3,99 €
Mehr erfahren.
- Herausgeber: Fabylon Verlag
- Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
- Serie: Woodzee Chronicles
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021
"A great fantasy adventure that is impossible to resist after the first few pages." Lies-und-lausch "More legends, heroism and epicness you will rarely find." Mediamania The great epic about young knight Rowarn and his battle companions. Centuries ago, a magical artifact shattered into seven pieces during a murderous war. Only the Two-Splitted, it is said, can heal the Tabernacle - but no one knows what will happen. Who might it be? Will he use the powers for good or for bad? Twenty-year-old Rowarn grew up in the isolated valley of Inniu with foster parents, the centaur-like Velerii. Events come to a head when Rowarn's tranquil world is shaken by the gruesome murders of young girls - and when a band of knights appears from a land beyond the mountains, ready to enlist recruits to fight for the Tabernacle. Rowarn's first test is to solve the girl's murders. It looks like he's involved because of his past. And in doing so, he drives himself into the story. Out of a thirst for revenge, he will eventually follow the knights, as he learns who his mother is, that he should soon travel to her - but that she was murdered by the demon Nightfire. Gradually, however, Rowarn must realize that his part in the struggle for the artifact is far more significant, and revenge only secondary. Rowarn enters Free Houses where the doors do not always lead to the same places, crosses wandering forests and dives into enchanted springs.
Das E-Book können Sie in Legimi-Apps oder einer beliebigen App lesen, die das folgende Format unterstützen:
Seitenzahl: 620
Ähnliche
Inhalt
Titelseite
About the author
Imprint
FIRST PART Inniu
Chapter 1 Blood Trail
Chapter 2 The White Hawk
Chapter 3 Last of the Nauraka
Chapter 4 Truth and Legend
Chapter 5 Bloodguilt
Chapter 6 The Beasts
PART TWO Trip to Valia
Chapter 7 Decisions and Farewells
Chapter 8 The First Path
Chapter 9 At the Golden Pass
Chapter 10 The Blood Site
Chapter 11 Ennishgar
Chapter 12 The Renegades
THIRD PART Battle for Ardig Hall
Chapter 13 The Second Path
Chapter 14 The Master of the Army
Chapter 15 The Immortal
Chapter 16 Day of Wrath
Chapter 17 The Wood Lion
Chapter 18 The Final Battle
Glossary
ANNEX
Titelseite
About the author
Uschi Zietsch was born in Munich in 1961. She is married and has lived for years as a writer and publisher with her husband and many animals on a small farm.
Her first publication, a fantasy novel, was published in 1986. This was followed by well over twohundred publications in the fields of science fiction, fantasy, children's books, TV series and many more.
Imprint
FIRST PART Inniu
Chapter 1 Blood Trail
Rowarn was asleep and did not know yet.
The morning drew up innocently and purely, cautiously the first sunbeam groped over the horizon and announced a radiant day. The stars faded in the dawning light, and a soft pink streak spread along the edge of the world. Soft peeps came from the bushes as the fledglings awoke. Their parents fluffed their feathers and shook themselves before preening extensively and preparing for the arduous search for food. The last night hunter crept wearily into the forest without turning around again. Early morning mist glided over the pale green meadows, and dewy blossoms opened to reveal their sweet-smelling insides to the sun.
Rowarn turned over in the grass, smiling blissfully. Anini …, he sighed in the dream that seemed so real. A dream that had begun yesterday at dawn with the spring celebration.
The praise of the growing grain had been full of exuberance and glee. Rowarn had stayed on the outskirts of the feast all the while, so close and yet distant, keeping silent and almost making himself invisible. There was only one reason for him to be here, and always he had only looked at her: Anini, fairest of the city, she was called, and so Rowarn also whispered her name secretly to himself, tasting each syllable like a sweet drop of honey. While the others ate and drank, while delicious scents caressed his nose, Rowarn felt no desire for succulent roast meat seasoned with the first herbs of spring, for steaming bread from the wood-burning oven and heavy honey beer. Anini was food enough for him, which satiated his eyes, and the stomach had to be silent.
That evening she shone brighter than the moon, with copper-red hair wreathed in flowers and eyes like cornflowers, and red lips either laughing merrily or kissing softly – perhaps a young suitor, now and then a red-cheeked child. Anini could be choosy about whom she danced with, but she chose many during the long evening, under the glow of oil lamps and candles in colorful jars that gave off a magical light.
As darkness fell, the mood visibly changed to drunken merriment, many faces shone, the tips of noses turned red from beer and wine. The new spring had to be celebrated extensively so that there would be a good harvest. And the omens were good: the weather was clear, the air mild and full of the scent of flowers.
As midnight approached, the musicians exhaustedly moved on to slower tunes, and the circle thinned, Anini unexpectedly approached Rowarn, who had not left his place on the bench at the edge of the glow all evening. He could hardly believe that she actually wanted to join him. Pleased, but also uncertain, he looked toward her. (Was this still a dream? Or already a memory? Or … reality?)
She stopped in front of him, hands clasped at her sides. "Now, Rowarn," she began in a stern voice. "What are you doing sitting here for hours, staring at me continually? Do I displease you so much?"
He made a startled face and shook his head in dismay. "On the contrary, I, um, think you're w-wonderful," he brought out awkwardly.
"Like this?" Her eyes flashed. "Then why haven't you ever asked me to dance? All evening I've been waiting for this!"
He blinked in surprise. "I would never have dared …" Yet he loved to dance, he could move very smoothly and expressively in tune with the music, as if it was innate in him.
Then she laughed. "Rowarn, you are a dolt. Were you so afraid I would reject you that you wouldn't even try? You have a lot to learn! You should spend more time in human company, where you belong, and not just with your hoofed Muhmes. After all, they raised you like one of their own instead of a human."
"I'm – I'm sorry," he stammered. "I didn't know if I was welcome after all the terrible things that have happened lately …"
"Sh-sh." Anini put a finger to his mouth. "Let the others talk, they're just jealous. And they're afraid of what they don't know. But I know you have a good heart. I can see it in your eyes." She held out her hand to him. "Then come, let's not miss any more of this wonderful night."
He took her hand and stood up. "But … where?" he murmured distraught, and she laughed cooing.
"Don't tell me you've never been out alone at night with a girl?"
"Oh …" He realized, a little late, but still. No, it was not the first time. There had been Rubin, the charcoal burner's daughter. And … Malani, the fisherman's daughter. That was not unusual; he had grown up with them, so to speak, for their parents, like Rowarn's Muhmes, lived on lonely farms away from Madin. One day, when they discovered they were no longer children, they had exchanged innocent and shy kisses, and perhaps a little more as they grew older and added.
Rowarn, however, would never have dared to hope that a city girl, Anini at that, would ever be interested in him. Cautiously, he looked around, but no one paid any attention to them. Anini's father had dropped his heavy head on the tabletop and was snoring so terribly that the trees were shivering and curling their leaves. At the beginning of the feast, one or another of the councilors had gazed at Rowarn with narrowed eyes as he had inconspicuously ventured to the edge. But when he had just sat quietly on the bench the whole time, they had eventually forgotten about him.
The two young people left the feast and stepped out, hand in hand, into the nighttime countryside, illuminated by the moon. Off the beaten path, Anini walked over the hills, Rowarn always in tow. Barefoot, she floated across the damp, young grass, elated and giggling softly. Finally, already close to the forest, the girl stopped and grabbed Rowarn by both hands. For a long moment Anini looked at him silently, out of shining eyes. "If only you could see yourself …" she whispered almost devoutly.
Rubin and Malani had also said that to him, independently of each other and on nights like this. And from then on, they had preferred to meet him outside during the full moon.
Rowarn's eyes, clear blue like an old, very pure glacier in the sun, shone dully in the darkness like a distant star. His hair was blond as an ear of corn in the snow, and so fair that he could not sneak up on anyone unseen in the night. And his skin, as smooth and pale as marble, shimmered in the moonlight like mother-of-pearl …
"You're exaggerating," Rowarn interrupted sheepishly.
"Not a bit," Anini objected, purring. "That's exactly why I'm here with you." She dropped to the grass, pulling Rowarn with her. And then she kissed him …
Still caught up in the dream, Rowarn turned again and groped beside him where he felt warmth, the closeness of his beloved …
No. This was no longer a dream filled with blissful delights.
Cold it was, icy rigidity he felt creeping up his fingers, spreading furiously through his body, waking Rowarn.
With a strangled sound he pulled himself up, while the last dream image in him dissipated. Still drunk with sleep, he looked at his hands, which were full of blood, and his clothes, and then he knew.
Do not scream. Don't scream! Rowarn bit his knuckles to push back what wanted to come out of him, this abysmal horror, collected in a single word, because there was none else for what he saw.
No …
Anini was dead. Her once sparkling eyes stared milk-blue into the brightening sky. The bodice was in tatters, her chest ripped open, her ribs cracked, her heart stolen. And blood everywhere …
This was what Rowarn saw, what he understood but could not … explain.
Rowarn's eyes burned, the pounding heartbeat nearly bursting his chest. A suppressed whimper escaped from his tight throat. Then he jumped up and ran sobbing across the meadow into the forest.
Rowarn loved the forest ever since he could walk. The play of light and shadow, the dignity of the old trees, the scurrying, chirping and buzzing life, secret and rarely seen. The air here was cooler and rich with scents, of moss and damp stone, earth and mushrooms, honey and flowers. Whenever he had sorrow, he went to the forest and was comforted. He knew the paths of many forest animals, and they appreciated that he behaved like one of them – quiet and unobtrusive.
But not today, on this day of blood. Like a thoughtless city dweller, he tramped and stomped along the cart path without looking left or right. Finally, he blindly struck the bushes, scaring up all sorts of creatures that had to give way, clamoring and snarling. He disturbed the wedding song of the birds, tripped over roots under which ants and beetles lived, and made such a racket that the whole forest was in an uproar and the jays shrilly whistled an alarm.
Blood! Blood! Rowarn heard them shouting, and they chased him down the path, crisscrossing the forest. What happened?
"I don't know!" he sobbed in a hoarse voice. "I was asleep …"
And the blood? And the blood? Arms, clothes, face and hair …
Rowarn pressed his hands to his ears. "No! No! No! O gods, stand by me! It wasn't me … Anini, Anini … what happened to you …"
Finally, he could go no further. Rowarn stopped, his eyes blinded by tears, his breath whistling. His body was covered with sweat, and there was blood all over him, mixed with churned-up earth: just like that, he remembered distraught, Hegen the murderer had once looked when he came running out of the forest, sick in spirit, stammering confusedly, telling what he had done to his wife.
Rowarn, for all his disgust, had felt pity at the time for the man who could not give the reason for his crime and died broken a little later, before the councilors could sit in judgment on him.
And now he looked the same himself, unable to explain what had happened, desperately hoping that he was innocent. But who would, who could believe him? What should he do? Where should he go?
In any case, he could not go home. Even from afar, his parents would smell it: the vile stench of blood and guilt, of cowardice and escape.
He had done everything wrong. He should have returned to town right away to tell Anini's father that his daughter lay dead in the meadow, cruelly murdered. Then she would have been taken, anointed and laid out with dignity, and she would not be lying lonely out there in the wet grass on this sunny morning.
"They wouldn't have believed I was innocent …," Rowarn defended to himself. "They would have caught me, tied me up and probably beaten to death or hanged me even before my parents found out about it …"
The best thing for him to do was to make a run for it, right now and forever. Of course, his Muhmes would be full of grief and perhaps doubt him. But at least he could no longer harm them or bring them into disrepute or even danger. Someday all this would be forgotten and they could go on living as before.
Rowarn flinched as he tried to change direction and suddenly looked into a pair of big brown eyes. It was a young Elenki, a slender buck still, shy and timid. He was just beginning to form the first, delicate antler buds, the bright spots in his juvenile coat barely visible.
Rowarn swallowed. "You'd better go, so you'll never know the horrors I've already experienced," he whispered.
The buck tilted his head slightly without taking his eyes off the young man. His big ears, covered with fluffy fur, went back and forth.
"What are you doing here?" asked Rowarn desperately. "Didn't you hear that the jays have already found me guilty?"
The small Elenki just reached Rowarn's waist. He could not look over the shoulder of a full-grown deer. The young animal tried in vain to pull up its right hind leg. It had become tangled in the brush and was unable to free itself under its own power.
"Why are you so clumsy?" groaned Rowarn. "Haven't you been paying attention to what your parents taught you? There, catch my scent, I reek of violence and death! Understand what puts you in danger, what you must always avoid! If you ever want to grow up, you can't make a mistake!"
The Elenki stretched his neck and nudged Rowarn lightly. The twitching brown nose was moist, the eyes large and gentle. This young creature believed in his innocence. It trusted Rowarn to help it.
He took a step toward the buck, bent down, and carefully touched its creeper-bound barrel. "Hold still a minute," he whispered. "You've done a really neat job there … Easy prey for any predator or the hunter …"
The young deer paused while Rowarn struggled to free the barrel from the tangle. Finally, it pulled the dainty split hoof up with a jerk and was free.
Rowarn winced as he heard a deep roar at that moment, and then the mighty, antler-bearing head of a full-grown Elenki pushed through the brush. Its sweeping shovels with dagger-like tips measured more than twice man's length. Beside him appeared the slender figure of a hind, leading a calf only a few days old at her side.
The young man froze. Elenki, especially the deer, were among the most dangerous creatures of the forest. They were aggressive, fast and deadly. Only an experienced, very hungry panther would ever dare to approach a capital bull.
The young buck emitted a high-pitched mewling sound, then jumped to his parents. Without paying any further attention to Rowarn, the family disappeared into the bushes.
Rowarn expelled the breath he had been holding and wiped his face, smearing sweat, blood and dirt. This distraction had brought him to his senses, and he was grateful for it. Running away was not the answer. He had to find out what had happened and prove to his parents as well as the townspeople that he was not a murderer. "Yeah, I should go home," he muttered. "Before that … I have to at least clean myself up …"
A voice inside him kept urging him to run the other way instead, as fast and as far as he could, until no one could catch up with him and he could start a new life elsewhere. But Rowarn still saw the young Elenki's brown eyes before him, which seemed to speak courage to him, warning him not to do anything foolish, final. Family never let you down.
If anyone was sympathetic to him, it was Rowarn's foster parents. They would do anything for him, even though – or precisely because – he was not their biological son. They would know what to do.
Surely they had long been worried because he was not yet home. Perhaps they had already learned of Anini's death …
Rowarn jumped up and made his way to the lake, which was not far from his home. There he could clean himself. He was drawn there hurriedly, now that he had made his decision. The forest always comforted him in his sorrow, but the water offered protection. He had always felt that way.
In the lake rested a purity and clarity such as Rowarn never experienced on land. The limitations of being able to move only with difficulty on the ground were lifted. Everything that lived down there was much more familiar with each other, and even closer, if not united, in a unique way.
Even as a child, Rowarn had spent a lot of time in the lake. He could swim like an otter and endure underwater longer than any other land dweller. But he had never felt the desire to stay there forever, as Malani had jokingly remarked one spring morning when, frozen blue, she sought the warmth of the sun while Rowarn splashed on tirelessly.
As comfortable as he felt in the water, he did not belong there. It was a strange sensation that he could not explain and that always made him go only up to a certain limit, never beyond.
Now, however, he longed to dive in and wash away all the dirt and guilt from himself, in order to be able to step under the eyes of his foster parents, cleansed, perhaps purified.
Rowarn sighed when he finally reached the lake. The sun was now fully up, casting a silver glow over the glistening surface. Without pausing, Rowarn jumped into the water and dove in. After a brief agitation, the surface became still and smooth again.
The water turned black.
All the honorables of the city, first of all Anini's father, a gray-haired, four-bearded man named Daru, had themselves brought by horse-drawn wagons to Weideling, the home of the two Velerii. For a long time Rowarn's foster parents had lived in Inniu, far from their people, as Guardians of Weideling. A dusty path, just wide enough for a wagon, branched off from the well-fortified cart path that led to the most important trade routes of Valia.
Even from a distance, the troop was visible through the swirling cloud of dust that puffed up and enveloped it.
Next to Daru sat the weeping Hallim, Anini's mother, her face hidden in a large shawl. Daru looked grimly ahead; not a word was spoken during the entire ride. Hidden, he coughed when the dust irritated his throat too much, and occasionally wiped his eyes.
Weideling's front door opened as the karts came to a halt at the end of the track. Daru and Hallim got down from the carriage, the numerous companions still remained seated.
Shadowrunner stepped into the bright light of the morning. His dark, striking face expressed friendliness, and he raised his hand. "I greet you, Daru the Strong, on this bright spring day, after what I hope will be a great feast." It was the way of the Velerii to speak so formally and floridly at the same time. They had an epithet for each person.
Now Shadowrunner noticed Hallim's face, swollen with sorrow and tears, as he turned to her, and stared. His broad brow furrowed in concern. "I think I was too hasty with my greeting. I beg your pardon, Hallim the Wise. What has happened?"
"Anini was murdered!" Daru snapped, and now he too lost his composure and burst into tears. "Our son Rayem found her this morning in the meadow, cruelly disfigured! Her heart was torn out of her chest while she was still alive, can you imagine? Only an animal could do such a horrible thing!"
Shadowrunner's pitch-black mane flowed down his human back to the withers of the horse's body as he let his gaze wander and looked into reproachful, if not accusing, eyes. His long tail whipped once around his shining blue-black flanks. He stroked his beard and set a hoof forward. "Well, I'm not an animal," he said quietly in a low voice. There was sadness in his large dark eyes now.
"Where's Rowarn?" shouted Anini's brother Rayem from the wagon.
A light seemed to blossom as Snow Moon stepped up to Shadowrunner's side at that moment. Her fur shimmered almost silvery in the sunshine, her silky mane ruffling slightly in the gentle breeze. Snow Moon's amber eyes flashed. She was by no means as gentle as her consort. "Rowarn is not an animal either," she spoke in a voice as bright as a bell, but with a threatening echo.
"How do we know for sure?" someone shouted, and several townspeople loudly agreed with the objection.
The city elder, Larkim the Austere, climbed stiff-legged from the wagon and, leaning on a stick, stalked toward the Velerii. However, like Daru, he kept a respectful distance. For all their anger, the humans never forgot who they were dealing with. Snow Moon and Shadowrunner's withers reached most people's foreheads; with their human torsos and heads, they towered over everyone present by half a man's length.
"It may be," spoke the old man in a surprisingly powerful, carrying voice, "that Rowarn looks like us and is capable of a pleasing language. But you seem to forget how unrestrained he is, how quickly he goes into blind frenzy! Or is it not true, Ondur?"
The boy called out jumped from the wagon and showed the Velerii the ugly white scar on the right side of his neck. One by one, young men, all about Rowarn's age, were asked to show scars that Shadowrunner's foster son had inflicted on them.
Hallim, who never wished anyone harm, not even in this terrible hour, however, interjected tremulously, "We know that Rowarn does not do this willingly. Something else takes possession of him at such moments, for he is remorseful and contrite every time afterwards, and he takes great pains to prevent such outbursts from occurring. But how will you prove to us that he did not do it? He was seen tonight leaving the feast together with Anini. He was the last one to see my daughter …" She sobbed and could not continue speaking for a few moments. No one dared to utter a word, all waited in silence and in bewilderment, their eyes fixed on the ground. Finally she had composed herself enough to continue, "He was the last one with her. That is proven."
Daru clenched his hand into a fist. "He probably tried to ravish her, and she fought back, so he went into a rabid frenzy and …"
"You said Anini's heart was ripped out," Snow Moon interrupted in an icy voice. Her bright, loving face had frozen into a white mask. "In the same way as the three other girls we found in the last few weeks. Are you suggesting that this, too, was Rowarn's doing?"
"Yes!" shouted Rayem, and a few others agreed, incited. The atmosphere heated up visibly, and one or the other suddenly held a knife in his hand.
Shadowrunner's face darkened at this sight. His tail thrashed excitedly, and he stamped his hoof once.
Snow Moon stared first at Daru, then down at Hallim. "Is that really what you all think?"
The two mourning humans avoided her gaze and remained silent. Stunned, Snow Moon raised her head. "Do you know what you are saying?" she cried. All anger was gone; pain and sorrow distorted her delicate features. "Rowarn grew up among you. He has received our teachings, and above all, respect for every being under the sun and moon. He is barely grown and well on his way to proving himself in life! How can you suppose that he would be able to commit such cruel deeds and at the same time go on living as if nothing had happened?"
Her glowing gaze swept over the young men. "Yes, he has done you harm, and yes, he has an unbridled temper that sometimes leads him to violent outbursts! But he has never harmed anyone in a life-threatening way, and often enough he had reasons to stand up to you, didn't he? And another thing: How often was he there for you? Helped you out of a jam? Took a beating for your actions so you could get off scot-free and he could win your respect?"
She raised her arms. "Certainly, we warned Rowarn not to bother too much with humans. However, not to protect you from him, but the other way around!"
Shadowrunner added, "We know well that we are only tolerated as long as we are useful in your eyes. You gladly use our services for healing and protection, but behind closed doors you speak other words that are far from friendly. And since we took Rowarn in, your wild speculations have never ended, and you have never welcomed him into your midst as one of your own! For this very reason, and no other, we do not attend your feasts, and we stay away from you! But how will Rowarn ever understand this, a young man who looks just like you?"
There was a deep silence for quite a while. Some now looked clearly unsettled, others continued to look angry, even belligerent. Hallim wept softly and whispered the name of her daughter, bound in a prayer.
More calmly, Snow Moon raised her hands once again, now in a peaceful gesture: "We are upset because now the fourth girl has been murdered in such a terrible way. We do not know why, and who could commit such an unimaginable act. But we must not let that cloud our vision as we search for the killer – together."
Daru groaned, "It all began the day the White Hawk did not come. It was a bad omen, and we didn't heed it! We should never have hosted this festival, and I should never have let Anini …" The rest of his words were lost in sobs.
"A bad omen? Certainly, it may be," Shadowrunner said calmly. "For the White Hawk came for Rowarn alone. Daru, you are old enough, you know that he first appeared when our foster son was in his first year of life. You have pretended that this tradition has always existed, but it is false. You have adopted something that is meaningful only to us."
Anini's father became paler, if that was even possible.
"Words, just words! It's time something was done!" one of the councilors shouted. "It should never have come to this! Let Rowarn prove that he did not do it. Then we will depart and deliberate among ourselves how to protect our daughters and confront the murderer!"
"If he's innocent, why isn't he here?", Rayem attackingly struck the same note.
"I'm here," Rowarn's voice rang out at that moment, and he stepped boldly in front of his parents.
For a moment there was a surprised, partly embarrassed silence.
Larkim the Austere measured him from narrowed eyes. "How much did you hear?" he snarled.
"Enough," Rowarn replied.
Hallim couldn't take it anymore. Crying, she ran to the wagon and Daru helped her up. He sat down next to her and held her helplessly in his arms.
Rayem reared up threateningly in front of Rowarn. "What have you done to my sister?"
"I didn't do anything to her," Rowarn explained. "I was on my way home, and she really wanted to walk with me for a bit. That's all."
"You're lying," Rayem hissed with clenched hands.
"As long as I was awake and had my eyes open, she lived," Rowarn replied. "I don't know what happened."
When Rayem tried to go after Rowarn, Larkim hit him in the chest with his stick and stopped him. "Get a hold of yourself!" he snapped at the young man. "Has this day not begun bloody enough? Do you want the Velerii to be right in their accusation that we are too hasty with our judgment and are just taking advantage of them? Do you want to humiliate us?"
"It is better that you go," Snow Moon said slowly and clearly. "You have heard Rowarn, and there is no reason to doubt his words. And remember one thing well: it may have been anyone who cannot prove where he has been tonight. So beware of further accusations. We will help you if you are serious about finding the murderer. But now you should first pay your last respects to Anini and remember her as she deserves."
The humans hesitated. Larkim, after a brief eye duel with the Velerii, turned and raised his cane. "Let's go! The honorable Snow Moon is right. Another day of retribution and atonement will come. Now we must remember and help the living who are full of grief, and honor the dead."
No one dared to contradict. The aggressiveness was lost under Larkim's authority. Silently, without giving the Velerii and Rowarn another glance, the people turned around and went back to their city.
"Come into the house," Snow Moon urged her foster son, and Rowarn hurriedly obeyed. Uncertainly, he stopped in the middle of the room, not daring to look up at his mother.
She crossed her arms in front of her chest and looked down at him, twinkling. "What happened last night?"
Rowarn swallowed dryly. "What I said."
Immediately he found himself on the floor holding his burning cheek. For a moment he felt only pain and did not understand what had happened. Horrified, he looked up at Snow Moon. For the first time in his life, she had hit him. Never before had she even raised her hand. But he saw that this had not happened out of anger alone. Fear and worry were painted on her finely chiseled features.
"I didn't raise you to lie!" she harangued him. "How dare you bring me such disgrace?"
Rowarn's eyes filled with tears. "Because the truth only causes pain," he whispered.
He hastily scrambled to safety on all fours from her lunging hooves. "We raised you, Rowarn!" she cried shrilly. "Will you give the lie to everything we ever taught you? Do you distrust us so much, disregard us?"
He shook his head silently and slowly rose. Surrendered, he stood there with his head bowed and awaited further punishment.
Shadowrunner suddenly stepped in between and grabbed Snow Moon's shoulders. "Calm yourself, dearest," he said gently. "Grief overwhelms you, and you no longer know what you speak." He turned to Rowarn. "Wait here until we come back, boy. After that, we'll talk. Promise me?"
Rowarn nodded. "I promise," he whispered in a failing voice.
Shadowrunner smiled briefly at him. Then he pushed Snow Moon out of the house without any apparent effort. Shortly after, they dashed off across the meadow, galloped up the hill, and raced along the ridge.
It was not the first time Rowarn had seen them like this, and in a strange way it comforted him. Never in his young life had he seen more beautiful, more perfect figures than these two. Their hooves seemed to barely touch the ground, their horses' bodies gleaming silver and blue-black. Snow Moon's blouse, shimmering different colors in the sunlight, fluttered in the wind; underneath she wore a cross-banded surplice the same color as her mane.
Shadowrunner, on the other hand, wore a black shirt with a black leather vest over it that reached down to the horse's chest. The clothes were also tied in the back, like Snow Moon's, to allow the mane to swing freely.
Like light and shadow, in harmonious grace they chased across the meadows. It was hard to tell which of the two would be faster. Shadowrunner was heavy and muscular, Snow Moon more delicate, but perhaps more persistent.
Thus, their kind gave vent to great excitement, for the blood of the horse people was hot, and they were unpredictable, dangerous despite their gentleness. No wonder the people were called Velerii, fast-as-the-wind, and they were also almost as old as the first wind that had swept across the expanses of the just-born world eons ago, one of the first peoples of Woodzee, long-lived, wise and full of mysterious powers.
Just as Rowarn was occasionally strange and uncanny to people, his foster parents had always remained incomprehensible to him, despite the self-sacrificing love and openness they showed him. He felt great respect, sometimes even awe. He would never have dared to contradict them.
Patiently, without moving, the young man waited until his Muhmes had finished their wild run and returned to him with sweaty flanks, clearly more composed.
Chapter 2 The White Hawk
The Velerii huddled on the half couches with their characteristic elegance: The horse's body rested on a soft, flaring velvet cushion, the human torso resting against the comfortably high, finely curved and likewise upholstered backrest. And so they slept, head to head; Snow Moon on the left, Shadowrunner on the right.
Rowarn cowered in the low, large armchair covered with the same fabric. On the table in front of him was a bowl of dried fruits and nuts, but he touched nothing. The day was long advanced; he had not eaten since yesterday afternoon, but he felt no hunger. His stomach was like a stone, hard and cramped.
"Tell us what happened," his foster father urged him.
Rowarn had expected reproaches. He had been forbidden to go to the feast, and even more so to stay out all night. Often enough, the Muhmes had warned him not to go into town; especially since the first murder. "You are not one of their own," Snow Moon had said. "A culprit is quickly found then."
No one had expressed any suspicion against him until today, but Rowarn had definitely felt that he had been looked at with different eyes for some time. Therefore, he would normally have obeyed the foster parents, but … he really wanted to see Anini …
He closed his eyes and heard the call of the jays shrill in his mind. Blood! Blood!
He knew his parents could still smell the dampness of the lake on him; despite the strong spring sun and the quick run home, his clothes were not completely dry.
"Tell us," Snow Moon also added promptly, as if she had read his mind, "why you had to jump into the lake with your clothes on and clean yourself before you ventured home and under our eyes."
Rowarn rubbed his face. "The water turned black, and I almost suffocated," he whispered. "For a moment I thought I was drowning, until finally the blood was washed away. Maybe it was me after all. Because I don't know what happened …"
"One at a time," Shadowrunner interrupted. "Tell us everything you know, son. We'll listen to you."
Rowarn sighed and took a deep breath in and out. Then he recounted what he remembered without omitting anything, even though it was difficult for him and it made his head turn red. But it was clear to him anyway that his parents had long since seen through what he and Anini had done that night.
"I don't remember anything after that," he finally came closer to the horrible moment. "I remember dreaming … And then I woke up, and … and …" As Rowarn conjured up the moment when he saw Anini lying there in her blood, her chest ripped open and her heart missing, his composure was gone. Choking, he jumped up and ran outside, where he sank to his knees, sobbing, and played out the horror. Now at last, after all the hours of fear and confusion, he released the scream that had still been locked in his chest. He screamed with his voice rolling over until he was hoarse, and then he retched again, but there was nothing left in him.
Whimpering, he lay in the sun, where the birds hopped noisily in the branches and butterflies danced gaily, and had the feeling of dying. How could the world be so sweet and innocent, so joyful and carefree, on this day that had shattered his life and left nothing but doubt?
Rowarn flinched when he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder. Snow Moon leaned over him and held out a steaming bowl. "Drink this," she said softly.
"I … I can't," he sniffled, wiping snot and tears from his face and feeling ashamed. For everything he was, everything he had done. For staining this place of peace and this day like the waters of the lake. If only he had run away! Now everything had only gotten worse. I told you so, the voice inside him venomously teased. How can you believe that you can live according to the teachings of the Velerii?
"You must drink it," his mother demanded. "Or your heart will be as black as the water: that was a warning. Let it help you, son."
Obediently Rowarn drank, and indeed he brought down the completely tasteless hot drink and kept it with him. Soothing warmth spread through him, dulling fear and pain.
Shadowrunner bent down and lifted him up on his strong arms, just as he had done when Rowarn was a child. Rowarn was ashamed of this, but did not dare to move. And … it was a comfort to him to still be sheltered. Gently Shadowrunner carried him back into the house and set him down on the armchair. Then the horseman settled back in his seat, with Snow Moon by his side.
For a while there was a somber silence.
"What if it was me?" whispered Rowarn finally, despondently. "People are right, I am unrestrained and sometimes blind with fury. Then I'm not myself and I can hardly remember afterwards …"
"I can't smell any guilt on you," Snow Moon said.
"Because I am not aware of my guilt," the young man replied. "But I've been out in the country a lot at night lately. I could not sleep, and it drove me out … So I woke up in strange places, and I could not remember how I got there …"
Quietly, his Muhme insisted, "I'll never believe that."
Rowarn ran his hand through his tangled hair. "How would you know, honored Mother?" he remarked wearily. "What do you two know about me? A woman brought me to you when I was still an infant. And she died before she revealed my origins."
"That's all we can tell you about your past, I'm afraid," Shadowrunner said quietly. "But we can see your good heart and pure soul."
"It's possible I'm possessed," Rowarn countered. "There is enough darkness in me to worry you, I know it well. I see the way you look at me sometimes. When I'm unruly … you don't understand that, any more than I do, and you can't avoid it. Now I am twenty years old and have outgrown your care. Who knows what has awakened in me!"
Shadowrunner raised a hand. "You did not run away, Rowarn, as another might have done, no, you came to us. That shows you not only received our teachings, but understood them. And it shows us you are innocent, and we will prove it."
"But how?" Rowarn leaned back, exhausted. The effects of the herbal drugs had reached his head. Soon he would not be able to keep himself awake.
"We will find a way," his Muhme said firmly. "We must, for the peace of this valley is threatened. Snow Moon and I will not allow Inniu, which has become our home, to be plunged into darkness."
"I wish it so," Rowarn whispered dejectedly. "And I thank you for still trusting me, even though I cause you so much grief. But I no longer trust myself, and I think it possible that I am … guilty …" His head sank to the side, and he had fallen asleep without being able to complete the sentence.
The days passed, and spring advanced. Anini had been buried solemnly, and Daru had sworn at her freshly raised grave not to let the murderer go scot-free.
People went about their business as usual, but at night all the roads and streets were deserted and silent. No one was allowed to roam around after dark without official permission, and certainly not without an escort.
The city fathers had sent out a search party to look for traces of the culprit. The Velerii assisted them as promised. No one publicly accused Rowarn anymore, but he knew that many believed him guilty and were only waiting for the right moment to call him to account. He stayed away from the city and rarely left Weideling because it was the only place he felt safe – and because he feared doing something stupid otherwise.
Most of the time he sat brooding in his room, pondering how he could prove his innocence. He watched himself all the time, often waking up at night and looking in the mirror to see if he still recognized himself. Perhaps he really was possessed, taken over by the power of a demon or some other sinister being, and had unwittingly done the deed on someone else's behalf. That didn't absolve him of guilt, of course, but it would explain why he couldn't remember what had happened that night. As much as he racked his brain, there remained a black hole in his mind. There were only fond memories, nothing else.
Rowarn finally saw the only hope in the White Hawk.
Even as a small boy, on this particular day, when the air was mild for the first time and brought with it a special scent of blossoms, Rowarn had climbed to the highest elevation around the valley of Weideling to climb a great old bark tree. A giant from ancient times, already half petrified, but still leafy. The bark offered good grip to shimmy up to the first gnarled branch. From there, it went up branch by branch, almost to the sky, it seemed, into the far-reaching crown, from which innumerable dainty little branches with fleshy, dark green leaves branched off.
The tree was so old that it never completely lost its foliage in the fall, so that in the spring a shriveled, parched leaf from the years before often clung stubbornly to the branch next to young green. The remaining leaves from the previous year were even still almost alive, gossamer like paper. They glowed red, yellow and orange in the sunlight, so much so that the old giant had been given the name "the multicolored one".
The view from up here reached all the way to the rugged mountains of Fûr Garí, "Cold Rock," which enclosed all of Inniu like a seemingly insurmountable wall. Rowarn looked out over the vast grasslands, crisscrossed by many meandering streams, and the farmland surrounding human settlements and dwellings. Rowarn had to shade his light-sensitive eyes as he gazed around, for the sun stabbed down from a cloudless sky, which was torturous for him depending on his position. In return, he saw better at night than any human, even than his Muhmes.
Small, reedy ponds and dreamy lakes glistened in the spring light. Fruit trees stretched around the fields and up to distant hills, plump and heavy with buds; they were about to open. Soon the air would smell sweet beyond compare, and it would rain purple, red, white, and yellow petals wherever you went. Old, dark woods and light groves alternated toward the horizon, and cart paths led through, their meandering brown incisions clearly visible from here.
Only very rarely did a wanderer stray into this secluded, peaceful valley, where the soil was reasonably fertile, but there were no ores or other treasures. Inniu was far from the hustle and bustle of the land of Valia, beyond the mountains – a realm Rowarn knew only from stories.
Here in the valley there were only a few human settlements. The largest of all was the town of Madin, located directly on the trade route where all the cart paths of Inniu flowed. The market was always well attended and served for the mutual exchange of news. Every five years or so, a trade caravan also arrived from Valia, belonging to a person named Erun the Heir; every male descendant of the family who took over the caravan was given that name, and had been for over a thousand years. An ancient contract between the city fathers of Madin and the Erun family regulated the exchange of goods every five years. A good business for both sides: Livestock, horses, medicinal herbs, fruits, flour and much more food from the valley were exchanged for fabrics, handicraft tools, dishes and other things. This was the only contact with the outside world; otherwise Inniu dozed peacefully in languid idyll.
Rowarn had always been the first to see the White Hawk. No one had ever disputed his place in the old tree giant – because the townspeople did not recognize in time when the right day had come.
Every year, for as long as Rowarn could remember, the bird had appeared in the valley from the east, with the rising sun, and passed over the gnarled multicolored with a whistling cry. Its plumage was snow-white, streaked with black spots on its wings. Its sharp hawk's beak was yellow, its large, round eyes dark and wild.
Year after year, Rowarn had hoped that once, at least for a few heartbeats, the majestic bird would settle on a branch near him. He felt connected to this bird, and each time it flew on without ever pausing, a piece of his heart flew with it. The White Hawk circled twice over Weideling, whistling high and lonely, before hovering over Madin, and then flying deeper into the valley until it left Inniu again in a great arc toward the east.
But after the last winter, the messenger of spring had not appeared, for the first time in nineteen years, Rowarn had learned from his Muhmes. He himself had been watching the bird since he was a five-year-old grasshopper. Rowarn had doubted himself at first, assuming he had made a mistake in the day. So for a week he had persevered every morning in the tree, braving the icy wind, and splashing downpours still mixed with snow. And with each day his worry had grown. Perhaps the White Hawk had grown too old and died? Nineteen years was a long time. But Rowarn could hardly take comfort in that. He had sensed from the beginning that this was no ordinary bird, but a magical creature to whom different laws of mortality applied.
And it seemed to have consequences. Indeed, with the absence of the White Hawk, the peace of Inniu ended, because soon after the first murder occurred.
Rowarn remembered how shocked everyone had been. Such a horrible crime had never happened before. No one had known what to do now, how to deal with it. Certainly, they had started looking for the perpetrator … until the second girl was found murdered in the same gruesome way. And then … the third.
Despite this, or perhaps because of it, the first spring festival was proclaimed in praise of the growing grain. Some believed that this would avert the bad omens and perhaps also attract the White Hawk. So that everything would be as it used to be.
Deep down, Rowarn knew the futility of taking up his lonely post and waiting for the White Hawk. Only, what else could he do? He was not allowed near the humans, and his Muhmes had forbidden him to join the search, much less do anything on his own. For the moment, Rowarn obeyed them, but he was already planning to do his own research if the search took longer and was unsuccessful.
Because one day, when even the people lost patience, they would return to Weideling, and this time with torches and weapons in their hands, he was sure.
So he waited up here on top of the many-colored ones and prayed to the gods of Woodzee (everyone he could think of, that couldn't hurt) that the White Falcon might arrive after all and everything would be all right again.
Suddenly, a flock of yellow-backed basket weavers fluttered up from a canopy tree, and Rowarn heard the jay calling far off to the east. Immediately he was alarmed and looked around searchingly.
The basket weavers returned to their tree, but Rowarn saw two jays soaring from another crown, and then the eastern forest itself went into an uproar. Crows fluttered away screeching, and he spotted fierce movement in the bushes. Hurried shadows flitted through scattered rays of sunlight, and a couple of duikers quickly crossed a clearing to seek out a shelter cave that lay away from their den.
Rowarn straightened up and peered down strained. What was going on here? Did the unknown enemy suddenly appear? Was there some new disaster?
And then they burst out of the forest, fifteen, no, twenty horsemen, in full armor and heavy armament, their faces covered by helmets with closed visors, with fluttering flags stuck in the back attachments. Rowarn saw only one sign – the white head of a mythical beast unknown to him on a blue background.
Feverishly he thought about what he should do. It was too late to leave the tree and run to Weideling. The horsemen would notice him and catch up quickly, because there was almost no cover on the way. So he hid up here and made himself as invisible as possible until the warriors had ridden past. Then he could quickly run to Madin and warn the people there.
He hid deep in the tangle of branches where no sunlight could reach, breathing as shallowly and calmly as possible. Rowarn didn't bat an eyelash when a fat, black spider roped down to him and calmly began to stretch a web between his hair and his raised arm.
The horsemen were in no hurry, and they obviously did not care in the least about the commotion they were causing in the peaceful valley. One rode a little ahead, studying a map on the way and pointing ahead. The equipped horses trotted proudly past under Rowarn's tree and took the path to the cart track to Weideling.
Eighteen had already passed, only two stragglers were missing, who leisurely trailed behind. They talked quietly and animatedly. Rowarn's breath caught when they reached the multicolored one. Even the spider paused in its web-building; as if it had realized how serious it was.
And then … one of the riders, a short but very heavy man, parried his horse right under the tree and stopped. He drew in the air sharply and noisily through the nostrils of the visor. "What do I smell?" he spoke in a rumbling voice, in an accent that sounded strange to Rowarn. "Methinks there are not only worms and beetles in this tree, but, moreover, a very peculiar kind of pest, usually found only in certain regions!"
"Seems like it to me, too," the other man agreed in a slightly raspy voice. He had no accent at all and expressed himself carefully accented as in written language, with soft, rolling pronunciation.
"Should I smoke out the pest? It would be a pity for the beautiful tree."
Rowarn could not hold his breath much longer. Fine beads of sweat were already forming on his forehead, and the spider had fallen from his trembling arm and was dangling down on a silk thread, shimmying for a branch with long, bristly legs.
The taller man laughed briefly, but said, "Rather, it would be a shame for the beautiful tree if you took care of it." Then he raised his head and seemed to look directly at Rowarn. "You'd better breathe quick, son, insofar as you don't want to choke miserably. And come on down! We've seen your bright mop of hair shining from afar, so your whole game of hide-and-seek was pointless. Don't worry, we come in peace, even if we don't look it."
Rowarn hesitated. Then he exhaled heavily and inhaled again, and slowly climbed down the trunk. "So far, I've always been able to stay well hidden," he said as he lingered on the last branch above the two riders.
"He knows the high language! Albeit deformed and with strange intonation, but still!" exclaimed the shorter one delightedly.
"So far, you've probably only been hiding from blind moles," the taller man said kindly, raising his hand in greeting. "I repeat it: we do not come as enemies. Therefore, I would kindly ask you for some information, because, of course, we have not traveled to this beautiful, yet very secluded valley without a reason."
"Through rough terrain, over stormy and forbidding mountain passes, with the last frosts of winter, and without any comfort, if I may remark so," grumbled his companion. "Without a cozy inn with soft beds and fine down pillows. Not even a straw bed was to be found in this godforsaken region!"
Rowarn saw that the troop had stopped in the meantime and was waiting. He looked calmly at the taller man. "How can I be of service to you, my Lord?"
The warrior opened the helmet and took it off. Rowarn looked into the face of a man in his mid-forties who had been through many experiences. He had guessed correctly: this was not a native peasant, craftsman, or merchant, nor a mercenary or simple soldier, but a man of high breeding and a leader whose orders were obeyed. Gray threads crept sporadically into his shoulder-length, dark blond hair, as well as into his short-cropped beard. His eyes, as clear as glass and as green as a birch leaf, smiled. "I am pleased by the hospitality of this valley, according to the few tales of Inniu found scattered throughout Valia. I am Noïrun, called Prince Landless, for I lost my kingdom years ago, and have not yet succeeded in regaining it. And this …", he nudged his companion, who then agreed to take off his helmet as well.
"I am Olrig," the shorter man took over the introduction himself in a rumbling voice, "War King of the Dwarves from the Kúpir tribe of Valia." His long, shaggy hair was almost completely grayed, and his face nearly disappeared in a sprawling dark beard. Two steel-blue eyes poked out from under bushy brows. "And if you are wondering, my boy, why a man like me, at the advanced age of two hundred and thirty-eight, is still foolish enough to go on a ride that at best will give you torn limbs and muscle cramps, let me tell you that I had no choice. My people consider me the best in the matters of the art of war, and even though I can only laugh about it, I still had to saddle my horse."
"True, at the bottom of his heart he has always remained an unappreciated poet, chatty as a magpie and whimsical to boot," the Prince remarked, laughing. "And with whom do we have the honor?"
"I am Rowarn."
"Rowarn, and …?" echoed Olrig.
"Nothing more. Just Rowarn."
The dwarf king emitted a snarling sound. "Well then, Just-Just Rowarn Nothing-Further, would it be possible for you to point us in the right direction?"
Prince Noïrun shook his head. "Now that's enough, old friend. It is not proper to play such jokes in a foreign land. What shall they think of us!"
"Nothing good, like everywhere else," Olrig grumbled.
Noïrun looked up at Rowarn and said kindly, "We are in search of Weideling, the home of two particular Velerii, namely Shadowrunner and Snow Moon."
"In what matter?" asked Rowarn.
"Holla!" exclaimed Olrig. "So much suspicion in this sweet slumbering valley, which it seems even the clouds avoid so as not to dim the light?"
Rowarn turned his head away. "You have no idea …" he whispered.
Something flashed in the Prince's green eyes. "So sorrow drove you here to this lonely place, is that it?"
Rowarn ran a hand through his hair and shifted his sitting posture slightly, as if he were trying to climb the tree again. "You have not answered my question."
"Right. I beg your pardon." Noïrun smiled obligingly. "We bring news that is of great interest to the Velerii, and unfortunately not good news. At the same time, we are looking for reinforcements. In short, we come to seek advice and assistance."
Rowarn looked at him appraisingly. In his mind, he weighed whether he could take the risk of leading this crowd to his parents' home. After all, he sensed no danger. And … the Velerii were strong and powerful creatures. They could take on a hundred of these soldiers if need be. "I will go ahead and announce you," he said.
The Prince's smile deepened. "You know them well."
He was allowed to admit that. "They are my Muhmes, my foster parents."
Olrig blinked in amazement. "And there you Tree Monkley call you 'Nothing Farther'?" he groaned in amazement. "Has anyone ever heard such a thing! Young Rowarn, you must be a very special one!"
"Your caution speaks for you," said Noïrun, "however, we are easily able to follow you, and could effortlessly overtake you if need be as soon as we recognize the destination. I ask your confidence as a man of honor, which would at the same time afford you a more convenient means of locomotion."
Rowarn reflected. In a few moments of their acquaintance, the Prince had already looked deeper into his soul than ever a city father of Madin, who had known him from childhood. He actually felt trust in this man; more than he had ever felt in any other human being. "I will lead you," he finally agreed. "It is not far now. You would have found it yourselves in less than half an hour."
"How about that," smiled Prince Landless, seemingly surprised. Rowarn had the feeling that this was exactly what he had known all along.
"Can you ride, son?" asked Olrig.
"You like to joke, sir." Rowarn had to laugh, for the first time since that fateful night. "Do you not know who the Velerii are who raised me?"
"Well, sit up behind me, Tree Monkley, and hold on tight!" the warrior king invited him with a sweeping gesture.
Rowarn shimmied off the branch and landed unerringly on the horse's sprawling butt. The horse didn't even flinch a muscle as the extra weight weighed it down, which also prompted Olrig to remark, "Are you sitting down yet, you half-portion? Twice my size, but probably not half my weight!" He laughed boomingly and gave the horse its spurs.
Noïrun and Olrig went to the head of the flock, and Rowarn showed them the shortest way, across the delicate flowering meadows, through swarms of young flies, accompanied by the trilling sounds of the flycatchers that fluttered over them. Over one hill and the next, until he stopped on the third and pointed down.
"Weideling," he said proudly, looking with amusement at the amazement on the faces of the hardy warriors, though they had surely seen much on their travels.
