Fable: Edge of the World (3 page)

The music changed. All eyes now turned from the present king to Albion’s future queen. The king’s breath caught, as it did every time he saw her.

Laylah.

Tall and slender, delicate of feature with wide, doelike eyes, her lips curved in a smile that made his heart leap. The dusky golden brown of her skin and her ebony tresses contrasted with the creamy white of the formal gown. In her hands, she held a bouquet of native, riotously colorful Auroran blossoms.

Walking behind her as her maid of honor was the only true Bowerstone native besides the king himself—Page. She resembled Laylah slightly although her skin was much darker, her features fuller, and her long hair tightly braided in rows. The leader of the Bowerstone Resistance during Logan’s reign, Page had taken a great deal of convincing before she had come to believe that the current ruler could be trusted. And he supposed he couldn’t blame her.

He was delighted that Page and Laylah, though from completely different backgrounds, had become such fast friends. Laylah could not be called a true innocent. She and her people had suffered, terribly and terrifyingly, from the dark horror known to them as the Nightcrawler. It was this darkness the king
himself had helped to defeat, first in Aurora and later in Albion proper. But even though she had endured much, Laylah had a certain naïveté about her.

This could not be said about Page. She was as hard as Laylah was soft. A shrewd observer of people, Page knew how to motivate and inspire her friends and stand up to her enemies. Her “organization” was still largely intact though now she offered what she knew—at least
most
of what she knew; the king suspected that she still kept a few things close to her vest—and had proven to be an invaluable resource. Page was that admirable though often oxymoronic thing, the pragmatic optimist. He was glad that Laylah had found not only a friend but one who could help her understand Bowerstone and its populace, both good and bad.

But all that, important though it was, could wait. All he saw now was the brave but gentle girl who had won his heart. Her cheeks turned a dark rose as she ascended the steps to stand beside him, and her eyes were bright with joy.

Most of the wedding ceremony was a blur to the king. He uttered his name when needed to, happily vowed to love, protect, and be true to Laylah, and had a moment of panic when he heard Ben swearing as he fumbled for the rings. Laylah extended her slender hand, and the king slipped the simple gold ring on the fourth finger.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a bearded Dweller standing outside the throne room, arguing with a guard. The guard was shaking his head, but Jasper quietly intervened and led the messenger as discreetly as possible to where King Sabine was seated. He heard Sabine’s distinctive yapping for an instant, then both he and the messenger hastened out.

The king’s heart sank. Something bad had obviously happened, and he was selfish enough, at this moment at least, to hope it was something Sabine could handle by himself.

He had a feeling it wasn’t.

Oh well
, he thought as Laylah slipped a ring on his own left hand,
such is the life of a king
.

Even, it would seem, on his wedding day.

He clasped Laylah’s hand and turned to face the applauding crowd as Priestess Mara presented them as King and Queen of Albion. Laylah’s arm was slipped through his, the new royal couple nodded, smiling, to the well-wishers. But the instant they stepped through the doors, the king felt the strong grip of Sabine’s clawlike hand.

“Your Majesty! We must speak right away!”

“Unfortunately, I fear King Sabine is correct,” said Jasper. “This matter is indeed demanding of your attention. I suggest you, Mr. Finn, Captain Timmins, Miss Page, and the lady Kalin take a few moments now to converse. I shall take our lovely new queen to the reception and—”

“No, Jasper,” said Laylah. Her musical voice was soft, as always, but firm. “I am, as you say, the queen now. My husband has said he wished me to share in the duties as well as the pleasures of ruling. If this matter is so urgent, I should like to hear of it.” She turned to the king. “If His Majesty agrees?”

He sighed. “I had hoped you would get to enjoy more of the pleasures of being queen before you were forced to share its duties, my love. But yes—come with us. I would have you all know that Queen Laylah is my true partner, as well as my wife.”

She beamed, and again he wished that this “urgent matter” could have waited until tomorrow, at the very least. He kissed her hand. “Jasper, I trust that you will keep the crowd entertained until we rejoin you. Tell the others to meet me …” He hesitated for a moment, then acknowledged the seriousness of the matter. “To meet me in the War Room.”

T
he king and his new wife arrived first. Rex followed obediently, heading straight for his favorite corner, where he turned nose to tail and promptly fell asleep. The others trickled in as Jasper was able to find them. First to arrive was Ben, already undoing his collar and shrugging out of the formal coat, flinging it casually on a chair. “Jasper said something’s up with Sabine.”

“Your guess is as good as ours,” said the king. “I saw someone come in to speak to him and Jasper said we should all convene.”

Ben bowed to the new queen. “You had him all to yourself for about two minutes, Your Majesty.”

Laylah leaned in toward her husband, who slipped an arm about her waist. “More than I expected to have, truly. Do not worry, Mr. Finn. I understood the import of my choice in who I loved.”

“Ben, please. I’m glad to hear you understand. But if you’ll pardon the language, it still stinks.”

Laylah smiled. “So it does.”

Page hurried in. Kalin followed her, her brow furrowed in worry. Laylah embraced Page tightly and smiled at her countrywoman,
who, the king noticed, did not return the expression. Page drew back, smiling sadly. “I did warn you,” she said.

“Everyone did,” Laylah said. “I am more concerned with whatever is going on with Sabine than in having the day interrupted. We are married, and to me, that is all that matters.”

“Spoken like a true Auroran,” said Kalin. “I pray this is all not as dire as it seems.”

“Hate to interrupt the romance, my lord,” came the gruff but warm voice of Jack Timmins, the captain of the guard. “Sabine’s right behind me, and from the way he and Jasper are behaving, we’ll soon have a situation here right enough.” Timmins had been made head of the Bowerstone Guards shortly after the devastating attack of the Nightcrawler upon Albion. With his brusque but professional, thoughtful manner he had won a place in the king’s affections as well as his esteem. He wasn’t Sir Walter Beck. No one could be. Walter was irreplaceable. But Timmins was turning into a true and loyal friend as well as a shrewd military advisor.

The monarch barely had time to acknowledge Timmins when Sabine came trundling through the door, looking as furious as the king had ever seen him. With him was of course Boulder, and a young man—though not the Dweller messenger who had called Sabine away from the ceremony. This boy, who couldn’t be much older than twenty, if that, appeared different from anyone the king had ever seen. He was clad in Dweller clothes, but they were ill fitting and clearly not his own. His skin was the same shade as Laylah’s, but his brown eyes had a slight slant.

Those eyes looked almost vacant, and the boy seemed to be sleepwalking. The king winced in sympathy. He knew the look of one who had borne witness to horrors no one should ever see.

“This young fellow managed to survive crossing the Blade Mountains chain in the dead of winter,” Sabine began.

“From Samarkand?” The king looked with renewed interest at the boy. No wonder he looked exotic. The monarch had never personally met anyone from Samarkand before, though of course he had heard stories of the place. The king’s father, a Hero himself, had traveled with a Samarkandian known as Garth as well as the disliked Reaver. The king recalled his father’s speaking of Garth as one of the most powerful Will users he had ever heard of.

“No, from Brightwall,” said Sabine, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Yes, of
course
from Samarkand. Now, go on, boy. Tell these good people what you told me. It’s all right.”

The youth lifted his haunted eyes to the king and said simply, “They are coming.”

“Who is—” began Kalin, then fell silent. Laylah locked eyes with her, both of them clearly fearing the worst. Everyone else stared at the floor. No one wanted to speak, to give a concrete reality to what was now simply a horrible fear.

Sabine nodded miserably, reading their expressions. “It’s as bad as you think. It took those who found him several days to get that much out of the poor lad. It seems that portentous statement is a direct quote. They spared him so we would know.”

“Why?” asked Timmins. “Why warn us?”

“To make us fear, Timmins,” the king said quietly.

“They came from nowhere.” All eyes turned to the Samarkandian. He spoke in a hollow, empty voice. “We don’t know what happened. The roads were blocked against the attack, and all the gates in the wall around Zahadar were lowered. It was like—like …”

“Being locked in a prison in your own city,” Laylah said quietly. The boy’s gaze jerked to her, and he stared at her raptly. “Under siege by shadows and whispers. Not a darkness like that
of the sky at night, filled with comforting stars. An absence of everything—and a presence of hate and fear and a delight in torment.” She strode over to the boy. He permitted her to take his hands though they remained limp in hers. “They told you things as they took all you loved. No rest, no respite.”

He nodded slowly. His throat worked for a moment, then he continued. “No one ever got inside Zahadar. Anyone who attempted it would have been slaughtered.”

“The ships we sent last year,” Kalin said to the king and Laylah. The king nodded, pressing his lips together. Samarkand and Aurora had traded with one another sporadically through the years. With the defeat of the darkness—at least they had all believed it to be defeated, he thought bitterly—and the new prosperity the alliance with Albion had brought to that desert land, the Auroran fleet had once again opened trade routes. No fewer than eight fully loaded ships had been sent to Samarkand and were never heard from again. It had been ill luck indeed, and a sore blow to the economy of Aurora, but no one had thought it more than that. It seemed they had been dreadfully wrong.

“Some of us could bear it no longer.” The boy was speaking as if a dam had burst inside him, and his hands closed so tightly on Laylah’s that she winced slightly but did not let go. “We fled. Over forty of us started out. We even had protectors. Those were the ones they picked off first. We kept them at bay at night. They called the beasts in from the wilds to attack us during the day, and the winds—the winds …” His voice trailed off.

“That’s more than he’s ever said before,” Sabine said.

“He knows Aurorans,” said Kalin. “We are familiar to him in a way the rest of you are not.”

“Let him rest,” ordered the king. “Sabine, I imagine your
messenger brought him as soon as he showed up in your encampment. I do not discount your hospitality, but I think some rest and food here in the castle will help him.”

“Agreed,” said Sabine. “He might tell us more afterward.”

The king opened the door and beckoned the butler, Barrows, in. “Take this young fellow to one of the guest chambers. See that he has plenty of food and water on hand. And stay close—let me know if he awakens.”

The boy’s eyes suddenly widened, and he clutched Sabine. “It’s all right,” said Sabine. “Go along with this fellow, then. You’re safe here.”

The look in the youth’s eyes as he followed Barrows told the king that he didn’t feel safe anywhere. The monarch couldn’t blame him.

“We must hope he can indeed tell us more,” said Kalin. “Information is our greatest weapon.”

“Well then,” said Timmins, getting to the heart of the matter as was his wont, “where do we go from here? Literally and figuratively.”

“Samarkand,” said Ben. “Isn’t that right?” He looked as distressed of any of them, but on some level, the king knew, Ben was itching for action. He was not a man who accepted peace comfortably.

“Your Majesty,” said Kalin, “you have ever been honorable in your dealings with my people. You have kept your word at every turn. It is because of you that the darkness is no more in Aurora and that we have a fortress filled with soldiers experienced in fighting it. Our ships are many and powerful, and we have some familiarity with Samarkand, more than Your Majesty does at least.”

The king’s heart was sinking. Albion had known almost ten
years of relative peace, and he supposed he should be grateful for it. But the darkness, again? Hadn’t they sacrificed enough to defeat it already? Melancholy settled on him. He wondered if the darkness was something that was eternal, if it would ever be defeated, and if his whole life and that of his descendants would be devoted to doing battle with it and keeping it on the edges of the world.

It was not exactly the most cheerful of thoughts. He felt a cool, moist nose nudging at his hand, and caressed Rex’s silky ears.

“One thing we have learned,” he said quietly, “is that delay only gives the darkness time to gather strength. But Kalin is right. We must learn everything we can and first make sure we are as safe here in Albion as possible. Sabine, do you feel your borders are safe?”

“Safe?” Sabine was practically jumping up and down. “With everything that lad has said, and more to come? Take the cotton out of your ears and listen! They let him live to brag about themselves! Surely things darker than a teenage boy can cross the mountains!”

The king nodded. “Agreed. Timmins, round up some of the veterans from the first war against the darkness and send them back to Mistpeak with Sabine. Sabine, you will be my eyes and ears here when we depart. Kalin, we’ll discuss the Auroran navy’s role in this and start reassembling an army here. Ben, you’ll come with me to Samarkand.”

“Not a chance I’d be anywhere else,” Ben replied.