The Land of Betrovia: The Land of Betrovia

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To Diane

my dearest and ever-loving wife

of many wonderful years, who continues to be both my greatest source of inspiration as well as my most-exacting critic

To my beta-readers

who offered not only wonderful insights into how to improve the quality of the novel but who also blessed me immensely with their sincere excitement and encouragement

To the fellow authors of the C.I.A. (Christian Indie Authors)

for their valuable critique of the myriad iterations of all of the covers of this trilogy

To Jesus Christ

Lord of all

who because of His great love and faithfulness continues

to make all of this possible

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Dave King, retired high school English teacher, husband to the greatest woman who ever lived and father of three children was born in Topeka KS but currently resides in Jefferson City MO. Since being delivered into this world, he has lived in four states and on two continents. It is hoped that his experiences in all those places has positively influenced his writing.

BETROVIA

INTRODUCTION

Betrovia ... a land in which the horrors of war are as common as snow and ice in winter

Patrik Veillein, as a newly-married young man, turns down the safety of small town life to help his uncle manage a road-side inn many miles away. But before he can learn even the basics of running a roadside inn, the uncle suddenly dies. If he had stayed where he was born, Patrik could have become a successful hunter, fur trapper, or even a successful artist. So why did he leave the comforts of home?

Not long after the death of his uncle, Patrik's wife dies, leaving him to mourn her death while struggling to be a good father to their two young daughters. Where can he find the inner peace he feverishly desires?

Tamara, boisterous, beautiful but often cantankerous, has turned down every man who has offered to rescue her from the pitiful routine of The Lonely Fox Inn. Who, if anyone, could ever capture her love?

Kristof, The Lonely Fox Inn's stable hand, has attempted to earn Tamara's affection since he first set eyes upon her but has suffered a lifetime of rejection in the few months he has been employed there. What can he do to somehow make her love him?

Betrovia ... a land in disarray ... a land in need of peace

Chapter 1

The light snow mixed with drizzle that began the evening before began to subside. Patrik opened the front door of The Lonely Fox Inn to check if it was still snowing. His oldest daughter, Tamara, busy with wiping off the tables and preparing to set up the dining room to serve breakfast to the inn’s two guests, looked out the corner of her eye to see her father slip on his coat and step outside. Galena, Patrik's other daughter, continued to stoke the fire in the cooking hearth. It was her turn to cook breakfast for the family and the inn's guests, and she hummed a traditional tune while prepping the fire. Galena wasn't paying attention to her father as he left the warm confines of the inn, but she was watching Tamara as she finished setting up the dining area. Can you come over here and help me?

Give me a few seconds, Tamara responded. Tamara's attention to her father's movements were interrupted by her sister's request. The door clicked shut and Galena asked for her sister's attention again as Patrik stepped off the inn's front porch into the mix of misty snow and cold drizzle. The Lonely Fox Inn was quite alone, isolated from any other example of civilization. It was a few yards from the main road connecting Noran, the nearest village to the west, and the capital city Lycentia, many miles to the east. And this was how Patrik liked it. It was only a few miles from Noran, but was far enough that Patrik could have the peace and quiet that he'd learned to appreciate whenever he could negotiate for it. The early morning light – cold, white and speckled with silver – revealed, as Patrik looked down at the road, a few puddles that had frozen over. Father, are you going to join us and our guests for breakfast this morning? Tamara asked as she opened the front door.

Yes, of course. I'll be right there. Before she closed the door, she started to sing one of her favorite songs, Emilee Trell. Patrik smiled and resisted the urge to sing with her as he heard the click of the front door. Very little happened in The Lonely Fox Inn without music of some kind. Both daughters loved to sing, and Patrik had encouraged their musical interests as much as he could. And Kristof, the hired hand, played guitar in the evenings or whenever he could without being yelled at by Patrik. It was his wife, their mother, Dalneia, however, who had been the true music lover of the family. This sudden memory of Dalneia singing with the girls caused Patrik to shudder. He forced that memory back into the dark recesses of his mind and instead looked past the closest frozen puddle to the edge of the woods that were north of the inn's front door. Shafts of silvery light, emanating from behind grayish, white clouds pointed out details of the wood's edge that were not evident when Patrik had first stepped out of the inn.

He squinted to catch signs of any forest life. Most mornings, when he thought of it, he'd happen upon a squirrel or two scampering back and forth as they rummaged for food for themselves and their babies. A day or so before, a doe and two fawns grazed not more than ten yards from the highway. But they were not present this day. Patrik glanced at the eastern sky. The clouds were still there, preventing the sun from sending anything but cold, sterile light onto the scene. More snowflakes mingled with even larger raindrops. Spring should be here soon. It's been a cold and dark winter. Too dark.

A breeze suddenly blew the smoke of breakfast from the chimney down onto the forest clearing, and Patrik began to smell whatever the girls were preparing for breakfast. Another gust made the smoke dissipate as quickly as it appeared; Patrik's thoughts about what should have been happening inside dissipated as well. Reaching out to catch one of the snowflakes, seemingly larger than the ones from a few moments previous, he wondered again why winter was not surrendering its grip on Betrovia. It was the first full month of Spring but the thick, gray clouds, freezing rain, and snow were strong evidence that Winter was not about to relinquish. Unsuccessful in grabbing the flake for a closer examination, he turned his attention once again to the clearing directly south of him. This time he noticed movement at ground level – a light brown blur. But was there a hint of white in the brown? Could it have been completely white?

He rubbed his eyes and squinted to make them focus better. The temptation to move off the road and onto the pale green grass of the clearing was evident but not very persuasive; it was his routine to stay motionless whenever denizens of the forest appeared outside the shadowy cloak of dusty brown and green. Patrik, experienced hunter and trapper, knew full well how to appear motionless when it was prudent to do so.

Pointy ears and a long snout appeared to be coming out from under a slightly-budding forsythia; Patrik imagined that he could see the long whiskers bristle. Was the creature mimicking him? Did it even notice him? Was it brown with specks of white or was it altogether white with shadows of the forest creating dark splotches? Before Patrik could analyze it further, it quickly disappeared back into the woods. Not white ... just a regular fox. Not the white one. Not today anyway. Patrik inadvertently stepped a bit closer to the clearing and, in doing so, stepped through one of the icy puddles. Now what to do with this wet shoe once I go inside? He scolded himself for being so careless and considered throwing caution to the wind to move off the road and completely onto the grassy clearing.

Father! Breakfast! It is time for breakfast! This time it was Galena. Her voice didn't communicate frustration, just information.

Yes, yes. Be right there.

Do you want tea today?

Yes. Tea sounds good.

And some meat broth as well?

Oh, meat broth? He paused. No, just tea. This wasn't a routine conversation between the father and his younger daughter. Rarely did she ask him such rudimentary things, Patrik reflected. Is she assuming something that I should be aware of? he whispered to himself. But before he could construct an acceptable answer, the creature that had captured his attention moments before scampered boldly a few yards onto the clearing. He ran, then stopped, then pounced as if fired from a gun. He buried his snout in what must have been a hole in the ground. Patrik then saw the fox pull out of the hole a field mouse. The furry-tailed hunter then looked directly at the innkeeper. The mouse was still alive, frantically attempting to dislodge himself from the jaws of his pursuer, and the fox stood motionless, appearing to look right through Patrik, right at what was directly behind him. The innkeeper involuntarily shuddered and the fox's tail pumped three times; the hunter and its prey were then gone, and the clearing once again was empty.

The shafts of cold morning light surrendered to beams of warm yellow coming out from what had become shreds of gray clouds. One beam highlighted the cleft in the bushes where the fox had just disappeared. Patrik thought about a sketch he had made a few days earlier, wishing that what he'd caught on parchment then could have been anything close to the perfection he’d just witnessed. Yes, it would have been good to sit on the porch and sketch this morning. But it's too cold, too wet. Winter must be over soon, so I can go to the forest again and sketch. His thoughts were interrupted once again.

Father, Uncle Franck has come downstairs and wants to know if you're joining him for breakfast. This time it was Tamara.

Oh, sorry. Right. I will come right now. Uncle Franck? How could he forget! His old friend, Franck, had arrived the evening before. He had said that he was on his way from Lycentia to a village near the Plains of Dreut, many miles west of Noran. Patrik tried to remember why the old merchant was traveling this time but couldn’t. He decided to ask during breakfast. And so it seemed that his contemplation of Creation in general and the fox specifically had to come to an end. He chuckled as he remembered Franck's asking for thirds of dessert at dinner the night before. I wonder if there'll be anything left of breakfast for me unless I go in right now, Patrik chuckled. Franck, Patrik and Dalneia had been good friends as they grew up looking for adventure on the wooded paths in and around Noran. He thought that it would be soothing during breakfast to reminisce about their childhood escapades. He then thought about their conversation from the evening before.

Chapter 2

And the previous evening's discussion went something like this:

So, are you going to eat even more of Galena's pie, Franck? You know you could ask her to pack some for you tomorrow before you leave?

Ha, you caught me, old friend, showing my true self. My true gluttonous self. But this apple pie is heavenly, so light but at the same time so –

Full of sugar?

Yes! That's it! It is so sweet! How could anyone be satisfied with just two slices? Ha!

Franck, as he finished off Galena's apple pie, reported some of the news of Lycentia.

Many of the merchants have been discussing how to charge higher prices for their Haarigoian products.

Like what? The only thing we buy for the inn that comes from Haarigo is sea salt. Patrik tried to appear interested.

Oh, but sea salt is very important. Of course, you already know that. But did you realize that the herdsmen are not just butchering their sheep but are now shearing them, too?

Bah! What use do they have for sheep's wool? When have they become interested in turning raw wool into anything of value?

Not when, my overly-bearded friend, but why. More than a few of the Haarigoian family lords have taken an interest in that wool, among a few other things. Their wool is raw, unwashed, totally unprocessed, unlike the wool the western Betrovian herdsmen bring to sell in the capital. That's why the clans are now shearing the sheep before they are butchered. And then they bundle up what they once considered offal for quick transport to the border. Even though they take pleasure in harassing our western border villages, they seem to take greater pleasure in taunting and tempting them with this wool that some in Lycentia believe is better than the Betrovian wool... even though it is unprocessed. That wool, until recently, was being burned to cook Haarigoian stew. That is, until some enterprising Haarigoian realized that folks in Lycentia were very interested in buying Haarigoian wool over the wool of their fellow countrymen.

So, why is there a movement amongst the merchants to fix the prices of this wool?

Fixing the prices guarantees that the merchants, primarily those of the ruling families of Lycentia, can control who gets the wool that's to be processed or even who finally obtains the products made from that refined wool. And, of course, those who control the flow of the product control the flow of the money to and from the Plains.

What does King Justen think about this new avenue of commerce with the enemy? Isn't it still true that many in the capital want all-out war with the Haarigoians? And now some want to test their fortunes in Haarigoian wool?

I don't see it that way exactly. Yes, Lycentia has been at odds with the Haarigoians for longer than I care to remember. But why allow that conflict to keep the city from benefiting from what the Haarigoians once considered garbage? They don't use sea salt to preserve food as we do, and they find it distasteful to wear wool clothing. He stopped to chew on more pie. The price-fixing of those products just makes sense. The merchants must unite to help fund the efforts of King Justen and his generals to someday secure the border with the Haarigoians as well as with their Rigarian allies. Charging the highest prices possible could guarantee a trustworthy stream of gold for funding their efforts. He sat back and continued. And something that I'm personally interested in, and I'm sure you're concerned with as well, is raising money this way will also promote more iron-mining. You know, the generals need iron to make the armor and weapons to gain the advantage over the Haarigoians.

It's not greed then ... it's the overall security of Lycentia that's the issue. And who could disagree with such a noble plan? And this is what King Justen desires?

The King? I don't know about that. Unfortunately, a few of the merchants may be forced out of the market unless they agree to the price-fixing.

Then how are the merchants and their families helping the King's efforts against them? They have no definite connections with the king. And what about Luis? Where does he fit in with all this? We can't forget Lycentia's loyal protector. What has he done to show his support for the king?

I don't see that Luis can do anything but support Justen. The king for as long as I can remember has shown himself to be consistent towards reducing the Haarigoian threat. And the merchant families who've helped to prosper Lycentia have consistently sided with King Justen. Yes, they've been good allies of the king, even when it's been obvious that their greed has not been tempered by their strong allegiance to the crown.

Once Patrik was done with reviewing the previous night's discussion, he turned away from the forest – away from the sunlight that was becoming slightly warmer by the minute – and stepped onto the porch. The shoe that had gotten wet left an muddy print where it hit the dry wood. I don't care if there's a wet Spring ... wet and atrociously muddy. I just don't want any more cold weather. With that said, he opened the front door of the inn and inhaled, taking in the aromas of Galena's cooking. Bacon, he said out loud.

Yes, Father. Bacon. Don't you remember Kristof saying yesterday that the bacon he had been curing was ready to be eaten? Galena stood in the doorway that connected the kitchen to the dining area. Her father smiled and shook his head: Galena would be the one to remind him of Kristof.

Chapter 3

Tamara was the first of the two girls to leave the kitchen to join Patrik and Franck for breakfast. The other of the two guests, a merchant who had stayed at the inn once or twice before, had come down the stairs. He was asking Galena something about the inn as she attempted to help him decide where he wanted to sit so she could serve him at least a cup of tea. The aroma of hot tea, fried potatoes and onions, freshly-baked bread as well as the bacon Galena had mentioned a few moments before permeated the dining area. Patrik ventured upstairs to find drier shoes and was surprised by the sunlight that was coming into his and Dalneia's room. The inquisitive other guest sat down at one of the smaller tables by the window on the east side of the room. He thanked Galena for whatever answer she'd given to his question, and she headed for the kitchen again. The dining room, the largest room in the inn, could seat twenty people comfortably, but if someone were to ask Patrik when that many had been in the room, he would confess that he didn't have a clue.

How's the weather this morning, Father? Tamara asked as she placed a heaping plate of breakfast food in front of him and then sat down beside him. Patrik was seated at one end of the longest table in the dining room while his old friend sat at the other. Between them were plates of what Galena had been preparing at least an hour before daylight. She was still in the kitchen, and the clanging of a few metallic utensils revealed that some cleaning had commenced. Franck looked up from his overly-filled plate of steaming food.

So, old man, what's going on outside this morning?

Oh, sorry, Tamara's question. The weather? It's still cold. And wet ... too wet. The puddles froze over last night. It's supposed to be spring, but we still must deal with this winter coldness. Patrik tried not to sound like he was complaining.

Bah! Look out that window over there. Franck pointed towards the window that the other guest had sat by. See that sunshine? Spring is just around the corner! Cheer up! He then bit into a piece of Galena's bread. He picked up some bacon from his plate, wrapped the remainder of the slice around it and crammed it into his mouth. All but a small trickle of bacon grease ended up in its intended destination. Patrik watched, unintentionally, to see if Franck would catch the residue before it fell. With his left hand, the old friend picked up another piece of bread and with his right wiped away the tiny bit of bacon before it succumbed to gravity's power.

Yes, we've had a long and cold winter, but you have to admit that all the snow was necessary. Last year's drought came to an end with the winter moisture. Coming down the highway yesterday I was amazed that most of the ponds were full and every stream was testing its banks. His voice trailed off as he became more interested in whether or not Galena was going to bring out more bread.

Father has been complaining all winter about the cold, Galena said, carrying, to Franck's delight, another plate of bread that this time was accompanied by a small bowl of apple cobbler. She set the cobbler as close to Franck as possible, knowing that he would be the first to help himself to it. Tamara, when was it when he wouldn't venture outside for an entire week? Remember when that was? When the snow was so heavy and deep that Kristof had to take care of bringing in all the wood for the fire? Franck wasn't paying any attention to this part of the conversation, and Patrik was glad that he wasn't.

Galena, our guest doesn't want to hear about my dislike of winter. Would you be a sweetheart and bring out for me another cup of tea? He handed Galena his cup, anticipating that she would take it to fill it up. But because she had already turned back towards the doorway leading into the kitchen, she missed him reaching out with it. Patrik watched her go into the kitchen and considered getting up and following her to give her the cup, but seeing Tamara come through the same doorway kept him seated. Tamara, could you take this to Galena to let her know that I don't need a new cup?

Fine. She took the cup and went back into the kitchen. With both daughters momentarily in the kitchen, Franck loudly slurped his tea and cleared his throat.

My white-bearded friend, do you remember what we were talking about last night? About the wool merchants in Lycentia? He drained the cup and set it down on the edge of the table so it would be easy for one of the girls to fill it. I forgot to mention the guilds ... the tailoring guilds! They aren't too pleased about the proposed price-fixing of the wool. I guess they figure that the higher prices will force them to charge more for the clothing they produce.

Oh, the guilds ... yes, I suppose that any agreement among the wool merchants will affect whatever the cloth makers and tailors charge for their goods. Tamara returned from the kitchen with another cup of tea for her father, and it arrived in a larger vessel.

She had already poured the tea into a new cup. Sorry. He forced a smiled as she handed it to him. Will you be wanting anything else this morning? Some meat broth?

Broth? Didn't you already ask me that? No, I don't want any broth this morning. Thank you. The cup in his hand had been Dalneia's favorite, a porcelain piece given to her by her grandmother. Patrik wondered why Galena had chosen that particular cup, but didn't think too long about it since Tamara was sitting down at the table.

Galena! Are you going to eat with us? Tamara hollered at the kitchen doorway.

Yes, I'll be right there. Just need to put away the bread so it won't dry out. Her response was so soft that Tamara probably did not hear it.

Bread? There's more bread? Franck waved an empty plate at Tamara. Did she say there's more bread? Get me just one more slice, would you? And with a bit more butter this time? Before Tamara could get up from the table, Galena came out of the kitchen with one more plate of food: two slices of breakfast bread and another – smaller this time – bowl of cobbler. Patrik, these girls are simply amazing. It's like they are reading my mind! I still would like more butter, please.

No, old friend, they just know what makes you feel at home. Patrik raised his cup in a mock toast. Food! And lots of it!

Ah ha, yes, that must be it, the old merchant agreed and raised his cup in response. Galena crossed her arms, watching the little ceremony, and once it was over, sat down at her usual place to the left of her father. There was one more place at the table – to the left side of Galena – that was available for someone else.

The Lonely Fox Inn, a structure of oak, ash, hickory and cedar, was erected at this location slightly more than forty miles southeast of Noran. It was framed with massive oak beams dragged from across the road with the minor fixtures finished with ash, hickory. Cedar was used intermittently, primarily for shingles and paneling. A tremendous wind storm not too far in the past ripped many of the shake shingles from the roof. And because he arrived from the hamlet to help repair the damaged roof – and not too much later decided to stay on – Kristof had become part of the family.

He, like Patrik and Franck, had grown up in the village, but being twenty or so years their junior hadn't known them. Since Noran was the only vestige of civilization in the southern foothills of the Rigarian mountains, however, their families knew of each other. Patrik and Dalneia's girls were born in the converted attic of the inn, so they didn't know him either. Kristof's father and two uncles were tailors – but Kristof was not. At the ripe old age of sixteen, he announced emphatically to his father that he wanted nothing to do with tailoring in Noran – or in any town for that matter. So, when he had heard of the position at the inn, he jumped at the chance.

The Lonely Fox Inn became both home and business venture for the Vellein family not long after Patrick and Dalneia were married. Patrik's Uncle Gradien, his father's brother, planned to sell the inn to him as soon as he was certain his nephew was confident in running it. But Gradien dying that same year kept Patrik from learning much of what his uncle had desired to teach him. Also, Patrik debated changing the inn's name but chose to keep the name, thereby, in a small way, honoring the memory of his overly-generous relative.

And what was the price for the inn? Fifty gold coins and the assurance to Gradien's wife, Helena, that it would never leave the family. That amount of gold would easily have paid for a one room cabin on the north side of Noran, so when word got out that the inn sold for only fifty gold coins, it became common knowledge that the inn was actually a gift to Patrick.

But it was not a gift in Dalneia's eyes.

Before Dalneia and Patrik – who had been good friends during their childhood and teenage years – started thinking, talking, and even researching how and when they might be made for each other, Dalneia expressed that if she were to spend the rest of her life with the hunter, she wanted to make a home for them in Noran. She did not want to move out of Noran to become a farmer, or anything resembling a farmer.

But working for my uncle in his inn won't be the dull, boring life of a farmer! There'd be lots of interesting people to meet and talk to since the inn is one of the best places between Noran and Lycentia for travelers to safely get off the road at night!

Working for your uncle and his inn isn't the problem. I just wish that the inn was here in town where I could be with my family. Many of our friends who've left Noran for Lycentia or wherever hardly come back to visit.

Now that's a gross generalization if I've ever heard one! Two of your closest friends, Lyndi and – oh, what's her name? Velnia? I forget – they come back to Noran every year for the holidays. Living and working at the inn won't be that bad... compared to what's offered me here in Noran.

Patrik, dear, you've stressed to me that you can't make a living as a hunter, trapper or even a woodcutter in Noran. According to you, the forest surrounding Noran is nearly void of things to kill and trap. But why are you so set on moving miles away from our families when there are still people here in town earning a fair living as hunters and trappers? Don't they seem happy here?

Dalneia's desire to remain in the safe confines of Noran was not unjustified. An entire branch of her family tree was nearly eliminated when she was a child. Her mother's sister, her husband and their children moved into the forest, and once there, established a small but substantial farm at the foot of the Rigarian Mountains north of Noran.

One winter their homestead was attacked by a band of Rigarian ruffians hoping – the story was – to find gold. Why they thought that little hut and the small family living there possessed any gold was never understood. But their deaths and the torching of the small domicile they had called home for a only a few years fueled Dalneia's desire to remain close – as much as it was within her power – to the security offered by Noran.

Chapter 4

Good morning, beautiful Tamara! Did you bless us with this royal feast of a breakfast? Kristof asked as he came into the dining room from the kitchen. Tamara didn't even look up.

Did you close the back door? The other way to enter the inn was through the south door that led into the kitchen. Kristof, nineteen years old, a few inches shorter than Patrik but taller than both girls, slipped off his coat, draped it over the back of his chair, and sat down next to Galena. Well, did you close it?

Why yes, dear Tamara, the door is effectively shut. No bears, wolves or other wild creatures will be invading this domicile from that access point. However, Galena – from the look on her face – doesn't appear to believe me.

Don't get me involved in this! I have to work with her all day. You can rile her up and then saunter outside to escape her wrath. The grin on her face revealed sarcasm. But Tamara still had not made eye contact with the young man. Do you want me to get you anything from the kitchen? There's a bit more potatoes.

No, no ... unless Tamara wouldn't mind frying a few eggs for me?

Stop it! Just stop it. What are you so glib about today? Can't you see that breakfast has been prepared and served already. Stop being so rude and eat what's on the table! The elder daughter looked up at him, her dark brown eyes framed by her glistening black eyebrows. She pointed at the half-full plate of food and motioned for him to help himself. Franck chuckled with amusement.

Oh, what a riot, what a wonderful scene! Kristof, it never ceases to amaze me how quickly you can get her dander up. Do you practice this between my visits? The purveyor of both common household wares and antiquities divine, pushed himself away from the table, signaling that he had finally reached his limit. Oh, he continued. Did you remember to brush down Fairchild this morning? Or at least last night? Like I asked you?

Of course, Uncle Franck, and your steed is much more attractive because of it. You know, I don't understand why that old horse hasn't bolted out from under your portly frame and taken refuge somewhere in the forest. Franck immediately roared with joy.

Ho, ha, ha! You are quite the jester, you son of a Haarigoian! I never do tire of coming to this wonderful hovel of tasty delectables and spry humor! Yes, this is one of my favorite places between the Plains and Lycentia! He laughed, standing in the process, and belched one more time. Oh, ladies, please excuse the rudeness of a fat old man. But I'm sure you understand. Unlike Kristof, I have no one in the world to impress, to appear suave and sophisticated in front of. Oh yes, Kristof, you have the whole world before you, you do!

Uncle Franck, might it be advantageous for me to join you on your journeys someday? I'm sure that I'd be able to gather more material just by being with you! Patrik shook his head and smiled.

Uncle Franck and Kristof ... now that would be quite a pair. Yes, indeed ... quite a pair, Tamara mumbled. Since Franck had already moved away from the table and waddled over to the east side of the room to chat with the other guest, Tamara and Galena began to clean off the table.

Now wait just a minute! I'm not done with that! Kristof said, grabbing the bowl of cobbler back from Tamara.

Stop, boy-hired-to-work-outside! Breakfast is over and it's time to go back to work. Go outside!

Can't I have just one more spoonful? Both young people held tightly onto the bowl.

Let go of the bowl so I can clean up this mess! She successfully yanked it away from the scruffy young man. Good. Now go outside and do whatever you were supposed to do before disturbing our breakfast. Kristof leaned back in the chair, putting his hands behind his head and stretched.

Why are you always so mean to me? When are you going to realize that you're seriously in love with me and are just upset that I haven't asked your father for your hand yet? He successfully ducked the spoon that had been in the cobbler bowl; it landed at Franck's feet. Tamara's spare hand immediately covered her mouth, and she rushed into the kitchen.

Here's the spoon, Franck said. Suppose you won't be taking this to her directly, eh?

Is that a challenge? You don't think I'll walk right in there and demand an apology? Kristof cajoled.

No, I am thinking just the opposite. I envision that you're considering sauntering in there, picking up something left over from our meal and dumping it on directly on her head!

No, that wouldn't work ... too forceful. I would need something more subtle.

I'm kidding, Franck said. Listen a moment ... before she comes back out. Franck then proceeded to summarize how he had successfully convinced his wife to marry him. Patrick had heard the story too many times before, and – staying out of the tussle between the two young people – felt impelled to interject in the middle of the summary.

Kristof, this conversation has to conclude. You need to head back out to the barn. Did you forget that we are scheduled to go to Noran today? Even though it's not snowing or raining now, I think it might be later. We need to get started very soon.

Patrik, give me a few more minutes with the boy. If he's going be your son-in-law someday....

What? Uncle Franck! He has work to do! And I'm sure you do, too! Tamara picked up the last of the breakfast dishes. Kristof works for us. And that's it! The sooner he wakes up to that reality, the better! Franck scratched his nearly-bald head.

Tamara, sweet Tamara. I could retire tomorrow if I so desired. However, I enjoy traveling too much – visiting wonderful friends like you – to hang up my leather overcoat quite yet. Whatever work you believe I have to do can wait. Tamara didn't hear him since she had already scurried back to the kitchen.

Kristof, give the horses a larger portion of oats today. We will leave for town within the hour.

An hour? And more oats? Yes sir! I got it! With that, he put on his coat. Should I use the kitchen or the front door?

Front door, please. Leave the girls alone. They have things to finish in there and don't need any more distractions. Now go on outside. I'll bid Uncle Franck goodbye for all of us.

Goodbye? That sounds so definite ... so final. Franck headed for the front door, following Patrik's lead. He left the warm confines of the dining room so Tamara and Galena could finish without any more interruptions. Once outside, Patrik stopped at the top of the porch steps. So, tell me again where you're heading? East? Back to Lycentia?

No, no. I left the capital city a few days ago. I'm heading for the Plains of Dreut.

What? I thought you'd given up going that far west? Too dangerous for an old merchant like you ... isn't that what you've said? What are you planning to buy or sell there that you can't proffer in a safer environment?

Oh, don't misunderstand, good friend. I'm not going to the front to make any gold. My motives are much more juvenile than that! he said, laughing. I heard that there's this Haarigoian named Ulek ... quite huge and quite ugly ... with a temperament akin to a wounded wolverine only twice as mean. He's challenged the commander there to a duel of some kind and –

A duel? Patrik asked, looking up at the clouds. Small patches of blue stood out behind much larger areas of gray and white. What kind of duel? That doesn't sound like something any Haarigoian could conceive on his own.

Ha! I can't agree more, Franck continued. Since I was headed for a Rigarian village but a few miles from the border.

Eh? Rigarians? What has gotten into your head lately? Haven't you been warned to stay away from those traitors?

Yes. And then again ... no. Why do you keep interrupting? By the time Kristof had led Fairchild to the porch – to be burdened once again with the weight of the rotund businessman and his belongings – Franck had summarized all he knew about the most recent skirmishes between the Lycentians and the Haarigoians. While the two friends finished their conversation, Kristof brushed the horse one more time. Kristof, you pamper that horse like he's your own. If I only had a few gold coins, I'd give one to you.

Oh, not to worry. My wages here more than compensate me for my efforts, he said, his words ending on a higher pitch.

Ha! That is highly unlikely! If I were to ask Tamara, I'm sure she'd say that you're grossly overpaid! Even with that taunt, he reached into a pouch hanging from his right side. Here ... add this to your bank account. Franck said and winked. It was a silver coin. Kristof nodded his head.

Thank you, fine sir. You are always welcome at The Lonely Fox, he said, bowing much too deeply for the occasion.

Kristof! Come back to the barn! Hurry! I need your help with something! Galena yelled as she headed for the modest structure the family courteously referred to as the barn. The hireling, leaving the two men to see what Galena was so emphatic about, waved good-bye but said nothing more.

I suppose it's time for me to go, my white-haired friend. Please express my sincere gratitude to your lovely daughters for another fine stay.

I will do that. When do you think you'll be heading home to Lycentia?

Can't say for sure. You know the life I lead now – with Sereal wishing I were dead! Ha! Patrik thought about the last time he had seen Franck's red-haired Knaesin wife. Can't say I regret her temper, though, knowing that I'd probably behave much the same way if there was Knaesin blood flowing through my veins. And with those being the last words that the innkeeper thought he would hear from the portly traveler for many months, Patrik stepped back onto the porch, smiling as he looked up at what had turned into a nearly blue sky. A solitary cloud caught his attention for a moment, then he opened the door of the inn.

Innkeeper, may I have a word with you? Patrik was startled and looked for the source of the voice. It was the other guest.

Yes sir, what may I help you with?

Before arriving here last night, I met two trappers on the road west of here who said they knew you. Patrik's eyes became large and lively as he talked to the man. In the course of that short conversation, Patrik learned that the traveler had sold a trap to the trappers. He, then, sensing that this was an opportunity to illicit some comments about his inventions, asked the guest to look at a trap that he'd been designing. The merchant politely declined, emphasizing that he, like Franck, needed to be going. Patrik thanked him for the information about the trappers, and the conversation ended as abruptly as it began.

A few moments later, once the inn was nearly vacant of all but those who called it home, Patrik scratched his head. Guess I should see if Kristof has accomplished anything this morning besides flirting with my daughters. He walked to the barn, thereby startling his hired hand.

Oh, it's just you. I thought it might be the other guest. I just finished feeding and watering his horses and was about to hitch them up to his wagon. Kristof's conversation with Galena had ended before Patrik came into the barn, but his younger daughter was still there talking to one of their three horses. When I noticed that the rear axle could use some grease –

Whatever it needs, I'll add to his tab, Patrik interrupted.

Father, will we have to sell one of the horses soon? Galena turned from the horse, the one with white splotches and dirty auburn hair. Tamara said that we're behind on our payments for supplies from the stores in Noran.

I surely hope not ... even though business has been slow the last few months. It's these infernal times, that's all. And we can’t change anything about that, he said, walking away from her. He picked up a partially-assembled trap from a hardwood bench covered with pieces of metal chain and strips, leather and various other accouterments of a tinkerer. He tried to close the contraption, but the short piece of chain that held the leather and metal device together snapped in half. He caught some of it as the remaining pieces fell to the straw-covered dirt floor. By the ghost of Haarig! What a mess! He threw what he had caught onto the bench, Galena went back to conversing with the horses, and Kristof laughed softly enough so that neither father nor daughter could hear him.

Chapter 5

Kristof, we need to leave for Noran now! Patrik commanded as he walked quickly out of the barn. He kicked a small stone that was surreptitiously placed at his feet; it hit the side of the house with a loud crack and the unexpected loudness of the stone hitting the house surprised him. He inspected the spot where he thought the stone had hit the house, brushing off the dust that had collected there. Funny how the wood on this side of the inn collects so much dirt, he muttered as he opened the side door that led into the kitchen. But thinking about how Nature mistreated one side of the house compared to the others was short-lived: he instead reviewed what he and Kristof needed to accomplish that day and what he wanted the girls to do after their departure.

Tamara, we're leaving for town very soon. While we're gone, would you and Galena tidy up the guest rooms, particularly Uncle Franck's? And the attic as well? Tamara turned around from wiping off one of the three tables located in the kitchen.

The attic? You’re really allowing me to go into your room? Ha! she laughed. Oh, by the way, we are nearly out of flour.

Already? Didn't we just get a new bag last month?

The bag is empty. And sugar as well. She ran down the short-list of things that they needed, adding even a request for a new paring knife. Patrik, realizing that debating with her about what to buy was proving to be counterproductive, agreed to the list in its entirety.

Kristof is going with you, right? She looked up from rearranging a few utensils.

Yes, he is. Didn't I already say that he was?

Just making sure. If you're wanting me and Galena to accomplish anything while you're gone, he needs to be out of here. Patrik smiled as he remembered the breakfast encounter from an hour before.

Why be so hard on him? He's accomplishing what is required of him. He looked over in her direction, waiting for a response, but she had walked out of the kitchen. A minute passed before Patrik realized that he was alone. The sunshine that had been sparse an hour or so before blazed brightly white into the kitchen, and one piece of cloth that was destined to become another cleaning rag was highlighted by that light. The shape of the cloth as it lay on the table intrigued the innkeeper, and as he closed his eyes ...

The wind whistled through the tops of the trees, mostly bare but decorated with light-green specks of life that glistened in the dampness of the early spring morning. The trapper moved quickly but silently down the narrow path, the only sound being the muffled rattling of fox and beaver traps hanging over his shoulder. The chirp of a brown sparrow reverberated above him while a cardinal swooshed directly past him. The forest was oblivious to the lone human, uninterested in his doings.

The vitality of a forest is impervious, no matter the season: babies require feeding and nurturing; leaves turn dark green before their emerald tints evolve into shades of gold, auburn, burgundy and dirt brown; death and life effortlessly perform their eternal rituals. Life, on this day, had taken center stage. Life – evidenced by the cacophony of whistles, rustling, foraging and even the snapping of tiny twigs under the careful ploddings of a mother doe and her white-spotted fawn – ignored the body of the fox that had been caught in a trap. Pristine life and harsh, tragic death coexisted on the forest floor.

The trapper was surprised to see the fox's body, caught by its left leg in the trap. The other traps that he'd set the day before were untouched and in the same condition in which he had placed them: empty. It was dead, but had not been lifeless for long. He thought this was unusual since it couldn't have been in the trap for more than a few hours. Why was it dead? Had it been sickly and the trap fated it for relief from whatever disease it had contracted? He tapped on it gently with the toe of a boot. It was limp; rigor mortise had not yet set in.

He decided that it was definitely not going to fight him or the trap, so to award himself with some time to consider what to do, he set down the load that he had been carrying on his shoulders. Kneeling next to the body, he noticed that the jagged, rusty teeth of the traps' two jaws had nearly severed the creature’s left leg.

It was strange, but not altogether unusual, for the teeth to be embedded in that manner. It had been years since he'd seen a trap snapped shut that high up on the leg. Even though it was so high and the leg was in nearly two pieces, he encouraged himself that the value of the hide would not be negatively affected. The trapper began to carefully open the jaws of the trap, paying close attention to not pull them too far apart thereby unnecessarily increasing the tension of the metal.

It was to be a nice pelt, small, but basically blemish-free. The darkness of the shadows cast by the budding oaks and hickories kept him from examining it too closely, and since this was the first pelt harvested that week, he was not about to disqualify it.

He tied the hind legs together in order to drape the corpse over his shoulder. There were two more traps to check, but since this one had been sprung, he doubted that either of those would be. Looking up at another cardinal that had decided to roost and cackle at him from a branch a few feet above this scene of life and death, something else, at forest floor level, flashed from left to right directly in front of him. Was it a cantankerous wisp of early morning fog? He peered into the bush where he thought it had stopped and was surprised when the white blur came slowly out of the bush.

It was another fox! But it was all white. An albino? How unusual was that? He had never seen any albino forest creature before; the only all-white creatures he had seen were sheep, a cow and maybe a cat or dog in the village. But those weren't examples of albinism. What was the fox doing? It stood there, statue-like, looking directly at him as if it were about to speak. What was it thinking? It was not more than twenty feet away, and the oak, pine and hickory shadows that had framed his harvest of one pelt ended right in front of the white fox.

A solitary beam of bright sunlight engulfing the scene made the trapper feel that he was dreaming – succumbing to a vision – one similar to the one he had experienced walking into the attic bedroom. It was Dalenia's lifeless body lying exposed on the bed, eyes still open, staring blankly at him through the immodest morning sun. Why was this wild, pure-white creature – not only pure white, but also standing – immobile, transfixed, appearing about to speak, reminding him of his wife?

The fox's static stance made him freeze as well: both were statuesque, petrified, it seemed, by the etherealness of the shadows and the sudden unexpected strong light. The creature's pink eyes glowed with a life of their own; they intimated that the trapper had invaded his territory, his realm, his domain. This face-to-face encounter lasted but a few moments before this ghostly denizen of the forest moved backwards under the bush, still looking directly into the trapper's eyes.

Patrik's body visibly shivered as he remembered that he wasn't in the forest checking traps, nor was he in the attic bedroom. The white piece of cloth that threw him back to that moment in the forest was still on the table in front of him. He walked slowly up to it and touched it. The shape that it had inadvertently taken when Tamara had tossed it there changed dramatically: it was no longer a white fox.

Chapter 6

The barn, where Kristof had been preparing the other guest's horses and cart and where Galena had been brushing her family's horses, offered a near-perfect environment for a conversation that was of vital importance to him.

Why can't I make her at least smile at me, Galena? What am I doing wrong? Kristof asked, tightening a few leather straps that he had placed onto one of the merchant's horses.

Are you sure you want to discuss that topic again? Don't you and Father have to go to town now? She was teasing him; it was the highlight of her routine to act as his mentor and confidant. She took great pleasure in counseling him in his efforts to entice Tamara to learn to love him, no matter how impossible the task seemed. It was within a month of when he first came to live and work with them that he confessed to Galena that he had fallen in love with her sister.

At the time it surprised her, but over the next few months she realized that he was completely sincere and – which never ceased to be a source of entertainment for her – was tragically captivated by her. It was a great accomplishment to alter his strategy early on. He, at first, wanted to know how to please her, how to make her see how kind, affectionate and intelligent he was. This might have been seen as a very appropriate methodology, that is, if he were trying to capture the love of an average young female. Galena spent the first weeks of this social adventure helping Kristof see that Tamara was most definitely not average and would be most impervious to traditional approaches.

Tamara, three years her sister's senior, had refused offers of relationships from just about every kind of man who had entered the inn: soldier, hunter, merchant, vagabond, even Netherene priest. She had been approached by all and had summarily rejected all. Was it because of being born and raised in a roadside inn, raised primarily by a mother who was sickly the last years of her life?

This tragic way of living pointed to multiple conclusions, and all implied that Tamara was the way she was because she was just unique. Tamara was evidence that the Creator crafts using a divine palette of emotions, skills, goals and visions with each person being individual, even an original. The question often on Galena’s mind was: what would then be the melody and overall theme of Tamara’s life?

I think her voice this morning contained more anger than usual, Galena. And I'm tiring of her anger towards me. It's been over a year since you convinced me to act like a ... a court jester around her! So am I performing like you envisioned? What else should I be doing? I have almost no hope anymore! Kristof wasn't pleading; the tone of his voice was inquisitive, not critical, and he adamantly desired to continue focusing on the task at hand. Leading the horses to the cart and hitching them up to it, he turned back towards his teacher, his counselor, his mentor.

Listen, she lectured him again, my sister isn't the most intelligent woman in the world. She's just the most stubborn. When she was eight – Father will attest to this – she decided that it was time for her to learn how to ride a horse. Of course, she had ridden with Father before but had never ridden alone. So, she had come into the barn, taken one of the horses outside, and climbed upon its back. No, it wasn’t just any horse. It was ol’ Na Nua, the one that even Father hadn’t completely broken yet. It bolted down the road, and she fell off. But once Father got the horse out of the woods, she proceeded to do the same thing again and again. Father said that she just wouldn't listen to him tell her that the horse didn't want to be ridden that morning. She was bound and determined to learn that day to ride the horse.

So, did she? Was she successful? Tell me! What finally happened? Galena smiled, pleased that she had the complete attention of her student.

Ignoring Mother's pleadings, Father let her keep trying. And about the sixth try, the crazy horse gave in and allowed her to ride without bucking her off! I was only four at the time ... and for some reason don't remember much of it. But Father remembers it all.

Wasn't she severely hurt after falling off so many times?

Don't know ... probably ... undoubtedly. But I don't think she's ever broke a bone or even had a deep cut. Yes, I've never even seen her bleed. I think Othleis has given her a body that’s impervious to injuries like those, she said as she hung up one of the horse brushes.

Not just a heart of stone, but a stone body as well, the disillusioned suitor added. By this time, the other guest came out of the house, thanked Kristof and Galena for preparing the horses and cart, and tipped Kristof with a small silver coin. He waved at them again as he pulled out of the inn's confines to turn east onto the road, the small amount of dust created by the wagon's wheels resembling fog being burnt off by sunlight. Now that all of the guests are gone, I suppose I better get our cart ready for the shopping trip to Noran.

Suppose so. I should go back to the house to see if there's anything else to do in the kitchen. I'm sure, though, that Tamara has cleaned up since it was her turn to do so.

Galena, Kristof said, wanting to return to the original topic. Would it be a good idea to maybe ... buy her something ... pretty? She does need a new dress or something like that, right? I mean, your father and I are going to town, and I ... I now have two coins that I didn't have until today. I'm sure he wouldn't mind me spending a little of our time there looking for something to buy her? Galena laughed loudly.

Oh, you silly boy, do you think Father wants you romancing Tamara while you live here as his hired hand? Obviously, you've already forgotten what happened when he caught you trying to kiss her hand last month. The boy's eyes darkened at her words.

Oh, yes ... kissing her hand was not a good idea.

It wasn't a bad idea. It was just the wrong time. Don't make your romancing of her so obvious, especially when Father is close by. Last summer, a captain in the Lycentian guard actually propositioned her, and Father threw him out of the house because of it! You were here. You must remember that.

So ... you're comparing my attempts to get her to like me to a complete stranger trying to seduce her? Kristof scowled.

Oh, now don't get angry. That captain was completely out of line, and Father did the right thing. Kristof thought about how to respond to that but didn't respond orally: Patrik had come out of the house and was approaching them. Galena subtly waved her hands to signal that it was time to table their discussion. The young man sighed, but assented. Patrik emphasized to Kristof that Tamara needed flour, sugar and a few other things as he motioned that it was time to leave. He helped Kristof finish preparing the cart and hitching up to it their other horse that Galena had effectively groomed.

Galena, I've asked Tamara and you to do a few things for me in the attic. We will not be back until well after dark. Make sure you latch the front door but leave the kitchen door unlocked. The innkeeper and his hired hand pulled onto the road, heading west to Noran. If they continued west, about a day’s ride, they would be at the western border of Betrovia, at the eastern edge of the Plains of Dreut – at the edge of civilization.

Chapter 7

The day after leaving the inn, Franck arrived in a small trading and trapping hamlet just east of the Plains. He was there to work out what he hoped would become a long-term agreement for pelts taken in this area to be brought to Lycentia. Franck had a knack for working successfully with Rigarians, a skill that other Lycentian traders envied. By the end of the day – assisted by