by Rex Hazelton
Night-after-night, covered in a cold sweat that pasted her long black hair against her youthful, olive-complected skin, she sat up in bed anxiously pondering the nightmare's meaning. Without fail, the memory of Gour Blood's voice calling her the Prophetess slipped into her musings. If I am the Prophetess, then this dark dream could be a vision; but if it is a vision, what does it mean; and if I don't know what it means, what am I to do? ...I wish Grour Blood were here!
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Though Muriel spent time with Myra and Anna, she found herself gravitating more to Truamor than anyone else. She and her redheaded cousin bonded easily, as easily as a bird takes to the air, one might say. Truamor's affection for her new-found cousin provided much of the relationship's glue. For example, she took it on herself to show Muriel how to cook, something she wasn't permitted to do in Schmar's cave. The beast made certain those he considered his property were prevented from developing even the simplest of skills. Such things as reading, writing, sewing or cooking were not permitted because Schmar knew it would be easier to control those he owned if they were made totally dependent on him. The slightest glimmer of hope, the light of self-sufficiency could bring, was totally unacceptable.
Though the griffin made up for much of the education Muriel had lost- by putting her through an intense program that included math, grammar, and history- it was now Truamor's turn to lay hold of Muriel's reins and teach her the domestic skills she lacked. But just as they were getting started, a mean wind blew into Barm bringing Fadoris, a tall man with a milky-white face, and a company of soldiers along with it.
The odious entourage entered the village like they had been swept along by a giant broom. Arriving just after sunset on the fifth day since Muriel last talked with Grour Blood, they went right to work. Dismounting their angry steeds in front of Ivy's Inn, the soldiers had a half dozen snarling wolfhounds taken out back to the stables where they would be tended to before they burst into the inn. Stomping inside with a swagger reflecting their inflated sense of self-importance, the Society set up shop. Without delay, they asked where Muriel could be found. After discovering that she was at her uncle Vav's house, the impatient men demanded food and drink be brought to them, quickly.
Fear and foreboding entered Ivy's Inn, chasing out the other diners who, without finishing their meals, departed to their rooms or back to their homes. Young Hayrn was numbered among those who fled. But he did not go home. Straightway dashing off, he went to warn Muriel who was still at her uncle's house.
After hearing the disturbing news, Vav set off to visit several of his friends to ask for their help, help he would need to deal with the impending trouble. Soon, three men as stout as he followed him into his home, each a former member of the Eagle King's Elite Guard.
As everyone knew, Vav had gained renown in the Eagle King's service. The story of how he had saved Cain's life, from an assassination attempt, by intercepting an arrow with his own body, one intended for the king, had reached legendary proportions in the volume of Barm's lore. Though he was much older now, Vav's courage and strength had not abated with time's passing. His resolve was easily a match for the tall man's zeal, and sparks were sure to fly when the two met.
Outnumbered, but still undaunted by the task they had chosen to undertake, the four men busily strapped on swords they had used in their youth.
In time, the sound of boot heels striking cobblestones and the snarling of ill-tempered wolfhounds echoed among the cottages and shops, lining Barm's main street, as the menacing Soldier's of Truth marched pompously towards Vav's home. Light, flooding out of colorful doorways, opened in an attempt to identify the source of the ruckus heard outside, marked the Society's passing.
Muriel grew tense when she heard her uncle instruct his companions to forbid Fadoris and his comrades from taking her out of his house. Friendship's demands, and the stature of Vav's reputation, steeled the men to withstand the intimidation the Society would use to try and dislodge them.
Knock! Knock! Knock! The sound of a sword's hilt harshly rapping upon the door was heard.
Seeking the emotional upper hand, her uncle swung the door open so violently that it knocked Fadoris' blade out of his hand, and, as quickly as lightning flashes across a storm-ridden sky, he strode out into the night. Behind him, his three friends quickly formed a wall of muscle, steel, and courage that was determined to protect his niece from harm and harassment.
The tall white-faced man responded just as quickly. Moving forward, he soon stood chest-to-chest with the seasoned warrior. The wire-haired wolfhounds, standing half as high as a man, were given enough slack to enable them to snap their angry jaws just inches from Vav's waist.
“I'm Grog, the Commander of the Soldiers of Truth stationed beneath the Eyrie of the Eagle. I've come for the woman Muriel.” The tall man's words contained a frightening power that would have buckled a younger man's resolve, but not so Muriel's battle-wise uncle.
“And why would you want to see my niece on this fine summer's night?” Sarcasm dripped off Vav's words while he studied his foe's posture and facial expression, a practice he began while in the king's service. What he found was discomforting. Recalling stories he had heard about Koyer's sinister White Guard, the man's pale skin was troubling. Such men were not numbered among Eagle Vale's chapter of The Society of Truth when Vav was stationed in the Eyrie. The magic spicing the tall man's speech only added to his concerns.
Grog's words, taking on a more benign tone, drew Vav away from his reverie. “There's no need to become defensive. We only want to talk to her.”
His words were so smooth and compelling, Muriel's uncle might have believed him if he weren't surrounded by so many well-armed men.
“If you only want to talk to her, why have you come with such a show of force?” Vav replied. “I can't believe you've traveled this far just to have a chat with my niece.”
“So, you're refusing to bring her out?”
“Yes, that's the general idea!”
“What if we took her? We have you out numbered.” Grog quickly sized up the warriors standing before him as he spoke.
“It wouldn't surprise me if the Society eventually stooped to such actions, but I doubt you want to gain that type of notoriety, not just yet. It's not the way you prefer to deal with things. The sharp edge of slander and accusation serves you better than the point of the sword.” Vav dealt out his assessment, fearlessly. “But we aren't as reticent to use our blades. And I promise you, we will use them if you try to take Muriel by force. So, why don't you just leave? We'll entertain more cordial overtures on the morrow.”
“Do you know who you are dealing with?” Grog lifted his shoulders, trying to expand his dimensions while his cataract-covered eyes stared unblinkingly at the warrior standing before him.
“Yes, I think I do, my white friend.”
Grog, knowing what the irritating man was insinuating, hissed between clenched teeth.
Hearing the odd noise, Vav lifted his chin and added, “Do you know who you are dealing with?”
“Not yet, My Good Citizen, but I'll know soon enough!” Grog spoke what Vav knew was a veiled threat aimed at him and his family. Then with a wave of his hand and a sneer he said, “All right... we'll go. But we won't leave Barm until we've had a chance to interrogate the woman.” Lowering his eyelid's half-mast, the commander added, “We'll not tolerate the kind of lies she's telling!”
Wheeling about, Grog strode away. The wolfhounds followed snarling at his feet. His command obligingly parting to let them pass. Soon, the regimented sounds of boots striking stone were heard as the soldiers retreated to Ivy's Inn.
All the next day, the commander had villagers brought to him, each knowing they would fall under suspicion if they didn't play the Society's game. Intimidating them with questions that included those about themselves, he sought to ferret out all the villagers knew about Muriel.
Grog's magically enhanced speech dispensed fear and confusion into the Fyne River Valley. A cold ch
ill, uncharacteristic for that time of year, lay on Barm like a blanket, discouraging noise of all kinds: birds failed to sing, children remained mute in their homes, and conversation among the adults hardly rose above a whisper.
While this was going on, Muriel's uncle went about seeking support from those who would be willing to help him meet Grog's next assault, one that would be unleashed that very evening.
Late in the afternoon, Vav confided in the group of men gathered in his home. After telling them about Laz's troubling visit fifteen summers before, he related every detail of his subsequent trip to his brother's house and his conversation with Brau. He was careful to assure his guests that Muriel had divulged things only Laz's wife and child would have known, things his brother had told him on his last fateful visit.
Building on her uncle's owrds, Muriel told the men how she had been kidnapped and held in Schmar's cave until her escape the summer before. Hearing her harrowing story, much soul searching followed. In time, Vav's friends decided to prevent the Society from doing to her what it did to the Gruff family, feeling that protecting Vav's niece would help atone, at least in part, for the atrocities they allowed Briney to endure. Because of this meeting, the cold chill that had settled on Barm had been reduced to a frigid lid covering a boiling pot beneath it.
Tendrils of conversation coursed through the village, some coming out of Vav's home, others issuing out of Ivy's Inn where Grog was holding court. The stage was being set for bloodshed. Vav and Grog were rushing headlong towards each other like two infuriated rams. The muted air, laying on the village, was now only the calm that came before the storm broke.
As night slipped over the village, tension filled the air with an audible hum that rose to a crescendo when the door to Ivy's Inn was kicked open, and as it opened, the storm flooded out onto the cobblestone street, the tall man at its head. Walking behind Grog, his pale eyes looking like lifeless pearls reflecting the turbulent torch light waving about him, a group of witnesses marched along, those the commander thought would bolster his case against the trouble making newcomer and rally Barm's support. Sadly, Anna and Myra, who had been coerced with threats against the inn, were numbered among this group. Other villagers had joined themselves to this throng either out of fear of reprisals for failing to support the Society or out of a morbid need to silence the things Muriel was rumored to have said. In short order, Grog and his minions approached Vav's house where they were met by a dozen armed men, among whom stood Hayrn and his best friend Layrn.
Muriel, standing behind Truamor, near the back of the group her uncle led, recalled her reoccurring nightmare as she watched the tall man bounding towards her, his face looking like a luminous orb bouncing among a host of bristling torches.
“Give her up Vav!” Grog made his demand as the sounds of swords being unsheathed filled the air. “She's a thief, a liar, and quite possibly… a murderer!”
The accusations were so outlandish Vav was surprised Grog would even bring them up. But here he was, pulling out every slanderous arrow held in his quiver of hate and suspicion and firing them into the minds of those resisting him.
“You're a liar!” Vav shot back his own salvo.
“Am I now?” Grog gave a signal, the crowd parted, and a large redheaded man passed to the front.
I know him! Muriel was startled to see Doleman, the man whose breakfast she had stolen after her escape from Schmar's cave. Feeling embarrassed, she sought to hide behind Truamor's back.
“Is she the one who stabbed you?”
“Yes Capt'n, that's the little wench who stole the food right out me family's mouth and stuck me in the arm with me own carving knife.” Doleman's voice cracked as he bore witness to Muriel's crimes. “She looks a sight better than she did then, but I'd swear it's her.”
Speaking directly to Muriel with a look of triumph showing on his face, Doleman added, “I told you I'd get even, you little scamp.”
“That's a lie!” Vav complained.
“If you don't believe this good man, ask her yourself.” Grog challenged Muriel's courageous uncle.
Knowing the support he had garnered depended on a fair and evenhanded treatment of the situation, Vav turned to his niece. “What say you?”
Stepping forward into the maelstrom of accusation, Muriel replied, “Yes! His words are true.” A wave of murmuring, greeting her admission, made Muriel wish she hadn't spoken so directly; but her course was set, she couldn't turn back now. “I did steal bread and cheese from his home, and, I stabbed him in the arm to make good make my escape.”
Instantly, those supporting the Society began shouting out, demanding Muriel's immediate arrest. Wolfhounds howled as the wave of emotion swept over them. Those, who stood with Vav, lowered their weapons in confusion, looking to their leader for direction. Muriel lowered her head in shame. But Truamor, armed with a sword, came and spoke in her father's ear. A moment later, Vav was shouting for the people to quiet down and allow Muriel to explain.
Given the opportunity, after Vav had squelched Grog's objections, Muriel told the audience how she escaped Schmar's cave after spending most of her life as his captive.
“Liar!” A voice sounding a whole lot like Clouse's sounded out from the crowd.
A smattering of like-minded objections followed until Vav restored order, something his reputation for saving the king's life allowed him to do.
“What about the stabbing?” Clouse was at it again.
“It was an act of desperation,” Muriel tried explaining. “I had no idea whether other people were any less dangerous than Schmar.”
Turning to the man she had wronged, Muriel made her supplication. “Sir… I'm sorry for what I did! Please forgive me! At the time, I was afraid of you.”
Many of the people were stunned into silence when they considered their childhood fears could be real. Others, unwilling to make this concession, were busy trying to figure out how they could circumvent Vav's influence and silence his troubling niece.
Sensing the momentum was now moving in Muriel's favor, Grog began asking if anyone else would step forward to corroborate her story, sure that the young woman's words would have to stand alone.
“I can verify much of what she has said,” Murie's uncle spoke up.
“Oh, I see,” the milky-white-faced commander's voice was filled with sarcasm, “Vav supports Muriel's story. And I guess Muriel will support Vav's as well. And we're supposed to accept everything you dream up, right? Well, go ahead and spin us another good tale. Maybe if the lie's big enough, we'll forget about the crime your niece has confessed to committing.” Visibly enraged, Grog shouted, “This is stinking bull splatter! Release the woman NOW!”
Incensed at the commander's audacity, Vav fired back with all the force he had. “You'll not take her tonight, nor at any other time, you pasty-faced ghost. How dare you demand anything! You don't have any legal authority here. We'll only submit to the Eagle King's lawful representatives.”
As Muriel's uncle spoke, a shadow slipped out of the crowd and lunged at him. It was young Clouse attempting to stab the battle-tested warrior with his father's sword, thinking his actions would give him honor among the Society's members. But before he could finish his deed, Vav, moving as quickly as a man who was twenty summers younger, swung his sword down on Clouse's blade, knocking it to the ground. Then, grabbing the startled young man by his vest, he threw him on his back and pinned him down with his boot planted firmly on his chest.
But the damage had been done. Clouse's actions were like the first sands falling in an hourglass. He had begun something that would not be finished until the last piece of sand had come to rest on the bottom of the glass. Swords were drawn and the faint of heart ran for cover.
Grog, who had not anticipated having to deal with a man of Vav's stature and courage, nevertheless, organized his troops for battle.
Candles were hastily lit and prayers were said as war was about to break out in Barm, a once peaceful village nestled on the banks of the Fyne
River. And the prize they would fight over was Muriel and all her plight represented. But in the long moment that lingers between decision and action, the sound of horse hooves was heard thundering over the cobblestones lining Barm's main street.
Trumpets resounded, heralding the arrival of other warriors, those not previously involved in the conflict. The voice of an unidentified commander, shouting orders to his troops, rang out in the tense cold air. What this meant, no one knew for certain. Were they more Soldiers of Truth who would tip the scales of decision towards certain conflict? Or were they something else, a wild card in a hand already dealt?
Then, as if to seal the fact that the present dynamics had changed, a voice of authority cried out, “Halt! Put down your arms! Prince Phelp is in your midst!”
Not long after this, the Soldier's of Truth were giving way to the prince's familiar presence. Moving with the confidence royalty breeds, while at the same time being fully aware of his surroundings as royalty requires, Prince Phelp rode into the midst of the impending fray and dismounted.
“What's going on here?” The prince was demanding that everyone give an account for their actions.
Even in travel clothes, Phelp was a commanding figure. This was especially true once Leoyn, the most famous knight in the realm, rode up behind him, accompanied by three other heavily-armed men. With the situation defused, the prince began taking matters into his own hands.
