by Scott Baron
Gwendolyn hoisted the massive tray, but it was awkward, the bread threatening to topple off before it could be carried to its recipient.
“Hunze, be a dear and help me, would you?”
“Of course, Gwen,” she said, glad to be of assistance.
She picked up a separate tray, and the two women split the load between them, then quickly made their way up the winding stairs to the hungry mother-to-be.
The cover provided by Thomas had worked perfectly, just as Bawb had thought it would, and Hunze was ignored by all. Merely another cog in the kitchen’s machinery, unworthy of notice or comment.
The anonymity was actually quite enjoyable for the Ootaki woman. She was working, now. Really working. Not just being humored by the staff because of who she was. It was labor, and not easy. And she liked it.
The guards outside the royal chambers stepped aside as the women approached, granting them access to deposit their loads.
“No, my dear, the men have still not managed to find the rogue,” they heard the king saying as the door opened.
“Not acceptable. So long as the former king is still roaming free, his allies will remain a thorn in your side, my love. You don’t want that sort of distraction while raising your new son, do you?”
“Of course not, dearest,” he replied, ushering the cleaning servant away with his armload of soiled linen. “Ah, at last,” he said when he spied the women bearing trays of food. He deftly plucked a slice of cured meat from the tray as they walked into the room. “My lady is famished, aren’t you love?”
“Starving,” she replied from her bed where she reclined against a mountain of pillows. “Put the meats here, slave,” she said, gesturing to the table beside her.
Her lady-in-waiting stepped aside, allowing the women to come closer.
“Servants, my dear. We call them servants,” the king said from his chair.
“Servants, slaves, I don’t really care, and I am far too hungry for semantics,” she said, shoving several slices of cured meats into her mouth with relish.
The women deposited the trays and scurried out the door, but the cleaning servant lingered. He had possessed a higher calling before the former king had blundered into the crown. The king’s tax collector, had been his title, and it was a good job. That was, until Charlie stripped him of his rank and set him to work cleaning, like the lowest of servants.
He was a man of ambition, however, and this fortuitous convergence was his one chance to perhaps regain some status. He might be killed in the process, but given the condition of his life, he felt it was worth the risk.
The tax collector rushed toward the royal couple, “Sire, if I may, I think I can help you with the former king––“
He found his words abruptly cut off, and his perspective of the room shifted as he was suddenly on his back, the king’s mistress’ wiry-muscled lady-in-waiting’s forearm pressed hard against his throat, a knife drawn and ready.
“Stay your hand,” the king said.
She sheathed the knife and eased the pressure on the little man’s throat.
“What was this you were saying? About helping with the renegade?” he asked.
“King Charlie still has friends in the castle walls,” the pinned man said.
“Oh, do let him up. It’s hard to understand him with your arm across his throat.”
He found himself released and roughly hauled to his feet.
“Now, what was that?” the king asked.
The tax collector rubbed his throat and wiped his watering eyes. “I said he still has friends in the castle.”
“Well, I would assume as much. You were all his staff, after all, so it’s only natural.”
“No, Highness, that’s not what I mean. The serving wench, the one called Hunze. She was just here, dropping off those trays. She arrived here with King Charlie as part of his entourage. She ate at his table. She is not just serving staff. She is one of his close friends.”
“Fascinating,” the king said. “I wonder if––“
“Bring her to me!” his pregnant mistress shrieked, clearly agitated. She shifted in pain, her hands clutching her belly.
“Is it time, mistress?” her attending lady asked, quickly re-sheathing her knife. “Are you close?”
“No. Not yet,” she replied, gritting her teeth. “Now go fetch me that woman.”
Her lady-in-waiting darted from the room, returning moments later with the golden-haired servant, her arm held in a vice-like grip.
“Bring her to me.”
Hunze was ushered close to the bed.
“Looks rather jaundiced to me,” the king noted.
The pregnant woman noticed the unusual bulges in her clothing. “Open her coverings,” she commanded.
Her lady did as she was asked, deftly unfastening Hunze’s clothes, revealing the multiple, thick, long braids of golden hair wrapped all around her body. The king was astounded by the sight.
“I’ve never seen anything like it. How utterly odd.”
“Shall I kill her, m’lady?” the wiry brunette asked.
“No, nothing like that,” she replied. “This one is a friend of Charlie’s. That makes her valuable to us. Lock her in the eastern tower.”
“It is only four levels high. Aren’t you worried she might try to escape?”
“No. The fall would kill her, and the trees outside are far too low for any to hope to reach her. She will be secure there until we need her,” the mistress said.
“But my love, what good can she be to us? We already have his queen, yet still he has not surfaced,” the king noted.
“True, but we will find use for her yet, my love.” She turned to the tax man, eyeing his modest attire. “And you.”
“Yes, Highness?”
“You have served us well, little man. And you shall be rewarded for it. Servants who prove their loyalty can see their position rise quite high in this castle. A lesson you shall teach the others by example. But for now, your first task is to accompany this woman to the tower. Bring a guard with you, and should anyone ask, tell them it is by command of the king.”
“Love, shouldn’t I be the one saying that,” the king said, eyebrow arched.
“Yes, of course, dearest. I’m so sorry. Please, forgive my impertinence. With your son so close to being born, I forget my place in all the excitement.”
The king smiled at the mention of his heir, his brief ire soothed. “Do as she says,” he instructed. “And tomorrow, you shall begin the day in a new position.”
Soon thereafter, the poor Ootaki slave girl found herself once more confined against her will. Locked in a high tower, alone and afraid. She looked out the window across the land, hoping at least her friends were okay, then curled up on her bed and wept herself to sleep.
Chapter Forty-Five
It was dark.
Not nighttime dark, where stars and planets cast a faint illumination from light years away, but proper dark. The air was cool and remaining somewhat fresh despite the dragon’s body heat, though the temperature was due to the millions of tons of rock pressing down from above.
The trickle of cold water that still seeped through the collapsed chambers in a rivulet not only helped even out the temperature, but the hydrogen and oxygen broke their bonds as they flowed, providing a boost to the faint trickle of fresh air finding its way in through fissures and gaps.
It was this slow erosion of the stone, its seemingly impenetrable mass being eaten away by the gentlest of liquid pressures over thousands upon thousands of years, that had carved out the caverns in the first place. And now, something far more solid than a stream had taken up residence within them.
Ara was deep underground. Far too deep to attempt to claw or blast her way out––at least not without bringing down the rest of the imposing weight above her. The mighty Zomoki had tried at first, of course, instinct commanding her to break free at all cost, just as a younger Zomoki might, but this dragon had the benefit of age and wisdom. Instead
of frantically digging and casting powerful spells, she surveyed the chamber she was confined to, then sipped at the trickle of water and curled up to think.
The walls were far, and the ceiling was still relatively high. High enough to allow her to stand at full height. She could even stretch out her wings if she positioned herself just right. But that was about it. She had miraculously been spared when the series of magical bursts set off the tunnel collapse, but she was a realist. Ara did not for a moment believe her survival had been intentional.
Lady luck had her eye on her just this once. Though, being trapped, far from the sun, and the skies, and her friends, she couldn’t help but wonder just how lucky she was. At least there was fresh water for her to sip, though not a rushing stream as she would have preferred. But the gentle flow was enough. Enough to keep her hydrated and healthy.
And, more importantly, it carried a tiny trace of the soothing radiation emitted by the planet’s sun. Drinking it was akin to feeding an elephant with a thimble, but the only magic she was expending in her imprisonment was from the continual attempts to reach her friend on the surface.
But no one answered.
The veins of iron running through the rocks undoubtedly blocked her magic, as she had learned early on upon their arrival on this planet. This metal ore apparently disrupted proper use of spells and power, for whatever reason. She and Charlie had spent some time experimenting with ways around the issue, but it appeared there were none to be had.
Interestingly, one day, Charlie had remembered something from old Earth legends. Tales of witches and warlocks––Earth terminology for a subset of users of power––being bound with iron chains to break their ability to connect with and use their magic.
While she was not in chains, the iron around her seemed to be doing precisely that. The legend, apparently, was based in fact, though how it even became a legend on a planet with no native magic users she had no idea.
What she did know was there were still gaps in the stone. Air seeped in, and water, too, so there was a faint thread of connection to the surface. Now, if only she could somehow tap into it. Piggy back a message on it and get her warning out. Though she feared by now Charlie was well aware of the threat to the kingdom.
Over and over, she tried to reach him, and every time, she failed. He was alive––she could sense the faintest flicker of his life energy still connecting with hers––but beyond that they were cut off. With practice, however, she might be able to alter her sending to bend and adjust to the obstacles in its path. She didn’t know if it could be done, but there was nothing to lose in the effort. She might be lost, but she could still try to help her friends return home.
Silently, the mighty dragon began sending the same message over and over, humming it rhythmically in her head the way Charlie did in hopes he would somehow pick it up. It wasn’t her location, or a plea for help. It was the spell she had been working on since they arrived. The one she hoped would someday take him back to the future. Back to when he belonged.
Before becoming trapped, Ara had hoped that perhaps from there––or, more appropriately, then––she and Bawb could combine forces, using their cache of powered devices––and a little help from Charlie and his system’s powerful sun––to hopefully jump back to their own galaxy.
It was a long shot, of course, but she had been alive a very long time, and the tricks she knew were enough to fill many men’s sleeves. And as for the Wampeh known as the Geist, she was certain he had a few tricks up his sleeves of his own to contribute.
But now it appeared she would not be able to test the theory with her friends, and there was no way they had the power to jump to a distant galaxy on their own. Not without her. But she thought the time problem might be a far easier one. Just tap into the original mess of forces that threw them backward a few thousand years, and use the strained magic as a sort of rubber band, snapping it back into place and returning them to the correct time. Forward to where they belonged.
That much, she hoped, they could do without her.
So, in what she believed to be her final contribution to their friendship, Ara settled in to hibernate in her prison, but instead of simply singing herself to sleep, she began sending the quiet message of her farewell spell to get the rest of them home, over and over. If nothing else, at least it would help pass the time until she finally managed to slip into a slumber.
“Go without me, my friend. I’ll show you the way.”
“Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
Charlie rushed from the trees they were using for cover until he found a clearing where he could look skyward. He strained his eyes, along with his mind, searching for his missing friend.
“What is it?” Bawb asked, walking to his side, one hand gripping his wand, the other resting on the pommel of his sword. “Trouble?”
“No. Something different. Like a song in my head.”
Bawb’s gaze sharpened as he squinted, surveying the dark skies. “Do you feel her, Charlie?”
“I thought I did.”
They both stood stock still for several minutes as Charlie reached out with all of his mind and power. That tune was stuck in his head now, a strange melding of words that sounded distinctly magic, but it wasn’t clear. Not in focus. But it was there, just the same. And every so often, it repeated.
“I-I don’t’ know what it is,” he finally said. “But I think she’s trying to reach me.”
“Then she is okay.”
“I don’t know,” Charlie said, haltingly. “But she’s alive.”
The assassin felt his stomach relax slightly at the words. Their friend was in trouble, no doubt, but the Wise One still drew breath. But they would have to focus on that later.
“Come. We have much to do,” he said, leading the way from the clearing.
Reluctantly, Charlie eased his focus, the strange melody slipping from his conscious mind to his subconscious as he turned his attentions back to the task at hand.
Chapter Forty-Six
The next night, Charlie and Bawb crept to the castle dressed in peasant’s garb. The castle, they were glad to find, looked more or less the same. The banners had changed, naturally, as had the guards along the walls, but otherwise things seemed more or less as they had been.
Except the two men were on the outside, and did not dare sneak in. Not yet.
A light shone from a window high above, and a flash of gold brightened it as the occupant walked past, catching Bawb’s eye.
There were groups of men positioned around the grounds, Charlie noted as they quietly crept through the shadows. It seemed for some reason they had added to the perimeter guards. And recently, at that. A throng of two dozen men stood at attention, apparently an impromptu inspection of sorts, though why they would do one at this late hour was beyond him. Bad for morale, that. But the new king worked in mysterious ways.
A short man in ill-fitting armor seemed to be the group’s leader. Or at least he thought he was, given the way he spoke to them. But even in the dark, Charlie could read the men’s body language. Whoever this little man was, he apparently grated on their nerves. For a moment, he seemed familiar, but then Bawb nudged Charlie and signaled him to follow.
“What did you see?” he asked his pale friend.
“I spied Hunze in the tower window.”
“So she’s okay.”
“Yes, but locked away, high above the treeline. But the path to the shimmer-hidden doorway remains unobstructed.”
“Good. I didn’t think they’d find it, but that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t set up a tent or something right in front of it, with our luck.”
“It seems our good fortune remains intact,” Bawb noted. “At least for the time being.” His sharp eyes scanned the men coming and going around the castle.
There was a fair amount of foot traffic this evening, and that would help hide them from prying eyes as they made their survey. There was simply no way to stay totally out of sight near t
he castle walls, so it was far better to be easily seen, but unnoted.
Bawb had applied a fair coating of dirt to darken his complexion, and Charlie had put on a peasant’s ragged cloak, going so far as to smear actual shit on the outside of it. No one wanted to get too close to a man who smelled––literally––like shit.
Disguised as best they were able, the two men made their way closer. It took only a short time to skirt the castle, all while moving casually, appearing to be no more than peasants walking the path. But these peasants had just made careful note of the number and position of guards, the paths they followed, and what reinforcements might be lurking behind the parapet above.
They had just about finished their loop when the short man and his troops were passing them, heading the other direction. The little fellow was riding atop a horse that seemed too big for his diminutive stature, but he appeared to revel in it anyway. Bawb and Charlie quickly exited the path and headed into the woods. The little man was staring after them from atop his steed.
“Come with me,” he said, diverting the men from their prescribed route.
“But sir, we are to patrol the––“
“I give the orders,” he snapped. “And I order you to come this way.” He turned his back and stormed ahead, full well expecting the men to follow, which, reluctantly, they did.
The tax collector was already reveling in his new power. He commanded two dozen men, and the king was pleased with him. But now, so soon after his promotion, he had an opportunity to once again show his worth. To achieve an even higher position.
He couldn’t be entirely sure of it, and he didn’t dare risk calling out the full castle guard, but he could have sworn that was the deposed king and his cowardly aide he just saw darting into the trees.
Alone he would stand no chance. Even with a handful of men, he had doubts. He had seen the king spar, and knew he was a skilled fighter. His pale aide was a useless hanger-on, but King Charlie would be a handful.