Children of Fire (44 page)

“We follow Keegan's destiny,” the monk replied. “Keegan's visions will give us guidance when the time is right. For now we must concentrate on the task at hand. Once Keegan has the Ring all will become clear.”

She threw her hands up in exasperation and spun to face Vaaler again. “Fine, go ahead. We'll wait here for you. But if you aren't back by morning, I'm gone.” She cast a quick glance over at Norr. “Even if I have to go alone.”

“I'll be back long before that,” Vaaler assured her, before disappearing into the shadows of the nearest building.

It took Vaaler less than an hour to reach the castle gates. He kept his hood up while walking through the streets to hide his face, not wanting to draw any extra attention. Not one of the citizens he passed recognized the heir to the throne. However, once he reached the gates he knew he would have to try a different approach.

“Who approaches at this hour?” a guard called from within.

Throwing back his hood he said, “Open the gates. Drake is expecting me to meet back with his patrol before the dawn and I have no time for formalities.”

It was a plausible lie. He had told himself over and over again that the guards wouldn't know of his banishment yet. All they would know was that Drake and his patrol had left suddenly on an urgent errand. It would make sense that the Queen's son should also be involved in this mysterious business. But these constant reassurances couldn't keep his heart from pounding. If he was wrong—if they knew the truth—they would seize him and throw him in the dungeons … if they didn't just kill him.

He heard the sharp twang of a bow being fired and flinched, then realized it had only been the creaking of the gates hinges as one of the guards opened it up to let him in. The men on watch saluted him and he returned the gesture in kind without even thinking.

“Her Majesty is asleep,” one of the guards informed him. “Shall I send a request that one of her attendants wake her, my prince?”

“No time,” he replied with a shake of his head. “And no need. Tomorrow, tell her I was here. Tell her I met up with Drake. She will understand.”

The guard saluted again and Vaaler turned away, disappearing into the castle's halls. He made his way toward the eastern wing, the seat of the administrative branch of the city's government. Here in the various rooms and chambers the daily business of running the kingdom was conducted. During the day it would have been bustling with functionaries ranging from pages and low-level clerks all the way through to the various ministers, including the High Sorcerer. However, at this time of night the place was completely deserted.

He reached the council chambers and found them empty, just as he had been hoping. He glanced around again to make sure nobody was around then began to feel along the edges of the large tapestry set into the far wall behind the Queen's seat. The tapestry had been sewn to a thick wooden frame, and the frame itself had been set into the bricks and stones of the castle wall.

He picked and worried at the edges of the frame and the seams of the stitching until he was able to pop a few threads loose and work his fingers through to the other side. Then he gripped the tapestry and tore it loose, revealing a small, dark tunnel behind.

Almost every room in the eastern wing had such a tapestry, and behind every tapestry was a long-forgotten tunnel. Vaaler suspected they had once been used to keep tabs on the various branches of government operating within the castle walls. Agents working for the ruling Monarch could spy on any of the ministers and civil servants—there were even tunnels running to and from each of the private rooms of the royal family. But whoever had ordered their construction had also managed to keep them very, very secret. As far as the prince knew nobody was aware of their existence anymore, not even the Queen herself.

Vaaler couldn't remember how he had discovered the castle's network of hidden passages, but he had used them often as a child. Sometimes he had even crept carefully from his bedchamber through the winding tunnels only to stop at this very room, where he had sat safely out of sight in the hidden alcove behind the heavy tapestry and eavesdropped on his mother and her council. Other times he had crawled to the tapestry of his mother's room, frightened but curious, drawn by her cries and screams as she had suffered through one of her terrible visions.

He had always considered the tunnels to be something special and private; something that had helped make up for the fact that he had been born blind to the Sight. It had been his secret and his alone. One he had carefully guarded.

His secret wouldn't last much longer. In the morning someone was sure to notice the tapestry on the floor and the rather obvious opening behind it, but Vaaler planned to be far away from the castle by then.

Taking a deep breath he stepped into the darkness, the familiar musty smell of the air inside stirring up the memories of all the time he had spent in the dark maze of passages as a little boy. He was a grown man now, and he had to crouch down to avoid the low ceiling. By the time he had gone twenty feet in it was black as pitch and he was forced to move by shuffling slowly forward, feeling with his hand along the wall to guide him. Fortunately, he knew the tunnels well enough to navigate them even in total darkness.

He counted the passages on each side, calling on the mental map he had formed in his head while exploring the tunnels as a child. He turned down the corridor that led to his mother's chambers. He knew he was nearing the end when he saw a faint orange glow ahead, the light from the Queen's fireplace shining through the fabric.

Careful not to make any sound to reveal himself he crept to the end of the tunnel and paused to listen. When he heard the faint, even breathing of his mother coming from the other side he gently pulled the stitching free until he was able to lift a corner of the tapestry back and look through at the scene beyond.

His mother lay in bed, asleep. It had been only a few weeks since he had last spoken with her, and he was shocked at how thin and frail she looked. He had heard about her refusal to eat, but even a hunger strike couldn't have brought about such a startling transformation in such a short time.

It was the Ring, of course. Once she had been able to control its power, but with the fading of the Legacy, the Chaos within the Talisman had grown beyond her abilities. He had known it consumed her thoughts; now it was consuming her physical body as well.

Surely Drake had seen it, too. Why hadn't he listened? Why had he been so stupid and stubborn? Was that part of the Ring's power, too? Was it affecting not only the Queen but also those who served her? Sowing Chaos among the hapless mortals? Could it even be affecting Vaaler himself?

He shook his head to clear away such thoughts. The Ring was destroying his mother; that was all that mattered. He had to take it, not just for her sake but for the sake of the entire kingdom.

Slipping silently out from behind the tapestry, he crept across the floor until he stood over his mother's bed. Up close she looked even worse, her pale skin covered in sweat and her brow furrowed as if she were in great pain. Behind her closed lids her eyes flickered madly with the never-ending visions brought on by the terrible power of the Ring. Though still asleep, her breath came in short, ragged gasps of her sunken chest.

The prince leaned in close, and the sickly smell of fever sweat filled his nostrils. His mother groaned and twitched in her sleep, but didn't wake up. He reached down and carefully undid the clasp of her chain then gently removed it from her neck, taking the Ring with it.

She stirred once more, and Vaaler was certain she would wake this time. But instead she only sighed and settled into what seemed to be an even deeper sleep.

Clenching the Ring in his fist, he leaned forward and softly kissed the Queen on her forehead. Her furrowed brow relaxed, and her flickering eyes became still. She sighed a second time and rolled onto her side, her back to him, her breathing now slow and even.

He escaped back into the tunnel as quietly as he had come in, the Ring tucked safely away in the pocket of his belt.

Rianna woke slowly. For the first time in many months she didn't want to wake up. On some unconscious level she was aware that she wasn't dreaming; she wasn't in the grip of a terrible vision. Sleep was a comfort, a peaceful sanctuary that her exhausted body and mind were reluctant to leave.

But another part of her knew something was wrong. She had longed to escape the torment of the dreams for so long that she couldn't remember what real sleep was even like. It felt unnatural. She rolled and stretched, feeling refreshed but also anxious as she became aware of her surroundings.

Instinctively, her right hand reached up to clasp the ring at her neck. To her horror she found nothing.

Rianna Avareen, ruling Monarch of the Danaan kingdom, began to scream.

Vaaler emerged from the shadows on the southern edge of the city just as the first horn sounded. The Danaan looked back over his shoulder then sprinted toward them.

“Alarm!” he shouted as another horn blast nearly drowned out his words, this one coming from the opposite side of the city.

“What happened?” Jerrod demanded. “Did you get the Ring?”

The prince hoisted himself up into his saddle and nodded. “They must have discovered it was missing.”

Another horn echoed its call across the spires and towers of the city. This one was answered by two separate blasts coming from somewhere deep within the woods.

“They're signaling the patrols,” Vaaler explained quickly. “The entire army is being mobilized to hunt us down.”

A sudden cacophony of noise exploded from deep within the forest as a score of horns answered the call with their own deep blasts. A similar wave of sound rolled out from the city, seeming to shake the very foundations of the buildings.

“Mount up!” Vaaler shouted. “We have to get out of here!”

They could barely hear him above the resounding blare, but he didn't need to tell them twice. With Vaaler in the lead they wheeled their horses around and fled into the forest, making for the southern border that marked the separation between the Danaan woods and the lands of the Free Cities.

Keegan clung to his horse's bridle with his right hand as they charged through the trees, the call of the horns echoing all around them. In his left he clutched Rexol's staff, keeping it close so he could draw on its power should the need arise. It was impossible to tell where the patrols were from the noise, but it seemed as if they were coming from all sides. As they drove on the wild cacophony settled into a steady rhythm of call and response, first one from behind and then one up ahead. It was clear the Danaan were signaling to one another, coordinating their efforts.

The wizard closed his eyes and let his mind drift out, extending the vision of his second sight as far as he possibly could. The swiftness of the Danaan response was amazing. Behind them an army on foot and horseback was already swarming out from the city. Wave after wave of armed soldiers poured into the forest, each squadron led by a pair of Danaan wizards using magic to quickly pick up the trail of the invaders. The squads scattered out in all directions then pressed south, beating the bushes to drive their quarry forward.

To the south, ahead of the fleeing party, were the patrols. There were literally hundreds of them, fanning out in response to the staccato bursts of sound to form a wide semicircle that threatened to cut off all hope of escape.

Even the forest itself seemed to answer the call. The horns had woken ancient magics meant to protect the Danaan and their kingdom; long-dormant spells woven into every branch and leaf had been stirred to life. The trees were shifting and moving, a subtle transformation of the path ahead, funneling them into the heart of their enemy's strength. The trees themselves were leading them into an ambush.

Keegan recognized the hopelessness of their situation in a single instant of revelation. But he hardly cared. There was something else that dominated his vision, a single glowing ember so bright it threatened to blind him to everything else: the Ring in Vaaler's belt.

“Stop!” he hollered when they stumbled into a small clearing. Everyone pulled up their horses sharply, as if the very command of the word had some power they could not resist. “We can't outrun them. We're already surrounded.”

Vaaler agreed. “This is the land of my people. We can move farther and faster on foot or through the treetops than you can on horseback. The patrols won't let us get away.”

The wall of sound closing in on them made it impossible to doubt his words.

“I didn't come all this way to die in the woods, hunted like some animal!” Scythe snapped. “Come on, wizard. Cast some kind of spell to get us out of this!”

“Magic can't save us,” Vaaler said. “Danaan war wizards are among those hunting us. Strong as Keegan is, they would simply overwhelm him if he tried to use the Chaos against them.”

“Not if I use the Ring,” Keegan said. “They can't stand against the power of Old Magic.”

“No!” Jerrod suddenly shouted, much to the mage's surprise. “It's too dangerous. The Crown destroyed Rexol when he tried to use it; its power consumed him. The Ring is just as dangerous.”

“What are you talking about?” Scythe snapped. “You're the one who keeps saying Keegan's supposed to save the world! He doesn't stand much chance of that if he dies right here. Let him use the damn Ring!”

“No,” Jerrod repeated. “He needs more training. He needs to let his visions guide him, teach him. If he uses the ring now he will suffer the same fate as his master. He needs more time to learn to control the power of the Talisman.”

“I don't think he's got much time left,” was her scathing reply.

“Vaaler knows these woods, he knows how the patrols operate,” Jerrod said, speaking to Keegan and ignoring the angry young woman. “Use your magic to hide yourself and him. The rest of us will press on and draw the attention of the Danaan while you double back and around to freedom.”

“That's suicide,” Keegan protested. “The patrols will kill you all!”

“Our lives are meaningless,” Jerrod said.

“Speak for yourself,” Scythe muttered.

The monk gave her a grave look.

“You may not believe in Keegan's destiny, but he alone can save the world. His life is worth more than any other: yours or mine. The fate of the mortal world hangs in the balance. Keegan must survive. He must be allowed to fulfill his destiny.”