Deborah Hale (34 page)

“It’s the Han.” Vang shook his head. “They’ve all gone clean mad! We were in the midst of the battle when they all threw down their weapons and began stripping off their armor—howling like lankwolves at a full moon. Even the death-mages dropped their wands. No one knows what to make of it.”

Rath turned to Maura, torn between contrary urges to laugh and weep. “Do you reckon this could be…”

“…the will of the Giver?” Maura’s lips trembled as they curved into an astonished smile.

“One way to find out.” Warily, Rath touched the tip of his finger to the hilt of his sheathed knife.

“Slag!” He pulled it back again, shaking it to ease the pain. “It feels like a red-hot coal! That must be why Idrygon dropped his dagger.”

Maura rummaged in her sash. “I have some fresh merthorn leaves…”

“It can wait,
aira.
We must act now. Who knows how long this boon of the Giver’s may last?”

Rath ran out onto the heath crying orders at the top of his lungs. “Do not touch anything metal! It will burn you. Archers, take to the field and surround the Han! Do not shoot unless they attack you! Bring rope to bind the prisoners!”

It took a moment for his meaning to sink in, then the men nearest him took up the cry, echoing his orders. Rebel archers burst from the cover of the forest, followed by men toting rope, strips of cloth, even bits of harness to secure their prisoners.

Rath and Maura followed. They had gone only a few steps, when a riderless horse trotted up to them and stopped.

“Look at the way it is staring at the staff.” Maura ran her hand over the beast’s smooth, muscular flank. “Do you reckon it’s safe to ride?”

“Only one way to find out.” Rath climbed into the saddle while the horse stood quiet. He patted it on the neck, then offered his hand to Maura, who scrambled up behind him.

She gazed over the battlefield where many other beasts were running free. “Why do you suppose the metal bits on their harnesses do not burn the horses?”

Rath shook his head. “I cannot guess,
aira.
Magic has always baffled me.”

They rode around the battlefield, where Rath urged his men to show restraint toward the Han. “This is a boon from the Giver! Let us show ourselves worthy of it. Let us strive to live by the Precepts and honor life—even the lives of our enemies.”

He glanced back when Maura tapped him on the shoulder.

“Stop and let me down,” she bid him. “The herbs in my sash will not go far with such a horde, and they may refuse my help, thinking it weakness, but at least I can offer.”

She was right. Most of the Hanish soldiers refused, cursing her, even as they writhed in pain. But shortly after the rebels had secured all their prisoners, a cool shower of rain fell, providing the Han with relief whether they wanted it or not. It also cooled the discarded weapons and armor until they were safe to touch and cart away.

That night, while Aldwood Castle echoed with songs of victory, Rath and Maura slipped away from the celebration to return the Staff of Velorken to its rightful place.

When she slipped down the pillar into his waiting arms, they indulged in a long, tender embrace in which exhaustion and wariness were tempered with profound relief and gratitude.

“What now,
aira
?” she whispered, resting her head against his chest.

Rath leaned back against the pillar. “We must march our prisoners to the coast and put them back on the ships that brought them here.”

“Are you not worried they might return to attack us again?”

“Not right away. I doubt even they are warlike enough to mount an invasion without armor or weapons—which I plan to hurl down the deepest shafts of the Blood Moon Mines.”

“What of the Han left behind in Westborne?”

“Aye, they must be dealt with, too.” Rath looked weary but hopeful. “Without the Giver’s help this time. I pray they will not put up too costly a fight.”

Before she could ask, he added, “Then there is Idrygon. I do not know where he has disappeared to, or when he may return to plague us again. In truth, I am glad to be rid of him. It would tax my poor wisdom to decide a fitting punishment. We owe him a great debt for all he did to prepare for this rebellion, but that does not excuse other things he did…or tried to do.”

Maura sensed there would be many problems in the years ahead to tax Rath’s wisdom and his patience. “Are you sorry you did not make a different wish upon the Staff of Velorken,
aira
?”

Rath shook his head as he lifted his hand to stroke her hair. “I doubted I had it in me to be king. But I reckon as long as I strive to be worthy of a queen like you, I cannot go too far wrong.”

Venard, one year later

T
he Council of Citizens listened with interest as Admiral Gull reported on a new fleet of ships under construction in Duskport.

“If the Imperium is daft enough to send troops against us again, they’ll be in for a nasty surprise. Until then, and hoping that day never comes, our navy will be fitted for merchant duty between the mainland and the islands.”

Gull passed around scrolls with drawings of ship designs and began to speak eagerly of materials, dimensions and rigging.

A warm sense of satisfaction stole over Rath as he listened to Gull and glanced around the chamber at so many familiar and trusted faces. This had been the secret to ease the burden of kingship and temper the unhealthy lure of power—letting his people govern themselves, with him as a kind of overseer and mediator. It was a role he could live with and in which he could find fulfillment.

Not that the past year had been without its challenges. There
were still outlaws who would rather prey on others than earn their bread in the many kinds of lawful work opening up around the kingdom. Though Rath had done his best to encourage reconciliation, there had been reprisals against Hanish folk like Songrid who had chosen to remain in Umbria, as well as
zikary
who had collaborated with the Han. There were still folks who braved the dangers of the abandoned mines to harvest and sell slag. Those who were caught could expect no lenience from the king.

Progress was being made, too, Rath reminded himself. Under Maura’s patronage, healers and teachers were being trained and equipped. The growing and gathering of herbs was being encouraged. Led by Delyon, a revival of the Elderways was gaining momentum. By the time one of his children was ready to take the throne and give him and Maura a well-deserved rest, Rath expected—

Interrupting that thought, a matron of the royal household slipped into the chamber quietly and whispered a few words in Rath’s ear. Immediately he sprang to his feet and followed her out into the gallery.

“Rath!” Delyon slipped out behind them. “Is something wrong? My brother…?”

Rath shook his head. “Still no word of Idrygon. Do not take offense if I say I hope it stays that way. A masterful man, your brother. Not one I ever wanted for an enemy.”

“I know. But if not Idrygon, what summons you away from the Council looking so anxious?”

Rath had kept walking as he talked, now his long stride picked up further speed. “One thing that frets me worse than Idrygon or even the Han—the baby is coming!”

“Is that all?” A look of relief spread over Delyon’s features. “A joyful occasion, to be sure, the birth of an heir.”

“Easy for you to say, my friend.” Rath rubbed the damp palms of his hands on his tunic. “Wait until your turn comes!”

Waving farewell, he hurried off toward the family quarters with less than regal haste.

As he entered the birthing chamber, he heard Sorsha Swinley’s voice, hearty and capable. “It won’t be long now. A few more pangs and I reckon you’ll be ready to squeeze that baby right out.”

“Not long?” Striding to Maura’s side, Rath grasped her hand and cast a reproachful look at Sorsha. “How long has she been laboring? Were you not told to summon me as soon as it started?”

“So you could do what, Highness?” The farm wife gave a vexingly unruffled chuckle. “Hang about and be as much nuisance as most men at a time like this? It has only been a few hours, and for a blessing, it should not go on much longer.”

“Do not blame Sorsha,” Maura bid Rath in a weary whisper. Her hair curled over the pillow in a damp, ruddy tangle. Her face glowed and so did her eyes. How could he deny her anything when she looked so beautiful, ripe with his child?

“I gave orders you were not to be called until my time was near. In this, a queen’s commands overrule even a king’s.”

“But I wanted to be with you.” He knew he could not have done much but worry, yet it seemed wrong that his child’s birth should be so close and him not know.

“You are with me now.” Maura’s features began to tense. “You have a country to run, remember? And I have been in Sorsha’s capable hands.”

Her tired smile twisted into a grimace.

“Are you in much pain?” Rath nudged a moist curl off her brow.

Her lips were clenched too tight to reply, but she gave him her answer by nearly crushing the bones of his hand in her grip. Once the birth pang passed, she sank back onto the pillow and raised his throbbing fingers to her lips.

“When have you known me to let the fear of pain keep me from what I want?” Maura echoed the words she had spoken
to him on the night he’d first claimed her for his own. That had been the happiest day of Rath’s life…until now.

There was every bit as much pain in bearing a baby as there was pleasure in breeding it. The thought ran through Maura’s mind as she clung to Rath’s hand through several more pangs, each longer and harder than the last.

Then Sorsha bid her tuck up her knees and try to push, promising it would not last much longer. It still seemed like a long time to Maura until her baby came squirming and wriggling into the world.

“She looks more like an outlaw than a princess,” Rath teased with a look of proud befuddlement on his face when he held his daughter for the first time.

The tiny creature seized his finger. “She has a grip like one, too!”

“Shall we still call her Abrielle, as we planned?” Maura chuckled. “Or would you prefer Ratha…or Vangette. Something with a fierce, outlaw ring?”

“Don’t listen to your mother,” Rath told the baby as if she could understand him. “Abrielle was a strong woman and clever and brave. It is a fit name for you.”

The infant gave a lusty squall.

“I reckon your wee princess is hungry,” said Sorsha, who was busy getting Maura clean and comfortable after the birth.

“What is that outlaw saying?” asked Maura as Rath settled her daughter in her arms. “About always eating and drinking when you have the chance?”

She lowered her shift and watched with contentment as the child rooted for her bosom and began to suckle.

A great rumble of noise sounded outside the window.

“What is that?” Maura asked.

“Why, the drums and horns announcing the birth of our heir.” Rath pressed a tender kiss to her brow.

How would their subjects feel about the news? Maura won
dered. She and Rath had revealed the truth of her parentage and been assured it would not stand in the way of her being queen. Still…a stubborn qualm of doubt lingered in her own mind.

As suddenly as they had begun, the clamor of the horns and drums stopped. Then, after an instant of silence, wave after wave of joyful cheering greeted the news.

“You hear that?” murmured Rath. “They love you both almost as much as I do.”

Maura let a few tears fall as she heaved a sweet sigh of fulfillment. She thought back to her crowning ceremony and the sense she’d had that day of her and Rath being wed to their subjects. Now she was a mother, too. Not just of little Abrielle, but of a whole kingdom.

And any fear she might have felt at that great responsibility was swept away by a powerful wave of happiness.