The Sleeping King (78 page)

As the fire billowed above them like a length of silk in a strong wind, the tinkling of crystal shattering echoed all around. The great flame had pushed back the mist enough for her to see the wall of crystallized fire crashing down all around them.

As the gust of smoke and fire dissipated, something red and glowing became visible on the ground where the hydra had lately stood. It was slightly larger than her fist and looked like a lump of molten glass fresh from a blast furnace.

It ebbed and flowed like a living thing, but never lost its spherical form. It was shot through with the same colors of fire of the wall and hydra. It pulsed, almost like a beating heart.

As the white, featureless mist began to close back in around them, Raina took a single, curious step closer to the glowing … thing … before a piece of the mist broke off from the rest and engulfed the glowing gem. The mist rushed away on a gust of wind that she saw but did not feel. And where it had been, the fiery gem was gone. Eerie, childlike laughter, as of a little girl giggling, echoed around them, coming from every direction at once.

“What on Urth was that?” Will demanded.

They all looked at one another and shrugged. “Sha'Li would be furious that the mist grabbed her treasure, though,” Cicero observed dryly.

Will grinned reluctantly, and Raina followed suit.

As if any of them except the bold lizardman girl would have been willing to touch that strange, pulsating crystal, let alone attempt to carry it out of here. A moment of silence came over all of them as they silently mourned Sha'Li's death. Raina fervently hoped the lizardman girl would resurrect successfully. Her surly demeanor had rather grown on Raina. She would miss Sha'Li if she failed to return from beyond the Veil.

Raina already missed the irascible lizardman girl's presence. Who'd have guessed Sha'Li would have grown into her actual friend somewhere along the way? In the meantime, they must not let Kendrick's, Eben's, or Sha'Li's sacrifices be in vain. They
must
complete this quest.

If only they knew how much more stood between them and the Sleeping King. Raina was exhausted and Will looked ready to drop any second. Cicero didn't look much better. Her magic frustratingly was refusing to regenerate at all. She knew such things took time and rest. But she really had need of at least some of it, now. Not that needing it helped bring back one bit of it.

Will and Cicero were nicked and bloody, the tips of their swords all but dragging in the dust with their fatigue. How were any of them going to find the strength to confront any more challenges? Of course, the answer to her question was obvious. They simply had to find a way.
Everything
depended on it.

She sighed and asked, “Are we ready to move on?”

She watched in admiration as Cicero squared his shoulders resolutely and turned to face forward.
Thank the stars for the elf.
He might not be the most powerful fighter ever, but the kindari's spirit was indomitable. If he had the strength to keep going, then so did she.

Will trod forward warily and she followed suit. Given how each guardian of this place seemed progressively bigger and stronger, she deeply dreaded what came next. They'd gotten this far on little more than luck. And given Sha'Li's fate, their luck had apparently deserted them now, too.

Raina did not want to know what awaited them ahead in the mist. One thing she was sure of: death was in the air.

*   *   *

“What are they doing?” Aurelius whispered to Selea.

The carnage in the clearing below was hard to fathom. Anton and his men had attacked in force, but the Boki had responded with a heroic stand worthy of epic poetry to commemorate it.

More Boki were streaming into the bowl-shaped vale, and Anton's mercenaries were being cut down like wheat before scythes. They literally lay in piles on the ground, and no attempt had been made to revive or heal them. Coldhearted whoreson, Anton.

Selea rose from his crouch, peering over a pile of rockfall. The nulvari whispered back, “Anton gathers his men for a new attack. They must have spotted the entrance to the tunnel.”

Aurelius would not have spotted the entrance had Selea's sharper eyes not picked it out earlier. Anton's scouts must have found it in the midst of the fighting and managed to report back to him. Aurelius stared down at his nemesis, surrounded tightly by a phalanx of the Kithmar's most brutal warriors.

The tragedy was that, even if someone did kill Anton, the Emperor would merely replace Constantine with a governor who might even be worse. The only answer was to eliminate the entire Empire. But it was a task so huge, so daunting, Aurelius could hardly imagine where to begin. If this gambit failed … if the Sleeping King was destroyed … all hope would be lost. There must be
something
he and Selea could do to help De'Vir's boy and his companions.

At his feet, Anton's forces pushed inexorably forward, forcing the Boki lines to give way. If Anton reached that tunnel … “Do you still refuse to involve yourself in this fight?” he demanded of the nulvari assassin beside him. Without question, Selea could turn the tide of this battle.

Selea threw him a deadly look. “Do you truly wish to see what happens when you force a nulvari to choose between two conflicting oaths?”

“Some things are bigger than your cursed honor, nulvari. And those children inside that cave succeeding in their quest is one of them.”

Selea stiffened and fury radiated off him, but he made no other response. Which was probably why Aurelius lived to draw his next breath, much to his surprise.

A noise carried to their position that he did not need Selea to interpret. Shouting. Reinforcements were arriving from beyond the ridge to their left, roaring battle cries. But for which side did they fight? Agonized impatience flooded him as he waited to see the allegiance of the warriors who would top the ridge.

“If you will not do what must be done, I will.” Aurelius ground out. “Move aside, Selea.”

The nulvari threw Aurelius a look that he had absolutely no idea how to read. Maybe that was icy rage. Or mayhap disdain. Or mayhap resignation. Or mayhap all three. Selea spoke urgently. “Your thinking is too direct, old friend. This is Anton we deal with. Misdirection is required, and so far, the Boki have failed to do so.”

“What do you suggest?” Aurelius snapped. At least the nulvari was engaging in strategic thinking about how to defeat Anton. It was better than nothing. But it still was not action to help De'Vir's boy.

Instead of answering him, Selea stretched out on top of the pile of rocks they currently hid behind and rolled silently down the far side. As Aurelius watched, shocked, he spotted Selea crawling off into the trampled brush. What was that wily assassin up to?

Whether or not Selea would actually enter the fight when the moment came was anybody's guess. But at least he'd made his old friend do more than just observe from the sidelines.

Stay alive, younglings. Everything rests upon your shoulders now
.

*   *   *

Raina peered ahead into the mist, but saw merely featureless white upon white upon white. They began walking forward.
At least we made it away from the door, finally
. But gradually, as they walked, the mist began to turn gray, and then a faint green. She began to notice texture underfoot. As if the hard ground gave way to softer soil. And then to a suggestion of grass.

“Are those trees?” Cicero murmured, peering off to the side hard.

They stopped walking and she thought she might just be able to make out the vertical columns of tree trunks.

“Reminds me of the Wylde Wood in a bad fog,” Will murmured. “I do believe you are right, Cicero.”

A few more minutes of walking brought them into a wooded valley. The path was narrow and bounded on each side by trees and lush ferns. It was unlike any forest she had ever seen, beautiful and verdant. Tyrel was an arid land prone to stunted trees with leathery, dust-grayed foliage.

“Have you ever seen a place like this?” she asked Cicero.

He nodded, “Aye. Long ago. In an unsettled land far west and south of here, untouched by the Kothites. But never have I felt such … life energy … flowing through a forest.”

Now that he mentioned it, this place did throb with life. It was invigorating. Refreshing. It almost seemed wrong to experience this place after the terror and death their companions had so lately faced.

Cicero froze ahead of her, listening.

Now what?
She froze as well, straining to hear what his sharp elven hearing already discerned.
There.
A rhythmic breathing sound, as of something huge bearing down on them hard.

Will lifted his staff defensively and Cicero's sword rose to the ready as a tall, rapidly moving shape rounded a curve in the path ahead and charged them. As her companions braced for combat she cried out, “Wait! The black lion's head!”

Will planted his staff on the ground, and Cicero lowered his sword as a massive black lion, bigger than a bull, bore down on them. A man rode on its back, one hand twined in the creature's bushy black mane. The other hand held a giant spear, longer than the mighty beast he rode.

Poised on the balls of her feet in preparation to dodge the massive, speeding apparition, Raina awaited its approach.

“Whoa, Aegenis,” the rider ordered his lion firmly. The beast planted his hind paws and scrabbled with his front claws to slow himself. Clods of dirt and turf flew up as the lion slid to a stop no more than two of the knight's spear lengths from them.

“Who goes?” the knight demanded. “Dost the Elder send thee with tidings? And the Chosen One? How dost he fare?”

“The Elder?” Will asked cautiously.

“Aye. He who bears the symbol of the seeing eye.”

“Gir'Ok?” Will responded.

A snort of derision. “Gir'Ok served the Elder, but is no more. He has not lived in more years than have count. Identify yourselves or die, strangers!”

Raina dived in. Perhaps she would fare better with him than Will or Cicero. She asked formally, “Do we have the honor of speaking with the Laird of Dalmigan?” She did not recognize any of the many blazons crowding his chest, but their sheer number indicated that they'd likely found the laird himself.

Sure enough, the knight bowed over his lion's neck with a flourish and replied courteously, “Fair demoiselle, I am he. Prithee, mightest thou honor me with thy name that I might praise thy beauty?”

“I am Raina. Uhh, Initiate Raina of the White Heart.” She stumbled a little over the title. Its source was still too painful to speak of calmly. “And there are my companion, Will Cobb, and Cicero, my friend and protector.”

“Come thee not with the blessing of the Elder, then?”

“No, my lord. Many people have helped us and led our footsteps to you, but sadly, not the Elder.”

“Whence knowest thee my name, then?”

“A dryad named you, sir. She told us to seek you out, in fact.”

“A faerie, is it? Are times so desperate, then, that the fae courts involve themselves in the affairs of men?”

“I fear it may be so, Lord Dalmigan.”

The knight dismounted and knotted his reins around the animal's neck. “Rest, Aegenis,” he murmured.

The Laird of Dalmigan was heavily armored in plate mail from neck to ankles. He carried a massive gold shield with a black lion's head embossed upon it, and the sword at his hip hung nearly to the ground. He appeared to be a human of early middle age, but vigorous.

His keen gaze took in Cicero quickly and then settled on Will. As she watched, the knight's eyes widened in surprise. He blurted, “You bear a portion of Lord Bloodroot's spirit?” Dalmigan looked impressed. “Thou hast not wandered upon this place by chance, then, hast thee?”

Will answered, “No, sir. It is not chance that brought us here. It has been an arduous struggle to find this place.”

“Long have I guarded these lands, and thou beist the first to come upon it. Only those with nothing can pass into this place.”

“With nothing?” Will quieried.

“Correct. No magic, no skills, no strength. Only spirits washed clean of all urthly abilities may pass into this place.”

Raina laughed painfully. “I am sorry to say that describes us to a tee. I am completely without magical energy. My friend Will hovers on the verge of death and is all but without the ability to do more than walk. And my boon companion, Cicero, looks so exhausted he can hardly hoist his bow, let alone swing his sword.”

“Just so,” the laird nodded. “Hadst thee attacked me, or possessed the ability to attack me, I would have slain thee where thee stood.”

“How long have you been here, good sir?” Raina asked curiously.

“Time has no meaning for me in this dreaming land. Others tell me thousands of years have passed away in the living lands.”

Thousands
of years he'd been here? He looked mighty well preserved for someone so ancient.

“Why comest thee, young sir?” the knight demanded of Will.

“We have been sent to find and wake the Sleeping King.”

Dalmigan's eyes didn't so much as flicker in surprise. “Why seekest thou His Majesty, then?”

Will jumped on that. “You do not deny his existence?”

“I guard his existence, boy. Wherfore wouldst I deny it?”

Excitement leaped in her belly to match the exultation on Will's face. “Where is he?” Will demanded. “Let us finish this thing.”

Stubbornness flashed in the knight's eyes. Raina stepped in quickly to ask more diplomatically, “What must we do to prove our good intentions to your satisfaction, Laird Dalmigan?”

“Tell me why thou wouldst wake the king.”

A frisson of excitement passed through her, as if the finger of fate drew lightly down her spine. Close. They were so very close, now. “Is this king of yours also called the Mythar by some?”