
“Does Nedra hold him?” Bertrand asked.
“If she does, she has hidden him well. However, for many days after she routed the woodsmen she sent spies who scoured the woods from Rama-Rauth to the canyon and ten miles out on either side of the Lost River. I surmise she sought but did not find him.”
“Your words encourage me, for had they found his body she would have hung it up for the world to see.” Charles quizzically regarded Hans. “Despite the beating you took, you look remarkably well.”
“That. . .monstrosity Nedra created of me was a different being altogether. I mean. . .I indeed formed part of it but it seemed that I watched from afar. I felt her whip and her heels drumming my sides and yet. . .” He glanced down at himself. “The wounds hardly remain.” He felt about his nose and beard. “I feel crusted blood, but not the holes she bore for that ghastly ring. Even the memories fade.” He ran his fingers through his tangled mane and winced. “Ugh, but what a sight! If you’ve a razor, shave me now!”
Dusk had given way to night, lending a frosty chill to the dank air. A handful of stars winked shyly between gathering clouds. Ancient branches groaned and sighed in the rising wind.
&
nbsp; Charles smiled wryly. “We’d best wait till daylight.”
“By morning Parsius and I will be fit for travel,” Hans averred.
Bertrand pursed his lips. “We’ll see. I’ll post a watch. And you—” He clapped Hans’ arm —“get some rest. You need it.”
Bertrand rose and ambled to where his men had gathered amid the clustered stones. “We’ll need a watch. Who’s first?”
Almost all the men volunteered, declaring none of them would sleep anyway.
“Can’t have all of you up.” Bertrand selected twelve, which included himself, Mason, and William O’Dell. “The rest of you at least try to sleep till your turn comes. We’ve got to be sharp tomorrow.”
The watchmen took their positions among the trees while the other prepared for a restless night.
Edwin went to his horse and returned with his bedroll and extra coat. He untied the bedroll and opened it up beside Hans. “Here,” he said, motioning for Hans to lie down. “A somewhat soft mattress for you.”
“No, I’ve already taken your clothes. I’ll not take your bed, too.”
“I have a good thick wrap.” Edwin jabbed his finger at the bedroll. “Get on that roll. I’ll not take ‘no’ for an answer.”
Hans chuckled as he scooted onto the bedroll and stretched out. Edwin covered him with the coat and Hans gratefully settled in. “Ahhh. Thank you. Much softer than I’ve enjoyed in ages.”
“You’re welcome. Good night now.” Edwin found a spot a few feet away and settled in.
Charles leaned against a nearby stone. “What an ordeal you’ve endured.”
“Aye. When this is over and I return home—wherever that may be now—I will tell my tale.” Hans closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “Ah, Nedra, Nedra, Nedra.” His voice trailed into silence.
The tenderness with which he spoke her name appalled Charles and for a moment he stared in disbelief. Finally he said, “Tell me, Hans, after all she’s—” He hesitated, hating to say more; but if Hans had not already accepted the brutal truth, he must do so, and quickly. “Considering what she’s done to you and to her own countrymen—Hans, can you truly continue to love such a woman?”
But Hans had fallen asleep.
Nedra raced through the forest, her deerskin boots making no sound as they glided over the soft earth. The silvery moonlight sifting through the pines barely illuminated her path, which amounted to little more than a rain-washed rut that wound among the rocks and thickets. She needed no lighted trail; she knew well that sacred glen where months before she had pledged her allegiance to the Dark One. Now she returned, alone, to demand an explanation for the degrading and humiliating debacle she had just suffered.
A distant owl’s doleful hoots confirmed in her feverish mind the serpent’s betrayal. Despair, anger, hatred, and fear raged within her, pummeling her innards like warriors locked in mortal combat. Every fiber of her being felt their vicious blows. Her ceremonial garb, donned with joy and triumphant expectations, now weighed her down as if made of stones rather than feathers.
She reached a small clearing enclosed by ferns and aspens. A pillar-shaped stone about six feet high reared out of the ground near the center. Nedra set her jaw and stopped before it.
“Anhuapta, to whom I swear my eternal devotion and service, hear me. Why have you dealt thus with me? I brought you magnificent warriors, worthy sacrifices all, but you tossed them and me aside. You betrayed me, just as Ryadok did! Was my devotion not enough or my service too little?” Her voice rose. “Why, in the presence of my enemies, did you strip me thus? They laugh at me. They laugh at you! Yes, they mock you even now from the holes where they hide!”
The glade darkened as a cloud hid the moon. The ancient boughs groaned in the rising wind.
“Anhuapta, hear me!” Nedra shrieked. “Show yourself and restore my power, I command you! I am the promised one! You said so!”
“You command me?!”
Lightning streaked across the sky, followed by a deafening crash that shook the ground. Nedra gasped and fell back, her right hand clutching the robe over her pounding heart. The last peals of thunder echoed across the distant canyons and died away. Dark silence reigned.
“Take care, woodsman’s daughter.” The low, whispery voice carried a threatening tone. “Pride destroyed Ryadok and Mordarius. Be sure that it will also destroy you.”
“Forgive me, my lord.” Nedra peered through the darkness, trembling.
A single moonbeam pierced the cloud and lighted the pillar. A sinuous, undulating shadow rose from the ground at the pillar’s base. When it matched the pillar in height, the shadow’s top flared into a massive serpentine hood. Blue-green scales glinted in the pale light. Two bright red, almond-shaped eyes gleamed from the inky face. Wheezy breathing whistled through gleaming white fangs. Anhuapta towered over her, body swaying as his blood-red eyes bored through her.
“You disappoint me, woodsman’s daughter. You behave more like a daughter of Lucius Mordarius than a noble chief: Self-serving, lusting after power, eternally clawing and grasping for more.”
“But you chose me. At my direction your people observe the old traditions and stand ready to reclaim the ancestral valley. At my direction they worship you.”
“They worshiped me before you were even born,” Anhuapta returned dryly. “Nay, I chose one before you but he resisted. He approaches the Blood Castle even now. Him I will empower, and he shall ascend the throne.”
“You deem him more worthy? Why? Who is this man?”
Anhuapta’s scaly visage contorted into a malevolent smile. He lowered his head. His scaly lips writhed out a name and then he straightened again.
Nedra surged with indescribable fury. “I knew it! I knew it,” she shrieked. “Why did I not kill him while I had the chance? Tell me: How can he better serve you than I have already?”
“All Epthelion knows your treachery and stands ready to oppose you. But this man they trust. When he turns, the six kingdoms will swiftly fall.”
Nedra’s shoulders heaved. “This night I would have offered you the lives of some of your greatest enemies and you would not accept them. Would you accept them from him?”
“Indeed, yes. His will prove the greater sacrifice, for he offers his friends, whereas you offered your enemies.”
Nedra choked back a sob. “Over and over I have proven my loyalty to you, Great One, along with my worthiness to occupy Epthelion’s throne. I challenge your choice. Let him come and prove himself to me!”
Anhuapta reared back and spewed caustic mist from his gaping mouth. “You prove yourself to me! Go to the castle, fair one. Dethrone him if you can and I shall give you your just reward.”
Nedra flung her arms down at her sides, fists clenched, and defiantly met the serpent’s stare. “I can destroy him and I will! And you will deliver what you promised me!”
Chest heaving, Nedra turned and stormed from the glade. She must slip back unnoticed, procure her palomino and then ride like the wind to her castle. She alone would ascend her throne. The Nimbian would die, after Nedra had first subjected him to the same humiliation she had endured at Anhuapta’s hands.
Unless he bends to my will; and I have bent stronger men than him!
She broke into a run, leaping over roots and logs and dodging around trees and stones. A shaft of moonlight pierced the foliage, illumining a bend in the path several feet ahead. A lone figure stepped into the pale light.
Nedra gasped and slid to a stop, her right hand over her pounding heart. At the same moment she recognized the floppy hat and oversized coat. Ian Abuttska approached, leading her palomino and his own horse.
“I would join you, milady, on whatever quest you must now undertake.”
Nedra stared, head slightly cocked, as if deeming his offer offensive.
Abuttska stopped a few steps away and bowed shortly. “You hold my undying allegiance, milady. I could render you a great service.”
Nedra’s features relaxed. A little smile teased her mouth a
nd then she parted her lips seductively, gratified as Abuttska’s eyes gleamed with obvious arousal. “Yes,” she purred, “I believe you could.”
Sweeping to him, she took the palomino’s reins from his outstretched hand and swung into the saddle. “Come,” she said. “We’ve a long journey ahead.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Arris crested the peak and stopped to pat Barada’s sweat-soaked neck. “Whoa, boy. What say we rest a minute.”
He cast his sweeping gaze across the Mystic Mountains. Lofty gray pinnacles, some capped with snow or crowned by clouds, soared above crumbling slopes littered with scree and mountain scrub. Sparse alpine meadows robed the craggy shoulders in yellows and greens. The thunder of a thousand cascades echoed down the canyons. Sun-washed cliffs glowed with celestial hues, and delicate rainbows hovered in the mist. Barren-Fel’s timberland army advanced as far as the meadows, a massive dark sea striving for the summits but commanded to come no further. A handful of the hardier varieties pushed upward for a way but quickly gave out, their energy expended by altitude and poor soils.
A thoughtful frown creased Arris’ forehead. At least two weeks transpired since commencing this trek. Inhospitable terrain along with multitudes of grueling conditions impeded his progress. The vain hope he would find Hans at Rama-Rauth prompted him to spy out the village, with no success. And then instinct—or morbid curiosity, perhaps—had drawn him to Ryadok’s ruined castle. Subsequent decay following its initial destruction had left the site virtually unrecognizable. The plateau once supporting the structure had collapsed and only a broad mound of granular black sand remained. Everything else—moat, drawbridge, tiltyard—was gone. Neither did he find Hans and had continued his journey without delay.
Now he sat atop one of the lower crests in the region where the Mystic Mountains collided with the Alpenfels. The trees had opened into a wide sun-splashed glen abounding with grass and wildflowers, a welcome change from the sullen forest he had so long endured. Blue lupines filled a bowl-like depression in its center, lending the appearance of a lovely pond. Ahead and to the left one of Fang Mountain’s jagged teeth stabbed at the sky. To the right, Firendoom’s bald dome glowered down at him.
