Empress Aurora Trilogy Quest For the Kingdom Parts I, II, and III Revised With Index (Quest For the Kingdom Set) (54 page)

Marcus looked
down at the familiar village in the hollow below. Had it really been only two
years since he had endured slavery in this tiny hamlet? So much had transpired
that it seemed a lifetime ago…

It all came
flooding back to him; the humiliation of his bondage, the loneliness, the hard
crusts and endless mutton to eat. He remembered also the vigils on the hillside
guarding the flock of sheep, the constant vigil against wolves, and the
unforgettable night when he killed the wolf that sprang at Cadeyrn, who in
gratitude released him to freedom.

So lost in his
memories was he that it was some time before he became aware of the others
looking at him. He flung back his head and the tears off his cheeks, and
cleared his throat from the lump that obstructed it. Kyrene smiled at him
sweetly in sympathy, while Felix averted his eyes, and Dag and Cort openly
stared at him. Marcus understood: in their country, just as in Valerium, men
did not reveal their emotions.

Marcus smiled
weakly and glanced at Bimo who tactfully regarded the landscape beneath them.
Elena, he noted, gazed at him with misted eyes of her own, and nodded her head
in understanding. She too, he remembered, knew the shock of losing family,
home, and freedom in a single blow. Although Bimo had been a captive, he had
returned home to find it still intact: mother and father still living, his
dwelling untouched, and all that was familiar still established. Elena alone of
all the company, he realized, comprehended what the return to this land meant
to him, and the horrors it recalled.

At last Felix
spoke.

“Do you know this
place, Marcus?” he inquired as easily as though the recollection brought no
pain to his friend.

Marcus matched
his mood, deeply grateful to Felix for not drawing attention to his momentary
emotion.

“Yes,” he
nodded, “yes, I am well acquainted with it.”

“It is small,
is it not?” Elena commented in her sweet voice.

“Yes, most
villages in Eirinia are,” Marcus responded. “The majority of the inhabitants
are farmers or sheep herders, and live in isolated dwellings. In the villages
you will find the smithies, medicine men, and weavers, as well as the
tradesmen. On the coasts there are some fishing villages.”

The little
band considered his remarks in silence.

Marcus
shrugged.

“I am known in
that village from the time I spent here. Perhaps a tradesman will permit us to
camp near the huts: it would be safer than another night spent in the forest
where we may encounter enemy warriors who dwell in the wild.

“Let us begin
our descent.”

The twilight
was falling when they reached the outermost hut. To the eyes of Felix, Kyrene,
and Elena it was a primitive dwelling, being somewhat rudely constructed of
branches bound together with long grasses and thatched with straw. It was
square in shape and consisted of one story with a doorway over which hung a
screen of plaited grasses. This could be replaced, Marcus knew, with a
sheepskin during the winter months.

From some of
the huts they espied smoke coming through a slight opening in the roof, for the
evenings were already chilly with the advent of autumn, and peat fires burned
brightly inside the dwellings.

Marcus drew
the Alexandrians into a circle and gave them a stern warning.

“Remember,” he
admonished, “the inhabitants are hostile to any but their own kind. In
particular they hate the Valeriun Empire, so say nothing of the Empress Aurora,
or boast of our power, or our riches which these people lack. Be as terse in
your speech as possible, for if ever there was an occasion when it is possible
to say too much it is with these people.”

His friends
listened in solemn silence, and nodded their heads to show they grasped the
gravity of his words.

Having thus
warned his companions, Marcus approached the first hut, but before he could
knock on the screen, a small child who had heard his step peeked out from the
side of it. Marcus had a dim recollection of the child as being the son of the
blacksmith. He opened his lips to speak, but before he could do so, the boy
darted back into the hut, where they overheard him speaking in a high excited
voice to someone within.

So much for
caution, Marcus thought wryly.

But to his
amazement the screen was thrust aside and a tall figure loomed in the doorway.
They could not see his face, for the light of the fire was behind him, and in
the gathering gloom he appeared a menacing figure indeed.

The man left
the hut and walked toward Marcus with a loping stride, his arms akimbo on his
hips. He planted his feet firmly in front of where Marcus stood as though to
challenge his presence.

Then his face
creased into a smile that lit up his face and transformed its weathered
features. Marcus could now see him clearly in the waning light. He blinked as
if not believing the sight before him.

It was his old
master, Cadeyrn!

“Cadeyrn!”
Marcus exclaimed. “I never thought to visit this land again; how good to see
you once more!”

Cadeyrn
chuckled and slapped Marcus heartily on his back, indeed so heartily that he
knocked the breath out of him. Marcus coughed and recovered his composure.

“I was
spending the evening visiting the smithy Laig, a kinsman of mine,” Cadeyrn
replied. “And young Aedan recognized you and told me you were here. How good to
see you, my friend!” 

And Cadeyrn
slapped Marcus on the back even harder than before. This time, however, Marcus
saw his hand coming and took a firm stance on the ground.

“Hostile, you
say?” Felix whispered in an aside to Marcus.

“I saved his
life,” Marcus responded. “That broke the hostilities.”

Cadeyrn did
not catch the byplay between the two, for he was busy introducing himself to
the rest of the small band. Finding that they were all together he bade them
come into the hut to partake of the evening meal, and to shelter for the night.

They entered
warily, having heeded Marcus’ advice, but the smithy Laig, along with his wife
Niamh and son Aedan bid them to take a seat around the fire, where a pot of
stew sent an enticing aroma that whetted their appetites, already sharpened
from tramping in the forest all day.  

They sat
around the fire, and one by one introduced themselves, but said nothing of
their mission. Niamh alone seemed wary of so many strangers from different
lands traveling together, and her eyes darted from one to the other as though
summoning each one up and taking mental notes. Her small black eyes reminded
Marcus of a bird ready to take flight at the step of a stranger, but her
husband Laig made every effort to put the small band of strangers at ease, and
to feel as though they were friends he had not seen for many years. Such
hospitality was met with joy by them all, and they prepared to settle down for
the night.

After a night
spent in peaceful slumber the little group of friends woke with renewed
vitality but increased frustration. They did not know why there were here, much
less what they were to do, and moreover it seemed there was nothing
to
do.  

They looked to
Marcus for a plan or action.

“What shall we
do?” Felix inquired. “For surely there is nothing in this village to occupy our
time, or to entertain our imaginations.”

Marcus merely
smiled at his friends.

“Welcome to
Eirinia,” he said.

In the end
they decided to walk to a fishing village that Marcus knew of and purchase fish
to bring back for their hostess to cook as both a change of diet, and as thanks
for the hospitality of their hosts.

“The village
is but two miles to the north,” Marcus told them. “We can easily walk there and
back in only a few hours.”

So they set
out with willing spirits to meet any danger or delight that came their way.

The village of
Annick presented a dramatic picture as they looked down on it from a hilltop
just opposite its location. It crowned the rugged coastline that rose to a
height of about half a mile from the sea that beat against its cliffs, and was
larger than the tiny cluster of huts that formed Leith, where they had spent
the night. They counted forty small dwellings that circled the stalls where the
catch of the day was displayed for sale.

Elena wrinkled
her nose at the smell of fish, but Cort let out a howl of enthusiasm, for he
dearly loved fish and anticipated the coming meal eagerly. He ran eagerly from
stall to stall to examine what species were to be had.

So intent on
his inspection was he that he accidentally bumped into a dark-haired boy of his
own age who had strolled over to one of the stalls. Cort did not know the
language of Eirinia, so he smiled an excuse and shrugged his shoulders and
walked away.

The other lad,
however, was not appeased by Cort’s wordless apology, and he picked up a stone
lying loose on the ground and threw it at Cort’s retreating back, hitting him
squarely between the shoulder blades. Such a declaration of war enraged Cort,
who returned the act of hostility with a pebble that bounced off the boy’s
forehead.

At this point,
Kyrene intervened and injected herself between the warring factions.

“Enough!” she
said, placing a hand on the shoulder of each boy. “For shame, Cort! Turn the
other cheek, remember?”

“I will not
run from a fight!” Cort bellowed, as he glared at the other boy and strained
against Kyrene’s hand.

The other boy
tried to push against Kyrene also, but she firmly grabbed the upper arm of each
boy and brought them to heel. The other boy spat at Cort, who doubled his fist
and attempted to escape Kyrene.

Dag was too
quick for him, however, and came up behind Cort and pinioned his arms to his
side. Cort knew that Dag would execute further punishment if necessary, so he
ceased to struggle and stood still.

Kyrene now
turned her attention to the other boy, and seeing a trickle of blood seeping
down his forehead, exclaimed and drew a kerchief from the pocket of her robe.
She dabbed at the blood as tenderly as if the boy was her own son, and he
stopped his struggles and gazed up at her in wonder.

He bestowed on
her a crooked grin, and tugged at his forelock in thanks. He threw one last
smoldering look at Cort before scampering away to the pier, where he examined
the fish that had just been brought in.

With the
conflict over, the Alexandrians ambled around the stalls, before deciding on
white fish. They paused in front of the woman who offered it, and were
astonished at the anger smoldering in her blue eyes. She was a small woman of about
twenty-five, with hair the color of copper coins, caught up in a loose knot
from which tendrils curled down. She had creamy skin and delicate features and
would have been pretty but for the frown that distorted her face as she waited
on the Alexandrians.

“I don’t know
that I
should
wait on you, seeing as how you nearly killed my boy,” she
huffed.

Dag smarted at
this and addressed her curtly.

“It was your
son who hit
my
boy,” he retorted. “Cort bumped him, but your own son
would not let him make friends.”

“Friends!” she
ranted. “Why would we be friends with such as you? Arrogant invaders! We’ll
have none of you!”

Now Dag was
really angry, though Felix attempted to soothe him.

“Who said we
would be friends?” Dag fumed. “All we want is your fish, though it smells three
days old!”

“My fish is
fresh, caught just this morning!” the woman shrieked in indignation. “And I
would not speak of smells, were I
you
. When did you last take a bath?
You reek as though you hadn’t
washed
in three days!”

Dag could not
find any remark fitting to return this cutting insult. It was true that the
ever invasive smell of mutton that permeated Cadeyrn’s hut clung to his
clothes. Felix gripped him by the arm and dragged him from the woman’s
vicinity.

Kyrene decided
to smooth the troubled waters by finishing the purchase. The woman was
mollified and cast a benevolent smile at Kyrene.

“I saw you
tend my boy,” she said. “Brenus is a good lad, but prone to be unruly since his
father passed away last winter.”

A frown and a
fleeting shadow of sorrow flitted across her face, and Kyrene hastened to lift
it from her brow.

“Yes, I am
sure that he is a good boy,” she lulled in her warm voice. “I am Kyrene, and my
friends and I are eager to sample your fine fish.”

“And I am
Judoc,” the other woman replied. “
You
seem good enough. But keep that
wild boy and his father away from my son.”

One day passed
into another as they lingered in the golden glimmer of the September days.
Eirinia was so primeval and lush that to the eyes of Felix, accustomed to the
stateliness of marble cities, and to Kyrene, dweller of a rugged and rocky
coastline, and to Elena, bred in dusty barren plains, the emerald hills and
forests clad in their autumn splendor was a vision almost spiritual in its
revelation. Dag and Cort were no strangers to primitive landscapes. As for
Marcus, he had been here before.

Marcus
pondered on the changes in Eirinia since last he had seen it. Had it always
been this lovely and unspoiled, or had he merely failed to see it from the view
point of a slave? With the vision of a free man he could now savor the sight of
a pale sunrise through a misty dawn, catch his breath when a ray of sunshine
touched the golden leaves of an oak tree, setting it alight, and watch in
wonder at a sunset of crimson, amber, and gold, as if the forest had risen to
the heavens. Surely he had been blinded to this beauty before!

Now he was at
leisure to drink in the glory of the autumn brilliance. Crisp mornings drenched
in dew gave way to afternoons bathed in dreamy warmth, which surrendered to
evenings saturated in fiery sunsets, and chilled to mauve and indigo skies
sprinkled with stars at the sinking of the sun.

After their
first night spent in the hut of Laig, the smithy, they were invited to stay
with Cadeyrn and his family, as his wife and children wanted to hear all about
Marcus’ travels and experiences since he had left Eirinia. They had heard from
Cadeyrn how Marcus had saved his life from the wolf, and they now regarded
their former slave as a friend of the family. For Marcus, it was an entirely
different experience to stay with the family as an honored guest, and not as a
despised slave. And it was an experience that brought healing as well.

He quickly
took on some of his old duties out of a new desire to serve them in thanks for
their hospitality, and not as required by him from his duty as a slave. He
quickly came to like and respect the man he had once been forced to call his
master, and Cadeyrn in return felt a fatherly affection for the young Valerian
aristocrat who had sullenly served him in the days of his enforced captivity.

Treks through
the woods near Cadeyrn’s hut refreshed his spirit as the smell of rich black
earth combined with the smoky aroma of fallen leaves ascended in the air.
Glimpses of deer fleeing at the sight of man treading its realm awakened a
sense of oneness with all creatures fashioned by the hand of Dominio. There
were rumors of other creatures hidden in the forest’s depths, careful to
conceal themselves from passersby.

His friends
appeared equally content to remain in Eirinia for however long they were
detained. Weary from the months of travel and hostile encounters with the
citizens of strange lands, it was balm to their wounded souls to be welcomed so
warmly by Cadeyrn and his family. They did not pass the days idly.

The young men
joined Marcus in assisting Cadeyrn with whatever work needed to be done. Kyrene
and Elena helped with cooking and cleaning, and even journeyed to the small
fishing village of Annick on occasion to purchase the catch of the day for the
evening meal. In this trek they were usually accompanied by Dag and Cort. Dag
insisted on offering his protection lest they be accosted while walking alone.
Cort liked the fishing village as a diversion from the hard work on Cadeyrn’s
homestead.

That there
were other attractions to be found in Annick was unknown to Marcus until one
day when the little band returned from their excursion with a young boy with
raven hair in tow. He recognized Brenus, the lad who had taken such offense
with Cort over their altercation.

Now he seemed
at ease with the little troop, and chattered with considerable animation with
Cort, who beamed with the pleasure of a new friendship formed. Marcus wondered
what had wrought such a miraculous transformation in their relationship that had
begun with so much rancor and hostility.

He would soon
become enlightened.

The two young
boys broke away from the rest of the band and scampered up to Marcus and Felix.
They stood before them and waited to be addressed. Felix was the first to
speak. He shot a grin of mischief at Marcus which he smothered as he turned
with a mock frown to Brenus.

“Ho there,
young man,” he began in a stern voice. “When last we met you were determined to
stone young Cort here. Pray, tell me, what has changed your mind?”

Brenus darted
a quick glance of his bright black eyes up to the face of Felix. Seeing the
twinkle that Felix could not suppress, his narrow face relaxed into a sheepish
grin. He looked at Cort, and the two broke into gales of laughter.

Felix
pretended to be indignant.

“Well,” he
huffed. “I am waiting.”

Cort sobered
first, and answered.

“It was
Dominio,” he piped. “That is what it was. He would not let me rest until I made
peace. Truly, He would not! So, I went back to the village. Back with Kyrene,”
he smiled up at Kyrene, who had caught up to the boys, with Dag and Elena
immediately behind her.

“And Cort told
me all about Alexandros!” Brenus announced. “Such wonderful stories! How He
came to bring peace between God and man. And with each other, too! So, I did!”
he exulted. “With God. And with Cort!” he finished as he grinned at his friend.

Marcus and
Felix exchanged smiles, and marveled at the turn of events.

“That is truly
wonderful!” Marcus declared as he beamed an approving gaze on both boys.

Then he was
struck by a thought.

“Tell me,
Brenus,” he inquired in a slow, drawling voice. “What of your mother, Judoc?
What thinks she of your new faith?”

“Oh, she
believes too!” Brenus replied with a quick nod of his head.

“Well, that is
good news, indeed!” exclaimed Marcus, cheered by the assurance.

He knew the
pain inflicted on Dag and Bimo by the rejection of family and friends, and was
relieved that one so young would be spared conflict within his own home.

“Oh yes, she
does believe!” Cort chimed in. “She does!”

“Ah,” Marcus
breathed with one eyebrow raised. “And did you tell her also about Alexandros?”
he asked Brenus.

“Oh no, it was
not I,” he answered. “It was
he
who told my mother, when he took me home
one day.”

Brenus pointed
a finger at Dag, who unaccountably blushed, then looked away from Marcus as he
cleared his throat.

Revelation
suddenly dawned on Marcus, but Brenus continued to speak.

“Yes, he said
it would be best for him to explain, lest she did not understand what I spoke
of.”

Cort nodded
his head eagerly, and confirmed the words of Brenus.

“And he speaks
to her every day at her fish stall, while we gather the fish for dinner.”

A snort that
was quickly smothered by Felix turned Marcus’ attention to his friend, who
leaned close to him and muttered under his breath.

“So nice of
Dag to escort the ladies for their protection every day, don’t you agree?”