Secrets of the Night Special Edition (81 page)

"When we both wanted to make love?" He raised himself on his elbow, looking down into her eyes, and saw his own need reflected in hers. "And then what, Kerry? You'll be queen some day, and I . . . I intend to return to Mumhain, see my family again, then hire myself out as a mercenary," he said, the last declaration a sudden decision, although he'd considered such employment. He breathed deeply, trying to forget all they’d relinquished, all the joy that would never be theirs to share.

He sat up, then helped raise her, wrapping the bear robe about her shoulders, drawing it close around her body. It took all his willpower to drop his hands when all he wanted was to let his fingers linger on her shoulders and feel her warm breasts, to discover all the beautiful secrets of her body.

"I fear I forgot myself, too." She brushed strands of hair from her face and tucked them behind her ears. A look of resolve captured her face, prompting him to wonder if she felt the same despair as he. “You must miss your family."

"Very much." A painful silence followed, then he rose, drawing his robe about him. "It's getting late. I must arise early tomorrow to set out for Uisnech. Goodnight, Kerry,” he said with a long look her way. Sacred shrine, how could he leave her!

She smiled up at him, a picture he would carry with him on his long trip, one he would remember for the rest of his life. "Goodnight, Roric."

He stooped low at the cave entrance, removing the posts that held the bearskin cover in place and returned them to their former position. After the bearskin wall had closed behind him, Keriam lay back and closed her eyes, reliving every moment of their embrace. She touched her mouth, recalling the feel of his lips on hers and how those lips had aroused her like nothing she’d ever known. She still throbbed from wanting him in her most feminine part, and moisture dampened her dress. To think what they had almost shared, to think they’d come so close to making love! She touched herself there, imagining him inside her, and could hear his voice in her ear, could feel his warm breath on her neck.
Ah, Roric, I want you so much
! Gladly would she give up the kingdom if she could only live as she wanted to, married to the man she loved. But she'd known all along it was a foolish dream. When had a member of the royal family ever put personal happiness ahead of royal duties?

Still, it had been a nice dream, for the very short time it lasted.

* * *

Three days, Roric fumed as he lay face down on an outcrop of cold limestone, surveying the soldiers in the valley below. Three days he'd stayed hidden in the forest, on a hill overlooking the small
village
of
Uisnech
. A sharp rock that jutted up from the ground cut into his thigh, forcing him to change his position. So far, he'd had no luck in recognizing army acquaintances. Even if he did recognize any, could he trust him? Despite his brave words to Kerry, he knew he must tread warily.

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.