The Sleeping King (16 page)

“Quickly, Tiberius,” his mother muttered. “We have two, maybe three minutes.”

His father nodded and whispered urgently, “Will, you must get word of this attack to a man in Dupree right away.”

“Have you lost your wits? There are Boki out there. Let us hide—together—until they leave, and then we all can take the message to this man.”

“There is no time.” Ty added heavily, “The Boki will not leave until they find me.”

“We have mayhap one minute until they are close enough to hear us,” his mother whispered.

“What do the Boki want with you, Father?”

Serica intervened smoothly. “Ahh. They have gone off the track again.” She added in satisfaction, “They pursue my second countertrack.”

She was a
master
tracker? The world had officially gone mad. She must have caught the thought in Will's eyes, for she muttered, “I was not always a cobbler's wife and your mother, you know. Quickly, Ty. Tell him. If you would send him to die, he has a right to know why.”

Ty scowled, but did not argue with her.

Will looked back and forth between the two of them expectantly.

Ty took up his unspoken challenge. “I dared to search out a man whom the Boki are rumored to guard. A sleeping king. An ancient and powerful elf who, when woken, prophecy says will lead us all to freedom.”

The words rippled across Will's skin with a life of their own, their power making him shiver.
A sleeping king. Prophecy. Freedom.

“Freedom from what?” Will whispered.

“The Kothites.”

Will inhaled through his teeth on a hiss. Rebellion? To be caught thinking of it was suicide. To try it, even in small measure, was a death sentence for your family and all the people you'd ever known as well. Everybody knew rebellion was impossible.

Ty continued urgently, “The elven king ruled this continent before the coming of the Kothites. No one knows how or why, but he fell into an eternal sleep. The old legends say he waits until his people's moment of greatest need to wake again and lead them to safety. You must take up the quest, now.”

“You want me to go into Boki-infested woods and risk dying for a children's hearth tale?”

“It is no hearth tale. I have seen the evidence of his existence myself. His crown. Made of eternally living, gold-edged leaves. A thing of great magic. Meant only for his brow. He's real, all right. You must find the Sleeping King. Wake him.”

“Me?” Will's voice broke on the syllable in patent disbelief.

“They come this way,” Serica muttered.

Ty glanced at her and continued in haste, “I was not alone in my search. Aurelius Lightstar. Selea Rouge. Leland Hyland. We were companions in the endeavor. But we failed. You must complete the quest in our stead. Seek them out. But trust no one else.
No one
.”

“He cannot do it alone!” Serica burst out.

Ty cut her off sharply. “He is all we have left. He must do it. We are old, tired men. This quest calls for fresh legs. The courage of youth.”

“The rash recklessness of youth—” Serica started. She broke off abruptly, listening. “Ki'Raiden comes,” she breathed. She turned fast and pressed something smooth and faintly warm into Will's hand. “By this token, Aurelius will know you and help you.”

“Here. Put on this Boki tabard. And this belt and tooth necklace. They will make your silhouette look Boki from a distance.” She helped him don the gear quickly.

Will jumped as his father's hard hand clamped down on his upper arm. Hot breath touched his ear. “Go now. Run like the wind. Your mother and I will occupy the Boki as long as we can. Go to Dupree. The Mage's Guild. Speak only to Aurelius. Tell him what happened here.”

The hand loosed Will with a hard shove, and Ty took off running in the opposite direction, toward the approaching war party, gathering speed for a one-man charge.

“I will not leave—” Will started.

“Go!” his mother bit out with a ferocity he'd never heard from her before. Her bowstring twanged in the dark and then twanged again so quickly that the two sounds were barely distinguishable.

Ty crashed into the first of the orcs, his sword swinging like a thing possessed. Will stared in horror at the violence of it.

His mother muttered an apology and then something hit him in the chest. A faint, musical tinkling of glass breaking was audible over the din of orcish battle cries below. Was that a—

 

CHAPTER

6

Raina hid in the darkest shadows at the back of the hall, lurking behind a wall hanging like she had as a little girl, frantically reviewing her options. She was half tempted to go back and beg Justin to run away with her. He would surely go with her rather than let her run away from home alone.

Except he might try to talk her out of it, too. He might even raise an alarm and hand her over to her mother. He'd become so bloody responsible of late; it was entirely possible he would betray her.

She knew practically everyone still drinking in the hall. Mayhap someone else here could be convinced to render aid to her. Scanning the rows of rapidly deteriorating revelers, her gaze lighted on a likely pair. Two elves who'd passed through now and again for years, traders rumored to be smugglers. Her mother had always been suspicious of them and considered them dodgy characters to be watched carefully. How they'd gained entrance to the feast tonight was anyone's guess. But mayhap they could help her slip out the same way they'd slipped in.

She waited impatiently for several servants to emerge from the kitchen, this time carrying the leftover desserts—fanciful confections made of spun sugar in the shapes of mythical creatures. Oooh, and red raspberries … her favorite. A pang of longing to stay and gorge herself on the pretty treats struck her. Except she was not so shallow as all that. She sidled in behind the line of servants and dropped quickly onto the bench beside the elves. One had the distinctive flame markings upon his skin of a pyresti—a fire elf. Natives of the nation of Pyrestan, they aligned themselves with the element of fire.

The other elf bore the stylized tattoos of a kindari—an untamed elf of the deep forests. His reminded her faintly of a spider's mandibles and fangs. She'd been taught that his kind had no homeland in particular. Rather, they aligned themselves with nature and the Green Court of the Fae historically. Their culture was clan based, and each clan apparently aligned itself with some specific animal. She would lay odds that his was a Spider clan.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” she murmured.

They stared at her but, like most of their kind, revealed little emotion beyond mild curiosity. “Good evening, Lady Raina. To what happy circumstance do we owe this honor?” the pyresti replied.

“I haven't much time, and I need a favor.”

That brought a hint of surprise into their eyes. “Of course. We are honored to serve the House of Tyrel,” the pyresti murmured.

“This favor will greatly anger the House of Tyrel,” she responded with reluctant honesty.

Definite interest sparked their gazes now. “Ask nonetheless,” the kindari chimed in.

“I need to escape the keep, tonight. Immediately, in fact. I was hoping you could help me.”

The elves exchanged quick glances that could have been anything from avid greed to deep skepticism. So hard to read, elves. All elegance and urbane sophistication on the outside, but who knew what went on between those pointed ears of theirs?

“And after you escape the keep?” the pyresti asked. “What then?”

She stared at him, flummoxed. She hadn't given a moment's thought to that. “I will keep on running, I suppose.”

“It is an arduous path you propose to follow. Outlaws are not treated kindly in the Empire. They experience few comforts such as these”—the pyresti gestured at the hall around them—“and fewer safe havens.”

The kindari objected, “It isn't as dire as all that, Moto.”

“To a soft, coddled human from a noble house, it would be worse!” the pyresti retorted.

Desperate, she changed tactics. “What are your names?”

“I am called Moto,” the pyresti replied. “And my talkative friend, here, goes by Cicero.”

Called. Goes by
. Those were not their real names, then. Which meant she had chosen well. These two must be the smugglers rumor said they were. “I do not jest, gentlemen. I must leave as quickly as possible. Even now, my mother and two powerful mages search for me to do me unspeakable ill. If you are to assist me, it must be now.”

She looked furtively around the hall and lurched, bumping into Moto in her startlement. “There is one of my pursuers, now.”

Kadir had just stepped into the great hall. Thankfully, he was at the far end of the large room and he was scanning the high table at the moment.

Cursing under her breath, she all but slid underneath the table in her panic not to be spotted.

Over her head, the two elves exchanged one last, long look between them before Moto grinned down at her. “You will require my cloak. Your garments practically glow in the dark. A small tip, my lady. White is the worst possible color for stealth. You would fare better to clothe yourself in gray or green, or even a dull brown like my forest friend, here, favors.”

“If there were sufficient time for me to return to my chambers and change gowns, we would not be having this conversation,” she muttered.

“Point taken. How are you at feigning drunkenness?” Moto murmured as he swept off his cloak and dropped it over her head. It smelled of pickled cabbage and the fiery hot sauce pyresti were known for dousing human food in. Quick, strong hands sorted the wool out around her, and in a moment she was able to see once more, albeit from behind the deep folds of a hood pulled well down over her face.

“This way, my lady,” Cicero murmured.

“You mustn't call me that,” she grumbled.

“Aye, true enough,” the kindari laughed back. She realized with a start he was pretending to flirt as if she were a strumpet he was luring outside for a “midnight stroll.”

Unable to see much beyond the flagstones beneath her feet, she stumbled along beside him, clinging to his arm with a certain credibility in her blindness. Her direction sense told her they headed for a rear exit from the hall.

“This way!” a low voice hissed. Moto.

Interesting that the pair had not brought up the topic of compensation for their help. Did they have a certain payment in mind? Although assault at their hands would be no worse than what the Mages of Alchizzadon had planned. Mayhap the satisfaction of thwarting her mother was payment enough for them. Or mayhap they were in the business of collecting favors owed. She'd heard something to that effect once about how bandits and outlaws operated.

The night had turned cold, the ground lightly frosted, and she was grateful for Moto's cloak. She pushed the hood back enough to see the main bailey of the keep, but was dismayed when Moto rejoined them and gestured toward the stables.

“They will look for me there,” she whispered urgently.

“I just reconnoitered it,” Moto whispered back. “Naught waits within but cows and goats. And the midden door is the speediest way out of the keep.”

The midden door. Of course. It was a hinged section of the barn's exterior wall that swung outward to allow grooms to shovel manure through it. Dung rolled down the steep slope behind the keep, and local peasants hauled it away to spread upon their fields as fertilizer. It would make for a messy escape, but better than no escape at all. And it was Moto's cloak, after all. If he was willing to roll it in dung, who was she to argue?

They crept into the darkness of the barn, and the warm animal smell of it embraced Raina in familiar comfort. Her breath caught on a sob. She was going to miss home terribly.

Moto stumbled beside her and came to an abrupt halt, alarming her, and he grabbed her arm in a shockingly strong grip. His eyes burned like twin embers, glowing with an unholy light aimed at her. She recoiled, frightened.

“Cripes. Not now,” Cicero whispered urgently.

Moto mumbled something in an odd accent that made her jolt. It was nearly the same ancient, vaguely elvish accent Kadir and his companion had used earlier! She frowned, concentrating on the elf's hoarse voice, and the sounds gradually sorted themselves into meaning.

“… black is the name of the king, and green the heart of the slayer. Stars explode and ages turn before their battle ends.…” Moto grabbed her cloak, dragging her face close to his. His dark, unseeing gaze burned with madness. “… A sleeping king awaits thee, neither alive nor dead, fated to thee as thou art to him. You shall hold more power over him than you know. Wield it wisely, or the kingdom will crash down around us all. 'Twill be your fault. All your fault…” His voice trailed off.

She jerked away from his unnaturally powerful grasp. Staggered back. A sleeping king? Did he mean the Great Mage? How could he possibly know? A kingdom crashing down? Her fault? She looked up in dismay at Cicero and mumbled, “He's hallucinating.”

The second elf shrugged. “He sees things on occasion. Professes that it comes from being dragon touched. He's surprisingly accurate, though.”

In the name of the Lady, please let Moto be wrong this time. But the sick feeling in her gullet proclaimed her wish a lie. That was prophecy she'd just heard. And it bore the unmistakable ring of truth.

“We'd best be going now, my la—” Cicero broke off. “We'd best be going.”

Moto roused beside her and shook his entire body like a dog emerging from a river. He snapped, “What are you standing around staring at? Let's go!”

“Someone comes,” Moto announced urgently. “Hide!”

Raina looked toward the door in alarm and recognized the broad-shouldered profile. Her father.

“What are you doing out here at this hour, Daughter?”