The Sleeping King

by Cindy Dees

  “Hush, both you,” Thar’Ok said forcefully. “Anton near.”

  Raina started in alarm, and Will whispered, “How near?”

  She breathed to him, “On our way here, we heard several groups of his men creeping around in the dark.”

  Thar’Ok grunted, “We go. Hurry.”

  They moved off to the north into terrain that commenced rising and falling in ever steeper slopes. A big orc warrior moved up beside her to guide her. Will startled her by falling in beside her escort and striking up a whispered conversation. “So, Ki’Rig Agar. You have helped me yet again. Am I to be in your debt forever, Boki?”

  The orc grunted, “Wake king. We even. But still finish fight someday.”

  Will grinned. “Deal.”

  * * *

  The pair of elves crouched side by side, dark cloaks obscuring their forms until they were part of the night, shadow without form or substance. Aurelius looked over at his old friend and wondered if Selea was experiencing the same déjà vu that he was.

  “And now we are two,” he murmured.

  Selea nodded slowly. “I will miss Leland if he chooses not to resurrect. He had the best heart of us all.”

  “Aye,” Aurelius answered reflectively, “he did at that. Humans are possessed of a unique generosity of spirit.”

  “Perhaps it comes from having to live and die so quickly.”

  “Mmm,” Aurelius replied. “It would be a great tragedy if he does not live to see his dream to fruition.”

  He felt, rather than saw, Selea’s shrug under his black cloak. “He knew his dream was in motion. DeVir’s boy has taken up the gauntlet. And Leland found the girl and put her into the perfect position to influence events in the years to come.”

  “He always did have a knack for that sort of thing.”

  The two elves fell silent for a time. Aurelius could not fathom what Selea contemplated, but his mind was full of the possibilities of the girl—the first arch-mage to emerge in generations, trained in politics and diplomacy, and operating within the special immunity of the White Heart colors. Yes indeed, Leland did have a gift for stirring the pot.

  And in the meantime, Tiberius hadn’t done a bad job, either, of setting massive events into motion with his son. It was hard to imagine that the boy might soon succeed where they had all failed. Perhaps the hand of fate was guiding the younger De’Vir, after all.

  A handful of youths, hailing from all corners of the realm, perfectly prepared to fulfill great destinies, brought together in a single place and time to pursue a common goal. What were the odds? How could the greater beings not be pulling at least a little at the strings of this night’s events?

  It did give an old elf pause to wonder where he fit into the grand scheme of it all. He murmured to his companion, “What is Anton thinking? Running his mercenaries around out here like this is madness. The Boki will hunt down Anton’s men and crush them like so many helpless rabbits.”

  “As long as one of his men succeeds, the others are expendable. Anton only needs a single person to bring him the location of that which he seeks.”

  “It’s cursed frustrating knowing we’re so close to it—again—yet we have no idea where it is.”

  “Patience, Aurelius. We will find it.”

  “How?”

  “Anton’s got the wrong of it. He should not be following his men. He should be following those who know where the treasure lies. Those who will rush to guard it from his men.”

  “The Boki?”

  “Aye.”

  Aurelius chuckled under his breath. “Of course. Let the orcs lead us to the hiding place.”

  “In spite of your noisy conversation, old friend, I hear several groups of orcs moving generally in a northward direction. Unfortunately, Anton’s forces appear to be moving that way as well. Let us do the same.”

  “Once more, then, we shall all gather to confront the fates: Anton, the Boki, and us, the ever intrepid fools.”

  “History does like to repeat itself.”

  “Let us hope for a better outcome this time.”

  Selea retorted grimly, “I place little faith in hope!”

  “Perhaps. But what else do we have? A handful of children, totally untried, in whose hands rests the fate of us all?”

  Selea shook his head gloomily. “We are doomed.”

  CHAPTER

  28

  Thar’Ok led the way deep into the heart of the forest. Will noticed Ki’Rig Agar surreptitiously holding up a hand by his ear yet again in what Will thought might be some sign to ward off evil. The whites of the Boki’s eyes gleamed in the dark and he was acting positively jumpy. All the Boki were acting that way.

  Will chastised himself. What had he expected? That the Sleeping King would be laid out in a pleasant grove they could stroll into and merely give his shoulder a shake? Of course the place would be protected in some way. Defended by something or someone dangerous. But it was not reassuring knowing that the king’s guards scared the green off of ferocious Boki warriors.

  They joined a larger group of Boki warriors in the bottom of a tiny vale bounded on each side by a rocky slope. Giant trees ringed the little bowl, and even in the scant starlight they looked strange and twisted. Thorns as long as Will’s forearms pointed downward at close intervals along the trunk. Its bark was cracked and thick, a dark, bloodred color. The branches high overhead were gnarled and massive, and nestled among the leaves were more of those vicious-looking thorns. A lone squirrel was visible a dozen arm lengths up the tree, notable for how it was impaled upon a thorn, dead. Bloodthorn trees.

  The orcs already in the grove bristled with weapons and looked as nervous as his escort. Will was relieved to spot Balthazar among them. If Will and his friends were slaughtered out of hand for being here, at least they might stand a chance of getting life spells.

  Ki’Rig Agar, still beside him, pointed across the vale. “Ovuh they-uhh.”

  Will squinted, trying to make out exactly what it was the Boki was pointing at. He saw only boulders scattered like trash all over the steep slope at the base of the biggest tree of all.

  “Ahh,” Cicero sighed. “Clever.”

  Thar’Ok grunted something low and Ki’Rig Agar spoke up more loudly. “Willcobb go. Fine’ king. Now.”

  To punctuate the orc’s declaration, the sounds of a skirmish erupted behind them. Every head snapped around toward the sound, and a half-dozen Boki warriors raced to the southern lip of the bowl to take up defensive positions.

  Ki’Rig Agar gestured at the cadre of warriors with him. “We stan’ hee-uhh. Die foh yew. Go. We figh’ again one day. Do not fay-uhh, Willcobb.”

  Do not fail indeed. He got the distinct impression that failure would mean death for them all.

  Cicero led the way briskly toward the randomly strewn boulders littering the hillside on the other side of the bowl-shaped vale. Or maybe not so random. As they drew practically within touching distance of the stones, Will spotted a narrow vertical opening behind an overlapping formation of boulders. It was tall enough to admit him, but barely wide enough to squeeze through.

  Sha’Li moved aggressively toward the opening. “Finish this thing now, shall we? Yes?”

  Will grabbed her to hold her back. If she went, Rosana would expect to go, and there was no way he was letting her die tonight. “No. Not you, Sha’Li. I would not risk all of our lives.”

  The lizardman girl hissed and yanked her arm free with shocking ease. He was so weakened he could barely stand. How on Urth did he expect to face whatever threats awaited them within that dark opening?

  “Keep all treasure for yourself, you would?” Sha’Li demanded. “I think not.”

  He huffed. “The only treasure we seek this night is the Sleeping King. No matter what we find inside, he must be our only goal.”

  The lizardman girl replied grudgingly, “Fine. No looting. Go now, we shall. Yes? Before comes Anton.”

  “Don’t talk to me about hurrying. You’re not dying of
slow poisoning,” Will grumbled back.

  Sha’Li’s simmering anger evaporated into a toothy grin. Why she found that funny he could not fathom. Cold humor to match her cold skin, he supposed.

  They paused at the bottom of the slope and Cicero asked the orcs in general, “Does the passage stay this narrow all the way to its final destination?”

  Ki’Rig Agar shrugged and looked around at the other warriors, who also shrugged. Thar’Ok was brought forward to help.

  Will was first to speak. “Do you know how the king is protected?”

  Thar’Ok spoke carefully, enunciating each syllable clearly. “Yonder is the Bloodthorn tree of Gir’Ok. Our greatest warriors are interred beneath such trees so their blood may nourish and strengthen the Bloodthorn. We give trees power. They give us powerful weapons.” He pointed at a reddish wooden club being wielded by one of the biggest warriors close by.

  Will hissed at that and eyed the mighty Bloodthorn tree towering overhead. “Is this his tree?”

  The Boki laughed at that. Balthazar was the one to answer, “This is a tiny sapling in comparison to Bloodroot’s tree, apparently. No, this is Gir’Ok’s tree. He is the greatest Boki thorn of them all, a contemporary of ancient kings, and many of his descendants are interred here with him.”

  “Ancient kings?” Raina piped up. “The ancient king we seek?”

  The thanes around them hesitated, and then nodded their heads reluctantly in the affirmative.

  Thar’Ok was speaking slowly again. “… end of this passage is the burial chamber of great thanes and thorns of the Boki.”

  Will blurted, “Surely it is not that simple. We merely go into this burial chamber and find the king?”

  Balthazar asked the question and the Boki broke out in rumbles of orc laughter. Will would take that as a no, it was not that simple. He demanded, “What else can they tell us of what we will face?”

  “Nothing,” Balthazar answered soberly. “The whole point of the thing is for you to prove yourselves worthy. If you fail, you were not meant to wake the king.”

  Will was certain he knew the answer, but he asked Balthazar anyway, “And what happens to us if we fail?”

  “You die.”

  As I thought. “I go in alone,” Will announced.

  His companions actually laughed at him.

  “I am serious.”

  “So are we!” Rosana snapped.

  Cicero commented, “We have come this far together. I say we finish this thing together.”

  A chorus of agreements greeted that statement.

  Eben spoke soberly as Will fumed. “Sir Leland spoke to every soothsayer he could find in the past few months. They all spoke similar prophecies. A person with no name, with no home, would do something important. Something to do with an ancient king.” He looked around the party significantly, then continued, “Who here, for one reason or another, has no name and no home?”

  “Me,” Raina replied promptly.

  “Me,” Rosana added.

  “Me,” Sha’Li answered a little reluctantly.

  “Me,” Cicero added quietly.

  Eben turned to stare at Will. “And me. We all meet the requirements of the soothsayers. I say we go in together.”

  Cicero murmured, “At least one of us must live to reach the king. Are we agreed that no matter who it is, we will not give up until one of us finds him?”

  Will gulped. Cicero was suggesting that they each be willing to die. He said low, “If anyone needs to resurrect, go to Rosana or Balthazar. The Heartstones in Tallyn are probably being watched.”

  The others nodded grimly as the kindari set out a quick marching order. “Me first. Eben next. Then Will, Raina, Rosana, and Sha’Li.” Cicero looked around at all of them. “Ready?”

  Will nodded along with the others.

  “Let’s go, then.”

  The dark maw of the Boki tomb loomed ahead, swallowing Will’s companions one by one. He caught the admiring, even wistful, gaze of Ki’Rig Agar upon him. This was madness. Pure madness. They were all going to die. The certainty was bitter in his mouth.

  None of the hearth tales he’d heard ever spoke of the story’s hero thinking his adventures were suicidal folly and that his companions had lost their minds to continue on with him. Had his father ever felt like this? Or had he been so lost in the imagined glory of finding the king and freeing the colonies that he’d never seen the grim reality of failing and dying? Maybe at the end … with his wife about to die and his son fleeing for his life … no, probably not even then, knowing Ty.

  And so it was, with the taste of death on his tongue and a curse in his heart for his father, that Will entered the narrow tunnel.

  He heard the others shuffling ahead of him, feeling their way in the dark. He reached out to touch the wall of the cave, a distance of only a few inches, and recoiled at the cold, seeping slime thick upon the wall. Stars, how he hated being underground like this, half-smothered by the weight of Urth pressing down upon him.

  His gut clenched in a sharp cramp. Whether it was the life-draining effect of Bloodroot within him or merely fearful anticipation of what lay ahead he could not tell.

  “It glows ahead and appears to widen somewhat,” Cicero whispered.

  Will relayed the information to the others behind him. The passageway did indeed widen enough to accommodate the width of his shoulders, and he was relieved to turn and walk normally instead of shuffling along sideways. But roots still hung in his face, caressing him uncomfortably as he passed. He used his staff to push them aside. He thought he saw a tree root shift, serpent-like overhead, but he was forced to look away by the clods of dirt that rained down on him of a sudden.

  Dregs. It was as if the hill itself were alive and attempting to repel them from its depths. Cicero cursed ahead of him and Sha’Li echoed the sentiment from behind. They sounded as jumpy as he. If only the Boki had told them more of what would face them in here.

  He noticed the faintest glow at the edges of his vision. He squinted in the inky dark. It seemed as if the glow came from ahead of him, somewhere down the tunnel. Eben stopped in front of him abruptly and Will nearly plowed into the jann, so focused was he on the glow.

  Eben half-turned and whispered in Will’s ear, “Cicero says there’s a wide spot. We’re to follow him close and pass through fast.”

  Will dutifully passed the message along to those behind him. When they’d clustered up tight, all hanging onto one another’s tabards, Cicero rushed forward, charging the wide spot in the tunnel. Will burst out into the larger space, his sword in his right hand.

  Nothing moved immediately, but he did notice that the walls seemed to be covered in some sort of bumpy, faintly glowing substance. The light it gave off was dim, but adequate to see by as his eyes adjusted to it. Mushrooms. Growing so thickly that the stone walls of the tunnel completely disappeared beneath the glowing fungus. They encroached upon the margins of the floor where dampness seeped off the wall, standing thigh high.

  Perhaps they could pick one and use it as a makeshift torch. Will reached for the nearest small one, about knee high.

  From behind him Sha’Li hissed a warning sound and said, “Touch not the fungus.”

  Too late. He’d grasped the stem and given it a good tug. The mushroom came loose easily in his hands, but as he lifted it a poof of foul-smelling dust puffed out of it and into his face. A green light flickered briefly across his skin, repelling the dust and then blinking out of existence as he dropped the mushroom and staggered back.

  “What was that?”

  Cicero, whom he’d brushed past to pick the mushroom and who was standing directly behind him whipped out his sword. “Get back!” the kindari cried out. “That dryad means to kill us!”

  Will frowned. What the—

  Other mushrooms commenced coughing out dirty gray powder into the air. He ducked and passed beyond the directed sprays as shouts erupted behind him. He turned around brandishing his staff to face chaos. The entire party wa
s shouting about various monsters … Raina was hollering about spider monkeys attacking her; Rosana was in a panic of some sort of magical hound attacking her. But all he saw were mushrooms, and they weren’t attacking anyone.

  Frowning, he stepped toward his companions with the intent to suggest that they had lost their minds. But something heavy banged into his back and he whirled, startled. A hanging root as thick as his arm had struck him solidly. Something whipped around his waist and he snatched at it. Another root, snaking around him and squeezing … hard. Something grabbed his ankle.

  “The roots are attacking!” he yelled as he hacked himself free with his dagger.

  But his companions were busy swinging wildly at thin air and seemed oblivious to the threat. He charged back toward the group, slicing at the attacking roots as he went. His own companions were perhaps the biggest threat as they yelled and ducked and swung their various weapons wildly.

  Cicero, cursing up a storm about green women, was shooting arrows at mushrooms as fast as he could draw and loose them. Each mushroom he hit collapsed in on itself with a loud, drawn-out screech of escaping air.

  A root wrapped around Rosana, pinning her arms to her sides, and Will commenced sawing at it above her head. His dagger finally sliced through the root, and the end of it fell away from Rosana to the floor, where it writhed like a dying snake. Will recoiled from its thrashing length, yanking Rosana back from it as well.

  She stared at him, unseeing, and took a swipe at him with her dagger. He leaped back, narrowly avoiding being gutted.

  “It’s me. Will!” he cried out.

  Her eyes did not indicate the slightest recognition of him as she ranted about not letting the magical hounds catch her. She was too far lost in her hallucination to know him. The next time she swung at him, he grabbed her wrist and gave it a hard enough twist to force her to drop her dagger. He scooped up the weapon and tucked it in his belt as he bodily dragged her to the end of the passage.

  “Stay here,” he ordered. “The hounds will not find you if you hide here and are absolutely still. Do you understand?”

  She nodded and crouched down in a feral pose.