Lionmeade

Chapter 1

Bethel

Are these the cursed lands called Lionmeade?

The stranger’s loud remarks caught the attention of everyone in the tavern. Most ignored the man. Others, like Bethel, eyed him with curiosity.

When he didn’t get an immediate answer, the man persisted. I have heard there are wild men who roam about these woods. Men who are doomed to take on the form of lions, who then kill, and maim, and terrorize the townspeople.

To the tavern owner’s credit, the man ignored the stranger’s rudeness. At least, for the time being.

These lands belong to King Jabbot of Lionmeade, aye.

Then these stories are true?

They are exactly as you describe. Stories. The tavern owner gave the man a direct stare, as if challenging him to a verbal duel. The contest was short-lived. The stranger tossed a coin on the bar and awaited his drink.

I’ve been informed by the driver that he’s going no further tonight, and that we will be seeking accommodations here for the evening. I hope you have a room available?

My lady? Petrof reached over and lightly tapped her on the wrist. Perhaps we should do the same.

Bethel brushed him off, her attention still on the stranger. She wondered how the owner would respond to the brash man.

Aye, I have a room you can have for the night. It’ll cost you three coins. If you wish a bath drawn, that’ll be an extra coin. He set a tankard on the bar, took the payment, and slipped it into his apron pocket.

The stranger didn’t respond. Instead, he took his drink and walked over to an empty table where he sat down. Petrof took the chance to speak again.

Lady Bethel, it’s getting late, and it will be fully past sunset before we reach Banderling Mayne. You know it’s too dangerous to venture out onto the roads at night.

This time she looked at him, then at Grenneth who sat beside him on the other side of the table. The older soldier didn’t comment, but from the look on his face she could tell he agreed with the younger man.

If I don’t return, you know my father will send his soldiers to find us. If we leave now, and if we hurry, we won’t have to be long in the dark.

The two men sighed but were resigned. After all, the Lady Bethel was the daughter and only child of their employer, Lord Voril of Banderling. If she was determined to try to make it home tonight, they had no choice but to obey.

The half-moon gave out a weak silver glow, but it wasn’t enough light to see the road. Fortunately, the horses were familiar with the countryside between the tavern and Banderling Mayne. Plus, they were just as anxious as their riders to make their way back to the villa where dinner and safety awaited them.

Lady Bethel didn’t blame them for being overly-cautious. She hadn’t intended to spend so much time at the farm. But the smithy’s wife had been ill for some time, and the children desperately needed tending. Franklin, the father, was at wit’s end with regard to the cooking, and cleaning, and taking care of his offspring before she arrived. All of them had been delighted to see her and her entourage ride through the gate with baskets of food and medicines.

The trio urged their horses into an easy yet ground-eating lope. Bethel could feel the soldiers’ eyes on her as she rode slightly ahead of them. The two men rode side-by-side directly behind them. After nearly a mile had gone by, she heard Petrof yell a question at the other guard.

Does this sort of thing happen frequently?

You mean her going off to tend to those in need? Or staying overly long when she goes on these jaunts?

Both.

Grenneth laughed heartily. Aye.

Bethel smiled to herself as she listened to their conversation. I can hear you back there! she playfully admonished them. She swept the loosened hairs away from her face. Her eyes swept the encroaching darkness as she tried to listen for any unusual sounds above the hoof beats. The tall grasses lining both sides of the road were perfect camouflage for hiding anyone crouching and lying in wait for unsuspecting passersby.

Anyone…or anything.

Where other countries were beset with robbers and cutthroats invading the lands, seizing valuable livestock, and sometimes killing villagers in order to gain their meager possessions, Lionmeade was cursed with a more terrifying reality. For the most part, the evil kept to the fringes of the kingdom, for the stories also spoke of a terrible curse which lay on King Jabbot’s head. Tales of animalistic beasts that walked on two legs, as well as four. And an inhuman child that also resulted of the curse.

But no matter where she went, she always had seasoned or able-bodied guards protecting her. Which was why Lady Bethel felt no qualms about travelling the roads from the farms to her home after nightfall. Long ago, her father had told her that the legend was merely a fairy tale. An old wives’ fable to make young children behave, with no more merit or substance to it than the early morning fog. And since Banderling Mayne was deep within the heart of the kingdom, far from where most of the reported incidences took place, her father felt there was no need to have more than two or three soldiers accompany his daughter.

Tonight was no different. It was early spring. Warm during the days but still turning cool at night. A hint of perfume from the wildflowers beginning to bud by the roadside came to her. She was feeling chilled. She had packed no shawl with her things, thinking she would have been home long before now. Fortunately, Banderling Mayne wasn’t that much farther ahead.

Having risen early to leave for the smithy, then working full-tilt at the farm all day, she found herself being lulled to sleep by the monotonous swaying motion atop Quick’s back. Bethel wrapped the reins tightly around her hands, hoping that if she dozed off and began to slip from the saddle, the pull of the straps would awaken her. She glanced behind her to see the two guards keeping almost even with her horse’s flanks.

She never heard nor saw their attackers until they suddenly ambushed her.

There was no sound, no forewarning. A heavy weight slammed into Quick, knocking the stallion off his feet. She and the horse pitched sideways, into the grasses.

Quick screamed as the animal landed partially on top of her. Pain zipped through her body as Bethel found her left leg trapped under the saddle. She struggled to free herself when a terrifying roar unlike anything she’d ever heard before in her life split the air.

She tried to find her guards, but they were nowhere to be seen. The grasses rattled and the night was filled with growling. She heard shrieks of pain. Another roar came from behind her as she vainly attempted to extricate herself from under her horse, who didn’t move. Everything was happening too fast for her to react, other than to fight the weight pinning her to the ground.

Suddenly, a dark form descended over her. Bethel screamed as someone grabbed her leg, pulling her from under the horse with a jerk that nearly dislocated her leg from her hip socket. She screamed and kicked, trying to evade his grasp, but it was useless.

Someone pulled her arms up behind her back. Bethel gasped from the hot agony. He could easily break one if he wanted to. She felt something sharp under her chin. A pinch of pain, and then something warm dribbled down her neck. She tried to see what her attackers looked like but something covered her eyes and nose, forcing her to breathe through her mouth.

Someone spoke to her, guttural words she couldn’t understand amid the growls and screams. There was a weight on her chest, and a hot breath washed over her throat.

What do you want? she angrily demanded. What is it you want?

There came another growl. Then, before her mind could accept the reality, someone sunk his teeth into the curve of her neck. Bethel cried out as the teeth pressed deeper into her flesh.

Unexpectedly, the person released her. She whimpered at the burning sensation that threatened to overwhelm her. My father can pay you, she began. She was close to tears, but she was determined not to fall apart. My father has money.

The world silenced. An eerie, unnatural quiet. Someone grunted. Another attacker was panting heavily. Somewhere distantly came sounds that vaguely reminded her of someone noisily feasting.

The pressure holding her arms never lessened. The weight eased slightly and she gasped for breath. She’d give anything to be able to see her attackers, but then it was possible that she might recognize them. If that happened, they’d surely kill her. If they don’t kill me now. Something was making them hesitate. Maybe it was because of her claim to wealth. Bethel panicked.

My father is Lord Voril of Banderling! Ask anyone in these parts! she argued in case they didn’t believe her. When off on her travels, she never dressed as befitted her station. Instead, she always opted for the soft blouses and loose riding skirts of the commoner. It was clothing more suited to her errands, easier to ride in and not as hot or uncomfortable as the heavy fabrics or tightened waistlines she had to bear when at the manor.

Where were her guards? Had they also been attacked? She couldn’t see them as running to save their own lives. Whoever was holding her hostage had planned this ambush. The only answer that made sense was that her two escorts were also being held down.

Hello? Grenneth! Petrof! Are you well? she called out.

Something growled, either an animal or a large dog. It would explain why she’d been bitten. Someone must have sicced their pet on her and her men.

A fetid breath blew over her mouth and chin. What felt like a knife’s edge rasped across her windpipe, sending a fresh thread of blood down her neck.

Why are you here? she managed to whisper. What are you looking for? I told you, my father is Lord Voril of Banderling Mayne. I’m his daughter, Lady Bethel. If you take me there unharmed, he will pay you amply for my release.

Her shoulder was on fire. She tried to ease the agony of her arms being pulled from their sockets, when someone grabbed her calf.

No. A mouth closed over her leg. The tongue, the teeth—there was no mistaking what she was feeling. Bethel screamed and struggled to rid herself of their pressing hands. She felt them dragging her down in the dirt road, the friction pulling at her clothing as she cursed them. Somehow she managed to free one arm and raked her nails across one man’s face. He yelped in pain as she ripped through the skin, drawing blood. In the heat of his anger, he clamped his mouth on her arm and bit down.

Bethel screamed again, still kicking, determined to defend herself until all breath had left her body. Most of her clothing was gone, shredded or ripped away, leaving her skin to shrivel in the coldness of the night. Dirt and rocks dug into her back and buttocks. She could feel the warmth of her own blood coating the ground beneath her shoulders.

Someone tried to stuff a piece of fabric into her mouth to silence her screams for help, but she bit down on the fingers, nearly to the bone. She tasted hair and skin before a punishing hand came out of nowhere to crash across her cheek and nose.

Light and dark merged into one long red ribbon of pain. She could barely breathe from her nose and mouth as they continued to drag her. What little air she could draw was heavy with the taste of their filth and the saltiness of blood.

All she could hear were grunts and snorts. There was some mumbling, but she could make no sense of it. It was as though she had removed herself from the horrible scene and was somehow able to observe it from a distance.

The pain was still there, still lancing through her, although she could centralize the worst areas. She was both hot and cold, weightless and as heavy as an anvil. She wondered where they were taking her, if they would let her live or finish her off. Or were they sure she would never survive the night, half-naked and alone in the elements? Easy prey for the animals which still roamed the dark? She tried to speak but her lips would not move. She tried to move her head but it was being held down. The sharp pain along her scalp told her someone had a firm grasp of her hair, keeping that part of