Secrets of the Night Special Edition (82 page)

"Major Gamal, you are a fugitive--"

"A fugitive, yes, sir. Turn me into King Balor, and you'll get enough gold to support you and your family for years."

Riagan waved his hand. "Don't worry, major. I wouldn't betray you, not for one-thousand gold pieces." About forty years old, he wore a single gold eagle on his collar that designated his rank, his long brown hair tinged with gray at the temples.

Roric repeated the facts he'd presented to Major Davies yesterday. He chose every word carefully, not knowing if the colonel would support his scheme, or arrest him on the spot and send him back to Moytura in chains, despite his assuring words.

Fingering a sheet of vellum, the colonel looked thoughtful. "The princess is alive, you say?"

"Yes, sir," Roric said, "but I fear I can't betray her location."

Riagan frowned. "Can't or won't?"

"Sir, I beg your indulgence. For now, the princess's whereabouts must remain a secret. In the spring, I hope to bring the princess here, to persuade the army to ride south to Moytura and overthrow Ba--King Balor."

A brief smile flitted across the colonel's face, and Roric reminded himself to speak of Balor with more caution in the future. A knock on the door brought in an aide with a wine flagon and two bronze cups. Roric exchanged glances with the aide, Mogh Nuadath, a man he knew from long ago, one he had never trusted. Why in the name of the Goddess had the colonel, a good judge of character, employed this man? Then he remembered. Many of the army officers had been forced to use relatives of Balor’s toadies. And Nuadath was a cousin to the Minister of Forests.

After the aide left, the colonel poured wine for them both and handed him a cup, then set the flagon on his desk. "The princess would come here, to Uisnech?"

"Yes, sir, I believe she would." Sipping the wine, Roric found it too sweet for his taste but wisely said nothing.

"Major, doubtless you are aware that
King
Balor sent us north here because he felt he could no longer depend on our loyalty."

"I heard something to that effect, sir."

"Then I believe the princess can depend on our allegiance." The colonel shook his head. "But that doesn't mean that all the men will immediately rush to her support. I fear we have a few men--I don't know the number--who would flock to King Balor should a clash occur." He fiddled with a quill pen, his expression thoughtful. "As for the rest of us, we stand behind the princess. I met her once at a palace reception, talked to her for a few moments. She impressed me as being an intelligent, capable person."

"Indeed, sir." Relief swept over Roric., coupled with a longing to see Keriam again. Goddess, how he missed her.

For now, he'd done as much as possible, an easy task compared to the difficulties that loomed ahead.

Chapter Thirty-two

"You see, Roric? It is easy to use." On a cool day in early spring, when patches of snow still dotted the hard ground, Mord bent low to demonstrate use of the sling to Roric. "You get a stone the size of a caracob egg and place it in the pouch, like so," he said, following his words with action. "Then you whirl the ends of the cord--stand back, now," he instructed. Clad in deerskin, Roric moved aside as Mord swung the pouch several times over his head, building up momentum. "Then release it!" He hurled the stone through the air, hitting the center of the target he'd carved on a birch tree one hundred yards distant. Mord turned to him, a triumphant grin on his face. "You see how easy it is?"

"That remains to be seen." Roric looked up at the giant, thankful he had these outlanders on his side. After much persuasion, he had convinced the cave dwellers that ridding the
kingdom
of
Balor
would benefit them, too. "For if Balor continues with his harmful policies," he'd said, "he may well drive the people from Moytura, and they, in turn, might chase you from the forest. I know the people fear you, but desperate folk do desperate things." Roric considered this scenario quite likely, for the Avadorans had suffered under Balor's depredations for too long.

"Here, you try it." Wrenched back to the moment, Roric took the pouch from Mord and whirled it several times over his head. He released it, the missile hurtling through the air, missing the target by inches.

"Close," Mord said, frowning. "But you must practice."

"Right." Roric strode toward the tree to retrieve the stone. Practice, he agonized, as he'd practiced sword fighting with Conneid, both men using wooden swords, ever since his return from Uisnech several moonphases ago. Winter had only recently released its grip on the land. Purple crocuses popped up among snowy patches, and forsythia embellished the ground with yellow blossoms. Flocks of birds filled the sky overhead, returning from their winter sojourn. Soon, he and Keriam must ride to Uisnech to convince the disaffected battalions to join them: a gamble, despite his optimistic words to Fintan Davies.

"Here, let me try it." Having left her cave, Keriam strode their way, surprising Roric with her request. Her gray woolen dress clung to her legs, her long hair billowing behind her.

A shocked look captured Mord's face. "But you are a woman."

"The future queen!" Roric exclaimed at her side, in agreement with Keriam's request. After she’d cured the chief's daughter, the outlanders had worshiped Keriam, proclaiming her as their queen. Although they accepted her as their ruler, old attitudes had died hard. They had imbued her with a near-divine status, reluctant to permit her to perform any task. It had taken some time and much argument, but she had convinced them otherwise.

"And one who must learn to defeat the evil usurper, by every means possible," Keriam added. Tilting her head back, she smiled up at the giant. "Mord, let's see if a
woman
can do this as well as a man."

Mord demonstrated the sling's use again. He indicated the target and moved aside, looking doubtful. Roric stood a few feet back, hands on his hips, silently cheering her on. His respect for her rose even higher, his pride never greater than now.

She nodded to the giant, then swung the pouch by the ends numerous times, releasing the stone. It fell on the ground with a hard plop, several feet from the target.

Mord's mouth drew down but he said nothing.

"Just give me time!" Keriam nodded to Roric. "Your turn, then I'll try again."

"As you wish, princess." Roric scooped up the stone and returned to the starting point. He swung the pouch over his head and let go of the stone, this time hitting his target.

"See?" Mord beamed. "You do better now."

Better, Roric mused.
But can we defeat Balor's army?

* * *

"I still wonder how we can defeat Balor's army," Keriam said days later as they rode north to Uisnech. The horses clambered up a steep, rocky cliff on the outskirts of Moytura, the city laid out like a panorama below them. The draft horse, carrying their necessities, was connected to the sorrel by rope. They had packed breads, dried meat, fruits, and vegetables, to be supplemented with wildlife Roric would find along the way. Keriam rode pillion behind Roric, her arms wrapped around his waist, her breasts cushioned against his back, her nearness a sweet torture.

"Balor,” Roric said over his shoulder, his face shaven now. "We must defeat him. We have no choice."

Since the weather remained chilly, he wore his long-sleeved tunic and woolen trousers. Dressed plainly, Keriam was clad in the gray woolen dress but had packed finer clothing with their supplies. It would not do for a princess to appear before the soldiers dressed as a chambermaid. But no matter her attire, she would always be beautiful to him, a beauty that shone from within as much as her outward appearance.

Before departing their forest home, he'd chanced another trip to Moytura, buying as a surprise for Keriam a sidesaddle and a dress fit for a queen, leaving him but little coin. When they reached their destination, she would ride the sorrel, and he the draft horse. He'd said nothing to her about his depleted money supply, but she had guessed his expenditure.

"But Roric," she'd protested, "I still have my amethyst ring. You could have taken it to a pawn shop and gotten a good price for it, I don't doubt."

"Kerry, in the first place, the ring is yours, part of your royal heritage," he'd replied. "Don't even think of selling it. In the second place, it might arouse suspicion if I attempted a sale."

"Ah, you are right." She smiled. "But some day, we must have a reckoning. You have done much for me."

"Which I am pleased and honored to do." He would give her the kingdom now, if he could, would give her anything in the world . He would love her for the rest of his life, a love that kept him awake at night, aching for her. As he ached for her now, she with her arms around his waist, spawning a hundred desires that he’d tried so hard to suppress.

He returned his mind to their journey, ever worried that they might fail in their mission, be arrested and sent back to Balor under guard. Perhaps one of the soldiers at Uisnech had defected and told Balor of his presence there. A hundred things could go wrong.

Signs of spring were everywhere, the birches and hemlocks showing new green leaves, wildflowers sprouting up from the forest floor. Marigolds flourished among hay-scented fern; here and there splashes of sunlight glinted through the thick forest canopy. Still, a cold west wind pelted their faces and shook bare tree branches.

A flock of ravens flew overhead, then landed in the trees alongside the travelers' route, one after another, until more than one-hundred ravens blackened the firs and birches. The birds sat in silent surveillance, their beady eyes fixed on the travelers. Wings fluttering, they shifted from one foot to another.

Roric pointed in their direction. "Look at that, would you! Never saw so many blackbirds in one spot."

"Fancy that," Keriam murmured. She didn't sound at all surprised.

Sidling among thick tree trunks, the horses struggled up a rocky slope thick with shale and limestone and blanketed with the white-flowered dogwood. The snow was gradually melting in the sunlight but the ground remained hard.

At a promontory, Roric turned around for a last look at Moytura before it disappeared from sight.

Keriam followed his gaze. "The Goddess willing, soon Balor will be gone from Emain Macha."

"Yes." It will take more than the Goddess to rid the
kingdom
of
Balor
, he agonized.

They continued northward, mile after rocky mile, up steep hills and down into deep, verdant valleys. Often they had to backtrack, losing precious time, but it couldn't be helped: in places the woods proved impenetrable. The wind gradually shifted to the north, bringing cold, moist air with it. Both riders drew hoods over their heads and tied them at the throat.

Tired, with aching muscles, they reached a wide meadow, the sun at its zenith. Luxuriant with undergrowth, the meadow extended for several acres. The glade was bursting with daisies, yellow violets, and bright red phlox. Green velvety grass rippled in the wind.

"Let's stop here." Roric swung his leg over the horse's back and slid to the ground. He reached for Keriam, too well aware that this was the closest he would ever hold her, and glad to be on firm ground again. He held her for a moment all too fleeting, when he wanted nothing more than to ease her ever closer, to kiss her sweet lips and run his fingers through her luxuriant hair. Her gaze met his, and he wondered if she shared his yearnings. With an ache that bordered on despair, he released her and turned away.

The
Deuona
River
beckoned, and Roric released the horses so they could have their fill of water. While the horses drank from the river and munched on the grass, Keriam and Roric settled down in the meadow for a short repast, feasting on dried venison and wild wheat bread, finishing their meal with wild strawberries that flourished in bushes on the meadow’s edge. Sparrows sang from the trees, and daddy long-legs crept along in the grass. How peaceful everything is, Roric thought.
If only life were this serene, if only Kerry and I were plain farmers, man and wife, resting from our labors on our vast land holdings.

Mindful of the passing time, they finished their meal, then mounted their horses again.

Hours later, as the sun disappeared below the horizon and shadows crept over the woods, they searched for a place to spend the night, eventually finding shelter at a cave opening. Leaving Kerry to feed the horses, Roric gathered dried twigs and bracken and carried them back to the opening, then made a windshield from large stones placed around the fire. From his leather pouch, he withdrew his tinderbox and a flask of lantern oil. After dousing the twigs with the oil, he lit the flint and soon had a fire going, one to warm them and keep wild animals at bay.

While Roric had collected twigs and bracken, Keriam led the horses inside the cave and fed them oats, giving them but a small amount so their stomachs wouldn't cramp. Several yards from the cave entrance, water trickled from overhead, forming a pool, a good source of water for the horses. Now, the sorrel and the draft horse rested inside the cave, content for the night.