The Minions of Time (15 page)

Owen found the passage where he had led Connor and the others out of the White Mountain. When he and Mucker reached the end, Owen scraped away some of the dirt. “See, it's not rock, just dirt from the explosion. Can you get us inside?”

Mucker pulled back, as if to say, “Hey, it's me you're talking to.”

“The explosion sealed the Dragon's workers inside, but he'll be back. He wants to destroy this world—I've read it in the book.”

Mucker's face grew grave, and he lifted his eyes as if to say, “What are we waiting for?”

Owen pulled out
The Book of the King
and turned to a passage from the section called Triumph.

“Happy are those who help the weak. The King will deliver them in times of distress.

The King cares for and preserves his faithful ones. He will help them enter into the promise he has given.

When your enemy lies in wait, when he is ready to devour, and when he gathers his forces to slay the chosen one, do not be afraid, for greater is the King than any enemy or any insult he can muster.

Rejoice and be glad and wait for the deliverance of the King.”

Owen was so engrossed in the words of the book that he was surprised to look up and see how big Mucker had become, chewing through the passage with abandon. The air became tinged with an acrid smell, and Owen felt liquid running across Mucker's back and sides.

When Mucker finally broke through to the other side, Owen found the bodies of two who had followed them into the tunnels. The explosion he and Connor had rigged here had sealed the escape, but Owen was surprised to see most of the rooms where his friends had toiled were still intact.

Owen instructed Mucker to rechannel the liquid into the tunnel he had dug so it could seep through the loose earth. When Mucker was done, there was not a trace of the flammable liquid, save in the Great Hall.

Remembering what had happened here filled Owen with thanksgiving. Had he never come here, he wouldn't have known where to find the portal to the Highlands, wouldn't have been able to save Connor and the others, and wouldn't have discovered the meaning of the prophecy:

Before the Great War shall come a time that shall seem like the end, for the Wormling will be consumed with fire from above and the enemy will rule for a short time in the Lowlands. Do not fear when the White Mountain is laid low, for this will not be the end. It will signal only the coming of the Son, the rightful heir to the throne.

Owen led Mucker into the Great Hall, where he had faced the neodim. “There's something here I must show you,” Owen said. “And we must be quick about our task.”

The Dragon flew like a missile with RHM by his side. He didn't care that all the gemstones were not in place, that this outsider had thwarted his plan, or that when he came upon the scene it was likely his ultimate hope would not be accomplished. All he cared about now was that he would be rid of this pesky outsider who stuck in his craw like a bone in his throat.

“Are you sure he is there?” the Dragon hissed as he soared.

“Demon flyers report seeing him fly in on one of the transport flyers, and that Watcher of his was with him as well.”

“Unable to sense like she used to.” The Dragon laughed, a rattle in his throat. It was always like this just before an attack. He coughed and sputtered and drew juices from within, amassing an enormous amount so that when he struck, molten fire would melt his enemies where they stood.

The Dragon pressed on, gaining speed, tightening his talons on something beneath him, something not even RHM knew he held. The surprise to his victim would be doubled when the silver sword hurtled down at him along with the belch of fire.

A demon flyer approached and fell into formation with them. “All the stones are there, Your Majesty. At least all we've gathered.”

“Good,” the Dragon said. “Leave the gems at the entrance, where they will do the most damage.”

“How is that, Your Highness?”

The Dragon rolled his eyes. How could he explain the magic of the stones or that he had gleaned this from
The Book of the King
itself? The destruction of the Lowlands would come from the gems and the fire and the leveling of the mountain. “Be gone and prepare your followers for an assault on the forces of the Wormling. Those not killed by the blast shall be killed the conventional way.”

The demon flyer left, and before them rose the white-capped mountain. The Dragon descended below the clouds and tested his fire on treetops with a simple snort. He was in fine fire indeed.

But he was no farther than the approach to the putrid town of Yodom when a demon flyer came out of nowhere, screeching. “He's there, sire! We saw him at the entrance to the mountain high above! He's mocking you, saying you are not powerful enough to destroy him.”

The eyes of the Dragon turned crimson, and he shot into the air at earsplitting speed. Above the clouds, the Sword of the Wormling glistened silver and gold.

“Stay back!” the Dragon called to RHM and the demon flyers. “The Wormling is mine!”

When Owen had first come to the White Mountain, he had seen a dead man frozen in the ice below the mouth of the cave that led into the belly of even more pain and struggle and death. He had found workers so fatigued they could barely walk. The mountain was a beauty from a distance, but up close it proved the downfall of many, and that is exactly why Owen had come here. This place would signal the death of the Wormling. Forever.

Owen made his way through the webs and over the gemstones at the mouth of the mountain. These stones could actually help, he thought, as he hollered insults he knew the demon flyers would hear. When the sky began to cloud and darkness covered the setting sun and the orange and gold on the horizon, Owen knew the old Dragon was on his way to see not just the end of him but also the end of the whole plan of the King.

But there were things the Dragon did not know—could not know—from
The Book of the King
, no matter how much he had read. The book speaks to the pure in heart and reveals to those dedicated to the Sovereign things normal readers cannot understand, certainly not those whose hearts are as prickly and stony as the Dragon's.

Owen took a deep breath and yelled, “There is a reason the Dragon is usually alone in his lair and must call for a meeting of his council if he wants company: no one can stand the smell of him! He is a pimple on the face of this world, and the King will expunge him from it one day!”

The last thing Owen wanted was for the Dragon to see the liquid cascading out of the mountain from the back side or for the Dragon to enter through the soft earth Mucker had overturned. The demon flyers screeched and retreated, but it wasn't until he saw the smoky trail below and heard the echoes of wing flaps that he knew his plan had worked.

He stood on a pile of gemstones and shouted to the heavens, “There is no King but the true King! Though mountains may rise and fall, though foes come against him, he will be exalted above every living thing. Let the rocks cry out. Let the trees tell of his glory!”

This speech, of course, was meant not just to strengthen Owen's heart or displease the Dragon but also as a signal to a friend below.

Clouds roiled and rose like smoke from a furnace.

“Now, let the evil one be thrown down! Though he makes his bed in the depths of the ocean or on the top of the highest mountain, he can never escape the awful day of the King!”

As the white clouds churned, Owen watched, mesmerized by the Dragon's rise. A small voice inside him—his own or Watcher's?—told him it was time, but he lingered.

“Those who oppose the King,” he was whispering now, “shall see their end come quickly.”

Owen moved too close to the edge and knocked a gemstone loose, sending it ticking its way down the pile, skittering right and left until it reached the hardened snow. It rolled and bounced into the thin air, and just as it was engulfed in the boiling clouds that inched ever closer, a pair of red eyes appeared and a mouth held the gemstone between razor-sharp teeth.

Owen's heart seemed to stop for a second as the Dragon spit out the stone and belched fire that melted the snow near the mouth of the cave.

Owen dived back over the pile of stones and slid through the opening just as the fire engulfed the cave's mouth. The tunnel warmed so much that the webs melted and Owen slipped through unstopped. However, his plan that the Dragon be slowed by the gems was dashed when the huge beast burst into the cave and sent a wave of stones cascading.

Surely the narrow walls of the tunnel would slow him. Not even the neodim could get through many of these. However, the Dragon simply expanded his body so that the walls exploded around him.

“It is the King's pleasure to use the weak things of the world to amaze the strong!” Owen shouted as he slipped and slid down the tunnel, propelled by the surge of rocks and dirt. He came to a bend and a smaller opening ahead that he had crafted with Mucker—a shortcut that dropped straight to the Great Hall. Owen yelled into the darkness, “The King chose the insignificant and those considered nothing so he could dethrone those who think they are something!”

These words were not for the Dragon but for Mucker, but that did not stop the Dragon from responding. A yellow-orange streak belched from his hideous mouth and lit the tunnel like fireworks.

This cyclone of fire engulfed the tunnel, and as it reached Owen, he put his hands over his head and jumped into the smaller opening. He swirled down with the Dragon's pungent fire behind him.

Seething and resolved to tear the Wormling limb from limb, the Dragon plunged into the mountain like a ravenous cat that had a mouse by the tail. All his years of striving against the King had led to this moment. He had made promises, signed treaties, negotiated peace, all with one goal in mind: possessing this world, destroying it, and remaking it in his own image. That the Wormling was now taunting him with words of the King only made his anger boil more.

The pressure in these narrow passages was great, and he scratched and clawed deep into the earth with his talons to propel himself, moving earth and stone. He crashed with the stony crown of his head, butting and ramming himself deeper into the chasm. When he slowed at a narrow point, he took a breath and puffed his body out, breaking through to another level.

As he plunged, he expected to find neodim bodies. It was reported that the Wormling (with help from the rabble prisoners) had killed several. How they had done this the Dragon didn't know and didn't care. The death of weak followers was welcomed. It meant that only the strongest would survive. As for the others, he was glad to see them go.

He snorted fire into the darkness and searched for the Wormling, sniffing the air. He found a small entrance, a hole that looked like it had been recently dug, and stuck his nose inside. Smelling the creature, he gave another blast of fire.

Convinced he would not fit inside that small opening, he continued down the larger tunnel, breaking walls and smashing and thrashing until he burst through and stopped near the ledge overlooking the Great Hall. Rock and dirt cascaded, and the Dragon finally saw the decaying bodies of his neodim. He growled in disgust at the Wormling defiantly standing against the far wall of the hall below.

The Dragon stretched. “Who killed these?”

“Probably something they ate,” the Wormling said. “Or perhaps they drowned under so much of your kindness.”

“Insolent tramp!” the Dragon muttered.
Speaking as if he has authority.
“Who helped you?”

“I needed no help killing these. They had no real power. True power comes only from the King, and not even you have that kind of power.”

The Dragon's throat rattled, and he spread his wings to lift a talon. It was not in his nature to keep his cool when angered, but the Dragon gritted his teeth and cocked his head at the small creature below him. “I have something for you, Wormling. Come out into the open where I can see you.”

“What could you possibly have that would interest me?”

Metal clanged and the Wormling looked up.

“Recognize this?” the Dragon growled.

“I recognize it as well as you do,” the Wormling said, “judging from that scar on your leg I gave you at the castle.”

The Dragon spread his wings and lifted from the ledge, flying above the Wormling and swinging the sword back and forth, measuring the distance he would need to throw it and considering whether he should bring the Wormling to his knees and have him beg for his miserable life before it ended.

“Ironic, don't you think?” the Dragon said. “Slain by the very sword you were given to kill me.”

“You've planned well,” the Wormling said. “Because if you were to spit fire at me down here—”

“I don't spit fire!”

“—you would kill not only me but also yourself while blowing this whole mountain to the sky.”

The Dragon hovered midflight. He hadn't considered this possibility, but he tried hard not to show it to the Wormling.

“With all the fuel you've gathered and with all that's pooled since the captives were freed, you'd be committing suicide to use fire here. Even more ironic, no? The fire-breathing Dragon killed by the very fire that he spits. Are you willing to sacrifice yourself for the good of your followers?”

The Dragon formulated a new plan on the spot, pleased with himself for thinking it through so quickly.

“Sword!” the Wormling shouted.

The hilt of the sword grew hot in the Dragon's talons, and he released it, then reached to get it back, but it was gone, hurtling through the air toward the Wormling. It appeared the Wormling would be impaled, but just as it reached him, the sharp tip flipped and the handle slapped into the Wormling's hand.

The Dragon plunged down, body shaking.

“Ah-ah-ah, I wouldn't do that,” the Wormling said. “Dragon go boom if you go spit spit.”

The Dragon sneered. “I promise you, you will be charred beyond recognition.”

The Wormling put the sword at his side. “The King uses you, though you do not understand it. And I promise you, Dragon, with everything that is within me, you will feel not just the tip of my sword but the entire blade up to the hilt buried deep into your heart.”

The Dragon's eyes narrowed. “This is where you die, Wormling. And the world will be reborn.”