Secrets of the Night Special Edition (79 page)

Cullaigh shook his head. "Too many, sire. The discontent is concentrated in the fifteenth and sixteenth battalions, over eighteen-hundred men."

"I see." Balor pondered long and hard. "So, two battalions." He scratched his scar, still searching for a solution. "Here's what I want you to do. Send them to the northern border. I want them to build winter quarters there, practice maneuvers. Tell them we must counter Elegia's aggressive moves."

"Aggressive moves, sire?"

Balor slammed his fist on the desk. "Use your imagination, man! Tell the men Elegia is preparing for war. Let them think we're in danger from that country. We'll have the disgruntled men out of the way."

"An excellent plan, sire." Cullaigh sat forward. "I suggest we send them north under cover of darkness, when the stores are closed and few people crowd the streets. No doubt some will hear them, but the fewer, the better. No point in arousing the populace now. Later--"

"Later, I'll tell the people Elegia is making warlike moves against us." Balor reached over and caressed the human head on his desk. “And I tell you, Cuillaigh, come spring, we
will
march against that country. If--when--we conquer Elegia, we will acquire their seaports and sources of wealth. Emerald mines!" His eyes gleamed. "And after Elegia, we will move on the other countries. Soon the whole continent will be ours!"

* * *

These visits are getting to be a habit, Keriam mused as Roric joined her one evening, visits she anticipated, never needing to question the reason why.

“We were speaking of magic not long ago,” she reminded him, wanting to lead into the subject again. Heavy rains had soaked the ground for days, and now winter approached with a cold, northerly wind. The first light snow dusted the ground outside her cave. She blew on her hands to warm them, mindful that she must make mittens for herself soon.

“Ah, magic!” He smiled. “Perhaps we can use it for good.”

“My feeling, too. There is good magic and bad, don’t you agree?” At his answering nod, she went on. “I’ve had much time to think on so many things during these past few ninedays. I see nothing wrong and everything beneficial if I permit the practice of good magic in the kingdom. And,” she said with a question in her voice, “something tells me you feel the same.”

Frowning, he ran his finger along the frozen ground, then looked her way. “Once, not so long ago, I feared magic, kept my distance from Radegunda. But you are right, madam. Such enchantment can do much good. However, as Avador’s ruler, you must ensure that bad magic never takes hold again.”

“Of course. Here’s what I plan to do. I intend to employ several druids to rule on what is good magic and what is evil, then codify their finds, have them recorded in a volume. I’ll encourage the good to flourish, but anyone caught practicing black magic will be punished, not,” she said, holding up a hand, “as severely as Balor has decreed for any transgression. But harshly enough to show those who employ the craft to apply only the good.

“I’m sure my plan will work. Something else–even though I don’t practice witchcraft, I’ve found within the past year that I can use my special abilities to advantage. I will continue to do so, and if I
can
learn the craft, so much the better.”

“You said something about special abilities?”

She nodded. “Often I can tell what a person is thinking just by touching him.”

He smiled, a teasing tone in his voice. “Touch me and tell me what I’m thinking.”

She hesitated, wanting to do more than just touch him, wanting to be held in his arms, feel his lips on hers. Goddess, she wanted him now, this very moment, more than she’d ever wanted anything or anyone.

“Madam?”

She touched him then, letting her hand rest on his, loving the feel of his skin. “Ah.” Her face warming, she drew back, the heat spreading throughout her body. She’d never known a man could arouse her this way, and to read his thoughts, to know that . . . “You think I’m beautiful.”

“You have always been beautiful to me.” He leaned closer, a look of deep purpose on his face. “Madam, I . . .”

Outside the cave, children laughed, their mothers calling them to bedtime. Men shouted and joked, and the golden moment with Roric faded, never, she feared, to be repeated. She wanted to cry from disappointment. She caught the expression on his face and dared to hope he felt the same.

Their gazes locked, a long moment of silence stretching between them. Then Roric spoke again, as if nothing special had happened between them. Did she mean so little to him? “Tell me, madam, how would you define good magic?”

Inwardly, she sighed, a hundred regrets roiling inside her. Did he feel the same as she, or was that only wishful thinking? Wrenched back to the moment, she frowned. “Well, that’s easy. Any spell that helps others, such as healing an illness or saving someone’s life. I should think that would be obvious,” she said, raising her eyes to his.

“Ah, then, how would you define black magic?” He kept a level gaze on her.

“Any bewitchment that hurts someone, or worse, murder. If it causes pain or hardship to others, it’s black magic.”

“Well, suppose someone has an incurable illness, such as the deadly sickness that eats away at your body. What if that person is in terrible pain and slowly dying? If you could give the sufferer a strong dose of foxglove that would end his misery forever, would you consider that good magic or bad? Or would you consider it magic at all?”

“Oh, I see what you’re getting at. But many people mistake healing for enchantment. For example, look how Radegunda healed people of so many illnesses. That is not magic, but many called her a witch because of her knowledge. This is aside from her actual magical ability.” She sighed. “There are no easy answers, are there?”

“Madam, take it from one who’s seen much suffering in life, there are rarely any easy answers.”

“Then I must leave it to the druids to determine what is good magic and what is bad.”

“The druids,” he mused aloud, “ rigid old men not known for their compassion.”

She sat up straight, a look of resolve on her face. “Then I shall charge them with codifying the rules, but I shall have the final say.”

“That would be best for the country,” he said. “Madam, never underestimate your good judgement.” His face assumed a solemn look. “And never doubt you will be restored to the throne. Together, we will make it happen.”

Chapter Thirty

I must keep on trying
.
I can't lose hope
. Every day, Keriam kept vigil by Lina's side, holding her hand, speaking comforting words. But nothing happened. And I suppose it will be the same this day, she lamented, discouraged and heartsick. On the limestone floor, she knelt beside the young girl and placed her hands gently at each side of Lina's head. Her parents sat in the shadows, their heads bowed.

"Lina," she murmured, searching for the right words in the torathors’ language. She knew she spoke brokenly but prayed that the young girl would understand her words. "Your mother and father are so worried about you. Please believe me that you are not to blame for your brother's death. It was no one's fault. He was taken away by the Goddess, to live in the Otherworld. It was meant to be." She squeezed the child's hand. "Come join us again. We want to see you rise from the floor, hear you talk and laugh.Do it, Lina! Do it for your mother and father, for me!" Goddess, she prayed, please help me now.
Please help me develop my ability to the fullest, so that I may cure this sick child.

The young girl's right forefinger moved, then her hand. Turning her head slightly, she opened her mouth, then closed it again.

"Lina!" Keriam whispered, afraid to hope. "Your mother and father love you. No one blames you for anything. Please come back to us." She squeezed her hand again. "Please!"

Dorn and his wife rose from the floor. They inched closer, their eyes wide with anticipation.

"I . . .I . . ."The girl licked her lips and sighed. She shifted her left leg, a look of confusion on her face. "Where am I?"

"In your cave, with your mother and father! They want you back with them, the way you were.
And thank you, Talmora, for helping me help this child. From hereon, I will never suppress my abilities
. Keriam wanted to sing with happiness but feared to hope too soon.

The young girl blinked her eyes, then crinkled her eyes at Keriam. "Who are you?"

The chief and his wife stood, their faces infused with joy. "Is she--"

Keriam lifted her hand to stop them, afraid they would spoil the fragile moment. Tears brimmed in her eyes. "I'm a friend of your mother and father, your friend, too. Dear Lina, you have been asleep for a while, but we are happy to see you awake again."

Bracing herself on her elbow, the girl sat up and gazed around the cave. "Mother, father . . .?"

"Ah, daughter!" They rushed over and drew her into their arms, kissing her again and again. "You are well now. You are back with us!"

Keriam departed the cave quietly, leaving the family to share this golden moment. Outside, she blinked in the bright sunlight and leaned against the cave wall. Overcome with emotion, she took deep breaths, then walked away to rest by the river.

She met Roric along the way as he chopped a tree for firewood close by the river, using an axe with a polished stone head. "The chief's daughter is well again," she told him. "All it took was patience."
And perhaps help from the Goddess.

Wiping his hand across his forehead, he leaned the axe against the tree, a look of relief on his face. "Princess, you have performed a miracle. The outlanders will never forget this."

She sighed, bracing herself against the tree. “Enough for now that I helped the chief’s daughter throw off her sickness.” Mentally and physically exhausted, she sank to the ground, where Roric joined her. She stretched out her legs, bracing her elbows behind her, staring up at a gray sky. “Soon winter will be upon us. So it will be months before we can start an offensive against Balor..”

He gave her an encouraging smile. “And we will win.”

She returned his smile, unsure if he spoke those words only to encourage her, or if he really meant them. They must defeat Balor; they had no choice.

* * *

A fire smoldering beside her, Keriam slept soundly that night under her thick bear robe. She mumbled in her sleep, her body stiffening. Numbness crept over her body, and a tingling sensation erupted over her arms and legs. Her body paralyzed, her spirit rose, at first only a few feet above the cave floor, then gradually escaping the cavern. Facedown, she floated far above the forest as she stared at the countryside, the bare trees, the farmers' fields, and far to the south, the capital city.

Arms outstretched, she drifted toward Moytura, the buildings, spires, and monuments spread out below. Although it was the deepest part of night, everything had an eerie glow, as if lit from within. Tree branches tossed in a cold wind, and dust blew along the cobblestones. Here and there, a vagrant wandered the lonely streets, the taverns alive with talk and laughter.

The clop, clop of horses' hooves jerked her attention to
Warehouse Street
, and she gravitated downward, seeking refuge in an alley that separated two large warehouses. With the cavalry in the lead, mounted officers, their plumed bronze helmets gleaming in the moonlight, rode alongside hundreds of soldiers who trod past. Marching two abreast, the soldiers spoke in low tones. Above the clink of armor, she clearly heard every word, as though they shouted from the rooftops.

"--get us out of the way."

"King's afraid of a mutiny."

"And well he should be. Haven't had leave . . ."

". . . build winter barracks."

". . . fight Elegia."

The soldiers trooped northward, clad in winter uniforms of a black wool tunic and trousers, black leather boots. Each carried a shield, a javelin resting on his shoulder with a bundle attached to it. This bundle, Keriam had learned long ago, held spare clothing, food rations, and eating utensils. Archers marched with the others, and besides the bundle, each carried a quiver over his shoulder. Horse-drawn wagons rumbled past, laden with tents, blankets, and all necessary supplies. The soldiers' ages ranged from fifteen to forty, Keriam guessed. Half in and half out of the vast wooden building, she stayed motionless until the soldiers marched past.

She must tell Roric her news.

Mounted on his chestnut, Fintan Davies rode alongside his men, on the way to the northern part of the country to build barracks and prepare for a war with Elegia. As if Elegia posed a threat to Avador! Only Balor could concoct such a lie and expect the people to believe it.

And a revolt of the army? Ah, yes, that threat was real, at least among the two disaffected battalions headed north. Only look at how Balor had promoted his favored friends over more deserving members of these two battalions, making them generals when they couldn't even wield a sword.

Leaving Moytura behind, the soldiers marched along the Bearn Gap through the
Orn
Mountains
, keeping to the west of the
Gorm
Forest
. Here and there, clusters of trees dotted the rocky cliffs. More a path than a road as it wound through the woods, the pass left enough room for two men to march abreast.