Daughter of Prophecy
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D
AUGHTER OF
P
ROPHECY
by Miles Owens
Published by Realms
A Strang Company
600 Rinehart Road
Lake Mary, Florida 32746
www.realmsfiction.com
This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any meansâelectronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwiseâwithout prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Cover design by
studiogearbox.com
Cover illustration by Cliff Nielsen
Map design by
studiogearbox.com
Copyright © 2005 by Miles Owens
All rights reserved
Published in association with the literary agency of Janet Kobobel Grant, Books & Such, 4788 Carissa Ave., Santa Rosa, CA 95405.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Owens, Miles.
  Daughter of prophecy / Miles Owens.
  p. cm.
  ISBN 1-59185-799-6 (pbk.)
  I. Title.
  PS3615.W475D38 2005
  813'.6âdc22
2005014488
First Edition
05 06 07 08 09 â 987654321
Printed in the United States of America
To Dr. Gwen Faulkner, 1947â1999. Glorious Christian lady, English teacher, drama director, and my first reader. Red-penciled margin notes and writing school were in session. Our last time together that poignant night less than a week before she succumbed to breast cancer, she rose in her bed and gripped my hands. “My greatest regret,” she whispered as we both cried, “is that I never wrote my novel. Finish yours.”
Here 'tis, dear lady. I believe you would have liked it.
A
CKNOWLEDGMENTS
Grateful thanks to:
Crystal Miller, Wendy Lawton, and Audrey Dorsch, who took over the critiquing and editing chores afterwards. Thank you so much.
Len Goss, cherished friend and writing mentor. Bless you, dear brother. I owe you more than I can repay.
All my hometown encouragers for their unflagging support and prayers, especially: David and Debra Adams, Gary and Joan Brett, Rev. Eddie and Beth Blalock, Chet and Terry Thompson, Scott Barton, Lee McKinney.
Janet Grant, my agent. May our “marriage” continue to be a blessing.
Jeff Gerke, senior editor at Realms, who would not let
Daughter of Prophecy
be anything less that what it is now.
I saved the most important for last: Patti, my wife and love of my life. Her belief never wavered. I drew strength from that. Always will.
C
AST OF
C
HARACTERS
T
HE
R
OGOTHS OF
C
LAN
D
INARI
Lord Tellan:
kinsmen lord of the Rogoth family in the Dinari clan
Rhiannon:
Tellan's daughter
Lady Mererid:
Tellan's wife
Creag:
Tellan's elder son
Phelan:
Tellan's younger son
Girard:
Tellan's loreteller and advisor
Llyr:
Tellan's rhyfelwr (champion) and advisor
Serous:
head herdsman
Lakenna:
Rhiannon's tutor; member of the Albane sect
Branor:
High Lord Keeper and advisor to Lord Tellan
O
THER
I
MPORTANT
C
HARACTERS
Maolmin:
High Lord of the Dinari clan; excellent swordsman
Abel:
Maolmin's loreteller
Breanna
: Abel's daughter
Gillaon
: kinsmen lord of the Tarenester family in the Arshessa clan
Harred
: Gillaon's rhyfelwr (champion); master swordsman
Elmar
: Harred's brother-in-law
Ryce Pleoh
: wool merchant from the Sabinis clan
King Balder
: the current king
Queen Cullia
: the current queen
Prince Larien
: Balder and Cullia's son; the only heir
Lady Ouveau
: advisor to Queen Cullia
Lady Zoe:
beautiful pagan woman from the Isle of Costos
Larbow
: raider from the Rosada tribes; leader of his family group
CONTENTS
“N
OW YOU CAN
push, m'lady,” Drysi the midwife announced in weary triumph. “The babe was coming sideways, but I've turned it. Push, and soon this one will be at your breast for its first meal.”
Sweat plastered Lady Eyslk Rogoth's hair to her scalp, turning the red tresses a muddy brown. Her gown was drenched and clung to her bulging belly. She took several quick breaths around a rope of fabric clenched between her teeth, then bore down. The lines around her mouth deepened; her neck muscles bulged. A low groan accompanied the effort for several heartbeats. Then with a gasp the young woman fell back against the pillows.
The bedroom was sparsely furnished. Flanking Lady Eyslk's canopied bed were two red oak wardrobes, sturdy and well made. Opposite the bed stood a washstand and a dresser with a hand mirror hanging from a peg. Several chests lined the far wall. Above them hung a tapestry with the Rogoth banner: a white ram with triple spiral horns.
Upon arriving, Drysi had ordered the bedroom's two wooden shutters opened in hope of a breeze to cut the heat of the lanterns placed around the bed. The damp night air remained still. The only movement through the windows was moths. Their weaving about the lights threw darting shadows across the tapestries on the far wall. Two women, an elderly servant and the wife of the Rogoth loreteller, attended their lady, one standing on either side of the bed.
Drysi wiped the sweat from her brow. “Again. Push.”
Lady Eyslk's throaty groan lasted several heartbeats before it too ended in a gasp.
The midwife frowned as a flow of dark blood began leaking out between the white legs. She glanced up at the noble lady's face. It was paleâmuch too pale. “Bring me my bag,” Drysi snapped. “Hurry!”
The servant scurried over with the worn leather bag. Drysi quickly wiped the blood and fetal fluids from her hands, then rummaged in the bag's depths for a small pouch tied with a rawhide string.
“Put a pinch of this powder in a mug of hot water and make the lady drink itâall of it!” She brought out her forceps. They were constructed of iron strips with the spoon-like ends fitted with leather covers. After coating the outside of the leather with an herbal salve, she deftly slipped them into the birth canal and maneuvered the ends on either side of the baby's head.
Lady Eyslk lifted her lips from the mug and moaned. It was early for such a measure, but the amount of blood told Drysi to get this babe out now.
Lady Eyslk had been in labor many turns of the glass before Lord Tellan and his warriors had tracked Drysi down on the road as she returned from attending another birth. Lord Tellan himself had lifted her from the seat of her small two-wheeled cart and placed her in his open carriage. It had been a wild, careening ride back, with Tellan's face a stone mask as he kept the horses at a killing pace.
Drysi had been surprised to see a group of monks kneeling in the main room of the Rogoth hlaford when Tellan hurried her straight to Lady Eyslk's room. One looked up as they hurried by and said, “May the Eternal guide your efforts.”
She hoped the monks were still praying. Lady Eyslk and the babe were going to need all the help they could get.
“Has she drunk all of the mug?”
“Only halfâ”
“That's enough. Give her something to bite on.”
The servant placed the cloth rope back into Lady Eyslk's mouth.
“Hold her arms and shoulders. Keep her steady.”
Drysi waited as the servant took one arm. The wife of the Rogoth loreteller gripped the other. She was heavy-chested with wide hips and could drop babies as easily as making water. So unlike Lady Eyslk's long, slender build. Drysi and the loreteller's wife glanced at each other. The worry in the other's eyes mirrored Drysi's own.
The forceps were in place. Blood continued to pour out, creating a growing red pool on the sheets. It had to be now.
Drysi gripped the handles and braced herself. “Hear me, m'lady! You push with everything you have. For the little one's life, push!”
Lady Eyslk's grunt turned into a full-throated wail as her effort and Drysi's brought the crown of the head into view.
“Again! For both of your lives,
push!
”
Eyslk's scream filled the room as the entire head emerged. Drysi threw the forceps down, reached in, and helped rotate the tiny shoulders. The head was covered with a thick mat of hair; skin color was the normal whitish blue. The babe twisted its head and blinked. Good enough.
“Now, one last time. Give me one more long, hard push.”
The babeâa girlâcame into the world. Drysi placed her on Eyslk's stomach, then raced to stop the hemorrhaging. “Give Lady Eyslk the rest of that mug, then another. If she throws it up, give her more until she keeps it down!”
Reaching into her bag again, she took out several hand-sized pieces of brown moss. They had been steeped in broth concocted from a type of bread mold, then air-dried. She placed two inside the gaping birth canal. That helped. She placed another and watched the bleeding slow to a trickle.
