The Sleeping King

by Cindy Dees

  CHAPTER

  10

  The footpath to Dupree was a treeless slash through the Wylde Wood, its margins trimmed back a good thirty feet on each side. Keeping this end of the path open fell to the men of the hollow to do each year and was a source of much grumbling about wasted effort. But today Will was abjectly grateful for the broad avenue of short greensward on each side of the actual track. No Boki ambush could be set in such a wide space.

  After he spent a few hours walking the path nervously, Will’s exhausted mind began to play tricks on him, questioning if he really was fleeing from Boki, actually racing to report an invasion of the borderlands and the slaughter of dozens of innocents. The journey took on an unreal quality as he grew light-headed with fatigue. Maybe none of it had happened. Maybe he’d imagined it all.

  He would wake up from this strange dream having dozed off under the spreading branches of the old hickory during an uneventful night’s watch. He would shake his head at his morbid nightmare and walk down the hill to get breakfast. He’d eat the last of the winter fat sausage, fried crispy brown in his mother’s big iron skillet, and have a mug of oatmeal thinned with cream still warm from the milch cow.

  But as hunger turned to sharp pain in his gut and fatigue turned to sharper pain in his thighs, his dream-like state also passed. And then the memories came. Wave upon wave in violent, excruciating detail that would not stop. The knot of vengeance unfulfilled grew in his gut and tightened into something akin to fury. He’d heard bleeding-heart greenskin lovers argue in the past that orcs and goblins and their kind were entitled to live and breed and die in peace. But the bleeding hearts were wrong. Orcs were vicious beasts with no respect for, nor right to, life.

  He and Rosana walked on and on, and during that long march he learned to hate. He tasted rage, bitter and hot upon his tongue. He sipped of it. Then drank of it. Then gorged on it until he nigh drowned in its ichor, wrath suffusing the farthest reaches of his being. If he ever came across Ki’Raiden again, he would kill the Sixth Thane of Boki. Slowly. Painfully. By torturous degrees for each of the citizens of Hickory Hollow the thane had slaughtered.

  The light brown strip of dirt before the two of them wended its inexorable way north, back toward the heart of the colony and more heavily populated areas. Will knew the path well, having walked it every spring since he was big enough to push a handcart loaded with boots his father had made over the winter.

  It was nearly noon when the footpath widened out into a pair of wagon ruts and another hour before it widened again into an actual road. The forest gave way to fields dotted with cottages, and eventually Will spied the massive stone outcropping of Giant’s Fist in the distance.

  “What’s that?” Rosana asked abruptly, breaking the long silence that had held between them for most of the morning.

  “The Giant’s Fist. Story goes that a giant was turned to stone here and buried.” Will had always thought it a silly story, but if the hearth tale of the Sleeping King was real, who was to say that this one was not as well? His mother maintained that someone had merely embellished the natural shape of the rock, carving it a bit to look like fingers with rough nails and craggy knuckles. His father only shrugged when asked his opinion on the matter.

  Perhaps Ty had known more on the subject than he was willing to say. Maybe he knew whether or not it was possible to turn a giant to stone in such a fashion. What else had he known about magic that he’d never shared with his only son? Will cursed his father anew for not deigning to teach him more of the ways of magic beyond a few simple spells.

  Rosana’s only response was a skeptical noise.

  They walked on in silence, each immersed in their own loss and pain.

  Several hours beyond the Fist lay Castlegate Falls, the largest market city in the region. It boasted an Imperial Army outpost and its population swelled to nearly a thousand people on a big market day. It was steady at about half that between times.

  Ironically, this was what Will had always dreamed of as a boy: coming to the city on a hero’s errand. Unfortunately, he’d failed to imagine the tugging grief and sickening loss that accompanied such an errand.

  As he neared the town, his apprehension grew. The ravages of the Empire upon the countryside became more apparent in decimated forests and ugly pits where ore and precious gems had been crudely torn from the earth. The soothing presence of nature around him ebbed.

  He and Rosana shuffled through the short line of people waiting outside the walls for a cursory search by the town guard prior to being allowed inside the walled city. After a small eternity, it was finally Will’s turn. Rough hands patted down his ribs. “What’s yer name, boy?”

  “Will the cobbler’s son.”

  “Where ye from?” Hands rudely grabbed his crotch and then slid down his legs.

  “Hickory Hollow.” He knew the next question—asking for his purpose in being here—so he went ahead and answered it. “I’m here as escort to yon healer.” Normally, Will would have reported the Boki attack upon her caravan, but his father’s instructions to speak to no one of the orcs but Aurelius rang in his ears.

  The soldier replied scornfully, “Why’d ye be keepin’ company with the likes of a gypsy?”

  Will shrugged. It was never wise to rise to the baiting of the army. They had heavy fists and the law on their side.

  Behind him, Rosana snapped to the guard rudely patting her down, “Orcs attacked a Heart caravan. They killed the guards and left me for dead. I must go to the Heart house immediately and make my report. Unhand me and let me pass!”

  Will winced. Gypsies were not well liked in the best of times in these parts. He turned hastily to make an apology for her, but was startled to see the guard gesture for her to move along. Did the Heart colors carry so much weight, then, that even a snappish gypsy wearing them was shown a modicum of respect?

  The first soldier muttered, “Straight on to the town square, then. The Heart’s among the other guild halls.”

  “Thanks be,” Will mumbled as he took Rosana by the arm and hustled her out of range of the guards. He half-whispered to her, “You should not be so high-handed with soldiers. Around here, they despise your kind for being thieves and cutthroats.”

  “My kind are despised everywhere!” she retorted. “I was lucky the Kaer took me in when I showed a talent for spiritual magic. It was they who protected me from slavers and bigots like those back there. I was barely three years old when the Kaer found me after the Boki insurrection.”

  He stared, shocked. “Do you remember your family?”

  “No. The Heart is my family, in truth. That is why I call it the Kaer. That is an old word for family among my kind.”

  “And those other words you used? Prala and … and gaj?” His tongue stumbled over the unfamiliar syllables.

  “Prala means brother. Gaj is mother. Pena is sister, and daj is father.” She shrugged. “I do not even know what gypsy clan I come from. I think of the Kaer as my family, so why not call it that?”

  He shrugged back.

  She grabbed his hand and hurried forward. “Come.”

  He’d never gone into the town of Castlegate Falls proper. His father always veered left just inside the gate and headed for the open field of the farmer’s market to sell his boots and shoes. This moment marked the end of the familiar in Will’s journey. From here on out, all would be new. A burst of excitement momentarily overtook his fear.

  The street was a morass of mud and dung at first, but as he approached what he estimated to be the middle of the town cobblestones replaced the mire. He gazed up at the marvel of three- and even four-story buildings. Normally, he would revel in the sheer noise of the place. But today it was an obscenity. Didn’t they know a terrible tragedy had happened? That innocents had died and their murderers were on the loose, perhaps headed here to wreak their violence next upon these laughing, oblivious fools?

  Shopkeepers gossiped and shouted, oxen bawled, chickens pecked and clucked underfoot, and everyon
e seemed in a great rush to get somewhere. But then, so was he. Moving as quickly as the heavy foot traffic would allow in the clogged street, he and Rosana made their way to the Heart.

  The thoroughfare spilled into a square large enough to fit all of Hickory Hollow inside it. He gazed around in amazement at the gaudily decorated buildings ringing the plaza. The familiar green and brown of the Forester’s Guild. The purple and black of the Merchant’s Guild. The red-and-gold sunbeams around a red heart on a white field of the Heart. A couple more guilds he didn’t recognize. That building with the gray-and-black door and stylized mountain shape must be the Miner’s Guild. Next to it stood the red and black of the Slaver’s Guild with its distinctive chain-link motif. And beyond that, the blue and gold of the Imperial Mage’s Guild.

  Even if he hadn’t known the Mage’s Guild’s colors, he’d have spotted the building in an instant. It was surrounded by a faint shimmer of magic, visible from the corner of his eye when he didn’t look directly at it. There must be some sort of magic shield around the entire building! Such a display of power awed him.

  He angled out into the square to avoid walking directly past the Slaver’s Guild. He was human, a citizen race not subject to enslavement on sight, but the place gave him the jitters anyway. Slavers were known for randomly grabbing locals and impressing them into slavery to fill their quotas—usually later in the summer, though, after the planting was done and well before the harvest. Still, there was no sense in taking any chances. After all, he was in excellent health and on his way to becoming a tall, strapping youth.

  Rosana threw the Slaver’s Guild hall a disgusted look but gave it as wide a berth as he did.

  He murmured, “They cannot take you as long as you wear Heart colors, right?”

  “They would not dare,” she muttered back. “The Royal Order of Sun would annihilate them all. There would be many dead bodies before the Order stopped killing over such an outrage. And not many people would be inclined to heal dead slavers, would they?”

  Good point. The Heart building was whitewashed, its trim painted in alternating red and yellow. It, too, was surrounded by a faint magical glow. When they approached the steps, however, a young fellow standing in the open doorway ducked inside for a second and the glow disappeared.

  Rosana started up the steps confidently. “Well, what are you waiting for?” she demanded while Will stood rooted at the bottom of the stair.

  “Is it safe? That magic shell won’t harm us?”

  She grinned down at him like he was the most uneducated bumpkin she’d ever seen. “It’s only a wizard lock. The initiate has already let it down for us. Even if it’s not down and you run into it, the magic will only repel you and not let you approach the building. Wizard locks won’t hurt anyone.”

  Oh. Feeling stupid, and feeling irritated at feeling stupid, he tromped up the steps after her. The common room of the Heart house was shabby, albeit welcoming, with a cheerful air about it. An unfamiliar hint of magic tingled faintly in the air. It made him uncomfortable, but Rosana seemed to breathe it in like the smell of fresh bread warm on the hearth.

  A tall woman with brown hair came out of the back room and introduced herself as Sister Denia. Rosana burst out, “Have any spirits come here in the past day looking for a field resurrection?”

  The healer frowned. “Not in the past day. We had a farmer come in three days ago. Died of an ague. Resurrected successfully and went on his way back home.”

  “Nobody from Hickory Hollow?” Will demanded. “Nobody at all?”

  “No. Has something happened out that way?” Denia asked.

  Rosana answered before he could, “A Heart caravan was attacked on the Ring Road by orcs. Brother Angelo was killed. Both our guards were killed, too. The orcs left me for dead.”

  “Orcs?” Denia exclaimed. “They have not been active since the insurrection—what, fifteen years or more ago? The notion of an orc attack is absurd. And no, no Heart members have come in. Like I said. Just the farmer.”

  Rosana bristled. “It’s not absurd. I saw the orcs with my own eyes.”

  “Well then. I suppose we must send word of this to Dupree right away. Oh, dear. I haven’t the spare personnel, not to mention guards, right now to send a messenger. The brothers and guardians are out collecting donations so we can produce a batch of potions…,” the woman trailed off muttering to herself.

  Rosana spoke up quickly. “We will take the news to the Heart in Dupree for you. Will, here, can be my guard.”

  Denia gave him an assessing look. “Can you fight?”

  Startled, he replied, “I guess so. But—” But he was no professional soldier, and he certainly could not defend Rosana against another orc attack.

  Rosana, predictably, cut him off before he could say all of that. “I cannot touch him with my blade when we spar, and I am an accomplished sword fighter.”

  No, she wasn’t. He opened his mouth to say so, but the toe of her boot whipped out and connected sharply with his shin. Her long skirt mostly covered the blow from view, however.

  He swallowed a yelp as Denia nodded. “Well then, that’s settled. You two shall take word of this attack to Dupree. There is stew in the kitchen. I just made a fresh batch. Let me go into the office and write a note.…” She left the common room, muttering to herself about the contents of the letter.

  “What was that for?” he complained, rubbing his shin.

  “You need go to Dupree to see if your family and friends resurrected there, yes?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “This way you can travel under a Heart writ, and maybe, just maybe, arrive in one piece.”

  Ahh. Clever, that.

  “Stay here. I’m going to go insist that the Kaer pay for your service. Then you and I will collect food and water skins and leave for Dupree.”

  She left the common room, and he headed for the kitchen and a bowl of stew to ease his growling belly. By the time Rosana and the adept returned to the common room, he had filled both his pack and Rosana’s with supplies for their journey from the cupboards in the kitchen.

  While Rosana gulped down a bowl of stew and a hunk of bread, Denia instructed, “Head for the dock down by the river. That letter will gain you quick passage to Dupree. Look for a barge named the Tough Knut. The captain’s a friend of the Heart, a Kelnor called Rhone Ironknot. By river is the quickest route from here to the capital. I counted out enough silver for your passages. Save the rest for food and lodging.”

  Rosana nodded and patted her belt, where a small leather pouch hung at her waist. Will recognized the chink of coins as it moved. He waited until they had been let out of the magic ward around the Heart building to mutter, “You should tuck that inside your skirt. Cutpurses will spot yon pouch a mile away.”

  Rosana’s right hand moved in a blur and of a sudden something exceedingly sharp pricked at his ribs. “A cutpurse will find himself gutted fast if he tries for my purse,”

  He took a careful step backward, away from her dagger.

  She murmured, “Have you never heard it is bad for one’s health to attempt to separate a gypsy from his gold?”

  “I have not, but I see the wisdom in the words,” he replied a bit grumpily. He rubbed the sore spot where her blade had poked him and headed for the town’s postern gate and the docks beyond. She might be easy on the eye, but the gypsy was as prickly as a thornwood tree.

  They spotted a big, vaguely military-looking barge near the end of the dock. It was worn, but looked relatively water worthy.

  Rhone Ironknot was typical of the Kelnor dwarves found throughout the colony’s hills; his long beard was twined with beads and this morn’s breakfast. He waved off the letter Rosana held out to him and smiled widely at the pretty gypsy. “Yes, yes, welcome aboard, Healer. You, too, lad. You look like you could pull your weight in a pinch. Forest bred, are ye?”

  Will was startled. “How did you know?”

  “Yon dagger, of course. Style’s straight out of the Wylde Wood
. West end of the wood if me eyes don’ mistake me. Been seein’ those leather-wrapped grips a few years on, now. Like to meet me the bloke makin’ them blades. Lay odds, I would, ’e’s soldier trained. Them blades got fine balance fer a fightin’ hand.”

  A lifetime of his father’s paranoia stilled Will’s tongue against announcing that his own father had made the blades. Particularly in light of the recent revelations regarding Ty and his hidden past.

  Rosana leaped across the gap between the dock and barge as lightly as a fawn. Will made the jump a fair sight less gracefully. The vessel dipped a little under his weight and his stomach gave a heave as he stumbled in search of his balance.

  Wondering if he would regret his decision to travel with her, he followed Rosana aft on the roomy barge. They waited for an hour while the kelnor and his men finished loading barrels onto the vessel. Then Ironknot shouted at them to find a perch and stay out of the way of the pole men.

  Will and Rosana settled atop short casks marked with crudely painted nails as dockhands cast off and threw the heavy lines over to their craft. The barge crawled away from the dock at first. But then the current caught its blunt prow and swung it downstream. Choppy, open water in the middle of the river sent them nodding and bobbing like a pheasant on the hunt for a mate.

  Will groaned as the queasy sensation intensified in his gut, and Rosana laughed without a shred of pity. “Landlubber!”

  He scowled at her balefully. He was already regretting his choice of traveling companion. Deeply.

  CHAPTER

  11

  Raina spent the next day helping Mag with the chores, collecting and drying medicinal herbs and teaching Mag their uses. And, to everyone’s vast delight, Raina gathered cooking herbs and showed Mag how to make her stews savory and tasty. For her part, Mag showed Raina that pregnant women were by no means helpless creatures. Far from it. Although Mag tired easily and her back ached, she was still capable of plenty of vigorous activity and, in fact, seemed the healthier for it.