Secrets of the Night Special Edition (71 page)

Cares drifted away as Radegunda entered a trancelike state. She stared at the bowl of water for long moments, desperate to see the major's image. Focusing on her task, on past images of him in the forest, she waited . . . and waited. Hazy visions of
torathors
appeared, gradually forming a clear picture. She saw their tall, hairy bodies in a forest meadow, felling trees. Bent low in the river, several women washed clothes.

But no Roric Gamal.

Where
was
he? Still she waited, until the forest pictures faded away, and only lucid water shimmered in the bowl. Her hands shaking, she returned the bowl to the table. Distress lanced her heart, her head pounding.

She must find Roric Gamal.

Chapter Twenty-five

She would not give up. Roric Gamal must return to Moytura.

Mindful that her sickening anxiety prevented concentration, Radegunda aimed for calm and closed her eyes again. Quiet moments later, taking even breaths, she found tranquility in a near hypnotic state. She stared at the water for a long time, projecting every thought, every image she could conjure of the major.

Densely-wooded hills gradually coalesced in the water, a horse clambering up a rocky slope. Ah, there he was! Roric Gamal guided his mount, a sheathed sword riding his waist, a deerskin bag draped over the horse's back. Clusters of pine trees, hemlocks, and birches dotted the hill, and boulders were imbedded in the soil.

Where was he headed? How far away was he? No matter! She had to bring him back.

Radegunda took a deep breath, then blew out with all the force she could muster. Again and again, she performed this magic spell, rewarded when she saw a strong wind tossing tree branches to and fro. Other ideas commanded her attention, additional means of forcing the major to come home. She'd try them in turn.

Roric Gamal, come back to Moytura!

* * *

Roric maneuvered the mare up a steep, rocky incline, the ground thick with shale and limestone. Accustomed to taking the familiar and oft-ridden
Royal North Road
in the past, he tensed with every sound--a bird's warble or a deer's frightened cry--knowing that any moment, a band of brigands could challenge him. Still, he considered his journey worth all the dangers, for he must convince King Barzad that Avador needed his help in defeating Balor.

Stones tumbled down the steep hill behind him, and he leaned forward to keep from slipping, not for the first time cursing the lack of a saddle. He felt a brittle nip in the air, the coming of winter. To the north, mountains stretched far into the distance, a neverending alternation of peaks and valleys. Surrounded by dense clusters of birches and evergreens, he continued northward on the rocky, treacherous ground, where gnarled tree roots and low-hanging branches hindered his passage. The evergreens' deep green hue broke the monotony of the leafless trees, whose scrawny branches laced together high overhead and blocked much of the sunlight.

The dim forest enclosed him, a strange woodland where every sound became magnified in the stygian stillness. A long red snake with shiny scales and huge black eyes slithered in front of him, rustling the dead leaves that layered the forest floor. The horse neighed and rose on his forelegs, forcing Roric to struggle to restrain the sorrel. Patting the beast's neck, he brought it under control, his gaze taking in every tree and bush, the caracobs that darted from tree to tree and soared high overhead. A sudden gale whipped tree limbs and chilled the air. Roric tightened his cloak around him, then shoved his hair back from his face. Tree branches cracked and broke in the fierce onslaught.

Back in Moytura, Radegunda dipped her fingers in the water, and flung the droplets back, performing this charm repeatedly.

Without warning, raindrops fell, thick, heavy drops that plastered his clothes to his body and soon turned the ground to a morass. The thick mud slowed him down, each step an added difficulty for the horse. The rain pelted him, coming down in thick sheets, drenching his clothes, hindering his vision. It had better stop soon, or he’d be way behind time in reaching Elegia.

The downpour stopped a few minutes later. Roric swiped his hand across his eyes and focused his gaze in the forest gloom. Shivering inside his wet clothes, he cursed whatever quirk of nature had brought these obstacles. He doubted the ground would soon dry here in the dark woods where the sunlight rarely penetrated.

With one final spurt of determination, Radegunda waved her hand back and forth over the forest images in the water, immensely satisfied when a fog settled over the bowl, and only nebulous visions remained.

Roric patted the horse's neck again. "We're not making good time, are--" A thick fog rolled in, obscuring the dense foliage, and the temperature plunged. He looked around, the fog condensing until a thick murk covered every tree and bush. The fog stuck to his hair in tiny droplets and coated his clothes with a sticky moisture. An eerie silence enfolded the forest, as if all life had died. Sacred shrine! He wouldn't make any time at all at this rate. There was no way he could proceed, for a thick haze covered everything. Twisting around, he looked behind him and clearly saw the foliage, the woods as it had been moments ago. Ahead, the murk confronted him, as impenetrable as a stone wall.

He saw nothing to do but retreat a short distance and wait until the fog cleared. With no way of knowing the time, he judged it early afternoon. He'd hoped to reach a secluded spot in a clearing before nightfall, preferably one near the
Deuona
River
or a stream where the horse could eat and drink, a place where they could both rest for the night. He raised his legs and slid off the horse, his booted feet sinking into the mud. He fought to jerk his feet free, nearly pulling his boots off. Each step was a struggle, the thick mud sucking at his boots.

The fog might last for days, making it difficult to reach Moytura. And as always, Keriam dominated his mind. Where was she now? What was she doing? Goddess, he prayed, keep her safe.
Let her escape capture
. If she were captured . . . sacred shrine! It didn’t bear thinking about. If only he could see her again, hear her soft voice, know that she was safe, he would be content for the rest of his life.

He leaned against a hemlock, his arms folded across his chest. Fuming at the delay, he sought distraction. With nothing to do but think, he recalled his recent discussion with several of the outlander elders. Knowing only that Princess Keriam had escaped the palace, he'd wondered if the outlanders would accept her as their queen. Only yesterday, he'd posed that question to the men. He often wondered if these folk even knew of Princess Keriam, so he proceeded carefully with his queries.

"Do you know who Princess Keriam is?" he'd asked the chief and elders while they lingered, cross-legged, around the fire in the evening.

"Princess?" the chief, Dorn, had asked. The firelight played across his somber face. "What is that?"

Roric explained who Keriam was and that she would be their queen, a ruler over all the people in the kingdom.

"We have no princess or queen," Mord said with a nod toward Dorn, "only the chief."

"But if you had a princess here among you," Roric persisted, "would you accept her as the future queen?”
And if I had her with me, I wouldn’t want for anything else, except that she would gain the throne
.

Much talk and argument followed, increasing Roric's gut-wrenching worry about Keriam. If ever he discovered where she lived, he must help restore her to the throne. These outlanders would be a great help in that endeavor.

"She would have to prove herself," Dorn replied after long moments.

Roric leaned forward. "Prove herself? How?"

The chief shrugged. "She must show us that she has special powers." He stared at Roric, his expression solemn. "Why should we accept her as our queen if she is no different from our people?"

Talmora's bones! Discouragement roiled inside Roric. Would the princess ever gain her rightful place as queen of Avador? Even if she did, would these people accept her? Not unless she proved she had special powers, a seemingly impossible task.

Jerked back to the present, he looked around him, finding the fog as thick as before.

Fate was not with him today. He hoped for better luck tomorrow.

* * *

Outside the officers' quarters, Captain Fintan Davies rested beside an oak tree, resolved to present a clear argument, in spite of his anger with Balor. "When is the last time we got leave to see our families?” For days, he'd looked for a chance to talk to another officer who he suspected shared his discontent with army life under King Balor, an assessment that included most of the officers in his battalion. When he'd seen
Burton
striding past, he grabbed the opportunity to speak to him. Clad in a black tunic with one gold rowan leaf on his collar and black trousers encasing his legs, Fintan groused to this fellow officer in the Avadoran army.

"Hush!”
Burton
looked around fearfully. “Do you want to get us both in trouble?"

"Who can hear us?" Fintan said. Who, indeed? “I have a wife and children," he went on. "I haven't seen them in moonphases!"

In the quiet period after the evening meal, the sun was a bright ball in the eastern sky, firing the horizon with a crimson glow. A cool north wind swept across the grounds, stirring up dust, bending bare tree branches. The officers' quarters, a splendid building of sarsen stone, offered a stately contrast to the soldiers' utilitarian wooden barracks.

Adair Burton scowled. "Just don't gripe to anyone else. In this army, you don't know whom to trust."

Fintan waved his hand. "As if you need to tell me. But we've strayed from my complaint." To be safe, he lowered his voice. Another officer strode past, and both men spoke of inconsequential things.

"King Balor wants no distractions for his men,"
Burton
said moments later. "All he thinks about is war or preparing for war. You should realize that."

"What I realize is that
King
Balor will soon have no army at all--"

"Lower your voice!"

"--if he doesn't let us visit our families." Fintan spoke barely above a whisper. He shifted his position, easing the pressure on his left leg, having broken it a little over three moonphases ago. "Of course, his elite guard gets whatever they want."

"No surprise there."

"And now," Fintan said, "there's talk of a war against Elegia."

"A senseless war, so far as I can see. When has that country ever done us any harm?" Adair stabbed him on the chest with his forefinger. "But we keep our mouths shut, you understand? We fight; we don't ask questions. We don't have a choice, do we?"

Ah, but we do have a choice, Fintan mused, afraid to express his thoughts aloud. A career soldier, he remembered serving under Roric Gamal years ago, before the major became part of the palace staff, and remaining friends with him, even after that. He wondered where Major Gamal was now, since he'd escaped the palace. Despite the danger inherent in his plan, he'd contact the good major, if only he knew where to find him.

* * *

Aradia moaned, her head aching, her back in torment. Endora! She'd never been so sick in her life. Naked, she tossed and turned in her wide canopied bed with its satin sheets, trying to find a comfortable position, praying to the demoness she'd feel better by tomorrow. She had to recover; Princess Keriam's impalement was two days hence. She wouldn't miss that spectacle for the world.

What if she had--no! She wouldn't even think about it. Despite her resolution, fear seeped into her mind. Endora, she prayed again, don't let my illness be the black fever. She glanced at her hourglass on the bedside table and saw it was late afternoon. Where was Midac now? The lout was never around when she needed him. And Maudina? How did that stupid slut always manage to evade her? Aradia stared out her wide bedroom window with its blue satin draperies, wishing she were well enough to check on the lazy, good-for-nothing servants.

Determined to escape her confinement, she turned onto her side and tried to raise herself on her elbow. Groaning, she sank back down, her head throbbing worse than before. Every muscle ached, her skin on fire. If she could only sleep for awhile, she knew she'd feel so much better, but her aching back prevented even that consolation.

A knock on the door brought in Maudina. "Madam, what would you like to wear for the evening meal?" Her eyes widened, a look of alarm flashing across her face. "Madam, are you ill? You're usually not in bed at this--"

"Oh, hush, you stupid ninny! If I want to rest in bed, that's my business. Just slightly indisposed, that's all. I'm not going downstairs for the evening meal. Bring me a glass of wine and bread." She ran her tongue along her lower lip, her throat parched and dry. "Where is His Majesty?”

"Madam, I haven't seen him all day," Maudina replied, her feet anchored in place, keeping her distance from the bed. She twisted her fingers in the folds of her dress. "I'll get your wine and bread, madam, bring them right up."