Empress Aurora Trilogy Quest For the Kingdom Parts I, II, and III Revised With Index (Quest For the Kingdom Set) (29 page)

For a week
they traveled on without further incident. The days grew longer and warmer, and
they encountered no more storms to disrupt the peace of the summer days. Truly,
they could almost have been on a pleasure cruise, Marcus thought to himself,
were it not for the dread that filled his heart at the failure of his mission,
and the interview with the Empress Aurora that awaited him on his return. That
she would be furious he knew, and what fate lay in store for himself and his
parents he knew not. Yet he entrusted everything into the hands of Dominio, and
hoped for mercy.

The River Zoe
carried them steadily north into country whose shores were bordered by forests
and flatlands. They had left the mountains behind them. Soon they would be in
Trekur Lende, and Dag and Fanchon would leave their company to remain with his
people. And Cort would stay as well, leaving the others to return to Valerium.

Marcus became
aware for the first time that he would actually miss the Trekur Lenders; Dag
was such a rock to lean on, so stalwart in his faith as well as sturdy in a forest.
And no one could be more endearing than affectionate young Cort, so eager to
give love and receive it. Yes, I shall miss them, Marcus thought with a pang.
Shall we meet again in this life, once we part?

They were
nearing the trading post whose port they had departed from when they traveled
to Gaudereaux. They could bypass it and continue further up the River Zoe to
Trekur Lende, but Marcus felt an impulse to stop there for the night. Since the
night of the storm, they had sheltered in woods here and there on fine nights,
sleeping onboard in their cabins if it rained. But there was a small inn at the
trading post. It would feel good to sleep in a bed for a change instead of the
hard floor of their cabins!

The others
thought the proposal an excellent idea, and they eagerly put the boat into port
after Zoe released them from the current. So excited were they to walk on land
again with the prospect of a comfortable bed for a night that their bundles
felt light, and they all but skipped to the trading post.

They soon
discovered, however, that after traveling in the wild for a week, even the
hustle of the rustic trading post seemed strident, and the voices of so many
raised in the bargaining of trade a clamorous din. For this was the peak of the
trading season, when the last of the winter snows had melted, and the spring
rains had ceased their showers, making travel easier for those who lived in the
harsher climates of the northern lands.

Still, nestled
in the heart of the woods, with peddlers displaying their wares at makeshift
wooden booths, the trading post exuded an undeniably homespun air that was not
without a charm of its own. The aroma of pine permeated the air, accompanied by
the scent of cedar from the fires where the food venders cooked their offerings;
hearty stews and soups simmered in iron kettles, fresh meat sizzled on spits,
and fat potatoes roasted over embers.   

It was an
enticing mix of odors, and one that invigorated all of them. A soft breeze
stirred up the potpourri further still, and sent the chimes ringing at the
stall of the wind chimes peddler. This item was a novelty to all but the Trekur
Lenders, but Dag explained that their people used them to signal travelers of
nearby settlements. Villages were strewn far and wide, he explained, and those
who trekked in the wild looked for shelter in winter and storms. If he heard
chimes when the wind picked up and played their song, then he knew there was a
safe place where he could pass the night, and the sound led them to it.

Marcus
recalled the chimes that had hung under the eaves of the roof of Dag’s house,
but he had been too cold and weary at the time to even wonder about any
possible significance they had. Even the usually curious Felix had not
questioned them. Now as he listened to Dag expound on their use, it struck him
how hospitable and warm the people of Trekur Lende actually were, with their
emphasis on taking in strangers out of their harsh climate and caring for their
needs. This was at variance with the tales he had heard of them before entering
their land; a wild, savage people who would as soon kill a man as look at him.
No, this was not the same people at all…

Fanchon,
Marcus noted, blinked her eyes when Dag mentioned the scarcity of villages. Did
she not understand the nature of the place where she was going? Had Dag not
prepared her for the country that was to be her home? Or had she merely
regarded it as an adventure and had not thought of the permanence of her
destination?

Marcus
inwardly shrugged. It was, after all, Dag’s affair and not his own.

They spent
some time exploring the wares at the stalls and sampling the food. Kyrene
bought a wind chime because it reminded her, she said, of the harp in her
father’s garden. It too, she said, sang in the breeze, and the chimes would be a
lovely memento of her journey. Fanchon was taken by the display of furs, and
stroked the soft pelt of a bear skin. Dag bought her a bearskin cloak, similar
to his own
kapake
. He said she would need it when the snow came and the
land turned to ice. Fanchon tried on the cloak, which buried her tiny frame,
and Marcus wondered how such a frail creature could ever cope with the rigors
of a winter in Trekur Lende.

Marcus and
Felix found little of interest in the necessities for sale at the peddlers’
stalls, being accustomed as they were to luxuries that were imported from every
reach of the Valeriun Empire. The food, however, proved tantalizing to their
appetite, and they gorged on venison stew. Cort sighed in sheer ecstasy as he
sank his teeth into roasted bear meat and a potato.

“Ah,” he
exclaimed, “I have not had bear meat and a potato since I left home!”

The others
laughed at his innocent delight in such simple pleasures. He was truly a boost
to their weary sprits at times with his childish joy.

A man dressed
in the woolen garb of the Trekur Lenders came over to the food stall at that
moment. He nodded casually at the little band, who returned his greeting. Just
then his glance fell on Cort and his eyes widened. He stared at Cort, who
suddenly paled and dropped the treasured potato. Heedless of its loss, Cort
returned the stranger’s stare with a slight shake of his head and an imploring
gaze. But the man did not comprehend.

“Cort!” he
exclaimed. “Cort Asbjorn! Where have you been all these months? The whole village
scoured the woods for you. We thought you were dead or stolen by slavers!”

Cort gasped
for breath, and panted as if he had just finished a race.

Dag also
caught his breath at the man’s statement and stared at Cort with the look of a
man who has just been dealt a stunning blow.

“Asbjorn?” he
thundered. “Asbjorn! You are of the tribe that is a foe of my kin! You lied to
me!”

Cort did not
answer Dag. Instead he ran. Dag raced after him. The others followed, Kyrene
and Fanchon not understanding Dag’s agitation. But Marcus and Felix knew, and
hastened to catch Cort before Dag did.

Felix, as
fleet as a deer, outran the stocky Trekur Lender and managed to grab Cort, who
struggled to release himself.

“Let me go!
Let me go!” he screamed.

“Do
not
let him go!” Dag bellowed. “He is the son of my foe! I am sworn to kill him at
first sight. It is a vow, and I must keep it, or be killed at the hands of my
kin!”

“Whoa, Dag!”
Marcus interjected as he attempted to restrain his furious friend. “You took
another vow as well, and that was to Dominio; to spread His Kingdom. And as I
recall, you are not permitted to kill
anyone
! Do you not remember?”

Dag stopped
his ranting and looked hard at Marcus, then at Cort who pleaded with his eyes.

“Yah,” Dag
grudgingly muttered. “I did take that vow.”

With a heave
of his shoulders he freed himself from Marcus.

“But I took a
vow to my kin as well. I cannot break it!”

“Then you must
choose which one you will keep, Dag. For you cannot keep them both!” Marcus
attempted to reason with him.

“Either you
kill Cort and keep the vow to your family but have blood on your hands in the
eyes of Dominio. Or you spare Cort and break the vow to your family but please
Dominio. But one thing I urge you to meditate on: if you
do
kill Cort,
then you will spread the kingdom of darkness, not the Kingdom of Heaven at all.
Xenon warned us of that. So choose carefully, Dag.”

Dag hesitated.

Felix took
advantage of his hesitation.

“Dag, you must
also remember that in the eyes of Dominio Cort is your brother now by faith. He
is therefore, part of your kin. So, if you do not kill him you would break no
vow.

“But, if you
do
kill him, then not only would you grieve Dominio, you would actually kill a
member of your own family! I vote then, that you do
not
kill Cort since
you would commit double sin by so doing.”

Marcus stifled
the impulse to laugh. As usual, Felix had found the simple answer to a
complicated question. But could Dag be reasoned out of his fury?

Dag wrinkled
his brow, then raised an eyebrow as he looked askance at Felix.

“I do not
quite see what you say. I think I do, but I am not sure.”

Dag shifted
his gaze from Felix to Cort and back to Felix again.

Suddenly his
eyes blazed, and his normally impassive face turned red as his nostrils flared.

“But of one
thing, I
am
sure,” he roared. “Cort lied to me, to
me
who was as
a father to him.”

Dag fixed his
eyes on Cort who visibly trembled at his wrath.

“Get him out
of my sight. Or I will change my mind.”

The thaw came
eventually, just as in the spring when the frozen river ice lingers as though
reluctant to surrender winter’s ruthless grasp, so too the heart of Dag
gradually melted toward Cort.

In truth, the
others failed to see why the wrath of Dag burned so hotly against Cort. Surely,
Felix reasoned to Marcus, anyone could understand that Cort hid his identity from
everyone
since he was a runaway? But Dag could not view it in that
light.

Because Dag
refused to share a room with Cort any longer, he and Felix traded places. So
Dag bunked with Marcus, who did not relish either the big man’s simmering rage
or his rumbling snores. However, it could not be helped.

Dinner had
been an awkward meal. Talk was desultory; a funereal pall seemed to hang over
them all. Cort’s face was pathetic in its misery, as he vainly attempted to
catch the eye of Dag. But Dag pretended not to see. He ate in complete silence,
although he did not appear to relish his food, and indeed, seemed unaware of
what he was eating.

Marcus glanced
around the table and noticed that there was one person who did not seem
distressed by the turn of events. Although the tender-hearted Kyrene’s eyes
were brimming with tears, and Felix chewed his bottom lip as he always did when
perturbed, Fanchon was utterly radiant. Marcus had not seen her so giddy since
the evening he first met her at the Governor’s feast. Her eyes glittered, and
her conversation was frothy in its gaiety. She laughed at nothing, as she
rambled on in her usual butterfly way, alighting on this subject, then to
abandon it for another, with no visible pattern to her conversation.

With a sudden
surge of dislike Marcus realized that Fanchon reveled in Dag’s anger at Cort.
She is pleased by all of this, he thought to himself. Why, she is actually
jealous of Cort because Dag loves him so. Clearly she is one of those women who
brook no rival for attention, even when it is a child in need of care. No, I do
not like Fanchon, Marcus thought.

He felt a stab
of guilt at such an admission, for he knew that Dominio loved all of His
creation, although their actions sometimes displeased Him. Truly, I have much
to learn and much growing to do, Marcus rued. Dominio, help me to love Fanchon
even as you do. Help me to see her through Your eyes of love, he silently
prayed.

Now as they
lay in the dark, Marcus sought to find some way to bring peace between his two
friends. He tried to think of an opening ruse, but none came to mind. Finally,
he decided it best to be honest.

“Dag,” he
ventured, the absence of snoring an indication that the great man was still
awake. “You must realize that Cort was afraid of discovery by
anyone
; he
lied to all of us about his identity. Yet, we are not angry with him. Why are
you?”

Dag snorted
and grumbled like a bear disturbed from its winter sleep.

“Think you,”
he growled, “that I would have made friends with a foe if I knew who he was?”

“I doubt it,”
Marcus admitted. “But you
have
befriended him. And you love Cort. Why
can you not forgive him?”

There was a
long and heavy silence, the kind Marcus thought, that he felt in winter months
if he ventured out for a walk in the moonlight: no singing birds broke its
stillness, no leaves rustling in a breeze on trees now bare relieved it. The
quiet was absolute, almost deafening in the absence of any noise.

Then Dag
sighed, a long and drawn out sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his
being. At last he spoke.

“I once,” he
explained, “loved a maid in Trekur Lende. She was free from care and glad of
heart, with hair the hue of corn and eyes like a cool lake. I gave her furs and
fruit to woo her, as is our way, and she was glad to take them. I gave her my
heart, and she gave me her hand. She was my
konnae unnae
, as we say, or
lady love, you would say. We were to wed in the spring, but first I set out on
the hunt in the long, cold months. When I came back, she said, when the sun was
high once more in the blue sky, we would take our vows, and she would be my
wife.

“I left for
the hunt, my heart was glad, and my laugh was loud and long. But I found no joy
in the hunt that year. The days crawled by as I tracked my prey in the cold,
and the wind, and the long, dark night. How I longed for the spring, when I
would wed her!

“But when I
came back I found she had wed a man who had more furs to give her, more beads
for the traders, more than I could give her. When I asked why she did not wait
for me, she said she lied to me. She did not love me; she had not loved me at
all. She took what I gave her to make the man mad, so he would wed her. He had
been cool in his love, so she used me to gain his heart.”

Dag fell
silent for a long moment. Marcus was profoundly moved by the recital, and
understood all too well the pain of having one’s heart rejected.

Dag continued.

“I will not
take lies from those I love,” he said simply.

Marcus did not
know what to say, so stunned was he by the tale of Dag‘s rejection. That he had
been wounded deeply was evident by his insistence on being able to trust those
to whom he gave his affection. Then an inspiration came to him.

“But Dag,” he
began, “Cort did not lie to use you. He lied to protect himself. And he continued
to lie because he feared losing your love. Can you not see that?”

“He lied,” Dag
stubbornly declared.

“Only to keep
your love,” Marcus insisted. “It was wrong to lie, and perhaps worse to
continue to lie once you were friends. But Cort adores you; you are as a father
to him. All of us see that.”

There was a
momentary silence, as Dag considered the arguments Marcus put before him.

“Well,” Dag
muttered. “It may not be the same. Still, a lie is a lie. I do not know: I will
have to think on this.”

But Marcus
heard the hesitancy in Dag’s tone, and felt his spirits lift. The great man
with the appearance of a bear and the heart of a dove was already wavering.

In time,
Marcus thought, in time.

He waited for
further comment from Dag. But none came. The room was quiet once more. Until
the stillness was broken at last by the sound of bear-like snores that rumbled
in the night.