The Strangling

"Tell them to prepare for the new order,” Veldor added.

Bron felt the last shred of kinship they had once shared shatter into pieces. “We are all part of a chain, Veldor. Everything plays its part. You broke the chain, but you were once part of it, and that fact remains.” He could not keep the accusation or the disappointment from his tone.

An evil light glinted at the back of Veldor's eyes. “Oh, but I have forged a new chain, Bron, and this one belongs to me."

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CHAPTER THREE

Bron strode out of the hovel-like inn, walking away from the pitiful place Veldor had chosen to slink off to, his mind unsettled, his heart seething with outrage. Surely Veldor could not foresee an alliance with the cursed hordes? The thought echoed through his mind over and over again. He pushed it aside for the time being. He had to move forward, and quickly, for Veldor was right; a new order had been predicted in the scrolls. It was said to be borne of the events that would take place on Samhain. But upon his life it would not be the dark ways of Veldor that would take that title. “Not if I have a single breath left in my body,” he growled into the night.

Attempting to shelve his anger, he focused his mind on what had to be done. It was difficult, but as he walked, he gathered strength. He had been channeling his energies into keeping his retreat in the foothills hidden. Now he had to risk withdrawing that energy, to use it here instead. If he moved fast, the risks would be low.

He chose a sturdy oak to meditate beneath, sitting cross-legged at its base. He turned his face to the moon. Summoning the forces of nature, he enquired of the significant sources if he might draw upon them: the moon goddess, who lit the ground around him; the living creatures that moved in the hedgerows and shrubs; the faith and power of the elders at Western Tor. Preparing to harness whatever sources they offered him, he closed his eyes to what was around him and focused instead on the path back to Maerose.

Like reeds whispering in the wind, he heard their replies and felt them entering into his soul. He opened his eyes to a rush of color and light moving around him, vibrant in the still of the night. The elders pooled their power within him. It charged him with energy, with magic. He looked skyward, through the swirling light that shone down on him. The goddess of the moon had focused her attention on him, drawing her resources in from all over the land. He felt her acknowledgment and whispered the nature of his task to her, his voice riding easily on the currents of energy around him. She blessed his endeavor, sending him light and shadows to cloak himself as he saw fit. A subtle wind blew through the trees, and he rose to his feet on it. The call of a distant owl reached him, offering him passage and cover for his journey.

He took a deep breath, summoning his every resource, and his spirit lifted from his body and joined with the wise, magnificent bird. Its heart thudded within him, its blood beating into him. He saw through its eyes and took passage with it. The bird's great and beautiful wings spanned out and the night air streamed beneath them as they rose. He sensed the shift of the fallen leaves around him as he took flight, gathering power and speed. Far below, the prey scurrying in the hedgerow became visible to his eyes as he covered the distance in the guise of the night predator.

Within moments they had traveled back to Veldor's den. It stood, hunched against the wooded land, a gloomy retreat that emitted dark energies below them. Bron watched the stone walls and thatched roof as they grew closer, scanning the doorways. The owl landed on a window ledge, his silent wings attracting no attention from the men drinking inside the inn. He blinked, turning his head, spying the best way for Bron to travel through the maze-like passages to the cellar.

Bron urged the great bird on, and with one last call to the elders who channeled him their strength, he drew upon the shadows the moon goddess had offered, made himself invisible, and entered Veldor's den.

* * * *

The woman who brought Maerose her food each evening looked at her sadly as she came down the steps with a platter of bread, and Maerose saw regret in her face.

She mustered herself and rose up within the shackles that held her, her pride forcing her to be strong. “Do you know who that was?” she asked, her curiosity unabated since the stranger had been there earlier. He'd stared at her in a manner that had seemed to touch her inside. She had felt, too, as if he had come to help her, and yet he had spoken easily with Veldor, and then walked away. She'd chastised herself for clinging to stray chances of being rescued, but still she could not shake his image from her mind.

"The dark haired traveler?” the woman responded. Up until now, she had not answered Maerose's questions and pleas for help, but this topic arrested her attention.

"Yes, who is he, and why did he come here to look upon me, while I hang here in this wretched manner?"

The woman shrugged. “I do not know. I thought at first he was an enemy of them ones.” She nodded her head up the stairs. “From what they said about him, but they chatted over ale a while, before the traveler left."

He had gone. Maerose's heart sank.

The woman picked up the dish of dry, half-gnawed bread from beside the cot where Maerose lay at night. The meager meal was untouched other than by the rat. She replaced it with the platter she had brought down with her. “You really should eat, girl. What use is fattening the rats? You need to keep up your strength."

Maerose shook her head and looked at the woman beseechingly. “Please,” she whispered. “Can't you find it in yourself to help me?” Her limbs had gone numb. She could no longer struggle and implore as she had when the woman had first come in, the night before.

The woman's expression was heavy with guilt. “I cannot, though I wish I could. My children, they will starve if I do not earn this money."

A sigh escaped Maerose. She nodded. If she were in the same position, what would she do?

"I will say this,” the woman added. “Make it easier on yourself. If he is after your maidenhood, don't struggle. It will not hurt so much, mark my words.” She moved closer and was about to say something else when a sound caught her attention, the door at the top of the cellar steps scraping along the floor. Her mouth shut, the sympathy in her expression changing to fear, and she hurried away and back up the stairs, dish in hand.

Maerose slumped again. She heard voices on the staircase. The woman and Veldor. Despair swamped her. He meant to have her that evening. She had fretted and prayed, not closing her eyes, expecting him to come back at any point. And now the time had come. In the distance she heard the sound of drunken men singing, laughing. There was no escape; no one would help her. Not the one called Cale, nor the mysterious stranger. Not even the woman who brought bread and water seemed brave enough to disobey Veldor. And it seemed from his words to the dark-eyed stranger earlier that her worst fear would soon be realized.

Veldor's footsteps sounded on the steps, doom-laden. He paused before the foot of the stairs and leaned on the doorframe, looking over at her. “I'm sorry I took so long to get back to you. I'm sure you missed my attentions.” He laughed.

She had never heard such a humorless sound. His shirt was undone. She averted her eyes when she noticed. She heard him jump the final step and walk over to her.

He snatched at her chin with his fingers, drawing her eyes back to meet his own. “Don't turn away when I speak to you. You are mine and I forbid it."

His lecherous gaze left her in no doubt what he intended to do, but hearing those words upon his lips made her shudder.

He reached to undo her shackles.