Engle had been on the road for weeks. Anger, disbelief and guilt had each taken turns robbing him of a purpose. He found himself at the southern tip of Lisseon, only a few days from crossing the border into Androna. There was where Traimiss met Drake and Duessa. The Eurene River frequently flooded, feeding miles of marshlands and obscuring any real claim of border. Workers loaded silt from the river and hauled out in wide wheeled carts. They would cross the border with there heavy loads and sell it to Andronian farmers, just as they done every year for thousands of years. He watched them work and tried to find some feeling of peace.
King William had granted him safe passage to his home country, Duessa. He went there first hoping for comfort. He traveled as far east as the Alendine Valley. There was no rest for him on that fabled ground. The sights and sounds were like echoes to his failure and the salt tinged dew made his guilt more palpable for its generosity. The last time he set foot in the valley was to lay his father in his grave. The first time he set foot there was when he a boy. His father set him before the mirage of the crescent shaped palace. They watched the gleaming walls materialize in the setting sun as his father explained to him that they were born of a long line of stewards. They had served the kings of Duessa for generation upon generation, duty bound to find and protect the royal heir. The last king, King Archipest, died without revealing a clear successor.
For many years Engle believed his father to be a deluded old man aspiring to grandeur. During his travels he witnessed atrocities against their people that changed his mind. He returned home with a clear purpose to take up his father’s quest. To that end he gained power and position believing those resources would at last bring his family honor and success. King William was sympathetic to their cause and generous. With or without the heir, he strove with Engle to raise the prospects of the Duessites. Some accepted his help but few followed his lead.
In the days since his exile, he had much time to ponder what went wrong and consider how to make it right. He remembered how every year at the wine harvest celebration King Waldhar of Androna jestingly offered him a place in his kingdom if he would ever leave King William service. Engle wondered what the good king of Androna would do if he did show up. Had he turned on him like the rest? Perhaps it was the hope that Waldhar could be persuaded to help that lead him south.
Engle had stayed clear of the roads, choosing instead to follow the deer paths and sheep ways across hill and field. His long cloak the sole disguise he needed though he might just have easily flown his Duessite colors for all that these farmers cared about him. His precautions were prudent but unnecessary. He encountered hunters and once or twice shared a campfire. They passed the dullness of the night by telling stories of a great black beast preying on unattended females in solitary cottages. The tales’ primary purpose was to entertain. It was always involved a black beast, sometimes a wolf or a bear, led by a predatory bird spotting their victim from afar. The tales were very similar to ones Engle’s father told him about an ancient and vicious enemy. The carnage was always human by design and the beasts were a means. It was more myth than reality and yet his senses sharpened to his surroundings whenever he was reminded of it. He spent half his life searching out and destroying such men until he could hardly tell the difference between his methods and theirs.
He listened to the calls of the coyotes, their throats sometimes deepening to remind him of their more menacing brethren, the black wolves. They were unusually large beasts with haunches that could sometimes reach the shoulder of a man. They were not native to this region, preferring Ogalon for their breeding grounds. The beasts were first unleashed in the forests Duessa after the war. Their purpose was to destroy and otherwise drive out those who remained in Duessa. Engle had only seen a handful in his lifetime. The last one he saw was fifteen years ago. The scars from that battle still ached.
The night was wind was like a myriad of tiny daggers stabbing into his flesh. He passed a small cottage earlier that day. They paid no attention to him as he passed. Engle made his camp a mile east of them. He built a small fire and roasted a rabbit he had snared. His skill with a bow was not what it ought to have been and he had not eaten any larger game in weeks. Engle picked the carcass clean and burned the entrails on the fire. He did not want to leave anything behind that might attract a predator. He walked a quarter mile radius around his camp. Nothing, not even a raven disturbed the air. Confident that he was alone, he fell into a light sleep and kept one ear open.
Engle did not know how long he had been sleeping but consciousness drew him back as the hairs on the back of his neck began to rise. His nerves and muscles tensed as he awakened his fingertips to the touch of steel at his side. The air was heavy and damp though he could not tell whether it was the evening mist or the morning dew. There was a whisper of smoke on the air but the warmth he felt was from a presence not the fire. The ground trembled near to him and a warm exhale brushed his cheek. He held his breath as the image of a black wolf flashed through his mind. He knew better than to underestimate them. The hot breath traveled the length of his body and paused above his throat.
His father’s words repeated in his head; “No trick or weapon can help you if you’re dead. One word.”
Any beast will react to fear. To a predator, it was an intoxicant they tracked across great distances. He must control his. No cold sweat, though it crept along his spine just below his skin. His heart must not quicken even one beat faster. Each breath must come as easily and rhythmically as the slumber they found him in. Curiosity moved the creature to explore over his chest, lingering over his heart before moving lower. He curled his fingers around his sword and gently squeezed. The cold metal steadied him. The wet nostrils were back over his mouth. Engle froze. No fear. Eradicate fear. His skin grew hot under its breath, its saliva wetting his throat. The prick of its fang grazed the tender skin that shielded the pulse in his neck.
“One word.”
As Engle chanted to himself his heart began to slow. He knew the reach of his sword would not help him if the creature did not move off.
“One word.”
The creature inhaled every part of him looking for the best place to begin. Only when it reached his abdomen did Engle dare to open his eyes. Its shoulders were massive, muscles rippled beneath dense fur. If he were to have any chance he had to get his arms around its head to control it. It swung its head back toward his throat and Engle shouted his battle cry.
“Live!”
In one fluid motion, he grabbed hold of the creature’s throat and rolled to his knees, turning his shoulder into the beast. He threw all his weight into the creature’s heaving side. He had to make it stumble and make a killing strike before it tore him to shreds. The creature fell. Engle drew back his sword and opened his eyes. The animal was fearsome and black but not the nightmare he imagined.
The golden eyes dazzled and it took Engle’s push for the instigation of play. A mottled tongue flicked between its jaws and licked his hand and his face. Engle took hold of its neck. The dark creature shook him off easily. It lowered its head eager for the next phase of the game. Engle was dumbfounded. He recognized it.
“Where is your master?” Engle breathed a sigh of astonishment. The hound’s withers reached Engle’s chest and its massive jowls dripped steadily.
“Did you think you were alone?” The voice was gentle yet commanding and decidedly feminine.
“I begin to doubt that I’ve ever been alone since leaving King William. But I’m sure you know about that better than I.” Engle returned, reaching around to scratch the hound’s neck. The beast beat its hind leg into the ground appreciatively.
“Now you’ve done it. Everyone will know we’re here.”
“Only you are that sensitive these days, milady.”
“You ought to be. Used to be that not even I could get so close to you while you slept.”
Engle sighed and slowly turned around. She was seated on a rock next to the dying embers of his small fire. The firelight illuminated her snowy hair and the whisper of her diaphanous gown wrapped her in a golden halo. He had seen her twice as a boy and once more when he buried his father. Though he could not count the many times he saw her in his dreams when the wine flowed freely. Engle took the fingers of her outstretched hand. This was not another one of his dreams. She was warm and real. A second hound of similar size and color sat at her side. He sniffed Engle’s hand with a curled lip until satisfied he was not a threat.
“Howard should not have been able to approach you. But you did well to control your terror. Artegall is less easily appeased.”
“Then I am very grateful that you held him back.” Engle rubbed his throat. “I did not know Milady ventured this far from Alendine, at least not at this time of year. I think some of your favorites are actually out of season.”
The marshes were home to unique plants and she was a gifted healer. Some said she was much more. Once, as a boy, had he the courage to ask her who or what she was. Her reply was that she would tell him the next time he showed the same courage. He had yet to ask her again.
“You remember?” She returned as if reading his thoughts. “No, I think you guess well. Either way you are right, it is not the time of year for those weeds. You know well enough why I am here or you will soon. I come where I am needed.”
“And I go where I am sent.”
Her eyes widened. “And who would send you hither? It was not I and King William no longer commands you other than to forbid you his kingdom?”
“I ride to King Waldhar.”
“You seek to command King Waldhar’s men. Yet you would not come to me. Have I grown so tiresome? Or irrelevant and old?"
“You are tireless. I am old.” Engle said graciously. His heart added: “And irrelevant.”
“You’d have flattered me better if you said ageless.” Her lips smiled but her eyes narrowed for a moment, a look that pierce the heart of his very soul and examined his doubts and fears. Her eyes softened and she added. “Even I have my vanity.”
“I might have been accused of being insincere if I spoke only to your vanity. In truth, you look no different to me than when I was a boy.”
She giggled and for a moment he saw what she must have looked like at sixteen-her white hair golden brown, roses warmed her cheeks-then the cares of her returned. She sighed and the gold in her hair faded to white. “At my age I suppose that is easily accomplished. To a boy an old woman is an old woman.” She took a deep breath and let her eyes burrow deep into his soul, plucking out of his heart things he had yet to see for himself. “He will have no more answers for you than King William.” She pronounced at length. “But I see that you are determined. Give him my regards.”
“You could join me.”
“I would not risk his ardor.”
Engle stifled a chuckle.
“You think me in jest.”
“No. I know for a fact you are not. He still speaks fondly of you. Though having lately taking vow with his third wife I think you may be reasonably safe.”
She shrugged her head. “Good. You may tell him I have not forgotten him, though I think that when this latest wife has gone to rest, he will finally be too old for me.”
Howard and Artegall took position on either side of her and laid down, heads resting on crossed paws. Each could swallow her whole if they wished. “I come in part to chide you. I thought you would return to me after everything.”
“I had a little trouble finding my way. I knew that things would get bad after. I didn’t want to lead anyone to you. ”
“Did he make you an offer?”
“In a way.” Engle hesitated. He bent to stir the fire so she could not see his eyes. “What I seek is the means to continue my quest, to keep looking for the one.”
“He means for you to work for your keep and as before you will fail in what you want most. Live as you must but the one will find you and not the other way around.”
“Yes. You’ve told me that before. You also told me I would find the means. This is the means. I won’t give up. I will see our people proud again.” Engle stopped.
She was no longer listening. The creases in her brow deepened and her eyes squeezed shut. She doubled over in intense pain. Engle reached out to steady her and his hand was greeted with a pair of low growls. He remembered hearing that some of the aged ones of their people felt the pain of others even over great distances. He even heard they sometimes carried the same wounds.
“Milady, you are unwell.”
“I am well.” She smiled tightly and straightened.
“My father told me stories…” He broke off as she fell forward again this time her entire body trembling. Her hounds howled and whined, a sense of helplessness that Engle felt also. Then just as quickly the moment passed.
She laughed tightly and showed him her wrists. “See I do not burn without fire. Do I have wounds I can’t account for? Do not ascribe to me anything of unusual.”
Despite her protestation Engle thought he saw a brightening of the skin on her hands and face. He remembered her constant presence in his mind and would not be deterred. “My father told me stories of how our people were hunted and tormented after the war. I saw a little of what they may have experienced on my travels. It is happening again isn’t it? Have I brought this upon our people?”
Though her eyes brimmed with tears her voice was steady and strong. “Your King William would do well to take heed. I do not have the luxury of waiting for King Waldhar to give you an army or King William to recant. His brother’s poison has saturated the land. He has resurrected an old enemy to serve his ambitions. If we doing nothing it will mean our end.”
Engle’s stomach dropped. “I think King William is well aware of the depths Gilchrist will sink to.”
Her lips tightened and she shook her head. “You do not comprehend the nature of the evil I speak. But you will.” Her brow furrowed and her many years were suddenly upon her shoulders.
Engle seized her wrist. “Tell me.” Howard and Artegall snapped at him and he released her.
“I can linger no longer and you must go. It may be that you are already too late.”
An angry gust of wind cut through the camp. It fanned the flames so they shot up and engulfed him. He twisted away and fell hard on his side. He rubbed his eyes to clear the ash and smoke, smelling the singed hair in his nostrils. When he opened his eyes again, he was lying on his bedroll staring up at the sky. The fire was out and the coals were cold.
She was gone. There was nothing, not even a footprint from her mighty companions. Even his collar was dry where Howard had drooled on it. Engle’s eyes burned like the ash and smoke had just flashed into them. His fire was out yet he was surrounded by smoke. It had same putrid quality as when he burned the last of the rabbit. He grabbed his sword and tore through the trees toward the farm. His feet would carry him faster through the trees than Gavran, his black courser, could take him. His broad body would limit Engle to the path instead of the straight line he tore through the trees.
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