by L. M. Roth
Justus swallowed the spittle that had risen without warning in his throat. He must under no account let the Emperor know Dag’s status as an Alexandrian. He had sent Dag a message through Odelius the Palace Guard, alerting him to the persecution of Alexandrians and the need to hide his identity. But the stakes were so high that remaining calm was difficult under the glacial eye of Iacomus.
“And what was his business in Valerium?” the Emperor inquired.
“None at all, Your Grace,” Justus answered, fighting a tremor that attacked his voice. “He was enroute to book passage on a ship that would take him to Lycenium, where he has family that he wished to visit.”
The attention of Iacomus was caught at last by the words of Justus. He suddenly narrowed his eyes and stared at the other man intensely. He drummed his fingers idly on the arm of the golden throne on which he sat.
“Lycenium?” he queried. “Where is the man from? You say he wished to travel through Valerium to reach his destination, but from whence did he come initially?”
Justus hastened to reply without giving the appearance of haste. Clearly something had aroused the Emperor’s suspicions, and he must dissipate those suspicions at once.
“He lives in Eirinia, Your Grace, one of our remote outposts. But he has a son in Lycenium, and wished to pass through Valerium to book a ship for his voyage.”
Justus felt his pulse begin to throb, and hoped that the rapid beating of his heart was not audible to Iacomus. He made every effort to steady his breathing, which threatened to come in small gasps as a fit of panic assailed him out of the blue.
Iacomus placed his fingers together and peered through them as if hoping to find guidance there. He took his time answering Justus, prolonging the agony of suspense that beset the older man. It was at least a full minute before he addressed Justus, and when he at last did so, it was not with the reply that was expected.
“Hmmm,” he murmured. “Very well: we shall send for this prisoner at once. I am curious to meet a rustic provincial who has family in the most refined city of our Empire.”
They did not have long to wait. The Emperor had dispatched one of the Palace Guards to bring Dag from his prison. Justus felt the palms of his hands grow wet and fought the impulse to wipe them on his robe, thus betraying his anxiety to Iacomus.
Dag seemed to fill the room with his great height and vast shoulders. Even though he had seen close to fifty winters, he was still an impressive specimen of manhood, and the eyes of the Emperor blinked in astonishment before he quickly recovered his icy composure. Dag stood silent, waiting for the Emperor to address him.
He was careful not to look directly at Justus.
“Come forward,” Iacomus commanded.
Dag took three long strides that brought him within touching range of the Emperor. Iacomus studied him carefully.
“Tell me,” he said softly in tones of honeyed velvet. “What business brings you to Valerium?”
Dag did not blink, but looked Iacomus directly in the eye.
“I wished to travel and your land was in my path,” he said simply.
Justus noticed that he did not address the Emperor with any titles of courtesy. The omission worried him: it worried him greatly.
Justus was not the only one who noticed the lack of courtesy.
“What was that?” Iacomus snapped with the rapidity of a lurking lizard devouring an unwary fly hapless enough to cross its territory.
“I said, I wished to travel and your land was in my path,” Dag repeated firmly.
He fastened his gaze on Iacomus once more. At no time did he bow or incline his head. And yet, Justus was sure that Dag knew better, and understood what was required when addressing a ruler…
“You will call me ‘Your Grace’ when you address me,” Iacomus barked as he rose abruptly from his throne.
He took one step toward Dag.
“And you will bow your knee to me when you come into my presence. Is that understood?”
“Why should I bow my knee to you?” Dag inquired with an air of innocence that Justus was certain was affected.
Inwardly, he groaned.
“You shall bow to me because I am divine!” Iacomus shouted as he at last lost patience with his thick-headed prisoner.
For a long moment Dag studied the Emperor in a manner that was completely detached. So calm was he that he might have been the ruler and Iacomus his prisoner, Justus pondered in amazement.
When he finally addressed the Emperor the result was not to the liking of Iacomus, nor did it appease Justus’ fears.
“What,” Dag drawled almost lazily, “gives you such a deluded notion as to believe such nonsense?”
Justus gasped in horror, and Iacomus erupted in howls of fury.
“I believe that, you fool, because I have the power of life and death over my people! And I have the power of life and death over you!”
So enraged was the Emperor that his face had turned an ugly shade of purple, the hue of grapes that are over-ripe from being left in the sun too long.
“No one has the power of life and death except Dominio!” Dag thundered in the voice of a bellowing bull had it the power of speech.
Iacomus and Justus were both beyond the power of speech: they stared open-mouthed at Dag in disbelief that one could be so bold as to contradict the Emperor.
Dag himself was unfazed.
“You should repent of your blasphemy,” he stated calmly as looked Iacomus directly in the eye.
Iacomus was now beyond rage: froth foamed from his mouth and he stood with clenched fists at the insolent man who dared to defy him.
“You are an Alexandrian!” he shrieked.
At the same instant he turned an accusing glance on Justus, who nevertheless, remained stoic under his wrath.
“Yes, I am,” Dag admitted with a shrug of his massive shoulders.
“Well, Alexandrian, you who are so bold as to defy your Emperor: I am sending you back to the Imperial dungeon. There you will remain until I, who have the power of life and death, determine your fate.”
Chapter XVII
A Haunted Journey
The September morning was chilly, and the morning mist that had rolled in from the sea enveloped the surrounding landscape in a shroud of fog, obscuring the dirt road and swathing the trees in a ghostly veil of white. The sunlight peeked through at intervals, giving a momentary beam of illumination to those who attempted to fumble their way through the vapor.
Maelys tripped over a rut in the road that had been hidden in the mist. She fell headlong but was not injured. She lay for a moment, temporarily stunned by the suddenness of the impact. Finding that nothing was broken, she rose to her feet and dusted the dirt of the road from her cloak, thankful that it was not mud.
It was the second day since she left home. Judoc had bade her goodbye with tender tears and many embraces. Maelys had permitted herself the luxury of snuggling close in her mother’s arms, uncertain when she would see her again. How she longed to bring her comfort after all the trials of the past few months! But it was to bring Judoc comfort that she set out, so she resolved to go on with her plan and kissed her mother in farewell.
The first day had been uneventful: the day was fair and she had not traveled very far from her home village of Leith. Here there was still a modicum of peace, and a sense of safety. It was not so as she traveled further from her home territory…
The afternoon of the second day she paused to rest by the road in a little copse of oak trees that looked inviting in the warmth of the day. For the early autumn clime turned hot once noon was past, and Maelys felt the sun beat down on her head. Without a breeze the heat was stifling, and the trees promised shade and refreshment as they seemed to beckon her from the path.
She entered them and flung down her heavy parcel under a stout oak. She whipped back the hood of her cloak and dropped to rest under its branches. She took off her shoes and wiggled her toes down into the cooling grass, and slowly exhaled a sigh of utt
er bliss. She closed her eyes and remained thus for several minutes.
Then suddenly she heard it.
It began as a low murmur, so faint that at first she thought she only imagined it. She shrugged her shoulders and returned to her repose. Her eyes flew open as the sound grew louder. And then without warning it rose to a crescendo.
She jolted from her reverie and jerked to her feet as if pulled by an invisible string. She looked frantically about her. There was no one there.
It was then that she noticed that the branches of the copse of oak trees were moving, up and down and back and forth. Yet there was no breeze blowing in the sultriness of the September day…
Maelys grabbed her bundle and scrambled out of the trees and back on to the road. Her heart seemed about to burst from her chest into her mouth so great was the fear that fell on her and threatened to paralyze her. And she noted that here on the road no breath of wind stirred, but all was still and quiet.
She stood in the road and fought the urge to panic. What to do? She would not go back in that copse of trees for the world!
But what lay further ahead down the road? Were there terrors greater than this invisible wind that set the trees dancing and murmuring? For she had heard voices in the trees, speaking in a tongue she had never heard before. All of her life she had heard the old stories of the Tuadan, how they were banished from the heavens and took up abode in the hills and trees of Eirinia. Were the old stories true, then? Was it the Tuadan she had heard murmuring in the trees?
And then just as suddenly, Maelys heard another voice; the voice of her mother. She recalled Judoc speaking of the old legends and how the Eirini had been warned to stay on the path and never leave it. The path. That was it. She must remain on the road. For had not the voices stopped as soon as she returned to the road? Here all was still and quiet.
She bowed her head for a moment and quietly prayed.
What must I do, Dominio? Do I go back, or do I go forward? she asked silently, and waited.
Peace suddenly flooded her soul and words formed in her mind: remain on the road and go forward.
And with that warning in mind, she resolved to continue her journey, nevertheless casting an uneasy glance over her shoulder as she traveled on, careful to keep her feet on the path.
The sun was beginning to set and Maelys was nervously contemplating seeking shelter for the night. But where could she go? She had spent last night off the road under a maple tree but after the unnerving encounter with the Tuadan in the afternoon she was reluctant to take shelter under any tree!
She pondered on her dilemma when she suddenly heard the sound of horse’s hooves approaching. She turned around and saw that a small wagon covered with a hood of white canvas was drawing near. On the seat sat an old woman who seemed possessed of uncommon vigor for one of her years. She held the reins firmly in her hands and pulled up abruptly when she saw Maelys standing in the road.
“Here now, what do you think you be doing? I could have run you over, I could have. Be off with you now; either stand aside or take the consequences!”
Maelys came to her senses and rushed to the side of the wagon.
“Please,” she entreated the old woman as she flung back the hood of her cloak and revealed her face framed by the short crop of curls that had been a flowing fall of locks, “I am traveling alone and do not want to take shelter in the woods for the night. Will you please let me ride with you for a while, at least until daybreak?”
The old woman crinkled up the corners of her wrinkled eyelids and stared at Maelys. It was clear that she was suspicious of a young girl who traveled alone. Such was not done in Eirinia, or anywhere that she knew of. A maiden who traveled alone was clearly up to no good in her opinion!
“Why should I?” she snapped at Maelys. “What are you doing traveling alone? No decent maiden would do such a thing.”
“I have no choice,” Maelys answered, in a voice so forlorn that it arrested the attention of the old woman. “My father left home on a journey many weeks ago, and we have not heard from him, which is unlike him. My mother is at home with the children, and so I asked permission to go in search of him. I know where he was bound, but we begin to fear he did not reach his destination.”
And with these words a single tear traveled down the cheek of Maelys, a tear of such weariness and misery that it moved the old woman to pity. She studied Maelys through narrowed eyes; then she unexpectedly relented.
“Very well,” she said as she patted the seat beside her. “Hop up here and travel with me for a bit. I have linen to take to Valerium, where the merchants will pay me well for it. They will sell it to the seamstresses who make splendid robes for the fine ladies of the Empire. You will see something of the world in Valerium, a sight that a simple farm girl like you has never glimpsed I’ll wager.”
Maelys sprang up beside the old woman and merely nodded her head, relieved beyond words that she need not spend another frightening night in the haunted woods.
The old woman was known to the guards at the border, having made this journey many times, and they permitted them to pass at once. Indeed, Maelys was astonished at the terms of friendliness she enjoyed with the guards.
“Ah, Wenna!” a guard cried out upon spying the old woman. “Wenna is here!”
The guards along the wall all clustered together, and they jumped down from the wall and quickly surrounded her wagon with smiles and greetings, to the surprise of Maelys, who had always been told how cold the Valerians were. But these men greeted the old woman by name and bade her welcome without giving Maelys so much as a glance of curiosity.
The answer to the puzzle of this unexpected hospitality was soon provided, however, when Wenna drew a small wooden cask from under the seat of her wagon. So well was it hidden that Maelys had been unaware of its existence until this moment. The old woman’s face lit with a smile of cunning as she presented it to the guards.
“Oh, what have we here?” the first guard inquired as he smiled impishly at Wenna.
Wenna cackled and rubbed the side of her long nose where a bony bump protruded on it.
“Some of my finest blackberry, bottled myself. That should keep you lads warm on a chilly autumn night.”
The guards gave a rousing shout and laughed in hearty appreciation. Then they bowed to Wenna and waved her through the gate.
After they had passed through the gate and traveled along the road a mile or so, Wenna turned to Maelys with a glint of amusement in her eyes.
“Lucky you came with me, you are,” she chuckled in a low voice. “I hear the guards have been stopping everyone else; letting no one leave or enter Valerium’s borders. But they know old Wenna, that they do! I reckon I’m the only one you could have entered Valerium with unmolested. No one else can come through.”
Chapter XVIII
A Blessed Voyage
Maelys looked about with trepidation at the men loading crates and baggage from the dock to the small vessel that would soon draw anchor. She had taken leave of Wenna soon after they arrived in Valerium that morning. She thanked the old woman for sharing her wagon, but she must continue the rest of the journey alone.
Now as she prepared to embark on the sturdy little craft before her, she felt a momentary qualm at the sight of the men who loaded the ship. How many there were, and how tall and powerful. She did not take pleasure in the thought of traveling alone and unprotected in the presence of men like these. What would happen to her, should someone discover that she was a girl?
She had not hidden her identity from Wenna, and when they passed through the wall on the border of Valerium she had drawn the hood of her cloak over her head. Although she had taken the shears to her hair before setting out, cutting it to just below her ears, she feared that her delicate features betrayed a feminine cast despite the masculine cut of hair. But the voyage to Lycenium would take many days, and she was uncertain how long she could maintain her masquerade.
The arrival of new passengers caught her atte
ntion, and she saw a family approaching. It consisted of a tall but quiet man, his attractive wife, and a young woman of about her own age. They were clad in garments of a finer texture than any that Maelys had ever seen, and she became conscious suddenly of her robe of flax with the light woolen cloak, and her heavy shoes that encased her feet. The strangers wore sandals such as Marcus Maximus had worn on his recent visit to Erinia, and they looked fine and elegant compared to her own clumsy footwear.
The other girl spotted Maelys at once and gave her a friendly smile. She approached to speak to her, but Maelys gave a slight shake of her head to discourage her.
This bit of byplay was noticed by the young woman’s mother, who cast a curious glance at Maelys. And then she gave Maelys a long and meditative look that made the girl uncomfortable. Why should a complete stranger stare at her so intently?
And then Maelys realized with a start that the other girl had quickly penetrated her disguise, otherwise she would not have dared to speak to her. The girl would never have shown such friendliness toward a strange young man; it was absolutely forbidden. Maelys was now forced to admit that Judoc had been right: no one would mistake her for a young man, no matter how well she attempted to disguise herself.
It was not a comforting thought just when she was about to undertake a voyage with a ship full of men who were starved for the sight and company of a woman…
To her surprise, however, the other girl sauntered over to her and held out a hand.
“Hello,” she said as she bestowed a warm smile on Maelys.
Maelys cast beseeching eyes about her as she frantically sought a way of escape. The older woman noticed and suddenly strode over to her.
