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

by Cindy Dees

  “Me, as well,” Three added. “Let’s have a look around.”

  It didn’t take Two’s outstanding scouting skills or Three’s equally outstanding tracking skills to spot the docks, or for One to be sure that whoever they were supposed to be following had left these selfsame docks by boat very recently. Now why would he be so sure of that?

  But like so many questions that came to his mind these days, this one also drifted away as lazily as sunshine riding a current of warm air.

  They walked the length of the docks and spied a likely looking gent with great white muttonchops covering most of his cheeks. More importantly, he acted like the harbor supervisor, yelling instructions and epithets at the sailors bringing in a small barge badly and banging into the vessels on each side of it before slamming into the dock itself.

  One waited until the harbor master’s face wasn’t an apoplectic shade of red and then approached him. “Excuse me, sir. We’re looking for a friend of ours. We were supposed to sail out together, but we were late getting here, and he seems to have sailed already.”

  “Only ship that left in the past two days with passengers was the Karolus, last night. Merr vessel.”

  “Where’s she headed?” Two asked politely.

  The harbor master smiled at her more lasciviously than One liked, although he wasn’t sure why it should bother him so. “She’ll be making port up at Lifton to unload her cargo.”

  Two asked worriedly, “Is there any chance the vessel could put ashore along the way to let off passengers?”

  The harbor master tucked his thumbs in his generous waistband. “Oh, there’s a chance, little lady. But not much o’ one. The Karolus is carrying supplies for the construction crews working on Maren’s Belt. Them Imperials is in an all-fired hurry to get new supplies, you see. Ever since the treaty with Anton Constantine and the Merr collapsed, only way to move cargo on the Estarran Sea is on Merr ships. And them Merr ain’t stupid. They’s runnin’ everything at half speed and charging twice the going price for passage.”

  “Thank you for the information,” Two replied.

  “You busy tonight, little la—”

  One cut him off, snarling, “Yes. She is.” His sword lifted in his hand, and his hand grasping it began to glow.

  “Easy now!” The harbor master threw up his hands and took a step back. “I was just inquiring. No need to get violent or nothin’.”

  Three interjected soothingly, “If you could just tell us when the next ship bound for Lifton leaves, we’d be in your debt, sir.”

  “That would be day after the morrow. On the morning tide.”

  One scowled. The pressure to stay moving, to keep their quarry in sight, built up in his head until he thought it might explode. Two and Three were wincing as if pained also.

  “We’ve got no choice,” he muttered to the searing agony in his brain. “We must wait for a boat.”

  The pain subsided a little, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Two days. And then they’d be on the move again. A surge of triumph at closing in on their final target rushed through him.

  What target?

  But then those words wafted away on the evening air along with every other question his mind might have formed.

  * * *

  Raina was grateful that Lakanos seemed to have taken control of their trio’s journey. He set a reasonable pace that she could readily keep up with. She still remembered the breakneck pace at which Cicero had dragged her to Dupree the first time. She’d thought to die of exhaustion before they’d reached the capital.

  She missed Justin nearly as badly as she had the first time she’d left him, that night when she’d run away from home two years ago. But he and Kadir had set out for the coast to hire a fast boat to take them to the southern end of the Estarran Sea and the western tip of the Heaves.

  Lakanos led her and Cicero south toward the eastern Valelands, from whence they would turn southwest into the heart of the Thirst. They camped on the road at night, using gear they’d gotten from the dryads in return for Raina casting as much healing magic into an ancient rowan tree as her head could stand before the pain made her nearly pass out. She had no idea if it had done any good or not, but the dryads had been delighted. Strange creatures, those women.

  In the late morning of the fourth day, Cicero left them to hunt, and it was just her walking in one dusty wagon rut, and Lakanos walking beside her in the other.

  “You’re sure you do not wish to go east for a day and walk Maren’s Belt, Emissary?”

  “Please. Call me Raina.” It was at least the tenth time she’d said that.

  “Sorry. Old habits die hard.”

  “I would rather not be seen by anyone,” she answered.

  Lakanos shrugged, accepting her wish for secrecy without question, for which she was immensely grateful. As they walked on, she considered the massive construction project necessary to create a two-thousand-mile-long road.

  “Tell me something,” she said a little while later. “Is construction of Maren’s Belt a prelude to invasion by the Empire?”

  He glanced at her in alarm. “I’ve heard no such thing.”

  She sighed. “Let me be frank with you, Sir Lakanos. I am no great fan of the Empire. It is impossible to wear these colors and be fond of its treatment of its subjects. My loyalty lies first and foremost with the Heart. I would never turn you in to the Empire for criticizing Koth. We are alone in the middle of nowhere, and I beg of you, please feel free to speak your mind freely and honestly with me.”

  He smiled gently at her. “It is neither noble nor honorable to rant against the law of the land. I may not be fond of the methods the Emperor and his nobles employ, but it is not my place to criticize.”

  “You consider yourself a loyal subject of the Empire first and the Heart second, then?” She was dismayed at the prospect.

  He answered firmly and without hesitation. “Absolutely not.”

  Whew. They walked in silence for a little while, and the bumps of the waestones resolved themselves into stocky pillars. Although they still seemed far away.

  “What’s it like working for Lord Justinius?”

  Lakanos smiled fondly. “It is a great honor and pleasure to work for such a man. He is a remarkable leader and the noblest soul I have ever met.”

  High praise, indeed.

  “Does he think war is coming to Haelos?”

  Lakanos grunted. “You are blunt, aren’t you?”

  “My tabard often requires me to be diplomatic. Subtle to the point of being obtuse. However, with you I shall always endeavor to be honest and forthright. Assuming no one else is about to hear me.”

  “Thanks be for that. I shall endeavor to do the same with you.” They walked for a minute or two in silence, and then Lakanos asked, “What of the kindari, Cicero? Why do you wait until he is gone to have this conversation with me? Is there reason not to trust him fully?”

  “On the contrary. I trust him with my life, and he has even less love for the Empire than I.”

  “Be careful where you utter such words. I have seen good people put to death for less.”

  “Thank you for the warning. I assure you, I have no death wish.”

  He laughed a little. “That’s not the way I hear it.”

  * * *

  Raina reveled in the perfect traveling weather as spring came to Haelos. The grasslands of the southwestern Machaira gave way to the forests of the Valelands. They caught a ride on a barge down a small canal barely wider than their vessel and made fast time across the Valelands. Gradually, its lush forests gave way to the arid holding of Amadyr, the easternmost portion of a region known as the Thirst.

  Ever larger drifts of sand spread before them until great dunes rose high on either side of them. They trudged along in the rifts, somewhat protected from the worst of the buffeting from what Lakanos called the Dragon’s Breath Winds.

  They slogged through one such valley as the sun dipped low in their faces, a pulsating ball of liquid fire p
resaging the freezing night to come. Without warning, a dozen beige-robed figures flew down the dunes on toboggans, coming at them from both sides, long veils streaming out behind them like horses’ manes. In a matter of seconds, Raina and her companions were surrounded by a menacing phalanx of bone spears.

  Lakanos whipped out his sword in front of her, and Cicero did the same behind her. For her part, she summoned magic to her hands, and almost went down to her knees as searing pain exploded in her skull. Only fear and sheer force of will kept her upright.

  The veiled bandits flowed out of the way of Lakanos’s and Cicero’s swords like water. As one opponent slid out of the way, another would slide into his place. It was like fighting the wind, and just about as effective.

  Many of their attackers cast magic, some using glamours, others using water magic, while several were healers. Raina did her best to keep magical shields up on Lakanos and Cicero and to heal their nicks and cuts as they happened. But with each spell she cast, the pressure in her skull built up more, and waves of overwhelming emotion—every type and flavor—drowned out her ability to think. She gasped out the incants, barely able to shape the magic into useful spells.

  After many futile minutes, Lakanos and Cicero both broke off attacking to catch their breaths.

  The assailants apparently mistook the pause for a surrender, however, and one of them demanded in a strangely high-pitched rasp, “Hand over your packs.”

  Lakanos answered evenly, “You might as well kill us now. If we hand over our gear, we’ll die out here far more slowly and painfully than if you slaughter us with your weapons.” He added, “And as you can see by my Royal Order of the Sun colors, I am the sworn guardian of this White Heart emissary. I will fight to the death to defend her.”

  Raina said past the daggers stabbing her eyeballs, “Greetings, friends. Are you familiar with the markings of my tabard and what they mean? I am sworn to defend all life. I will gladly share my healing skills with you and yours. Are any among you sick? Injured? How about your families? Your children? I will even heal your animals. I have enough magic for all of you.” To illustrate that point, she summoned more energy to her fingers. The pain increased apace inside her skull. She wavered but managed to stay on her feet. Curse the Mages of Alchizzadon and whatever their backlashed ritual had done to her!

  “We know the White Heart. Healer or no, you are nonetheless an Imperial lackey.”

  Cicero spoke up. “She heals the enemies of the Empire as readily as she heals anyone else.” As he spoke, he unwound the cloth from around his head, no doubt to improve his vision and mobility when the lopsided fight resumed.

  A gasp went up around them.

  “You are Spider Clan?” the one with the high-pitched voice demanded.

  “I am arachnari,” Cicero answered cautiously.

  “From whence come you, spider elf?”

  “I hail from the Sorrow Wold.”

  Another gasp. “Did the Black Widow send you to us, then? Have you a message for us?”

  Cicero sent Raina a questioning look, and she nodded slightly.

  “Aye,” he answered. “We have news of the widow.”

  The sharpened bone tips of the spears lifted away from them. “Welcome be unto thee, servant of our sister. It has been too long since we have heard from the Bride of Quetaryn, and we are pleased to do so now.”

  The bandits led Cicero up a dune face, and Raina and Lakanos were left to trail along in his wake. She traded shrugs with her knight and followed along behind the entourage.

  She gasped as she topped the wind-creased crest of the dune and spied a sprawling oasis in a wide valley beyond. How could they have passed so close to such a large encampment and had no idea it was there?

  Lakanos murmured, “Such is the expanse of the Thirst. One may pass right by another man and never see him.”

  Raina asked, “What is this place called?”

  “This is the great eastern oasis of Nefiwah,” one of their veiled escorts answered.

  In the middle of the sprawling collection of tents stood a huge tree unlike any Raina had ever seen before. Its trunk, although not particularly thick, was covered in scarred, gnarled bark, and bore the curve of a spine bent with great age. A wide canopy of branches spread outward overhead, its tangled junctions creating a maze of strangely angular forms. She realized with a start that hexagons seemed to be repeated over and over in the shapes of the branches.

  “What is that?” she asked.

  “A tetrakis tree,” one of their escorts answered.

  Which explained the oasis. Apparently, this species of tree could store vast amounts of water in its roots and release the water slowly in dry times to nourish itself. Clusters of animals, people, and plants were able to live off that secreted moisture, as well.

  They slipped and slid their way down the dune face into the valley below, and Raina filled her boots with sand in the process. The parade, with Cicero at its head, wended its way through several dozen small tents to a large, open-sided tent.

  The natives, a mix of women and children, stared and muttered as Raina and her companions passed. Men were notably absent from the encampment.

  Cicero was seated on cushions near a brass brazier filled with blazing bricks of something akin to peat, or perhaps animal dung, given the ripe odor of the smoke. Raina and Lakanos were waved to a plain wooden bench farther from the fire.

  “This is a bit of a switch,” the knight murmured.

  She muttered back in good humor, “I’m rather enjoying being the lackey and not the center of attention.”

  “Let’s hope their fascination with our friend holds,” Lakanos replied. “I do not relish fighting an entire encampment of these warrior women. A single scouting party was more than Cicero and I could handle.”

  * * *

  One stood in front of the cave, with Two and Three peering over his shoulder. He announced, “I’ll go first.”

  They charged into the space, which turned out to be deserted, as he’d expected. The cliff they’d had to scale to get here would have put off all but the most-skilled climbers, human or animal. Thankfully, Three had as much experience at climbing as he did, and Two was light and agile enough to make up for what she lacked in climbing experience.

  He hated to break off tracking their quarry to explore this place, but all three of them had dreamed of this exact cave. When they’d passed by it on their way inland into the Valelands, they had to take a look.

  Below them stretched miles of verdant woodlands with the thin silver line of the Lance cutting east in the distance.

  “Quit gawking at the view and help us search the cave,” Three complained from behind him.

  No sooner had he turned around, though, than Two exclaimed in surprise. They had to pour water on the wall to reveal the ancient markings hidden under a layer of dust, but eventually the writing became legible.

  “What’s this doing way up here?” Two breathed.

  “What is this, exactly?” One asked, irritated that he couldn’t read the words.

  “Ancient writings of the pastors,” Two answered.

  Pastors? The people who looked after and protected the trees of the Great Circle?

  Tracing the writings with one finger, Two pointed at a set of markings on the back wall. “See that picture of a spear carved on the raised rock near the right end? Push on it.”

  Three shoved at the fist-sized rock. It moved inward with a scraping sound of stone on stone.

  “Now the one with the squiggly lines,” Two ordered pointing at a raised rock in the lower center of the wall.

  One realized with a start that the entire back wall of the cave was covered in those protruding little stones. One by one, Two talked them through the correct order to press the stones. How she knew which symbols to skip and which to use, he had no idea. It must be pastor stuff. Even if she’d never become one herself, she did come from a long line of Hickory pastors, after all.

  It took many long minutes to d
ecipher the code to the lock, but at long last, a great slabbed portion of the back wall swung inward. Two moved toward it, but One snagged her arm. “Let me go first. We cannot be too careful.”

  It turned out he’d made the right call, for a many-limbed creature made of dried wood came at him as soon as he raised his torch to light the inner cave.

  “What is a wolden doing here?” Three gasped.

  One grunted as he fended off multiple shockingly fast attacks, “What’s a wolden?”

  “They’re called the sons of treants, somewhat like dryads are called the daughters of treants. But the wolden are more plantlike and do not speak like humanoids.”

  “They blasted well fight like humanoids,” One complained as he was forced to retreat from the onslaught of slashing limbs.

  Quickly assessing his foe, he used a combination of sword and torch to make short work of the wolden. Normal warriors would have had a difficult time with the multilimbed creature whose arms whipped back and forth with incredible speed and strength. Fortunately, he was not a normal warrior.

  There seemed to be only the one active wolden in the cave. While One stood by watchfully in case more appeared, Two and Three searched the inner cave to find whatever treasure was guarded by such a powerful creature. Tucked away in a dark corner, covered by dust, they found only a small, plain wooden box, not much larger than his hand.

  “Take it to the outer chamber where there’s more light,” One directed. He was as curious as the others to know what was hidden in such an out-of-the-way spot and so well defended.

  It took Two nearly a half hour to disarm a very clever trap inside the box that would have spilled acid on the box’s contents had it not been properly opened. At last, Two carefully lifted the lid to reveal what looked like a fist-sized walnut. The wooden orb was bumpy on the outside and ovoid in shape, and as Three lifted it from the box, its surface gleamed a deep, rich burgundy brown like highly polished mahogany.

  “What is it?” One asked.

  “A seed,” Two answered reverently.

  “That’s the biggest seed I’ve ever seen!” Three exclaimed.

  “What’s it a seed of?” One asked skeptically.