ravine.
Blayne had nervously watched the water level increase during the course of the rainy afternoon. In places where the ravine walls closed in, there was no dry land between the intermittent streams and the rock wall, and at times the horse surged through water up to its knees, driving forward until the passage widened and it could again scramble up onto what passed for dry land.
They were hampered by visibility and fatigue and couldn’t maintain their pace after dark. Blayne looked around for a place to stop for the night. But the ground was steeply sloping there and everywhere was exposed to harsh elements. He remembered the presence of a rocky overhang, which would provide minimal shelter, a mile or two farther on, and he resolved to keep going. How different it was from the last time he was on that path. Then he had been on a carefree hunting adventure; at that moment he was fleeing for his life.
It was his father who had first brought him to those mountains. There, Blayne had learned to shoot a bow and arrow. The deadfalls of the forests had burned in their campfires, and Lord Kerrigan had regaled his only son with tales of Vingaard Keep, of the heroes of the past, the War of the Lance, and the battles against minions of evil. Always that great keep had awaited their return, secure on the plains, master of the great, placid river.
His thoughts wandered until a surge of white water, swollen by the heavy rain, rushed around a corner of the ravine before him. The sudden deluge overflowed the banks, and a wave higher than his head came at him so fast that he had bare seconds to react. The horse reared in terror, hooves flailing, and Blayne slid from the saddle.
Landing on his feet, he sprang toward the ravine wall, scrambling desperately. His fingers clutched a gnarl of roots, his boots pounded and kicked, pushing up on rock edges. The water struck him with impossible force, and he was slammed sideways, hearing frantic whinnies as the flood swept his steadfast horse away.
But a thick root dangled just above him, and he seized it with one hand, then both. It was solidly anchored. He clung to the root as the water tugged at his legs, hungrily seeking to bear him away. Gradually he felt the strength of the torrent wane, the water receding until it dropped to his waist then slowly down the length of his legs. Only then did he try to move, desperately hauling himself up from the water onto the steep side of the ravine.
His horse was gone, surely dead. He had no food, no home, very little hope. How long he stayed there, he had no idea, but when he awoke, he was surrounded by pitch darkness and frozen to the bone.
Selinda materialized within her rooms, exhausted and disheartened and full of fear. Those emotions were exacerbated when she saw the outer door to her chambers was open, and several of the emperor’s men-at-arms were searching through the place. One had a wardrobe open and was pawing through her dresses, ignoring the fabulous raiment in a desperate rummaging for… something. Another was on his knees, peering under her bed.
In a flash she realized they had discovered her absence.
“What in the name of the Oath and Measure do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, forcing into her voice every ounce of authority she could muster.
“My lady!” cried the kneeling guard. “Thank Kiri-Jolith you’re safe!”
“Why shouldn’t I be safe?” she demanded. “Safe, that is, except from the presence of rude men who burst into my chambers without an invitation. I repeat, what are you doing?”
The guard in the wardrobe had withdrawn with as much dignity as he could demonstrate, closing the door behind himself and bowing to Selinda. “Begging your ladyship’s pardon, but we came through the door when you didn’t respond to our knocks-over the span of hours, of course! And when we came in, we didn’t see you-”
He blinked and scratched his head. “That is, where were you, my lady?”
“I should think the wife of the emperor is entitled to a few moments of privacy,” she said icily. “It is not necessary that you know everything about my room! Now, leave me, please. At once!”
The two men exchanged glances but wasted no time in retreating, whispering to their companions in the outer hall and bowing and scraping as they pulled the door shut behind themselves.
Only then did Selinda allow herself to breathe easier. Realizing she was trembling, that her knees seemed on the verge of buckling, she dropped into a chair and tried to collect herself.
Collect herself for what? The question rose up and challenged her almost as soon as her breathing returned to normal.
What in the world was she going to do?
Jaymes drove the Freemen hard, riding past dark every night, rising before dawn and returning to the mountain road early each morning. His thoughts were focused on his wife: she would understand what had transpired; she would see the reason he had needed to show his mastery of the nation! He didn’t stop to think about the matter rationally but just rode forward, thinking of Selinda and of the miracle of the child growing within her.
Anxious to keep moving, the column rode right past the High Clerist’s Tower, without the emperor even thinking to stop and pay his respects to General Markus. That garrison commander watched from the High Lookout in some amazement as his lord and the escort of his loyal riders passed the crest of the pass and started on the long, downhill course to the great city by the sea.
So hard and fast did they ride that on the afternoon of the fifth day, Palanthas was in their sights. Only as they drew close to the city gate did the emperor allow the column to slow. He was, after all, returning from a victorious campaign, and he would enter his capital with all the pomp and ceremony his station warranted.
So he slowed the procession to a proper march, and he and his men smartly returned the salutes offered by the guards at the gates. Still, it was all he could do to hold back his horse, to refrain from galloping to his palace on the great square, from bounding up the steps, racing up the stairway to the room where she was waiting for him. He felt a sudden flush of regret at locking his wife up in her rooms. He would apologize and explain; she would understand!
Riding through the city gate, he threw back his cloak and sat astride his saddle with his head held high. He glanced up at the tower of his palace, rising into view from barely a mile away.
He took scant notice of the citizens of his city, although the Freemen muttered among themselves that there seemed to be an unusually small and unenthusiastic turnout for the emperor’s return. The great leader had eyes only for his palace, and when at last he rode through the gates, Jaymes dismounted quickly, strode through the front doors, and started across the hall.
It was there that he was met by his old sergeant Samuel, a garrison commander who had experienced all that the Age of Mortals had delivered unto Krynn. Something in the grizzled veteran’s eyes gave the emperor pause, and he halted.
“What is it, Sam?” he asked, fighting to remain calm. “Is my wife unwell?”
“Er, no, Excellency. She seems fine. It’s just that… well…”
The old soldier was uncharacteristically hesitant, and Jaymes had no patience for delay. “What is it? Spit it out, man!”
“Well, it happened about six days ago. We went to check on her, as we did nice and regular, just like you ordered.”
“Was it the baby? Is something wrong?”
“No, well, I don’t know. You see, she was gone when we looked in on her. And then she came back-just like magic, my lord.”
Selinda watched Jaymes lead the Freemen back into the city. The emperor’s column of a hundred knights came down the road from the High Clerist’s Pass. They were trailed by a heavy wagon, and palace heralds shouted the news that the carriage bore the overdue taxes owned by Vingaard Keep to the national treasury.
Selinda noticed that the crowds of Palanthians-usually festive on such occasions-seemed to avoid the heralds. There were very few people lining the streets as Jaymes made his way to the palace, and those who were out seemed to be watching in sullen silence. The attack on Vingaard had certainly not been popular with the people of Palanthas.
Indifferent to his people, the emperor sat astride his horse, looking neither right nor left, Selinda noted. He accepted the effusive praise of the palace garrison with a casual salute as he rode through the gate. Stablemen vied to take his horse, but he ignored them as he entered the keep, vanishing from her sight.
Not long after, he was knocking forcefully at her door.
“Enter,” she replied.
He came in, looking to her eyes like a stranger, though he was still the same man. Jaymes Markham… an
