Racing the Wind, Part 6

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Photo via Visual Hunt

The skies were gray, but Angharad didn’t care. It had taken three long months but the day had finally come. Her mother fastened the lace covered gown and ran a brush through her daughter’s golden curls.

“You look beautiful, Angharad,” Lady Moirea said. “I think this is the first time I have seen you in anything so fine.”

“Yes, and unless my husband insists I go to court I won’t wear anything like this again,” Angharad said. “This is too easily damaged.”

“You are too rough and wild,” Lady Moirea said. “Your father did you no favors by letting you run free.”

“Mother, you’ve been saying that for years. Nothing will change the past, and I now have a husband who loves me for my spirit and will let me be who I am,” Angharad said. She turned and smiled at her mother. “You’re a wonderful chatelaine and absolutely brilliant when it comes to solving problems for the tenant farmers. I can only hope that, when the time comes, Eridan and I will be able to do half as good as you and father.”

Lady Moirea laughed and hugged her daughter, keeping an eye on the dress. “You two will rule in your own way, and do a good job. You work well together and know how to compromise, though sometimes you don’t right now.”

Angharad smiled ruefully. She and Eridan had their fair share of arguments over the past few months, mostly because both were equally as stubborn and when one got an idea in their head they didn’t want to give it up.

There was a knock on the door. Lord Idwal poked his head in. “Moirea, I need Angharad. She has one last custom she must fulfill before the ceremony. Eridan is already outside.”

“What does she have to do?” Moirea asked, puzzled.

“The Heir’s Climb,” Angharad said.

“Not the pyre,” Moirea said, her face aghast. “She’ll destroy her dress and injure herself. She could die.”

“If I’m careful I won’t,” Angharad said. “I can do this, Mother.” Lady Moirea still looked doubtful but followed when Idwal led his daughter out of the room.

Eridan stood not far from the huge pile of wood. “Your father told me about the custom. Are you sure you can do this?” he asked.

“It’s not as hard as it looks,” Angharad said. “I’ve scaled this thing dozens of times, even though I wasn’t supposed to. I knew my day would come and I wanted to be prepared.”

“Yes, but you weren’t constricted by a gown with a long, flowing skirt,” Eridan said. He gripped Angharad’s shoulders. “Please don’t make me watch another person I care about burn to death.” This was whispered in her ear.

“I won’t,” Angharad promised.

Angharad joined her father at the edge of the towering pile of wood. “Are you ready for this?” Lord Idwal asked in a low voice. Angharad just shrugged. Lord Idwal cleared his throat. “Angharad, daughter of Idwal, granddaughter of Oran, it is time to take your place as the inheritor of these lands.” He handed her a lit torch. “Climb as high as you can and light the fire.”

Angharad stared at the oil soaked wood. She looked down at her skirt and train. She reached down and looped the delicate lace over the arm that wasn’t on the side with the torch and began to climb.

Eridan had been right. It was much harder with the dress than her usual outfit. She didn’t get very far up before she realized if she went any higher she would tear something. She paused and then dropped her skirt. She let everything flow around her. “I am Angharad, daughter of Idwal, granddaughter of Oran. I claim Heir’s Rights as proclaimed by the ancient Laws of Blood.” She took a deep breath and hurled the torch as high as she could. It struck the wood and lit it immediately.

Angharad grabbed her skirt again and started climbing down. She moved as fast as she could, but between her gown and her more fragile shoes she was slowed more than she’d expected. She felt the heat as it got closer. She looked up and saw the flames were crawling closer to her outstretched hand.

She increased her speed, trying not to tangle herself in her skirt. Though she hadn’t climbed as high as she’d planned, the branches snagged at the fabric and she had to work it loose. It was slowing her descent just enough that the fire was catching up to her. The roar was drowning out everything below her.

She paused to untangle her skirt for the hundredth time when her upper hand erupted in pain. She screamed and yanked it down, forgetting her skirt in an attempt to brace herself. Her hand was badly burned. It wouldn’t hold her weight anymore.

She looked up. The flames were coming for her like an eager monster seeking to devour her. She glanced down, saw Eridan’s stricken face, the horror on her mother’s, the glee on her brother’s, the pain on her father’s. She gauged the distance to the ground. Taking a deep breath she let go of the wood and jumped.

She struck the ground and rolled. Eridan was at her side in a moment. “Angharad, Angharad, answer me,” he said.

Angharad dragged herself to her feet. “I’m alive,” she said, holding her hand against her chest. She took a moment to assess the rest of the damage to her body. “I’ve been burned badly, and I’ll be a lovely shade of purple in several places, but that’s it,” she said, leaning against Eridan as he held her.

“Let me see the hand,” the house mage said. Angharad held it out while Eridan only shifted his position enough to let her do it. The mage held his hands over it and muttered some strange words under his breath. The pain faded and as she watched the angry red color vanished. The blisters sank back into her skin, though they left behind terrible scarring. When the mage pulled his hands back, the only sign of the burn was the severe scars. “I can’t get rid of the scars. You’re stuck with them for life. But now the wedding can continue as planned.”

“After that fall? Angharad needs to rest. We have to postpone the ceremony until tomorrow,” Lady Moirea protested.

“If we do that, she’ll have to do this again,” Lord Idwal said. “She might not survive.”

“I’m fine, Mother,” Angharad said. “I want to go through with this.”

“All right,” Lady Moirea said.

Eridan wrapped one arm around her waist and held out his other so she could brace herself on it. “You’re hurt worse than you’re saying,” he whispered.

“I am, but as father says, I’d have to do this tomorrow and I don’t want to risk my life two days in a row,” Angharad said.

“Then let’s get this over with so I can get you to the healers,” Eridan said.

“That sounds like a great idea,” Angharad said. She rested most of her weight on her almost-husband and smiled. The gods had finally answered her prayers, though they’d tried to claim her life as their payment. Life with her beloved would be interesting, but it would definitely be worth every moment.

 

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Racing the Wind, Part 5

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Photo via VisualHunt.com

Angharad escaped her ecstatic mother, who was now in full planning mode for her daughter’s wedding. She made her way to the library. Eridan was waiting for her. “Your mother is very enthusiastic,” he said. He was staring out the window and didn’t turn around.

“Both my mother and father were worried about the Right of Inheritance. Without a husband, I can’t inherit,” Angharad. “And you’ve met my brother. He would be the one who took my place.”

“I can see why they wanted me to win,” Eridan said. He turned and settled into a chair, his face in shadow. “Angharad, what I’m going to tell you is not a pretty tale. There is a reason my servants and I left our former liege lord’s lands, and it isn’t entirely because we wished to be free of the memories.”

Angharad settled into the chair beside his. “Tell me,” she said softly.

“I am the Red Bull’s youngest son, but not by his lady wife,” Eridan said, his voice barely above a whisper. “My mother was one of the many maids in the keep. I don’t know how many bastards my father sired, but I was the only one who showed my true parentage. The Red Bull decided that if I was going to appear as his son, he was going to train me to be one.”

“I take it that didn’t go well?” Angharad asked.

Eridan shook his head. “My half brothers despised me. My stepmother had my mother murdered, and then tried to kill me on more than one occasion.” He lifted his shirt and gestured to a thin scar across his right rib cage. “This is one of the few scars I have that didn’t come from battle. It was an assassin’s knife that gave me this. When I killed him, my father decided it would be better for me to join the army. So that is where I was sent.”

“How brutal,” Angharad said.

Eridan nodded. “You must understand, Angharad. I was nearly as tall as I am now at the age of twelve. I was also as thin as a post. I had no strength to speak of. I was uncoordinated, couldn’t even lift a proper sword, and when I tried to draw back a bowstring I might get it back an inch or two and then I’d lose hold of it.”

“That is the truth for any beginner,” Angharad said. “Do you think I could shoot as well as I do now when I first started?”

“I was a lord’s son – bastard or not – and there was an expectation of a level of skill I didn’t have,” Eridan said. “I was beaten regularly, forced to work harder than anyone else, and given very little while others were rewarded with things such as finer food, extra blankets, and more comforts. I grew to hate my father, for it was on his orders that this was happening to me.”

He was shaking. Angharad hesitantly slipped her hand on top of his. He grabbed hold and squeezed it, looking at her with gratitude as she drew him back out of his memory. “You said you were an officer when you first came here,” she said.

“I was, though the Red Bull would have forbidden it if he’d been aware of it,” Eridan said. “He was never very good with my name and when I was out of his sight for a while he soon lost interest in me. When that happened, the harsh treatment lessened and I was rewarded as liberally as the others. In spite of everything, I was still a highly educated young man and I could do things most of the others couldn’t, such as read and write. I picked up on strategy, reading maps, and reckoning distances and time by the location of the stars and the position of the sun and moon.”

“Those are all very useful,” Angharad said.

Eridan nodded. “As I continued to excel, my physical strength increased almost as fast as my mental acuity. I was sixteen when I was placed in control of a small group of scouts who were primarily archers. We were the advance party. We had to see who was in front of us. We did our job well only lost two out of twenty in the two years I served as their commander. At eighteen I was given command of a group of cavalry and led them into so many battles I can no longer recall how many.”

“The Mad King lives up to his name,” Angharad said.

Eridan said. “The Red Bull never disbanded his army. He never let us go home. Even when the Mad King didn’t need him, my father used us to expand his borders. We must have seized the lands of seventeen minor lords from the time I took control of the cavalry to the time my father fell at the hands of the Mad King’s executioner.”

“I thought the Red Bull died in battle,” Angharad said.

“That’s the story my stepmother and half brothers spread as fast as they could, to preserve my father’s honor,” Eridan said. “Instead of having him known as a traitor to the kingdom. But when my father died, I took the opportunity to leave. No lord was confirmed in his place, and all soldiers enslaved by my father were freed. I considered myself as a slave to him so I took one of the Writs of Freedom and left.”

“Who are the men who travel with you?” Angharad said.

“The last two members of my original scouting squad,” Eridan said. “Poor judgment and even poorer tactics wiped out the rest of them. When they saw me seize the chance, they grabbed theirs and followed me out. It took them a bit to find me, but they caught me just as I was about to fall on my sword.”

“Why would you do that?” Angharad asked.

“Look at me, Angharad. You find no disgust with my scars, but you are a rare person in this,” Eridan said. “Others aren’t so enlightened. I was driven from every town and village, usually at the point of a weapon, after being there only for a few hours. I was a monster in their eyes. I was unable to buy food, medicine for the wounds that were festering, or fodder for my horse. We were both starving and dying. I was done. I let my horse rest in a field full of tall grass and went a short distance away. Driscoll and Comgan came up at just the right time.”

“How did they stop  you?” Angharad said.

“Comgan grabbed me and Driscoll took my sword from me,” Eridan said. “We’ve stayed together since.” He paused. “Angharad, I am not going to be an easy man to live with. I think I love you, though I’ve not had much of that in my life so I don’t know that I’d recognize the feeling. I’ll do my best, but I can’t guarantee I’ll always be kind to you.”

“My grandfather, who fought just as you have, didn’t always treat my grandmother and my father well,” Angharad said. “He didn’t always treat me with kindness either, and I was a small child. But he loved all of us and did all he could to make up for those days when his memories clouded his mind.”

Eridan lifted the hand he held to his lips, leaning forward. “You are an amazing woman, Angharad. Nothing like any I have ever met.”

“Here, I was encouraged to be different, and I thrived,” Angharad said.

Racing the Wind, Part 4

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Photo credit: 10b travelling via VisualHunt / CC BY-NC-ND

The next day Angharad led Eridan to a large field behind the keep. Several small cylinders were set up in a row with four of them wrapped in red cloth. “What is this?” Eridan asked.

“Archery,” Angharad said. “The goal is to hit the red targets.”

Eridan looked grim. “I have never been an archer,” he said. “This may end our courtship.”

Angharad fought to hide her disappointment. “You’ll never know until you try. The gods may favor you.” She lowered her voice. “As I do.”

Eridan raised an eyebrow but said nothing. The two of them took their places at the firing line. “Eridan, as the suitor, you have the right to choose. Do you wish to go first? Or would you prefer to see Angharad go before you?” Lord Idwal asked.

Eridan was silent for a moment. “I’d like to see Angharad shoot. I want to know what I’m up against.”

“Very well,” Lord Idwal said. “Angharad, take your place.”

Angharad stepped into place in front of the targets, which had been placed 180 yards ahead. It was just short of the farthest limit any longbow could reach. She took a few deep breaths and then fired the first of three arrows. The first one went wide, striking one of the dust colored cylinders. Her next two struck the red covered ones.

“That’s two out of four,” Angharad said, a slight catch in her voice as she stepped back. “You’ll have to hit all three to beat me.”

“Eridan, take your place,” Lord Idwal said.

Eridan took the spot that Angharad had just vacated. One of his servants handed him an ebony bow. Angharad marveled at the beauty. “Idwal, that could be a magic bow,” Lady Moirea said. “I’ve not seen one of that color before.”

“My lady, it isn’t magical,” Eridan said. “But if you wish to have your house mage examine it, I will allow that.” He paused. “If he puts a spell on it, I will kill him.”

The house mage was summoned. “Angharad, you hold the bow. You’ll know if I try to cast anything on it,” he said. Angharad accepted the bow. The mage closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, they were pure white. Then they returned to normal. “It’s an ordinary bow, my lord. Nothing strange about it, other than the fact that the wood comes from an ebony tree. It’s one of the rarest trees in existence and whoever gave this to him must have held him in high regard because there’s no way he would have been able to buy this on his own.” The mage bowed and he headed back to the keep.

Lord Idwal gestured to the faint line drawn in the dirt. “Eridan, take your place.”

Eridan moved to the spot once more. He drew out his first arrow and sighted down it. Angharad watched him take several deep breaths. He adjusted his stance and his grip. A light breeze picked up. Eridan changed the position of the bow. His eyes closed for a moment before he opened them and released the arrow.

Angharad held her breath as the black and silver projectile sped towards the tiny targets. It slammed into one of the top red cylinders. She bit back a cheer. He still had to take down two more.

Eridan lifted his second arrow and repeated the process. thwack A second target went down. Angharad clutched her bow in both hands. She began praying, begging the gods to give him the accuracy to remove the third target.

Eridan lowered his bow and wiped his forehead. He wiped his hands on his pants and motioned for his servant to bring him a cup of water. His eyes were haunted and he was as pale as the shirt he wore.

He lifted his bow one last time. He slowly sighted down the arrow, holding himself rock steady. His breathing was slow and mostly steady, though every now and then there was a minor hitch. Angharad clenched her teeth together, willing him strength.

Eridan released the arrow. A sudden gust kicked up some dust and the arrow’s trajectory shifted. Angharad gasped, sure her chance of having the man of her choice as a husband was gone.

Eridan grabbed a fourth arrow and shot quickly, knocking it back towards the target. Surprisingly, the trick worked. His third arrow slammed into a third red cylinder and it toppled over.

“That’s cheating,” Colum said, his words slurred. He slurped from a pitcher of wine, ignoring the dark red liquid slopping all over his tunic. “He shot a fourth arrow.”

“I see no cheating,” Angharad said. “If the wind can alter the direction of the arrow, there’s no reason why we can’t fix that. I’ve done it too, though I’ve never been that successful.”

Lord Idwal nodded. “Angharad is right, Colum. I’ve allowed her to do it. I’m going to accept Eridan doing the same thing.” He paused, then smiled at Eridan. “Eridan, congratulations. You have done what no other man has. You have won my daughter’s hand.”

Angharad dropped her bow and flung herself into Eridan’s arms. He grabbed her and pressed his lips against hers. She felt the scar. It was rough on her face, but she didn’t care. This is what she’d been dreaming of since they’d gone to get the horses.

“It seems our daughter approves,” Lady Moirea said wryly.

Angharad stepped back, blushing. “I’m sorry, Mother.”

“Don’t be,” Lady Moirea said. “The light in both of your eyes proves you two were meant for each other.”

“Come,” Lord Idwal said. “Tonight we will have the normal dinner. Tomorrow we feast!” Angharad followed her father into the keep, her fingers intertwined with Eridan’s. His hands were trembling and he was still pale. The haunted look hadn’t left him, but there was definitely some happiness there too.

Eridan took her hand and pressed it to his lips. “Join me in the library this evening, after dinner,” he murmured. “I will tell you why I look more like a ghost than a man right now.” Startled that he recognized what she thought, she nodded. He kissed the top of her head and they took their seats at the table.

Racing the Wind, Part 3

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Photo via Visual Hunt

Angharad gave Eridan a few days to recover from his journey before approaching him. “Are you ready for the first challenge?” she asked.

“I am,” he said, smiling. She loved how his eyes lit up and the scar puckered at the corner of his mouth. It gave his face character. Her brother called him ugly. He wasn’t handsome, but his face was intriguing and proved he was more than just another nobleman trying to add to his holdings. “What is this challenge?”

“Catching and riding one of the wild horses that roam the lands around our keep,” Angharad said. “They are notoriously difficult to handle, and any man who can tame one can hold my wild heart in his.”

“I will endeavor to do well in this, to please you and win your hand,” Eridan said, bowing.

Angharad blushed. She’d never blushed with any of her other suitors. She’d despised them. “Follow me,” she said, turning her back on him to hide her face. She led him down and out of the keep.

Two horses were saddled and waiting for them, all of the tools they’d need strapped to their saddles. She admired his horse once again. It was a beautiful animal. The blackness of its hide was so intense it swallowed the light.

Eridan mounted and waited for her to do the same. “Where do we ride?” he asked.

“I cannot say, for the location of the valley they dwell in is a secret I must keep from everyone but my suitors,” Angharad said. “And you must swear on the gods that you won’t tell anyone no matter the outcome of the challenges.”

“I so swear,” Eridan said solemnly.

“Then follow me,” Angharad said. She nudged her horse with her heels and pulled the reins to the left. She led the horse out of the keep’s gate and down the road.

It took three hours to get to the valley. Eridan made no complaint. He was so much better than any of her other suitors. She prayed to the gods he would win the challenges. She’d never wanted someone as much as she wanted him.

“They’re beautiful,” he said, breaking into her musings as they reached the entrance to the valley. The horses were milling around in plain sight.

She took a moment to admire the gorgeous scene. “They are,” she agreed. “This has always been one of my favorite places to come, even when I’m not trying to wrangle them. My father brought me here as soon as I got to an age where I could choose one to train so I could ride it.” She patted her horse’s neck. “Sinowa came from here. She’s one of the horses I caught during the challenges.”

“What do you do with the horses we catch?” Eridan asked.

“We sell them, unless one of the suitors wants theirs,” Angharad said. She dismounted, tying and hobbling her. Eridan followed her example. She grabbed her gear and led Eridan into the valley. “You go to the right. I go to the left. You have until the sun reaches its zenith to succeed or fail at the challenge.” Eridan nodded and slipped off.

Angharad made her way around the edge of the valley, searching for the perfect horse. Her mother was in need of a new one. Lady Moirea’s little mare was older than Angharad and the poor thing needed to be put out to pasture.

She saw a flash of white and focused on it. She saw a mare with a dark gray hide and a white mane and tail. She was something to behold, and she thought her mother would love her.

She shook the rope loose from her shoulder and began spinning it in the air. She flipped her wrist and sent the loop winging through the air. It wrapped around the horse’s neck and she caught it on the first try.

Of course the mare protested violently and Angharad was pulled in several directions. She gritted her teeth, planted her feet, braced herself, and leaned back with all her weight.

The horse finally stopped moving, but Angharad didn’t trust her. She kept the rope taut as she moved closer. As she got within arm’s reach the mare struck out with her teeth, trying to bite whatever she could reach. Angharad smacked her nose, something that startled the young mare.

“You keep to yourself, young miss,” Angharad said in a soft voice. She moved closer and began rubbing the horse’s neck. “You’re a pretty girl, aren’t you? Just think how gorgeous you’d be decked out in my family’s colors.”

Angharad pulled the saddle blanket off her back and tossed it over the horse’s back. The mare shied away, shaking to rid herself of the blanket. Angharad went over, picked it up, and put it back on the mare. She shook it off again.

It took nearly an hour before the horse finally let her put the blanket on. She walked the mare around, letting her get used to the blanket and the rope around her neck. Next came one of the hard parts. She pulled out a hackamore and tried to slip it over the mare’s face.

The mare was having none of that. She tried to bite Angharad again. She got smacked in the nose for her efforts. “I told you that wasn’t going to get you anywhere,” Angharad said. “Now, this isn’t all that bad. At least it isn’t the regular bridle. I strongly doubt you’d appreciate the standard bit and bridle.”

She glanced at the sky. She didn’t have much time left. She continued trying and finally got the hackamore on. She cut the walk short, only going in circles for a few minutes before taking hold of the reins attached to the hackamore and climbing on the horse’s back.

The mare exploded into a flurry of kicks and bucking. Angharad held on for dear life. She waited until the horse wore herself out. She tugged on the right hand rein and nudged the horse with her right foot. The horse turned to the right and started walking back towards the mouth of the valley.

Angharad reached the rendezvous spot and saw Eridan sitting astride a dark brown mare with white patches on the rump. “She gave me a lot of trouble,” he said as she came up. There was a fresh cut on his face and he was leaning forward a little. “But I got her before the time was up.”

Angharad smiled. “That’s wonderful,” she said. “Let’s tie these two to the backs of our saddles and take them home.”

“That sounds perfect,” Eridan said. They put words into actions and headed back to the keep.

To be continued…….

Racing the Wind, Part 1

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Photo via Visual hunt

Angharad laughed as Pirion tried to keep up with her. “You won’t win my hand that way,” she taunted, golden curls trailing behind her as she ran.

“How are you so gods cursed fast?” Pirion asked, panting from the exertion.

“I do not choose to spend my time caged by the conventions that govern most women,” Angharad said. “And my father approves.”

Pirion swore as she pulled even farther ahead. “If you keep this up the fae will come claim you as their own.”

Angharad smirked. She had heard that threat so many times in the past three years it no longer bothered her. She was the swiftest runner on the Verdant Isles, and many were the suitors who’d fallen in her wake. She wanted no man who couldn’t keep up with her in any challenge she gave him, and this was only the first of three.

Angharad reached her father’s keep before Pirion. She leaned against the apple tree that was the finish line, happily eating one of the ripe fruits dangling from it. Pirion finally stumbled up to her, gasping for breath. “You are not fit to be my husband,” she said, tossing the core into the bushes. “I will so tell my father.” She turned on her heel, ignoring his spluttering, and went inside.

“Could you not give him a chance, daughter?” Lady Moirea asked, giving her eldest child an exasperated look.

“No. He is a sniveling coward who can’t hold his own against a woman,” Angharad said, sipping the mead in her mug.

Lord Idwal sighed. “Angharad, I may have to take away your right of choice if you don’t pick soon. You have four years before you pass the age of inheritance. If you aren’t married by then, the estate goes to your younger brother.”

All three of them shared a sour look. Angharad’s younger brother was a drunk and a womanizer. He would ruin the family’s name and fortune if he got hold of the property.

“Very well, father,” Angharad said with a sigh. “I’ll remove the footrace from my requirements. But my other two challenges still stand.”

“That will have to do,” Lord Idwal said.

“Angharad, the archery challenge is just as difficult as the running challenge,” Lady Moirea said. “You are the best archer in your father’s lands.”

“Yes, but I must know my husband will be physically able to protect me and our children. I will not put a lord with no military skill in charge of our lands,” Angharad said. “Father knows what happened when his great-grandfather chose that fate for his own daughter.”

Lord Idwal nodded. “Moirea, it is only by the grace of the gods that my family still holds these lands because of that mistake. Angharad has the right of it.” Lady Moirea sighed and bowed her head in acquiescence. Angharad finished her drink and left her parents to discuss the business of the lord’s demesne.

Pirion left the next day, glaring at Angharad and her father as he went. Angharad sighed. Pirion was a good looking young man. If only his wits were as sharp as his tongue. She turned to go inside when her father put a hand on her arm. “It appears we have another guest, daughter. You will wait and greet them.”

Angharad turned back to the front gate. Three riders approached her father. They stopped their horses at the prescribed spot. One rode a midnight black horse. The other two rode a pair of matched silvery gray ones. The two guards – for that is who the ones on the gray horses were – dismounted and went to the lead horse. One held the reins while the other put his hand on the hilt of his sword as his master dismounted.

The man on the black horse, who also was clad in black, approached Lord Idwal. “Lord Idwal, I have come to claim the hand of your daughter Angharad,” he said. His voice was deep but melodious.

“I will not consider any man who does not show his face,” Lord Idwal said.

The man pushed back his hood. Lord Idwal paled but Angharad was intrigued. The man bore many scars, showing he’d been in several fights. “You are a warrior, my lord?” Angharad asked.

The man smiled, the scar on the left side of his lips puckering. “I have fought in every war the Mad King has called. My liege lord saw to that. But now he has died in one of those battles, and those who were sworn to his service are free.”

“Why did you choose to come here?” Lord Idwal asked.

“I have heard that Lady Angharad is a strong willed woman, whose skill as a warrior would match my own,” the man said. “I will wed no woman who cannot at the very least defend herself and our children should I be called away to battle once more.”

“I am pleased with the way you have presented yourself,” Lord Idwal said. “What is your name, good sir?”

“I am Eridan.”

“Be welcome, Eridan, and enter,” Lord Idwal said.

“My two companions – they are the only reason I yet live – are weary from our journey. Might they take rest with your guards?” Eridan asked. “They will cause no problems. They know they owe their freedom to me.”

“My captain will see to their comfort, for it’s obvious they are veterans as you are,” Lord Idwal said. The relief on the two men’s faces made Angharad smile. One of Lord Idwal’s guards called for the stablehands, and the guard captain escorted the other two soldiers away as Angharad and her father led Eridan into the manor.

 

To be continued…………..