Secrets of the Night Special Edition, page 62
He focused his spyglass again, then swung it all along the hill. Oh, he knew war; he'd fought his share of battles. But he couldn't permit this loss of life, not if he wanted to fight Elegia. In spite of his bold words to Gamal, he knew that country had a large, well-equipped army.
An idea jolted him, a means of ending the battle.
He snapped his fingers at an aide. "Tell the bugler to sound retreat."
The man stared at him. "Retreat, sire? But we are win--"
"A trick, you fool, as old as time!"
Within minutes, the bugle blared retreat, a sound carried to Balor's men on the hill. They paused, looking confused. Roric's men took advantage of their puzzlement, slashing and killing many. Balor's men raced down the hill and were sent to the rear.
"Stay here!" Roric yelled to his men, aware of the ruse. But none heard him. Pounding footfalls on the hard ground shook the earth. His men dashed downhill, screaming war cries, brandishing swords. Sacred shrine, no! Roric pressed his hands to his face and shook his head. After surrendering the high ground, how in the name of the Goddess could they win this day?
The outlanders, too, raced downhill, swinging their clubs in barbarous excitement. Dozens of enemy soldiers drew back in fear, dashing from the battlefield. An enemy officer rushed his horse in front of the deserters to stop them, but they ignored him as they ran for safety. Another blare from the bugle sent Balor's retreating foot soldiers back into the melee.
With little time to spare, Roric hurried to Keriam on the hill. Fighting for breath, his tunic soaked with blood, he handed her the spyglass. He must disregard his despair, must not give up. "Here! Use this to follow the battle. I must join the others."
"Roric, please take care of yourself." Lightly, she touched him on the cheek as she grasped the spyglass. "I don't want to lose you."
He took her hand in his and kissed the palm, smiling in a vain attempt to make light of their dilemma. "You know I'll be careful." He left her then, hastening down the rocky slope, sidestepping rocks and gnarled tree roots.
In the fray again, Roric fought as he'd never fought before. He parried, thrust, and hacked, dispatching several of the enemy. Still they came on, a constant barrage he must face. His arm ached, blood and sweat drenching his tunic. But there was no retreat for him.
* * *
Alone on the hillside, her heart pounding with fear for her men, Keriam raised the spyglass to watch the battle on the plain below. Her hands shook, and she stopped to take a deep breath, then raised the glass again. Hundreds, thousands! of men fought with desperation, swords flashing, headless bodies toppling to the ground. Even with the outlanders, Roric's men were terribly outnumbered, fighting a losing battle. Balor's cavalry, too, had joined in the struggle, the soldiers raised in the stirrups, slashing with deadly effect. Goddess, how can we win?
Ravens lit on tree branches around Keriam, at first a few score, then more than a hundred, and soon, hundreds more. Ravens everywhere darkened tree branches, their beady eyes fixed on her.
What was their purpose here? Were they visiting her, as they had in the past? Or did they have a helpful motive? Optimism burst within her, but doubt, too. Looking at all the birds, she pointed to the battlefield, then at her forehead. She shook her head, her intention to advise them not to attack her men. The birds sat silent and motionless, as if absorbing her information. Were they here only to watch? Would they not help her? About to give up hope, she saw them lift off the tree limbs, then fly toward the battlefield. Her breath caught; she prayed that they understood her.
* * *
A noisy flapping of wings and a darkening of the sky jerked Roric's attention from the scene of carnage. Hundreds of birds flew overhead, then plunged downward. His stomach clenched. Talmora's bones! Why were they here? As if by augury, they dived at Balor's men, striking their heads, pecking eyes out. Screams and cries rent the air, louder than ever. Enemy soldiers pressed their hands to their eyes. Blackbirds aimed at throats, tearing at jugular veins. For the enemy, minutes seemed like hours. Black feathers floated through the air and littered the ground. Then, as though by signal, the birds flew off again with a clamorous flapping of wings. Heads raised, Balor's men followed their movement, crying with relief.
The fighting resumed with a clashing of shields and swords, the screams, cries, and moans of battle. Wounded horses reared and screamed, falling among the warriors, a death rattle in their throats. Soon the ground became wet and slippery with blood. Everywhere, the dead lay three deep, a jumble of missing limbs and headless bodies.
* * *
Next to a hemlock, Keriam edged closer to the battlefield, spyglass raised to her eyes. Her heart thudded, her hands clammy with sweat.
Out of nowhere, ghostly warriors materialized on the rocky hillside, hiding behind trees. To her right, Keriam caught a movement. Panic flared inside her, quickly doused when she saw it was yet another spirit. Clutching phantom swords and javelins, other ghosts joined the first group, soon dotting the hillside. Why were they here? And where was--
A man in a long black robe approached.
"King Malachy!" She pressed her hand to her heart, surprised to see him, wondering why his force had gathered here.
He inclined his head. "Always at your service, princess, especially this day." He indicated the warriors behind him. "It occurred to me that we could help you."
How could they help? These ghostly warriors could do no harm.
King Malachy pointed toward the battlefield. "Confusion, madam! We can spread such confusion among Balor's men, they won't know whom they are fighting."
"Ah, yes, I see. But King Malachy, your men must remember whom they are fighting. My soldiers wear a black headband."
"Yes." Malachy addressed the men on the hill, his words in a language from ages past. Faces set, they nodded in unison. Then Malachy motioned to these spirit warriors. "Follow me."
Silently, they dashed down the hillside, swords and javelins raised high. Within moments, they appeared on the plain, swords poised to strike, shields held close to their chests. Phantom javelins whizzed at the enemy. Hacking and slashing at Balor's men, the warriors did no harm but caused incredible bewilderment.
"Who are these men?" a warrior cried.
"Fool! Can't you see they're ghosts?"
"Ghosts! But they are attacking only our men, not the other side!"
Crying in terror, dozens more of Balor's men rushed from the field.
At first, Roric's men wrenched back in fright, but upon seeing the spirits attack none but Balor's men, they rejoined the fray with fresh vigor. More enemy fell, dead and wounded. The usurper king's soldiers stepped on top of their fallen comrades. Puzzlement hindered their movements, their strikes directed at apparitions.
Then the ghostly warriors disappeared as abruptly as they'd arrived, returning to Otherwhere.
Balor's men watched their departure with relief, a relief that was short-lived. The ravens returned.
"No! Not again!"
Warriors threw their javelins at the birds; many swung their swords wildly, all of them missing their target.
“Goddess, save me, save me!” Screaming soldiers raced from the field to hide behind trees in the meadow. Others remained, covering their eyes, clutching their throats. Striking the fighters from all directions, the birds stayed longer this time. They whirled and dipped and dived, aiming for eyes and throats, pecking at arms and legs. After endless minutes, they flew off again, leaving dead and sightless soldiers behind. Screams and cries rent the air, a relentless assault that pierced Keriam’s eardrums.
She caught Balor in the spyglass. The fiend rode everywhere, dashing from one spot to another, his sword raised in the air, yelling encouragement and threats to his men. The fighting continued, the odds much better for her army now. Injured from both sides screamed and cried, begging for help. Wounded and dying horses cried in agony, blood spurting from throats, steaming entrails pouring from their stomachs.
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.
