Secrets of the Night Special Edition (35 page)

A gradual rise in temperature and a brightening in the room revealed the passage of time, the stained glass windows shining like jewels. She must fetch her maid and return to the palace, else her father would worry. He wanted and expected her to join him for the midday meal. A rush of affection for her father swept over her, coupled with regret that she was no closer to rooting out any information about the plot or the plotters. This meeting had been a waste of time. But perhaps not. It had taught her one thing: she must learn to control her power, use it only to serve her purpose.

Most important, she must save her father.

Chapter Two

Tired and dust-covered, Roric cantered his chestnut along the
Royal North Road
, returning from a mission to Galdina. King Tencien had sent him to this adjoining country with a message for the Galdinan king, informing him that a new ambassador would soon arrive to ascertain the country’s neutrality should Avador form an alliance with Elegia...

He approached the
village
of
Cairn
on the outskirts of Moytura, a hamlet consisting of a few scattered houses and farmsteads, built around a sacred pile of stones that gave the place its name. His fears canceled all thoughts of his recent meeting. He must find a means to protect King Tencien from the plotters without revealing his hand too soon. First, he had to discover the names of the other traitors, and when the time was right, he’d turn the names over to the king. By that means, he’d deny the conspirators any chance of escape. But how much longer could he pretend to be part of the scheme? How much longer before
he
was discovered?

He thought of his wife and baby son, dead these many years. Goddess! How he missed them. If only he had Branwen lying beside him at night, this woman he’d loved above all others. But he had consigned them both to the past, where all painful memories belonged.

What about Princess Keriam? Despite his problems, he smiled, fully aware their meeting in the city square hadn’t been an accident. He’d seen her study him out of the corner of his eye. So what was her purpose, and what–

A scream shattered the late afternoon stillness. Talmora’s bones! The horse reared, and straining on the reins, Roric brought him under control. He struck his spurs to the horse’s flank, closing the distance between him and an old woman who thrashed on the ground outside a hut, suffering a beating from three young thugs. Her skirts pushed past her knees, her arms crossed in front of her face, she kicked at the bullies, vainly trying to fight them off.

He reined in the horse and swung to the ground. “Stop!” Whip in hand, he strode toward the boys. They halted their battering, their faces defiant but wary.

The old woman moaned and struggled to rise. Blood streamed down her cheeks, cuts and bruises spotting her arms.

“She’s a witch!” one of the boys cried. “Everyone in the village knows she practices magic.”

Magic! Like a curse, the word ricocheted through his brain and chilled his arms and legs. Ignoring his fear, he cracked his whip, the sound like a clap of thunder. “All of you be gone, before I take my lash to you.”

The boys backed away, faces set in obstinacy. “You’ll be sorry you stopped here,” one of them said. “She’ll cast a spell on you.”

His heart galloped. Pretending indifference, he waved his hand. “Be off, I said.”

The boys spun around and raced down the path, leaving clouds of dust behind, until they became specks in the distance.

Propped up on one elbow, the woman groaned and pushed her skirt down. “Sir, I . . .”

Roric knelt beside her. “Don’t try to talk.” First checking for broken bones and finding none, he carefully lifted the old woman. His quick eye noted flowers bordering the house, new shoots of corn and other vegetables sprouting in the backyard, a steam house several yards distant. He carried her to her dwelling, a wattle-and-daub hut that squatted on a small plot of farmland. The front door stood open, and he stepped inside the dark room with one lone window, his eyes needing time to adjust to the dimness. After a few seconds, he carried her over to a small bed against a far wall and carefully set her down.

Dried herbs hung from the ceiling, their spicy fragrances scenting the room. The smell mingled with the aroma of onion soup that simmered in an iron cauldron over the sweet-smelling peat fire. A quilt-covered wooden chest sat below the peg, a wash tub close by. A small but neat house, one he’d never associate with a witch.

In a far corner, a black cat jumped to its feet and arched its back, hissing before slinking through its own small door in the wall. Roric’s stomach tightened. Had the boys spoken the truth? Was this cat the woman’s familiar?

He headed for the stone hearth and dipped a flannel cloth into a pan of water hanging from a trammel. “Now let’s tend to your wounds, madam . . .?”

“Radegunda,” she replied in a raspy voice. She shoved her matted hair from her face, revealing a lump already forming on her forehead. A patched gray russet dress and shabby shoes evidenced her poverty. “The boys spoke the truth.”

He paused, water dripping from the cloth in his hand. “The truth?”

She changed her position, the bed creaking. “I
am
a witch, but I practice only good magic.”

No such thing as good magic. This sorcery had killed his wife and baby son. His chill deepened, near painful in its intensity, as if he were frozen in ice. He stifled shivers and focused on her words. The evil craft must be stamped out, never again permitted to gain a foothold in the kingdom.

He faced her, a hard set to his mouth. “Magic is an offense in the kingdom, punishable by death. You know that.”

“Is it wrong to heal people?” She raised her hand to the dried herbs. “If you have a stomach ache, ginger’s the thing. A headache? Nothin’ beats feverfew. And I’ll wager you have sore muscles from ridin’. Oregano’s the best herb for sore muscles.”

“Yes, yes,” he said, waving a hand. “Common knowledge.”

“But what if you wanna love potion?”

“I don’t want to hear it!”

“Fennel!”

“Herbs anyone can use. That is not magic.”

“Ah, but I c’n do so much more. I c’n–“

”Stop! Not another word!” Wringing out the cloth, he crouched down beside her, dabbing the rag across her face, neck, and arms. He worked quickly, anxious to leave, to escape the taint of sorcery. “If you can practice–“ He stumbled over the word–“magic, why couldn’t you make the boys stop beating you?”

“Didn’t get the chance. They were on me before I realized what’d happened.”

“I see.”

Finished with his task, he dropped the cloth beside the bed and stood. “For your own good, you must stop practicing his abomination. Heal others if you want–yes, that’s all very well–but I warn you never to use sorcery again.”

“‘Tain’t nothin’ wrong with magic.”

“Madam, beware how you talk.” He paused, arms folded across his chest. “I could throw you over my horse and take you to the druids’ tribunal for interrogation.”

Radegunda cackled. “And I could change into a rabbit. You’d look mighty silly takin’ a rabbit to the druids.”

Like a spider, fear crept along his spine. “Don’t even speak such blasphemy,” he whispered. At a loss for more to say, he made a small bow. “May the spirit of the Goddess watch over you.”

“I watch over myself.”

“Enough!” He turned toward the door.

“Wait!”

He spun around. “Madam, you’ve said far too much. Consider yourself fortunate that I don’t report you to the authorities.” He pointed a finger at her. “But one thing I promise you. If I find you practicing magic, I shall turn you over to the druids. After your trial–in which you’ll be found guilty, of course–you’ll be burned at the stake.”

A smile creased her weatherbeaten face. “I’m an old woman, skilled in herbs. I could end my life tomorrow, and maybe I will. But let me tell you–“

”Hush!”

Another smile, a sly one, this time. “Someday you may have need of my magic.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, madam.”

“Well, for now, I do appreciate what you done for me, savin’ me from those young boys.”

“Happy to hear that,” he said, not caring if she caught the sarcasm in his voice.

Blinking his eyes, he stepped out into the sunlight, heading for his horse that waited patiently, munching on the grass. Much as he dreaded the task, he considered it prudent to return in the future, to check on her injuries and warn her once more about practicing magic. Despite his horror of the craft, he had no wish for the woman to suffer death by burning. He would not wish that punishment on his worst enemy.

He thought again of his wife and baby son and often wondered if he’d ever recover from their deaths. His heart ached for both of them, even after all these years. Somehow, he must put the past behind him, learn to live again.

He frowned at the reddish glow in the east, the sun sinking below the horizon. With ten miles to ride before he reached his quarters near the palace grounds, he knew the meeting with Balor would have to wait until tomorrow morning.

Balor, the bastard! His stomach turned at the thought.

* * *

As head of the army, Midac Balor resided in a spacious house, and a fine abode it was, Roric thought as he mounted the front steps. A rambling, one story mansion with an adjoining apartment, it stood on a vast acreage, its bluestone reflecting the early morning light. But why does an unmarried man need all these rooms? Roric wondered, lifting the brass knocker. Within minutes, he was ushered into the entryway, an area as vast as a room itself, with a flagstone floor in variegated hues.

Balor emerged from a chamber down the hall and strode forward. “Ah, Gamal, what brings you to my quarters?” he asked in a harsh, grating voice. He stood tall and heavy-set, with florid skin and large-boned hands. A scar, purple and ridged, marred his left cheek. “But of course, you’re always welcome here.”

Offering the customary army salute, Roric placed his hands across his chest and inclined his head. “General.”

“Come,” Balor said, “let us forget protocol and have a drink.” He motioned for Roric to follow him down the stone steps into the main room, a magnificent area with sheepskin carpeting so deep that Roric’s booted feet sank into the rich texture. Floor to ceiling windows framed with purple silk draperies looked out onto a spacious lawn that led down to a manmade pond. Gold brocade sofas arranged in a semi-circled offered comfort, an indulgence Roric must deny himself, for the sooner he finished with his business and left the general, the better.

“My purpose is business,” he said, measuring every word, “but it’s always a pleasure to visit you.” The lie nearly choked him, and he swept an admiring gaze around the room. “Charming house you have here.”

“I enjoy it,” Balor said, heading for an oaken cabinet. He poured a goblet of wine and handed it to Roric.

Roric spoke in low tones, conscious of the dangerous game he played. Sipping the dry wine, he kept an even gaze on the general. “Several points we must cover before we accomplish our . . . mission. May I know how the army stands in regard to our plans?”

“Need you ask? The army remains loyal to me, as always.” He smirked, his dark, beady eyes leveled on Roric. “They’ll stay faithful to me, if they know what’s good for them. But the men are suffering from boredom–boredom!–I tell you. What’s the point of having an army if we don’t fight any wars?”

Roric smiled. “Good question.” He wondered if the soldiers were truly loyal to the general, or if fear of Balor made them appear so. Surely their allegiance was to the kingdom, not to the man.

Balor raised the goblet and drank deeply. “The sooner we accomplish our goal, the sooner we can move against Elegia.” He waved a beefy hand. “Never mind the pending treaty with that country. After I control Avador, we’ll move against Elegia, annex it. That way, we gain more land, but more important, a seaport. From there, we can conquer other countries on the continent.”

He slammed his hand on the table, a vase teetering. “Avador is the only land-locked country on the continent. I will remedy that situation when I gain the throne. Soon the entire continent will be mine,” he said, his face flushed. “Ah, Gamal, I have such plans for the kingdom! To see it great again, as it was during the wizards’ rule.”

Seeking composure, Roric looked out the high gleaming windows at the many trees and bushes that added grace and beauty to the lawn.
What a devious bastard. It would be such a
pleasure to bring him down, along with the other traitors.

He hesitated, aware he must tread with care where Balor was concerned. “Sir, if I may speak frankly–“

”You may, Gamal. Let us forget rank and speak as equals.”

“Very well. Elegia has a strong army. I’ve spoken with their generals–“

”Not as strong as ours.” Balor scoffed. “Defeating them will be child’s play. And believe me, I can’t hold our army back much longer.” He grinned. “The soldiers remind me of pleasure women who lack customers.”

Roric forced a laugh. The general was much too optimistic about Avador’s military might, or did he want to deny the truth? How had this man ever become head of the troops? Hints of his hold over King Tencien came to mind, something about a secret from long ago. The secret was no business of his, but Balor’s betrayal of the king was a knife twisting inside him. He had to stop him, had to defeat the plot. But how?