"Come on. Stay."
He couldn't refuse her. The look in her eyes....
"Now," she said after he slipped in beside her, "tell me what happened."
"Nothing. Don't worry."
She was persistent. And he didn't need much encouragement. He had to loose the grief sometime.
She cried with him. Then they slept.
And no one disturbed them. Her people were discreet.
It was afternoon when Ragnarson wakened. Fiana immedi-ately asked, "You think it's Shinsan again?"
"Who else? Wish I had a way to hit back. If it weren't for you, and Kavelin, I'd head east right now, and not stop till I had my sword through O Shing's heart." Someday, he thought. Maybe with Varthlokkur's help. The wizard had his own grudge against Shinsan.
He hadn't mentioned Varthlokkur. What he had revealed had troubled Fiana enough. And had done her good. Worrying about Kavelin distracted her. Knowing her condition had drawn Varthlokkur from his eyrie might crack what control she retained.
"Darling, I've got to go downstairs. Ragnar will think I abandoned him. And Wachtel is probably dancing in the hall, trying to decide if he should stick his nose in."
"I know. Come back. Please? As soon as you can?"
"I Will."
And he did, with Varthlokkur and Wachtel. Varthlokkur had conjured sorcerer's devices from Fangdred-and had frightened half the Queen's staff out of Karak Strabger.
What wild rumors were afoot in Baxendala?
Ragnarson kept his promise, but Fiana never knew. Her siege of agony had resumed. She screamed and screamed while Bragi and the doctor held her so she wouldn't hurt herself.
"It's worse this time," said Wachtel. He was a kindly old gentleman who winced with every contraction. He had been Royal Physician for longer than Fiana had been alive, was one of those rare Kaveliners of whom Ragnarson had heard no evil at all. Like Michael Trebilcock, he was unacquainted with fear. Varthlokkur didn't impress him except as a respectable physician.
Wachtel knew the wizard's history. Varthlokkur had learned life-magicks from the Old Man of the Mountain, who was believed to be the master of the field.
"Hold her!" Varthlokkur snapped. "I've got to touch her...."
Bragi pressed down on her shoulders. She tried to bite. Wachtel struggled with her ankles. The wizard laid hands on her belly. "Never seen a woman this pregnant. You're sure it's only eight months?"
"That's what disturbs me," Wachtel said, nodding. His face was taut, tired. "You'd think she was delivering a colt."
"It's overdue. You're positive...? Oh!" He touched hastily, his face smeared with sudden incredulity. "Wachtel. You have anything to quiet her?"
"I didn't want to give her something and be sorry later."
"Give it to her. She'll need it. We'll have to cut. No woman could dilate enough to deliver this."
Wachtel eyed him-then released Fiana's ankles. The wizard assumed his place.
"Over twenty pounds," Varthlokkur murmured.
"Impossible!"
"You know it. I do. But that thing in her womb.... Tell it, Doctor. Marshall?"
"Uhm?"
"I don't know how to tell you.... I'm not sure I understand. This isn't your child."
A sneak attack with a club couldn't have stunned Ragnarson more. "But.... That's impossible. She...."
"Wait! This's the part that's hard to explain."
"Go. I need something."
"Remember the plot hatched by Yo Hsi and the Captal of Savernake? As the Captal confessed it before you executed him?"
The Captal had been a rebel captain during the civil war. The Demon Prince had been his sponsor. Shinsan, to aid him, had put in the legions Ragnarson had defeated here at Baxendala. The plot had opened with the artificial insemination of Fiana, in her sleep, to create a royal heir controllable from Shinsan. To complicate their duplicity, the plotters had substituted another child for the newborn, ensuring a disputed succession.
Yo Hsi had made one grave error. Fiana's child had been a girl.
That had complicated matters for everyone.
Then Yo Hsi and Nu Li Hsi had been destroyed in Castle Fangdred. The plot lay fallow till Yo Hsi's daughter, Mist, resurrected it.
The ultimate failure of the rebel cause had brought the girl home to her mother. Then, during the winter, she had died of a spider bite.
"All right. Get to the point."
"This is the child meant to be born then."
"What? Bullshit. I ain't no doctor. I ain't no wizard. But I know for goddamned sure it don't take no fifteen years...."
"I confess to complete mystification myself. If this's Yo Hsi's get, then, necessarily, Carolan was your daughter."
Fiana's struggles lessened as Wachtel's drug took effect.
"Wizard, I can believe almost anything," Ragnarson said. "But there ain't no way I'll believe a woman could have my baby five years before I met her."
"Doesn't matter what you believe. You'll see when we deliver. Doctor. You agree we'll have to cut?"
"Yes. I've feared it all month. But I put off the decision, just hoping.... It should've been aborted."
"When?"
"I'll have your help?"
"If I can convince the Marshall...."
"Of what?"
"That this isn't your get. And that you should let me have it."
Ragnarson's eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"I know what you're thinking. You don't trust me. I don'tknow why. But try this. We'll deliver the child. If you want to acknowledge it then, that's your choice. If you don't, I get it. Fair enough?"
Why would Varthlokkur lie? he wondered. The man was wiser then he.... "Do it, damnit. Get it over with."
"We'll need some...."
"I've been at birthings before. Nine." Elana had had three children who had died soon after birth. "Wachtel, have what's-her-name get it. Then explain why it's not ready already."
"It is ready. Sir." Wachtel was angry. No one questioned his competence or dedication.
"Good. Get at it." Ragnarson settled on a chest of drawers. "The man will be here watching." He rested his sword across his lap. "He won't be happy if anything goes wrong."
"Lord, I can't promise anything. You know that. The mothers seldom survive the operation...."
"Doctor, I trust you. You do the cutting."
"I plan to. The man's knowledge I respect. I don't know his hand."
Wachtel began. And, despite the drugs, Fiana screamed. They bound her to the bed, and brought soldiers to help hold her, but she thrashed and screamed....
Wachtel and Varthlokkur did everything possible. Ragnar-son could never deny that.
Nothing helped.
Ragnarson held her hand, and wept.
Tears didn't change anything either.
Nor did the most potent of Varthlokkur's life-magicks. "You can't beat the Fates."
"Fates? Damn the Fates! Keep her alive!" Ragnarson seized his sword.
"Sir, you may be Marshall," Wachtel shouted. "You may have the power to slay me. But, by damned, this's my field. Sit down, shut up, and stay the hell out of the way. We're doing everything we can. It's too late for her. We're trying to save the baby."
There was a limit to what Wachtel would tolerate, and the soldiers saw it his way.
Ragnarson's aide, Gjerdrum, and two men got between Ragnarson and the doctor.
While Wachtel operated Varthlokkur began a series of quiet little magicks. He and the doctor finished together. The child,brought forth from a dead woman, floated above the bed in a sphere the wizard had created.
Its eyes were open. It looked back at them with a cruel, knowing expression. Yet it looked like a huge baby. "That's no son of mine," Ragnarson growled sickly. "I told you that," Varthlokkur snapped. "Kill it!"
"No. You said...."
Gjerdrum looked from man to man. Wachtel confirmed Varthlokkur's claim.