Secrets of the Night Special Edition (63 page)

The officers stepped forward, the lieutenant speaking. "Your Majesty, we took him to the dungeon. We drugged him when we first caught him, but by the time we reached here, the drug had worn off. By then, the man was somewhat, uh, difficult. We needed the outside guards to help subdue him."

"The dungeon." Balor nodded, clearly pleased. "You did right."

"Sire, we caught his wife with him." Hesitation crept into his voice, and he licked his lips. "Sh--she's in labor, sire."

A sly smile flitted across Balor's face. "In labor, did you say? Take her outside and tie her to a tree. Make sure her legs are close together."

"Sire?" The sentry leaned forward, looking worried and fearful.

"You heard me!” Balor barked. “Don't make me repeat my orders."

"Yes, sire."

Goddess, no! Roric exchanged glances with the ministers and knew their shocked expressions mirrored his own.

"After that," Balor said, tapping his fingers on the table, "instruct the dungeon guard to proceed with Delbraith. The guard knows what to do." He grinned. "I'll be down shortly. Wouldn't want to miss the fun."

“Wait!” The Minister of Forests cleared his throat. "Sire, what about a trial?"

The sentries stopped, looking from one man to the other.

Balor slammed his hand on the table, scattering several papers. "A trial! Isn't his guilt evident? Don't you recall the seditious letter he wrote?
We
know he's guilty. We must stamp out treason." Balor gave him a withering glance. "Don't speak to me of trials."

The Minister of Roads spoke up. "Sire, perhaps we should wait--"

"Wait for what?" Balor pointed a finger at the minister. "It might be well for all of you to remember I can make life difficult for your wives and children. Need I say more?"

Roric recalled the warning Balor had given shortly after gaining the throne, that the wives and children of anyone who thwarted him would suffer punishment. He clenched his hands in his lap.
Kill Balor!
Kill him now!
He thought of his dagger in a hidden boot compartment, but prudence prevailed. No matter how the ministers felt about the new king--and that remained a question--none of them would countenance his murder.

In a swift change of expressions that characterized Balor, the tyrant smiled pleasantly at the sentries. "After you instruct the dungeon guard, go to the library and have a glass of wine from the bottle in the cabinet. You've earned it. Oh, and invite the outside sentries, share with them," he said in a rare magnanimous gesture.

"Yes, sire. Thank you, sire."

They left the room, their booted footsteps echoing down the hall. Balor returned his attention to the ministers, as though there had been no interruption. He spoke with Drummond Haley about taxation problems for several minutes, then folded his hands on the table. "One further consideration I must introduce. By now, everyone knows of the princess's escape some time ago. I had thought
she'd
be captured by now, thus eliminating this discussion." His glance circled the table again, and it seemed to rest on Roric a moment too long, or was that only his imagination? Roric's gut clenched, but he maintained an untroubled expression. "Make no mistake, gentlemen. My men will catch the princess. Only a matter of time. And when they

do--" His features hardened--"she'll suffer like Delbraith. Never doubt that--"

Screams from the dungeon rent the air, heart-hammering, blood-curdling screams, horrible cries like nothing Roric had ever heard, not even in battle. His gut spasm, his heart beating faster, faster. He stared at Balor, tempted to kill the fiend this moment, and never mind the consequences. Uneasy glances and nervous coughs encompassed the table. Everyone else is as disgusted and heartsick as I am, he lamented, but what can any of us do?
No, damn it!
We've got to do something!

The screams bounced off the wall, filling the room, reverberating in his ear drums. Roric's stomach churned; his head throbbed. He clenched his hands so hard the muscles ached. A continual refrain beat through his head:
Kill Balor!
Kill the demon!

Balor raised his voice, shouting to be heard. He pounded his fist on the conference table. "Damn the son of a bitch, I can't even think!" He snapped his fingers at Roric. "Gamal! Go to the dungeon and stuff something in the scum's mouth."

Roric shoved back his chair, nearly knocking it over in his haste, but he caught it in time. "Yes, sire!" He left the room, an overwhelming relief speeding his steps. Balor was testing him, he knew, still searching for a way out of this dilemma. The general had never trusted him. And with good reason.

Once away from the room, he slowed his walk. He had to rescue Conneid immediately but first, he had to devise a plan. His mind worked the entire way, from the conference room through the main hall, past the pantry and storage room, until he reached the dungeon door. The door stood open, accidentally or on purpose? He dashed down the steps. Torches stuck in brackets along the wall cast a dim light and revealed the open cell at the far side of the dungeon.

Sacred shrine! The screams rose to a crescendo, all but breaking his ear drums, mind-numbing wails that threatened to drive him crazy. The screams from the cell blended with moans from outside, to where Conneid's wife was tied to a tree.

As he strode along, he bent over to release the dagger compartment in his boot. His heart pounded in his chest; he bit his lower lip so hard he drew blood. He reached Conneid's open cell and saw the man's arms raised above his head, his wrists and ankles manacled to the wall. His chest was a mass of bloody, torn skin, his face shining with sweat. He flashed Roric a look of grateful recognition, then closed his eyes, as if fearing to hope for salvation.

"Let's silence this scum," Roric said, drawing the dagger from his boot.

The guard raised his hand. His face, hands, and tunic were covered with blood. "Stop! You're not going to kill him, are you? The king--"

"Kill
you
!" Roric drove his dagger into the guard's chest, then jerked it out in one quick movement.

"Ahhh!" After the guard staggered to the floor and fell with a loud thump, Roric spoke to Conneid. "Quick! We must hurry!" He bent over the body and fumbled with the key ring on his belt, finally getting it loose. Cursing the minutes that slipped past, he tried several keys before he found the one that unlocked the manacles.

Conneid gasped, his bloody chest rising and falling. "My wife . . ."

Roric propped up Conneid's slumping form, his hands coming away stained with blood. "We'll get her but we've no time to lose. Balor will be on us in minutes. When I don't return . . ." Blood streamed from Conneid's chest, down his clothes, dripping onto the floor. Releasing Conneid for one moment, Roric knelt to cut the tattered tunic from the guard's body. He handed the garment to Conneid. "Here, hold this against your chest."

His dagger tucked under his belt, his arm around Conneid's waist, Roric supported the secretary's body as they struggled to the end of the dungeon, soon gaining the door that led to the tunnel. "Wait, I'll tie this around you." Roric grabbed the tunic from Conneid's hands and wrapped it around the man, his hands shaking with impatience, his movements jerky as he secured the garment in back.

Roric raised the iron bar and opened the door, every step an effort while he supported Conneid. In absolute darkness, they descended the steps and trekked the narrow tunnel's slimy floor.

Conneid panted, his feet dragging. "Where are we going? Never . . . never been here before."

"This tunnel leads to outside. Few people know about it." Frustrated with their slow progress, his tunic and cape soaked with Conneid's blood, Roric could only match his steps with the secretary's and pray they could escape before an alarm was raised. Yet they still had to rescue his wife. His heart thudded against his chest, and he swallowed convulsively. If they were caught . . . He saw himself manacled to the cell wall, his skin torn and bleeding. He imagined the pain, the gut-wrenching agony of having his skin sliced and peeled.

Roric ignored the stench, the skittering rats and draping spider webs, his only thought to gain the outside . . . and freedom, if they could elude any outside guards who may have stayed, if they could rescue the man's wife . . . Too many "ifs.”

"Conneid, we must hurry!" No time for sympathy now; they couldn't waste a second.

The secretary groaned but increased his speed.

An eternity passed before they reached the steps at the end, with an abruptness that caught Roric by surprise. Nothing but night's blackness awaited them on the outside, no sunshine to light their way. Good thing it's nighttime, Roric thought as he released Conneid for a moment and slowly raised the hinged door above his head. He checked for outside guards but assumed they were still enjoying their wine. Seeing no one, he dashed up the steps and turned to reach for Conneid, then pulled him up all the way.

The cool air greeted them, and silence, a silence soon broken by a low wail several yards distant, where Conneid's wife suffered, tied to an oak tree.

"Malvina!" Conneid whispered, his face twisted in anguish.

"We'll get her, but we
must
hurry
!" Roric's thoughts sped at a frantic pace, his aim to rescue Malvina. At the same time, they had to evade the guards, should those men return soon. And the guards
would
return.

The escapees rushed a few yards ahead to a cluster of trees and understory, and Roric shoved Conneid down behind a bush. "Stay here while I release Malvina. If I'm caught, run for your life,

go--"

"And leave Malvina? Never!"

"We're wasting time." Roric left him and crouched forward, keeping to the edge of the woods that bordered the palace. He stopped now and then, on the lookout for the sentries' reappearance.

Precious seconds passed before he reached the pregnant woman, who struggled against her bonds and moaned, shaking her head back and forth.

He approached her from behind and drew the dagger from his waist. "Quiet! Not a sound!" Two quick cuts broke the tie that bound her to the tree and the one around her legs. She slipped forward, and he stepped around to grab her, supporting her as he had her husband.

"Now we--"

A clamor erupted outside the palace, shouting and cursing as the two city sentries burst from the palace, followed by additional palace guards.

"We'll catch the bastards!"

"Can't get far . . ."

"Right, not on foot, with the woman pregnant . . ."

"What about the woods?" A guard pointed in the fugitives' direction. Behind a tree, Roric sucked in a deep breath and held it until his lungs felt about to burst.

"Not the woods! You think they'd be dumb enough to go there, just waiting for us to find them?"

A few moments of consultation among the guards ensued, Roric catching an occasional word.

". . . north to the capital."

"No, not there . . . south!"

"I still say the woods."

"No, they've escaped the woods by now, if they were there."

". . . after them. Saddle up!"

"Remember," Roric whispered, his gaze on the sentries about one-hundred yards distant, "not a sound." One question pounded through his brain. What would he have done if Balor hadn't sent him to the dungeon? The answer came quickly. He would have killed the fiend, no matter the consequences.

Minutes later, the horsemen rode away, two in each direction. Roric tapped Malvina on the shoulder. "Now we can go to your husband."

"Oh, yes!"

Within the trees' sanctuary, Roric led the silent, trembling woman away, soon gaining the spot where Conneid waited.

"Malvina!" Conneid stood and gathered her in his arms.

"My darling!" Sobbing, she fell against him, her swollen belly pressed to his bloody form. “What have they done to you!” Then they both sank to the ground, pain and exhaustion written on their faces.

"Quiet! Back farther in the woods," Roric said, leading them away. And then what? They had to escape the palace grounds. "We'll stay here for now." He wiped the bloody knife on his tunic and returned it to the boot sheath. "Later, we'll see." He sighed. "Give the guards time to get far from here."

The forest's dense foliage offered refuge, but how long could they stay here? He thought frantically, sweat dripping down his face. They must get away. Night insects buzzed around their heads and crawled on their bloody tunics. Roric dared not swat at them for fear of attracting attention, should any other guards appear.

Conneid had collapsed against the trunk of an ash, still pressing the filthy tunic to his bloody chest. Malvina sat shoulder to shoulder with him, her legs spread out in front of her, her hands resting on her protruding belly.

Malvina and Conneid panted, their faces haggard. "You know best, Roric," Malvina whispered. "And some day, if we get out of this with our lives, we will repay you for your kindness."

"Indeed." Conneid reached for his wife's hand. "We owe you our lives."

But we're not free yet.
"You're doing me a favor," Roric said, trying to make light of their dilemma. "Glad to escape the palace and Balor." He turned an anxious glance on Malvina. "How far apart are your pains, can you guess?" He tried to remember his wife's labor.