by Lee Bezotte
“But it’s not fair,” the woman argued before looking away.
“No, it is not,” Dulnear agreed. “But fairness and goodness are not the same. Goodness is much greater, but sometimes harder to see. And though I do not fully see the goodness in losing my hand, I am learning to trust that one day I will.”
Faymia moved closer to the man from the north. With a tear falling down her cheek, she rested her head on his chest. “It’s just that,” she began, “the children aren’t the only ones who couldn’t bear to lose you again.”
Dulnear wrapped his arms around his friend and tried to comfort her. Many words came to him but they all seemed trite, and flat, and he felt that she deserved better. She wept for a while and when she was finished, she looked into his eyes. As she did, something stirred in him, and he felt that he finally understood her thoughts. “I promise that I will do everything to protect not just you and the boy, but myself as well,” he said.
“Promise?” she asked with a glimmer of hope on her face.
“Yes, I have made my restitution, even if Thorndel chooses not to acknowledge it,” he said. “I am not going to surrender my life, but to claim something from my own home. I do not envy the man who tries to get in our way.”
Dulnear was admiring the handiwork of Son and Aesef. He had the new fist buckled around his arm, and it now included an iron sleeve that went almost to his elbow. “My, this is nice,” he said as he turned his arm over. “It should stop any blade.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Son said. “Aesef helped lots, especially with the hammering.”
The old farmer added modestly, “But it was mostly Son.”
“Well, I am impressed with both of you,” the man from the north said.
The five of them stood outside of the house. They had all eaten a hearty breakfast and Dulnear, Faymia, and Son were prepared to leave for Tuas-arum.
“Thank you again,” the man from the north expressed to Aesef.
The farmer raised his eyebrows and asked, “Are you sure I can’t persuade you to stay?”
“I am sure,” Dulnear answered. “But we will not be gone long. I have this little one to return for.” He gestured toward Maren, who was standing next to Faymia with her head resting against the woman’s side.
Aesef smiled and said, “The girl has become quite taken with her. Make sure you bring her back safely.”
“I will fight to the death to defend her,” the northerner declared.
“Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” the farmer murmured.
“I’ll fight too!” Son added.
Just then, Aesef’s servant, Phel, came upon the circle of friends. He was leading two horses by their reins. “Ah, here they are,” the farmer exclaimed. “I want you to take these horses. For you, my friend, the largest in the stable, and another powerful steed for Son and Faymia to share.”
Dulnear was amazed by the act of generosity. “I cannot take your horses. You have already done so much.”
“I insist,” Aesef replied. “If you run into trouble, it will be much easier to outrun it. Besides, this way, you will be able to return much sooner.”
“I do not know what to say,” the man from the north said. “Thank you, my friend.”
“You’re welcome,” the farmer said as he walked over to the larger of the two horses. “This is Mor. She’s strong and loyal.”
Dulnear walked over to the animal and cheerfully introduced himself. “Very nice to meet you, Mor,” he said as he gently stroked the side of its neck and blew a deep breath toward its nostrils. The horse sniffed the air and gave a relaxed sigh as her new rider continued to pet her.
Aesef then walked over to the other horse and introduced him. “And this is Tapp, my fastest horse.”
Son awkwardly approached the animal and attempted to imitate Dulnear’s actions. Tapp gave a restless stomp until Faymia joined the boy and scratched behind the horse’s ears. It gave the woman a smell and immediately calmed down.
“I have my mule!” Maren chimed in. “His name is Earl!”
“Of course you do,” Aesef said to the girl. “Later, will you show me how you ride him?”
“Uh huh!” she said with a grin.
There was a quiet pause as the group looked at each other. Dulnear wished he could stop time to make the moment last a little longer, but he knew that, for Faymia’s sake, they had to leave. It had already been weeks since he’d arrived at his friend’s farm, and he couldn’t hide the woman there forever. He took a deep breath and said, “We must be going, but I promise to be as swift as possible.” He then lifted Maren up and squeezed her as she hugged his neck. “I will miss you. Be good,” he said before setting her back down.
The little girl said, “Goodbye!” as she ran back to Faymia for a last hug, then said her goodbyes to Son.
When all of their farewells were said, the travelers mounted their horses. Son sat in front of Faymia, atop Tapp. He had no previous experience riding a horse, so she coached him in the proper way to hold the reins and steer the animal.
They made their way across the northern fields, discussing their expectations for the amount of time their trip would take, how they would camp, and other details. But as the road drew nearer, Dulnear felt a growing tightness in his chest. He prayed for an uneventful journey, but a lingering unease whispered in his ear, and he found it difficult to be at peace.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ALL THAT CAN BURN
The travelers made their way swiftly to the northern border, moving through towns and villages without stopping, and doing their best to avoid the attention of other travelers. When they reached the Contuent Bridge, Dulnear slowed his horse to take in the sight of the Fuar River below. The mist of the rushing water touched his face, and the memory of his last passing of the river seemed like a dream that weighed on him with a strange melancholy.
Son rode Tapp up next to the man and asked, “Are we getting closer?”
“This is the river that divides the north and south of Aun,” Dulnear explained. “At the speed we have been traveling, we should be at my estate by tomorrow evening.” He then glanced at Faymia and let his eyes linger on her lovely face for a moment. She showed great patience and care as she taught Son to ride their horse, and it drew his heart nearer to hers. As a result, he felt an even greater passion for his final mission to Tuas-arum. “It seems as if we were just here,” he said to her.
The woman wore a thoughtful expression. “The last time we were here, you were almost too sick to walk. I thought I was going to have to put you over my shoulder and carry you across the bridge,” she joked.
“I believe you could,” the man from the north laughed, and they continued on.
As the day faded, they found a place to camp. It was far off the road, and well hidden by a circle of tall rocks and trees. They fed and watered the horses, then made a fire to cook rabbits that Faymia had hunted with her bow and arrows.
“This is a delicious dinner,” Son said to Faymia as he took another bite of his rabbit.
“Thank you,” she said, adding, “Dulnear gave me this beautiful bow to catch them with.”
The boy opened up his gray coat and withdrew a brightly polished sword with northern runes adorning the pommel. “This is Onaire,” he exclaimed. “He gave me this just before our battle at the ravine.” He smiled proudly, then put the weapon away.
Faymia looked across the fire at Dulnear. “He’s a great man,” she said, smiling.
Warmed by their compliments, yet embarrassed by the attention, the man from the north shifted the conversation. “When I met the boy, he ate only turnips.”
“Very funny!” Son retorted. “I just didn’t know how to hunt yet. I didn’t even like turnips.”
“You hunted turnips like a professional,” Dulnear jabbed, then laughed as he reached over and rubbed the boy’s shoulder. “I am very proud to see how far you’ve come, lad,” he said. Then he added, “I think it would be good if we got some rest th
ough. Tomorrow will probably be a very long day for all of us.”
The following evening, the trio approached Dulnear’s estate along the winding northerly road. The veiled sun was fading, but there was still enough gray light to see for a great distance. When they were upon his property, the man halted his horse until Faymia and Son were next to him.
“Son,” the man whispered. “Come over to my horse. I want to show you something.” He lifted the boy from his horse and set him on Mor so he could whisper in his ear from behind him. He then leaned toward Faymia and said quietly, “Ride beside us. I want to show him the estate.”
Hearing his friend’s words, the boy perked up and asked, “Where is your land?”
Urging his horse forward, Dulnear answered, “Look to the east. It is mine, almost as far as you can see.”
The boy’s mouth was agape as they slowly rode the path in front of the property. With eyes wide, he took in the rolling fields and enormous oak trees. “This is incredible,” he said with enthusiasm while trying to remain quiet.
“This is where I learned to fight, to read, to hunt, and to farm,” the man explained. “Do you remember when I told you about tricking my brother into jumping into a pile of leaves?”
“Yes, that was hilarious!” Son bubbled.
“Well, way back there is the tree,” Dulnear indicated.
Faymia sat up with an amused smile. “So that is why you were giggling as we ran for our lives? You duped your little brother into leaping into dead leaves?” she asked.
“Yes,” the man grinned. “I was in very much trouble from my father for it.”
“Your father sounds wise,” the woman chuckled.
The man from the north then pointed to the large house in the distance and said to the boy, “And that is my house.”
“It’s immense!” Son exclaimed as his eyebrows raised higher.
“I never ran out of hiding spaces,” the man from the north joked. “My brother and I could play hide-and-seek for days!”
“Did you have your own room?” the boy asked.
“Of course,” the warrior answered. “The house has been in my clan for generations. My great-great-great-grandfather, who had many children, built it. But my father only had two sons, so there was more than enough room for us.”
Son continued to stare at the massive house. Under his breath, he murmured, “Wow!”
When the mansion came closer into view, Dulnear noticed a light flickering in one of the windows. He grew agitated and growled, “That greedy dog Thorndel is squatting in my home again. He’s too lazy to track me, and too rapacious to let my estate rest.”
“What are we going to do?” the boy asked.
The man from the north breathed deeply through flared nostrils, clenched his jaw, and answered, “Burn it all.”
“What?!” Son asked with surprise. “This is your home, and it’s the most magnificent one I’ve ever seen.”
“I know, boy, but I mean never to return here,” Dulnear explained. “And I can’t bear to think of others coming to dishonor my family. Thorndel has already defaced my father’s portrait, and who knows what else. Let us head back in the direction we came. We will need to tie up the horses and discuss our actions.”
“Are you sure you want to do that?” Faymia asked.
“He has a thing for fire,” Son joked.
Dulnear didn’t think it was funny. He merely raised an eyebrow toward the boy, then answered the woman’s question. “I am sure,” he answered. He thought about his life in the north, the people and events that held influence over him for many years, and the person he had become since leaving. He continued, “There is nothing for me in the north anymore, and having a mansion here only ties my heart to a place of violence, pain, and loss. I feel a weight lifted from my shoulders just thinking of burning it all down.”
The woman looked away and bit her lip. Squeezing her hands into tightly rolled fists, she looked back at Dulnear and asked, “What do you want me to do?”
“First, it is important that Thorndel does not see either of you before you enter the house,” the man began. “In the outbuilding, where the cart was stored, there are several jars of oil. I will draw the louse outside. When he comes, you and Son go into the house with the oil, spread it, light it, and run back to the horses as quickly as you can.”
“What about you?” the boy asked.
“I will confront the son of Shenndel,” Dulnear answered.
“But I thought you were no match for him left-handed,” Son pressed, with a growing expression of concern.
The man from the north looked toward his house and mustered his courage. Inhaling deeply, he claimed, “I am much better than I was. Besides, he will not be expecting the iron fist.”
The boy did not appear to be comforted, nor did Faymia. “You promised to be careful,” the woman said. “You don’t have to do this on my account.”
The warrior looked into her eyes. “This is just as much for me as it is for you,” he said. “And I do promise to be vigilant.”
The boy and the runaway slave embraced Dulnear tightly. “Please be alive when we come back,” she said.
“I promise,” the man answered. “Now go. I have a squatter to evict.”
“Thorndel, son of Shenndel!” Dulnear shouted. He stood several steps away from the large front door to the house, looking up to the second-story window where the light flickered. “Thorndel, come and fight me!” he jeered. “Prove that you are more than a lazy guttersnipe!”
A large silhouetted figure appeared in the window, then disappeared quickly. The man from the north stepped back a few paces, then took several deep breaths as he waited for his opponent. Suddenly, the door swung open, and there stood Thorndel with sword drawn. His curly, black hair and beard looked more disheveled than usual, and his fur reeked of whisky.
“There you are!” Dulnear exclaimed. “I was expecting you to come and find me, but you have been here all along.”
“I was just making my plan,” Thorndel said indignantly.
“I bet you were,” Dulnear said with a sarcastic grin. “And I am sure your plan involved stinking up my house while you came up with cowardly excuses not to pursue me.”
“Those are brave words for a Nairetu!” his enemy retorted arrogantly. “Why would you be so foolish as to come here?”
“I knew my hand was not enough for you,” he explained, “and I am not fond of surprises, so I thought I would come and end this so I can finally get some peace.”
“Get some peace?!” Thorndel shouted. “Killing me would only rekindle the wrath of my father. He would gather his friends and slay you without pity.”
“Ha!” Dulnear laughed. “He would be too ashamed that his son was defeated by a one-handed man. He would probably stay home and cry in his bed!”
“You simple fool!” the embittered warrior cried. “Whether I vanquish you, or you slay me, the happy ending you seek is not possible.”
“Then I accept your surrender,” the man from the north crowed. “You may lay down your sword.” He intended to rile the man, clouding his judgement and dulling his skills.
“And why in all of Aun would I surrender to you, Marhail?” Thorndel asked with a look of disgust.
“You tell me,” Dulnear taunted. “You seem certain that I would kill you, and that your father would avenge your death. In addition, your father would need help from his friends to do it. I am only trying to spare you by allowing you to cede.”
Thorndel wrinkled his forehead and hesitated for a moment before saying, “I did not say my father would need help.”
“Then why would he gather his friends?” the man from the north asked.
“Just because!” the exasperated squatter answered. He then inhaled deeply, clenched his teeth together and snarled, “You killed my brother, and I will not rest until I see your eyes glazed over with death and your blood soaking the ground.”
“You cannot win, Thorndel,” Dulnear said confidently. “Ther
e would be no glory in defeating a Nairetu, and being defeated by one would bring enormous shame. Why do you not just go home and let it go?”
The rancorous northerner looked off to the distance. “Because I cannot,” he stated.
“Then indeed I am sorry,” the iron-fisted warrior said.
Thorndel’s eyes snapped back to his opponent’s. “Sorry? For what?”
“I did not want to battle your brother, but he insisted. I offered myself in restitution and your father took my hand, but it was not enough for you. You insist on the way of destruction, even when you have the freedom to walk away from it, so you force my hand to slay you.” Dulnear then reached into his long fur coat, withdrew his father’s sword, and continued, “And I will kill your father, your cousin, and any of your other family members who choose to pursue me. I will leave a trail of blood across Northern Aun like none has ever seen before, and when it is over, you will be remembered as Thorndel the stupid, who would not walk away, and could not defeat a one-handed man.”
Thorndel’s hands shook. Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead and his eyes squinted. He glanced at Dulnear’s right arm, then looked into his eyes before raising his sword to attack.
Dulnear blocked Thorndel’s blade as if he could read the man’s mind. He could feel his confidence rise as they battled, and he fought left-handed with the skill of one who had been doing it his entire life. “Concede!” he demanded. “You cannot win!”
Breathing heavily, his enemy responded, “I have grown quite accustomed to your estate, and I have no intention of leaving now.” He then lunged forward in an attempt to sink his sword into Dulnear’s chest.
Dulnear blocked the sword downward, but Thorndel used the momentum from the block to swing his sword upward and struck him on the right shoulder. Dulnear grimaced from the pain, and the wound immediately began to throb and bleed. If not for the heavy fur coat, the cut would have been much deeper. He used his sword’s pommel to force his opponent’s blade backward, almost taking off his ear.
