The Waiting King (2018 reissue)

by Deborah Hale

  As quickly as it had begun, the rain stopped and the sun seemed to shine all the brighter for the brief squall. The slow sway of the hammock lulled Rath and Maura into a lazy doze of peaceful contentment.

  Whether an hour passed or only a moment, Rath could not be certain. But the sound of a voice calling a friendly greeting jarred him awake.

  “Hello?” The voice belonged to Delyon—curse him. “Highnesses? Are you there?”

  As both Rath and Maura startled, the hammock twisted, dumping them onto the ground. Rath growled a curse under his breath.

  They scrambled to their feet just as Delyon appeared. “Oh, there you are! You had me worried when you didn’t answer. Were you caught out in the rain?”

  Rath and Maura stammered out different replies at the same time, but Delyon showed no sign of guessing what he had almost interrupted. “Bad luck. Oh well, you have time to change into dry clothes before we have to leave.”

  “Leave?” Rath wanted to throttle the handsome young scholar for even suggesting it. “We have to leave now? So soon?”

  Delyon gave an apologetic nod and his bronzed complexion seemed to redden a little. Perhaps he was beginning to guess what they’d been up to. “It has been a week, after all. Preparations for the invasion are almost complete. I hope you got a good rest to ready yourselves.”

  “Invasion?” Rath and Maura stared at one another and then at Delyon, as though he’d gone daft.

  “The invasion to liberate the mainland... remember? It is the reason you came to the Vestan Islands in the first place.”

  Suddenly Rath did remember. That potion from Madame Verise had made Maura and him forget. Rath now recalled being doubtful it would work. But he’d been willing to try, for the sake of a few elusive, unshadowed days with his bride.

  As it turned out, the potion had worked, perhaps too well. Suppressed memories flooded his mind now that they had been roused. A host of worries landed upon him like packs dropped from a high window. He staggered under their weight.

  The burden of his destiny felt all the heavier for having escaped its load a little while.

  To think only yesterday she and Rath had been kissing and caressing out in the rain, with not a care in the world!

  As she sat by her husband’s side in the council chamber, Maura fought to suppress a sigh. How tempting it was to wish they could return to that secluded island paradise with a lifetime supply of Madame Verise’s potion. But that would be cowardly and selfish.

  Maura summoned thoughts of her friends Sorsha and Newlyn Swinley, Blen and Tesha Maynold, Boyd Tanner, Snake and Angareth. All those people were counting on Rath and her, whether they realized it or not. Then she remembered Langbard and Nalene, Exilda and her parents. She must do everything in her power to make certain their sacrifices had not been in vain.

  Those thoughts acted like a magical tonic on Maura’s courage and will. With renewed concentration, she listened while Idrygon explained the details of his invasion plan.

  He had brought a large wooden slab, which lay on the floor in the center of the chamber. Upon the wood, a map of Embria had been molded in clay. Maura’s gaze swept over the contours of the land, tracing the path of her quest to find the Waiting King.

  “Your pardon, Idrygon.” The wizard Trochard rose from his seat and pointed to the tiny model ships being pushed across the board toward the Dusk Coast. “Your preparations have been most thorough, but the number of ships you have available and the army you have raised will be but a pittance compared to the Hanish legions now occupying the kingdom. I fail to see how this invasion of yours can possibly succeed.”

  He turned and made a curt bow toward Rath. “Not even with the Waiting King to lead them, for he has no magical army or special powers to...”

  Rath clenched his hands around the arms of his chair. Maura knew he must be struggling to “play the king in the council chamber” as she had bidden him.

  “If you will permit me to continue, Trochard,” Idrygon snapped. “I believe your objections will be answered.”

  “He is right, Trochard.” Madame Verise nodded for the redheaded wizard to sit down. “It has always been the custom of this Council to listen and consider before raising objections.”

  Glaring at Idrygon, Trochard resumed his seat with a loud huff.

  “As I was saying...” Idrygon pushed the tiny ships nearer the coast. They did look pitifully few. “Our strategy is not to meet the Han on an open field of battle. They are many, but they are spread thin over a wide area. By concentrating our small force in surprise attacks on key positions, I believe we can prevail.”

  He gestured toward Rath. “And you are wrong to say His Highness has no special weapons or powers. The power of his legend is one of the most potent weapons any army could wish for. It will rally the mainlanders to our cause. They may not be well trained or equipped, but they could be a mighty force, properly wielded. And make no mistake—they will flock to the banner of the Waiting King!”

  Maura had never warmed to the forceful, ambitious Idrygon as she had to his scholarly brother, but at that moment she could cheerfully have kissed him. Trochard squirmed in his seat as whispers of agreement passed among the Council members, even some of his own supporters.

  With an air of grim triumph, Idrygon described how his force would attack Duskport and secure it as their base. From there, they would march across the Hitherland, gathering strength as they liberated every town and village. “By the time we have cleansed Tarsh, Norest and Southmark of the Han, we will be ready to sweep down upon Westborne.”

  Rath rose, drawing the gazes of all the Council.

  “You wish to speak, Highness?” Idrygon asked.

  “What about the mines?”

  “Your pardon, Highness?”

  “The Blood Moon mines.” Rath pointed toward Idrygon’s map. “You have heard of them?”

  “Of course, Highness. What about them?”

  “They must be one of our first targets. They are...” He searched for a word and winced when the best he could think of was, “wrong. They are...”

  He tried again, his rugged features contorted with the effort.

  “An affront.” Maura rose to stand beside him. “The mines are an affront to the Giver, the Precepts and all it once meant to be Embrian. The king is right. The mines cannot be allowed to continue their evil work if we have the means to stop them.”

  Rath’s hand closed over hers with a grateful squeeze.

  Idrygon’s features tightened into a scowl, which he was quick to subdue. “Your Highness’s concern for the most oppressed of your subjects is laudable. However, I fear a premature bid to liberate the mines would not only be doomed to failure itself, but might imperil our whole campaign.”

  When Rath looked ready to object, Idrygon changed tactics. “You and I can discuss this further in private, Highness. Perhaps some means can be devised to speed our liberation of the mines without jeopardizing our ultimate objective.”

  Did Idrygon mean what he said? Maura wondered. Or was he just trying to keep Rath quiet so Trochard could not take advantage of a rift in their alliance? Glimpsing Rath’s thoughtful frown, she guessed he must be asking himself the same thing. He glanced at her and they resumed their seats without further protest while Idrygon outlined the rest of his plan.

  “May I be permitted to speak, now?” asked Trochard when Idrygon fell silent at last.

  Madame Verise nodded then cast an apologetic glance at Rath. “If it please Your Highness?”

  “Have your say, Trochard.” Under his breath Rath muttered, “Before you burst from bottling it up.”

  Maura bit the inside of her cheek to curb a most unqueenly grin.

  “Your plan is quite clever, Idrygon,” said Trochard in a patronizing tone, “as far as it goes. But you cannot hope to avoid open battle with the Han forever. Once you make your first attack, they will mass and come after you. I fear you are too young to remember the tactics they used to conquer Embria in the first pl
ace.”

  “How would you know any better, Trochard?” asked one very old wizard whose name Maura could not recall. “You were on the first ship to Margyle after the Han invaded.”

  The mocking laughter that greeted the old wizard’s comment made Trochard’s face flush almost purple. Unable to answer the charge, he hit back at Idrygon’s plan instead. “Besides, you have given the Council no hint of how you mean to handle the Xenoth. Their power is terrible, and we have no means to combat it!”

  Idrygon smiled—a strangely chilling expression. “No means yet. This is the other vital part of our plan. With the Giver’s blessing, each will work to support the other.” He butted his fists together. “To crush our foe.”

  This was the first Maura had heard of another part to Idrygon’s invasion strategy. She caught Rath’s eye and arched her brow in a silent question. He replied with a subtle shrug that told her it was new to him.

  “If I may beg the Council’s indulgence a little longer,” said Idrygon, “my brother can better explain what must be done.”

  “Very well,” grumbled Trochard. “Let him speak.”

  Idrygon yielded the center of the Great Circle to his brother, returning to his own seat beside Rath.

  Delyon looked far less confident than his brother, speaking before the full Council. Maura caught his eye and flashed him an encouraging smile.

  It seemed to help. Delyon bowed toward her and Rath. “Highnesses, Sages of the Council, Trochard raises an important question—how are we to combat the Xenoth? It is true they channel powerful forces of destruction, but there is a power even greater that we might use against them, if we can find it. And I believe we can.”

  “What is this great power, pray?” asked Trochard, his tone thick with scorn.

  Delyon hesitated for a moment, as if wary of even speaking its name. “The Staff of Velorken.”

  “Rubbish!” Trochard cried after a moment’s stunned silence. “If the Staff of Velorken ever truly existed, it was lost ages ago during the time of the Sundering.”

  “What was lost can be found.” Suddenly Delyon sounded far more confident. He gestured toward Rath. “The Waiting King, for instance. Many questioned his existence... or only pretended to believe. Yet here he sits among us after being lost for ages. I believe the person who restored him to us can also restore the weapon only he or she can wield.”

  Maura suddenly felt all eyes in the room fixed upon her.

  “As I have told the Council,” said Delyon, “my study of the ancient scrolls leads me to believe Queen Abrielle used the staff to free King Elzaban’s spirit, allowing him to be reborn until his destiny could be accomplished.”

  Trochard muttered something Maura could not make out, but a cool stare from Madame Verise silenced him.

  “The writings say Abrielle later hid the staff in the castle,” continued Delyon, “which is now occupied by the Hanish High Governor. I believe that our Destined Queen, a direct descendant of Abrielle, has the power to recover what her foremother hid.”

  A shiver ran through Maura as some baffling intuition told her it was true.

  She braced for Trochard’s retort, but instead heard a hostile rumble from Rath. “You mean to send my wife into the High Governor’s palace to poke around in search of some magic weapon you reckon might be there and you reckon she might be able to find?”

  He leaped to his feet, assuming the stance of a warrior under attack. “It is too dangerous. I will not allow it!”

  “B-but Highness—” Delyon flinched from Rath’s fierce anger, “—without the staff...”

  “Slag the staff!”

  The Sages of the Council all gasped at once.

  “Aira.” Maura laid a hand on Rath’s arm and felt the straining tension of his flesh. “The king in the council chamber, remember?”

  Idrygon rose and joined his brother. “Highness, if you and the Council will only hear us out.” His tone begged Rath to show a little solidarity, at least until they could discuss the matter in private.

  “Very well.” Rath dropped back into his chair, slightly chastened. “But there is nothing you say that will convince me to put Maura in danger.”

  Glossary

  barleymush — a thick barley porridge eaten in the Northern provinces

  Comtung — the lingua franca between Embrian and Hanish.

  eisendark — a very hard black metal

  fenfolk — a legendary non-human race said to live deep in the marshlands.

  greenfire — an enchantment that allows branches to give off a soft green light without burning.

  Han — a race of humans from the south who have conquered Embria.

  lalump — an Old Embrian endearment for a rogue of whom one is still fond.

  lifebane — an effect of metal weapons that taints wounds from them unless washed away with water or bleeding.

  lowling — term of contempt used by the Han for most Embrians.

  mortcraft — also called death magic. The potent destructive power from beneath the earth that attaches to metal and gems.

  pain spikes — look like ordinary nails, but tainted with mortcraft so that anyone touching them receives an intense burning sting.

  slag — dust from the mines. Dulls the senses and makes the user docile. Highly addictive.

  Solsticetide — the first month of summer.

  strup — a rare green metal.

  twara — the Old Embrian language, now only used for ceremonial purposes.

  vitcraft — also called life magic. The gentle, fickle creative power of living things, chiefly channelled through herbs, wooden wands and the essence of animals.

  Xenoth — also called deathmages. Powerful sorcerers of mortcraft. Serve as a secret police of the Hanish Empire.

  zikary — Embrian collaborators with the Han

  “The Magical and Healing Properties of Some Common Embrian Plants”

  from A Shorter Vitacraft Compendium by Gelys Torkin

  Candleflax — staunches bleeding of open wounds

  Cheeseweed — soothes aching muscles

  Dreamweed — induces sleep, slowly if imbibed in a tea, rapidly if inhaled

  Fleawort — kills body vermin

  Freshwort — helps resist the effects of slag

  Honeygrass — makes hair shine

  Hundredflower — helps a person blend in to their surroundings and escape notice

  Icemint — mild stimulant

  Laceweed — staunches internal bleeding

  Madfern — causes temporary delusions

  Marshwort — soothes pain of burns or wounds when applied as a poultice

  Merthorn — speeds healing of burned flesh

  Moonmallow — eases swelling

  Muddlewort — blurs recent memories

  Summerslip — causes mild numbing of senses and drowsiness

  Queensbalm — combats mortcraft/short-term stimulant

  Quickfoil — potent stimulant/restorative

  Winterwort — heals bruises

  The Wizard’s Ward

  The legend awaits...

  The once-peaceful land of Embria now suffers under the occupation of cruel conquerors. Enchantress Maura Woodbury has spent her young life trying to avoid their notice at all costs. Until her wizard guardian reveals that she has been chosen to seek and waken a legendary warrior who is destined to free their people. First she must procure an ancient map which will lead her to the Waiting King’s resting place. Since Maura’s journey will lead her into dangerous territory, she is forced to accept a magic-wary outlaw as her escort. But can she trust a man like Rath Talward... or will he prove an even greater threat to her quest?

  “Gentle magic, serious sorcery, violent action, and lively adventure grace the pages of this engrossing romantic fantasy.” — Library Journal

  The Waiting King

  The legend unfolds...

  Young enchantress Maura Woodbury must brave increasing peril in her quest to find the Waiting King before the midsummer moon.
Legend claims the mystical warrior will deliver Embria from its oppressors and Maura will be his consort. As she journeys through her oppressed country, Maura see first-hand, the desperate plight of her people. But how much is she willing to sacrifice to win their freedom? Will she find the Waiting King before it is too late for her beloved country... and for her heart?

  “A delightful, exciting and memorable romantic fantasy about a heroine who believes in all the old legends and a hero who believe only in himself.” — Harriet Klausner

  The Destined Queen

  The legend lives on...

  Having awakened the Waiting King, Maura Woodbury thinks her duty to her country is completed. But she finds her task has only begun. Her brave, beloved consort is not all-powerful, as she’d hoped. Maura must journey deep into the heart of Hanish power, in search of a powerful artifact that could secure her country’s freedom. This new quest is fraught with danger, not only to Maura’s life and cause, but to her belief in herself and her destiny.

  “A true treasured tale to enliven those romantics and adventure seekers alike.” — Anne Barringer, Fresh Fiction