Ravenwild: Book 01 - Ravenwild (47 page)

But then, they had seen Forrester’s materialize out of nowhere, so the fact that their dots were missing might not mean anything. But it might mean everything.

She decided suddenly to check on Ryan. It was up to him to help her get through this. He couldn’t die on her now. She was greatly relieved that his breathing was not labored, as before, and now seemed normal, slow and regular with an occasional deep sigh. His smile had never faded since she had forced him to drink the cider. She whispered forcefully, “Don’t you die on me Ryan Brahm, don’t you even
think
about it.”

She noticed the Kaylor family all at the door, so she waved them in. “He looks fine,” said Sarah. “Out with all of you now. I am going to bathe him and clean him, head to toe. Alexander, I will expect you to have his clothes scrubbed clean, boots and all, and back to me in twenty minutes. Gracie, you will sleep. Now. Then it will be a good scrubbing for you as well. Matthew, you go dispose of those Gnome fellows. Please be respectful of the dead. Shannon, the goats need tending. You know what to do.”

Part Two

Chapter 17

It was all happening way too fast. The birth of a child was always like that even under normal circumstances. But when you were running a country, and had just survived perhaps the bloodiest coup attempt in the history of your nation, not to mention that the Trolls had completely overrun the land, and you were negotiating the terms of your country’s surrender … well, those things did tend to interfere with all of the arrangements that had to be made within the family, to get everybody taken care of, so that mother could push this baby out.

“A son,” he begged of the Old One. “Let it be a son.” He felt guilty as soon as he had the thought because, in truth, all he wanted was a healthy child, but as the leader of the Gnome nation, he knew that a son was what the realm needed. He had already fathered four daughters, all healthy, all happy enough, but he wasn’t getting any younger, and the nation-state needed an heir to the throne. Failure to give them one would mean that the Trolls would take over the political machine of Vultura in its entirety, and all hope of maintaining even a shred of sovereignty would be lost forever. No, a son it must be.

The entrance of Norma Webb, his wife’s midwife, interrupted his mental meanderings. “Your Excellency.” She bowed low at the waist and kissed the Emperor’s ring. “It is time, My Lord. We have summoned the doctor. The child has not turned. She will want you there in case … ” Her voice trailed off, the unfinished thought too painful to put to words.

He knew what she meant. In case the doctor had to sacrifice the mother to save the child. The Gnome pelvis would never permit the normal delivery of a breech birth, and in the event that the doctor was not successful in getting the baby turned before the onset of hard labor, the only way to save the child would be to end the life of the mother and quickly remove the child. Or sacrifice the child to save the Queen.

“Do we have plenty of Sikka root?” he whispered.

“Already taken care of, My Lord,” she said. “More than enough. But let’s think positive. This doctor is the best in the land at the maneuvers necessary to turn the child. Come now, let us go.”

He rubbed his head furiously, seemingly to try and rub away the anxiety that ate at him like a ravenous dog.

“Now, My Lord,” she declared matter-of-factly.

On the way to the delivery suite he prayed fervently that the doctor might prevail in his efforts. Such was the passion in his silent pleadings that for one brief moment he swore he could touch the face of the Old One.

They entered the birthing room. The doctor was already there. By the looks on the faces of the several assistants, it was not going well. His wife, Mexyl Wyn

Night, was clearly in agony. Her face was wet with sweat, and she stifled a scream as the doctor rolled her roughly on her side and tried his best to turn the baby upside right by forcefully wrenching on her abdomen.

“She’s bleeding!” cried one of the attendants.

Hanz Oratorius Night stepped to his wife’s side and took her by the hand. “My darling,” he moaned. “I am here.” It was all he could manage as the realization of what must now happen set in.

She looked up at him and giant tears slid down her cheeks. “It is all right, My Lord.” she said, “We have had a fine life together. Many good years … ”

Now she screamed in earnest as the doctor tried one last vicious yank to try and right the position of the baby.

“She’s showing,” declared Norma, spreading Mexyl’s legs gently to afford the look she needed. “It’s a boy!” came the shout.

The doctor looked his Emperor in the eye. Hanz simply nodded to him. He nodded in turn to Norma.

“Drink this, my Lady,” she said to Mexyl. “It will take away all the pain.”

Mexyl pushed the cup back and took both of her husband’s hands in hers, looking him straight in the eye. “There is so much I would say … ”

He squeezed her hands hard. “I know,” he sobbed quietly. “I know.”

“I love you, my darling. I will be there waiting when you pass.”

She took the cup and drank deeply. She looked the doctor hard in the eye and gave her last command as the Emperor’s wife. “
Now give His Excellency a healthy son!”
The Sikka root acted almost instantaneously, and the doctor said gently, “Your Excellency, please leave us. You don’t want to watch this.”

The Emperor did as he was told, collapsing on a bench outside the delivery suite. In a few moments he heard the sound of a healthy newborn Gnome screaming his way into the world. How he wished his wife could have heard that joyous sound … He buried his face in his hands as grief overwhelmed him.

“It is time, My Lord,” said Monslov, one of the Emperor’s personal aides. “Let us get this done and over with.”

Hanz Night arose from his desk with the heaviest heart. That was the second time he had heard those words today. Having lost his wife that same morning, he now had to face the onerous chore of officially surrendering Vultura to Leopold Malance Venomisis, leader of the Troll nation. Malance had not even done them the honor of physically attending this loathsome task. Instead, he had sent a low-level Minister of Affairs, a snake of a Troll named Loquitar Coral. Small by Troll standards, he took advantage of every possible situation to demonstrate his superior station by inflicting suffering on his subordinates. He wielded the tools of pain with the skill of an artisan and his brushes, and now that those of lesser station included every Gnome in the realm, Hanz Night fully expected that more than one

Gnome would die a horrible death before this day was done.

“It is indeed time, Your Majesty,” said Saviar Murlis, his second in command. “Loquitar Coral awaits. We would do well to not keep him waiting. He is not a patient Troll.

“He has sent word of his sorrow at your wife’s passing by a communiqué that was delivered by a low-level aide-de-camp not an hour ago. Even that is a slap in our collective face.”

“He declined to send the usual gifts. I am terribly sorry, Your Highness. I cannot begin to imagine your grief.” He put his hands to his face to help him deal with his own sorrow.

Everybody in the land had worshiped this woman. She had been exceedingly bright. Most said it was she that had sniffed out every single assassination attempt on her husband over the many years of his reign. And as bright as she was, she was equally kind, regularly pitching right in to help with the bread kitchens for the needy. Nobody in the land had ever gone to bed hungry, thanks to her efforts. Her very
first
rule: Everybody gets fed. But there had been so much more.

Building was proceeding beautifully everywhere with the infrastructure that had blossomed under her leadership. Roads, roads, and more roads was her thought. The easier her Gnomes could move about the land, the better for all. Goods moved quickly. Vegetables did not rot in the cart any more. Houses were going up all around the major cities. Land was being developed.

Everyone was working hard, and everyone had more time to enjoy the fruits of their labors. Large crowds cheered the young Gnomes on as they competed in their athletic events. These had been the greatest of times in their nation’s history.

Now, the Trolls would decide what their labors would be. Nothing would be the same. They were entering the dark time.

They arrived at the waiting-room door of Loquitar Coral.

Saviar Murlis knocked.

“Identify yourselves,” came the cry from inside.

“It is the Emperor, Hanz Oratorius Night, and his Chief Advisor.”

There was a prolonged wait as Loquitar Coral took advantage of as simple a fact as a closed door to hammer home the message that this was
their
castle now; that the Gnomes would bow to a new rule.

“Permission to enter,” came the call, and the door swung open.

They entered the reception room, a long affair with a massive table and seating for forty or so. At the far end was a huge fireplace capable of holding three whole plains-deer. Hanz Night noticed immediately that Loquitar Coral now sat on what had been the Gnome Emperor’s throne, which the Troll had ordered removed from the throne room to this less formal setting. It was a magnificent structure, carved from a solid piece of oak from one of the largest trees in the Glacier Forest. The edges were adorned with hundreds of gems that sparkled furiously by the firelight. To celebrate a birthday many years ago, his wonderful wife had arranged that the chair be permanently mounted in the throne room. To remove it, Loquitar Coral had ordered it smashed free of its mounts, and it now tilted crazily on three legs. To see his beautiful gift, a physical testimony to the memory of his wife, demolished in such a wanton fashion, caused him to wince slightly.

Loquitar picked right up on this and said, “We had a little trouble getting this stupid piece of junk unseated and moved. I think we should burn it. Imagine. A throne made from wood. An Emperor should sit on gold, don’t you think?” He stood. “Yes,” he said, motioning casually with his hand towards the destroyed throne, “Have them burn it. Yes, to the fireplace with it.”

Half a dozen Gnomes raced forward to comply. All turned their faces away from Hanz Night as they bent to their labors. In a few minutes it was burning, as the rest of the Vulturan government officials filed into the reception room and milled about.