Before The Mask Read Free Page A

scuttled deeper into the cave, where its cry echoed and redoubled
     back.
    “... and you have all but killed her! The child was not ready. It is turned about wrong
     and cannot come forth!”
    He startled. It was L'Indasha Yman shouting in his ear. | How long had she been there
     railing at him some gibberish about the woman, about the child she was bearing? Daeghrefn
     closed his ears to the wailing, to the druidess's words. He turned toward the mouth of the
     cave, put his back to his son and the two women, and reckoned out an old impartial
     calendar.
    Too soon. The wretch had said too soon. Yes, it was. He had found her out much too soon.
     She had thought to fool
    him, but “I need your help!” the druidess shouted, penetrating his icy wall of silence,
     her voice colder still. “Ask your gods,” Daeghrefn insisted, his back to her.
    The druidess sighed. Daeghrefn seated himself at the cave's entrance. Silent, unmoved by
     her incessant pleas for help in the lifting and pushing, by the rustle and clamor of
     Abelaard's clumsy assistance, the knight drew his sword and stared into the wheeling snow.
     The moonlight broke fitfully through the mountainous clouds, silver on red, and for a
     moment, he thought he saw the strange black magelight of Nuitari.
    An hour passed, or more.
    Finally the cry of the infant broke in the stormy air. It was muted, desperate, as though
     the newborn child had fallen into the depths of the cave.
    “You have a son,” the haggard druidess announced coldly, holding a swaddled thing toward
     the fire for warmth.
    “I have a son?” Daeghrefn replied sardonically. “That is no news. He followed me to this
     cavern. He served you bravely, where even a midwife would have faltered.”
    There was a long silence. “What will you name this child?” the druidess asked.
    Daeghrefn stared more deeply, more intently, into the storm. Name the child? He turned the
     sword over in his palm. Why should he even keep it, let alone name it?
    Triumphant, exhausted, Abelaard took the baby from L'Indasha and presented it to
     Daeghrefn. “He's beautiful, don't you think, Father? What will you call him?”
    When he heard the boy's voice, Daeghrefn sheathed the sword. Abelaard was here. He could
     not kill the baby. But he would find a way to leave it with this sorceressgood payment for
     her trouble, he mused. So now was the time for omens, for auguries of his own, for the
     naming was Daeghrefn's by the Measure, no matter who was the
    child's father. Its mother was, still and all, his wife. And, more importantly, Abelaard's
     mother. Daeghrefn set down the sword and steepled his hands, still stiff and red from the
     cold.
    Yes, now was the time for names. A time to answer his wife in kind for her cruelty and
     betrayals. He thought of ice, of loneliness, of forbidding passage....
    Winterheart? Hiddukel? He smiled spitefully at the second of the names. God of injustice.
     The broken balance.
    But, no. There was a certain evil grandeur to the names of the dark gods. He would confer
     no grandeur on this child.
    As if it had been summoned, a large tomcat, lean and ragged, slinked out of the inclement
     darkness, snow spangling its half-frozen fur. Daeghrefn regarded the creature in horrified
     fascination. This is the omen, he thought. The name is about to come to me. The cat
     carried something large and limp in its moutha dripping entanglement of matted fur and
     dirt and torn flesh.
    A winter kill. A rat or a mole, perhaps. Something tunneling blindly beneath the snow,
     scratched from the hard earth, chittering and scrabbling in its dark nest.
    Daeghrefn closed his eyes, warmed by his bloody imaginings. “Verminaard,” he announced
     proudly. “The child's name is Verminaard. For he is vermin, dwelling in darkness and filth
     like his damned father.”
    L'Indasha's eyes widened in amazement. Quietly she mpved to Abelaard's side. A shriek from
     Daeghrefn's wife pierced