Etzel had stopped sharpening his dagger, looking at his eldest son with some horror in his expression. “You saw Bramley?” he repeated, nearly choking on the words. “Why? Brynner, in God’s name, why would you do such a thing? You have not spoken to me in months, yet you have taken the time to go behind my back and meet with Bramley?”
Brynner could see the fire in his father’s eyes now, the fire of betrayal. He sought to play his hand. “That was not exactly how it happened, but I will not explain those facts,” he said. “They do not matter, anyway. The fact of the matter is that Shadowmoor is my legacy. I do not want it. Bramley does. When you die, I am going to turn it over to him, anyway, so why continue to suffer for something that will soon come to an end? I do not want this place, Father. I want you to give it to Bramley.”
Etzel set the pumice stone and the dagger onto the table, looking at his son as if the man had completely lost his mind. He shook his head, bewildered. “You want me to give it to him?” he said, aghast. “You have completely lost your mind, boy. Why would I do such a thing?”
Brynner sat back on the bench a little, away from the strike of the very sharp dagger that his father had put on the tabletop. “Because it is worthless to us,” he said. “It has been worthless to us for generations but your foolish sense of duty and family causes you to see golden towers and cherished memories here where none exist. You were stupid to turn down Bramley’s offer in the first place. He is willing to pay good money for this place. Why did you not take him upon on his offer when he first came to you? It is your fault that Shadowmoor has deteriorated so terribly, Father. Your selfishness has brought us to ruin.”
Etzel could hardly believe what he was hearing. He’d hardly had ten words with his son over the past few years and now, he was hearing more than what he wanted to. Somehow, somewhat, Brynner was now an ally of Bramley. Etzel didn’t know how it had happened, but it had. He couldn’t even feel hurt or betrayal any longer; all he could feel was unadulterated astonishment.
“You are mad,” he hissed.
Brynner’s eyes narrowed. “Mayhap I am, but at least I will not be starving after you are dead,” he said. “I will turn this entire place over to Bramley and welcome him. But I do not want to wait that long. If you truly adore your family as you say you do, then you will turn it over now without further delay. Bramley may still be willing to compensate you for it. Or do you take great pleasure in watching your children starve?”
Etzel had heard enough. Moving fast for an old man, he stood up and lashed out a big hand, slapping Brynner across the face. Brynner nearly toppled over with the force of the hit, managing to roll awkwardly onto his feet so that he was no longer in his father’s range. He stood up, glaring at his father, as Etzel nearly climbed onto the tabletop to get at him.
“Shut your drunken mouth,” Etzel growled. “You are who would spend your days and nights drowning in any kind of ale or wine you can find, crumbling under the weight of memories that you have allowed to destroy you. It is you who are worthless, not Shadowmoor. You were my shining star, my eldest son, and I was immensely proud of you until you turned into a spineless weakling because some woman refused to marry you. Anyone who allows himself to become a slave to a lost love has no right to accuse me of being selfish. You embody all that it means to be selfish and hopeless!”
His words hit Brynner right in the gut, right where he was most vulnerable, as he brought up the loss of the Lady Maud. Brynner’s smug manner vanished.
“If I had any respect for you, those words might have hurt me,” he said. “As it is, they are hollow. Father, you have no choice in the matter. Give Shadowmoor over to Bramley and he may compensate you well for it. Go live out your life in the city somewhere and spend your money. Take Gunnar and at least let the lad know what it is not to be hungry. At least try to provide for him as a father would.”
Etzel was pale with rage. “Liselotte and Gunnar know….”
Brynner cut him off. “Liselotte will go with Bramley,” he said. “He has made that clear. I do not understand your aversion to his marital offer. Do you think she will have a better one than that, dressing in rags and living like an animal? No decent man will want her. Bramley offers her a good life. You are a fool to have refused it for this long.”
Etzel just stared at him. The disbelief, the rage, was fading as he came to understand that this situation was about to turn very, very bad. If Brynner was allied with Bramley, then Bramley had someone inside of Shadowmoor who could do a great deal of damage. It was a shame, truly. In spite of Brynner’s behavior over the past several years, the fact remained that he was still Etzel’s son. He remembered Brynner as a young boy, bright and happy, and he had loved that little boy. Somewhere, however, that little boy had died and Etzel had tried to love the sullen drunken man who had taken his place. But looking at Brynner now, it was like he was looking at a stranger.
An enemy.
He had to protect himself.
“Go away, Brynner,” he told him. “Go back to Bramley and tell him that he cannot have Shadowmoor or Liselotte. In fact, since you are such good friends with Bramley, you can remain with him. You are not welcome at Shadowmoor. Get out of here now before I kill you.”
Brynner didn’t move. “You cannot banish me so easily,” he said. “I am still your son, your heir. When you die, this heap of ruins becomes mine and I am not leaving it.”
Etzel picked up the dagger on the tabletop. “I told you to get out.”
Brynner eyed the dagger. “I will not.”
Etzel was infuriated enough, and frightened enough, to be reckless. Instead of leaping over the tabletop as he’d done before, he walked around the table and approached his son, brandishing the dagger between them. The look in his eye was a distinct mixture of sorrow and fear.
“I do not know how you became what you are, Brynner,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Some demon inside of you has made you careless and greedy and wicked. I will not give Bramley Shadowmoor. I do not want you to have it, either, knowing what you will do with it, and your sister, after my death. I therefore disown you. I will make Gunnar my heir. It is within my right. You and your wickedness no longer exist to me and you will leave my sight forever. I will not tell you again.”
Brynner’s eyes glittered, his focus moving between his father’s face and the dagger in the man’s hand. There was a flash of doubt in what he was doing, in the truth of his father’s words, but that flash was just as quickly gone. He could see now what he had to do; his father would have to die. There was no choice now, especially if Etzel was threatening him. He knew there would never be peace between them now, not ever. From this point forward, it would always be a fight for his life.
The honorable son in him was sorry that he would never again know happiness with his father, but the drunkard who would stop at nothing to get his next drink didn’t care in the least. That man was stronger. Quick as a flash, Brynner reached out and grabbed his father’s hand as it clutched the dagger. From that point, the fight was on.
They struggled over the dagger for several long and painful moments, each man trying to wrest it from the other. Etzel had been strong in his youth but that had diminished with age, and Brynner’s strength was sapped by the drink, so it was nearly a fair fight. But that was until Brynner lifted a fist and struck his father in the face. Etzel saw stars and stumbled back, falling over the tabletop.
Brynner had the dagger now and pounced on his father, but Etzel was able to grab the man’s wrist and prevent him from plunging the dagger into his chest. Etzel lifted a knee, ramming Brynner between the legs, and Brynner grunted and faltered but maintained his hold on the knife. The two of them rolled over the tabletop and onto the floor, kicking and punching, each man trying to gain control of the weapon.
Etzel was eventually able to knock the dagger out of Brynner’s hand and the blade went sliding across the floor towards the fire pit. Both of them scrambled after it but Brynner was faster. He picked it up and turned it
on his father as the man ran at him.
Seeing the very sharp blade pointed right at him, Etzel tried to stop his forward momentum but he couldn’t; he stumbled and fell forward onto the dagger, slicing it through his chest and into his heart. Blood gushed as he collapsed, falling head-first into the fire pit.
He was dead before hit the ground.
Stunned, and breathing heavily, Brynner turned to see his father half in the fire pit, catching fire from the waist up. He could clearly see the dagger protruding from Etzel’s chest and shocked hands flew to his head in disbelief of what he had done. He hadn’t really meant to kill him, only to take the dagger from him. The honorable son made a resurgence as he grabbed hold of Etzel’s feet and pulled him out of the flame.
But it was too late. Etzel’s torso and head were on fire and Brynner kicked dirt up over him, trying to extinguish the flames as the scent of burnt flesh mingled with that of the stench of urine. Once the flames were out sufficiently, Brynner put his hand on Etzel’s neck to feel that there was no pulse. His father was dead. Then he tried to pull the dagger out of Etzel’s chest but burned his fingers on the scorching metal, so he left it there.
Brynner stood up, staring down at his father and absorbing what he had done. He didn’t feel the satisfaction he thought he would at his father’s death. In fact, he felt some emptiness now. Perhaps it was that honorable son again attempting to feel some grief. Whatever the feeling was, it quickly vanished. Brynner refused to give it any thought. The only thing that mattered now was that Etzel was dead and Shadowmoor now belonged to him.
To Bramley.
With that thought, he went in search of his sister.
CHAPTER TEN
“You must like it,” Daniel said.
If Liselotte’s mouth hadn’t been full, she would have agreed, but it was a fact that her mouth and Gunnar’s mouth were full of a sweet-cream pie that Daniel had purchased for them when they were waiting for their wagon of grain to be hitched up to a team. The smells from several bakers’ stalls down the avenue from the livery had caught their attention and, whilst horses were hitched up to the borrowed wagon, Daniel had purchased several little cakes with sweet cream in the middle. Now, as they made their way home to Shadowmoor, Liselotte and Gunnar hasn’t stopped eating. They were in sweet-cream heaven.
Daniel, astride Ares as Liselotte and Gunnar rode in the wagon next to a livery hand who would then return the wagon back to his master when it was off-loaded at Shadowmoor, grinned as he watched the siblings stuff themselves with treats. The old horse Gunnar had ridden to town was tied to the wagon. In truth, the cream cake hadn’t been the only delight he’d purchased – there were also tarts with apples and honey and cinnamon, and little balls of dough fried in lard and rolled in cinnamon, cardamom, and honey. Daniel had purchased quite a bit of it and Gunnar was covered in sticky sweetness as he stuffed his face.
“It is quite delicious,” Liselotte said, her mouth full. “Would you like one?”
Daniel shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “It is for you. Besides, I do not want to lose fingers should I try to stick my hand anywhere near you or your brother. You might eat them.”
Gunnar laughed and pieces of cake flew out of his mouth. Daniel burst into hearty laughter as Gunnar struggled to keep all of that food in his mouth. As the siblings continued to eat the treats, Daniel kept a lookout on the road. They were heading south on a small road that paralleled the main road to the west. It was the road that, according to Liselotte, Bramley’s men patrolled regularly and demanded tariffs. Daniel didn’t want to run into them so the lesser-traveled road, although slower because it wasn’t as well-kept, was the better option. The last thing he wanted was trouble.
Easton had offered to send some men with him to help should the need arise, but Daniel refused for two good reasons – he didn’t want to attract attention with an armed escort and he didn’t want to drag Netherghyll into anything should Bramley’s men attack. If Netherghyll soldiers were involved, then that would turn Bramley’s displeasure against them. Daniel was trying to keep Netherghyll out of the fight as long as possible, at least until his Uncle Christopher could arrive with an army, which would hopefully be within the next few weeks.
The messenger had left Netherghyll that morning, a skinny but clever lad on a swift mount, and Daniel estimated it would take the messenger six or seven days to reach the Marches, provided he covered twenty or thirty miles daily. That wasn’t unreasonable on a fast horse, if the roads held, so Daniel was counting on that. Give his uncle four or five days to prepare the army, and then another eight to ten days to move the army north, swiftly, and Daniel expected to see his uncle in about three weeks. He knew his uncle would move quickly, so the trick would be to keep Bramley at bay for the next three weeks.
Daniel had his work cut out for him.
With the wheels of summoning assistance in motion, there were other things to focus on, namely the tournament in Skipton. He and Caston had agreed to enter for the chance of either of them to win the purse that would then be donated to Shadowmoor, but Daniel hadn’t told Liselotte that. He would tell Etzel and let the man become accustomed to the fact that there were people willing to help him. He knew that would be a difficult concept for a man who had lived a solitary life in his solitary fortress, without any allies. Perhaps if there were some things he could bring to Shadowmoor, it would be with the understanding that there were people willing to help and that allies were a very good thing. No man deserved to live a solitary life.
No woman, either.
Daniel glanced over at Liselotte as she helped Gunnar break apart one of the apple tarts. Gunnar was standing in the wagon bed, leaning up against the bench that held the driver and Liselotte. Back behind him, on the wagon bed, were the two little goats Daniel had purchased for him as pets, and once Gunnar had the tart in his hand, he rushed back to his little friends and shared his treat. That had been going on for the past hour, ever since they had left Siglesdene. It was sweet and heartwarming to watch.
Daniel’s gaze then trailed to the rear of the loaded wagon where a cow and her calf were tethered, plodding along after the wagon. There was also a young ram, unhappy that he was tied up to the rear of the wagon, struggling with the rope even as he walked. Daniel had purchased a small herd of sheep and a few more goats, but he wanted to make sure there was a place to corral them before bringing them to Shadowmoor. He would have Etzel’s people make a corral if there wasn’t one and then he would return for the herd at that time. Until then, at least they had a cow producing milk so they could have cheese and milk, and the young ram could be slaughtered for meat.
Confident that life at Shadowmoor was about to markedly improve, Daniel turned his attention to the road again. They were nearing the turn-off to Shadowmoor, fortunately, but he wasn’t any less nervous. Until they were within the walls of the fortress, he wouldn’t relax. A great deal could happen between now and reaching the fortress gates. Therefore, he kept vigilant as they traveled the bleak and windy moor.
Fortunately, they were able to make it to the gates of Shadowmoor without incident. More than that, the weather held as puffy gray clouds were scattered across the blue sky by the brisk wind. At least there wasn’t any rain to deal with. When the wagon entered the gates of Shadowmoor, people watched the arrival with a great deal of shock. No one had seen a cow around the place in years, so it was very definitely a surprise.
But they were hardly in the gates when a man, who had been part of the gang of men manning the front gate, ran up to Liselotte and relayed something in a panic. Daniel could see the man’s agitation because he was waving his hands around. Dismounting Ares, he walked around the front of the wagon to see what the matter was as the big black horse followed him like a dog.
By the time he reached Liselotte, she had her hand over her mouth and her face was pale with shock. She was still on the wagon bench and Daniel looked at her in concern.
“My lady?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”
Liselotte looked at him, tears swimming in her eyes. “My father,” she said hoarsely. “Something has happened to my father.”
Daniel frowned, looking between her and the man she had been speaking with. He was an older man, dressed in rags as the rest of Shadowmoor’s inhabitants were, and he looked very nervous when Daniel fixed on him.
“What has happened to Etzel?” Daniel asked. “Where is he?”
The man’s nervousness grew. “Er ist in der halle.”
Daniel didn’t understand the language. He looked at Liselotte. “What did he say?”
Liselotte began to climb down from the wagon bench and Daniel rushed forward to help her. “He said that my father is in the hall,” she said. “He says something has happened to him. I must go to him.”
Daniel was concerned. “Of course you shall,” he said steadily. “I will go with you. I must speak with him, anyway. Do these men all speak another language?”
Liselotte paused in her haste. “They speak the language of my ancestors,” she said. “Very few speak the language of the Normans. I learned it because my mother taught it to me and to my brothers, because it was her native language, but most of these men do not know it.”
Daniel understood; an isolated community would only pass down their own private customs. “Will you please ask these men to take the food stores to the kitchen and the animals to the stables?” he asked, holding on to her arm because she was already running off, trying to get to the hall to see about her father. “All of this needs to be stored and protected. After we have seen to your father, I will return to give them instructions on how it is to be distributed.”
Liselotte nodded and anxiously relayed his words in that harsh, guttural language that seemed to rely a great deal on sharp sounds and odd tongue movements. Daniel thought it was all rather fascinating. When Liselotte finished speaking, the men surrounding the wagon began to move quickly, directing the wagon driver back towards the kitchens while still more men went to untie the animals. One man even went to lift the little goats out of the wagon bed for Gunnar, who stuck to his new friends closely. He wasn’t going to let them out of his sight. Satisfied everything was in motion, Daniel had hold of Liselotte’s elbow and he pulled her all the way over to Ares so he could collect his saddlebags before they moved swiftly for the hall.
The de Lohr Dynasty: Medieval Legends: A Medieval Romance Collection Page 178
