Secrets of the Night Special Edition, page 59
He'd bought a spyglass before leaving Moytura, and this he swept across the encampment below, where a detachment of men felled trees while others constructed barracks. Hundreds of brown tents in neat rows covered the ground, with cook fires spaced farther to their right and long trestle tables for eating. Latrine ditches were dug downwind from the camp and away from a stream, the camp's water supply. A cold gust whistled through the trees, bringing the scent of pine, ruffling his long hair. The sorrel foraged among the grasses and nibbled on the pine leaves, the mare's coat already thicker within the last few days. Roric set the spyglass aside and blew on his hands for warmth, then picked up the glass again.
A fading sun lit the sky with an amber glow and revealed the dirt road that wound through the rich farmland, leading to the village. Dark wooded hills rose on all sides, and in the valley below, farms intersected, like patches on a quilt. Far to the west stretched the vast Orn Mountains, their lower levels dotted with evergreens, fluffy white clouds hiding the peaks.
Between clusters of pines, Roric focused the spyglass on a new movement in the camp, a man striding toward his horse. Something familiar about the officer caught his attention: the man's walk, the way he favored his left leg, how he gingerly mounted his bay before he spurred it into a canter. Ah, yes, Fintan Davies, a good, steady man, one he'd known for many years in the past. And one he could trust, of that he felt certain.
Snapping the spyglass shut, Roric tucked it inside his deep cloak pocket and raised himself to his feet, then rushed to untie his horse's reins. He mounted the sorrel and trotted through the thicket of trees, his aim to meet Davies along the dirt road to Uisnech. Among bracken and twisted tree roots, he cantered down the rocky, tree-dotted slope, keeping to the right, soon reaching level ground. Once on the road, he increased his speed, narrowing the distance between them, his cloak billowing behind him.
The clatter of hooves drew Davies's attention. He turned in the saddle, his hand on his sword hilt. A look of alarm flashed across his face.
Roric rode alongside him. "Ho, there, Lieutenant Davies!"
Davies slowed his pace, his jaw dropping in surprise. "Major Gamal, in the name of the Goddess, what are you doing here? And it's Captain Davies now, by the way." He reined in his horse, his hands resting on the pommel, and gave him a close look. "I didn't recognize you at first with that beard. But you are a fugitive!" His eyes narrowed. "What makes you think I won't turn you in, claim my reward?"
Roric's heart beat faster. "Will you?"
Fintan clapped him on the shoulder. "Banish the thought, Roric."
Inwardly, Roric breathed a long sigh of relief. "Heard some of the army was sent north. Wondered why." He relaxed his hold on the reins, not realizing until then how panic had gripped his body.
"Major, you can do better than that. Do you mind if I ask why you want to know?"
"One question for you first," Roric said. "Why are you riding into town?"
"Tired of camp food. Found there's a tavern here that serves excellent meals and has pleasing entertainment most evenings. One night off for me." He jerked his head in the direction of the army camp. "Other officers in charge."
"Fintan, do me a favor, will you. Let's stop here in the woods for awhile and--"
Davies frowned. "Roric, what is it?"
Roric motioned toward a grassy knoll. "I need to speak with you. Let's tie our horses here, talk for a few minutes. Then you can ride into town." He smiled apologetically. "I'll try not to take long."
"Of course." Both men led their horses up the rocky hill and tied the reins to a tree branch.
Indicating the camp in the distance, Roric settled himself on the cold ground, drawing his legs up, resting his hands across his knees. "I need to know the reason for this encampment." The cold wind picked up, rustling dead leaves on the forest floor, and he drew his woolen cloak closer about him.
Fintan paused, his mouth working.
"Come now, Fintan. You can trust me. Why would I betray you to, when I'm a fugitive from Balor?"
"You want to know the excuse for the encampment," Fintan asked, "or the real reason?"
"Both."
"Well, the excuse is that Elegia is preparing for war with Avador--"
"Which we both know is false. So what is the real reason?"
Fintan's gaze shifted again. Switching his attention back to Roric, he lowered his voice to almost a whisper. "The soldiers haven't received leave in moonphases, not allowed to see our families. I have a wife and children, for the Goddess's sake!" He shook his head, as if clearing it of negative thoughts. "And . . ." He hesitated.
"And?" Roric held his breath, then let it out slowly.
Davies spoke quickly, as though relieving himself of a burden. "The king fears a revolt."
Now they were getting somewhere. Roric nodded. "A justified fear, I'm sure."
"Damn right!"
Roric stretched his booted feet out. "So this was his means of getting a couple of battalions out of the way to prevent trouble. Complete frankness now, Fintan. How do you feel about a revolt?"
"You want the truth?" Fintan asked
"That's what I'm here for."
"That’s what I don't understand," Davies said with a cool, appraising look. "Just why are you here?"
"Fintan, you've been frank with me. I'll return the favor. Suppose we had a chance to restore the princess to the throne--"
"The princess? Is she still alive? Haven’t heard anything about her since the Goddess appeared at her execution site. Then Princess Keriam just . . .disappeared.”
"I have reason to believe she’s still alive. But--"
Fintan held up a hand. "Wait. How do you know Princess Keriam still lives?"
Desperate thoughts raced through Roric's head. No one must know of the princess's whereabouts; yet he needed Fintan's help.
"Roric?"
"I've been in contact with the princess."
Fintan's face registered shock. "Then where is she?"
"Fintan, let that remain a secret for now. Yes, I know this isn't fair to you. I'm asking you to confide in me, yet I won't do the same for you. Later, you'll learn all there is to know. But if we want to restore her to the throne, we must first overthrow Balor."
"Which won't be easy."
"Which won't be easy," Roric agreed, "but not impossible, if we have enough of the army behind us. Now, what I want to know is how many men you can depend on if--and this is a big 'if--we rise up against Balor..”
"We have almost two-thousand men here in Uisnech, and--"
"Before you go any farther, explain the organization of these battalions."
Fintan closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. "The fifteenth and sixteenth battalions. Together, we have two-hundred cavalry, four-hundred archers, one-thousand javelin throwers, and not quite three-hundred swordsmen." He paused. "Twenty scouts, not to mention cooks, armorers, farriers, and such."
Roric nodded. "But Balor will still outnumber us about four to one. We can't defeat him in a pitched battle. It will have to be hit and run."
"I'll have to agree," Fintan said, "much as it hurts to say it. I am a military man, used to fighting in the open. So are you. But I fear such tactics won't work against Balor's army." He sighed, looking down at the ground. "So hit and run it is. Anything to defeat the usurper. I hear the soldiers' talk, their complaints about being denied leave."
"And the fiend is spreading lies about imaginary dangers from Elegia?" Roric shifted his position, trying to get comfortable on the cold, rocky ground.
Fintan snorted. "I doubt if any soldier believes that Elegia is preparing for war against Avador. The men hate Balor's guts. So if they know the princess is alive, I'm sure most of my men would rally to her. But how do you propose to instigate this uprising?"
“Fintan, you have just asked the question that has kept my mind occupied for more moonphases than I care to count. But I think I have the beginning of an answer. Of course, we can do nothing until spring. Something else I'll tell you, since we're being frank with each other. We have no assurance of success." He swallowed hard, hoping against hope events would prove him wrong.
"You don’t need to tell me,” Davies said. “But we must try.”
Roric nodded. "The alternative is unthinkable. We can't permit Balor to continue as king. Already, I've seen the hardships in the country, people starving, men out of work. So when warmer weather returns, I'll contact you again."
The sun sank toward the east, shadows dappling the land. The temperature dropped, and Roric drew his cloak closer about him. Soon, darkness fell and the forest became alive with the sounds of night animals, clucking, squawking, and screeching.
Roric's mind worked hard. He understood all the arguments, all the pitfalls they faced. "I'll attempt to persuade the princess to accompany me northward in the spring. She can speak to the officers and men."
Davies jerked with surprise. "She would do that?"
"I'm sure of it," Roric said, well aware that Keriam would take any chance if it would help her gain the throne . . . and help Avador. "Who is the officer in charge at the camp?"
"Colonel Riagan."
Roric thought a moment. "Ah, yes, I remember him. A fine, conscientious officer." And one of the few who saw through Balor. He glanced Fintan's way. "Do you think you could arrange a meeting for me to speak with him tomorrow?"
Davies drew back, giving him a close look. "Don't you think you're taking a big chance?"
"We must take chances, Fintan. We have no choice." Yet he knew Fintan spoke the truth. He'd be lucky if he got out of this conspiracy alive.
* * *
The following morning, Roric sat across a wide oaken desk from Colonel Riagan, in an office that led off from the man's bedchamber. The colonel had a small frame house to himself, which consisted of a sitting room and bedchamber, a small kitchen completing the structure. The office's lone window permitted scant light, and the room's oil lantern created a stuffy, smelly atmosphere.
"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.
