Secrets of the Night Special Edition (86 page)

Balor's cavalry rode among her warriors. Raised up in their stirrups, they threw javelins and struck with their swords. Grimacing with purposeful determination, they hacked at heads and arms, maneuvering their horses among the fighters.

Keriam's hands shook; nausea roiled in her stomach to see her men suffer so. Hours had passed since the fighting had begun, the sun now sinking in the east. Would the battle never end? She swept the spyglass across the field, ever on the lookout for Roric. Talmora, please take care of him, she prayed. Sudden guilt swamped her for praying only for Roric. If only the Goddess could protect all her men!

Roric! There he was! He fought like a madman, wielding his sword as if he'd been born with it in his hand. He dispatched one of the enemy, then turned to struggle with another.

Spyglass focused on Roric, she saw Balor ride his way. Sword held high, the demon raised himself in the stirrups. On foot, how could Roric prevail against him? No! She couldn't let Balor get away with this! Blood throbbed in her ears. Fear collided with fury inside her, a painful amalgam that made her head pound. She clenched her fists, every breath, every beat of her heart concentrated on the demon.
Goddess, be with me!
Help me!

Power surged in her blood, stronger, stronger. She lifted her arms to the sky and shrieked. Focusing her gaze on Balor, she centered all her attention on his horse. She must unseat the fiend. She could not fail!

There!

Balor's horse threw him to the ground, and the fiend fell on his backside, looking stunned. Dragging its reins, the horse raced from the battlefield.

Waves of relief rolled over her. Was it indeed magic she had possessed all along, this wonderful force that had enabled her to unseat Balor? Or was it just her preternatural ability? Never mind! It didn't matter! She had accomplished something vital this day, something that might well affect the kingdom for ages to come. . . . if only Roric could defeat this evil despot. And from this day forth, she would not fear using her talent. Only look at the good she could accomplish with it!

* * *

Balor jumped to his feet, staring about him. Sword clenched in his hand, in murderous fury he looked everywhere.

Roric spun around and saw the king killer .
Damn the bastard! Damn him to the Underworld. Talmora, be with me this day.

For long minutes, they circled each other, Roric gauging Balor’s strengths and weaknesses.

Malice burned in Balor’s eyes. "Traitor!" he hissed. "I'll cut you to pieces!"

"
You're
the traitor, you king murderer!" Roric launched an attack at the fiend, but Balor swayed back in time, the sword barely grazing his shoulder.

The field was silent now, save for the clashing of steel on steel, all eyes on Roric and Balor.

Their swords lanced again and again, Roric fighting as he'd never fought before. He struggled as if the hours past had never existed, as though Balor were his first opponent this day.
Kill the fiend
!
Kill him!
Yet even in the desperation of battle, he knew he must keep a clear head, must not let anger and hatred betray him. His sword arm ached as if it would fall from him, but he ignored the pain.

Balor aimed a furious thrust, but Roric blocked it, always keeping his balance on the blood-slippery field. The fiend directed his sword at Roric's throat, but Roric deftly parried, twisting and turning his blade around Balor's weapon. Then he lunged at the usurper. Balor sidestepped, nearly losing his balance but recovering in time. The swords clanged and hissed, the weapons flashing in the sunlight. Circling each other, the swordsmen lunged, thrust, and parried, Roric always looking for an opening. Minutes passed, and he could see the fiend was tiring as Balor gasped with each breath.

Roric lashed again, aiming his sword at Balor's throat. A startled look came over his face, and blood spurted from the fiend’s neck. Balor pitched to the ground. He struggled and tried to rise as blood streamed down his neck. With one last effort, he fell back to the ground and lay still, his eyes closed, head lolling to the side, his body unmoving.

Roric stopped several minutes to catch his breath, wiping his hand across his sweaty forehead. Moving back from the fray, he raised his blood-stained sword high. "Balor is dead!" he exulted. "Pass the word!" Soldiers on both sides paused, a look of caution on their faces as they stared at the prone body. Then they shouted with joy.

"Balor is dead!"

* * *

From the hill, Keriam silently bowed her head. Tears streamed down her face.
Too
much bloodshed!
Too many men on both sides wounded and dead. Cries and groans assailed her eardrums. Men tossed and writhed in pain. Hundreds of dead and wounded littered the battlefield. And the horses! With human-like sounds, they twisted on the ground and wailed in agony.

With Balor gone, the struggle must stop. Despite her grief for each dead and wounded Avadoran, a tremendous relief swept over her, an unbridled joy that the tyrant was defeated. And Roric still lived.
Thank you, Goddess, thank you!

The sun was a bright orange ball in the east, firing the sky with a golden glow. The air chilled, a fierce wind sweeping through the trees, bending tree branches.

Brushing the tears from her eyes, Keriam left her spot on the hill, her goal to rally the men to her side. Surely they would join her now; surely they would support the House of Moray.

And Roric--what about him? Never had she loved him as much as she did now, this very moment. Never had she been so proud of him. How she wanted him to stay with her for the rest of their lives.

Balor's men, too, viewed the fiend's body. They lowered their swords and javelins, all the fight gone from them. Quiet had settled over the plain. With Balor dead, why continue the battle? From the first, their allegiance had been to the country, not the man.

Roric raised his sword again, all eyes on him. Sweat soaked his tunic and plastered his hair, his face and body covered with blood. He opened his mouth to speak, his chest heaving. No words came. He took a deep breath and tried again.

"Soldiers of Avador! The usurper is dead! Let a new day dawn for our country." He stopped talking as the soldiers' gaze shifted. Descending the hill, Princess Keriam approached the battlefield, her step quick but purposeful, her dress fluttering around her ankles. She skirted the dead and disabled, a look of brave acceptance on her face, but sorrow, too.

Roric smiled at her tenderly, projecting all his love and emotion in one heartwarming expression. "Princess Keriam!" He lifted his sword again. "Princess Keriam! Your future queen!"

Shouts reverberated across the battlefield. "Queen Keriam!"

* * *

Two nine-days later.

With her coronation scheduled for the following day, Keriam welcomed Roric in her office, a hundred thoughts churning in her head. Now that the battle had been won and Balor dead, she had so many things she wanted to say to him. She wanted to hold him close and tell him of her love, to ask him to never leave her side, for the rest of their lives.

Instead, she stood before him like an awkward schoolgirl. “You’ll stay on as palace steward, won’t you, Roric? You know I need your help and advice.”
And I need you, Goddess, how I need you.

His face spasmed and he opened his mouth, then closed it again. “I fear not, Kerry. I–“

”What! But of course you’ll stay. Didn’t I just tell you I need your advice?”

“Madam,” he said, and she winced at his formal address, “ now that Conneid has returned to the palace, he will serve you well as steward. I’m riding south very soon to see my family–it’s been months since I visited them–then I will hire myself out as a mercenary.” He smiled. “I am not without military experience.”

“But, Roric . . .” She reached her hands toward him, then let them fall to her side. Tears brimmed her eyes, but she brushed them away. She would say no more, for there was nothing left to say. He must not see how much she wanted him, how her life would be so bereft without him, as if the sun would stop shining, or the world would stop spinning.

“Kerry, I . . .” With one quick movement, he drew her into his arms, her breasts pressed against him, her lips joining his in one long, soul-wrenching kiss. She covered his face with kisses, her body alive with that beautiful, familiar longing for him that would survive all obstacles, that would never end. Surely he would stay now; surely he would see that she needed him and wanted him in oh, so many ways.

He drew away the, pain and misery plain on his face. Or did she only imagine his look, her perception spawned by wishful thinking?

Roric clasped her shoulders. “Goodbye, Kerry.” Then he turned and was gone, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.

No!
She struggled against her sorrow, stifling her tears, reluctant to surrender to any weakness. From the first, she’d known there could never be anything lasting between them. So why was his departure so difficult to accept? Unable to fight her misery, she pressed her fist to her stomach and cried, all the pent-up tears streaming down her face. After countless minutes–or was it hours?–she straightened up and brushed her hand across her face. A spirit of resolution heartened her. She had lived her life before she had known him so well, before they had shared so many experiences, before they had made love. She would live her life without him and manage quite well. As her father would have wanted, she’d marry a nobleman, from Elegia, perhaps, or Galdina. She would bear that man’s child to carry on the royal line, as was her duty. Never would she let her heart rule her mind and never would she let her mind dwell on Roric. From this day on, she would devote her life to the
kingdom
of
Avador

And Roric? Her heart whispered.
Will you ever forget him
?

* * *

The next day, Roric left the laughter and merriment of the celebration behind and headed for the stable, his booted feet crunching on the gravel outside. Only yesterday, Keriam had been crowned queen, the delay giving time for envoys from other countries to arrive for the ceremony. Now she held a reception for the ministers and dignitaries of Avador, along with the ambassadors from other countries on the continent.

Seeing Keriam engrossed in conversation with the envoy from Galdina, Roric had departed the Blue Reception Room, easing past dozens of guests. Talk and laughter filled the room, ambassadors and their wives in splendid attire, drinks in their hands. But it was time to leave for his native village, dispensing with any awkward moments between the queen and him. They had both known from the beginning that their love would gain them nothing. Goddess, how it hurt. More than anything, he wanted to stay with her and never leave her side. But his wish could never be.

He left the gravel path and entered the stable, his eyes adjusting to the darkness inside. Grooming Keriam's horse, Traigh had his back to him.

"Traigh." Roric stepped closer.

Brush in hand, the stableboy spun around. "Major! I thought you were still at the reception."

He shook his head. "Going home now, leaving the kingdom in good hands."

Looking puzzled, Traigh set his brush on a pile of hay. "You're leaving us, sir?"

"Indeed. I'll miss everyone," Roric said, resting his arms on a stall door.
And Keriam, most of all
.
Sacred shrine!
How I'll miss her.

"We'll miss
you
, sir." Traigh shoved his blond hair from his forehead, his face downcast. "It's best that I depart now, see my family.” He clapped the young man on the shoulder. "I hear congratulations are in order. Now that you are handfasted, I'm sure you and Maudina will be very happy together."

"We already are." The stableboy’s face reddened and he glanced around, as if seeing the stable for the first time. "She's back at the palace now, you know."

"Yes, I talked to her last night."

Traigh rubbed his hands up and down his sides. "Well, you'll want Donn saddled. Only wait a few minutes, sir."

Happy to have his own horse restored to him, Roric walked out into the sunshine again, his gaze covering the trees and flowers on the palace ground, the lake in the distance, the general's mansion and army barracks beyond the palace grounds. Soon, all this would be a part of his past. He swallowed hard, an ache in his throat.

Shortly after the battle, he'd returned the sorrel and the draft horse he'd "borrowed", in the same manner he'd taken them, in the middle of the night.

Squinting in the bright light, he thought about the days after the battle. The wounded from both sides had been taken in horse transports to the city hospital, there to be cared for by druids and druidesses. Keriam and Radegunda had tended to the wounded there, using their herbal skills and, he suspected, a little magic. The dead from both sides lay buried in a special place, now sanctified, on the Plain of Sorrows.

Soon after her return to the palace, Keriam had established a special druidic tribunal to codify laws on magic and have them recorded in a holy book. As long as it was good magic, never again would the craft be considered a crime in the kingdom.