Chapter One: Old Stories

 

 

 

 

"The Riddermarch family is a peculiar bunch," recounted one of the local tradesmen to the newcomers at the inn who were eager to listen. Satisfied with his day, he was on his way home and stopped for a pint when three young poshly-dressed aristocrats had asked about the family. City folk.  

He looked over the shoulder of his greatcoat at the others of the inn, taking in the stout innkeeper with the brushy mustache and thick chops down to his jaw, a clean-shaven grocer from the village and a number of gap-toothed farmers gabbing together near the fire; but also at a pair of local boys who had just stepped in after hunting and were now sitting quietly at a small table in their rain-drenched cloaks with meals in hand, hoods up for privacy. The city folk the tradesman was speaking to had just come to the West Steppes to join in the month-long wedding anniversary celebration of Lord Baron and Lady Baroness Rooke, whom some have rumored were sorcerers. But people said foul things about the barons and lords all the time - and no one could prove it either way.

"They say the Riddermarch family is cursed." the tradesman nodded severely. His audience of three young fops had wide hungry eyes and pockets full of coinage ready for the taking. And they swallowed every word. The ladies of their party had long turned in for the night, weary from their carriage ride into the country and were not inclined to stay down with the local 'rabble', as they saw them. But these men were game for adventure, as they put it. The tradesman just had to milk up the story to keep these young men interested, as they also paid for his ale and every refill. Peeking once more at the others in the room, the tradesman said, "Legend has it, they've got elf blood in them."

"No!" Aghast, one of the gentlemen leaned in with delight.

"Yes." The tradesman nodded. "Of the king of elves even, lord of Dalethorne Forest, king within the Telruith Mountains."

More gasps and exclamations answered him. They were a delightful audience. And charmingly ignorant of the real world, as most of the aristocracy were.

And he added, "It is said that no mortal man has seen this Elfking and survived unscathed. Many enter his wood and never return. But those who have seen him say he stands tall like an elder tree, with a crown of horns like an elk. His eyes are glassy, black as the depths of the mountain itself. His skin is pale as fog, and his hair long with changing shades of the leaves. He carries a scepter that is more like a thin tree, topped with an emerald stone wrapped in its dry roots. It is said that one look from him, and you will go mad.

"But legend has it, he fell in love with a mortal woman - as beautiful as the day itself. Genine Westlach, I believe her name was. Everyone loved her and wanted her. But she had agreed to wed this dullard from West Steppes - a man named Alabord Riddermarch. Riddermarches were a foolish lot begin with, with peculiar names and funny ideas. But, it is said, one day when Genine was in the forest - gathering mushrooms, I believe - the elf king came to her and offered for her to be his bride."

The three aristocrats were enraptured. A few heads in the inn turned, listening in. Some mouths smirked. Some necks craned.

"And what do you know, she rejected him, and fled from him." The tradesman nodded stoutly, tapping his tankard for another refill. The aristocrat nearest to it gestured to the barmaid to get another one for their 'new friend.' "And it made the Elfking furious. For who, with all his majesty and power, would reject him? And therefore, people believe, he put a curse on the new lady of Riddermarch. For in the first ten years of her marriage, she was barren - unable to bear Lord Riddermarch a child."

"But..." One of the aristocrats looked confused - a fair-haired man with a thin mustache that curled at the ends. "The Riddermarch family is an enormous one. They own land all over the country, and they have many cousins."

The tradesman nodded sagely. "Indeed." He looked around again at those in the inn. This time there were several listening in. The pair of young hunters were trying not to show it, but they were giving the discussion attention. They had stopped eating. "Legend would have it that finally the lady realized who had cursed her, and she went back into the forest, begging to the trees for the elf king to come and release her from the curse. She was desperate to bear her husband a son. And she was willing to make a dark deal to do it."

Transfixed, the three noblemen listened in more. The tradesman took a long drink of his ale. Halved already, he drew a breath and wiped his mouth. Then, under a dramatic hushed tone, he said, "The Elfking came to her. He regarded her, as she had not changed at all in those ten years. In fact she had grown more beautiful with time. And it is said he struck a vile bargain with her. That, if she agreed to bear his child first, giving him an heir, he would open her womb and allow her to birth as many children as she wanted for Lord Riddermarch - and she agreed."

The inn had hushed entirely. Not even the clinking of plates or the wiping of tables could be heard. It was a tale all of them knew. But speaking of the Elfking so near to the forest always gave them chills - especially speaking of the damned bargain that had been struck, because it had affected the fate of the region in so many ways. The prosperity of the West Steppes and the lands around it were built on the Riddermarch family's successes and failures. And they had a very many of both.

"Her firstborn child was a boy with angular features; dark, almost glassy eyes, with hair like the changing of the leaves. Everyone knew quickly enough of the bargain she had struck, except for her idiot husband who believed the boy was his own son. And he named him Begennagan. And when she started having other children, mostly sons, they came out like their father - dull or foolish. But they also had fair hair like their mother, and were strong boys, matching Begennagan - and even surpassing him, some say, in size and strength. In truth, their mother passed the first few off has Begennagan's older brothers, cut all their hair short, and colored their hair to look like Begennagans's. Because she knew one day when the Elfking would come to claim his child, and she did not want him to take her son away into the elf kingdom."

"Did the Elfking come?" one of the aristocrats asked.

The tradesman nodded. "He did. In all his grandeur to Witsend Manor where the Riddermarch family still dwells. The entire household, it is said, was driven mad at the sight of him - or they collapsed in sheer terror. I can never remember which. But, he ordered Lady Riddermarch to bring out their son. Yet the lady brought out all her sons, most of whom were grown. And she lined them up. And she said to the Elfking, 'If you can find your own son, then you can take him.' But when the Elfking looked at all the boys, he could not tell his son from any of the others. For most of the boys were about the same build, healthy and fair to look at, like their mother. And all of them seemed as dull and stupid as their father."

The aristocrat snorted. He shared looks with his friends, nudging them. Had they heard rumors? He did not know. The Riddermarch family walked among aristocratic circles, and they were as critical of their own as anyone.

"But this was an act, of course," he said, then drank more ale. When he continued, he said, "For the Elfking's son was among them. And his wit was in fact was very quick - so quick that he had been prepared by his mother to deceive the Elfking, for he did not wish to go into the fairy realm as the heir of mountain and forest. In fact, the Elfking could smell he was there. But the mother had put a strong ointment on all her sons, which made it impossible for the Elfking to sniff his son out." The tradesman nodded to the now-serious aristocrats, finishing off his ale and setting the tankard down. "They outwitted the elf-king. And he was furious. And it is said that he cursed the family again, only this time that the family of Riddermarch would never prosper until he could claim his heir. And it is said, the Elfking seeks the descendants of this heir to this day."

One of the aristocrats looked confused, the dark haired one of taller, robust build. "But...the Riddermarches are a prosperous family. They have a vast fortune that - "

The tradesman shrugged, tapping his tankard for a refill. One of the gentlemen looked to the ceiling in exasperation then gestured for the barmaid to fill the tankard once again, quickly paying for it.

"Only the heir to the Elfking is actually prosperous, it is believed. The other Riddermarch families are fraught with financial trouble. They are constantly dealing with bankruptcy and crop failure and other losses. It is one family that is keeping them all afloat. That family moves about, lifting up the failing families."

"That's true," murmured the fair-haired aristocrat to his friend. "The Riddermarches of Tymedell have been struggling recently with an infestation of burrowing crickets. Some say the sorcerer sent them, but I've heard the lord of Witsend had been traveling to help his relations."

"Yes," the third chimed in. "I recall years back that Lord Ranalon Riddermarch had grown up in Elderwall where his business prospered a great deal, and he had bought up Witsend from a relation, trading business with the man. And business in Elderwall is now in the decline."

"Nonsense," muttered their dark, robust friend. "You don't really believe in curses, do you?"

"You don't?" their fair friend asked. "What about sorcerer? Rumor has it, the sorcerer that's been sending plagues comes from these parts. He's been sending curses all over the kingdom."

Shaking his head, their first friend replied, "It is all nonsense. There is no such things as curses, and there is no sorcerer. It was all a bout of bad luck."

But the locals shared looks.

One cleared his throat. It was a farmer. "Then ya don' know about the curse on the current Riddermarch family at Witsend Manor?"

"Current curse?" the fair haired aristocrat asked the farmer, staring at his missing teeth before meeting his eyes. "What do you mean?"

The local farmers shared looks then said, "Story goes, Lord Ranalon, when he took up Witsend Manor, fell in love wif Lady Letita Dapperfold - 'oo some say is jus' as loverly as Lady Genine Riddermarch of long ago."

"The Dapperfolds are from Hedley Town the east," interrupted one of the gentlemen. "How is that possible?"

"She was visiting relatives in Harbell Hill not far from here," replied one of the hunters with a smoother tone than the other local men. "Though, she grew up out in Hedley Town where Lord Riddermarch also has a place. The courtship was a lengthy one, as she had many suitors."

The three aristocrats looked to the hunters, regarding them for the first time. They sounded gentlemanly.

The tradesman, seeing his tankard get refilled but that he lost his audience, decided to chug down his ale then prepare to go home.

The farmer nodded. "S'right. And they agreed to marry. Only, the lady was curious about the legends of the local wood and the Elfking. And like you lot, she didn't believe a word of it. So she went in."

The fair haired aristocrat drew in a breath.

"And what happened?" his friend asked, intrigued.

"She went mad," the farmer said with a nod. "And feelin' 'e was to blame for not keeping 'er from it, Lord Riddermarch married 'er anyway."

"He what?" the first gentleman exclaimed.

"Married her," replied the other gentleman-like hunter.

Several in the room looked to them now. One local man drew in a breath and stepped back, whispering to his friend. The tradesman peered at them, thinking they were familiar somehow, but he could not put his finger on whose sons they were exactly. He finished off the rest of the ale.

"What kind of wife would that be?" exclaimed the first aristocrat.

"Indeed," said the third.

"It was a noble decision," replied the first hunter. He brushed the hood of his damp cloak off his head, gently pushing his autumn hair out from his dark eyes. "Out of respect for the agreement they had made, while giving due respect to her parents. He has taken care of her since."

"And she bore 'im a fair lot of children," commented the farmer who was now blinking at the hunters in recognition. He nodded with a polite bow.

"They've got plenty of 'ouse 'elp," added another, who tipped his hat to the two young men. "The family is well-respected."

"But none of the grown children are out in society," remarked the fair-haired aristocrat. He shook his head and chuckled. "And I hear they are a queer bunch. Strange names, and disturbingly quiet. I could very well believe they are elf kin if the stories are true."

"Or are the sorcerers themselves," muttered the tradesman under his breath, too quiet to be heard. His drunken eyes had fixed on the hunters, not sure what he was seeing was real or a dream.

"Why are they not out in society?" asked the third of the traveling party.

Dark-haired, robust one shrugged. Then he looked to the two hunters and said, "You seem to know a lot about this area. And these folk seem to respect you. What is your take on all this?"

The two hunters shared looks then rose from their table. They nodded to the three gentlemen as they passed payment to one of the inn's workers. "Rumors are rumors."

And they turned to go. With them, they carried a brace of pheasants, shouldering their rifles. The aristocrats noticed their cloaks, while well-worn, were in fact finely made. And the hunters had an air about them that commanded respect. Before they could step out the door, the first aristocrat said, "Gentlemen."

Both hunters turned, sharing yet another look between them.

"I believe we have not been properly introduced," the robust aristocrat said. "I am Ernest Brokwood from Ryewall. These are my companions: Dale Rawling," pointing to the fair-haired gentleman, "and Alder Ildenwite. Are you also here for the anniversary celebration of Lord Baron Rooke?"

Almost smirking, which made his face seem a little more angular and his eyes darker, the more outspoken of the hunters replied, "Though we have been invited, we did not come here for the celebration. Our home is nearby - at Witsend Manor."

The aristocrats drew in breaths.

The other hunter smiled broadly and bowed to them all before departing with his companion. "I am Erleon Riddermarch, and that is my older brother Ranoft." He then tugged at the edge of his hood as if tipping a hat and said, "Good evening."

A hush fell over the inn.

The tradesman quickly paid his tab and hurried out to his home - just in case. For no one wanted to offend the descendants of elves.

Chapter Two: Invitations

 

 

 

The residents of Witsend manor for generations, loved to play with words. The Riddermarches, long before any interference from the Elfking, had always enjoyed naming things with oddities that made them secretly laugh. The name of the manor itself stood as a testament of this. And the village - which they had named Justamere - was tribute to it also. People only assumed the Riddermarches were dullards and fools simply because they did not understand them. Truthfully, the Riddermarch family had always been quite brilliant.

They were also good.

At dawn, the morning after the aristocrats had begun to flood into Justamere, Rookshill and Merrowcreek, the Riddermarch family awoke with the sun.

There were eight children - five of which were of age to be out in society. Letters of invitation, they had assumed had always been sent to them out of politeness. They assume it was because no one dared snub a family descended from elves. But they never attended society events.

It wasn't like they kept up inside the walls of the manor or remained solely on the property and never went into the village ever. But the children liked to stay close to their mother, and preferred the company of the animals that came in from the Dalethorne Forest than the company of other human beings. Ranoft and Erleon spent a great deal of time within the wood, not so much hunting as exploring. Secretly, they could hear the conversation of the trees and the chatter of the animals - and that was about as much society as they cared for. Though, they went into the village to stay connected with the human world for their father's sake.

As for the older daughters - Jastalettle, Azuesh and Grennanod - they spent much of their time in the garden and the wooded lands about, encouraging the plants to grow and listening to the songs of the butterflies and the bees. The youngest three children - Cedatot, Dannalot and Saliferth - mostly remained with their mother and the nannies who took more care of the mother than the children. The children were quite independent and had been once they could walk. They were all advanced for their age.

All the children of Lord Ranalon Riddermarch were fair, with dark eyes and elvish builds. The children's hair were varying shades of the autumn leaves, which, in season sometimes changed color - though never to green. Mostly, their hair lightened with the sun. And whenever they did go out in public, people stared.

That morning, though, when they gathered for breakfast in the airy nook near kitchens - as the Riddermarch family rarely stood on formality - the eldest brothers held open the recent invitation to Lord Baron Rooke's festivities. They were reading it aloud for the tenth time that week.

"We simply have to go," Ranoft finally said. "It's already been going on and we've missed so much.

"Ugh," Azuesh groaned with one hand on her forehead and other holding a buttered crumpet. "What for? It is only their twenty-third

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Publisher: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Publication Date: 06-08-2017
ISBN: 978-3-7554-7911-6

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