Secrets of the Night Special Edition (78 page)

And never see her again.

Chapter Twenty-nine

"Madam, I fear I failed in my mission to Elegia. King Barzad does not recognize the danger from Balor. I tried to convince him of Balor’s hand in Tencien's murder, but he didn't believe me. Our false king reached Elegia ahead of us. He had already sent a messenger to that country saying King Tencien died of a heart attack." Roric shook his head. "Sacred shrine!"

Keriam’s stomach knotted with hurt anger. "Why should I be surprised? It's as we suspected." Tears of fury filled her eyes. She brushed them away and sat up straighter.

Inside her cave, Keriam looked at Roric across the fire, saw his dark eyes, his dark hair falling to his shoulders, but more than anything, his look of exhaustion. Returned from Elegia only an hour ago after a trip of over two ninedays, he sat cross legged on the limestone floor, drinking a mug of her chamomile tea. The firelight cast wavy shadows across his tanned face, a face etched with fatigue and disappointment. In spite of her anger, she couldn’t get enough of him. He had never looked so wonderful, and she realized now, as if she needed a reminder, how much she had missed him during his absence.

Roric opened his hands wide. "I offered every possible argument for overthrowing the usurper. But Barzad told me--and these are his words, madam--that Balor has always appeared a trustworthy and honorable man." Roric snorted. "Trustworthy! Honorable!"

She bunched her fists. "What is the matter with King Barzad? Why can't he see the danger that faces him?" She waved a hand. "No need to answer, major. We all know Balor is a liar. And that is the least of his sins." She drew a deep breath, shifting her position on the cold, rocky floor. "You did your best. No one could expect more."

Inside the cave, she stirred the fire and wrapped her bear robe closer about her shoulders. Comfort was difficult to come by, for although the fire warmed the front part of her body, cold air vexed her back. A vent overhead drew out much of the smoke, yet a smoky haze stung her eyes. Darkness cloaked the forest, the firelight providing scant illumination.

"I expected more," Roric said bitterly. "What does it take to make Barzad see the danger from Balor? Does he intend to wait until the fiend marches on Elegia? Without Barzad to help us defeat Balor--"

"Without Barzad, we must try something else." She sipped her tea, giving her time to think, time to get her emotions under control. Damn Balor to the Underworld! May he rot there for all eternity.”

"Try something else? Like what, madam? The other countries on the continent remain weak."

"You spoke once of a possible mutiny within the army." She could tell the major's exhaustion prevented clear thought. Any other time, he wouldn't sound so discouraged.

"A rebellion . . . yes, if I can contact any of my former men now serving Balor.” Roric scowled. "A chancy thing, that, attempting to get in touch with any of Balor's officers. I might as well return to the palace and shout, 'Here I am, back again.' And get captured by the palace guards."

"You must not endanger yourself." She turned away for a moment, thinking hard, but a reasonable scheme for Balor's overthrow eluded her. “Major, I understand your discouragement, but I’m certain by tomorrow you will be your confident self again.”
You always have been, and I’ve come to depend so much on you.

He sighed. “Let us hope so. Right now–“

“You’ve had a tiring, upsetting journey.” She nodded. “Together, we’ll work something out.” She sipped her tea again and dabbed a cotton cloth across her lips.

Outside, rain fell, beginning as a sprinkle, audible inside the cave, soon becoming a torrent. The bearskin cover at the entrance vibrated in a cold wind. Raindrops dripped through the limestone ceiling, forcing Keriam and Roric to move to another spot. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

"We have many moonphases to prepare, a long time to work out a plan," she said after a pause. She hesitated, then reached for his hand. The feel of his skin seemed so right, so good, hinting at some nebulous thing she'd waited for all her life. He squeezed her hand in response, and they exchanged a smile. "Things are bound to work out for us, major." Suddenly self-conscious, she withdrew her hand. She felt cold, bereft, as if the fire had gone out, as if complete darkness had descended on the cave. "The Goddess will not permit evil to reign for long within the kingdom."

"You will forgive me if I do not share your optimism. I have seen much wickedness in this life."

"But the Goddess always prevails. And good wins out over evil." Even while she said the words, she realized how childish, how naive she sounded. She feared life didn’t always work out that way.

"Then let us hope the Goddess prevails against Balor. And that by this time next year, you'll have gained your rightful place as queen of Avador." He gave her a wary glance. "And as queen, you must choose a husband . . . a nobleman, perhaps, from one of the other countries. You must continue the royal line." He made a dismissive gesture. "Please forgive my bold words. I fear I'm not thinking well tonight."

She stared into the fire, then raised her head to look at him again. "No, let us speak of it. I can't marry a man I don't love." She recalled her parents' marriage, a happy one, filled with love. If only she could marry for love . . .
Not a chance!

"What does love have to do with a royal union?" he asked. "I daresay few royal marriages are formed on that basis. But it’s also true that love often follows marriage. If not love, then mutual affection and respect."

Affection and respect! She wanted more than that from her husband. What a dull and lifeless marriage it would be, otherwise. She wanted a passionate love that would last for the rest of her life. And that's a foolish wish, she fretted. As if a passionate love would ever come her way!

"Once you gain the throne, madam, there will be ample opportunities to meet noblemen from other countries. You will not lack for suitors,” he said with an encouraging smile, but a look of sorrow crossed his face, too, or did she only imagine his expression?

"If I loved a man, it wouldn't matter what station in life he held." She drew her robe ever closer against the evening's biting chill. "I won't marry a man I don't love and who doesn't love me." She glanced across the fire and caught his gaze on her, his look clear and direct. And full of promise? Now she was dreaming a foolish dream. She worked her hands under her robe, wrapping her arms around her waist.

She squared her jaw. "But first we must overthrow Balor. After that, I shall gain the throne."

Roric nodded. "To do that, we need the army behind us." He stood, easing his cloak around his shoulders. “Forgive me, madam, but best I seek my own cave now. These past two ninedays have been tiring, not to mention upsetting. I fear I am not good company now.”

“Good night, Roric.”
And you are good company anytime.
I could never tire of seeing you, talking to you. If only I could kiss you...

As much as she hated Balor, as much as she wanted to gain the throne, Roric was all she could think of, his presence still alive in her memory. Long after he’d departed into the rain, she wished she could draw him back and hold him, keep him with her throughout the cold night. But her wish would forever remain out of reach.

* * *

Kneeling down on the cold limestone floor beside the girl, Keriam raised her eyes to the chief, a strong-muscled, stocky man of middle age who stood next to his wife. Both of them looked heartsick, their faces haggard with worry and fatigue. She must cure their daughter, for the child’s sake and theirs, but also to gain the chief’s trust. She must have him on her side in any future confrontation with Balor.

"What is your daughter's name?" she asked in their language.

"Lina," the wife replied. "Ah, if you can help her! We have tried. Our healer can't do anything." She shook her head, staring down at the floor.

The girl lay silent and still, staring off to a place only she could see. Keriam reached for her hand and found it ice cold. Beyond her, the cave stretched in fathomless darkness, the sound of rushing water in the distance.

"What can you tell me about her sickness?"

The chief tapped his head. "The sickness is here. Why, we don't know. We must feed her, give her water. She is like a baby." His voice broke and he turned away.

"I'll try to help if I can," Keriam said. If only she could! If she could resurrect her powers, those she had suppressed--

"How can you help, woman? What can you do that we can't?" A look of belligerence crossed the chief's face.

Keriam chose her words carefully. "I have . . . special powers. Often I can tell what a person is thinking just by touching him. Sometimes I can tell what has happened or will happen to that person."

Dorn's eyes widened. "Magic!"

"Magic!" his wife echoed.

Keriam smiled. "Some may call it that. I think of it as an extraordinary talent." She drew her legs behind her and settled her gaze on Lina again. "Is she your only child?"

The mother tore at her hair and scratched her face. "Ah! We had a son, but he died before you came." She pointed to the girl. "Now this!"

"Talmora!" Keriam's eyes misted. "Let me see what I can do. I'll touch her head, see what images I can pick up."

"Yes, if only you-"

"Quiet!" the chief admonished his wife. Chastened, she nodded and covered her face.

Closing her eyes, Keriam leaned over and placed her hands lightly on either side of Lina's head. Only darkness emerged, no visions, no thoughts. Keriam remained that way for countless minutes, stifling all other concerns, all her energy and power focused on the girl.

Long moments passed and pictures gradually emerged. She saw a young boy of eight or nine lying in the cave, his face shiny with sweat, a high fever causing delirium. She saw the girl bathing his brow with cold water, her face troubled, her hands shaking.

The scene shifted. She saw the boy reposed in a deep grave as the villagers threw flowers on his body. Pottery jars and deerskin pouches lay by his side, food and prized possessions to take with him on his spirit journey. The chief and his wife wept beside the grave. The daughter stood motionless, a stunned expression on her face.

Back in the here and now, Keriam sat in silent absorption, concentrating on every impression, every vision she received. The girl's thoughts gradually penetrated, and Keriam surmised her mental illness had been building inside her for a while.

"Ah!" Keriam sank back on the floor.

"Woman! What is it?" The chief's wife wrung her hands. "Tell us!"

Keriam pushed herself to her feet, searching for the right words. "She blames herself for her brother's death."

"But why?" the mother asked, her forehead wrinkled in bafflement. "It wasn't her fault. Our son . . ." She struggled for composure. "Our son died of a sickness. He had a high fever."

"But Lina was alone with him when he died?" Keriam looked from one to the other, full of sympathy for the grief they shared, but also, needing more information to help heal their daughter.

"It couldn't be helped!" Tears streamed down the chief's face. "If only we had known how sick . . ." He swiped his hand across his eyes. His wife sobbed, her shoulders shaking. "Many of our people had this same illness, and they all recovered. We didn't know . . ." He took a deep breath. "I had to go hunting with the men, and my wife--"

"I had to deliver a baby, and--"

"Please." Keriam raised her hand. "The circumstances don't matter. What is important is that she blames herself. What we must do--what I must do--is stay with her for a long time every day and try to make her understand your son's death was not her fault." Could she do it? She had never performed this feat before, had never projected her thoughts into someone else's mind. But she had to try.

Day after day, Keriam sat for long moments with the comatose girl. She caressed Lina's face and spoke soothing words meant to comfort. She repeated again and again,
Your brother's death is not your fault
. After one nineday, the girl remained catatonic. Keriam despaired that she would ever cure her.

She must rid her own mind of problems, of her hatred for Balor and anxiety for the kingdom, for such distractions would prevent her from healing Lina. But she couldn't drive Balor from her mind. She wondered what evil he was devising now.

* * *

"I fear a revolt, sire."

"What?" Balor sat back in his chair, giving his Minister of War a long look across the desk. Recently finished with sword practice, Balor wiped a silk handkerchief across his sweaty brow. A human head, embalmed in cedar oil and mounted on an ivory stand, gazed out from his oaken desk. "What makes you think this?"

Duncan Cuillaigh squirmed in his chair. "Perhaps I should say 'possible revolt'. I've heard of much discontent among the soldiers and officers. Sire, I fear they are close to a mutiny. They haven't been permitted leave since--"

"A leave, pah! Are we training soldiers, or supervising a nursery? They must learn the virtue of abstinence. Round up the ringleaders, make an example of them. One-hundred lashes for each. That should prevent further trouble."