The Sleeping King (20 page)

“How ancient a magic do you seek, and what quantity of power do you need?” he queried.

“I'll need ancient magic and potentially a lot of it,” she answered reluctantly.

“The only source of ancient magic that I have ever heard of would be the Mythar,” Cicero answered.

“What's a Mythar?”

“Who is a Mythar,” he corrected. “The Mythar was lord of all the nature guardians. The Mythar was said to be an elf who went on to become a great king.”

“How long ago was that?” she asked eagerly. “And was he by any chance a magic user?”

“How would I know how long ago it was? I am kindari; we keep our histories by word of mouth, not written documents. Details like time get lost in the passing down of the stories. “As for magic, I suppose he used it. Most nature guardians are masters of nature magic and, hence, magic casters.”

That sounded promising. If this Mythar fellow still existed, he might be able to restore the Great Mage.

“Any idea where I might find the Mythar?” she asked.

“That knowledge rests far,
far
above my station in life to possess.”

“Would your Black Widow know where to find him?”

“I sincerely doubt it. I've heard all of her stories, and none of them even hint at such a thing.”

Raina was disappointed but not discouraged. She had a name. It was a start.

 

CHAPTER

9

Will and Rosana crouched in the woods just beyond the crossroads. They'd been creeping through the brush and trees all night. He'd heard movement that was likely two-footed humanoids several times through the night, but never close by. Whoever had been out there had been moving fast and in force. Like an orcish war party.

To her credit, Rosana had not complained about the rough conditions or the all-night trek. And her woodcraft was not half-bad for a city girl. She moved lightly and quietly for the most part.

With the coming of daylight he expected the orc raiding party would go to ground and rest. It should be safe for him and Rosana to move along the roads through the day, “should” being the operative word. They would make much better time on a road than picking their way through brambles and bushes all day. He didn't know about Rosana, but he was too exhausted to do much more than stumble along a nice, smooth path at this point.

“Is it safe now?” Rosana whispered.

“I think so. Orcs are not known for traveling during the day.”

She cast a worried look at the broad clearing ahead of them. “So it is a choice between fast, dangerous travel and slow, safe travel.”

He shrugged. “If we take the road, we'll see the Boki coming in enough time to run for cover. Maybe they catch us and maybe they don't. Or we can stick to the woods, take three times as long to get clear of the Wylde Wood, and still maybe run into them.”

“What do you think?” she asked.

Straight ahead was the Southwatch Fort. A small contingent of the Haelan legion of the Imperial Army was stationed there and should, by rights, be warned of the Boki invasion. But his father had been specific. Go to Dupree. Speak to no one of the orcs except some fellow in the Mage's Guild there. Aurelius. That path lay to the left.

And to the right … to the right lay Hickory Hollow, a burnt-out and deserted hull of a village according to Rosana.

He was the only survivor; he knew it as surely as he felt the ground beneath his feet. Maybe some in the hollow had spirits strong enough to make it all the way to Dupree to resurrect. But he doubted it. He remembered overhearing his parents discuss the capital city being right at the limit of how far a disembodied spirit might travel successfully from Hickory Hollow. He hadn't understood at the time what it meant and was only now comprehending it fully.

It meant that all the residents of the hollow were permanently dead. And his parents, too. Grief slammed down on Will like an avalanche, crushing his chest in agony too painful to breathe against. A choked sound escaped his throat before he could cut it off. Their deaths were not fair. The dead deserved justice. But stars knew, the Empire would not serve up any reckoning for the fallen of Hickory Hollow. This world only offered up noble ideals like justice and mercy to the rich and powerful. The rest of the populace lived and died in misery and poverty, virtual or actual slaves of the Empire and its nobles.

“Castlegate Falls is to the left, and Dupree lies beyond it,” Rosana finally blurted. “I say we go there.”

He'd learned overnight that she could be entirely single-minded in her focus. And at the moment all her energy was directed at reaching the Heart in Dupree as soon as possible. But his choice was not so simple. The logical thing to do was go straight on to the Southwatch Fort. Warn the villages of the Ring. Unless he believed his father, and unless something much bigger was afoot than a simple orc raid.

Did he believe his father about any of it? About some story of a sleeping elven king? About quests and crowns and rebellion?

How much did he really know of his father? The warrior-mage of last night, boldly challenging and crushing Boki fighters, bore no resemblance whatsoever to the simple cobbler Will had grown up with. Had everything he'd thought he'd known about his father been something else entirely? What if Ty's paranoia had good cause? What if he had been in hiding all along? Then his secrecy and insistence on never drawing attention to himself or his family would make sudden sense.

What about that suit of armor worth more than everyone in Hickory Hollow together could earn in years? The white sword his mother had called Dragon's Tooth? As far as Will knew, there was no such thing as dragons. If he was right, then that meant his father owned a
named
sword. An artifact of enough power to earn a name of its own could very well be the worth of a small kingdom. Then there was the way Ty had snapped orders as if born to command and handled a sword and shield like a seasoned knight. What of all that?

And the magic. Why on Urth had Ty never revealed his skill with it and garnered a life of wealth and ease for himself and his family, unless he truly had been secretly contemplating and planning rebellion? Did Will dare follow his parents down that path? No matter how much the notion might fire his blood, it would most assuredly lead to his destruction.

Had he not seen all he had last night, he would have accused his parents of losing themselves in wild fantasy. But he
had
seen. And he
had
heard of this Sleeping King fellow, now. It was not something he could unhear or unknow. Like it or not, his parents had transferred their illicit quest and its attendant risks to him. The only question left to answer was, what was he going to do about it?

“What are you waiting for?” Rosana demanded.

“Nothing,” he answered in decision.

“Let us get going, then. We've far to go to reach our journey's end.”

She was most certainly correct. A long journey lay before him no matter which path he chose. And a happy outcome was not likely at the end of any road he took. But he could honor his parents, at least.

He nodded with finality. So be it.

Rosana grabbed his hand, and he let her drag him down the left-hand turning of the path. Toward Dupree. In search of a man called Aurelius and whatever he might know of a quest to find a sleeping king.

*   *   *

Raina trudged along behind Cicero, tired and hungry and thirsty. But mostly tired. They had been walking all day, stopping only to hide when other travelers came close. She did not know what she would have done without the kindari. A sense of comfort clung to him. Mayhap it was because his presence made her feel slightly connected to home, still. Although taciturn for the most part, Cicero seemed generally at ease with her as well. But then, she had that effect on most people.

She chewed anxiously on a fingernail as she weighed her options. A perplexed farmer had paused long enough in plowing his field earlier to inform her and Cicero that they were in Hyland, a week's hard march west of the city of Dupree. The hills they had walked out of overnight were the Grimshaw Hills. Not, the farmer informed them, a place anyone who wished to live for long visited. He gave them directions to the main highway between Hyland and Dupree, somewhat south of their current location.

Her mother would search for Raina up to a point. But instinct told her that part of Charlotte secretly approved of her daughter's rebellion. Her mother would probably not give chase outside of Tyrel, which Raina most definitely was, now.

The Mages of Alchizzadon were another story, however. They would not give up the search for her anytime soon. They had years in which to find her and kidnap her for their purposes. She must do the unexpected. Keep the mages off balance and off her trail. Everyone would expect her to go back to Tyrel, or at least the Midlands, which lay just to the north of Tyrel. To places she was familiar with and where her name and rank held some weight. Dupree it was, then. They would find this main road and circle back to the east and the capital city. She'd be twice cursed before she'd go down to defeat cowering like a terrified mouse. After all, she was a daughter of Tyrel.

The outrage that had driven her from home last night had dwindled to a dull, steady ache of betrayal. Why had her mother gone along with the mages' plan? Raina trudged on, determination to foil the mages hardening in her heart. Or mayhap it was nothing more than pure, bullheaded stubbornness that kept her moving. It wasn't noble, but it was enough to shuffle her feet forward, one weary step after another. Away. Away from those who were supposed to love her and keep her safe. Away from those who'd failed her.

As sunset's pink faded to gray, Cicero veered off the path. She staggered after him, so exhausted she barely spotted the thin thread of smoke rising ahead of them until they were practically upon a low sod cottage.

“I believe it would be best that you call out a greeting rather than myself,” Cicero muttered. “A female voice is eminently less threatening than an unknown male voice.”

“If you got rid of that sword, you'd be a fair sight less threatening,” she mumbled back.

Cicero's only answer was a snort of never-going-to-happen.

“Hullo!” she called out over the growling of her stomach.

In a moment the sagging door opened. A crofter peered out suspiciously. “'Oo goes?”

She dared not use her own name, but hadn't thought of a false name or cover story. She stammered, “Uh-h, travelers. Seeking board and bed for the night.”

“Ye got coin?”

Her mother or a servant had always carried money for Raina. Alarmed, she glanced at Cicero, who shook his head in the negative as well. “Nay,” she answered the peasant, “but we've skills to trade.”

He looked her up and down in a way that made her skin crawl. Suddenly she was entirely grateful for that lethal sword on Cicero's hip.

A female voice floated out the door, “'Oo be ye flappin' at, Arv?”

“Summat travelers. Offerin' ta trade skills for sup and a piece o' floor.”

“Wha' skills?” the woman asked.

The man looked back Raina's way. “Whadda ye do?”

Raina thought fast. She dared not offer Cicero's skills in smuggling, thievery, or swordplay. As for her, teaching court dances or classical lute tunes or poetry composition would be of no use here. Nor fine needlework, illuminating a manuscript, or translating between a dozen different languages. “I can cook and clean,” she tried.

The farmer grunted, “Mag does 'at. Do ye make candles or soap or spin thread, mayhap?”

Oh, why hadn't she paid more attention when her tutors had tried to teach her the details of such things? Desperate, she offered, “I can make a magical light that will last throughout the night.”

The man's jaw dropped. “Slip of a thing like ye can do magic?”

The woman exclaimed from inside, “Magic? Be she an 'ealer?”

Raina replied eagerly, calling out to be heard by the woman inside, “I can do some healing!” The Heart controlled the teaching and use of healing magics very closely, but she'd been allowed to learn a few simple healing spells outside the guild because of her noble rank.

“Praise be.” The farmer was shouldered out of the way by a gap-toothed woman of indeterminate age with an enormous belly proclaiming an advanced state of pregnancy. “Me name's Mag. Whot's yourn?”

Cicero intervened smoothly, “I am known as Cicero and my traveling companion answers to Carin.”

“Come wit' me, Carin. Me milch cow's ailin' and I canna lose her.” Mag rubbed her round belly. “Not wit' a bun in the oven so close to cooked.”

Raina frowned. What was this woman doing with that bucket and broom in her hands? Didn't she know expectant mothers should not work? They were to rest and relax and concentrate on growing the babe. It was said to be bad for the babe to do aught else. But this woman appeared to have been in the midst of heavy housework to no ill effect.

Then the rest of the woman's words sank in. A cow? They wanted her to heal a
cow
? She had no idea if her healing magics would even work on an animal. Only one way to find out. And if it meant food, no matter how rude, she'd give it a try.

Raina asked in resignation, “Where's this beast?”

The woman led her to a low lean-to behind the hovel. Mag stomped heedlessly through the muck and manure, while Raina picked gingerly through it as best she could. Not that it mattered. Her slippers were already ruined.

“'Ere she be,” Mag announced.

Raina spied a giant white-and-black bovine standing in a dark corner, her head hanging low. She made her way to the animal and laid a hand on her side. The animal jerked her head up, and Raina leaped back.

“She won' 'urt ye. She's 'bout to keel over dead. Ye came jus' in the nick o' time.”

Raina reached out again and touched the beast's rough hide. The cow was hot to the touch. Feverish. And her breathing was raspy and labored. “Do you know what's wrong with her?” Raina asked Mag.