The Dothan Chronicles: The Complete Trilogy

by Charissa Dufour

  Mixed in with the Zemê, Bethany noticed a surprising number of what she considered “normal” people—those dressed in the garb of the Domhain, Aardê, and Tokë nations. Most of them were camped near the northern edge of village. Finally, they emerged from the tent city and Bethany let out a gasp as she took on the rolling slopes of endless sand. She looked from the east to the west, as far as her eyes could reach, and saw nothing but sand.

  “How do we cross this?”

  “With a lot of help,” grumbled the knight. The knight stared at her for a second before continuing. “Do you trust me?”

  “Do I have to answer that?”

  Erin laughed for a second. “Tie Dinner up to that stake and follow me.”

  Bethany obeyed, her stomach turning and her heart beginning a climb into her throat. What does he have in mind?

  Erin led them into what appeared to be the village center. Really it was just a small clearing with no tents, but Bethany spotted a small knot of women gossiping in one corner. Other villagers crossed the clearing as though it were a central hub of their small world.

  “Go stand in that corner,” Erin motioned toward a little area shaded by one of the taller tents. “And don’t interfere, no matter what happens.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “You’ll see. Now, obey.”

  Bethany ground her teeth together, but did as she was told. As she made her way to her corner, Erin walked to the center of the clearing, leading Éimhin behind him. When he reached the center, he spoke loud enough for half the village to hear:

  “Win a warhorse! Three silver to fight me. First blood takes all.”

  Bethany felt her jaw drop. Was he serious? He couldn’t actually intend to risk losing Éimhin for a few silver pieces! Bethany moved to stop him, but at just the right moment he turned to glare at her. Bethany swallowed the sudden lump in her throat and stepped back into her shadow.

  “Three silvers at a chance for this vicious warhorse.”

  Bethany nearly laughed at his description, but kept her mouth shut, trying not to draw attention to herself. From where she stood, she could see the small groups in the village center begin to grow as they whispered amongst themselves. Finally, a burly man dressed in flowing robes and an odd hat stepped forward. He drew a long, curved blade and grinned at Erin.

  The knight handed the horse’s lead to a small lad, giving the boy a firm glare, before turning back to his opponent. Bethany watched, her heart climbing into her throat, as they battled, dancing across the dry, packed earth. The crowds of women cried and gasped with each near miss. Bethany wanted to voice her own concerns, but knew she was supposed to remain unnoticed. She bit down on her tongue until it hurt.

  It felt like an eternity, but in reality the swordplay only lasted a few minutes. While skilled, his opponent was nowhere near Erin’s caliber of warrior. The knight was wise enough to draw it out to keep the other men interested. If he ended it too soon, no one else would think they had a chance at his horse or his purse, but in the end he nicked his opponent on the arm. It wasn’t a war-wound, rather just enough to end the game.

  The man handed Erin his three silvers, grabbed his cut arm, and stomped away.

  “Anyone else?” called Erin. “Three silvers for your chance at my purse and this mighty warhorse.”

  It didn’t take long before another, larger man took up the challenge. Bethany bit down on her tongue again, new anxiety building in her chest. How long would he continue this game in under the blaring sun and in his full armor?

  This fight lasted a little longer and from Bethany’s perspective, she didn’t think Erin was drawing it out for show. This larger man had more skill than the last, but Erin was still faster. In the end, the result was the same. Erin nicked the man in the gut, just enough to end the competition. Like the last, the large man paid his three silver and stormed away.

  The wait this time was a little longer. After watching two men get beaten, the locals were less inclined to attempt a confrontation. Bethany slipped out of her shaded corner and snuck around the growing audience. She stopped behind one of the smaller clusters of women and spoke quietly.

  “He’s kinda ruggedly handsome,” she tittered.

  Without turning to look at her, the women murmured there assent.

  “You think anyone else’ll try him?”

  Again, the women murmured a response Bethany didn’t bother to listen to. Finally, one of them giggled, followed quickly by the others. Bethany glanced at one of the knots of men. They were looking at the women, their egos properly prodded by the female amusement. At last, a man with broad shoulders and muscular legs stepped forward, drawing a large sword. The locals let out a mighty cheer for the enormous man.

  As they applauded, Bethany slipped back to her corner, hoping Erin hadn’t noticed her small disobedience.

  Erin’s opponent walked halfway across the clearing before bursting into a run and charging. The knight waited ‘till the last possible second before side-stepping. The big man lunged past him and nearly stumbled into the on-lookers. He turned quickly, raising his sword to defend against an attack that didn’t come. Erin stood back a few paces, propped on the balls of his feet, ready for his opponent. Like before, the big man rushed him and Erin easily ducked out of his reach.

  In the heat of the desert, Erin was leaving the larger man to do the hard work.

  Slowly, the big man learned from his mistakes. He began taking things more slowly, planning his attacks, and waiting for openings. Erin didn’t give him many, but Bethany still felt her heart climb into her throat. This fight was giving everyone a better show than the last two. To Bethany, it was not nearly as enjoyable.

  Finally, when both men were sweating in the wasteland heat, Erin took a few quick steps, jabbed at his enemy in a quick succession of moves, and finally sliced him across the shoulder. For once, it wasn’t a little slice. Erin didn’t have the time or patience to be so careful. He just had to finish it.

  The man let out a cry of pain and rage, while two women jumped forward to staunch the flow of blood. The big man waved them aside until he had paid Erin the coins. Erin took them, retrieved Éimhin from the young lad, and began to cross the small clearing. Before he could reach Bethany, an elderly man stopped him. From where she stood, Bethany couldn’t hear their conversation over the hub-bub of the dispersing crowd. She stayed where she was, hoping he would fill her in later.

  Finally, Erin shook hands with the man and rejoined her.

  “What was that about?” she asked as he approached.

  Erin nudged her into motion as he spoke. “That man has offered us passage in his caravan leaving tomorrow, for free.”

  “Free?”

  “Well. Almost. I am to act as a guard in exchange for passage. It seems my little plan worked doubly in our favor.”

  “Indeed.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Pelor watched as the scarred man battled a third opponent.

  It was him. Pelor was sure of it, but he couldn’t approach the man until he’d seen the girl, whoever she was. He couldn’t bring just one of them back to Wolfric.

  The scarred man, Sir Erin Caldry, was a good fighter. Pelor would have to take him by surprise. He might even need to hire some muscle. Pelor pulled his cloak tightly around his shoulders. It looked odd to be wearing a cloak in this heat, but it would be better to look odd than to show the military uniform Wolfric had insisted he wear.

  After a tense battle, the knight finally won. The angry loser paid him the coins and stomped off, under the care of two women. Before Pelor could decide what to do, an elderly man approached the knight and talked with him. When the conversation ended, Pelor watched the knight approach a rather bedraggled looking young woman.

  She wore snug, leather trousers that outlined her legs and boots that looked to be a size or two too big. Her tunic was loosened around her neck down to the neckline of a leather jerkin. From her hip hung a short sword. Her dirty blonde hair was mostl
y left loose, except for two small braid starting at temples. The arrangement kept her hair out of her face, though most of the loose hair was beginning to mat into long, separated strips.

  Pelor kept one eye on them as he intercepted the old man.

  “You there,” he began, pulling his cloak aside to show the Aardê insignia on his tabard. “May I have a word?”

  “Of course, sir,” said the Zemê man with a little bow.

  “That man you were just speaking to. You know him?”

  “I just hired him to protect my caravan in exchange for passage for two individuals.”

  “Well, I’m afraid they won’t be able join you. They are wanted by King Wolfric. Do you have some men to help me capture them?” he asked.

  The man glanced back at the insignia before nodding slowly. “They are going to my tent as we speak.”

  Pelor nodded.

  “This way.”

  Pelor knew the man was obeying out of fear, but he didn’t care.

  Let the Zemê cower before the stupid insignia.

  He never thought of it as powerful, and yet they were showing just how authoritative a little bit of thread could be. Granted, Pelor knew they obeyed him for fear that Wolfric would decide to finally conquer them properly.

  He followed the old man into the throng of tents.

  After they passed a few tents, the old man turned into a shaded space behind one of the larger tents. Standing in the shade were the three men Sir Caldry had beaten. They immediately turned to the older man and began grumbling.

  “Did you really hire that man?”

  “We don’t need him!”

  “Silence,” barked the older man. “This man is an agent of King Wolfric’s, and he has just informed me that that man is wanted by the king. We will help him capture that man and his companion, as is our duty to the king.”

  The men began to smile and crack their thick knuckles.

  “They’ll be at our tent by now. This way.”

  The old man led them through the maze of tents until he stopped at a small one on the very edge of the village. The door flap was closed, but he could hear soft voices from within.

  “You men wait out here. I’ll call if you’re needed. Stop them if they try to run,” ordered Pelor.

  The old man flipped the flap opened and ushered Pelor in. He ducked his head to enter.

  While small, the tent was one of the few tall enough for a man to stand in. The floors were carpeted in woven rugs with intricate patterns. In one corner sat a small earthen fire place. A woman knelt, cooking over the low burning coals. In the other corner of the tent sat his prey.

  “Found you at last,” he said with a smirk.

  “Come with me,” said the old man to the woman. The old woman nodded before climbing to her feet and exiting the tent.

  Slowly, so as not to startle anyone, the knight pushed the young woman behind him.

  “Get behind me,” whispered the knight.

  Pelor couldn’t help but laugh a little. “It’s time to go back to Wolfric. I’ve got three men out there, eager for a little payback, if you should chose to run.”

  “It’s time to go back to Wolfric. I’ve got three men out there, eager for a little payback, if you should chose to run,” said the man standing between them and the tent entrance. He shrugged out of the cloak, revealing a tabard donned with the insignia of a high ranking officer in Wolfric’s army.

  Bethany couldn’t believe her eyes. What was Sir Pelor doing here, much less working for Wolfric?

  She gently placed her hand on Erin’s arm before crawling out from behind him. The knight tried to stop her, but she shushed him.

  “Don’t think you can plead with those sad eyes, little lady,” said Pelor.

  “Sir Pelor? Is that you?” she asked, eyeing his familiar features.

  The man looked at her more closely and slowly recognition dawn.

  “Pr-Princess Bethany?” he asked, a look of shock and confusion altering his features.

  “Pelor!” Bethany cried, running to him and throwing her arms around him in a big, undignified hug.

  To her surprise, her old friend pushed her away, taking a step back.

  “Pelor, what are you doing? Are you working for Wolfric now?” Bethany asked, trying to regain her composure.

  Pelor stared at her for another minute before his expression folded into a glare. “Yes.”

  “What? Why? What happened?”

  “You know him?” asked the scarred man.

  “He worked for my father. Pelor, what happened? How can you work for Wolfric?”

  “A man does what he must to fill his belly.” He paused. “I was accused of negligence when you…you disappeared. King Middin banished me.”

  “I’m so sorry, Pelor,” she said, crossing to him and trying to take his hand.

  “Save your pity.”

  Bethany hesitated. She wasn’t been prepared for his ire. “I was kidnapped in the woods. Sold into slavery. This knight is helping me get home. Come with us. I’ll explain everything to my fa… to my brother.”

  “Your brother?” he asked.

  Bethany swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. “King Middin is dead.”

  Pelor didn’t respond for a few minutes. Bethany chose not to speak either, and was glad to see Erin was willing to follow her cues. She glanced over at him and saw his hand twitch toward his sword. She shook her head slightly and he relaxed.

  “Serves him right,” Pelor finally mumbled.

  “Pelor!”

  “He reduced me to this.”

  “What is this?” demanded Bethany.

  “This!” snapped Pelor. “A man reduced to beg for his next meal. Have you ever starved, Princess Bethany?”

  “Yes,” she bit back. “I was a slave in Wolfric’s home for four months. I have starved. But I never lost my honor.”

  “Well, then you are a better person than me! Middin shoved me out the door without a moment’s hesitation. No reference. No help finding a new position, and what’s worse, he banished me from all of Tokë. I had nothing to do but turn to his enemies for employment. He made me into this, all because he loved you and believed you’d died while under my care.”

  “But I didn’t. I can set this all right. Just come with us.”

  “What? And beg for my old position back. Your family couldn’t trust me when it really mattered. Why should I trust them? No. I’m taking you back to Wolfric.”

  “Then you take me back to my death. Wolfric intends to hang us both.”

  “Good!” barked Pelor. “At least then I’ll deserve the punishment I’ve been enduring. Now c’mon. We have a long way back to Tolad.”

  “She’s not going with you,” snapped Erin.

  “Men!” called Pelor.

  The tent flap opened and the three men Erin had fought marched in, malice easily visible on their faces.

  “You are coming with me. Dead or alive.”

  “Pelor, how can you do this?” Bethany pleaded.

  “I do what I must to make a living.”

  “Have you no honor?” she asked.

  Pelor burst into laughter. “Honor is for the well fed. Now c’mon.”

  Bethany glanced at Erin. He placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her through the small group of men and out the tent.

  “What are we going to do?” she whispered.

  “Ssshhh.”

  “Take their weapons and tie them up,” Pelor ordered, his voice hard and distant.

  Two of the men moved toward Bethany and two toward Erin. They took their weapons, tossing them on the ground, while the old man ducked into the tent, returning with two lengths of rope.

  Bethany felt a wave of panic wash over her as they jerked her hands behind her back and began wrapping the ropes around her wrist. One of the men brushed against her, a leering smile plastered to his face as his hands traveled away from her wrists.

  Before she knew what had happened, Erin had burst into action, jer
king against the half-finished bonds on his wrists.

  “Don’t touch her,” he barked.

  The men had lost their grip on one of his arms, while the rope became entangled around the other wrist. They jerked on the tangled rope as though it had been a leash on a large dog. The jolt was hard enough to dislocate Erin’s shoulder. He dropped to his knees with a groan, sweat instantly beading across his forehead.

  The vengeful locals hauled him to his feet, ignoring his injured arm.

  “Stop!” Bethany called, fresh panic making it hard to breath. “He’s hurt. His shoulder is dislocated. Let me set it.”

  “Silence,” snapped Pelor.

  “Like we ain’t hurt worse,” grumbled one of the men.

  “Get their hands tied.”

  “They have a horse and a donkey,” informed the old man.

  “Send for them,” ordered Pelor. “That will save me buying an animal for them to ride.”

  Bethany stared at him with newfound wonder. He had once been so kind and gentle; a soft light in her otherwise dark world. Was this really the man who had once pledged his love to her?

  Yes, and that was the problem. He had loved her and she had rebuked him, scorned him even. Had he loved her less, or had she belittled him less, he might have been willing to help them make it to Dothan now, but his heart was too badly wounded.

  If she had been a kinder person back then, if she had been who she was now, then maybe she would have seen the value of a man like Pelor. She might have even loved him back.

  Bethany came to this world-shattering realization in a heartbeat. She had not been a nice person before her trials, and now she was returning home quite different. Only she wasn’t going home. Pelor was taking her back to Wolfric and Féderic, back to be executed.

  Before she could find the words needed to change Pelor’s mind, the old man returned with Éimhin, Dinner, and a spirited mare Bethany assumed belonged to Pelor.