The Warden and the Wolf King

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The Warden and the Wolf King Page 46

by Andrew Peterson


  The dark of the heart is a darkness deep

  And the sweep of the night is wide

  And the pain of the heart when the people weep

  Is an overwhelming tide—

  And yet! and yet! when the tide runs low

  As the tide will always do

  And the heavy sky where the bellows blow

  Is bright at last, and blue

  And the sun ascends in the quiet morn

  And the sorrow sinks away,

  When the veil of death and dark is torn

  Asunder by the day,

  Then the light of love is the flame of spring

  And the flow of the river strong

  And the hope of the heart as the people sing

  Is an everlasting song.

  The winter is whispering, “green and gold,”

  And the heart is whispering, too—

  It’s a story the Maker has always told

  And the story, my child, is true.

  —Armulyn, Royal Bard of the Shining Isle

  Epilogue

  At dawn the next morning, Kalmar lit a torch in the castle cellar and cleared his throat.

  “What are you doing?” Nia asked. She sat up and rubbed her eyes—eyes that were still red with sleep and weeping.

  The sound of her voice woke Leeli and Sara, and they all squinted at Kalmar, who smiled at them with a look of mischief in his eyes. He was dressed in his Durgan cloak and had strapped Rudric’s blade to his hip.

  “It’s time to go,” Kalmar said. “Everybody up.”

  Artham peeked his head through the opening at the top of the stairs. “The sooner the better,” Artham said. “Are they coming?”

  “Yeah, they’re awake and grumpy,” Kalmar called up to him.

  “What’s going on?” Leeli asked with a yawn.

  Kalmar helped her to her feet and handed her the crutch. “We’re going on an adventure.”

  Nia, Leeli, and Sara were greatly confused as they climbed out of the cellar and into the cool morning. Hulwen the sea dragon was there, along with two other dragons. One of the dragons slumped under the weight of a very chubby man in spectacles.

  “Oskar?” Leeli asked.

  “In the words of Skeglin the Questionable, ‘I’ll organize the Great Library when I return.’” Oskar wiggled his haunches to keep his balance on the dragon’s back. “I’m exceedingly happy to be in your company again, Wingfeathers.”

  Nia was the first to notice that Janner’s body was no longer on the bier in the courtyard, but was wrapped in cloths and strapped to the green dragon’s back.

  “Kalmar, what are you doing?” Nia asked.

  “Uncle Artham and I were talking,” Kalmar said, “and we realized that there’s this well, deep in the Blackwood—a well that’s been lost for years and years.”

  Nia looked slowly from Kalmar to Janner’s body and back again.

  “And I know where it is,” Kalmar said.

  Leeli squealed, then scrambled onto Hulwen and hugged the dragon’s neck. “Sara, sit with me!”

  “Wait—what? On adragon?” Sara was fully awake now. “Where are we going?”

  “They say the water does amazing things,” Artham said as he lifted Sara and situated her behind Leeli. “They say it heals—and maybe even more. I’ve wanted to taste it for a long time.”

  “It’s worth a try,” Kalmar said. “Either way, it’s going to make a great story.” Kalmar mounted the other dragon and held out his hand to his mother. “Are you coming?”

  Acknowledgments

  My undying gratitude goes to Pete Peterson, editor and confidant. It’s no coincidence that brotherly love is a central theme in this story. Thanks also to my editor Jessica Barnes for her cheerleading and drill-sergeanting. My love and gratitude to Jamie (stronger and lovelier than Nia herself) and to Aedan, Asher, and Skye (my precious jewels), for caring more about this story and your father than I would have dreamed possible. Joe Sutphin perfectly captured the spirit of this book with his illustrations—not only that, he shaped a few of the characters and some parts of the story just because his drawings were so very cool. He’s a kind soul and a consummate professional. Thanks to Justin Gerard for the map which now hangs over my mantel, and to Brannon McAllister for your excellent and tasteful design work. Thanks to Brian Rowley for making me the perfect pipe for spinning tales, and to the Rabbit Room community for reminding me what is true. Finally, I owe my undying thanks to the few thousand patrons who trusted me to follow through. Your enthusiasm for these books was an assuring voice and the perfect motivation when the task seemed too great.

  Joe Sutphin would like to thank:

  Gina, for your strength, faith, love and patience.

  Tony, for being the finest mentor I could have ever imagined.

  Andrew, for taking a chance on me.

 

 

 


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