by
William Avett
Knight-errant Edward Tralain entered the deserted city with trepidation. His charger, Golden Boy, had shied at the ruined gate, and it took all his effort to goad the horse forward.
He had surveyed the structures from a distance, and seeing no one, decided to seek safe haven within. He knew that many villages lay abandoned in this part of the land, and this nameless town was no doubt one of them.
However, as he entered the village in the waning light of the setting sun, he considered turning back and making camp elsewhere. But many buildings were still intact, and would give excellent shelter from the elements. Looking up at the deepening sky, Edward speculated possible rain this evening, and thought it best to take refuge from any adverse weather.
As his horse plodded slowly along the debris-strewn street, he saw at one intersection a spring fed fountain that still gave cold, clear water. Both he and his horse stopped and refreshed themselves. Tralain decided that with water so readily available, he would be foolish to give into childish fears and vacate this deserted village.
Still, he was inexperienced, a knight-errant in name only, and had not yet learned to trust his own instincts. If he completed his quest, he would gain full knight-hood, lands, and riches. But first he must complete the quest, and it would likely take him many years to do so. At times like this Tralain wondered if he had been wise to volunteer for this task, though he fully intended to carry it out.
So, he began looking in this forsaken place for a structure in which to take shelter for the coming night, and found it in an old stable made of stone. The walls were still sound, with even most of the roof intact, and would provide adequate protection for him and his charger. He wondered if any people had camped here recently, but could find no evidence of such. Edward felt this was a better place for him to spend the night than some dank, crumbing hut.
But the mystery of what caused this town's abandonment still plagued his thoughts. He knew that oftentimes plagues ravished the countryside, leaving behind whole cities emptied of people. And, at other times conquering armies left no persons at all to tell the tale. Many reasons existed why this village might lay empty; reasons that no longer affected a lone traveler in this barren land.
However, ever prudent, the young soldier inspected the barn and noted the possible egresses and exits. He piled a few boulders here and there; stopping up holes in the wall, and generally did his best to hinder anyone's attempt to enter unawares.
Next, Tralain cared for his horse Golden Boy, making sure he was well fed from the supply of oats he carried. After his horse was settled for the night, he turned to his own needs, and with flint and steel started a small fire, deciding to roast a rabbit he had been fortunate enough to bring down earlier in the day with a lucky arrow shot.
Edward wasn't really an exceptional bowman, perhaps only average amongst the King's Guard. But, the day of the competition he had scored high enough to qualify in that category, as well as horsemanship, sword and quarterstaff. One had to qualify in four areas to be granted the boon of the Royal Quest, and this year, out of more than a hundred volunteers, he had been fortunate enough to pass.
Now, he and seventeen other loyal men had taken up the task of finding the Treasure, though Edward began to wonder if he should have stayed at home secure in the King's service. He was generally a good soldier, and ranked third in the Castle Guard with long sword, a group generally considered the best in the Kingdom, far better even than Duke Dunstard's riff-raff. But, to remain in the Guard meant to give up his dream of success.
So, three weeks later Edward Tralain bedded down in an abandoned village with a sense of foreboding. No matter that his logical mind told him not to worry, something about this place disturbed him. He would get little sleep this night.
Not long after midnight they came to him. The fire had died to only embers, and with a giggle the first rogue jumped over the still hot coals with a dagger in one hand, striving towards the reclining figure of Tralain.
Unfortunately for the eager intruder, a tiny bell tinkled in the dead of night. Closed eyes opened wide, and Tralain's three foot blade swung up, slicing off the skulker's arm, while the return stroke sent the head flying into the far corner. The intruder had tripped the string tied across the stable entrance, signaling the alarm.
But, the guardsman had little time for respite. Three more followed the first infiltrator into range of the glowing embers. Two failed to jump the fire and groaned from the hot coals, though it seemed not to slow them down.
Edward rose to one knee, bringing his sword forward in a single thrust that impaled the first fellow in the chest. He grunted, and Tralain pulled out the sword, swinging next for the man on his right.
A quick stroke at the torso severed the spine and the body collapsed like a rag doll. He turned left to engage the other assailant, and felt a small blade glance off his breast pallet.
He wore only light armor, but it usually proved sufficient to turn a dagger. No professional soldier would spend a night in a ruined town without wearing his light travel armor. And, while inexperienced, Tralain knew enough about camping not to take unnecessary chances.
A downward swing brought his sword onto the exposed skull of the third assailant, splitting it to the jawbone.
Given a temporary reprieve, Tralain surveyed his surroundings with keen interest. The four he had dispatched were down, and of no concern, though some bodies still twitched and jerked in an uncharacteristic manner. He wondered about this, but realized he had killed few men in his career, and dismissed the activity as unimportant.
But now he saw others milling around outside, and more arriving as he scanned the darkness. It would be only a matter of time before enough gathered the gumption to rush him again and overwhelm his defense with sheer force of numbers.
Deciding, he reached down, grabbed his bag, and vaulted onto the back of Golden Boy. Heeding to a certain extent his gnawing unrest, Tralain had prepared his horse for instant flight, and now bowled his way forward out of the stables and onto the street, scattering people in every direction, seeking a clear path of escape.
First he turned in one direction, and then the other. Figures loomed out of the darkness, moaning, reaching for him with outstretched arms. Some carried weapons, while most used only gleaming white teeth in open hungry mouths. Tralain frantically urged his charger up a street that held fewer figures than the others, attempting to leave his pursuers behind.
Hands clawed at Tralain as he rode past, trying to pull him off Golden Boy. He hewed to left and right with his sword, feeling his blade crunch into bone and cartilage, but with few of the cries of pain that he would normally expect.
Finally, deftly swinging his slashing sword, Tralain cleared away the majority of these madmen, and urging his horse forward, galloped down a dark street, with dozens following behind.
The town now seemed larger than he had first thought, with confusing avenues in the near darkness. Tralain took a street to the right, rode onward, saw several figures, and turned left down a side alley, always seeking a path to the outskirts of the village.
But as soon as he found an avenue that looked like a possible escape from this horrid place, shambling figures would block his way, some with staffs, pitchforks, and now even a few blades, glinting in the faint light of the quarter moon. Then Edward saw a side alley to his left that seemed clear and took it.
It ended in an open square with a large solid gate before him, and an avenue to the left and right. He looked in both directions, and at first saw no one. Then, figures shambled around the corners from both sides, coming towards him. He heard movement from behind, and spurred Golden Boy forward.
Tralain weighed in desperation his most likely means of escape. But, even as he considered, the number of adversaries grew with each passing breath, and Tralain now doubted his ability to win free unscathed. They would pull him down and overwhelm him.
“This way,” called a woman's voice from the darkness.
Tralain looked up and there on the wall he saw a feminine figure standing to the right of the gate. She was a tall thin woman, with long black hair, which appeared almost radiant in the soft moonlight.
“Quickly,” she shouted, pointing to the gate that now swung wide as if in invitation.
Edward checked the streets one last time and saw no other option. Any shelter in a storm, he thought, and spurred his horse forward and through the gate, which shut promptly behind him with a loud thud.
Tralain now found himself in a small courtyard before a quality residence of a bygone era. A high sturdy wall surrounded the entire grounds, with the portal he had passed through apparently the only means of access. He saw that the man who had opened the gate now barred it in earnest and set the stops securely. For many years this barrier had evidently protected the small villa from any unwanted visitors.
The poorly dressed man approached Tralain and pausing several feet away, bowed his head. “May I take your horse, Sir?” he asked. “We have a small stable, and he shall be well cared for.” The man spoke with an odd accent.
Tralain looked about and saw a female servant standing near the doorway to the main residence. A small torch lit the entranceway. Presently, the servant opened the door, and out stepped the woman he had seen standing on the wall, the woman who had called to him in the night.
Tralain gazed upon her in surprise. She wore a long gown that seemed to shimmer with moonlight, and her long black hair softly fluttered in the breeze. With regal grace she walked up to Tralain, who still sat upon Golden Boy.
“Please, sir knight. Accept the hospitality of my home,” she addressed him. “No evil will befall you within these walls.”
“Who are you?”
“I am Mistress Delenor,” she said. “Welcome to my abode.”
“Thank you,” he said.
“And you are?”
“Tralain, Edward Tralain, First Guard of King Delortas.”
“King Delortas?”
“Yes. Your village lies on lands that he claims as his own.”
“And you are here to enforce that claim?” she asked imperiously.
“No. I am on a quest for the king.”
“And what is the nature of this quest?”
“Of that I may not speak,” he said. “But, I have sworn to follow it through, no matter what the cost, though tonight I nearly met my end in the performance of that duty.
“Who are those people outside the walls?” he asked.
“The Cursed Ones,” she replied. “But, we should not talk of such matters now. You are weary, with little sleep, I see. Come inside and abide here. I promise no harm shall befall you.”
Edward Tralain hesitated, and considered his options. He looked down upon the woman, studying her face intently, perhaps to glean some sense as to her veracity. Presently, he sighed.
“Very well, Mistress Delenor. I accept your invitation. Thank you,” and Tralain wiped his sword and slipped it back into his scabbard, dismounted, and allowed the servant to lead Golden Boy away.
Tralain followed the woman through the entranceway and down a long hall, the servant girl trailing behind with a lit candle. They entered a large chamber with a staircase winding up to a second story. This surprised Tralain, as he did not remember any tall structure in such evident good condition when he had first espied the city from afar.
Mistress Delenor led him up the stairs to a room elegantly decorated with carpets, furniture, and a comfortable feather bed. Tralain looked around, amazed to find such opulence in a supposedly ruined city.
“My servant, Casandra, will assist to your needs,” she said. “May you rest well, Edward Tralain, of the First Guard. We will speak further in the morning.”
And the mistress of the manor drifted away down the hallway with Tralain's eyes following her, contemplating if she were in fact the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. The servant girl pulled Tralain over to the bed, and stripped off his light armor, storing it in a closet. Then she washed him lightly from a pan filled with perfumed water, and put him to bed. For some reason Edward did not object at all, but did what the servant girl asked, rolled into the bed, and quickly fell asleep with not the slightest concern.
When the girl left the room, she found her mistress waiting for her.
“How is he?” she asked.
“He is sleeping, my mistress,” she responded.
The woman gazed past her servant to the man in the bed, hunger and longing reflected in her gaze. “See that he is treated well. But, under no circumstances must he leave the compound.”
“Yes, mistress. I will let the other servants know.” The girl bowed to her mistress, and retreated down the hallway. Delenor walked in the opposite direction to her own chambers, undressed and for the first time slept in her bed with pleasant dreams of contemplation, dreams that included the young man resting contentedly in a room not far away.
In the morning the servant Casandra woke Tralain, apologizing with earnest, but that “breakfast was served, and the mistress was waiting.”
She laid out special clothes for him of almost silken texture, and helped him don them. Tralain took his time, prepared himself as best he could, and then followed the girl below to a room with a small table set for two. On one side sat the Mistress Delenor, and at the other a servant held a chair ready for him.
“Good morning, my lady,” he said, bowing.
“And, good morning to you Guard Tralain. I trust that you slept well?”
“Definitely,” he responded. “Though I do not understand why. Normally I would not be so lax.”
“As I have said, you have nothing to fear under my roof. Please, sit and replenish yourself.”
Tralain sat down, and viewed the food on the table. It was simple fare; bread, cheese, eggs, and a few slices of fruit. But, it was much better than anything he had eaten for days.
The meal progressed with little conversation; Mistress Delenor ate lightly, while Tralain consumed his meal as if in preparation for lean times to come. But finally even his appetite was sated, and Tralain leaned back and politely covered a belch.
“Your hospitality is overwhelming,” he said. “Tell me a little about yourself, and about this village. Why did those people attack me?”
Mistress Delenor gazed intently into his eyes. “I am not sure if we should speak of this now. But, you will be staying with us a few days?”
“Well, I would not want to impose,” he replied.
“Think nothing of it. We receive few visitors.” She stood up. “Come, let me show you my home,” and she took his arm and they spent a pleasant morning wandering about the grounds.
Behind the sprawling mansion lay a large garden, with even a few livestock, and a fountain of flowing water. Here, he found Golden Boy in a stall, groomed and well cared for. Casting his cares aside he spent the rest of the day in Delenor's company, each of them laughing and smiling at bits of shared conversation.
She was eager for news from across the land, and expressed curiosity about King Delortas, who claimed this territory. “The last king I remember was King Nemelixen. Have you heard of him?
“No, my lady. Perhaps he was a ruler of some adjacent kingdom?”
“No doubt,” she said, passing off the comment as of no importance, though Delenor realized she had made a mistake, for King Nemelixen had ruled more than three hundred years ago, when invading Natites had settled the land for a dozen years or more.
So Mistress Delenor convinced him to stay for dinner another night, and they again enjoyed the company of each other's presence. When together she would often gaze upon Tralain's handsome features with longing, and not a little hunger, while he grew ever more amazed that such a beautiful and enchanting woman as she would cloister herself in these walled grounds, surrounded outside by people little better than animals.
Presently, he could stand it no longer, and begged her to tell him why she was here, here in a town he once thought deserted, but instead found filled with strange occupants who attack visitors in the dead of night.
They sat in the main room, each sipping a brown colored liquor in a crystal glass. “Are you sure you wish to know?” she asked.
“Yes. Why was I attacked? Who are those people outside your walls?”
“They are the cursed citizens of Vendebane,” she replied.
“Vendebane?”
“Yes, at one time this ruined town bore that name. But, a curse was cast upon the village as revenge for how they once treated a visiting dignitary. It turned them into the beasts that you encountered the other night.”
“They attack all who enter the city?”
“Yes. Usually they wait till nightfall, when darkness can hide their evil and their curse. In extinguishing and consuming the life of the living, they gain a temporary respite from their living death.”
“What do you mean ‘their living death'?” he asked.
“They cannot die, but live eternally seeking the death of those unfortunate enough to find their way inside the village.”
“But, I killed several of them,” Tralain pointed out.
“You killed only one,” she replied. “Only by decapitation can such beasts die, else they renew to live again.”
Tralain leaned forward with amazement upon his face. “And, you live here? Why don't you leave?”
“Because I am as cursed as they,” she replied in disgust. “I and my servants received the curse along with all the other inhabitants of this village those many years ago. But, I had protections in place for all who dwelt under my roof. We do not seek the flesh of the living, but still can only leave the city for a short period of time. If we are absent too long, we wither and die like the blowing leaves of autumn.”
“How long have you and your servants lived here?”
She thought back. “Over three hundred years,” she replied with a sigh.
Tralain was speechless for several minutes as he pondered what she had told him. It seemed incredible, but it fit the facts. “But how do you survive? You have food, water, and supplies. Where do they come from?”
“A mile from here we have a trading obelisk. My servants and I sometimes go there to exchange goods, though we are always careful to return before sundown. The rest of our food we grow here, and as the underground aquifer still delivers a bountiful supply of water from the hills, we want for little.”
Tralain sighed. “Oh, Mistress Delenor, what a cruel existence for one so beautiful.” Then, he hesitated, realizing what he had said. “Forgive me. It must be the liquor.”
“You have done nothing to warrant forgiveness,” she replied. “Rather, I should thank you for your kind words. I, who have grown so lonely over the long years,” and she reached out and held his hand.
It seemed almost electric. Tralain reached out to her in return, and they came together in a long embrace, their lips joined with a burning passion.
“Come with me,” she sighed, and slowly led him up the stairs to her private chambers. The servants saw them go, and smiled. The mistress has been lonely, they thought. Perhaps this one she would grow to love beyond her wild passions.
And Edward Tralain of the King's Guard spent a night that he had only dreamed of before. She was everything he had ever sought in a woman, beautiful, kind, patient, elegant, and filled with the passion of love.
In the morning he found himself alone in her bed, recalling the events of the night before. Presently the servant girl Casandra entered, and helped him dress. “It is late in the morning,” she said with down cast eyes. “My mistress awaits you in the parlor.”
“Very well,” he replied. Last night now seemed like a dream. And, he somehow felt guilty at experiencing such a night as this. Surely, no man has found a better love, he thought. Then, it hit him. He was in love with this enchanting woman, this woman who claimed to be over three hundred years old, and yet looked as young and fresh as the first flowers of spring.
But then, he remembered his quest, and his oath. Surely, though, true love must supersede all oaths and quests, no matter how profound, he thought. Surely he deserved love as much as anyone.
Tralain went downstairs and met his mistress, standing there, awaiting his approach.
“My love,” she said, kissing him lightly on the lips.
“Mistress,” he replied.
“You do love me, do you not,” she asked in earnest, “especially after what we have now shared?”
“You know that I do,” he replied. “But, I have my quest. I am torn. I should not stay. I must not stay.” He thought for a moment, and sighed. “But I want to be with you, share even your curse, and reside in this place with you forever.”
“My love,” she replied, holding him close. “You may stay, and become my consort. In happiness we will face life together in the midst of this lost village.”
They kissed again, and he was content. The quest was lost. But, what of it? he thought. Surely others would succeed where he had failed. Yes, he had failed. He would accept it and live with this enchanting woman for the rest of his life.
And, as the days flowed into weeks, all appeared well with them both. But sometimes, Tralain would wake in the midst of the night from a dream half-remembered, a dream of far away places and wonders to behold. He would turn and see his mistress in the low light of the candle flame, snuggle close to her and fall back into a deep sleep.
For Mistress Delenor the sleep after their bouts of passion were filled with more than light regrets or dreams of things that might have been. Instead, the Powers warned of the danger her actions brought upon them. She ignored the dreams until one night she woke with a start.
She looked over and found her man asleep beside her, content in the place that he held by her side, content to be the lover of a woman so long lonely. But, before her floated a sprite, a ball that grew in size and pulsated with otherworldly energy.
“You have sinned,” declared a voice.
“Forgive me,” she replied, bowing her head. “But he was given to me. He is mine,” she stated. Tralain did not stir a muscle or notice in any way their conversation.
“No, he is not,” the sprite admonished.
“He is mine, I say!” she retorted with greater emphasis. “He came to me. I gave him succor, and I love him.”
“It matters not. You have gained his love by magic. You must let him go.”
“Please,” she remonstrated, now with false humility. “I have been so lonely. Surely the Powers can spare me this one man, and allow my happiness.”
“He will age, while you remain immortal,” the being pointed out, “and no children will come from your union.” The voice paused for a moment. “In time you might yet attain him, but not now. If you do not let him go, we will be forced to act. You think he came to you by accident?”
“I, I thought he was sent as my lover.”
“The dreams told you he was not.”
“But why is he so important?”
“He has tasks yet to perform, and deeds to accomplish that even we do not understand. He is a Crysha, a pivot point being, and no witch of ours can be allowed to claim him.”
“But why?”
“Listen, and I will tell you…”
In the morning Tralain awoke, and stretched out his arm, only to find his love missing from their bed. He frowned, got up and began to dress. As if the servant Casandra had been listening from outside the door, she entered, bearing special travel clothes for him to wear. He asked questions of her, but she would not answer.
Coming downstairs he found an enormous meal waiting for him, but his mistress was nowhere to be found. “Where is Mistress Delenor?” he asked.
“She will be along presently. Please eat, my Lord.”
So he shrugged, and partook heartily of the food laid in abundance upon the table. It was perhaps the best quality meal he had yet tasted, and he ate until he could hold no more.
Finally leaving the table, he walked out into the courtyard, and there found Golden Boy standing, saddled, and awaiting his master. Strapped to his back were his light armor, sword, and supplies for a long journey.
“What is this?” he inquired, looking at the servants. They would not meet his eyes, but merely stood in humbled respect.
“I instructed them to make ready for your departure, my Love.”
He turned and saw Mistress Delenor standing behind him in a magnificent gown, her long black hair blowing in the wind, and a sad look upon her face. She approached him and with tenderness planted a long kiss upon his lips.
“One last kiss to remember you by,” she said.
“What is going on?” he asked.
“You must leave now, my Love. I have used my powers to ensnare your heart, and it was wrong of me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I am the Witch Delenor of Cantos, and have bewitched you since you first set foot upon these grounds.” She hesitated. “Please try to understand, Edward, but I have been here many years, and by the might of your sword you won your way to me. I could not help but love you. And, I could not chance that you might choose not to stay.”
Tralain started to say something, then hesitated. “You mean, you mean that I really do not love you?”
“Oh, the love is real, you can be sure of that,” she replied. “But, it is love that I made you feel, love that I forced upon you, and that I now take away.”
The Witch Delenor waved a hand before his eyes, and he swayed as if physically struck, but then steadied himself. Tralain still saw a beautiful woman before him, and remembered their intimate liaisons and how he once felt, but now his feelings for her were as if from a long remembered dream.
“You see, Tralain,” she said. “Your feelings fade. Perhaps, perhaps at a later time,” she hesitated. “We shall see, as it depends upon many things. But, I have loved you once, and do not regret it.”
“Neither do I, Miranda,” said Edward. “I see now that you are right.” He reviewed in his mind the quest he swore to attempt.
“I cannot stay here,” he stated. “I must continue my quest. I must leave.” Then he moved as if to mount his charger.
“Wait,” she said. “A parting gift for you,” and leaning over Miranda placed a small string about his neck upon which dangled a complex pattern of twigs, hair, and other unidentifiable items.
“I made it for you last night,” she said. “It is a talisman, of little power, but may be of some help in time of need. If evil comes near, keep it close to your heart, as you are to mine.”
“Thank you,” he replied, and then so unexpected to her, Tralain leaned over and kissed her quickly upon the lips. “I will always remember you,” he said, gazing into her eyes. “And realize, that in love, one can never truly know when the last kiss may fall.”
Tralain mounted his horse, spurred him forward out the gate, down the main street and beyond the boundaries of the apparently deserted town, the early morning sunlight full upon his face, and a sense of regret upon his heart.
Miranda watched him ride away, sighed and turned back, a tear upon her cheek.
***
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