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

by Cindy Dees

  Cheers, stomping feet, and pounding mugs erupted as the bard fell silent. The innkeeper must be loving this singer as shouts for refills on the ale rang throughout the pub. Rynn signaled for another mead and set it down before the singer.

  As the bard hunkered down beside Rosana, he asked, “Did you like my song, fair gypsy maiden?”

  “I loved it!” She batted her eyelashes and asked the man, “Where is the ever-greening woods of the Vale you sang of? Oh, I’d so love to visit it and feel the magic of Eliassan’s eternal love for his fae lady.”

  “Surely it is the Wychwold the song refers to. For it is a magical and ancient forest, lush and green all the year round and said to be inhabited by fae creatures.”

  Will asked a little gruffly, “Have you personally seen any of these alleged fae creatures of which you sang?”

  The singer’s eyes twinkled. “The monster, no. But the ladies of the woods, I have seen, indeed. It turns out the green ladies of the trees love a good tune and will oft come out to hear me sing when I play in the wood.”

  Hah. So the fae ladies were dryads!

  Rynn asked, “Do you know more of the monster that was sent to defeat Eliassan than was mentioned in the song?”

  The singer shrugged. “Only that he was a great, terrible, clawed beast that killed many people. He was said to have destroyed entire villages in his rampage before Eliassan caught up with him.”

  That sounded more like a hungry bear than a magical beast to Will. Testing that theory, he asked, “Did the beast leave any marks behind, tracks or claw marks that might give away its size and shape?”

  The singer blinked, surprised. “I have heard a song that described his paws as being the width of four men’s hands and his shoulders half again the height of a man. Let me see. How did the verse go…” After a moment, he recited:

  The great beast of the fane came forth

  Furied eyes red with rage and wroth,

  Withers half again the height of a man,

  With claws four times a man’s hand span.

  By the new moon’s light he came.

  All who fought, he did kill and maim.

  Until Eliassan with his great bow

  Did at long last lay the fae beast low.

  Kendrick asked in a tense voice, “Red eyes, you say?”

  “Aye. That’s how the verse goes.”

  “And you’re sure it was a new moon by which the beast came and not a full moon?” Kendrick challenged.

  The singer threw up his hands. “I only recite the verse as I was taught it. I was not there to witness the beast, boy.”

  Rynn asked in a soothing tone, “What is this fane the verse mentions?”

  “Ah, well,” the singer answered confidently, “fanes were sacred places to the fae when they roamed these lands long, long ago. All the fanes but one were destroyed long before any living now have memory of them.”

  “And the last fane?” Will asked.

  A shrug from the singer. “Rumor has it a single fane still exists deep in the Wychwold, protected from the eyes of man by fae enchantments and guarded by a beast much like the one Eliassan slew.”

  “Where exactly in the wold is this place?”

  “I’m sure I haven’t a clue,” the singer answered a bit testily.

  Rynn pushed another mug of mead across the table. “Thank you for bearing our interrogation with such good humor, sir. Have another mead. And perhaps you could be persuaded to sing a song or two more?”

  The singer chose a rousing song telling of the conquest of Pan Orda by the great Kothite General Tarses, and Will wasn’t surprised to see Eben taking particular note of the story tonight. Nor was Will surprised to catch Eben slipping a silver coin into the bard’s palm when the song concluded.

  Morning brought a blindingly raucous chorus of birdsong. Or mayhap that was the aftereffects of too much ale making the sun so bright and the birds so loud.

  The Wychwold lay to the north of the Lance, so it was in that direction they hiked. The terrain was hilly, but not so rugged as to make walking impossible. Broad, well-trodden trails of packed dirt led into the wold, and they followed a northbound one, grateful for the easy going.

  The trees here were ancient and huge, a variety of northern species that had not seen the ravages of the Forester’s Guild. Many of the towering trunks would have taken everyone in the party clasping hands together to span, and some trees, even then, they would not have encompassed. The undulating ground was covered with a velvet carpet of bright green moss that grew over the low boulders and up the trunks of many trees, as well. A light fog clung to the hollows and valleys they passed even into midday, lending a mystical quality to the place. Dappled sunlight flickered around them, and he breathed deeply of the clean, pine-scented air. A great sense of well-being came over him.

  “I like this place,” Rosana announced as they stopped to eat lunch.

  “Could you see yourself living here one day?” Will asked.

  “I could.” She added a shade cautiously, “What about you?”

  “Me, too.”

  Rosana’s cheeks turned pink, and she looked away shyly. Did he dare hope that she might be hinting that she would look favorably upon a proposal from him? And that she might also be thinking about what a pleasant home this area would make? Hope leaped in his chest, and his steps were so buoyant after the meal that the others badgered him to slow down as he led them through the forest.

  They made camp along the trail that night, and the next evening brought them to a prosperous-looking homestead constructed of great logs chinked with stripes of white clay. The owner and his wife invited them to stay the night, offering Will and the others use of their log barn and a pile of clean straw for bedding.

  A half dozen children ran around the yard, laughing and shouting as the older ones did chores and the two youngest, boys, fought with wooden swords. Will vaguely remembered doing the exact same thing in his youth.

  For her part, Rosana looked wistful.

  “Why the sad eyes, Rosie?” he asked her.

  “I always wanted to live in a family like this.”

  “Maybe you’ll have your own someday.”

  She glanced up at him shyly. “That would be wonderful.”

  Exultation roared through him. She was definitely hinting that she would accept a proposal from him. Now to find the right engagement gift for her. Simple jewelry wouldn’t do the trick. He needed to think of something meaningful to both of them. And then they could leave off quests and adventures and build a life like this for themselves. He smiled as he looked around the clearing.

  Rynn and Sha’Li went hunting, bringing back a brace of rabbits and a large bird the farmer called a turkey for their supper. Rosana helped the man’s wife pluck the bird while Will and the farmer skinned and dressed the rabbits. The domesticity of it all was almost more comfortable than Will could stand.

  After supper, Rynn pulled out the skin of mead he’d purchased at the pub in Rondell and poured mugs of it for their hosts. The liquor did its job and loosened the farmer’s tongue as the volume of liquid in the skin decreased.

  Rynn asked the farmer, “What do you know of the Wychwold fae?”

  “I see them from time to time. Mostly up in the hills north of here. Sometimes it’s them green witches; other times it’s those half-goat fellows they run with.”

  Satyrs? Will had never seen one in the flesh. Apparently, they had much the same charm effect on female humans as dryads had on human males.

  Rynn nodded. “Have you ever spoken with them?”

  “Naw. I look away and make haste for home when they come out. They don’t cause trouble as long as we leave them alone, but I’ve no wish to tangle with their magics. It isn’t natural, the way they step in and out of solid trees.”

  Will knew the phenomenon well. It did look strange to see a dryad pass through a solid tree and yet remain solid herself.

  Rynn asked, “Have you ever heard of a place particularly dear to
the fae in these parts? Maybe a place where they gather?”

  “If there’s such a place, it would be to the north of here, in the heart of the Wychwold. That’s where every fae sighting I’ve ever heard of has been.”

  Will asked, “How far from here is the center of the wold?”

  “Two, maybe three days’ walk, depending on how hale the hiker is.”

  Kendrick piped up, asking, “Have you ever seen any magical creatures besides dryads and satyrs? Monsters, perhaps? Furry beasts with big claws?”

  “Naw, but I’ve heard of such. Farmer about a day’s walk north of here was killed by some strange creature a while back. Way I heard it, four great claws tore him open from belly button to collarbone.”

  “What did the beast look like?”

  “No one saw it. They just found him dead and shredded.”

  Will was skeptical of the magical monster. A man from the hollow had been attacked by a bear when he was a boy, and his body had looked much as the farmer described. But Kendrick seemed agitated by the description. Did he know something he wasn’t sharing with the others? Had Kerryl been up here and created some great, hulking were-creature in this forest and then lost control of it?

  When they retired to the barn, Will asked Kendrick, “What do you think of this beast the farmer spoke of?”

  “If it’s a were-creature, it’s not of Kerryl’s making. Maybe it’s one of the fae beasts the bard in Rondell sang of.”

  Sha’Li responded, “Yes, but the song only spoke of one beast, and Eliassan killed it.”

  “Would that we were so fortunate,” Rosana retorted. “With our luck, we’ll get to this fane place, and there will be ten of them guarding it.”

  Will laughed. “Have a little faith, Rosie. We’ve defeated great, hulking monsters before.”

  “Yes, but we don’t have Raina with us anymore to continually heal us,” she replied.

  Rynn said, “That reminds me. On the barge, I was able to purchase a brace of healing potions.” He passed out several healing potions to each member of the party, and Will carefully tucked his away in an inside pocket of his belt pouch, where he would be able to find them easily should he need one.

  “And for you, Rosana,” Rynn said, “I was able to buy three life potions.” He offered them to her with a little bow as she squealed in pleasure. Will gritted his teeth, but at least she didn’t throw herself at the paxan and hug him.

  A deep bed of straw in the farmer’s barn proved to be both warm and comfortable, and they all benefited from a full night’s sleep. They barred the barn door from the inside and did not take turns sitting a night watch. Rather, they let the farmer’s dogs act as sentries.

  As dawn broke the next day, they insisted that the farmer’s wife take two gold coins for the food she’d packed for them. Will knew they had given the family nearly enough coin to pay their taxes for the entire year, which would ease the family’s lives considerably in the coming months. They would not have to worry about failed crops or one of their children being taken into slavery this year.

  With hugs all around, they departed for the heart of the Wychwold, following the detailed instructions the farmer gave them.

  The first time they stopped to drink and refill their waterskins at a cold, fast-running stream, Eben crouched beside Will, holding his skin under the water and murmuring, “I’m worried about Kendrick.”

  Will was aware that Kendrick had barely spoken at all since they left the Sorrow Wold and he’d separated from Kerryl. “I don’t know what we’re supposed to do about him,” Will muttered back. “It’s not like we can give him back his were-curse.”

  “Nor would I if I could,” Eben replied quickly.

  “Have you tried talking to him?” Will asked. “You know him better than all of us.”

  “He won’t listen to me. Says I’m biased.”

  Will grunted. “You are. He’s your brother, and you want him to be his old self. Thing is, Eben, we’ve all changed. This quest of ours, it’s bigger than any of us.”

  Eben trailed his fingers in the cold water, a sign of just how worried he was about Kendrick. He never touched water voluntarily.

  Will sighed. “You didn’t think waking Gawaine would be free, did you? We’re all paying a price each in our own way. You’ve lost more than most of us, and you’ve just gotten your brother back. Of course you want to hold on to him tightly.”

  “I’m worried he’s going to harm himself,” Eben confessed.

  “Do you want me to talk to him?”

  Eben glanced up, making brief eye contact, then looking away. “You’d better not. He resents the fact that you’ve still got your connection to Bloodroot.”

  Will snorted. “Like that’s any great blessing. I fight all the time to contain his rage and jealousy. Every day I fear he’s going to get the best of me and that I’ll cease to exist.”

  Eben stared at him. “Really?”

  Will stood upright, scuffing dead leaves into the stream and watching the rushing torrent carry them away. “Yeah, really,” he answered gruffly.

  “I never knew. If you ever need help, someone to steady you or for you to pummel, let me know.”

  His throat tight, Will squeezed the jann’s shoulder briefly as he turned away. Eben didn’t understand. His urge wasn’t to hit someone. His urge was to kill.

  * * *

  “What have you done?” Gabrielle repeated, in a whisper this time, her voice threatening to break over into hysteria.

  Sasha was hysterical, wringing her hands and wailing under her breath about Maximillian destroying them all.

  The thief answered a touch wildly, “What I’ve done is kill a Kothite high lady. In Maximillian’s private wing of the palace, no less. Let the whoreson chew on that!”

  This mission was not supposed to be about revenge! It was not supposed to even catch the Emperor’s notice. But the thief had changed that with his impulsive murder. Assuming it was impulsive at all. Suspicion blossomed in her gut. Why had the thief refused to go on this mission if Sir Valyri been along? Did the thief have something like this in mind the whole time?

  For his part, Bekkan shrugged, unconcerned. “Only good Kothite is a dead Kothite if you ask me.”

  Sasha muttered, “They’ll know already, Korovo and Quaya. When Kothites create a child, they give part of their own spirits and powers to it. They’ll have felt the loss. They know.”

  “You’ve ruined everything,” Gabrielle accused the thief. “Centuries of work. Hundreds of lives sacrificed for nothing because of you.”

  “Shall we debate that later?” the thief responded lightly. “For the moment, I suggest we run.”

  Curse him to the darkest corner of the Void!

  They did run then.

  Such was her shock at the murder she had just witnessed that Gabrielle’s airways opened wide and she was able to sprint along with the others around the corner and into the main corridor behind Bekkan.

  They’d only been running a half minute or so, though, when the thief announced, “I hear someone coming from ahead of us.”

  They screeched to a halt, every one of them breathing hard. No way would even the most casual observer fail to notice it.

  Bekkan looked around quickly. “This way,” he said urgently. He reversed direction and all but plowed into her. “Quick. Back the other way! There used to be an entrance to the servant tunnels behind us.”

  They’d all raced back the other way perhaps a hundred feet and turned down a poorly lit side hall when Bekkan stopped abruptly, frowning. Gabrielle managed not to run into him, but Korgan did slam into her and nearly knocked her off her feet. Thankfully, Roland’s reflexes were fast, and he grabbed her arm in time to keep her upright.

  Bekkan ducked into a niche behind a full suit of armor that belonged to some dead Kothite general.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded in rising panic.

  Bekkan, who’d been feeling along the wall behind the statue, pushed against the wall with
both fists, and a door-sized portion of the wall swung inward. A secret passageway.

  The Emperor was rumored to have an entire network of them, but she’d never met anyone who had been in one or even seen one.

  “Quickly, my lady. Everybody inside.”

  She slid past Bekkan and was followed by Korgan, Jossa, Sasha, Giselle, Roland, and the thief. Bekkan put his shoulder into the panel, sliding it shut as voices drew near.

  The darkness was complete, so thick and stifling that her breathing grew quick and labored with panic, and the iron band of fear tightened around her chest once more, even worse than before. Not now.

  She heard fumbling, and then a spark flashed in the dark.

  A small hand torch flared, and Bekkan grinned over it. “What kind of dwarf would I be if I didn’t have a torch at hand?”

  “Bless you,” Gabrielle responded fervently.

  Korgan muttered, “Give me a second here. I’ve got torches enough for the lot of you.” Small hand torches were passed around and lit.

  The thief raised his torch high, peering down the narrow tunnel. “This place is clean. No dust. It’s obviously still used frequently.”

  Gabrielle said, “If Sasha’s right about Korovo and Quaya, there will be guards crawling all over the palace soon searching for clues as to what happened to Meridine. Questions will be asked. We have to get out of these tunnels, and all of us have to get as far away from here as we can before anyone decides to have a look around inside our minds.”

  Bekkan turned to peer into the darkness. “Up ahead, there’s another passage heading off to our left. I think it leads to the south wing of the palace, where your quarters are, my lady.”

  Praise the Lady. Her children might yet survive this evening alive. For them, she would press on, air in her lungs or not. She followed Bekkan as he took off down the tunnel. They came to an intersection, and the rokken turned left down another long corridor.

  Bekkan paused at another intersection to peer at a bunch of scratch marks on the wall that looked vaguely like runes. “This way.” He turned right and went a little way, stopping before a narrow, circular staircase barely wider than Gabrielle’s shoulders.

  “If I have not lost my bearings, your chambers are at the top of that stair, my lady.”