The Wandering War--The Sleeping King Trilogy, Book 3

by Cindy Dees

  The Black Widow hissed again, and up close, it was one of the most menacing sounds Raina had ever heard. It sent shivers of primal horror down her spine.

  “They have existed for many centuries, and as you know, have made free with the women of the House of Tyrel the whole time.”

  Raina nodded. “How many of them are there?”

  “Oh, several hundred, I should think.”

  Shock reverberated through Raina’s bones as if a giant bell clapper had hit her. Hundreds? “Do you know where their tower is hidden?”

  “South and west of Tyrel a little way. Mayhap somewhere in Fernel. My understanding is that it lies underground, out of sight. They hide like pale scorpions under their rock, never coming out into the light of day.”

  An ironic observation coming from a spider changeling, but Raina kept the thought to herself. “What do you know of their goals and purposes?”

  “Of course, they work to increase the magical power of the daughters of Tyrel. To their detriment, I might add.” The widow cackled. “When we finally started turning on them, we were formidable opponents.”

  “What else?” Raina prompted.

  “They babysit the body of the Human King and think that if they wish hard enough, he will somehow come back to life, and they’ll get credit for waking him. The fools think that, by holding his cold, lifeless hand for all these centuries, they’ll somehow be his favorites when he wakes. They were flunkies and sycophants when he fell into his sleep, and they’ll be no different when he awakes.”

  Raina didn’t try to hide her smile. It was refreshing to hear someone take the fearsome mages so in vain.

  “The mages guard the planar gates, of course. They train clavigers for the task. Although they’re poor excuses for gate masters these days. In olden times, the clavigers could tune the gates to a pinpoint spot on any plane at will. Now, with so many gates broken and the ancient knowledge mostly lost, they’re lucky to align one to the correct plane, let alone open or close it.”

  Raina responded, “We saw a claviger at a gate last fall. He was possessed by a creature on the other side of the gate and nearly let through an army of dream creatures.”

  “Fools,” the widow spat. She was silent a moment and then turned the conversation without warning. “So tell me, child. Why do the mages wish to speak with thee?”

  “I do not know, madam. And before you accuse me of being mad to accept their invitation, I will tell you that they recognize my membership and rank in the White Heart, and the Royal Order of the Sun does, indeed, know where I’m going and when I am expected to return. Should I fail to report back in on time, the Royal Order will come after me.”

  “Too late, they will come. The mages will destroy thee if they can. It’s not the daughters of Tyrel they want, child. It’s our magic. And if you’re as powerful as your mother, the mages will want your power badly, indeed.”

  Raina ducked her head and said modestly, “I’m quite a bit more magically powerful than my mother.”

  The widow jolted, staring, which was more than a little disconcerting. “How much more?”

  Raina shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. I’ve never reached the end of my healing powers entirely.”

  Will piped up, “I’ve seen her heal six hundred of the simplest wounds before.”

  Rosana chimed in, “She can combat heal continuously for well over an hour and still have mana left to heal everyone on the field after battle ends.”

  The widow shook her head slowly in that odd, disjointed, side-to-side swing. “Mark my words. They will kill you for your magic.”

  “They have sworn not to harm me.”

  “Have all of them so sworn?” the widow demanded.

  “My best friend from childhood, who is now one of them, and his mentor and the leader of the entire order have sworn it.”

  “If he is your best friend, get him out of there if you have any care for him.”

  “That is my plan,” Raina answered grimly.

  The widow rummaged under her filmy cloak and held out a gloved hand that was all bones and clawlike nails, even through the thin black leather. “Take this, child. It’s a poison that will kill instantly.”

  “I thank you for the offer, but I cannot accept. I am White Heart.”

  “Bah! That shirt will get you killed!”

  “It probably will,” Raina allowed, “but I’m bound to uphold the values it represents, nonetheless.”

  The widow rummaged again and came up with a handful of small glass globes. “Fine. Then take these sleeping gas poisons. When the mages turn ugly—and they will—drop a few of them for me. Long have I dreamed of such a moment. You are allowed to put people to sleep, aren’t you?”

  “Technically, yes. Although it’s not entirely in the spirit of my order to—”

  “Take the cursed potions, and do not be a foolish idealist. You are a child, and the mages you propose to visit are not. Heed me closely. This visit of yours will not end well.”

  CHAPTER

  14

  Endellian took the note from the chamberlain and glanced down at it. Its contents would have to be important to interrupt her father while he sat in with the Council of Kings. The hundred lesser rulers of Koth had been kicking up their heels and complaining about the stiff levies of men and supplies being demanded of them as her father ramped up his armies for a new push onto the outlying continents.

  The note was from her half brother, Laernan, the Lord High Inquisitor. She read it, and her eyebrows sailed skyward. A young man had just walked into the grand reception hall and announced himself to be a Child of Fate, come to court to prophesy for the Emperor. Laernan had apparently attempted a preliminary mental examination of the fellow’s talent and been sharply and curtly expelled from the prophet’s mind.

  It was Laernan’s opinion that the young man was potentially the most powerful prophet since Oretia, Maximillian’s personal seer for centuries, had died. Ammertus murdered her when she gave what was now called the Oretian Prophecy, foretelling the end of the line of Ammertus and the end of the reign of Maximillian.

  She looked up at her father, attempting to gauge his mood. He wasn’t even attempting to mask his impatience and disdain. She moved close behind his throne and leaned around it discreetly, passing Laernan’s note to Maximillian.

  He glanced down at it, and a new wave of emotion, this time of interest laced with suspicion, passed over her. His suspicion jolted her thinking to the next level of analysis. Who could have sent a talented seer to court, and for what purpose? Would the prophet see and report his visions truly, or was the young man here to sow discord and fear among gullible courtiers? Was he a spy? An assassin? A seer was one of the few commoners who might reasonably expect to have direct access to Maximillian at least once in his life.

  Her father interrupted one of the kings to call a recess. She followed him across the vast palace complex to where Laernan did his work. She hoped there was no blood today. Some of the Children of Fate insisted on being tortured the old-fashioned way before they gave up their visions. Laernan obliged because he said it relieved their guilt at talking to him. Not to mention he got more complete revelations from the prophets once they fully capitulated to the suffering he caused them.

  How her brother did his job and managed not to go mad, she hadn’t the foggiest idea.

  Maximillian paused outside Laernan’s chamber to speak with the chief of his security contingent, the Hand. The fellow was a fearsome warrior and, like all her father’s guards, deaf. They signed briefly, with Maximillian warning that the prisoner within might be planning to kill him. The guard bristled and nodded briskly, entering the chamber with several of his men while her father waited outside.

  In a minute, her father’s chamberlain opened the door, and Laernan personally stepped outside. “The prisoner is secured, Your Resplendent Majesty. My apologies for interrupting whatever else you were doing. This young man is … interesting.”

  A dozen shadings of
meaning were packed into that single word. Primary among them were concern, fascination, and a hint of fear. Who or what could frighten Laernan after the horrors he saw and committed on a daily basis?

  She followed Maximillian into a spacious, comfortable room outfitted like an office except for the wrist and ankle manacles on one stone wall and the drain in the floor beneath them. Laernan had no need of clumsy machines or gadgets to torture his prisoners. He could make them suffer ever so much more exquisitely by using his mental powers to stimulate their minds into feeling maximum pain. She’d seen people die over and over, cuffed to his wall. Laernan restored them to life only to torture them until their hearts stopped beating again under the duress of the agony he inflicted.

  A shimmering field of magical energy encased Laernan’s prisoner from the neck down, where he stood in front of the desk—a confinement spell that would prevent him from wielding a weapon or casting magic but still allowed him to speak.

  The first thing she noticed was the bold tabard he wore, Darkadian in style, with a high collar and exaggeratedly long sleeves trailing nearly to the floor. Whereas Imperial fashion was gaudy to excess, the young man’s black robe was severe to the point of asceticism. Darkadia was one of the wealthiest kingdoms in Koth, albeit one of the spookiest. Rumors of experiments to unnaturally extend life spans, blood drinking, infanticide, and other disturbing rituals circulated about the mysterious kingdom.

  The lone decoration on the young man’s robe was a large embroidered hourglass—the symbol of the Children of Fate. It was an arrogant declaration of who this young man was. The last half dozen Children of Fate had hidden tiny, furtive marks somewhere on their person where they would not be visible to the casual observer. But this man—he boldly declared his affiliation for all the world to see.

  He was handsome in a dark, sinister way. Everything about him was narrow and severe. Tall and human, he was maybe in his mid-twenties. He had straight black hair that fell to his shoulders and pale skin stark in contrast. His face was lean, his cheeks hollow.

  But what drew her attention most sharply were those black-within-black eyes of his. She couldn’t tell where his pupils stopped and the irises began, if, in fact, his pupils stopped at all. He turned that strange, featureless stare on her, and she felt as if she were being sucked into a great, dark abyss of utter, hopeless nothingness. She looked away, shaking off the strange sensation. By the stars, looking into his eyes was like gazing into the Black Flame itself.

  Yet again, her laggard suspicion was late arriving to the party. It dawned on her belatedly to wonder how he had gotten past her formidable mental defenses to influence her feelings at all. Alarmed, she consciously concentrated upon blocking whatever he was doing to her, and yet, the strange, tugging fascination remained.

  “You say you came here to prophesy for me,” her father said without introduction. “Here I am. So prophesy.”

  The young man’s mouth curled into a sardonic smile, and he managed to bow his head so insolently she had to bite back a rebuke.

  The young man declared in a rich, velvet voice, “One who stands within this chamber now will die within one sun cycle.”

  One sun cycle? A single day? Endellian’s eyebrows shot up. That was a daring prediction, indeed. Furthermore, he hadn’t bothered to wrap his prophecy in flowery phrases and cryptic double meanings that would give him an out when his prophecy didn’t come true.

  Someone in this room was going to die, was he? She looked over at Laernan, standing disapprovingly with his arms crossed on the other side of the room; a half dozen of her father’s guards and chamberlains; her mother, Iolanthe, looking worried; and lastly, her father—who looked amused.

  Maximillian remarked, “A clever prophecy, young man. For if one of my people does not die by this time tomorrow, it shall be you who dies. Thus, your prophecy will be fulfilled either way.”

  The seer looked blasé, as if he would have shrugged had his shoulders not been paralyzed. “I see more, Your Most Glorious and Resplendent Majesty. Much more. A great army launches from these shores into darkness. They will meet with disaster and fail in their mission.”

  That made Endellian stare. The directness and clarity with which this seer spoke was breathtaking. There was no mistaking his meaning. At all. He was absolutely prophesying that the Legion of the Vast, which was secretly bound for Tal’Shalloth even as they spoke, would be defeated and fail to conquer that strange and dangerous place deep in Inner Urth.

  Maximillian wasn’t so amused now.

  The seer declared confidently, “A rebellion grows on distant shores and will unravel all that you have done there.”

  “Which shores?” Maximillian demanded.

  “I do not yet see enough detail to identify a country or continent, but I will keep looking, and when I can answer you, I will.”

  “You are interesting,” her father stated. To Laernan, Maximillian said, “He may live for today. Let us see what else he produces before I decide if he lives or dies on the morrow.”

  “So shall it be, Your Most Resplendent Majesty,” Laernan murmured.

  Maximillian swept out of the room, followed by his entourage. While Endellian waited her turn to leave, she heard the young man say to Laernan, “That went well, don’t you think?”

  “You still breathe. I should say it went exceedingly well for you,” Laernan replied dryly.

  “You will release me and show me to my quarters next,” the seer announced.

  “Not until you tell me the identity of who is going to die this day,” Laernan replied.

  Endellian halted and turned to hear the answer.

  “If I tell you, you will take steps to prevent the event from happening. My prophecy will be undone, and the Emperor will put me to death.”

  “Undoing prophecy is the whole point of keeping creatures like you on a leash, performing your tricks for the Emperor!” Laernan snapped.

  “Be at peace, my friend. The day is coming soon when you, too, will slip your leash. You will no longer have to destroy people’s minds, Lord High Inquisitor of Koth. You will finally go home and rest.”

  “This is my home.”

  “Is it really? We both know where your heart yearns to be.”

  Endellian frowned as the two men shared a long, knowing look between them. Where else would her brother wish to live? If the two men shared some sort of telepathic moment of communication, she was not privy to it.

  “As for you, Princess—”

  She froze, infuriated that the Child of Fate would dare speak to her in so casual a tone. And truthfully, she was afraid. She did not want to hear what he had to say to her.

  “Although the way shall be made clear for it to happen, in the end, your fondest wish will be denied to you.”

  She gasped. She couldn’t help it. Glancing back over her shoulder at the insolent fellow, she stormed from the room. How dare he. He would be dead where he stood were it not for her father’s order to let him live a while yet. He had no idea that her fondest wish was to have the Eternal Throne for herself with Tarses at her side. No one knew that, not even her father. And no matter what some arrogant seer said, she would have it one day.

  No matter what she had to do to get it.

  * * *

  Will flinched as the Black Widow’s inhuman stare left Raina and turned on him and the others. She rasped, “Who might the rest of you be, and why are you in my wold?”

  Rynn usually spoke up in situations like this, but today the paxan stayed silent. He seemed distracted and focused inward.

  Will reluctantly answered, “We are here to search for a friend of ours who has gone missing. Or rather, has been kidnapped.” They’d decided that a search for Kendrick would be their cover story if anyone asked them why they were abroad, as opposed to the truth that they searched for Gawaine’s regalia.

  “By whom?” the widow demanded.

  “By a nature guardian who calls himself Moonrunner.”

  “Ah. What trouble has K
erryl gotten himself into now?”

  “You know him?” Eben interrupted.

  The widow’s black gaze turned to the jann. “Aye.” Her voice was flat and her tone not particularly friendly. Will gathered that she and Kerryl were not on the best of terms.

  Eben said, “Kerryl Moonrunner kidnapped my foster brother, Kendrick Hyland. And then he turned Kendrick into a were-boar and commands him at will.”

  “Did he now?” The Black Widow made a noise that Will thought might be a chuckle, but it just as easily could have been a hiss of displeasure. Her inhuman features made reading her emotions nearly impossible.

  “It’s no joke!” Eben responded angrily. “We want our friend back!”

  “I’m sure you do,” the Black Widow replied blandly.

  Will was reluctant to interact with this strange creature at all, but if she had information that could be of use to them, he had no choice. “Do you have any idea how Kerryl is controlling our friend?”

  “Perhaps Kerryl has laid hands on the Band of Beasts or mayhap the Mantle of Beasts. They’re said to give their wearer dominion over all the creatures of the wild.”

  Sha’Li, who rarely participated in these sorts of conversations, leaned forward, firelight dancing off the sheen of her scaled face. “Would these bands be leather bracers decorated with countless animals rendered so lifelike that they seem to move around the band?”

  The widow looked sharply at her. “You’ve seen them, then? Where?”

  “I helped Kerryl steal one of the bands a while back.”

  Eben exclaimed, “You’re the reason Kerryl controls Kendrick? How could you?”

  Sha’Li made a hissing sound before snapping, “I had no idea what it could do. He was my friend and said he needed it.”

  Eben made a sound of disgust, and Sha’Li added, “That night is when Kerryl gave me Will’s disk. And where would we be without that? It led us to—”