Assassin's Quest

She was alone. She believed I was dead. And she was having the child alone, in that tiny windswept hut somewhere.

I reached for her, crying, Molly, Molly, but she was focused inward on herself now, listening only to her own body. I suddenly knew Verity's frustration those times when he could not make me hear him and most desperately needed to reach me.

The door gusted open suddenly, admitting blowing storm wind into the hut and a blast of cold rain with it. She lifted her eyes, panting, to stare at it. "Burrich?" she called breathlessly. Her voice was full of hope.

Again I felt a wave of astonishment, but it was drowned by her gratitude and relief when his dark face peered suddenly around the door frame. "It's only me, soaked through. I couldn't get you any dried apples, no matter what I offered. The town stores are bare. I hope the flour didn't get wet. I'd have been back sooner, but this storm …" He was coming in as he spoke, a man coming home from town, a carry sack over his shoulder. Water streamed down his face and dripped from his cloak.

"It's time, it's now," Molly told him frantically.

Burrich dropped his sack as he dragged the door shut and latched it. "What?" he asked her as he wiped rain from his eyes and pushed the wet hair back from his face.

"The baby's coming." She sounded oddly calm now.

He looked at her blankly for an instant. Then he spoke firmly. "No. We counted, you counted. It can't be coming now." Abruptly he sounded almost angry, he was so desperate to be right. "Another fifteen days, maybe longer. The midwife, I talked to her today and arranged everything, she said she'd come to see you in a few days …."

His words died away as Molly gripped the table's edge again. Her lips drew back from her teeth as she strained. Burrich stood like a man transfixed. He went as pale as I'd ever seen him. "Shall I go back to the village and get her?" he asked in a small voice.

There was the sound of water pattering on the rough floorboards. After an eternity, Molly caught a breath. "I don't think there's time."

Still he stood as if frozen, his cloak dripping water onto the floor. He came no farther into the room, stood still as if she were an unpredictable animal. "Shouldn't you be lying down?" he asked uncertainly.

"I tried that. It really hurts if I'm lying down and a pain comes. It made me scream."

He was nodding like a puppet. "Then you should stand up, I suppose. Of course." He didn't move.

She looked up at him pleadingly. "It can't be that different," she panted. "From a foal or a calf …"

His eyes went so wide I could see the whites all round them. He shook his head fiercely, mutely.

"But Burrich … there's no one else to help me. And I'm …" Her words were suddenly torn away from her in a sort of cry. She leaned forward on the table, her legs folding so her forehead rested on the edge of it. She made a low sound, full of fear as well as pain.

Her fear broke through to him. He gave his head a tiny quick shake, a man awakening. "No. You're right, it can't be that different. Can't be. I've done this hundreds of times. Just the same, I'm sure of it. All right. Now. Let's see. It's going to be all right, let me just … uh." He tore off his cloak and let it drop to the floor. He hastily pushed his wet hair back from his face, then came to kneel beside her. "I'm going to touch you," he warned her, and I saw her bowed head give a small bob of agreement.

Then his sure hands were on her belly, stroking down gently but firmly as I'd seen him do when a mare was having a bad time and he wished to hasten things for her. "Not long now, not much more," he told her. "It's really dropped." He was suddenly confident, and I felt Molly take heart from his tone. He kept his hands on her as another contraction took her. "That's good, that's right." I'd heard him say those same comforting words a hundred times in the stalls of Buckkeep. Between pains, he steadied her with his hands, talking all the while softly, calling her his good girl, his steady girl, his fine girl that was going to drop a fine baby. I doubt either of them heard the sense of what he said. It was all the tone of his voice. He rose once to get a blanket and folded it on the floor beside him. He said no awkward words as he lifted Molly's nightdress out of the way, but only spoke softly, encouragingly as Molly clenched the table's edge. I could see the ripple of muscle, and then she cried out suddenly and Burrich was saying, "Keep going, keep going, here we are, here we are, keep going, that's fine, and what do we have here, who's this?"