The Sleeping King (82 page)

Selea's shouted warning threw chaos into the undisciplined ranks of soldiers. They ran pell-mell toward the center of the line and Anton, hemming in the governor with a crush of his own men that effectively prevented him from throwing his gas poisons at the enemy.

Abruptly understanding Selea's gambit, Aurelius stepped out, too. “Boki! They're coming! Dozens of them!”

Selea strode forward and skidded to a stop in front of Krugar. “You must take up a defensible position. Your rear is completely vulnerable and more Boki than I can count are out there! Mayhap beyond the ridge there is a place. But this bowl valley is a death trap.”

Krugar nodded in frustrated agreement. A highly trained tactician, he needed no convincing to get out of this place. With Anton temporarily trapped and overrun by his own troops, Krugar seized the moment to order his own men and all the soldiers within hearing to relocate over the hill and form a defensive formation.

Selea's ploy worked brilliantly. Anton was swept along with his panicking troops and disappeared out of sight beyond the ridge. Selea's surprise appearance also seemed to have broken the battle rage that gripped Anton and made the governor aware of the vulnerability of his position. Nothing like a little trickery to turn the tide when brute force failed.

Aurelius turned to his old friend and murmured under his breath, “Since when does your code of honor allow a nulvari to lie?”

Selea's white eyebrows shot up practically to his snow-white hair. “I never lie.”

“You told Anton more orcs are coming.”

“I did not lie. There is a forest full of orcs coming. It's just a question of when they will get here. The Boki will die to the last man, woman, and child to protect this place.” Aurelius grinned broadly as Selea continued, “It is certainly no lie that Anton's flanks are exposed. One might safely say this entire expedition has left his drawers flapping in the breeze, in fact.”

“You sly dog—” Aurelius started.

“You two,” Krugar ordered briskly, “make yourselves useful and look to the defense of the flanks.”

“Of course, Captain,” Selea murmured politely. “It would be our honor.”

*   *   *

Raina started as Gawaine's rather intimidating attention turned to her. He said evenly, “I gather your purpose in being here is not merely to heal your friend.”

How he knew that, she had no idea. She also had no idea how to begin asking the favor she wished of him. Given what he had already told Will of how his spirit was trapped within this grove, she doubted he could help her anyway. Instead, she asked, “What can you tell us of your reign?”

“To tell you all of it would take a long time even in the way time is measured here.”

“Can you tell us a little of who you were, at least?” she replied.

“I was a king in my day. I ruled over a great and peaceful nation known as Gandamere.”

That was the name the Laird of Dalmigan had used. Odd that she'd never run across it in all her studies of history. Had it been expunged from the history books, then? Interesting that the knowing of this man and his kingdom seemed to threaten them. It was strange to think of the Empire having vulnerabilities, but it must have some. It just worked very hard to hide them, apparently. Or was his kingdom so old the Kothites did not know of it?

Gawaine continued, “All races were welcome in my lands. But the troll king grew jealous of my country's prosperity and invaded Gandamere. I failed to take him seriously enough at the beginning, and the mistake was a costly one. It was a bloody war. Too long. Too many lives lost. He drove deep into my lands and the war did not go well.”

Will interrupted, blurting, “Rudath. That was the name of the troll king, was it not?”

Gawaine looked at Will in surprise. “Yes, it was.”

“And in honor combat, you killed him the same moment that he killed you. Orcs served in his army along with trolls. I dreamed of it not long ago.”

“Did you, now?” Gawaine asked thoughtfully. “I wonder who gave you the vision. What else did you see?”

Will answered eagerly, “The orcs were called the Night Reavers. When Rudath died, they were freed from unwilling slavery to him. Their descendants came to revere you as their liberator.”

Raina asked carefully, “Did they revere him enough to become the guardians of his resting place?”

Gawaine gifted her with a smile for her cleverness. “I am told the Night Reavers' descendants go by the name Boki.”

She asked quickly, “Who tells you about the current goings-on in our place and time?”

He gestured toward the trees. And called out, “Show yourselves, my faithful guardians!”

She gasped as dozens of elves stepped out of trees, heavily armed warriors, battle mages with brightly glowing hands, archers, and more. How she had not seen them before she had no idea.

“These are the zinnzari.”

“The Children of Zinn?” Raina blurted. The old, white-haired kindari elder, had mentioned them. They served the Great Beast Spider, named Zinn.

Gawaine nodded. “The same. My elite personal guard. They and their descendants bind themselves to me in life and join me in death. When they die permanently, their spirits come to this grove where they continue to guard me for eternity. As they arrive, they share what they know of the goings-on in the material realm. Their perspective is limited, but it is more than nothing.”

Will moved away from them, perhaps to examine the elven guards more closely. Or perhaps he wished to converse with Bloodroot, who sulked silently in his tree. Gawaine commenced strolling along the margin of the trees, and she took the opportunity for private conversation with him to ask, “Have you ever heard of a human king, a great mage named Hadrian?”

“Yes, of course. He was before my time, but I know the tale of his reign.”

“Hadrian is said to have fallen into an eternal sleep of some kind, although not the same as yours, I believe. I am told it would take an infusion of ancient magic to wake him. If you were free of this place, could you give him such an infusion?”

“Possibly. It would depend on what put him into that sleep. And I am far from free of this place. Why do you ask this of me?”

“My family, the women of my family, are tied to him by an order of mages who serve his memory. I wish to break that bondage and free my sister and future daughters from this fate.”

Gawaine frowned. Stopped walking and held out his hand to her. “If I may?” he murmured.

She laid her hand in his palm. Massive energy pulsed through him. It was as if she touched the combined life force of all living things on Urth. She gasped as his fingers closed around her hand, their warmth and vibrant magic overwhelming her senses entirely. And something deep within her, equally vibrant and pulsing with life responded, welling up from some source she knew not.

Gawaine looked nearly as startled as she felt. He held her hand a moment more and then released it. She stumbled back, shaken to her core by the brief contact.

He spoke slowly, as if testing each word before he said it to see if he would be allowed to utter it. “Hadrian was a great mage, even for our time. Devoted to his people. When the great destruction of Haelos came, he appears to have taken measures to protect his subjects.”

“What great destruction?”

“Suffice it to say that there was a great battle that nearly destroyed this continent utterly.”

“How did Hadrian protect his subjects?” she prompted when Gawaine did not continue.

“You say the females of your line have been tied to him since the time of his death?”

She nodded. “That is what I have been told.”

Gawaine nodded as well. “I believe that Hadrian bound his power to his bride, and his bride's life force to his people. Your life force. And that of your ancestors and your descendants.”

She stared. “I do not understand.”

“The greatest gift of female life energy is, at its essence, the giving of life. Birth. Renewal. I believe Hadrian tapped into that. I gather one of your ancestors was near him or with him at the time of the great attack?”

Raina answered dryly, “It was their wedding day. They were about to marry.”

“Even so. Hadrian tied his bride to his people. Enhanced her female life force with his magic and bonded it to his subjects to save them from destruction.”

Raina stared. No one had ever hinted at such a thing to her. And to her knowledge, not to her mother or sister or any of her ancestors who would have written such a thing down.

Gawaine continued reflectively, “Such a feat must have been a tremendous drain upon him. Is it possible that he lies now in a torpor from which his spirit is too magically weakened to recover rather than an actual sleep?”

“It is entirely possible,” she replied in dawning understanding. “The mages who guard him claim to be attempting to strengthen the magic of the women of our line that we might someday bear his children. Perhaps they refer obliquely to using our magic to wake him that he might have children.”

Gawaine said quietly, “Over time, knowledge is inevitably lost. Facts become history, history becomes legends, legends are bent and changed, and finally they are lost altogether as they fade into the mists of time.”

Was it possible that the Mages of Alchizzadon did not know about this bond of Hadrian's doing? Had the facts of it faded into their current legend of breeding a bride for a dead king, rather than protecting a line of women bonded to a people to save them?

“What would happen if the bond broke?” she asked breathlessly.

“I do not know. What I sense of this bond in you leads me to believe, though, that your well-being, your power, is still directly tied to the well-being of Hadrian's people—or at least their descendents. If they are strong, you are strong. If you grow weak, they will weaken.”

“What would weaken me?”

“Diluting the bond, I expect. If the women of your line were to marry men of little or no magical power, to have children outside of the bond, those things might weaken the magic of your line and, hence, weaken the bond. You, however, are quite strong magically. I sense no dilution at all in you.”

Had the Mages of Alchizzadon wittingly—and eventually unwittingly—protected Hadrian's bond through their breeding program, after all? Had their efforts to strengthen the magic of the women of the House of Tyrel strengthened the bond itself? Were they
not
the villains she'd believed them to be?

She frowned, sorting it through. The mages did the right thing, even if they did not know the truth of why their actions were good. It was reasonable to assume that Gawaine had the right of it: that over time the facts had been lost and the current tradition evolved in their place.

But it was a hard thing to let go of her hatred for the blue-cloaked mages. They had still planned to force her into a relationship she did not want and to force her to produce children to continue the family lineage. Those things she could not forgive.

She looked up at Gawaine in anguish as the rest of it struck her and Justin's dear visage flashed through her mind. “Then I must never marry of my own choosing. I cannot have children with the man I would love lest I weaken the bond with Hadrian's people and weaken us all.”

He took a quick step forward as if he would comfort her. His hands lifted, but in the end he did not touch her. He only said gently, “Nothing is writ in stone in life. You may yet find a way to have everything you wish for. There is always hope.”

She did not see how he could be right. If the well-being of an entire people rested upon her and her sister to protect, she could not risk weakening the bond. Ever.

Gawaine's voice pierced her silent grief. “In the meantime, you seem to have landed in the perfect position to strengthen your bond to the people and for them to strengthen you.”

She looked up at him quickly. “How is that?”

He gestured at her White Heart tabard. “Healing others strengthens you, I should think.”

Funny how the fates worked. She had desperately wanted to avoid the White Heart, and yet here she was. Doing the one thing that would best serve the bond she did not know she bore.

She looked up into Gawaine's dark, wise gaze. “What happens if I die permanently?”

“It would likely diminish the spirits of your people. Mayhap the bond would jump to another female of your line. Or it could just end.”

“To what effect?” she asked reluctantly.

“Perhaps nothing. Perhaps utter destruction.”

She winced at that.
Well then.
Apparently, she would not be seeking a way out of the White Heart anytime soon. Nor would she be seeking to interrupt the Mages of Alchizzadon's practice of only allowing the women of her line to breed with the most powerful mages who were also natives of Hadrian's lands. She highly doubted she would ever consent to have children with one of them, however. Mayhap she could find another way to preserve the bond and have a family on her own terms. She prayed that she would be allowed the time to figure it out.

She took a deep breath as a great weight lifted from her heart.

Raina glanced across the clearing at Will, where he spoke quietly with Bloodroot. “What must I do to cure Will?”

Gawaine studied her intently for another moment before shifting subjects with her. “You must find a sanguine fruit from Bloodroot's tree. Not any Bloodthorn, mind you, but
his
tree. The one he inhabited, or at least the remnant of it. Unfortunately, I do not know where you will find it.”

She nodded her understanding and attended closely as he listed off several more ingredients. He finished with, “You will need to find a master potion maker to mix the antidote. And you will need to hurry.”

“How much time do we have?”

“I do not know. It will depend on any number of factors … how much he has tapped Bloodroot's powers and interacted with him, how strong the boy's constitution is. How much healing you can cast into both of them … Weeks. Days. Maybe hours. His spirit appears very weak.”