by Lee Bezotte
The crowd erupted with laughter at the friar’s statement until the man from the north turned to them and said sternly, “I mean it.” He then winked and gave a playful grin before turning back to the nervous minister.
With trembling hands, the friar then tied a cord around the bride and groom’s joined hands. “By this cord you are now and forevermore bound to each other,” he said. “Lord Dulnear, you may kiss your bride.”
The man from the north shook the cord from his hand, lifted the woman off of her feet, closed his eyes, and kissed her full on the lips. As he did, he drank in the softness, the scent, and the taste of their first kiss as husband and wife. It was a strange and wonderful sensation that lingered with him for a long time to come.
When Dulnear set Faymia back down on her feet, the friar had them face their friends as he announced, “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
Cheers and applause rose up, and those in attendance lined up to congratulate them, many of them leaving gifts or coins at their feet. The barn was rearranged as tables filled with steaming lamb, vegetables, pies, and cakes were brought in.
Musicians played and, as they did, Son and Maren joined Dulnear and Faymia for a dance of celebration. Swinging, twirling, and swaying, they celebrated their new life together, often sharing dreams and thoughts about their home in Laor, and gushing with congratulations and words of gratitude. It was the grandest time any of them had ever experienced, and one they would never forget.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
HOME
The journey to Laor was uneventful, though it could have taken much less time if Maren hadn’t insisted on taking Earl with them. The mule seemed to be in a constant state of hunger, slowing their journey as it stopped to nibble on the lush grass that grew alongside the road. Most of the time, the young girl was so engrossed in her book that she didn’t bother to goad the animal on when it stopped to snack. Somewhere along the journey, she removed the eyepatch that Son had made for her and placed it on the donkey, who didn’t seem to mind wearing it at all.
When they finally arrived, Dulnear halted his horse on the road and looked out over the farm. A feeling came over him that reassured him that he was home. It was a sense that all was well, and he paused silently for a moment to take it in and be grateful.
“It’s a bit grown over,” Son broke in, pointing out to the garden. “I’ll have to get to work on it tomorrow.”
Still gazing over the humble property, the man from the north said quietly, “It is perfect.” Then he turned toward Son and said with a smile, “It is good to be home.”
After making a space for the horses in the barn, Son showed Dulnear and Faymia the toys he had been making, and made sure the woman had a sufficient tour of the house. Afterward, they enjoyed a modest meal together and discussed plans to build a pen for the animals.
That night, it felt good for the man from the north to be able to lie down on the bed he had built before returning to Tuas-arum. It was the only bed in southern Aun that fit him properly, and there was still room for Faymia. Though a chill hung in the night air, he slept soundly with his bride curled up beside him. “You are all elbows and knees,” he told her at bedtime, but he really didn’t mind at all.
As he slept, Dulnear dreamed he was floating far off of the ground. Looking down, he could see the burned, blackened wreckage of his estate. Feelings of disdain toward the violent, unreasoning, impaired culture of his people rose up inside of him. Any desire to return to the place of his upbringing had completely left him.
Suddenly, he found himself hovering over the home of Shenndel. He could see the bloodstained tree stump where his hand was removed, and he was humbled to tears. He saw the old man standing there, bitter, lonely, and far from any real peace. Thorndel’s father was a shell of a man, alive only in the sense that his heart still beat and there was breath in his lungs. He knew that he would have been destined for the same fate, had he not left his home and journeyed south to find a better way.
The dreaming man from the north took a deep breath, rose higher into the sky, and flew away south. He felt lighter and happier than he had ever felt before. Though it was only a dream, the joy and cheer in his heart were as real as anything in the waking world. Every weight had lifted, every regret cast off, and every tie to what once was had been severed. He was free.
I hope you enjoyed reading Man from the North. Its characters and their adventures are near and dear to me. If you would like information about my next fantasy book, Daughter of Two Worlds, as well as other forthcoming projects, please visit my website at www.leebezotte.com and sign up for my e-newsletter.
Thank you for journeying with me!
Lee Bezotte
Table of Contents
Chapter One Death March
Chapter Two Stirring Trouble
Chapter Three Runaway
Chapter Four Along The Brink Road
Chapter Five Besieged
Chapter Six The Cold Force
Chapter Seven Howls In The Night
Chapter Eight Home No More
Chapter Nine A Futile Gesture
Chapter Ten Death Of A Warrior
Chapter Eleven An Empty Chest
Chapter Twelve Reunions And Revelations
Chapter Thirteen Makes You Stronger
Chapter Fourteen All That Can Burn
Chapter Fifteen The Ransom
Chapter Sixteen For Freedom’s Sake
Chapter Seventeen The Dance
Chapter Eighteen Home
