The Wayfarer King

by K. C. May

Four-twenty on the afternoon o’the tenth o’Nevebria, in the year fourteen thirty-one.

  Gavin followed the thread of his ring and found Daia’s haze, connected with her, and opened another vortex.

  “I’m not meant to know the future,” Arek said, “but can you tell me who or what you mean to summon?”

  Gavin took a breath as though he was about to speak and stepped through.

  The hearth that had been so warm and comforting a second ago was dark and cold, the room eerily silent. The chill in the air reminded him that Arek had sent everyone away. No fires burned in the hearths. The palace, usually bustling with people doing their jobs, was quiet and empty like a tomb. Either he’d timed it well or he’d soon meet Ritol face to face.

  Shivering in his summer clothes, Gavin noted that his armor hadn’t come with him. He hadn’t been wearing it when he went to visit King Arek. He went to the library door and peered out, listening. Distantly, he heard footsteps coming from the direction of the cellar. If he’d come to the right time, that would be Arek returning from the vault with the gems he would put into the Rune Tablet. As quietly as he could, Gavin snuck up the main staircase, listening for a sign he’d been discovered. The cellar door creaked shut, and then the bolt rattled across it. Gavin paused momentarily until he remembered the king’s private library was to the left. The footsteps began to ascend the back staircase.

  With his heart pounding and his breath icy in the cool air, Gavin slipped into the room and looked around. His eyes settled on the burgundy and gold curtains, the only hiding place big enough to conceal him. He hid within their velvety folds, which were still settling into place when he heard someone enter. Gavin peered out. It was Arek.

  Relieved and excited, Gavin waited for the right time to make his move. He watched while Arek began to create the tablet that would haunt Gavin’s dreams for the next two centuries.

  Ronor burst into the study. He stopped short when he saw the king, hunched over the wide oak table. Sweat soaked the rounded collar of Arek’s tan tunic. His hands shook as he chiseled a rune into the surface of the stone tablet.

  When Ronor went to the window, Gavin held his breath and stood perfectly still. He didn’t remember noticing anything unusual about the curtains, but he’d been preoccupied with the events that were unfolding, events that were now vivid in Gavin’s memory: seeing Ritol dashing through the streets of Tern toward the palace, Arek urging him to take the tablet with the gems in it. At the time, he hadn’t known what it was for. Now, he understood exactly what Arek had done, and he couldn’t help but wonder whether his visit two days earlier had been the reason for Arek’s change of mind.

  “It is my magic, not my life, that you must protect now,” Arek was saying.

  “My lord, no,” Ronor said. Gavin mouthed the words with him, for he’d said them a hundred times in nightmares over the last dozen years.

  “I have been proud to call you a friend, Ronor.”

  A lump rose in Gavin’s throat. “As have I, my liege,” he whispered, echoing Ronor’s words.

  “You mustn’t let Thendylath fall into chaos. You have been at my side for thirteen years. Promise me you’ll pick up where I left off, if it comes to that.”

  “Your majesty, we will not fail. We will prevail—”

  Arek gripped Ronor’s arm. “Swear it. Swear it on your immortal soul!”

  “I swear.” When Ronor spoke those fateful words, Gavin shuddered. It was here that his nightmare truly began.

  “There’s no time, Ronor,“ Arek said. ”You must keep the tablet safe.”

  “My liege, I have sworn to protect you.”

  “You have sworn to obey. Take the tablet and go. Now!”

  Yes, he’d sworn on his immortal soul that he wouldn’t leave Thendylath without a king. But he’d also sworn to protect King Arek. A promise to a king shall transcend death. The time was close now, and his timing was crucial. He had precious few seconds to do what he’d come to do.

  “You’ll be trapped,” Ronor argued. “Trapped inside the palace with it.”

  “GO!” Arek shouted.

  In one quick movement, Ronor ducked his head, wrapped an arm around Arek’s thighs and hoisted the king over his shoulder.

  “Ronor, no,” Arek said. “It’ll kill us both. You must get the tablet to safety.”

  Ronor fumbled to lift the stone tablet with his other hand and clutched it to his chest. Gavin heard him run from the room, his heavy footsteps loud on the marble floor.

  “King Arek,” a tritonal voice boomed. “At last we meet.”

  Gavin crossed the study as quietly as he could and made his way to the door. He heard Ronor’s footsteps on the stairs then a painful “Ooof” and the thumping of bodies tumbling down them. He remembered the pain, but most of all, he remembered the look in Arek’s eyes as they silently bid each other a final good-bye.

  Gavin peered around the corner and saw the beyonder Ritol, huge and glistening black, from behind. It stood at the top of the staircase, looking at Arek and Ronor. Then it started down the steps. He crept along the wall, inching closer, trying not to even breathe. His heart pounded so loudly, he was afraid Ritol would hear it. He followed the thread from his ring and connected with Daia. Then came the moment he’d waited for. Ritol raced down the remaining steps and slashed at Ronor’s face. Ronor hit the wall and stumbled, caught himself and sprinted through the dining hall. Ritol went after him, desperate to get the tablet.

  Now! Gavin thought. He ran down to where Arek lay twisted and broken. The king’s azure eyes flew open wide.

  Gavin opened a portal to the midrealm then picked Arek up under his armpits and dragged him through.

  Chapter 48

  The swordswoman Nasharla put her hands on her hips. “Come and get me.”

  Red looked at Brodas, unsure what to do. He wasn’t stupid enough to go down there with three Viragon Sisters, even if they were unarmed.

  “Cirang, blow about half the bag of serragan powder in there first,” Brodas suggested. “Then grab the little blond girl and we’ll see how cocksure she is then.”

  Feanna gasped. “No, please.” She clutched the wailing child tightly to her.

  “No,” Nasharla said. “I’ll go.”

  Cirang lowered the ladder. “Smart.”

  “Daia?” Nasharla asked as she took hold of the ladder. “Anything new from King Gavin?”

  “He’s trying.” Daia stood and embraced her fellow Sister. “It’s been an honor knowing you.”

  Nasharla returned it. “The same. I wish you luck. Please tell him I’m sorry.”

  Daia put her hand on Nasharla’s shoulder. “You aren’t to blame. He knows that.” Dona embraced Nasharla as well.

  “Hurry up,” Brodas said. He tapped his foot impatiently.

  Nasharla looked at Liera. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect your family.”

  Liera burst into tears.

  Nasharla climbed the ladder. When she reached the top, she lunged for Red’s dagger. He elbowed her in the face and knocked her away. She stumbled over a low table and fell to the floor, hitting a stool on her way down. “A worthy effort.”

  “Move her up close to Ritol,” Brodas said.

  He grabbed her by the arm and half-dragged her on her knees to Ritol. “Now?” Red asked. At Brodas’s nod, Red shoved his blade into Nasharla’s back. Its tip tented the fabric in the front of her tunic, staining it red. She fell to the floor without even a whimper.

  Ritol sucked in its breath. Its triangular head grew deeper in color — blacker, if that was possible, with a bit of a shine. The beyonder uncurled its body to sit upright and became more alert. “Yes. More.”

  Brodas motioned to Red. “Another should suffice. Get the other swordswoman first — Dona, was it?”

  Dona bid the others a courageous good-bye, though her chin quivered, then climbed up. Cirang put the cat figurine down for a moment to pull up the ladder and set it along one wall. Red held his blade ready in case Dona tried to fight
or flee. The swordswoman was plainly terrified. Her entire body trembled, and sweat covered her face. Red gripped her by the back of the neck with his free hand.

  “Your country appreciates your sacrifice today,“ Brodas told her. ”You can die knowing that the rightful king will soon be on the throne.”

  Red pushed Dona forward. Her heavy feet shuffled across the wood floor. She leaned her body away, obviously not wanting to get any closer to the beyonder prince. Without waiting for Brodas’s command, Red shoved his sword into her back. She let out a groan and slumped to the floor.

  Again, Ritol took a breath. It rose taller now, unfolding itself fully. Indeed, it climbed to an impressive height on two legs, almost hitting its huge head against the ceiling. Its black eyes glittered alertly. It stretched its long arms as if it had just awakened. “More.”

  Brodas grinned, pleased that his champion was becoming the powerful being he’d hoped for. He could almost feel the weight of the crown upon his head now. “Red, bring Miss Feanna.”

  “You came... back,” Arek whispered.

  A half-dozen Elyles, sitting around a cookfire gutting and roasting fish, gasped at their sudden appearance, clicking and whistling their awe and wonderment. “It’s the Wayfarer King and the champion,” one of them said.

  Gavin knelt beside the king and tried to ignore his audience. “I told you I would. Lie still now while I heal you.” He laid his hands on Arek’s legs and concentrated on the fluttering whiteness of the healing magic.

  “Take the rune... from my pocket.” Arek coughed. Blood dotted his lips. “Its name... is Whemorard.”

  “Whemorard,” Gavin repeated, disrupting his concentration. “Got it.” He focused once more on healing Arek’s many injuries, but the king’s eyes became glassy, his stare distant. “Arek, look at me. I can save you.”

  “You... already have, Ronor.” Arek’s eyes closed. His haze drifted away.

  “Wait,” Gavin said. “I can heal you.” He groped desperately for his healing magic, refusing to give up without trying. “Arek, no. I got to save you.” He pounded his fist repeatedly on Arek’s chest. “Beat. Come on. Beat, damn you!” He couldn’t lose Arek. Not again. “Help him, please,” he begged the Elyle. They stood but made no effort to help. He tried breathing into Arek’s mouth and hitting his chest again. “Come on! Please. Just... beat.” His fists grew heavy, and he sat wearily in defeat beside his king’s still form. Arek was gone. He bowed his head. I’m sorry, my liege.

  “He is dead,” an Elyle said. “Arek the Wayfarer is dead.”

  “We’ll have a new wayfarer now,” someone else replied.

  Searching the dead king’s pockets was the most disreputable thing Gavin had ever done, but he had no choice. He needed to save the kingdom. He found it, a rune that looked alien — one he’d never seen before — and knew this must be it. But where to put it?

  As in his realm, he was on an island in the middle of Lake Athra, except that in this realm, there was no palace, only grass and rocks and raptors circling above. Somehow he needed to get to the other side of the valley, where he could get to the summoning rune in his own time. To walk, or even run, would take at least two hours.

  “Hey, do you have a mount I can borrow?” he asked the onlookers.

  They clicked and whistled their lack of understanding.

  “A horse or other animal I can ride to the other end o’this valley?”

  “No, we don’t, Emtor,” someone said. “I’m sorry.”

  Gavin searched his ancient memory for a time he might have known Arek to travel great distances by magic. Nothing came to mind, but something else occurred to him. He was only limited by time, not by realm, not by location.

  After dropping the rune into his coin pouch and making sure it was securely tied to his belt, Gavin waded into the icy lake and began to swim to the opposite shore. His muscles threatened to stiffen with the cold, but his will was stronger. He climbed out, dripping wet and shivering, and looked around at the landscape to estimate where Regal Street should be.

  He focused his hidden eye on the gem in his ring and followed its thread to the south, through time, to Daia. He connected with her power, opened the vortex and stepped through.

  The streets of Tern were still and quiet. Residents heeded the king’s warning to stay inside their homes. Behind him, the palace loomed darkly with Ritol trapped inside. In the distance, Ronor rode hard through the city, his horse’s hoofbeats pounding the pavement as he sped toward Saliria and on to the cave where he would find Queen Calewen already slain. If only Gavin could return to an earlier time to save her, but he pushed the impossible from his mind. It was time to save his kingdom.

  Cold and wet, he shivered violently from head to toe. He spotted a public stable and ran toward it. The nearest horse in the stable was a white mare, who lifted its head and snorted when Gavin ran into the stable. It didn’t mind the bridle, but it did whinny in surprise when he hopped onto its bare back, threw a leg over and guided it from the stable.

  “Hey!” a woman shouted, running out of a neighboring house. “What do you think you’re doing? Come back here!”

  “Sorry,” Gavin muttered as he heeled the horse to a gallop. The empty streets were a blessing. He ran the horse all the way across town to the Garnet district, or at least what would one day become the Garnet district. Now it was a field of tall grass where several horses, cows, goats and sheep grazed. The animals looked up at Gavin’s approach and indifferently watched him ride to the far southeast. This would be about the right place. He dismounted and let the horse join the other lifestock while he scanned the field as it sloped more steeply upward.

  As quickly as he could, he followed his ring’s thread to Daia, opened a vortex and returned to the midrealm. Here, the rune would be safe from Ravenkind until Gavin could return for it two hundred years in the future. Rocks and boulders littered the ground. In particular, a boulder that must have been twice his height caught his eye. It wouldn’t easily move.

  He jogged to it, crunching the rocks and gravel beneath his feet. First, he pushed on the boulder from the slope above to judge whether it was truly stationary. It didn’t budge. Next, he examined it, committing its shape to memory. With his knife, he scratched a cross into the uphill side. Immediately below his mark, he dug a hole the depth of his forearm. Finally, he placed his coin pouch with the summoning rune inside into the hole. He hoped this would work and that someone wouldn’t find it between now and when he retrieved it. Although he would be digging it out in a few minutes, more than two hundred years would have passed by then. The notion was enough to twist a man’s mind into madness.

  He supposed to return to his own time, he’d use the same technique of intent. He hoped so, anyway.

  Back to the present time.

  He connected with Daia, opened a vortex and stepped in.

  Before Red could take a step to retrieve the next victim, Ritol snatched him by the neck.

  “No! Not that one,” Brodas shouted.

  “I hunger,” Ritol said as it squeezed its fist around Red’s throat. Blood gushed from the holes made by its two-inch claws. His arms went limp, and the sword fell from his grasp to land on the floor with a thud. Ritol sucked in air, then tossed the lifeless body aside. Red struck the wall and crashed to the floor, leaving a large, crumbling dent.

  “No, you fool!” Brodas yelled, furious. “You’ll feed when I say. You’ll kill whom I say.”

  Ritol turned its head toward him and advanced. “I hunger.”

  For the first time, Brodas felt a glimmer of apprehension. He took a few steps backward. “No. Stop.” Ritol continued toward him. “I’ve plenty for you to feed upon in the cellar. Be patient.” He circled the room, heading back toward Cirang.

  She tried to flee. Ritol was faster. It seized her with both hands, digging its claws into her shoulder and hip. She let out a piercing scream. The porcelain cat figurine fell to the floor and shattered. Ritol twisted her body with a wet crunch and drew a sha
rp breath.

  Ritol faced Brodas again, seeming even larger now, and shinier, as it dropped Cirang like a piece of trash. For one brief and awful moment, Brodas thought he saw her eyelids flutter and her chest rise as if she’d taken a breath.

  “Come no closer.” Using the three gems in his palm, he thrust a wave of power across the room to repel the monster. The gems crumbled to pieces.

  Ritol flew backward and slammed into the wall with Cirang’s body and bits of porcelain. It disentangled itself, climbed to its feet and came toward him again. “A useful spell, and I shall have it.”

  “Stop,” he cried. “I’m your summoner. I called you forth as my champion. You’re bound to me.”

  “You are mistaken,” Ritol boomed. Its voice felt like three claws shredding his eardrums. “I am bound to Crigoth Sevae. You do not command me.”

  Brodas felt his bladder empty, and warmth flowed down his thigh. “But Sevae’s been dead two centuries. I’m your summoner now.”

  “Crigoth Sevae never released me. I was trapped for endless days without sustenance. Now I am free, AND I HUNGER!”

  A clawed hand shot toward Brodas’s throat. He felt an excruciating burning. The air was wet and heavy. He couldn’t breathe. The last thing he saw were those terrible eyes shining in anticipation of the creature’s next breath.

  Gavin stood on the mountain slope, but there was no boulder here. Around him were the burnt shells of what used to be people’s homes. The warm spring air calmed his shivers. At least his armor was back on. Thank Arek for that.

  Aldras Gar!

  From his right came a piercing scream. His blood went icy. Someone was dying. He peered around a corner in time to see Adro break away from the group and gallop down the street toward the source of the scream. Damn it, Adro! He was going to get himself killed.

  Edan shouted, “Adro, wait!” A couple of the Sisters’ horses took reactive steps in pursuit.

  Gavin hoped to hell this would work. He connected with Daia and returned to the midrealm.