Final Kingdom (2 page)

Reb said shortly, “Well, all right then—but I think it's plumb foolish.”

Ten minutes later they had broken camp and were on the road again. A light drizzle began and settled the dust. The ground underfoot became somewhat muddy, but Josh was relieved not to be breathing yellow powder.

When they stopped for a midmorning break, he went to sit by himself under a spreading tree at the roadside.

Sarah came over and sat beside him. “Don't be angry at Reb. He's just wound up tight—like all of us.”

“I know it,” Josh said immediately. He was a gentle-spirited boy, not at all certain of his abilities. He often felt that someone else—someone such as Reb, who was the best fighter—should be the leader of the Sleepers. Goél had named Josh, however, and he had to obey.

Picking up a stick, he drew a meaningless figure in the dirt. Silence had fallen over the land, and a slight breeze had risen. Looking up, Josh said wearily, “We can't go on much longer, Sarah.” There was a touch of defeat in his voice. “I don't like to talk like that, but it looks to me like the Dark Lord is winning. We're getting pinned down all over the world. Everywhere we go, the Sanhedrin has its spies.”

“But think of how many we've helped, Josh. If we hadn't gone to the land of the Amazons, for example, the Dark Lord would have won the whole tribe over.”

“Oh, sure.” Josh shrugged his lean shoulders. “We're winning a little—but the Dark Lord's servants are everywhere. They're like. . .like a cloud of locusts. And you can't kill them by stepping on them one at a time.”

Sarah said quietly, “I think everything's coming to a focal point.”

“What does that mean?”

“I mean—well, there's something
important
about this summons to come to the Plains of Dothan. I think that we're going to find out something exciting from Goél.”

Josh nodded slowly. “He did say something the last time about a final battle.” He took a deep breath and tried to smile. “I hope this is it. It's been a long, hard road the past couple of years.”

Sarah put a hand on his arm. “You've done wonderfully well, Josh,” she whispered. “No one could have led better than you.”

Josh suddenly grinned and looked much younger than his sixteen years. “You always know how to make a fellow feel good, Sarah.” He put his hand over hers and squeezed it. “But you're right. We'll make it. We might walk our legs off—but we'll make it.”

The huge field called the Plains of Dothan lay at the base of some high-rising mountains to the east and the west. The Sleepers found the level floor of the plain swarming with activity.

Reb suddenly let out a yelp. “Look! There's Princess Elaine!” He ran ahead to greet a young woman mounted on a beautiful snow-white steed.

The girl wore a long white dress and a cone cap with a blue veil on the tip. She looked like a medieval princess, which was, in a way, what she was. Elaine came from the Nuworld land of Camelot, where people still lived the lives of knights and ladies and warriors.

Behind Elaine rode a troop of knights wearing armor that glistened like silver. They carried their lances high. Several laughed as Reb came to greet his old friend.

“My Reb!” Princess Elaine said. She came down from her horse and gave him her hands.

When Reb kissed them, a cry of laughter went up from the other Sleepers and from the knights.

Reb flushed but kept his head up. “How's my horse?”

“We're still keeping him for you. I've been expecting you to come back to Camelot every day since you left.” The princess was looking up at Reb. “You have grown. You're a man now.”

The other Sleepers, too, were meeting old friends from their past adventures. Jake ran at once to a tall
man and a beautiful young woman who had large wings attached to their backs.

“Sureflight—and Loreen!” These were the winged warriors of the desert where Jake and the others had learned to fly. He approached them, grinning from ear to ear. “I was hoping you'd be here. Did you bring a set of wings for me?”

“No, you'll have to come back to our home,” Loreen said.

She put out her hands, and Jake grabbed them and held them tightly. “It's so good to see you, Loreen!” he whispered. “I've been lonesome for you.”

Sureflight looked down at his daughter and the young redhead, and amusement came to his eyes. “We have been waiting for you to come back. Loreen has been very lonely.”

Jake looked quickly at Sureflight and then at the masses of people about them. “Looks like we've got a little business here first. I think there's some kind of trouble.”

“You're right, Jake,” Loreen said. “Goél's message for us said to bring all of our warriors as soon as we could. We came on ahead of them. There's going to be a battle—I think there's no doubt about that.”

Josh and Sarah soon ran into Captain Ryland Day bright and the beautiful Dawn. Abbey and Dave and Wash saw still other old friends, and it was a pleasant time indeed. A meal had been prepared for the large company, and they ate and drank, enjoying a wonderful time of reunion.

And then a voice came over the air, clear and strong.

“Welcome, my friends, to the House of Goél!”

Instantly Josh knew that voice! He turned and saw a figure standing on a flat rock that rose above the
floor of the plain. A tall man, wearing a light gray robe with the hood thrown back, he stood before the host, looking around him calmly.

Goél. The mysterious leader who carried the battle to the Dark Lord. He was burned by the sun, and his eyes were deep set and darkly brooding. His hands were corded with strength, and there was a powerful presence about him as he looked around at those who had come at his bidding.

“My faithful friends, you have come—and I thank you all. For years now you have fought the Dark Lord. Many of our comrades have fallen in the struggle—and some will fall in that one which is to come.”

A voice called, “Is it time, Goél?”

“Yes! The time comes for the final battle. Will Nuworld be ruled by the tyranny of the Dark Lord, or will peoples everywhere come into the House of Goél and live as free beings should?”

The question seemed rhetorical, and he stood there for a time, apparently thinking. Then he began to tell them of many things, and no one moved as long as he spoke. At last, he said, “I will be giving you more instructions later—but for now, eat, and drink, and enjoy the fellowship of Goél.”

Josh turned to Sarah. “Well, that tears it,” he said. “We were right. There's going to be a final battle this time.”

Sarah looked troubled. “It all sounds so—well, so
final.
What if we lose?”

Josh was silent. He did not want to consider that possibility.

The Sleepers continued to wander among the milling crowd, meeting more old friends. And then Goél himself appeared at Josh's side and greeted him warmly.

“And here is my faithful Joshua.”

“Sire, we have come,” Josh said. “But we have not the strength that we once had. I fear that we are worn thin.”

Goél smiled at him. “You have done your best, and that is all that I ask of any of my servants. But the hour is near, and I must send you on a mission to alert three more groups of my people.”

“Who are they, Goél?” Sarah asked, standing close beside Josh.

“You must go to the Land of Ice and to the Centaurs and to Celethorn, Land of the Magicians. It will be another long journey, but when those three groups are here, my host will be complete. I will not send you alone. I will have guides for you. Will you do this for me?”

Josh suddenly felt refreshed. The very presence of the tall man, and the warmth of his eyes, and the power that seemed to flow through him strengthened the boy. He said sturdily, “We will follow your orders as long as we draw breath, Goél!”

“That's my faithful Joshua!” Goél said warmly. “The Seven Sleepers are indeed my pride!”

F
ar to the north of the Plains of Dothan, where Goél had summoned his subjects, a land fierce and terrible rose up out of the broken tableland. The trees of that land were withered and stunted, as if compressed by the air into bent, twisted shapes. Birds that would sing merrily in brighter lands avoided the place. The only sounds from the air above were the harsh croakings of ravens as they crisscrossed the somber skies.

Travelers avoided this fearsome country, though to do so meant detouring hundreds of miles through difficult terrain—and those who were caught in it by night sometimes did not live to regret it. When the moon arose, strange beasts, foul and unnatural, issued from caverns in the depths of this blasted land. It was a deadly country, feared and despised by those inhabitants of Nuworld who had the misfortune to find themselves within its borders.

Winter gales swept across the bleak, hostile environment, chilling to the bone and almost freezing the teeth of unfortunate travelers. In the fall, the winds pushed across the landscape as if seeking to shove travelers off the narrow mountain paths into the valleys of broken rock far below. Spring and summer, a time of joy and beauty in other parts of Nuworld, brought forth only blistering sunshine that cooked the rocks and baked the faces of those who hurried across the region.

Far inland in the center of this terrible land, a circle
of jagged mountains ringed a castle that rose out of the stones of the earth. The mountains, which served as a fortress wall against any who would attack, were broken by only three passes, kept guarded at all times by the servants of the Dark Lord. Woe be to those who attempted to pass through! Those who did come were more often brought as prisoners—and most were never seen again.

The castle itself was made of solid stone. No one knew how long it had stood there, but its rocks were blasted gray with age and crumbled with the fierce snows and blistering suns that had beaten upon them. Nor did anyone know
how
such a fortress was built. Those who studied it could only be puzzled, for it would have taken thousands of men thousands of years to build such a structure. Its turrets pierced the sky like daggers, and the rounded walls of those towers were slitted to allow bowmen to deal swift death to any who would attack. At times foul smoke would issue from the chimneys, choking those who had the misfortune to breathe it. Neither plant nor animal could endure its stench for long.

The Dread Tower rose like a skeletal finger in the center, and from its crest the entire land could be surveyed by the Dark Lord and his henchmen.

Inside that tower all was massive stone. Steps carved out of rock led down deep, deep, deep into the bowels of the earth, where dungeons kept their terrible secrets forever. Cries and muted screams rose from these chambers far beneath the Dread Tower. There was at least one huge room, known to none but the Dark Lord himself, where a massive brass gate was bolted to the solid rock, strong enough to secure any living thing. At times the Dark Lord would come and put his baleful eye on the huge gate.

The most cheerful spot in the Dread Tower was the council room. It was here the Dark Lord summoned his commanders from time to time to plot his strategy for overthrowing Goél and his House. Even now, that wicked crew sat around tables, tearing at food like vicious animals and swilling down dark, strong liquor.

The Dark Lord did not join in these riotous festivities. He sat on a seat of stone, his clawlike hands clutching its arms. He was cloaked from head to foot in a black cape, his head hidden beneath a hood that fell over and concealed his countenance. Only the red gleam of his eyes could be seen by his captains as they glanced at him from time to time. Motionless, silent, fierce, the Dark Lord watched the revels of his dusky band.

Several vicious fights broke out as the rowdy feasting went on. Powerful, beastlike men pummeled each other. Once, swords were drawn, and their clash filled the council room. The Dark Lord made no effort to stop the duel, nor did the captains. All cried for their favorites, and when one lay on the floor, his eyes glazing in death, a cry of exultation went up from the supporters of his opponent, who raised his bloody sword high.

Finally the Dark Lord said,
“Hear me!”

Instant silence fell across the chamber. The eye of every captain looked upward to where his lord sat on the dais, staring down at them. Not one, however, looked with love or admiration. Fear had brought them there, and fear kept them there. Every member of the horrid company knew that only strength would prevail with the Dark Lord. Failure was punished, sometimes with death—which was merciful—sometimes with something much worse.

The air seemed to grow heavy as each waited for the Dark Lord to speak.

At last he said, “The time has come.”

The Dark Lord's voice echoed in the council room. Even the candles in their wall sockets seemed to bend with the force of it. “We have waited long enough! It is time to strike the final blow against the House of Goél!” His voice rose to a high pitch, filled with anger and frustration. “Goél must die and all who follow him!” The Dark Lord waited as shouts of agreement echoed, then he said, “I will hear what you have to offer as a method of ridding me of him.”

Once again there was silence. All knew the penalty of rashness when dealing with this terrible being who sat watching them, his red eyes glowing. Few dared speak.

At last, however, a tall, thin form stood forth. This was Gnash, the victor in many of the Dark Lord's battles. His features were dark, and his teeth showed yellow as he grinned horribly. He wore a leather jerkin and a sword at his side, which he fingered constantly. “My lord,” he said, “we are all aware of the problem of Goél and his accursed House.”

A murmur of angry cries went up, and Gnash held up a hand to silence it.

“The answer, as we all know, is somehow bound up with the prophecy that came long ago.” He hesitated, then quoted part of a prediction that had been circulated in Nuworld for many years: “‘And when the Seven Sleepers wake—the House of Goél will be filled.'”