by Serena Chase
“Once we breach the Wood,” Gladiel said when they stopped to water the horses at a stream, “it should take us no more than four days to reach our destination.”
To Rose’s relief and consternation, Sir Gladiel shared none of her apprehension. In fact, the nearer they came to the mysterious forest, the faster he rode and the wider he smiled. After a while, his manner served only to tighten the tension in her shoulders.
Stretching many days’ ride to each side, the immense wood tapered up to the point of their entrance. Gladiel didn’t hesitate for even a second when he reached the tree line. Rose gritted her teeth and followed him into the trees.
She leaned forward in the saddle, her knuckles white on its pommel. The sun, which had been a bit too bright reflecting on the snow-covered plain, was much dimmer when filtered through the canopy of ancient evergreens. It took several minutes for her eyes to adjust, but when they did, she was less than impressed by the rough road that, in Rose’s opinion, could barely be called a trail.
It must be seldom traveled. At that thought, she almost laughed. And no wonder. Who would want to visit the Great Wood?
After a few hours of tedious riding Rose’s patience reached its end. Fear of the Wood fueled her growing annoyance and her clenched jaw had brought on a dull headache, compounding her irritation. Every time she glanced at the knight and noticed how relaxed—no, happy—he seemed, she wanted to pull her hair out.
“That tree is called a Mynokk. It only grows here in the Wood,” he would say. Or, “Did you hear that bird call? That was a Great Wood Hawk. They’re quite rare. Beautiful birds. The breast is almost silver and the wings are dark blue.”
Gladiel acted as if they were on their way to a village faire, traversing some scenic byway rather than the ramshackle excuse for a trail they had actually taken. Without seeming to need a response from his companion, he kept up a cheerful monologue, naming the surrounding flora and fauna. When Rose finally let out the exasperated growl of breath she had been trying to hold in, he turned.
“Is something wrong?”
“One would think,” Rose said, grinding her teeth as she urged Stanza to step around yet another fallen tree, “that the Regent of Mynissbyr would give a little more consideration to travelers in caring for the upkeep of his roads!”
Sir Gladiel’s mouth dropped open. He looked back at the trail they had passed, ahead to where they would go, and then, to Rose’s utter disgust, he grinned.
“Yes,” he said with a chuckle. “I suppose he should!”
Rose ground her teeth again and refused to look at him.
“I’m sorry you find this road difficult, Rose, but its, er . . . lack of care,” his lip twitched on the words, “serves our purposes much better than would a well-maintained road.” The knight coughed, a sound Rose knew was an attempt to hide a laugh. He cleared his throat. “These trails are just one of the many reasons people steer clear of Mynissbyr. Be glad. You will be safer here because of the Regent’s,” he coughed again, “neglect.”
After two or three hours passed there seemed to be a marked improvement in the condition of the trail. Rose hadn’t realized what a blessing the poor trail had been. With less need for concentration, her mind wandered back to Rowlen’s tale. She peered into the trees, jumping at the slightest sound, as if she expected some hideous creature to charge out of the woods and devour her, Sir Gladiel, and their horses.
They continued thus for several hours. Every muscle in Rose’s body remained taut and her eyes were sore from darting about the suffocating surround of evergreen foliage. Finally, they reached a fork in the path.
Sir Gladiel turned to Rose. “From here we go east.” His brow furrowed. He tilted his head. “Rose, you’re so pale. Are you feeling ill?”
“No. I’m fine. Let’s keep moving.”
Suddenly, the branches overhead rustled and swayed, letting a shower of evergreen needles down. A small squeal escaped Rose’s lips as she ducked.
Gladiel laughed. “I didn’t take you for the type who’d be afraid of squirrels.”
“It was a—? Oh.” Rose’s cheeks flamed. “I thought—” Her embarrassment refueled the frustration that had been weighing on her for hours. “The Storytellers in Veetri have many tales of the Great Wood, Sir Gladiel. Stories of strange beasts, and creatures that are half-man and half-bear.”
“Indeed.” Gladiel’s smile disappeared. “Many legends have originated in these woods, Rose, and people fear Mynissbyr for that reason. For the most part, their fears are unfounded. But people tend to be quite stubborn when it comes to holding on to their superstitions.” He tilted his head. “You experienced that firsthand with Lord Whittier’s housekeeper, did you not?”
Rose swallowed and nodded. “When Mrs. Scyles found out I had ebonswarth powder she assumed I was a witch.”
“Did you ever use the powder for evil gain?”
“Of course not! I only used it to dye my hair. You know that!”
“Exactly.”
Rose opened her mouth to argue, but snapped it shut. “It’s not the same.”
“No, it isn’t. Because of the widespread telling of tales about Mynissbyr Wood, the superstitions are much more prevalent than those of the rare few who are familiar with the uses of ebonswarth root powder. The Storytellers have embellished the legends of Mynissbyr, Rose. And no matter how much those of us who love the Great Wood speak against superstition, the people refuse to be swayed. But,” his tone brightened suddenly, “as with these sadly neglected trails, this also will serve our particular purpose well.”
“So the stories are not true?” she asked.
“Not as you have heard them, I’m sure. As with many stories told and retold over time, tales of the Great Wood have lost their way. The stories are rooted in truth, of course, but truth is no longer the focus of the tale.”
“And the Bear-men?” Rose’s gaze darted all around. “They still exist?”
“In a way, yes,” he paused. “The legacy of the Bear-men of Mynissbyr is alive and well. But you, of all people, have nothing to fear from them.”
“Me? But why not?”
Gladiel’s eyes slid shut. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“But you did, so you might as well tell me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
Gladiel’s brow narrowed. “I would think by now you would know better than to ask.”
“And I would think that by now you would know better than to make leading statements with no intention of explaining yourself!” Rose slapped a hand over her mouth. “Forgive me,” she said as she lowered her hand and her eyes. “I should not have spoken so.”
Gladiel lifted a hand to smooth his beard, but Rose knew he was only trying to hide a smile. After a moment, he lowered his hand. “Would it anger you more if I were to tell you that you reminded me of your father just then?”
Rose thought to deny it, but at the last second changed her mind. “Most likely, yes.”
“In that case,” Gladiel said with a wink that drained Rose’s anger, “I will keep that thought to myself. But regardless of what strange tales you may have heard in Veetri, I can assure you that there is nothing within Mynissbyr Wood from which my sword cannot protect you.”
Rose looked up in the trees where the squirrel now scolded her presence and felt a little silly.
“We’ll be going this way,” Gladiel motioned to the eastern trail, “but only for about two miles. My brother Ayden’s home is near. Tonight we will take our rest in real beds, with a warm meal in our bellies!”
“That sounds good.”
“Our day will start early tomorrow and end late, so a good night’s sleep will serve us well. The trail will become a bit more arduous as we near the river.”
Rose lifted an eyebrow. “It gets worse?”
“You’re a good rider. You’re up to it,” Gladiel smiled. “We’ll need to camp in the Wood at least one night. But you needn’t fear. We are better
protected in Mynissbyr than practically anywhere else in E’veria. The enemy still fears the legends of these woods, and at least in that way we have some assurance of your safety.” The sudden change in Gladiel’s tone sent a shiver up her spine. “I do not exaggerate when I say that E’veria is entering her darkest days in many generations.”
Rose fought her trepidation by offering a lighthearted comment. “It’s a shame the stories aren’t real. Otherwise, perhaps Lady Anya might step out of them and yet come to our aid.”
Gladiel arched an eyebrow. “I said most of the Veetrish stories are exaggerated, Rose, but they are not entirely without redemptive merit. Lady Anya was a real person and the battle she fought in is one of the great triumphs of E’veria’s history.”
Rose’s laugh startled Stanza and he whinnied. “Surely you don’t expect me to believe that a young girl could rally an army of mythological beasts to win a war?”
“More wondrous things have happened in E’veria than a sixteen-year-old girl leading an army.”
Rose laughed. “An army of Bear-men?”
“Yes.”
Her smile fell. “You really believe the story?”
“Yes.” Gladiel nodded. “But not as the Veetrish tell it.” His smile went suddenly lopsided, giving him an almost boyish look, though the black beard surrounding it was salted with white. “The Bear-men are quite human. And although I consider myself quite knowledgeable on the subject, you would do well to ask my brother. Ayden is a scholar. A historian, if you will. He will be most glad for an ear to listen to the true, historically documented tale of Lady Anya. Shall we?”
Without waiting for her assent, Gladiel spurred his horse. Rose leaned forward in her saddle as Stanza raced to catch up.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Ayden de Vonsar’s cottage rose from the clearing like a frozen giant. Made of logs stained grayish-brown by the weather, it fit into the surroundings as perfectly as if it had grown up among the trees. Above the second story, a thatched roof gave the home the appearance of a large bird’s nest that had fallen from a mammoth tree. Gladiel rode straight to a small barn situated a short distance beyond house. By the time Rose dismounted, he had already begun removing his horse’s saddle.
At the scrape of a door, she turned her eyes toward the house. A man walked toward them with a smile as open as his arms.
“Welcome, welcome, weary travelers! It is so very nice to have—” He blinked. “Gladiel!” The men embraced. “What brings you to darken my door? And who might your lovely companion be?”
Rose blushed as Sir Gladiel introduced her. “May I present Lady Rose . . . de Whittier. Rose, this is my brother, Ayden de Vonsar.”
Rose curtsied. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Sir Ayden.”
He bowed in return and smiled up at her, his hazel-green eyes twinkling. “There will be no sirring of me, my lady, for I am no knight. Too short, you see?”
Rose laughed. He wasn’t what she would consider short, but neither did he possess the giant-like form of his brother.
“Gladiel may have received the bulk of the height in the family,” he said, “but all was not lost to me, for I’ve inherited the vast majority of our family’s intellect.”
Gladiel snorted.
“Call me Ayden, if you please,” he said, “for I cannot abide formality. And I’d wager you’re not used to being held to it, either. You are Veetrish, yes?”
Rose didn’t want to lie, so she phrased her answer carefully. “I come from Veetri, yes.”
“Are you a Storyteller, perhaps?”
She shook her head.
“Ah, I didn’t think so. You haven’t the eyes for it. In fact,” he said, peering closer at her face, “if I had to guess your origins based solely on your eyes, I would have to say you are—”
“Is Bess about?” Gladiel interrupted.
“Of course.” He turned back to Rose. “Bess is my housekeeper. And I’ll wager she’ll be glad to see a feminine face as surely as I would guess you’re ready for a good, hot meal and some, eh, intelligent conversation.” Ayden chuckled and elbowed his brother’s side.
“Don’t worry, Rose,” Gladiel said with a laugh, “I’ll be along shortly to provide it.”
Rose smiled and shook her head, feeling a pang of longing for the banter she shared with her own brothers. “Ayden, Sir Gladiel informs me that my Veetrish upbringing has not provided me with the most accurate information concerning this wood.”
Ayden nodded. “Likely true.”
“He also mentioned that you are an authority on the subject of Lady Anya. I must admit I’m curious to learn the real story behind the Storytellers’ legends.”
“A young lady searching for truth! How refreshing! Most people who pass this way simply want directions for the swiftest path out of Mynissbyr!” Ayden laughed as he removed Rose’s saddlebags from Stanza. “I’m afraid my stable hand is gone for the next week. Off on a hunt.”
“You don’t employ a huntsman?”
“Oh yes, I do. But it just happens that my huntsman is also my gardener and my stable hand.” He laughed. “I am more than capable of taking care of your horse, my lady.”
“You two go on up to the house,” Gladiel said. “I’ll care for the horses and be along in a bit. These worthy beasts deserve a thorough rubdown and a large helping of oats after their journey, and I’m sure Rose will welcome a fresh conversationalist. Even if he is my little brother.”
Rose took Ayden’s offered arm and he led her to the house.
The dark log exterior belied the bright cheerfulness inside. Whitewashed walls and open shutters let sunshine rule the space. Crouched before a large, southern facing window was a monstrous table with just one leather-upholstered chair. Neatly arranged on the table were bottles of ink, labeled for their different pigments. Near the inkwells, artfully blown glass vases held a beautiful assortment of quills: some of metal, some with feathered tops, and some that looked to be encrusted with gems. Every other wall in the room was lined with bookcases, where hundreds of books and neatly rolled scrolls were stacked on well-organized shelves.
“This room gets the most daylight of any in the house, so I use it to do my work,” Ayden explained. “We aren’t really set up for visitors, but I think you’ll find the accommodations acceptable. Mynissbyr Wood is not a popular destination.” Ayden laughed at his own joke, and, weary of the trail’s tension, Rose welcomed the sound.
“I’ll show you to your room and send my housekeeper up to assist you.” He led Rose upstairs to a room that overlooked the stable.
Ayden moved toward the bed. “If you pull this cord,” he said, “it alerts Bess that you need her assistance.” He demonstrated. Rose heard a distant tinkling sound from somewhere below.
While Ayden deposited the saddlebags near the armoire, Rose moved toward a looking glass that hung on the wall opposite the window. She pulled the woolen cap from her head, dismayed to see that many of her black curls had escaped their coils, snagging numerous leaf fragments and tiny twigs.
Rose gazed around the room and was pleased to discover a small but adequate bathtub that was near a strange contraption coming out of the floor. Curiosity drew her to it. “What is this?”
“Ah, yes!” Ayden’s eyes sparkled with delight. “It’s a rather simple device, but I’ll admit it is something of a luxury. I have a large vat of water in a room just off the kitchen that is kept warm at all times. We have such a ready supply of wood, you see. When a bath is needed, the fire beneath the vat is increased, which builds a head of steam. Turning this handle,” he said, pointing to a hexagonal knob, “opens a valve that allows the pressure of the steam to force the hot water up through the pipes. It takes a bit of work to get the fire hot enough, but not as much as it takes to heat and haul water up the stairs, one bucket at a time!” He paused as if it was just a trifling matter. “I installed a similar system at Fyrlean Manor not five summers ago, and shortly thereafter the King requested the plans. I believe they rec
ently installed several of my designs in Castle Rynwyk as well as at Holiday Palace in Port Dyn.” Ayden chuckled again, and sighed, “Gladiel assures me the design will be in high demand all over E’veria soon.”
Rose eyed the engineering marvel, thinking how much time such a thing could have saved the maids in Lord Whittier’s house the past few years. “It’s ingenious.”
“Thank you. It’s nothing really. I just thought to lessen Bess’s workload a bit.” Ayden looked down at the floor until footsteps sounded on the stairs. “And there she is.”
He turned to address the housekeeper. “Bess, this is Lady Rose . . . de Whittier, did you say?”
Rose nodded and willed the mist from her eyes. It wasn’t her real name, of course, but it was the closest thing she had.
“Lady Rose is traveling with my brother.”
“My lady,” the short, gray-haired lady gave a small curtsy.
“I’ll leave you, then.” Ayden shut the door as he left.
“Would you like me to unpack your bags, mistress?”
“That won’t be necessary. Sir Gladiel and I are just staying the night. We’ll most likely leave before dawn.” She looked at the tub. “I would dearly love to bathe, though, if it’s not too much trouble?”
“Of course.” Bess’s smile widened. “The earl’s invention takes all the trouble out of it.”
“Ayden is an earl?”
“Well, naturally!” Bess walked to the tub and began cranking the strange knob. “Since Sir Gladiel is the Regent of Mynissbyr, it follows that Milord Ayden, being the younger son, would be the earl. You’d never know it, of course. None in that family put on airs like most of the nobility.”
Rose dropped her hat. Sir Gladiel is the Regent of Mynissbyr? The memory of a comment she’d made earlier flushed her face. “I thought Sir Gladiel was a knight!”
Bess blinked in surprise. “Why, of course he’s a knight! One of the most honored knights in the land, from what I understand.”
“But you just said he is the Regent!”
