The Magic Kingdom of Landover , Volume 1

by Terry Brooks

  “Questor, you called the Paladin a ghost,” he said finally, not turning to look at the other. “How can a ghost be of any help to me?”

  There was a long pause. “He was not always a ghost. Perhaps he need not remain one.”

  “Life after death, is that it?”

  “He was a thing created of the magic,” Questor answered quietly. “Perhaps life and death have no meaning for him.”

  “Do you have any idea at all how we can go about finding that out?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have any suggestions for finding a way to get him back again?”

  “No.”

  “That’s what I thought. All we can do is hope he shows up before the Mark issues his next challenge and turns me into the latest of a long line of kingly failures!”

  “You have another choice. You can use the medallion. The medallion can take you back to your own world whenever you choose to go. The Mark cannot stop you. You need only wish for it, and you will be gone.”

  Ben grimaced. Wonderful. Just tap the red shoes together three times and repeat, “There’s no place like home.” Off he would go, back to Kansas. Just wonderful. He had to do it within the next twenty-four hours, of course, if he didn’t want to return a million dollars lighter. And whether he chose to do it within the next twenty-four hours or whether he waited until the Mark came riding for him out of the black pit, he would be running in either case, leaving Landover exactly as he had described himself—the latest in a long line of Kingly failures.

  His jaw set. He didn’t like losing. He didn’t like giving up.

  On the other hand, he wasn’t particularly keen on dying.

  “How did I ever get myself into this?” he muttered under his breath.

  “Did you say something?” Questor asked.

  He turned away from the dais and the shell of armor, his eyes searching out the stooped figures of the wizard and the scribe through the lengthening shadows of twilight. “No,” he sighed. “I was just mumbling.”

  They nodded and said nothing.

  “I was just thinking to myself.”

  They nodded again.

  “I was just …”

  He trailed off hopelessly. The three of them stared at one another in silence and no one said anything more.

  It was almost completely dark out when they left the chapel to retrace their steps through the corridors and halls of the castle. The smokeless lamps spread their glow through the shadows. The flooring and walls were vibrant with warmth.

  “What do you gain from all of this?” Ben asked Questor at one point.

  “Hmmmmm?” The stooped figure turned.

  “Do you get a share of the profits on all these sales of the throne?”

  “High Lord!”

  “Well, you did say you helped write the sales pitch, didn’t you?”

  The other was flushed and agitated. “I receive no part of any monies spent to acquire Landover!” he snapped.

  Ben shrugged and glanced over at Abernathy. But for once the scribe made no comment. “Sorry,” Ben apologized. “I just wondered why you were involved in all of this.”

  The other man said nothing, and Ben let the subject drop. He thought about it as they walked, though, and decided finally that what Questor gained from these sales was what he had probably wanted all along—the position and title of court wizard. His half-brother had held both before him, and Questor Thews had been a man without any real direction in his life. Now he had found that direction, and it probably made him happy enough just to be able to point to that.

  And shouldn’t it be like that for me as well, he wondered suddenly?

  He was struck by the thought. Why was it that he had purchased the throne of Landover in the first place? He hadn’t purchased it with the thought that it would become some other-world version of Sun City where he might retire, play golf and meditate on the purpose of man’s existence, had he? He had purchased the throne to escape a world and a life he no longer found challenging. He was the wanderer that Questor Thews had once been. Landover’s Kingship offered him direction. It offered him the challenge he had sought.

  So what was he griping about?

  Easy, he answered himself. He was griping because this kind of challenge could kill him—literally. This wasn’t a court of law with a judge and jury and rules that he was talking about here. This was a battlefield with armor and weapons and only one rule—survival of the fittest. He was a King without a court, without an army, without a treasury, and without subjects interested in obeying a sovereign they refused to recognize. He was a King with a castle that was slowly passing into dust, four retainers straight out of the brothers Grimm and a protector that was nine-tenths ghost. He might not have been looking for Sun City, but he sure as hell hadn’t bargained for this, either!

  Had he?

  He carried the debate with him to dinner.

  He ate again in the great hall. Questor, Abernathy and the two kobolds kept him company. He would have eaten alone if he had not insisted that the others join him. They were retainers to the King of Landover now, Questor pointed out, and retainers did not eat with the High Lord unless they were invited to do so. Ben announced that until further notice they all had a standing invitation.

  Dinner was less eventful than the previous night. There were candles and good china place settings. The food was excellent, and no one felt compelled to improve on its service. Conversation was kept to a minimum; Bunion and Parsnip ate in silence, and Questor and Abernathy exchanged only mild barbs on the eating habits of men and dogs. Ben sampled everything on the table, more hungry than he had a right to be, stayed clear of the wine, and kept his thoughts to himself. No one said anything about the coronation. No one said anything about the Mark or the Paladin.

  It was all very civilized. It was also endless.

  Ben finally sent everyone from the table and sat there alone in the candlelight. His thoughts remained fixed on Landover. Should he stay or should he go? How sturdy was this wall of seemingly unsolvable problems that he was butting his head against? How much sense did it make for him to keep trying?

  How many angels could pass through the eye of a needle?

  The answers to all of these questions eluded him entirely. He went to bed still seeking them out.

  He woke the next morning shortly after sunrise, washed in the basin placed next to his bed, dressed in his running sweats and Nikes, and slipped quietly through the halls of Sterling Silver for the front entry. He was soundless in his movements, but Abernathy had good ears and was waiting for him at the portcullis.

  “Breakfast, High Lord?” he asked, his glasses inching down over his furry nose as he looked Ben over.

  Ben shook his head. “Not yet. I want to run first.”

  “Run?”

  “That’s right—run. I did it all the time before I came to Landover and I miss it. I miss the workouts at the Northside Health Club. I miss the sparring and the speed work and the heavy bag. Boxing, we call it. I guess that doesn’t mean anything to you.”

  “It is true that dogs do not box,” Abernathy replied. “Dogs do run, however. Where is it that you plan to run this morning, High Lord?”

  Ben hesitated. “I don’t know yet. Probably at the valley’s rim where there’s some sun.”

  Abernathy nodded. “I’ll send someone to accompany you.”

  Ben shook his head. “I don’t need anyone, thanks.”

  The other turned away. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that if I were you,” he said and disappeared down the hallway.

  Ben stared after him momentarily, then wheeled without waiting and strode through the portcullis and gates to the lake skimmer. He boarded and his thoughts sent the skiff leaping recklessly ahead through the gray waters. He did not need someone with him everywhere he went, he thought stubbornly. He was not some helpless child.

  He grounded the lake skimmer on the far shore, turned, and jogged ahead through the gloom. He worked his way slowly to the val
ley slope, then started up. When he reached the rim, he turned right and began to follow the forest’s edge. Below him, the valley lay wrapped in shadows. Above, the pale golden light of the sun washed the new day in trailers of mist.

  He ran easily, his thoughts drifting with the soft padding of his running shoes on the damp earth. His head felt clear and alert, and his muscles felt strong. He hadn’t felt like that since he had arrived in Landover, and the feeling was a good one. Trees slipped rapidly away beside him, and the ground passed smoothly beneath. He breathed the air and let the stiffness in his body slowly work itself out.

  Last night’s questions were still with him, and the search for their answers went on. This was the final day of the ten days allotted him for rescission under the terms of his contract with Meeks. If he didn’t rescind now, he would lose the million dollars paid for the purchase of Landover’s Kingship. He might also lose his life—although Questor Thews had assured him that the medallion would take him back again at any time with but a moment’s thought. In any case, the choices were clear. He could stay and attempt to straighten out the morass of problems he would face as King of Landover, risk a confrontation with the Mark and give up the million dollars, or he could leave, admit that the purchase was the dog that Miles had warned, return to his old life and world, and get back most of the million dollars he had spent. Neither choice held much appeal. Neither choice held much hope.

  He was breathing more quickly now, feeling the strain of running begin to wear pleasingly on his muscles. He pushed himself, picking up the pace slightly, working to pass through the wall of his resistance. A flash of something dark caught his eye—something moving through the forest. He glanced over sharply, searching. There was nothing now—only the trees. He kept moving. He must have imagined it.

  He thought again about the Paladin, knight-errant of the realm. He sensed somehow that the Paladin was the key to everything that was wrong with Landover’s throne. It was too large a coincidence that, with the old King’s death, the Paladin had disappeared as well and everything had started to go wrong with the Kingship. There was a link between them that he needed to understand. It might be possible for him to do so, he reasoned, if it were true as Questor had thought that the Paladin had indeed appeared twice now because of him. Perhaps he could find a way to bring the Paladin back yet a third time—and this time discover if he were indeed but a ghost.

  The sun rose higher as he ran on, and it was approaching midmorning when he started back down the valley slope for the lake skimmer. Twice more he thought he caught sight of something moving in the trees, but each time he looked there was nothing there. He recalled Abernathy’s veiled warning, but dismissed it summarily. They were always telling you to stay off the streets of Chicago, too, but you didn’t live life shut away in a box.

  He thought about that as he took the lake skimmer back across to Sterling Silver. There were always risks in life. Life was meant to be lived like that because if it wasn’t, then what was the purpose of living it at all? Measuring the risks was important, of course, but experiencing them was necessary. It was the same thing he was always trying to explain to Miles. Sometimes you did things because they felt right. Sometimes you did things because …

  He thought suddenly of the faces of those farmers and herdsmen and their families, those hunters and that beggar who had traveled to the Heart for his coronation. There had been a sort of desperate hope in those faces—as if those people wanted to believe that he could be King. There had been only a few, of course, and he was hardly responsible to them, yet …

  His thinking faltered as the lake skimmer grounded at the front gates of the castle. He stood up slowly, recapturing the thoughts, losing himself in them. He barely saw Abernathy appear in the shadow of the portcullis.

  “Breakfast, High Lord?”

  “What?” Ben was almost startled. “Oh, yes—that would be fine.” He climbed from the boat and moved quickly into the castle. “And send Questor to me right away.”

  “Yes, High Lord.” The dog trailed after, nails clicking on the stone. “Did you enjoy your run?”

  “Yes, I did—very much. Sorry I didn’t wait, but I didn’t think I needed anyone to go along just for that.”

  There was a moment’s silence. Ben sensed the dog looking at him and glanced back. “I think I should tell you, High Lord, that Bunion was with you every step of the way. I sent him to make sure that you were properly looked after.”

  Ben grinned. “I thought I saw something. But it wasn’t necessary for him to be there, was it?”

  Abernathy shrugged. “That depends on how well you could have handled by yourself the timber wolf, the cave wight, and the bog wump that he dispatched when he caught them stalking after you in search of breakfast.” He turned off into an adjoining corridor. “And speaking of breakfast, yours is waiting in the dining hall. I will send for the wizard.”

  Ben stared after him. Bog wump? Cave wight? Sweat beaded on his forehead suddenly. For Christ’s sake, he hadn’t seen or heard a thing! Was Abernathy trying to be funny?

  He hesitated, then hurried on. He didn’t think Abernathy was the sort to make jokes about something like this. Apparently he had been in danger out there and hadn’t even known it.

  He ate breakfast alone. Parsnip brought it to him and left. Abernathy did not reappear. Once, halfway through the meal, he caught sight of Bunion standing in the shadows of an entry off to one side. The kobold grinned so that all of his teeth showed like whitened spikes and disappeared. Ben did not grin back.

  He was almost finished when Questor finally appeared. He shoved his plate aside and told the wizard to sit down with him.

  “Questor, I want to know exactly how things are now compared to how they were when the old King was alive. I want to know what worked then and what doesn’t work now. I want to figure out what has to be done to get things back to where they were.”

  Questor Thews nodded slowly, brows knitting over his sharp eyes. His hands folded on the table. “I will try, High Lord, though some things may escape my immediate memory. Some of it, you already know. There was an army that served the King of Landover; that is gone. There was a court with retainers; only Abernathy, Parsnip, Bunion and myself remain. There was a treasury; it is depleted. There was a system of taxes and yearly gifts; it has broken down. There were programs for public works, social reforms and land preservation; they no longer exist. There were laws and the laws were enforced; now they are ignored or enforced selectively. There were accords and alliances and pacts of understanding between the peoples of the land; most have lapsed or been openly repudiated.”

  “Stop right there.” Ben rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. “Who among the King’s subjects stands allied with whom at this point?”

  “No one stands allied with anyone, so far as I can tell. Humans, half-humans, fairy creatures—no one trusts anyone.”

  Ben frowned. “And none of them has much use for the King, I gather? No, you needn’t answer that. I can answer it for myself.” He paused “Is there any one of them strong enough to stand up to the Mark?”

  The wizard hesitated. “Nightshade, perhaps. Her magic is very powerful. But even she would be hard pressed to survive a duel with the Mark. Only the Paladin possessed strength enough to defeat the demon.”

  “What if everyone were to band together?”

  Questor Thews hesitated longer this time. “Yes, the Mark and his demons might be successfully challenged then.”

  “But it would take someone to unite them first.”

  “Yes, it would take that.”

  “The King of Landover could be that someone.”

  “He could.”

  “But just at the moment the King of Landover can’t even draw a crowd for his own coronation, can he?”

  Questor said nothing. Ben and the wizard stared at each other across the table.

  “Questor, what’s a bog wump?” Ben asked finally.

  The other frowned. “A bog wump, High Lord?”
Ben nodded. “A bog wump is a variety of forest wight, a spiny, flesh-eating creature that burrows in marshy earth and paralyzes its victims with its tongue.”

  “Does it hunt in the early morning?”

  “It does.”

  “Does it hunt humans?”

  “It might. High Lord, what … ?”

  “And Bunion—would he be a match for one of these bog wumps?”

  Questor’s mouth snapped shut on the rest of whatever it was he was going to say. His owlish face crinkled. “A kobold is a match for almost anything alive. They are ferocious fighters.”

  “Why are Bunion and Parsnip still here at Sterling Silver when everyone else in the court is gone?”

  The owlish face crinkled into a complete knot. “They are here because they have pledged themselves to the service of the throne and its King. Kobolds do not take their pledges lightly. Once made, a pledge is never broken. So long as there is a King of Landover, Bunion and Parsnip will stay on.”

  “Is it the same with Abernathy?”

  “It is. This is his chosen service.”

  “And you?”

  There was a long pause. “Yes, High Lord, it is the same with me.”

  Ben sat back. He didn’t say anything for a moment, his eyes locking on Questor’s, his arms folding loosely across his chest. He listened in the silence for the whisper of the other’s thoughts and spun the webbing of his own.

  Then he smiled reluctantly. “I have decided to stay on as Landover’s King.”

  Questor Thews smiled back. “I see.” He seemed genuinely pleased. “I thought that you might.”

  “Did you?” Ben laughed. “Then you were more certain than I. I only now made the choice.”

  “If I might ask, Ben Holiday—what was it that decided you?”

  The smile disappeared from Ben’s face. He hesitated, thinking momentarily of those few who had come to the Heart to witness his coronation. They were not so different, really, from the clients he had taken an oath to represent, and he not so different from the lawyer who had taken that oath. Perhaps he did owe them something after all.