Secrets of the Night Special Edition (65 page)

"Goddess, Goddess, Goddess!" Tearing at her hair, Malvina whimpered and moaned. She bit down hard on her hand, tears streaming down her face. Roric could only guess at her misery, the tremendous courage it took to hold back her screams. They must find refuge soon, must rest in a secluded place where she could safely give birth.

Within minutes, they reached the forest's southern boundary, a massive growth of maples, oaks, and hickories, with only the pale early morning light to guide their way.

Still in fear of pursuit, aware the sentries were bound to cover every possible road, they plunged through the forest, hemmed in by trees and thick underbrush.

"Roric, please! The baby is coming!"

"Stop here!" In a sheltered spot under a giant oak, Roric raised his leg and slid from the horse, then landed on the ground with a hard thud. He reached for Malvina. She writhed and twisted in his grasp, her contorted face revealing her pain.

Without aid, Conneid raised his leg over the horse but slipped and fell in reaching the ground. "Malvina, dearest!" He stumbled over to her, the bloody tunic visible in the faint light.

Thrashing her legs, fingernails digging into the ground, Malvina moaned continuously. "Ahhh!" She tossed her head back and forth, her face and body shiny with perspiration.

Grunts erupted from the trees. Bushes parted and strange giants burst forth.

Torathors.

Chapter Twenty-two

Fear curbed Roric's movements and chilled his blood. The three of them would prove no match for these giants, should any conflict arise. And the situation was ripe for conflict. Barefoot and clad in deerskin breechclouts, their eyes dark and wide-set, the two outlanders stared at the three fugitives. Roric returned the stare. Was their skin really so dark, or did the dim forest make it appear that way? The torathors' frowns blended bewilderment with challenge. At least two heads taller than his six feet, with hairy bodies, still the
torathors
resembled humans; no horns in the middle of their forehead.

Why, they're not monsters at all, Roric observed, releasing a pent-up breath.

Munching on tufts of grass, the two horses looked up at the strangers, then returned to their meal. If only he could share their nonchalance.

"Ahhh!" Malvina's moans wrenched his attention back to her suffering. Conneid knelt beside her, his hand under the crying baby's head, his other hand attempting to ease the slippery baby out by the left shoulder. Roric glanced back to the spot where the torathors had stood--but found they'd disappeared! He feared--knew--this was not the last he'd see of these creatures.

"I have a son," Conneid said in a solemn, satisfied tone. "Your knife, Roric!" Conneid yelled over the baby's cries, raising his outstretched hand.

"Here." Roric leaned over to hand him the knife, then watched anxiously as the man cut the cord that bound the newborn to its mother. Malvina lay in silence now, breathing deeply, a puddle of blood surrounding her. He marveled that Conneid could perform this loving chore of delivering his baby, after all he'd been through and all the blood he'd lost.

Painful memories clutched at Roric's heart, of his own wife and baby, both dead soon after Branwen had given birth. A sense of helplessness mingled with agonizing nostalgia, but anger, too, at the witch who had killed them both. He wondered if he would ever find happiness and contentment again. He berated himself for his self-pity, for surely Malvina had suffered more than any woman should. Only think of her agony since leaving the palace, and now giving birth under these primitive conditions, where threat from the
torathors
still loomed. And why had those creatures disappeared so quickly? Surely, the giants didn't fear
them
.

His gaze swept the forest, his mind already planning escape. They couldn't wait here for the giants' return, but how in the name of the Goddess could they move Malvina and the baby?

As soon as he'd cut the cord, Conneid collapsed on the ground, exhaustion etched on his face. With an unsteady hand, he wiped the dagger on his tunic, and glanced around. "Where did they go?" he asked, handing the knife back to Roric.

Roric bent over and slipped the dagger back in his boot. "Who knows?" He grimaced. "But I fear they'll return. We can't stay here; we'll have to leave again. Do you think

Malvina--?"

"She's in no condition to move! We'll have to take our chances. Maybe they won't be back."

Roric snorted. "Don't count on it." He knelt down by the woman as she blinked

her eyes open, the sleeping baby lying across her chest. Even by the dim forest light, Roric saw she'd bitten her hand all the way to the bone. "Your hand . . ."

She opened her eyes and smiled. "Do you know, I scarcely feel any pain there. We made it, didn't we, Roric? Without your help . . ." The sentence remained unfinished as the three fugitives rested within the trees' sanctuary, silent as long minutes slipped past.

The bushes parted again and the torathors reappeared, this time with a woman in tow. Upon seeing Conneid's blood-drenched tunic in brighter light, their eyes widened and they talked excitedly among themselves in a strange, guttural language. And their hair! The woman's black and shiny locks hung to the waist; the men wore theirs in pigtails. Clad in a knee-length dress of deerskin, the woman approached Malvina. She held cattail puffs in one hand and deerskin cloths in the other. The two men clutched a deerskin litter stretched between two poles. Muttering unintelligible words, the woman squatted down by Malvina and reached for the baby.

"No!" Malvina clutched the newborn tighter to her chest, her eyes wild with panic. The child began crying again, disjointedly waving its arms and legs, while the giantess looked on with an expression of puzzled affront.

"Dearest." Conneid knelt to clasp Malvina's hand. "I believe she means to wrap the puffs around the baby, like a diaper. Please let her," he said calmly. "She's only trying to help." He sank back on the ground. "We have no choice, do we?"

"You’re right, we don’t." Malvina motioned for the woman to take the boy and watched with a troubled look as the woman lifted him. With soft, cooing noises, the giantess held the baby, her hand behind his head. First placing him on the ground, she cleaned him with the deerskin cloth. With a smile of satisfaction, she wrapped the puffs around his bottom, then wrapped a layer of deerskin around the baby's stomach and wound it around his thighs to hold the puffs in place, tying the deerskin. After handing the baby back to Malvina, she raised the woman's dress and placed another puff under her to absorb the blood.

Averting his gaze from Malvina, Roric kept a wary eye on the
torathors
. He still wondered how they could evade these giants, or if Malvina had recovered enough to be moved. His mind worked hard as he sifted all their options–precious few–and wondered if they could, indeed, trust these strange creatures.

The giantess stood and tapped her chest. "Lari," she said, then indicated the two giants, the litter on the ground beside them. She pointed to the closest one. "Mord," she said, then pointed to the other. "Kell." The outlanders inclined their heads, a slight smile on their faces, as if guests acknowledging introductions at a palace reception. Between them, they lifted the litter again.

"Wait!" Struggling to his feet, Conneid threw Roric a worried glance. "Listen! We don't know a thing about these creatures. So far, they've seemed peaceful enough, but how do we know what they intend? Once they get us to their settlement, they might murder us."

Roric made a staying motion to the strangers, speaking in low tones to Conneid. "If they had wanted to murder us, they would have by now. We need their help, so let's go with them. What would you rather do, stay here with no shelter against the rain or cold?"

"You're right." Conneid rubbed his forehead. "I'm not thinking straight. Too much--"

"Too much has happened this day," Roric finished for him. "It's a wonder anyone can think. Come, let's go," he said, nodding toward the strangers.

Lari motioned for the fugitives to follow her. Roric reached down and handed the baby to Conneid, then as gently as possible, lifted Malvina and placed her on the litter. She grimaced in pain but immediately smiled an apology. Seeing her settled, Roric took the baby from Conneid and set it across her chest again.

"Ah, dear baby!" She eased her arm around the little boy and looked up at Roric. "How can we ever repay you?"

"Nothing to repay, Malvina. Glad to be away from the palace."

The party plunged through the forest, Roric and Conneid leading the horses by the reins.

They walked single file along a path that meandered through the woods, shoving low-hanging branches out of their way, stepping across gnarled tree roots. Branches and undergrowth scratched at his hands, but Roric ignored the discomfort. Red, gold, and orange leaves littered the forest floor and slicked the ground. Tall trees with thick trunks stretched to the sky, screening the sunlight. Animal sounds echoed from the trees and bushes--squeaks, screeches, and howls. Strange green birds with long beaks and wide wings shrieked from upper tree limbs. A brown-furred snake, at least fifteen feet long, slithered along the forest floor, its bulging green eyes darting back and forth.

Apprehension accompanied Roric with each step. He shared Conneid's fears, no use denying it.

Talmora's bones! What had they gotten themselves into?

* * *

Unable to find Midac within the palace, Aradia stepped out onto the back courtyard, smiling in smug satisfaction as a guard stood at attention and pressed his hand to his heart. Yes, she and Midac had wrought many changes in the palace routine; none of the friendly mingling with the servants, as when Tencien and Keriam had ruled the land. The princess! Aradia seethed, her mind devising punishments for the princess--former princess, she corrected--whenever the fool was caught. And oh, yes, she would be caught.

Squinting in the bright sunlight, she headed past the palace garden, then through the woods, finally seeing Midac in the back lawn of his former mansion. And I suppose he'll be there all afternoon, she fumed, wondering what fascination a grown man--the king now!--found in his Goddess-damned roses. Minutes later, she emerged onto Midac's back yard. A cool breeze molding her dress to her body, she walked at a leisurely pace, swaying her hips, shoulders thrown back to emphasize her full breasts thrust against her silk bodice.

Shears in hand, Midac glanced her way, a frown of annoyance on his face. She knew he hated interruptions while he tended to his roses, but she didn't care. Precious little time he'd spent with her lately. The scent of roses wafted her way, more of a stench, she thought, heartily tired of their smell and the time he spent away from her.

Midac dropped the shears to the ground and swiped his hand across his forehead. "What is it this time, Aradia? Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Well, is that any way to greet your wife? Here we've been wed not yet two moonphases and already--"

"Just tell me what you want! The demoness knows I have enough on my mind. That damned Keriam has made a fool of us." He sneered. "But don't worry. We'll catch that woman or--"

"And that's what I wanted to talk to you about. What progress are you making in catching her?"

He examined a yellow rose and brushed a beetle from its leaf. Picking up the shears again, he resumed pruning, his scar more pronounced than ever in the bright sunshine. "Only a matter of time before we catch her. I've offered a generous reward for her capture--five gold pieces. That should prove an inducement." Midac smirked. "That's the tenth time within the last nineday that you've asked me about that woman. Have you got nothing better to do than--“

"I have many things to do. Surely you know that--supervise the cooks, direct those oafish dwarves, refurbish the palace--"

"And that's something else! You are spending far too much money on new drapery material and whatever else you're buying for the palace. We must watch our money because--"

"Because you intend to go to war against Elegia." With no cloak, Aradia shivered in the cool air but refused to hug her arms. She would not reveal any weakness. "Yes, Midac, you've mentioned the war many times. And we've strayed far from the subject, haven't we? We were discussing Keriam Moray."

"Oh, we'll get her, never doubt it. I told you, only a matter of time." He grinned her way. "You must learn patience, my love." Did a note of sarcasm creep into those last two words, or had she only imagined it?

A biting sensation jerked her attention to her feet, a place by her ankle where several fleas nibbled at her skin, drawing blood. She bent to brush them off and scratched her foot, then raised herself. "Very well.
When
we catch her, I want to make a spectacle of her punishment, make sure no one else even thinks of defying you, such as Gamal and Delbraith," she said in a needling tone.

He snapped the shears too close to a rose, snipping its petals off, and cursed under his breath. "I've got a special punishment reserved for those two. They'll burn at the stake, and that should serve as an example to anyone who dares defy me." He shook his head. "I knew I shouldn't have trusted Gamal."