The Sleeping King (44 page)

“If I do not obtain this ritual?” Will asked cautiously. No way was he going back to the Mage's Guild to ask for help.

“You may be stuck with it on your chest until you die and resurrect. Even then, it may not come loose, however. If it has attached to your spirit in some way, it could very well resurrect with you. It would help if we knew from whence it came.”

Great stars.
How on Urth was he supposed to research where a random lizardman girl he had never seen before and would likely never see again had obtained this stupid hunk of wood? He had no desire to go traipsing around the Empire with this thing stuck to him!

The depth of how adrift he'd suddenly become washed over Will. He had no home, no family, no means of employment, no prospects. How was he supposed to pay to fix this problem, let alone supply himself and travel into the Forest of Thorns in search of a legend? He needed gold. Resources. Information. Hopelessness broke over him. Would he end up pressed into the Haelan legion or enslaved, or worse?

A commotion downstairs interrupted discussion among the healers of his interesting problem. An excited voice floated up the stairs announcing that Lord Justinius had stopped in to check out the Heart's security.

Will looked over at Rosana questioningly.
Who is Lord Justinius?

Her face lit up by way of answer. She grabbed his hand and bodily pulled him out of the office toward the stairs. “I never see him before,” she blurted, blushing. “Hurry. Come!”

“Who is he?” Will demanded as she dragged him down the stairs at a dangerously fast clip. “Is he a ritual caster?”

“He commands Royal Order of Sun. He work for Voice.”

“Voice? Who is that?”

“Voice lead entire Heart,” she explained impatiently. “And Lord Justinius—he battle caster, not ritual caster.”

They burst into the main room, or at least into the edge of it, for the place was suddenly crowded to bursting. A cadre of big, dangerous-looking men in the Royal Order of the Sun's white tabards, decorated with red shields behind their heart and sun emblems, filled much of the common room. It appeared that every healer in the Heart had also crowded in, and commoners off the street jammed the remaining corners. Lord Justinius was the biggest of them all, a massively powerful warrior with dark hair going gray at the temples. His sword, shield, and armor glowed brightly with magic, as did his hands.

“Welcome, my lord Justinius!” the High Matriarch cried out in greeting. “To what do we owe this great honor?”

“We received tidings of trouble in the city. We came in from the field to check upon your safety and security.”

“All is well, here. We run somewhat low on supplies, but that is not unusual after a night like this.”

“And the Heartstone?”

One of Justinius's knights piped up, “I have checked the locks. It is secure, my lord.”

“Thank you, Sir Christian.” Justinius turned back to the high matriarch. “I have heard rumors of a new healer in town. A girl of spectacular ability. Who is she?”

“Only new girl we've gotten the past few days is Novice Rosana. Where is she?”

Someone shoved her forward, but she was holding Will's hand so tightly that he was dragged forward as well.

“How many life spells can you cast in a single day, Novice?” Lord Justinius asked her kindly enough.

“One, sir.”

His dark eyes flickered in disappointment, but he still smiled and nodded in approval. “Keep practicing, then. Your skills will grow quickly under High Matriarch Lenora's tutelage.” To the high matriarch he murmured, “This is not her. Talk was a spirit arch-mage had come to Dupree.”

“An arch-mage? There hasn't been one in my lifetime,” Lenora replied. “But I'll certainly keep an eye out for one, my lord.”

“Excellent. I'm off, then. Back to what we were doing before news of the riots reached us. My men will, of course, share what scrolls and potions they can spare to see you through the next few days. Give her all the Delphi marked potions and scrolls you have. That batch is nearing its expiration date. Best to use it up here, where we know it will do some good before the magics drain away.”

The knights stepped forward one by one to empty their pouches. When they were done, the crowd of knights swept out of the Heart, and abruptly the building felt empty. Hollow. The day's excitement and the strange malady Will had suffered on and off caught up with him of a sudden, and he was glad to curl up in a bunk in one of the alcoves lining the Heart's common room.

He had barely laid his head on the thin, musty pillow, his eyes barely closed, when strange images began to dance in his head, more vivid than any normal dream, not quite hallucination, and not quite imagination.

The images were dark and violent. Some thinking part of him registered surprise that the battle his dreaming mind conjured was not that of Hickory Hollow. Rather, he saw a huge field, bordered on opposing sides by two great armies, one composed almost entirely of elves, the other made up of various greenskins. And trolls. Lots of trolls. The center of the greenskin line was dominated, though, by a regiment of orcs bristling with weapons. Orcs with red symbols that looked like outspread tree roots tattooed on their foreheads.

The two armies did not battle each other. Rather, all eyes were directed to the center of the field where two lone figures dueled. One an elf, the other a troll, the crowns upon their brows declaring them to be kings among their kind. The elf's crown, predictably, was made of what looked like living green leaves edged in gold.

As Will looked on, the elf lunged forward and, with a mighty thrust of his sword, impaled the troll upon it. In so doing, however, he opened himself up to a vicious slash from the troll's axe from shoulder to opposite hip.

Both men toppled over to their deaths simultaneously. The armies roared with one voice, whether in glee or dismay he could not tell. A cadre of elves rushed forward from one side, and the orc regiment charged forth from the other side. Will winced, waiting for the clash of battle, but instead, the two forces made for their respective fallen champions.

The orcs hefted the body of the gigantic troll onto his nearly body-length shield and commenced carrying him from the field in a rough procession. A chant rose up from their throats, taken up quickly by the rest of the greenskin army. “Roo. Dath. Roo. Dath.”

Will didn't know the meaning of the syllables, but the greenskins roared it over and over, adding in the clanging of clubs, axes, spears, and swords against shields and the stomps of armored feet until the cacophony was painful to the ear.

As they pulled back from the battlefield, the more quiet grief of the elves became audible. A lament rose from the elven army, made loud by the thousands of throats issuing it.

The entire elven army knelt in its grief. And then a shimmering appeared in the air before the fallen king and his grieving guards. The shimmering took on a greenish cast, and from within it a figure stepped forth of a young and terribly beautiful lady. She looked human, but not entirely. Her figure was wreathed in a glow of green light, and her clothing was adorned with living leaves and flowers.

She spoke in a normal voice that somehow could be heard across the entire field. “I am sorry for your loss this day. But know this. I can and will save your king.”

Oh, great. Now he was dreaming about kings, too. At least this one had the good grace to be dead and not sleeping eternally.

The phalanx of elves surrounding the body of their leader looked up hopefully.

The lady continued, “Give me his body, and I give you my word. He shall not perish permanently. I shall use all my power to keep him safe.”

The elves glanced around at one another, unsure, muttering among themselves.

One of them called out, “But, my lady, Gawaine's spirit has flown. Our healers saw it leave him!”

The lady's voice rang out, terrible in its power, “Do not underestimate my abilities, mortals.”

The elves bowed their heads in apology for doubting her. As no one seemed to have any more objections to voice, the lady glided to the body of their fallen king. As if he weighed nothing, she scooped up the elven king in her arms. She turned away from the army and made for the green shimmering that still hung in the air.

From his dreaming vantage point Will could swear he saw the lady's skin glitter faintly, almost as if covered by tiny metallic bits. He also saw her smile in dark triumph, her back turned to hide the expression from the grieving elves, as she swept through the portal and disappeared.

Heat spread outward from his chest, an uncomfortable itch beneath the wood disk. It grew into a piercing blade of burning agony that finally roused him from his strangely vivid dream.

Rebellion surged within him as he awoke.
Father, I cannot take up your quest. Aurelius will not stand for it. He issued a death warrant for me, for stars' sake! Selea suggests I take up the search in the heart of the Forest of Thorns, but it is certain death to go there. You are dead and cannot make me change my mind. Begone with your cursed hallucinations!

Something rumbled deep inside Will's mind. Almost a chuckle. A wordless promise by some otherworldly spirit to have his way with Will, like it or no. And the first order of business was to go north. To the Boki lands. Where his father and the others had left off searching for the Sleeping King sixteen years ago.

*   *   *

Raina found the procession the next morning across Dupree with Hyland, his son, Kendrick, Kendrick's jann companion Eben, Cicero, and a half-dozen guards deeply reminiscent of when Lady Charlotte used to take the children into Tyrel City to shop with their assorted nannies and watchdogs. She found it odd how familiar moving with an entourage was and yet how foreign to her now. The fall from grace was so very easy in this empire.

The Heart building was not far from Hyland's house, and the walk did not take long. Long enough, though, to see broken storefronts, looted warehouses, and the sullen faces of the townsfolk.

Raina was not entirely certain why Hyland insisted on her visiting the Heart building this morn. She hoped it did not include an aggressive sales pitch by some high-ranking Heart personage to join the White Heart. It had been awkward enough to turn down Hyland. He'd insisted on her taking his wife's White Heart tabard anyway, and she had stuffed it into the farthest, deepest corner of her pack.

The Heart common room was crowded when they arrived. A brightly shining solinari with golden skin was there, along with a squad of big, armored men wearing the Golden Dragons of the Celestial Order of the Dragon on their royal blue tabards. Any number of healers loitered about, and two fellows wearing the red shield on their tabards behind their Heart emblems—Royal Order of the Sun—watched everyone carefully.

They piled inside adding to the crush. Only then did Hyland reveal his purpose in coming here.

“Raina, there's a youth here with an unusual malady. I would like you to try to heal it.”

“What illness could I possibly heal that Heart healers could not?” she asked, surprised.

Hyland shrugged. “I am no healer.”

The High Matriarch looked younger than Raina would have expected of someone of such rank. Lenora's eyes lit with interest, and mayhap even recognition, when Hyland explained that Raina was an exceptionally talented young healer.

“Come this way, my dear,” Lenora said gently.

Raina followed the High Matriarch across the room to the hearth, where a perfectly healthy-looking youth sat beside a lovely dark-haired healer. She recognized the pair. They were the ones who'd caused the fuss at the council meeting by reporting an orc raid.

Raina eyed the young gypsy with interest. That could be her life—living in a Heart house, sitting with patients, fetching potions, and patching wounds. The girl, who turned out to be called Novice Rosana, seemed reluctant to leave the handsome young man's side.

“This is Will Cobb.” Lenora explained. “He's lately come out of the country with a strange affliction. Show her.”

The youth, a tall, lanky boy on his way to being a large, powerful man, threw her a long-suffering look. He reminded her of Justin, and a pang of missing her childhood sweetheart stabbed her sharply.

Will opened the top of his shirt, and she leaned forward with interest to examine what turned out to be a thin disk of wood partially grown into his chest. A lip of his skin formed a ridge around the edge of the disk. It reminded her of a piece of jewelry with a thin rim of precious metal ringing a gem to hold it in place.

“Does it hurt?” she asked doubtfully.

“When people pry at it, it does.”

She grinned at his aggrieved tone. He sounded just like Justin. She looked up at the matriarch. “What am I supposed to do to this thing that you cannot?”

Lenora shrugged. “Mayhap cast more magic into it than I or any of my healers can. Landsgrave Hyland says you've a fair bit of power.”

Novice Rosana muttered, “Who'll life him when you people kill him?”

Personally, Raina agreed with the novice. She was no expert at these sorts of things. It looked like a job for a ritual-casting healer. But she did not air her untrained opinion. “Do you mind if I touch it? she asked Will. “I promise not to pry at it.”

“Have at it. Everyone else here has poked at it.”

She reached out to touch the disk of wood. It was satin smooth beneath her fingertips, with only the faint ridges of the carvings upon it marring the surface. It was also warm. As if it were alive.
How odd.
“Do you feel it tingling?” she asked Will.

“Sometimes.”

She rubbed the pad of her right thumb across the seductively smooth surface and jolted as something poked her painfully in the hip. She looked over her shoulder sharply. But no one was there. Where had that jab come from, then? Her pouch rested on her hip right over the spot where she'd been stabbed.