Secrets of the Night Special Edition, page 50
Time slid past and Roric rose to his feet, brushing leaves and bracken from his tunic.
He turned to leave, saddened by the changes in the city since Balor's ascension to the throne, worried about the threat of the black fever. As for Balor, Roric itched to drive that tyrant from the throne.
Hunger, misery, and disease prowled the streets of Moytura.
* * *
Keriam ascended the steps to Talmora's temple, a grandiose sandstone building that commanded a massive space beyond the city hospital. A tall stone statue of the Goddess herself guarded its entrance. Keriam pulled at the gleaming gold handle of the wide oaken door, her worn shoes flapping on the flagstone floor as she stepped inside and approached the altar against a far wall. At the altar, an eternal flame burned before another statue of the earth-mother Goddess, this one smaller but more ornate, with solid gold shoes and sapphire eyes. Her white robe glittered in the firelight, an iron spear clutched in her right hand, the Book of Laws in her left. Her face appeared serene, near lifelike in its compassionate smile. A selection of fine white tapers rested on the altar, awaiting petitioners' prayers.
Hungry and frustrated, Keriam hoped to gain much-needed solace and inspiration from the temple. What had all her warnings accomplished? Nothing, save ridicule. Two worshipers walked past, casting her disparaging glances. Her gaze covered her ragged dress, her scuffed shoes. Why, she looked like a beggar.
Aside from the white-robed druidesses, only a few other people walked the temple's wide corridors, murmuring quietly among themselves. The polished wood ceiling shone like glass, and numerous bas reliefs of the Goddess adorned the white stone walls, interspersed with sandstone pilasters. The fragrance of frankincense floated in the air.
Keriam lit a candle from the eternal flame, then knelt in silent prayer. Dear Talmora, please watch over my people. Protect them from the plague, so that they may all live to serve you. Please help me gain the throne, not for my sake, but for yours and for my people. Head bent, she continued, including in her silent entreaties all those she knew and cared for. She prayed for Radegunda and Maudina, all the palace servants. And Roric Gamal? An inner voice whispered. What about him? She didn't know. If he were truly loyal to her, would he still serve Balor? Watch over Roric Gamal, was all she could implore. Sadness overcame her, near painful in its intensity, a desire to see him again, to learn–once and for all–if he remained loyal to her father’s memory, or if he truly believed in Balor. Will I ever see him again? She wondered, afraid to accept that he was gone from her life forever.
About to stand, she looked up at the statue--and gasped. The statue had moved! She looked again and wondered if she'd only imagined it, for surely the statue was in the same position as before. She leaned against the altar and took deep breaths. Yes, only your imagination, she assured herself. How could a piece of stone move by itself, sacred though it was? She stayed in the same position for long moments, waiting for her breathing to return to normal. Rising to her feet, she brushed a tear from her eye, only then realizing how her emotions had wrought such havoc within her. And maybe that was what had caused her to think the statue had moved--only her emotions.
A druidess approached, her soft velvet slippers whispering across the floor, her white robe billowing behind her. A white veil covered her hair and flowed down her back, a gold diadem holding the veil in place. "Child, would you like to come to my private prayer room and tell me what's troubling you?"
"No, but I thank you, druidess." If only she could! And if she revealed her identity, that information would ensure her the death penalty.
After a few quiet words with the druidess, she left the temple, wrapping her dirty woolen cloak around her against the late afternoon chill. A gust whipped her hair in her face and blew dust in her eyes. Tree branches tossed in the wind, scattering their dry leaves on the street. About to head east again to the city center, she stopped, staring across the way, toward the wide meadow. A young man strode across the grass, his walk quick and confident. Something about him--his dark hair, the way he held his head and shoulders--resurrected painful memories. Could it really be Roric Gamal? What was he doing here at this time of day, instead of toadying to that treasonous fiend, Balor, back at the palace?
She pressed a hand to her thudding heart, moving quickly behind Talmora's statue. She kept her gaze on him as he headed east. Mixed feelings churned inside her, a blend of joy at seeing him after all these ninedays, but at the same time, hatred for this man who had allied himself with the usurper. Ah, yes, he had assured her his loyalty lay with her, but how could she believe his assurances when his actions belied his words?
Keriam waited long moments until Roric disappeared; then she walked on, convinced by now that her warnings of an epidemic had accomplished nothing. Already she'd heard of dead squirrels . . . and possible plague deaths.
Several stores ahead of her, two sentries stood outside a fabric shop, looking her way, their expressions stern. A thrill of alarm raced through her, and hoping they focused on someone else, she glanced behind her, but saw no one. She kept her head down, forcing herself to walk normally, although every instinct told her to run. Desperately, she prayed they wouldn't recognize her with her dyed brown hair.
She stopped to stare in a jewelry window, not seeing a thing, acting as if she had nothing better to do than gaze at all the wares the city offered. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the sentries in the same spot, their focus still on her. If she could only walk past them . . .
The sentries approached her, each one grabbing an arm. "Come with us."
* * *
Careful to hide his distaste, Balor looked up as Aradia joined him for the evening meal. Without a word, she lifted her silver wine goblet, her brightly-colored fingernails curved like claws. Adorned in a deep blue velvet gown, a gold pendant around her neck, she was truly beautiful. But her constant nagging, her domineering ways, tempted him to violence. Although he'd long since lost any affection for her, he didn't want anyone carrying tales of marital discord behind his back. He and the sorceress must appear a happily-wedded couple, capable of producing children to carry on the royal family line. The House of Balor. He smiled to himself, liking the sound of it. And why wasn't she pregnant yet? It wasn't for his lack of trying, so the fault must be--
A knock at the door interrupted his accusatory musings. He frowned, hating the intrusion but aware he couldn't ignore it. The palace staff knew that only the most important news warranted disrupting him while he ate.
He dabbed a linen napkin across his mouth. "Come in."
A gray uniformed city sentry opened the door and stood at the dining room entrance. "Your Majesty . . ."
Balor motioned him forward. "Come in, I said. I don't feel like conducting business across such a distance. And this had better be important."
The sentry nodded. "Yes, sire, I believe it is. We've captured Pr--, er, Keriam Moray."
Aradia gasped, clapping her hands. "Just wait 'till I--"
"Hush!" Balor turned back to the sentry. "Well, it's taken you long enough. Let's hope for your sake you have a good reason for the delay."
"Yes, sire. For several days, a young woman has been warning the people of Moytura about a plague. At first, no one took her seriously, just thought she was crazed. But sire, we suspect the plague has already afflicted the city. Lately, there has been a number of mysterious deaths. So one of the local merchants tipped us off. She must have cast a spell, to cause all these deaths from the black fever, so--"
"Get to the point, lieutenant! How do you know it's the prin--, former princess?"
"Sire, at the time of her arrest, one of your ministers was in the Magistrate's Hall. He saw the woman in our custody and recognized her as Keriam Moray."
"Ah." Balor sat back in his chair, arms folded. "So where is she now--in the dungeon, I hope."
"In the dungeon at the Magistrate's Hall. We wanted to bring her back here, but she gave us some, uh, difficulty.”
"Very good, lieutenant. I'll see that you and your men are well-rewarded for this day's work."
"Thank you, sire."
Balor made a gesture of dismissal, then turned back to Aradia. "Well, does that make you happy, my dear?" he said after the door closed behind the sentry.
"Does that make me happy?" She clapped her hands again. "Does the sun rise in the west? Has the demoness blessed us?" She dipped her fork in the baked chicken stuffed with almonds, a satisfied smile on her face.
He sat in silent contemplation, his forefinger tracing his scar. "Unfortunately, we must first have a trial."
She slammed her fork on the table. "A trial? Whatever for? She's a witch, causing all those deaths. We know she's guilty."
"Guilty or not--and it's obvious she is--the people will not allow us to execute her without a trial. We may have a revolt otherwise." He sighed. "Say what you want about her, she's still popular with the populace." He sneered. "Or has been popular. If it's proved that Keriam Moray brought the plague to Moytura, the people's affection may well turn to fear and hatred. People are fickle, you know."
"What do you care about a revolt? The army's behind you. You can easily suppress any rebellion."
He drank his elderberry wine and set the silver goblet on the table. "I've heard of grumblings from the people, some complaints about food shortages. Not that I really care if the people starve, but too many unhappy people can cause trouble." He nodded. "She'll have a trial."
"Even though she's brought the black fever to Moytura?"
He shrugged, chewing on a slice of Fat-hen bread. “Many people may not be aware of her predictions, the farmers, for instance. We shall have to prove that she is, indeed, a witch." He threw her a fiendish grin. "Something you should know much about."
She returned his grin, apparently unabashed at his accusation. "So she's found guilty--how should we do away with her?"
He waved a bejeweled hand. "Why ask me? I thought I'd left that sort of thing to you."
"Ah, that's right, Midac. So you did." She remained silent for a moment, pressing her fingers to her cheek. "How about impalement?" Her eyes glinted. "I think that might be fun to watch."
"Whatever you decide."
She sipped her wine, then set the goblet down with a thud, spilling a few drops on the oaken table. "And the druids? Although they are normally harsh, what if they take pity on her and declare her innocent?"
"They won't." He picked at his teeth. "One word from me will assure us a guilty verdict."
"Ah, Midac! You're so good to me!"
Chapter Twenty-four
"Best that I leave now, before winter snows make the trails impassable." Outside the cave he shared with a torathor clan, Roric checked his deerskin bag to ensure he had the necessary supplies--dried meat and baked bread, dried fruit--for his long journey to Elegia. A goatskin water bag held his water supply for his journey northward, to be supplemented by the Deuona River and streams along the way. He glanced in Conneid's direction, not liking the frown that creased the other man's forehead, a frown that reflected the same misgivings he harbored but dared not express. Close by, several children played hide-and-seek among the evergreens, their laughter a sharp contrast to his anxieties. Above him, hundreds--thousands!--of birds darkened the sky, heading south for the winter.
"What makes you think King Barzad will help us?" Conneid looked his way, bridling the sleek riding horse for his friend. "Does he even know of Tencien's assassination?"
Roric checked the dagger in his boot. "As for your first question, two reasons: the mutual friendship we've shared over the years when Tencien ruled. Also, I hope to convince him it would be to Elegia's benefit to eliminate Balor. Our so-called king has made no secret of his desire to conquer the entire continent." He frowned. "And your second question--I doubt very much that he knows of Tencien's assassination."
"In Talmora's name, why not?"
"The trade caravans have encountered much trouble between here and Elegia," he said, relating his conversation with the sword shop proprietor. "How can any news get through if the caravans can't reach other kingdoms?"
Conneid slanted him a worried glance. "What makes you think you'll get through?"
"A chance I have to take. I won't travel the main roads. My route will lengthen the time it takes to reach that country, but in the long run, it will be much safer. If I find a path through the forest--and I feel sure I can--there should be no brigands along the way.” He looked at the sun's position in a cloudless sky, on this cold day with strong northerly winds. “If only I could get word to the princess, tell her everything I did was for the good of the country, and for her." If only I would see her again.
Finished bridling the horse, Conneid smiled. "You can tell her after we've overthrown Balor."
"That's the kind of talk I like to hear!" Roric said, although it would be many moonphases before they could battle Balor, for the harsh winter would intervene.
He led the horse toward a large boulder and mounted, an awkward maneuver without stirrups. "If all goes well, I should be back within two ninedays."
And if all did not go well? What if he never reached the Elegian capital? What if he failed to elude the robbers and brigands who preyed on travelers? Then he would never see his country again, never see Keriam.
* * *
"The druidic tribunal brings the charge of witchcraft against Keriam Moray." Three white-robed druids occupied a long bench in the front of the tribunal room, their faces stern and unyielding. Keriam sat in the docket, several feet to their right. A wooden railing enclosed her, accentuating her imprisonment. She slanted a look at these wise men, resolved to present an image of serenity and innocence. She'd never reveal that her heart pounded against her ribs, nor that perspiration streamed down her back and dampened her palms, despite the courtroom's coolness.
Her gaze shifted around the room, where worn wooden benches extended to the back of the room, every bench filled. Other people stood at the back, beyond the benches. Apparently morbid curiosity about the princess's trial had overcome the people's fear of the plague. No doubt many of these spectators were witnesses for the druids, all of them against her. She caught sight of Radegunda, then quickly looked away, lest she bring trouble on this woman who had offered her help and shelter when she'd needed it. Just the same, her heart leaped with joy, especially when she saw Radegunda's smile of encouragement.
Stringy gray hair fell to the druids' shoulders, their beards trailing to their waists. A long oaken table stretched in front of them, its worn surface covered with feather pens and inkwells, sheets of vellum, and law books.
Stray, unbidden thoughts of Roric, painful in their intensity, taunted Keriam. Bits and snatches of talk she'd overheard among the guards had revealed that he had escaped the palace with Conneid Delbraith. Where was he now? Despite her anxiety about the trial and fear of its outcome, a warm sensation engulfed her, a swath of happiness wrapped around her. She should have accepted long ago that Roric Gamal had served only her. Now he, too, was Balor's enemy. She might never see him again. For only a moment, thoughts of the trial drifted away, replaced by memories of Roric. She saw his smile again, heard his voice, remembered his straight and confident walk. Sighing, she stared around the room again.
The Avadoran flag hung limply in one corner, a statue of Talmora in another. Small windows at two opposite walls permitted scant sunshine, but even that little light exposed the room's shabbiness, its worn and scratched benches. Dark wooden walls added to its somber appearance, and iron lamps dangling from the ceiling cast wavy shadows on the walls.
"Keriam Moray, how do you plead?" Next to Druid Cathbad, Druid Tulchinne dipped a pen in an inkwell and scratched on a vellum sheet.
Her own counsel, Keriam stood and spoke in a clear voice. "Innocent of the charge of witchcraft, Druid Cathbad."
Gasps and murmurs erupted in the tribunal room.
Cathbad shook a brass bell, its loud tinkling silencing the mob. "Let us have quiet here. Keriam Moray is charged with the crime of witchcraft, an evil punishable by death." He waved a bony hand at Keriam. "You may sit."
Keriam sank onto the chair, her hands held loosely in her lap. She allowed herself another glance throughout the room, trying to gauge the people's mood. Dear Talmora, the trial has only begun. She must get through this day, and how many more days after this one? What chance did she have of an innocent verdict? Even if the druids were sympathetic to her--and knowing them, she doubted that very much--would Balor allow the druids to reach a decision on their own? Not likely.
"Let us call the first testifier." Cathbad nodded toward a man in a fine dark blue woolen tunic and black plaid trousers who rose from his place in the front row, soon reaching a bench across the room from Keriam. I remember him, she thought, searching for his name. He had expressed disbelief at her warning of an imminent plague and had advised her to keep quiet about the squirrels. Despite his appearance here, he had appeared kind and understanding at the time. His presence at this trial offered a conundrum that heightened her torment.
Cathbad addressed the man. "Give the tribunal your name."
"Angus Connor." Squirming in his chair, he threw an anxious glance at Keriam. What had prompted him to testify at her trial? Had the druids managed to find all the merchants she'd warned, and had they used coercion against these shopkeepers?
A confused look came over the man's face. "Druid, it's only recently that I learned the accused's identity. How was I to know--?"
"The accused's identity is not important," the head druid declared. "This woman is charged with witchcraft. It doesn't matter if she is the princess or the lowest scullery maid in the kingdom. Now, let us hear your evidence."
