The Minions of Time (10 page)

Watcher was awakened by the Wormling before dawn, and she and Humphrey followed him, setting out for the castle. Several inches of snow had fallen, so they left tracks, making Watcher pine for her home in the mountains.

She knew what the townspeople, especially the children, said about her—that she was strange to keep the ancient tradition of waiting for the Wormling. Still, she had waited and watched. And now as she walked by his side, warmth coursed through her. She had proved them all wrong and distinguished herself by her diligence. She wondered if anyone dared scoff at her anymore.

“Isn't the countryside beautiful?” the Wormling said. “Like someone threw a blanket over it while we slept.”

“You didn't sleep,” Watcher said. “I heard you pacing the whole night.”

“Probably something I ate,” he said. “I can't wait to get my sword back. Can you imagine having all three with us again—the sword, the book, and the Mucker?”

“You will be ready to go back to the Highlands,” Watcher said. “After you've located the Son, of course.”

The Wormling stopped. “What did you say?” He looked pained, as though he had lost a dear relative.

“You've said all along that you need to go back to the Highlands,” Watcher said. “I assumed when you had everything, you would do that.”

“Of course. How perceptive of you. Hurry along now.”

Humphrey whinnied, and the Wormling shushed him. “We're getting close to the castle.”

The moon was still high, occasionally peeking from a shroud of clouds like a child playing a game.

Across the immense body of water, the castle loomed dark and foreboding and sent shivers down Watcher's flanks. Strange that the Wormling could stride so resolutely toward it without fear. He didn't even seem to remember much about the last time they'd been here.

Humphrey whinnied when the surface of the water swirled and became choppy as if something huge had just passed below. Or was it following them?

Watcher heard wings and looked up, expecting a demon flyer, but it was just a bird.

The Wormling swatted at it and kept moving, clearly eager to reach the castle before first light.

Watcher had never seen the Wormling swat at a fly before. He must be preoccupied.

As they passed through another wooded area, Humphrey blew air through his lips and shook his tail.

“What?” Watcher asked. “Do you see something?”

But just as Humphrey's eyes fixed on Watcher, the Wormling turned. “Come on, you two. Keep up.”

With the castle rising before them like a ghost, the three walked single file near the lake. “Watch your step here,” the Wormling said. “The water is frigid.”

As the Wormling grabbed a sapling and pulled himself up the bank, Watcher heard a splash and turned to see Humphrey sinking into the water and great jaws coming after her as well.

In a flash, she was yanked into the freezing lake with the horse, and they were pulled deep into the shadows.

The sky was still dark when Owen moved the others into position at the camp. The people plainly would rather have stayed asleep, as this was the first time they'd been well fed, but they obeyed. Connor, as the largest among them, took the commander's place on a high rock. With the man's animal skins and spear, he looked frighteningly similar. The question was, could he and the rest fool the demon flyers?

Owen wished Watcher were here to warn them of demon flyers. Connor held up a finger to signal that one demon flyer had landed. (There was dust flying everywhere and large talon marks in the ground.) The demon flyer would lead the two transport flyers in the distance.

Owen and the others pretended to berate and punish the prisoners, slinging leather straps and shaking weapons at them. The people cowered on cue.

Two transport flyers arrived with the rising sun, wings flapping slowly, a cage suspended beneath each of them.

Connor imitated the guards, shouting, “Bring the prisoners for loading!”

Owen positioned several men before the pile of mined rocks and jewels.

Then came an unearthly voice sounding like grating metal. “Why is the cave closed?” the demon flyer said.

“Trouble with some of the beasts,” Connor said. “We've sealed them until they die.”

“The Dragon will be displeased,” the flyer roared. “We are near the quota.”

“This load completes the quota,” Connor said. “Go and tell him.”

“I accompany the transport!”

“You think those beasts don't know the way? Take the news to the Dragon now! You will no doubt earn a reward of food and drink.”

The transport flyers landed, lowering the cages.

Owen slapped his leather strap against a rock near the head of a prisoner. “Get to work!”

The wind rose quickly as the demon flyer left.

Connor held out a hand as if to say, “Keep working until it is out of sight.”

Finally he stood. “Everyone into the cages!”

Owen opened the cage doors, and the transport flyers inched back, plainly sensing something amiss.

The people hesitated, murmuring, and children wept.

“It's all right,” Owen said. “Don't be frightened. Everything will be okay. Just get inside as quick as you can. We're taking you to safety.”

Connor rushed to Owen's side, whispering, “What if they take us back to the Dragon?”

“It is written,” Owen said, “‘He will have charge over the beasts of the land, sea, and air. He will bid them come, and they will obey.'”

“Who is ‘he'?” Connor said. “The Wormling?”

“You'll learn,” Owen said. “Soon enough.”

Connor and his wife crawled into a cage together, leading others inside. Owen ushered people into the other cage. When all were inside, both cages were full to overflowing. Owen closed the doors and secured them so no one would fall out. One flyer began to flap its wings, but Owen commanded it to stop, and to everyone's amazement—even Owen's—it did.

Owen tied a long piece of rope to the neck of one transport flyer as the beast eyed him warily and edged back, tipping the cage. The people cried out, but Owen calmed the beast by petting it like a dog and talking soothingly to it.

Owen tied the other end of the rope to the foot of the other flyer, then crawled up its back and wrapped his arms around its neck.

Just like riding Humphrey
, Owen thought.
Except Humphrey doesn't fly or weigh 8,000 pounds.

Owen dug in with his heels, and the flyer rose into the air with a jerk, pulling the cage quickly from the ground. Immediately the second flyer was yanked aloft. Owen felt the same sensation as when he rose in a fast elevator in a tall building in his Highland town. The transport flyer's muscles rippled and swelled under him.

Children squealed with delight, as if on an amusement park ride, certainly different from when Owen had flown here before. Adults kept them from the edges of the cage, just in case.

The flyers rose to cloud level, heading into the golden sunlight, and the temperature dropped. The beasts were trained to fly from the mines to the Dragon, but Owen steered his flyer toward the White Mountain in the distance. The following flyer tried to veer off, but the rope tightened and it was forced to follow.

Owen pulled an animal skin over his shoulders and hunkered down to stay warm.

Watcher gasped and swallowed freezing water as she plunged to the depths. Only when she finally saw the lights of the underground cavern did she believe she might survive. They broke the surface in the jaws of the huge crocodile, and Humphrey sputtered and shook his way onto the rocky shore. Coughing, Watcher examined
The Book of the King
and found it and Mucker in good condition. She had fashioned a waterproof pouch out of jargid skins for the book and was glad.

“Rotag!” she exulted. “Great to see you, but what about the Wormling?”

“A thousand pardons, my friend,” Rotag said, his voice gravelly. “We tried to think of some other way—”

“We?”

Humphrey stepped back and whinnied as Batwing flew in.

“Are they all right?” Batwing said in his high-pitched voice. “Were you noticed?”

“How could we not be?” Rotag said. “We made quite a splash.”

“What's going on?” Watcher said.

“That is not the Wormling you were with,” Batwing said. “Tusin spotted it last night headed for the castle, and I overheard its conversation with an aide of the Dragon.”

Humphrey whinnied and struck a hoof to the ground.

“You were trying to tell me,” Watcher said.

“The one you think is the Wormling is actually a Changeling,” Batwing said. “He was luring you to the castle to be food for the Dragon.”

Watcher shook her head. “But why couldn't I sense he was not the Wormling?”

A small creature climbed down into the light.

“Tusin!” Watcher said.

The two hugged, and Tusin patted her on the back. “We thought it was the Wormling at first as well, but Batwing learned the truth.” He sighed. “My guess is that somewhere inside you, there was a feeling that something was wrong, out of place. But you ignored that.”

“I was so happy to see him,” Watcher said. “I wanted it to be him.”

“Yes,” Tusin said. “And that is why it is important to never ignore those feelings. No matter who it is who gives them to you.”

“We were going to be eaten?” Watcher said.

“After the whereabouts of the real Wormling were tortured from you,” Batwing said.

“Never,” Watcher said. “All I can say is thank you.” She introduced Humphrey and told him, “This is the hall of meeting I told you of, and these are our friends. Without them, we would never have escaped the Dragon.”

Rotag asked about the Wormling, and Watcher told him everything she knew, which wasn't much. Then she put a hand over her mouth. “Oh, Humphrey, what if he comes back for us, and we're not there?”

The horse shook his head and nickered.

“Perhaps we can help,” Rotag said. “What did the Changeling say was the reason you were going to the castle?”

“He said we were going to fetch the Sword of the Wormling.”

Rotag cleared his throat and nodded at Tusin, who stood and held his head high. “Meeting of the assembly convenes on this day of the King, all members present, the honorable Rotag presiding, the honored Watcher and Humphrey as guests. The matter of the friends of the Wormling is the agenda.”

The Dragon paced the library, which ironically held no books, for he had banned and burned them long ago. As he passed the empty shelves, he gloated. He had kept words and knowledge from the people of the Lowlands these many years, and soon the Highlands would experience the same—though they had no idea what was about to happen.

The Dragon had been awakened just before sunlight by a demon flyer's report that the final mineral load was on its way from Diamondhead. That, coupled with the prospect of questioning the Wormling's Watcher one final time, had left the scaly beast as sleepless as a child awaiting Christmas morning. Watcher was the channel to the Wormling, and the Wormling was the channel to the Son, and the death of the Son meant the end of the King's plan for this world and the other.

The Dragon rubbed his claws in glee. He let out a screaming belch of fire that scorched the shelves.

RHM entered quickly, rubbing his eyes and yawning. “Yes, Highness?”

“What have you heard from the Changeling? He should be here by now.”

RHM shook his head as if trying to knock cobwebs from his brain. “Stalkers guarding the outer wall will let us know the moment they approach.”

“And the flyer from Diamondhead? Have you rewarded it for its report?”

“Absolutely. It sits even now in the dining hall devouring the remains of whatever you killed yesterday.”

“Whatever or whoever?” the Dragon said, chuckling. He looked outside at the gathering light. “A pity that day comes so soon. How I love when darkness envelops and grips the land. People are more afraid in the dark—did you know that?”

RHM nodded. “Their teeth chatter, and their eyes widen when you prowl—”

“Oh, stop it!” the Dragon roared, enraptured, eyes twinkling. “It makes me want to go burn a village right now. Or at least scatter some sheep and eat a small shepherd or two.” He licked his lips and snorted. “And maybe swoop down on a few of the runners—you know, the ones who scurry from the villages and try to make it to the tree line? That's one of my favorite pastimes.”

“Your specialty, sire.”

The Dragon sighed. “I will do greater works than those, my friend. The big show isn't far away now. Once we refine the last of the precious stones and get them to the White Mountain, we make the world anew—into what it was meant to be.”

“I only hope that one day I might be—”

“As powerful as I?”

“Well, that's too much to dream. But close.”

The Dragon studied his front claws and rolled his eyes. “You may aspire to greatness, RHM. You may imitate, but there is only one of me. And there will be only one nest of offspring.”

“Offspring?”

“How could that have escaped from my mouth? I expect you to keep that slip of the tongue to yourself.”

“But, sire, what—?”

Footsteps in the hallway ended with a light tap on the door. The Dragon beckoned with a booming voice, and a timid creature with shaking limbs walked in. He lowered his head respectfully, and the Dragon roared at him.

“Begging your pardon, sire, but there's a matter of great importance I thought you would—”

A horn sounded outside, and the tiny beast seemed to nearly wet himself.

The Dragon pointed a sharpened talon at him. “Wait here.”

With RHM in tow, the Dragon strode down the hall, through the bedroom, and onto the parapet overlooking the water.

Just below, the horn blower ducked when he saw the Dragon. “Sorry to disturb you, Highness. Someone approaches from the wood.”

The Dragon saw a speck in the distance, limping toward the castle. “RHM, what is that?”

The aide gasped. “I believe it's the Changeling, sire.”

Not long later they helped the battered and bruised Changeling into the castle. He coughed and sputtered.

“Where are your prisoners?” the Dragon demanded.

“Do not spare me, O great one,” the Changeling said. “I have failed you and your magnificent kingdom. The Watcher beguiled me with stories, and when I least expected it, she and the horse descended on me with a fierceness I have seldom seen. I had no chance even to turn myself into something else. She bit and scratched and clawed, and the horse kicked me until I was as bruised as a month-old banana.”

“How did they find you out?” the Dragon said, seething.

The Changeling lolled his head. “Oh, I can't say any more. Please just turn me to ash, O great one. I deserve it.”

“Yes, you do. A painful death.”

“Make me writhe,” the Changeling said.

RHM moved back, clearly fearing the inevitable blast.

But the Dragon leaned closer and studied the Changeling's bruises. “I would rather you live and serve me with your special talents than pay such a terrible price.”

The Changeling's eyes snapped open as if he had just realized it was his birthday. “Ask me for anything, and I will do it.”

The Dragon's muscles tensed. “How long ago did they elude you?”

“Not long. They can't be far. I came as quickly as I could.”

The Dragon shot into the air, plainly forgetting the parapet's stone arch. Banging it sent debris flying. “Find them! Send every available being, and do not fail me this time!”

The Changeling sprang up and ran outside, ordering flyers and searchers to follow.

The Dragon returned to the stairway, where the timid creature stood. “Now, what was important enough for you to disturb us?”

Trembling, he said, “The transport flyers have not arrived with the load of gems, O revered one.”

“What? They should have arrived long ago! RHM, fetch me the demon flyer.”

“We have reports,” the shaking guard added, “that two transport flyers were seen heading north. No demon flyer accompanied the shipment, but there were prisoners in the cages.”

“Prisoners?” the Dragon repeated.

“Yes, and the report said it looked like a human rode on the back of one of the transport flyers.”

RHM returned with the demon flyer—invisible to humans but not to the Dragon and his underlings. This flyer bore smallish wings, long fangs and talons, and a belly so full of food and drink that it could hardly stand. When it walked, it sloshed like a bucket of water. It saluted and nearly toppled. “It is my pleasure to serve you,” the flyer managed, then belched.

The Dragon took a soothing tone. “Who told you the mining was complete?”

“One of the guards.”

“What did he look like?”

“The usual, sire. Animal skins, gruff voice, and to tell the truth, I wasn't paying much attention. I was so excited to—”

“It is your job to pay attention,” the Dragon boomed.

The demon flyer immediately dropped to his knees, as if he knew what was coming.

“Did the guard tell you to make haste and come tell me the good news? Or was that your idea?”

“His, sire. I—I didn't want to—to leave the convoy, b-but he insisted, assuring me you would b-be pl-pleased, so—”

“So pleased that I would offer you your weight in food and drink. Is that it?”

“No, sire. I simply wanted—”

Molten fire shot from the Dragon's mouth and enveloped the poor creature. All watching turned away, except the Dragon, who delighted in the fireworks. He coughed, swallowed, and turned to the window, where daylight streamed in with great intensity. “This has the Wormling written all over it. If the miners have been freed, he gathers an army.”

“That is nothing to you,” RHM said. “What good is that pip-squeak without his sword and without the Son he's been seeking?”

The Dragon's eyes drooped and then shot back and forth, as if he were computing some long math problem. “Perhaps he prepares the army for the Son's return. Or worse, perhaps he has found the Son.”

The Dragon scratched his back and turned to go upstairs. The timid creature cowered in the corner as he passed.

“The passage in that infernal book,” he wheezed. “What did it say?”

“Which, sire?” RHM said.

The Dragon's eyes drooped and then shot back and forth, as if he were computing some long math problem. “This is all about the King's Son. Perhaps the Wormling prepares the army for the Son's return.”

The Dragon muttered something he had read in
The Book of the King
—at least something that had stuck in his head but his heart could not understand. He turned to RHM. “Our task is simple. If we can keep the Wormling from returning to the Highlands and finding this Son, any threat against me will be gone. All we must do is kill the Wormling.”