The Strangling

Bron didn't need to be told. Stirring in his chest, the knowledge rose inside him, traveling through his senses, readying him for what was to come.

"Damn you, Veldor.” He set down his quill and pushed aside his notes, taking one last glance at the scrolls he'd been studying. No matter how many times he went through them, he couldn't find more than they already knew. The scribe, who had been know

n as William of the first age, had been a strong scribe, but his exquisite hand had faltered in the last stages of his writing the scrolls from that era.

What there was to read was already engrained on Bron's memory—he knew the few predictions surrounding the curse as if they had been written into his soul. The curse itself would come to fruition in five moons. This Samhain, the night of the dead would be like no other, for it would witness the uprising and revenge of those who had died at the place known as The Strangeling. Unless ... unless the maiden, Maerose, could turn it back. And he was the one that would lead her into this terrible thing—that, too, was written in his soul. He rested his head in his hands, his fingers moving through his hair.

Egremont, his master sage, had told him he possessed all the knowledge he needed to undo the curse, but he couldn't believe it. And now, if his instincts were true, Veldor had made his move earlier than expected.

Damn the curse of The Strangeling. And damn Veldor.

He rose from his seat, abandoning the parchment where he had noted his translation of the images that decorated the borders of the scrolls. It was no longer the time to muse and speculate. He must act on his convictions. Pacing quickly through the corridors of the ancient stone settle, he ignored the querying expressions from the elders who lifted their heads as he passed them, drawing their attention from where they studied and scribed at benches.

As he entered the hallway, he saw that the door to the settle stood open, and there, in the doorway, Egremont and his gentle wife, Felicita, were speaking with a young girl. She was frightened, gesticulating as she spoke. Felicita comforted the girl, glancing at Bron out of the corner of her eye.

Egremont turned to face Bron as he approached. His master sage robe swayed as he moved, his body slow with age. Stroking his white beard thoughtfully, his wise eyes were filled with curiosity.

Bron frowned. “Is it Maerose?"

Egremont nodded.

The girl looked up at Bron with astonishment when he spoke. This was no surprise. She would have expected to find only the familiar elders here at the settle by Western Tor, not a stranger who knew the name of the maiden for whom she feared. He spent most of his time at his retreat in the foothills. He had wanted to stay away from Maerose and her village. He wanted to give her as much time to enjoy her family life as possible, before the day dawned that would change her life forever.

"She's vanished,” the girl stuttered, glancing from Felicita to Bron and back. “She was washing down at the river, and she never returned home. We thought she must have slipped and fallen, but there was ... no body.” Her hand went to her mouth to quell a sob.

Felicita rested a hand on the girl's back, her expression troubled. Even though they knew this was a possibility when Veldor had broken away from them, it was hard to believe that his soul had turned so very dark that he was capable of kidnap to get what he wanted.

The girl bit back her sobs, before continuing. “Her shawl was found in the brambles, torn. The men at the village say there were signs of a struggle with two, maybe three men. They've been hunting for her in the woods, but they asked me to come up here to ask you to plead with the gods for her safe return to Riversbend."

Egremont reached out and touched the girl on her shoulder, calming her. “We will beseech the gods for their intervention. They will listen. Go back to the village now and stay close to her family."

The girl nodded and offered her thanks. Felicita walked with her to the path, speaking to her in a low voice.

Egremont watched as Bron gathered his cloak from inside the settle. “Do you think we have underestimated Veldor?” he asked.

"Perhaps,” Bron replied. “He has his own plans to fulfill. I must deal with him before he puts the whole of Edren in jeopardy.” He bit back his annoyance with Veldor. “We were destined to meet again at this time."

Egremont gave a slow nod, his eyes watchful. “Where will you begin?"

"At Riversbend. I will talk to the people there and then follow what trail there is. I have a fair idea where Veldor might have made his den, though. I've been visioning, in case events took this turn."

"And then?"

"Find her and deal with Veldor, then make her ready to be led.” He pushed back his doubts. “I have a plan of sorts, but Veldor is wily. I didn't want to think on it for too long.” His gaze dropped. He didn't know if Egremont was aware quite how powerful the bond had once been between him and Veldor. So powerful, in fact, that they shared the silent language—knowing the others thoughts and moods, as one would with someone as close as a lover, or a wife.

Egremont nodded but did not press him on the issue. “You did not need to look upon your visior pool to know she was gone.” His tone was speculative. It was not a question, but an observation. He gave a gently inquiring smile, his eyes filled with secret understanding.

"No, I did not.” Bron sighed. “Alas, I cannot share your belief that it is significant."

"It is more than significant; I dare say ... it makes me cautiously hopeful.” Egremont's eyes twinkled.

Felicita rejoined them.

Bron shook his head and threw on his cloak.

Egremont reached up and rested his hand on Bron's shoulder. “Go safely, Bron. All of us here at Western Tor will be with you in spirit; in body, too, if you wish it."

"No, we decided this was the best way, the safest for Maerose. I will see it through. But your prayers and the power of your shared faith will make us strong.” He grew thoughtful.