Empress Aurora Trilogy Quest For the Kingdom Parts I, II, and III Revised With Index (Quest For the Kingdom Set) (30 page)

In the morning
they prepared to continue their journey. Refreshed from a night slept soundly
in a comfortable bed, and a hearty breakfast served in the common room, they
felt fortified and prepared to meet whatever befell them next. Communication
was limited to contented smiles from those who felt rested after their
slumbers, and lazy yawns from those who were waking up at their leisure,
instead of being forcibly roused to take a turn at the watch. Their fellow
travelers joined them, and they were regaled with merry accounts of adventures
from those who, like themselves, had journeyed over long distances to reach the
trading post.

Once they were
all assembled and had eaten, they set out for the pier, but a constrained
silence hung over them, now that they were alone and not mingling with
strangers in the common room. The events of the day before weighed heavily upon
them, and no one knew quite how to break the ice to get the flow of
conversation started.

Dag had not
addressed Cort, who looked at him with the same puppy-like devotion he had
always given his hero. Yet Marcus was hopeful that Dag would soon relent. He
had heard the note of hesitation the night before, and he knew how fond Dag was
of Cort.

The morning
was fine, and a gentle breeze stirred the air and set the wind chimes dancing
and singing their melodies. The song birds chimed in as though not to be
outdone, and on this impromptu concerto, they strolled leisurely with a
lightening of their hearts. Who could be downcast on such a morning!

They had
stowed their bundles into the boat and were about to board it when a sudden
commotion at the pier caught their attention and halted their embarking. A tall
and brawny man dressed in the coarse garments of Trekur Lende was running
toward them and shouting angrily. Cort attempted to hide behind Marcus, but it
was of no avail.

“Cort!” the
man shouted. “Cort Asbjorn! Come out and face me!”

The man was
now at the boat and reached behind Marcus and pulled Cort roughly by the right
arm and into his view. He immediately hit Cort hard across the face, causing
his skin to first whiten, then flush where he had been struck. Marcus grabbed
the man’s arm and placed himself between him and Cort.

“How dare you
strike this child?” Marcus railed at him. “Do not touch him again!”

Undaunted, the
stranger defied Marcus.

“That,” he
said, pointing at Cort, “is my son! He ran away some months ago. I looked
everywhere for him, and finally gave him up for dead. It was only last night
that my good friend Kells told me he was here. I will take him with me and he
will repay the trouble he has caused me!”

Marcus turned
reluctantly from the stranger to Cort.

“Is it true,
Cort? Is this man your father?”

Cort trembled
uncontrollably and with a look of stark terror on his face, admitted it, even
as his eyes darted around as though looking for a way to escape.

“Yes, he is my
father. But I do not want to go back home! I will not! He will sell me to the
Hoffingi, and the Hoffingi will beat me! He will beat me even more than my
father does!”

“Yes, and I
will beat you as well after running away as you did!” Cort’s father
interjected, with a face red with fury. “I would have had my debt to the
Hoffingi paid in full if you had not run away. Now I have to work it off, and
it is hard work for an old man like me!”

This statement
was too much for Marcus to stomach. The man did not look as if had seen more
than thirty winters, and with his tall and powerful physique was far hardier
than the small boy whom he clearly terrified.

“Come, you do
not look all that old to me,” Marcus challenged him. “You would be able to bear
hard work much easier than this young lad. Why, I think it is cruel to expect
him to work for this Hoffingi who will beat him as well. Pay off the debt
yourself; he would not dare lay a hand on
you
.”

Cort’s father
turned to Marcus with blazing eyes.

“That is not
our way! I need to work my own field to provide for my family. I have no other
son to help me and must do it all myself. I cannot do that if I work for this
Hoffingi!”

Marcus saw the
logic of such reasoning, cruel though it would be to Cort. Accustomed though he
was to slave labor in his father’s household, he realized that those who could
not afford slaves or even hired hands must do all of the work on their own land
themselves. He pondered for a moment, seeking some way to solve Cort’s dilemma,
then came to a decision.

“Very well
then; tell me what the Hoffingi would have paid you to take Cort as a slave. I
will give that same price to you on the condition that Cort remains with me as
my servant. And he shall never return to your cruel care again!”

If the man’s
face lit up at this announcement, Cort’s face was brighter still.

“Really,
Marcus? Oh, thank you! I shall be so grateful and serve you truly and well!
Truly, I will!”

“Well, sir, I
accept your generous offer,” Cort’s father said, all smiles now as he groveled
before Marcus.

“Name your
price, man,” Marcus spat out in disdain as he sneered at the man bowing before
him. Poor Cort to have had such a father!

“Very well,
sir! My price then is…”

But before he
could finish Dag interrupted.

“Wait!” he
said with one arm upraised. “I will pay for him, the same price that this man
would give,” he said, pointing to Marcus. “But he will not be my slave: he will
be my son.”

A gasp went up
from both Cort and Fanchon at this announcement. Tears sprang to Marcus’ eyes,
and the faces of Felix and Kyrene were wreathed in glad smiles. Fanchon alone
did not smile, nor was she moved to tears. Her countenance paled, and she
looked at her intended with a face that no longer looked as delicate as though
sculpted from china, but as hard as if chiseled from stone.

“Oh, that is
most
kind of you, sir!” Cort’s father said as he rubbed his hands together. “But I
would prefer the other gentleman’s offer. Cort would make a good servant to
such a fine man. For he has seen something of the world I can tell, and would
no doubt find Cort very useful.”

Marcus had not
thought it possible for the man to sink any further in his estimation, but he
did.

“I think we
should leave it to Cort to decide his fate,” Marcus stated. “What will it be,
Cort? Will you be a servant to me: or a son to Dag?”

Cort turned to
face Dag with shining eyes and caught his breath.

“Do you mean
it, Dag? Do you truly,
really
mean it?”

His gaze fixed
on the tall man with such hope and trust that it touched Marcus deeply. What a
life Cort must have had with this man who would have sold him into slavery!

“Yes, Cort,”
Dag smiled gently as he smoothed Cort’s hair. “You will be my son. I will take
care of you.”

And he knelt down
on one knee and hugged Cort long and warmly. For a moment, no one spoke as Dag
and Cort said all they had to say in that one embrace.

Marcus did not
dare risking a look at Fanchon for fear of what he might see in her eyes. He
turned to Cort’s father.

“Well, then,”
he said. “It seems that the matter is settled.”

With harmony at
last restored among the small band, they proceeded with lightened hearts to
Trekur Lende. As they traveled farther north Marcus and Felix noticed that the
days grew longer than usual, even for the eve of summer. Dag explained that
this was normal for Trekur Lende, which was closer to the top of the world than
Valerium.

They should
arrive in time for the great festival of Bjorrne, he told them, when all
celebrated the Long Day, as it was called. During the three days preceding and
just after the first day of summer, Dag explained, the sun never set at all and
the land rejoiced in the light by giving thanks to Bjorrne.

The opposite
was true in the winter, he said, when for three days before and after the first
day of winter the sun did not rise. This was known as the Long Night. The earth
grew very cold at that time without the sun to warm it, so all of the people
rejoiced in the time of the Long Day, when they could once more behold the
light and warmth of the sun.

Marcus noticed
a shadow flit across the face of Fanchon during this recital by her betrothed,
but he could not read the meaning of it. Indeed, Fanchon had been unusually
quiet since Dag and Cort had made peace and the great man had adopted the boy
for his son. Marcus felt that the giddy young girl was not wholly pleased by
this turn of events. But she said nothing of it.

Cort himself
was pleased just to have Dag forgive him and speak to him again. But he could
not, he confided to Marcus, believe his good fortune in being adopted by Dag.
Dominio be praised! It was the answer to all of his prayers! And he could at
last be called by his real name, Cort Asbjorn. But no, his name was Cort
Adalbart now because he was Dag’s son.

They had left
the River Zoe now and landed at a natural harbor only five miles from Dag’s
village. They had not traveled that way to the trading post in the winter
because the river had been frozen until spring, but now it ran freely and
carried their small boat without incident.

Through the
forest they traveled, hardly pausing to rest, so eager was Dag to return to his
home and wed Fanchon, with all of his kin and friends around him to wish him
joy. And the woods truly were lovely with the trees now clothed in their coats
of green, and not denuded as they were during winter’s reign.

This time
Marcus actually enjoyed the trek through the deep forest, and genuinely admired
the beauty of its sylvan domain. They paused only to admire the bright
wildflowers of mauve, yellow, and white that dotted the forest floor here and
there. Over their heads the birds called to one another as if they also
rejoiced in the longer days; robins warbling a merry tune, pigeons cooing
secrets in intimate friendship, and wood thrushes tweeting to their young.
Somewhere they heard the knocking of a woodpecker echo through the trees.

The pristine
forest cast an enchantment all its own, but Dag cautioned them to be on the
watch for bears and boars who claimed the woods for their realm. They were here
first, he said, and did not give the land to man. They fought to keep it, and
to rule it.

Fanchon
glanced around nervously at this statement, and Kyrene moved slightly closer to
Felix, who walked beside her. He gently touched her elbow and smiled into her
eyes. She returned the smile, but cast her eyes down somewhat shyly.

Marcus noted
this exchange and a slight frown furrowed his brow. During their days in
Lycenium when he refused to speak to Felix his friend had spent a great deal of
time with Kyrene and Cort whenever Dag wanted to be alone with Fanchon. He had
thought nothing of it at the time, since Felix was a sociable creature and
simply hated being alone. But the manner in which the two looked at each other
just now…

Was Felix only
flirting with Kyrene in his notion of chivalry, or was he already healed from
the wound of Tullia’s rejection and pursuing another? Or was he seeking
consolation elsewhere to forget Tullia? And Kyrene: did she cherish a regard
for Felix, or did his attentions to her merely embarrass her?

A sudden shout
from Dag called him out of his musings and back to his companions. They had
arrived at the village in the clearing in the forest floor, with the wooden
wall that surrounded its circumference. A knock on the gate from Dag brought
the sentry who admitted them. There were the two dozen or so little wooden
houses that Marcus recollected, with their oddly slanting roofs.

A wave of
relief swept over him as he surveyed the tiny settlement. Small though it was,
the houses and the walled enclosure represented safety and civilization, no
matter how primitive. He recalled all too vividly his own encounter with a bear
last winter, and how Dag saved his life. Truly, there were dangers in the wild
that he was glad to leave behind in the shelter of a community of his own kind.

The others
appeared to share his relief. A smiling Felix returned the handshakes of
several villagers who turned out to greet them, remembering him and Marcus, and
calling them by name. Young Cort seemed to have grown several inches taller as
he proudly declared himself to be part of Dag’s family. Kyrene savored the warm
welcome and the quaint settlement with shining eyes that revealed her enjoyment
of the adventure.

But Fanchon
looked around her in dismay as she observed the tiny village with the plain
houses, the villagers in their crude garb of flax, and the simple speech of the
inhabitants. Her face reflected the look of one who has been dreaming in their
sleep, and has suddenly been rudely jostled awake out of a make-believe
fantasy, to be confronted with the brutal harshness of reality.

Dag, however,
was delighted to be home among his people. Travel was not enjoyable for the
rugged Trekur Lender, who preferred his simple life in the woods to exploring
strange lands and visiting large cities. It was good to be back home, yah, he
exclaimed as he greeted old friends.

He quickly
introduced his new companions, and Marcus saw the pride with which he presented
first Fanchon, then Cort. Some of the men poked their elbows in one another’s
ribs and laughingly spoke in their own language to one another as they gazed at
Fanchon, who looked uncomfortable at the exchange. She did not blush with
offended modesty as she had when ogled by the Ashkani, but seemed uneasy as if
uncertain what was meant by the gestures of these primitive men in regard to
herself.

Dag did not
reveal Cort’s given name; he merely introduced him as his son, a lad they met
on their trek and adopted for his own, thereby protecting Cort’s identity.
Marcus remembered that Dag’s tribe was sworn to kill on sight any member of
Cort’s family, so secrecy was imperative.

Perhaps, he
thought, there was something to be said for a civilized empire like Valerium
after all, where the social stab in the back had replaced the dagger thrust in
the heart among feuding families. At least in Valerium, he reflected, the blood
bath wasn’t literal.