The Minions of Time (20 page)

The Dragon's commanders, along with their lead warriors, assembled before the Dragon's lair. The line stretched the entire length of the castle at least 50 deep. Each pair represented a thousand troops assembled in the valley beyond the castle. Campfires had been doused, and each fighter stood at attention, waiting for the signal to attack.

The Dragon rubbed his claws and watched from a window, waiting for just the right moment to make his appearance. He was sure this would be his finest hour.

When all were in place and had saluted the castle, the Dragon cleared his throat and sent a blast of fire through an opening in the stone tower, lighting the sky.

Cheers from the commanders were overwhelmed by the shouts from the sea of warriors and the screeching of demon flyers.

The Dragon drank in the crescendo, and when he appeared through the high-arched gate, the mob roared anew.

“Quite an entrance, sire,” RHM said. “You deserve this.”

“Yes,” the Dragon purred. “They do know greatness when they see it, don't they?”

The cacophony continued until the Dragon hovered above the castle, then settled on the parapet where everyone could see him.

“My kingdom will be forever!” the Dragon said.

The crowds went wild again.

“The days of the Wormling are over, and his servants who remain must be utterly destroyed. They have broken their treaty and swear allegiance to another. They will be crushed.”

The Dragon launched another prolonged blast while the troops screamed and thrust their weapons in the air. His eyes burned red, and he licked his charred teeth as if devouring his dinner.

“Unleash my power and my vengeance!” he howled. “Leave no one alive. Wipe them from this world so that we might replenish it anew!”

* * *

Back in his lair at the top of the castle, blood still boiling from his own rousing speech, the Dragon was interrupted by RHM ushering in a smallish demon flyer.

“News from the Highlands, sire.”

“I know,” the Dragon said, cackling. “The minions have done their work. We'll soon have both worlds to ourselves.”

The small creature waddled forward, eyes focused on the floor. He stopped 10 yards from the Dragon and bowed. “I was flying by the w-w-wood, sire, away from the town. And I n-noticed a group walking there.”

“Unstung?”

“Apparently, sire. An older man with a long coat. Scars on his face and neck. And a boy with a long sword.”

The Dragon drew close, his nose nearly touching the small flyer, who closed his eyes and seemed prepared to be incinerated. “Two is not a group.”

“Quite right, s-sire. A girl was with them. They were protecting her from the minions. Between the sword and the old man's scarred hands, they just fell away. I've never seen anything like it.”

The Dragon whimpered like a small woodland animal, something flickering through his mind. Could his enemy have survived his fiery blast on the hill in the Highlands? Could he be joining forces with the Wormling, showing him the location of the Son? He turned to the quavering being in front of him. “Did they hear you, know you were there?”

“I don't think so, s-sire. I came as fast as I could to tell you the news.”

The Dragon gazed out at the armies marching to battle. “This is not bad news—not at all. The enemy is constrained. The Wormling will not have time to finish breaching the portals before his precious friends die.”

The Dragon's ears pricked as a tiny puff floated across the wind. Two wings. Smallish wings unaccustomed to this altitude.

No matter. Whoever it was would be killed before the day was out.

Owen followed Mr. Page and Clara inside the small shack, where a candle burned on the table near a loaf of bread and a jug of juice. Mr. Page ate like a hungry wolf. Logs burned in the fireplace, and his eyes sparkled as he ate. He finally excused himself and went into a bedroom with a blanket covering the doorway.

“What is he going to do?” Clara said. “Where is he taking us?”

“We can trust this man. He gave me
The Book of the King
.” Owen showed it to Clara, and she began to read it. The same thing that had happened to him when he first saw the words was apparently happening to her. She couldn't tear herself from the book.

Mr. Page returned, looking haggard. While Clara read, he took Owen to the fire and sat on the floor beside him.

“There is not much time,” Mr. Page said. “Any questions about what you are to do?”

Owen stared. “I have nothing but questions. I have no idea what to do.”

“But you know who you are.”

“Yes,” he said, lowering his voice.

Mr. Page smiled and clapped a hand behind Owen's neck. “Then you know what to do.”

“I know I am to defeat the Dragon and marry the princess, and somehow that union will change things in both the Highlands and the Lowlands. But I don't know who the princess is or how this will all take place.”

“Doesn't the book say something about its being a light for your course?”

“‘The King's words are a light for my pathway, a sure guide for every step I take.'”

Mr. Page smiled. “You doubt those words?”

“I do not, but there are so many decisions to make. I don't know which words to follow.”

“Follow all of them with your whole heart. Do not try to separate one from another. They are a unit.”

“But isn't there something missing—something that needs to be completed?”

Mr. Page stoked the fire. “The keeper of the fire makes sure it does not go out, no matter how cold the night becomes. And you must tend the fire of your heart, brave Owen.”

“I'm not sure I know what you mean.”

“Things ahead will threaten to undo you, may make it appear as if everything you've learned and have been fighting for has been for nothing. Do not give in to those thoughts.”

Owen nodded, still unsure.

“Your fight is not against flesh and blood but against the powers of darkness that seek to cover the land. Your fight begins here—” he pointed to Owen's chest—“and ends here.” He pointed to his head.

“I've struggled greatly,” Owen said. “I've fought beasts I never could have imagined.”

“And you have struggled well. That is all the King asks of you. You have the heart of a warrior, the heart of your father. But you also have the heart of a poet.” Mr. Page held out both his hands. “You are both warrior and poet. The Highlands and the Lowlands are lands of warriors and poets. Fighters and singers. Understand?”

“Mirrors,” Owen said, closing his eyes and remembering the faces of Erol and Watcher and Mordecai. “Beings there seem similar to people I know here. A friend there is a Watcher who senses things and protects me. She also talks like a waterfall, and I could drown in her words. But she seems very much like a friend here named Constance—I call her Connie. You met her after you gave me the book. Beneath the B and B.”

Mr. Page smiled sadly. “I know her well. That's where I found her not long ago—near the minions' nest. I've been watching her since you were gone. And Clara too.”

“You said something to Constance the day you left, the day I thought you died. What was it?”

“She will tell you. Just remember that things are not always as they seem, Owen. ‘Those who die shall live again. Those who are weak shall become strong. Those who recognize their faults shall become faultless.' But not on their own. Only through the King's power. Understand?”

“I understand that I don't understand.”

The man chuckled. “‘The blind shall see. The deaf shall hear. The valleys will rise and the mountains be brought low.' What awaits you, dear Owen, is too much for me to even begin to describe. But I must ask you something.”

“Anything.”

Mr. Page nodded to Clara. “Who do you think she is?”

She seemed to scan the words in
The Book of the King
as if they were pieces of gold. Her face and hair glowed in the firelight.

“I'm afraid to say,” Owen whispered.

“Then let me tell you,” Mr. Page said. “She was taken when she was young, just a few years older than you. Her mother and I have missed her terribly.” He bit his lip. “She is my beloved daughter.”

The room seemed to grow smaller, as if Owen and Mr. Page were the only two in it. “Is she to be my wife?”

The skin around Mr. Page's eyes crinkled. “A sister is born to stick by her brother to the end. And she will do this. Clara is your sister. But the woman you are betrothed to lies in there.”

The words struck Owen's heart like an arrow. “Clara is my sister?”

The man nodded.

Owen could hardly breathe, his mind swirling in some familial equation that seemed to make sense. “And if you are her father and I am her brother, then you are
my
father. You are the King. . . .”

Mr. Page hugged Owen tight and whispered, “I told you things are not always as they seem.” He pulled back, tears in his eyes. “How I've longed to hold you, my Son, longed to tell you how much I love you and how long I have searched.”

“Father,” Owen choked, burying his head in the man's chest.

Watcher returned to find a dispute over who would be the leader of the army now. Everyone knew there was no way the Wormling could have survived the onslaught of the Dragon.

“Mordecai should lead us,” Erol said. “He was the Wormling's teacher and friend.”

“But he left Connor in charge,” someone else said.

Others weighed in, saying it didn't matter, that without the Wormling they were doomed.

But a deep voice cut through the din. “The Wormling is not dead! He will return as he said!” It was Rogers, the young lad the Wormling had taken under his wing. “He promised I would be at his side when he fought the battle, and that's where I'm going to be!”

The whole camp quieted. Many of the older ones of Erol's clan began a dirge for the Wormling, a sad song that made everyone listen.

Watcher went to Connor, then to Mordecai, and all gathered around and pleaded with them to stay together and wait for word from the Wormling.

“The only word we are going to get now is the call of the war horn,” Connor said. “They will descend and tear us to pieces if we don't prepare to fight.”

“But the Wormling said—”

“Your Wormling is dead. Can't you understand that? I wish it weren't true, but if there's anything he taught us, it was to discover the truth and believe it.”

“But he said he would return. He wanted me to convince you of that and not to fight prematurely.”

Connor knelt and looked Watcher in the eye. “There is no future for us here. There is no future for us, period. We will fight and we will die. But at least we will have fought.”

The group took shelter in the forest of Emul, under the leafy trees, but at nightfall came a stiff wind, and the leaves scattered like frightened birds.

Watcher had lost her power to sense an invisible invasion, but something told her evil was on its way.