The Sleeping King (46 page)

“You have the components?” Eben murmured low enough that Raina barely caught the question.

“Aye,” Kendrick muttered back.

Raina was glad the jann would be getting the ugly black chain-link symbol removed from his face. It was a jarring reminder of the Empire's power that a free man could, through nothing more than a bit of bad luck, end up enslaved forever. Eagerness to finish her task and return home rolled over her. She looked forward to being as far away from the Empire's politics and danger as she could get.

*   *   *

Hyland looked over the troops Anton had added to those the landsgraves had been ordered to assemble for a march north into the Forest of Thorns. The governor's soldiers were a motley bunch, but no worse than the rest of the army, he supposed.

Anton had never been one to put overmuch by way of resources into training or equipping his troops. The whoreson probably feared a coup from within the ranks of his men. And for good reason. They were treated dismally and paid worse. Which likely accounted for the rampant corruption and tendency of Anton's legion to be both greasy of palm and light-fingered.

Supply wagons lumbered around the corner into the crowded courtyard, pulled by teams of oxen. Even the beasts who served Anton seemed more stubborn than normal. Hyland waited patiently while the drivers hauled at the beasts until they formed a rough column.

He looked up on the ramparts to where Anton's first advisor stood, overseeing the whole operation. Ceridwyn Nightshade's strikingly red hair stood out sharply against her black, nulvari skin. As she'd instructed him to do earlier, Hyland signaled her that the troops were ready to go. She nodded, but then surprised him by indicating that the force should hold its position.

Now what?
Hyland started when Anton himself came out into the courtyard where the troops had been mustered. And the man was wearing a chain-mail shirt, no less.
What is this?

“I have decided to accompany my army north,” the governor announced. “And you, Landsgrave, shall accompany me.”

Only by dint of many years' worth of military self-discipline did Hyland's jaw not fall open.

Fully aware of the shock he'd just delivered, and no doubt relishing every cursed moment of it, Anton continued, “I shall lead this expedition and see to it the thing is done properly. You shall command the troops and lead them into battle, but I will be the field general and direct your movements.”

Which was to say, Anton would take credit for any successes they had and blame
him
for any and all failings. Hyland barely managed not to roll his eyes in disgust at this arrangement as Anton strutted to the front of the column of soldiers.

He muttered under his breath, “So. The Viper returns to the nest.”

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

Leland glanced at the startled young soldier beside him. “Nothing.” It was a nickname Anton had earned during the first Boki insurrection. The usual translation of the Boki's nickname for Anton was Strikes like Viper. Leland's own names for the man were substantially worse.

He and Tiberius, Aurelius, and Selea had been on the verge of unraveling the big mystery the Boki guarded in the Forest of Thorns when Anton, in his avarice and lust for power, had to go and draw down the entire Boki army on all of their heads.

So close, they'd been. Inside the hidden cave, within literal arm's length of the key to the legend of the Sleeping King. It was supposed to be a stealth mission. Until, of course, Anton decided to beat them to the prize with all the stealth of a charging bull. Then the guardians of the secret—if that was what the creatures that had attacked them had actually been—had driven them from the chamber. Were it not for Selea's extraordinary skill with swords and Tiberius's speed with a magical incant, they would all have died. The four of them had barely escaped with their lives. Too bad Anton had escaped with his as well.

Leland shook his head, chasing away the bitter memories. The Boki had no doubt moved their treasure to someplace even more remote and closely guarded.

And somewhere out there were his son and a handful of inexperienced youths who had no idea the hornet's nest they were about to kick. Kendrick had been eager enough to pursue the quest when Hyland had asked it of him this morn. The boy had grown up on whispered stories of the mythic king and no doubt found the whole notion of being a hero thrilling. As for Hyland, stone-cold terror described his reaction to his son attempting to breach the Sleeping King's resting place.

What choice did he have but to send him, though? What choice did any of them have? Anton could not be allowed to find the key to the Sleeping King. The whoreson would not hesitate to hand it over to Maximillian. And then all hope for deliverance from Koth would be lost.

It was close enough to lost already. Barely any being alive had any memory of freedom from the fist of Koth. Words like “dignity,” “happiness,” and “opportunity” had all but ceased to have meaning. Who would save them when no one remembered anything but life in Maximillian's iron grip? Who would even know to fight against it?

Hyland hated sending his son into the fire, and he had no doubt Tiberius had hated doing it as well. But who else was there? He and his boon companions were past their primes. Old men. Lacking the vigor and heart for grand adventures. Like the Urth around them, their lives were fading, drained away drop by drop by the Empire. Time wore a man's spirit down, it did. And the cursed Kothites knew it. They won by simply outlasting their foes.

Only the long-lived races—the elves, what few dwarves had managed to avoid the Empire, and rare races like the janns and paxans—stood a chance of retaining any memory of freedom or could even imagine a world without the Kothite Empire.

The despair of the past long years settled heavily upon his shoulders. But as he had always done, he squared them and took a deep breath. His own star might be fading, but by the Lady, he'd help the youngsters if he could.

One thing he knew from his many years as a landsgrave. Rulers came and went. But the land and the common people—the ones tied to the land for their survival—remained. They always found a way to carry on, even unto the end.

The motto on his personal coat of arms conveyed that very sentiment, in fact.
We find the path.
He'd endured famine and pestilence, marauders and monsters, even the death of his wife and stillborn daughter. But to have to endure Anton Constantine making a run at the last hope for freedom from Koth … again … the fates were more cruel than even he'd reckoned on. The governor
must not
find the Sleeping King.

He turned for the great portcullis, wincing at the stiffness in his back. He still gave his knights all they could handle on the practice fields, but his vigor was slipping away from him. He only hoped he would live long enough to see his own troops through this latest expedition of Anton's. He smelled a plot afoot. There was more to this foray into the Forest of Thorns than Anton had revealed. He feared it might even be more than seeking the Sleeping King.
What are you up to?
he asked his nemesis silently.

Leland calculated his odds of living out this expedition. Not high. But then, he never had expected to die of old age. Heroes—and troublemakers—never did.

*   *   *

“Hey! Wait up!”

Will turned, waiting for Rosana to draw close. She pushed back her hood and grinned up at him, her dark eyes sparkling.

“We're out of sight of Heart, so now I can walk beside you,” she explained.

“Why couldn't you walk with me before?”

“It's not proper for me to show interest in a young man.”

His heart swelled at being called a man, even if a young one. “Why not?” he asked, curious.

“As a novice, it's expected that I will devote all my attention to learn the healing arts.”

“You seem plenty skilled to me,” he replied loyally.

“Not like her,” Rosana replied, her gaze sliding to the pretty blonde in front of them.

He shrugged. “You're good enough for me.”

Rosana gifted him with a brilliant smile.

“What was that business back at the Heart with that staff exploding?”

“No idea.”

“It didn't hurt you, did it?”

She frowned and lowered her voice. “Something strange happened.”

“Do you need healing?” he asked quickly.

Still frowning, she pulled back her tabard and the neck of her red blouse to reveal her left collarbone. Just below it, a small tattoo rested. It was a bouquet of four roses, one red, one white, one black, and one green. They were beautifully detailed, not the usual crude drawings he associated with most tattoos. Her skin beneath the ink was creamy and smooth.

“Look. That's strange, yes?”

“What's supposed to be strange about it? It's a beautiful tattoo.”

“Yes, but I'm only supposed to have three roses.”

He grinned down at her. “The tattoo artist must have been sweet on you, then, because you got a fourth rose for free.”

“The green rose was not there before today.”

His smile faded. “What are you saying? That a fourth rose just … appeared?”

She nodded, her eyes wide with worry.

“Does it hurt?”

“No. And it looks exactly like the other three roses. How can that be?”

“Where did the other three come from?”

She shrugged. “I've had them for as long as I can remember.”

“And now there are four.” It
was
odd that all four roses looked as if the exact same artist had rendered them. “It's a mystery,” he announced.

“I don't like mysteries.”

“Me, neither.” He looked up and lurched, startled to see how far behind the party they had fallen. “We'd better hurry. Kendrick and the others are almost at the city gates. We need to pass through with him if we want to be assured of the guards giving us no trouble.”

They lengthened their steps to catch the small party in front of them.

“Did the High Matriarch believe your excuse of needing to deliver a message?” he murmured.

Rosana murmured back, “You haven't heard? We gypsies are born liars.” She laughed gaily and he joined her. The morning was warm and sunny, a fine day to go for a walk with a pretty girl.

He said lightly, “I hear this is a long journey, so I hope you're a good storyteller. I get bored with only myself to talk to.”

She laughed gaily. “Oh, I have plenty of tales to tell. Shall I tell you of the Boki insurrection and how the heroes of Dupree defeated them?”

He nodded, interested. Although entertaining, her story didn't tell him anything he didn't already know. An army of greenskins, led by the Boki, had roared out of the wilds from all directions toward Dupree, killing, looting, and burning everything in their path. “Why did the greenskins attack the colony like that? Had too many colonists arrived? Or did the colonist do something to make them angry?”

Rosana's voice lowered to a bare murmur. “Rumor has it that someone made a deal with them. That a traitor paid them to attack the colony.”

Will stared at her, dumbstruck. The death and destruction of the insurrection had been horrendous. People still spoke about how terrible it had been approaching twenty years after the event. Who on Urth would pay to make such a thing happen?

The attack had nearly wiped out the entire colony before the Haelan legion miraculously turned the tide and beat the invaders back. Apparently, the battle-magic casters of the Imperial forces had saved the day. Had his father been one of those casters? Surely he had. And yet Ty had never breathed a word of it.

Rosana took up the tale again. “Afterward, the Heart decided that it had better learn more about the native tribes and try to build some sort of alliance, or at least peace, with them. They sent a White Heart emissary, Brother Balthazar, to go to the Boki. He was to teach them about Heartstones, learn their ways, and make friends with them.”

Will burst out, “Why in stars' name would anyone want to make friends with a pack of rabid beasts like the Boki?”

“They're not rabid bea—” She finished lamely, “Oh. That.”

“Yeah. That.” The murder of his family and the total destruction of his village. Furious that anyone could defend the Boki in any way, he sped up. She kept up, but he ignored her. They almost caught up with Kendrick and the others before Will demanded angrily, “Why would the Heart make peace with honorless curs like the Boki?”

“They may be violent, but the Boki have honor,” she replied in surprise. “Buckets of it.”

“No, they don't.” Images of the carnage he'd witnessed flashed through his mind's eye.

“Then it was not Boki who attacked your village,” Rosana stated firmly.

Something deep inside Will rumbled that she spoke true about Boki honor. Enough so that he did not argue back immediately. How could he be so sure of something like that?

He didn't like the deeper implication of her words. If these Boki were so blasted honorable, why did they attack Hickory Hollow? Was it revenge against the Dragon Knight who'd defeated them? That didn't sound particularly honorable. Had the Empire
and
the Boki wanted Ty dead? Who—what—was his father?

Kendrick and the others were glad enough for the extra company when they asked to join the traveling party, and numbering six now, they passed out of the city without incident. The roads were excellently maintained so close to the capital, and they made good progress despite their late start. The sun arced overhead and then behind them, casting longer and longer shadows as night grew nigh.

The kindari Cicero, who seemed to consider himself the young arch-mage's personal protector, finally announced to the party, “If you desire a fire, we'd best stop and light it now. By full dark, we'll need to put it out.”