“I come with a proposal,” the queen announced as if everyone should heed what she said. “We were caged by the Dragon and then escaped. If we return and call for a meeting, he will see we are not rebels and that we act in good faith.”
“To what end?” Owen said.
“A treaty, of course.”
Mordecai sighed and shook his head. “You want to hand the Son over to the Dragon in return for your daughter. I wouldn’t trade this young man for a hundred daughters.”
Owen put a hand on Mordecai’s shoulder. “Careful—that’s my bride you’re talking about.”
Mordecai’s face fell. “I meant no offense to you.”
Owen turned back to the queen. “And what does your husband say about this proposal?”
“The king is . . . not well. I am speaking for him.”
“You speak treason against the true King,” Mordecai said.
Like Watcher had read the skies and as Owen himself had pored over books, he now read between the lines of the woman’s life. He stepped close and whispered, “You have not always lived in the Lowlands, have you?”
She stepped back, ashen. “Why would you say such a thing?”
“My father’s book describes what happened when his children were taken, how it broke his heart. But it also describes the bride as coming from the Highlands. She was not taken, was she? It was you and your husband who were brought here.”
She waved and glanced at the servants, plainly speechless.
“Tell the truth,” Owen said. “In your world, an agreement is binding on both parties. That is your way and the way of your people.”
“You’re not really a queen?” someone said.
“And the king is not really a king?” another said.
“I must go,” the queen said.
“No!” Owen said. “I know you care about your daughter and want her back. I want what is best for her and for you and your husband. It is my job to mend what is broken. To heal what is sick. To restore that which has been torn apart. And an agreement with the evil one will not accomplish that.”
The woman inched closer, gathering her dress. “If you are the Son—and I am not saying you are—surely you would know that your own father made a treaty. The Dragon told us the King so despaired over the loss of his children that he promised the entire kingdom to the Dragon if he would spare them.”
“Lies!” Mordecai shouted, spitting. “My King would never have promised such a thing.”
“It’s not her you don’t believe,” Owen said. “The Dragon is the liar and has been from the beginning. Lying is his language. It is true the King made a treaty and swore to keep it. But truth of that agreement will be revealed only at the right time.”
“So you admit to this,” the queen said.
“I admit that my father loves me—and all of you—enough to protect us from the consequences of the treaty. When it is revealed, we will understand. Now, though it feels at times like we’re moving through a darkened corridor, we must trust that he is good and that in the end he will make things plain.”
“You are a blind follower,” the queen said, sneering. “You’re no royal Son.”
“And you are no queen,” Mordecai muttered. “I only hope your daughter does not take after you.”
Watcher darted out occasionally for food for her and Humphrey, but she mostly spent time inside the cave brooding. The demon flyers and other invisibles were plentiful—it made her shake that they were so numerous and this time made strange noises. But the longer they stayed in the air, the better. She hoped that meant the Wormling had not been located.
When the noise subsided and she finally ventured out, she asked Humphrey to stay behind, for he was much too large and lumbering to hide. She began with short walks that gradually became longer the more comfortable she became with her surroundings. Numerous caves with dark entrances abounded, and the soft marsh was nearby with singing crickets and frogs. It wasn’t the mountain she had grown up on, but it wasn’t a bad place to wait for her friend.
One afternoon as she walked farther than ever, she heard a deep bang of rock against rock echoing through the trees.
Watcher hurried toward it. “Hello?” she called.
The banging continued until she heard a huge rockslide inside one of the caves. The banging stopped, and the frogs and crickets ceased their chatter.
Watcher rushed across a soft area, hooves splashing, and came upon a cave opening with dust billowing forth.
Someone coughed and sputtered, as if trying to catch his breath.
“Are you all right?” she said. “Hello?”
A human cough. Familiar.
She peered into the murky opening. “Need help in there?”
“Yes!” Rocks moved. Footsteps approached her.
Watcher gasped as a young man wiped dirt from his eyes and shook a cloud of dust from his hair. “I don’t believe it,” she said.
He wheezed and said, “What’s the matter? Never seen a Wormling before?”
RHM followed the instructions of the Dragon to the letter and found himself in the Highlands. It was early morning before the sun was up, something for which RHM was grateful. He had never been to the wretched Highlands with all its houses and cars and traffic and lights and noise, noise, noise.
A thin strip of orange lit the clouds as he perched on a rooftop and faced east. The first rays of the sun peeked over the nearby mountain, and people began to stir. He wondered what they would do if any happened to spot him. He assumed they would scream and call the police—but he was much too fast, much too smart, much too agile to be caught.
Something startled him from behind, and he turned quickly. It was Mugrim, one of the Dragon’s sentries. He was among the master’s most trusted but not at all liked by the others in the court, least of all RHM.
“Ah, Reginald,” Mugrim said. “So nice of you to . . . drop in.”
“I haven’t come for you, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Here for an update on the bride-to-be?” Mugrim said.
“Is that what you’re doing? Watching the bride?”
“Indeed.”
“Then why were you slumbering behind that chimney? You wouldn’t want me to relate that to the boss, would you?”
Mugrim smirked. “I’ve been watching this house for some time. Until the lights come on, there’s no reason to get excited.”
A light flickered in the main room.
“Then I suppose this is your big moment, Mugrim. Good luck.”
“Wait, wait, Reginald. What do you have there?”
“None of your business.”
“Mmm. Buzzing. Anything important?”
RHM cursed and grabbed the cases. “Just get back to your job.” He flew away, just above housetops.
A man heading to his car in the dim light looked up and did a double take. “What in the world?”
RHM kept moving, flying higher, trying to remember the landmarks the Dragon had mentioned. He saw the knoll in the distance where the Dragon had put an end to Mr. Page, as he had called himself. There was the movie theater. And the restaurant where the girl Clara worked. Of course, that was not her real name.
In an area near homes and businesses that seemed worse than shabby, RHM found the remnants of the house the Dragon had described. It looked as if it had been beautiful once long ago. He descended through the top and flew down a staircase to the water-filled basement. A foul stench reached RHM as he tiptoed quickly to the end of the room.
He hated standing water. Liquid turned his talons to mush, and he couldn’t attack a thing. He sloshed along, the cases under his wings. At the far end of the room, he found the opening with a shaft below. He opened the small case and pulled out the huge hive, bell-shaped and light, as if filled with air. But it was filled with much more than that.
He hung it on the cable, made sure it was secure, and went to work on the larger case. He loosened the leather straps so the nestor could work itself free. Then
he opened the latches with the tiny key and stood back.
The buzzing stopped. A hideous hiss came from inside the case, and something sliced through one of the leather bands.
“Dear me,” RHM said, backing away in the water, heart beating wildly.
Another band snapped, and a buzz-hiss-gurgle came from the case.
RHM gasped in terror and flew toward the opening above, rocketing skyward, unwilling to even look back.
As if pulled by an unseen force, pushed onward by what he knew he had to do, Owen traveled to the Valley of Zior. It was just as he remembered it, a sweltering place of death. Other areas of the Lowlands had turned cold under a blanket of snow, but the desert remained as foreboding as ever. Mordecai seemed to stare in disbelief at the bony carcasses of demon flyers.
“The Wormling did that,” Starbuck said.
“How?” Rogers said, gazing at Owen as if he were a superstar.
“The Sword of the Wormling is a splendid weapon,” Owen said.
“Which you do not have with you,” Mordecai said.
“You seem to enjoy reminding me of that. But we have the weapons from Erol.”
“Sticks and sharpened rocks,” Mordecai said. “If what you tell me about these skittering lizards is true, we’ll need a lot more than these.”
They traveled through the desert during the day, which they could never have done in the summer, and through part of a night. Owen couldn’t help remembering how Watcher had reacted to this place. He wondered how she and Humphrey were doing.
Owen searched the darkness for the eyes of lizard scouts but noticed only the outline of the cave ahead.
“It’s too quiet,” Starbuck said, whirling to look behind them. “Maybe they’re planning an ambush.”
“Who?” Rogers said.
“The lizards. Or the Dragon’s workers. Or both.” Starbuck shivered and slowed.
“Don’t worry,” Owen said. “I won’t let them take you down into that mountain again.”
Owen noticed small lumps here and there across the rolling sand. He uncovered one with his foot and revealed a lizard skeleton. It struck him that they were walking on the backs of lizards all the way to the encampment.
“What could have killed them?” Starbuck said.
“I’m just glad they’re dead,” Mordecai said.
The camp had clearly not been touched in months. Sand covered the fire pits. Chains and leg-irons were half buried. Shells of buildings looked out onto empty streets and wooden sidewalks.
A helmet and breastplate lay by a torn tent, a piece of the animal’s skin flapping in the breeze. Owen recalled that the powerful and cruel creature had been a sentry that looked part ape, part rhinoceros. The being’s horn had protruded above its helmet.
“The people were here,” Owen whispered. “Men and women and children huddling for warmth, all chained.”
“The holding pens were right there,” Starbuck said. “We slept here each night before they took us into the cave.”
Owen moved up the narrow path to the mouth of the cave. No guards, no noise, no light.
“You say the true Queen was held here?” Mordecai asked.
“That way,” Owen said. “Stay here and keep watch. I’ll check inside.”
Owen moved into pitch-darkness and stopped to let his eyes adjust. He might as well have kept them closed. He felt his way along with a hand on the wall and came to a small indentation on the left where he had climbed and stayed until he could get to the Queen.
He crossed the passage and felt his way through the door, bumping into a chair. This was where he had met the Queen.
“It’s been years since I let myself believe he was even still alive,” the Queen had said about her Son. About Owen. “Find my Son. Tell him where I am. Forget the unity of the worlds, the talk of peace and love and tranquility. Just bring my Son to me.”
Owen pushed the chair until it hit the table. When he reached to support himself, he touched something hairy on the tabletop. It moved and he recoiled, nearly falling.
“Who’s there?” a man’s raspy voice said.
The table creaked and Owen sensed someone moving toward him. Smelled him, that is. A terrible odor. Sour breath. The stench triggered a memory—like familiar words from a page read long ago. Fingers found Owen’s face. Then a cackling laugh.
“You’re not one of the guards. Skin’s too soft.”
“I am the Wormling,” Owen managed. “Who are you?”
“The Wormling!” the man gasped. “You kept your promise! You returned!” He grabbed Owen with both hands, then let go and wept.
“What’s wrong, old man? Where have they taken the Queen and the others?”
“It’s been many days. A new shipment of workers was to come in cages by transport flyers. But one of them didn’t show, and everyone was taken away.”
“Except you.”
“I hid in a crevice below. I would not have survived the journey anyway.”
Owen pulled the man up and aided him to the cave entrance, where Mordecai gave him a drink from their water skin. The man was so pale after working underground that he looked like a ghost.
“What did you do here?” Mordecai said.
“What we were told,” he said. “Dug precious metals and collected them. The transport flyers carried them to the Dragon. I overheard a guard talking one night about the Dragon using gems and some kind of liquid that would purify the kingdom.”
“What liquid would do that?” Starbuck said.
“In the White Mountain,” Owen said. “It bubbles up, and mixed with fire, it explodes. He has the source for the fire, he has the liquid, but he won’t be satisfied with a small explosion. The gems will create fiery missiles that will blast throughout the land.” He turned back to the old man. “Where did they take the Queen and the other prisoners?”
He shrugged. “The only other place they’ve ever mined is Diamondhead, which is even more remote than this. Legend says they must use transport flyers just to bring in the sun. If that’s where they took them, old and young will die from the cold. And I fear the Queen will as well.”
“The Dragon must be ramping up the production of gemstones so he can destroy us all,” Owen said.
“Why would he destroy the earth?” Starbuck said.
Mordecai gritted his teeth. “He would do anything to defy the King. And if he can destroy the beauty the King has made and fashion it in his own ugly likeness, he will.”
“But why would the King allow this?” Rogers said.
“He won’t,” Owen said. “The Dragon will fail. That’s why he sent us.”
“Us?” Starbuck said. “Surely you don’t mean that the four of us—”
“Have faith, young man,” Owen said. “The King’s purposes will not fail because of numbers.” He faced Mordecai. “Take these three with you and return to Erol. Tell him to send the whole clan throughout the land, bidding others to join the fight. Sing songs of deliverance. Tell people they have seen the Son and that he will soon return to lead them to battle.”
“And what will you do?” Mordecai said. “Charge into that mine alone to rescue the prisoners?”
Owen clapped Mordecai on the shoulder. “I do not go alone. My father walks with me. And I do his bidding. And when I return, I will have more recruits.”
“How can that be?” Starbuck said.
“Because every captive set free becomes a loving servant of the King.”
Mordecai reached for the man, but he pulled away. “I may be old, but you don’t have to carry me like a baby. That water invigorated these bones. Let’s go.”
“Meet me at the White Mountain,” Owen said. “I’ll be there with anyone who wants to follow.”
“Why there?” Mordecai said.
Owen smiled. “You’ll see, my friend.”
Watcher had squealed so loudly at the Wormling’s return that Humphrey galloped out and found them laughing and talking. The Wormling said he had escaped the clutches of the Dragon
but had gotten sidetracked by a demon flyer. While hiding he had fallen into a dark tunnel, become trapped in a rockslide, and had to dig his way out. Thus, all the dirt.
“You were fortunate you weren’t killed,” Watcher said.
Humphrey harrumphed and pawed at the ground.
“I’m ravenous,” the Wormling said. “Is there anything to eat?”
Watcher walked him back to the cave and brought him fruit. “Where do we go from here?” she said.
“We still must find the Son, but we don’t have The Book of the King or my sword—”
“I have the book,” Watcher said, retrieving it for him. “Remember? You gave it to me for safekeeping.”
The Wormling cradled the book and sighed. “Oh, Watcher, you’re so faithful. When I am made a prince or a landowner or whatever the Son bestows upon me, I shall give you houses and lands and wonderful jewelry.”
Watcher’s smile faded. “You’re planning to stay?”
Humphrey harrumphed again.
“I’m keeping my options open,” the Wormling said. “Things change so fast. Let’s talk of our next task.”
“I do not want you to go away alone again,” Watcher said. “Please promise we won’t have to separate.”
“I promise. Wherever I go, you will go.” He patted Humphrey on the flank, and the horse stepped back and blew air through his lips. “All three of us will go. We will never be separated again. And we will kill that pesky Dragon and throw him down! That’s exactly what we’re going to do.”
Watcher’s eyes brimmed with tears. But just as quickly, the hair on her back stood up. “Something is out there. A demon flyer or . . . worse.”
The Wormling stood. “Stay here. I’ll check it out.”
Watcher stayed in the shadows as the Wormling crept out. It seemed like an eternity.
Humphrey nickered, clearly trying to tell her something.
“Oh, friend,” she whispered, “I wish I could understand you.”
The horse threw his head back, strutted, even swished his tail.
Watcher could only shake her head.
From outside the cave came the sounds of a fierce fight and the Wormling calling for her. Watcher ran out to find him holding a stick before a demon sentry, its wings in battle position.
The Minions of Time Page 5