Deborah Hale (32 page)

As summer ripened the wild beauty of the northlands, their comradeship had ripened into desire more potent and frightening than any feeling he’d ever known. The harder they had tried to resist it, the hotter and sweeter the flame had burned, until finally it had consumed them.

Hard as she tried, Maura could not remain aloof from the feelings that charged those memories. For she, too, had once burned with forbidden desire.

By the time the captor and prisoner had reached a more settled part of the country, they were both captives of their newfound passion—or so he’d thought. When she fled from him one summer night, the love he’d felt for her became a measure of his bitter betrayal. Certain she had willfully seduced him so she could escape, he had taken out his rage against Dareth on her people, especially those who wished to destroy his.

The next flood of memories left Maura shaken and revolted. She might have deserted him there, had she not sensed that every act of violence and torture he committed had rebounded to warp him in painful ways. Ambition, though a constant mistress, had also been a greedy and demanding one.

As his memories grew more recent, Maura saw his fellow Echtroi respond with derision to reports that some young woman in an obscure part of the country might pose a threat to their power. He alone had paid heed, for he remembered stories he’d once been told of the Destined Queen. And he knew
the havoc one young woman had wreaked upon his life and his heart. His power grew as it became clear he’d been right to take the threat seriously. Yet the pressure upon him increased when Maura eluded his grasp and her threat to the Han continued to grow.

Then, at the summit of his power, he’d seen what he thought was a vision of Dareth Woodbury. His long-denied love and his long-buried doubts had risen to haunt him with the fear that he might be losing his mind. A lifetime of questioning and inner conflict had crystallized under the pressure of battle when he’d seen Maura and heard her call him father. When a fellow death-mage had turned his wand upon her, he had to intervene—even knowing what it might cost him.

After all she’d learned about her father, Maura had hoped it would help her make sense of her perplexing feelings for him. But it had only left her more confused.

“From here,” she said, “you must continue alone. I have to go back.”

A familiar, beloved voice replied, “Perhaps I can conduct him the rest of the way.”

“Langbard!” Maura could not feel his arms physically about her, but comforting, cherished emotions embraced her. “I have missed you so!”

“And I you, dearest girl. It is one of the few clouds that shadows our contentment here—longing for those we have loved and left behind.”

“There’s so much I want to tell you.” She clung to him even though she could feel him already slipping beyond her reach. “So much wise counsel I need from you.”

“It is there within you, Maura. What could I tell you in a few moments that I did not show you during all the years we shared?”

Her old impatience with his riddling advice flickered once more. “You might tell me how to get the Staff of Velorken from its hiding place, for a start!”

Langbard chuckled. “But that would be a long story, I fear, and an old one. I have faith you will find the answer. Farewell, dearest child.”

Her heart ached with an echo of the old bereft feelings that had overwhelmed her at the time of his passing.

“Now—” Langbard prompted his sworn foe in a tone of gentle impatience “—is there not something you wish to say before we take our leave?”

In the hesitation that followed, Maura sensed a fierce struggle, followed by a difficult but welcome surrender. “Farewell, dearest child.”

Before she could reply, Maura felt herself slipping away from them. The last thing she heard—or perhaps she only imagined it—was Langbard’s murmur, “Come along. There is someone waiting who is anxious to meet you again.”

When she opened her eyes to find her wandering spirit returned to her body, night had wrapped around the tiny glade. Somehow, it softened the stark outline of the death-mage’s robes, making him look less monstrous and more human.

Her obligation dispensed, if not her confusion, she rose to head for Aldwood Castle. She only got a few steps, when a bewildering compulsion overcame her. She turned back and pressed her lips to the death-mage’s brow. “Farewell, Father.”

When she rose to depart again, an elusive feeling of peace and renewed confidence stole over her.

As Rath led his horse through the trees toward Aldwood Castle, he could sense the contradictory mood of his army by the murmur of voices around him.

Some sounded jubilant—delighted and relieved to have reached the shelter of the forest and trusting in the Waiting King to bring them victory tomorrow.

Others were beginning to doubt.

For the first time since the Waiting King had landed at Duskport, his army had faced a true challenge. And they had been
forced to flee in retreat. Friends and comrades had fallen in battle and all the magic of the Waiting King had not been able to prevent it. What awesome powers did he possess anyway, and when was he going to summon them to defeat the Han once and for all?

Their king could not help feeling greater respect and sympathy for the doubters.

“Rath!” Maura dived out of the crowd, almost bowling him over with the force of her greeting. “Thank the Giver you’re all right!”

“And you,
aira.
” He wrapped one arm around her shoulders. “After I left you, I worried you were too near the edge of the wood. You weren’t bothered, were you?”

She shook her head. “Not in the way you mean.”

“Did Anulf bring Newlyn to you?”

“Aye. I’m glad he found me. I dosed Newlyn well with summerslip and rebound his open wounds with a poultice.” She glanced around at the men making their way toward the castle, their paths through the trees lit by a few torches and lanterns. “He should be all right.”

Perhaps he would. Provided the Han did not overrun Aldwood tomorrow and cart him back to the mines he’d escaped once but could never hope to a second time.

Loud cheers rang out behind them, driving that woeful thought from Rath’s mind. A crowd of faster-moving rebels surged forward, pushing aside everyone in their path. As they swept by, Rath saw a large figure in their midst, waving to acknowledge their cheers.

“All hail King Elzaban!”

“The Waiting King kept the Han from catching us!”

“He’ll give them a taste of battle tomorrow!”

Hundreds of similar cries swelled into one loud, exultant chorus.

Maura glanced at Rath with a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. “Do you grudge Delyon getting the glory that is rightfully yours?”

He shook his head and meant it. Delyon deserved their cheers. The young scholar had done well to fill a difficult role never intended for him. Rath only wished
he
could have been an ordinary foot soldier—ready to take his part and follow orders, but not carry responsibility for the victory or defeat of their whole cause.

Ahead of them, Aldwood Castle loomed among the trees. Warm light spilled from its narrow windows and arrow slots. Its ancient stones echoing with the ring of more voices than had been heard within its walls for centuries. The crowd surrounding King Elzaban had disappeared through the front gate, taking its joyous din with it. Now the woodland beyond the castle walls seemed almost quiet, though many rebel warriors still moved beneath the trees and through the underbrush.

Maura glanced toward the night sky where a swath of stars twinkled through a gap in the foliage. “Praise the Giver night fell when it did, otherwise…”

Her words collided in Rath’s mind with his recent glimpse of Delyon.

“Slag!” He slammed the horse’s reins into her hand. “Find a place for him, will you? There’s something I must do!”

He raced toward the castle, dodging men, pushing them out of the way. “Pardon! Let me by. Urgent matter for the king!”

He reached a large courtyard thronged with rebels. Their noise was nearly deafening as it echoed off the stone walls. At least it still sounded of good cheer—that was a blessing. If he could reach Delyon in time and drag him out of sight before the growth potion wore off…

Fie! Rath had waded through waist-deep snow with greater speed than he was able to make through this crowd. With each passing moment he grew more desperate and less restrained. He gouged with his elbows, trod on feet, growled blood-chilling threats—anything to bring him within reach of Delyon. He was almost there when the tenor of the crowd changed. Suddenly a hollow hush fell, followed by an ominous buzz.

As the men in front of Rath turned to whisper the news to those behind them, he was able to slip through. At last he reached Delyon, throwing himself in front of the young man in a vain effort to shield him from the horrified stares of the other rebels.

Within the massive armor of the Waiting King, Delyon had shrunk until it looked as if he might melt away altogether. A moment later, Idrygon strode through a nearby doorway.

“What is all this?” he cried, glaring at Rath and his brother.

Delyon pulled off his oversize helmet.

“Say,” cried a man standing near, pointing at Delyon, “that fellow’s never the Waiting King!” His accusing finger jabbed in Rath’s direction. “He is…leastways he
was.
”

At that moment, Rath would have given anything to be able to deny the charge.

“H
ow could you jeopardize everything we have worked and fought for with a daft prank like this?” In a small inner chamber of Aldwood Castle, Idrygon glared at his brother and Rath. He’d hustled them there after Delyon’s disguise had been exposed.

“It was no prank!” Rath stepped between the two brothers to bear the brunt of Idrygon’s reproach. This had been his idea and Delyon a barely willing accomplice. “It was done to
preserve
what we have worked and fought for. You would not listen to reason, which left me no choice but to act in stealth. If I’d known the Han would come so close to catching us on the march to Aldwood, I might have done differently.”

He considered for an instant. “On second thought, I would not. If Vang and his men had not come to our aid as they did, our cause would now lay dying out on the heath!”

“We are in a sorry pass if we need to call on allies of that sort.” Idrygon shot a withering glance at Vang, who stood in the corner scowling at all of them.

Was the bandit chief having second thoughts about throwing his support to a doomed cause?

“Watch who you insult, fancy boy,” he snarled. “You are a guest in my stronghold. And no more welcome than a musk-pig. Keep lipping off like that and I’ll make the Han a present of your fine head.”

“Try me, ox.” Idrygon slid his blade a few inches out of its sheath. “When I’m done carving you up, you’ll only be good for feeding our enemy’s hounds. And even they might turn up their snouts at such foul meat.”

Vang whipped out a long knife with extra blades bristling from the wrist guard. “We’ll see which of us gets made into dog meat, islander!”

Rath feared it might be him, as he leaped between the two men. “Enough, you fools! Would you do the work of the Han for them? Bad as things may look now, they will only get worse if we lose either of you—or both.”

Was this what it would mean to be king? he wondered. Spending all his time trying to keep hostile factions from each other’s throats? Trying to forge a united kingdom from a handful of insular regions whose folk neither respected nor trusted one another—only to end up being resented by them all? It was not the way he wanted to spend his life.

But what other choice was there? Steal away and leave the Han to continue their brutal occupation? They would tighten their hold even worse in the wake of this uprising.

“Vang—” he pushed the bandit chief back toward the corner “—your choice to support the rebellion may have meant the difference between success and slaughter. I will not forget what I owe you and your men.”

Though he shot Idrygon a menacing scowl over Rath’s shoulder, Vang did back off. “
You
will not forget? Is this daft talk true, then? Have you been playing the king all this time?”

“Not playing.” If only that’s all it were. Suddenly Rath felt so tired he could sleep for a month. “By some ancient enchantment even I do not understand, I
am
the Waiting King.”

He gestured toward Maura who stood quiet and thoughtful
in the opposite corner of the room. “And this is the Destined Queen who woke me. Together, I still believe we can liberate the kingdom as the old stories foretold—but we cannot do it alone. We have been blessed in our allies. Without Idrygon’s foresight and planning, the rebellion would never have reached this point of open battle for our freedom. Without Vang’s intervention at a key moment, all the effort that went before would have come to nothing.”

Maura strode from her place in the corner to stand beside him. “Without Rath’s leadership, the people of Umbria would never have risen to fight for their freedom. And without his persuasion, we would only have gained the refuge of the forest at a cost in blood we could ill afford. He needs your help now as much as he did on the battlefield. Will you come to his aid or will you betray him?”

“Treachery is not my way,” growled Vang, who looked like an overgrown, disfigured child being unfairly scolded. “Any enemy of mine will know I am his enemy and expect no mercy. My sworn ally can count on my loyalty come what may.” He thrust out his chin, directing a challenging look at Idrygon. “Can you make such a boast, my fine islander?”

“Do you question the honor of the House of Idrygon, filthy outlaw?”

“He does not!” cried Rath. “And neither should you question his. If I hear one more word of an insult from either of you, I will knock your heads together until your thick skulls soften enough to heed reason! Now, let us all put our minds to the problem before us.”

“I hear men are deserting us in droves,” said Idrygon, as if Rath’s threat could not possibly apply to him. “They have seen the massed might of the Han and they have lost faith in the Waiting King. They are slipping off through the woods, looking for unguarded spots from which to make their way back home.”

He gave Maura a look of grave mistrust. “Unless you have
taken possession of the talisman, we will be overrun whenever the Han choose to attack.”

“The staff, you mean.” Vang made a show of sheathing his knife.

“How does this scound—?” A warning glare from Rath tempered Idrygon’s tone. “How does he know about the staff?”

Instead of trading more insults, Vang replied with a mysterious, insolent chuckle that left Idrygon sputtering with fury.

Suddenly, Maura surged up on her toes and whispered in Rath’s ear. He listened, torn between a desperate need to hope and a fear of hoping too much.

When she finished speaking, Rath nodded, then glanced at Delyon, clad in an assortment of borrowed garments. “Go with her. If anyone can help her now, it is you.”

“What was that about?” demanded Idrygon when his brother and Maura had departed.

“An answer to your question, of sorts,” said Rath. “The staff is here, but protected by powerful enchantment. Maura will need all the time we can buy her, and even that may not be enough. We must prepare to repel an attack on Aldwood if necessary and hold out for as long as possible.”

He turned to Vang. “Is there a high point in the castle where I might be seen and heard by the greatest number of my men?”

Vang thought for a moment. “The north tower has a balcony that looks out over the great courtyard.”

“Good. Take me there.”

“Not good.” Vang shook his head. “Parts of that tower are ready to tumble down any moment. I’ve had more sense than ever to go up there.”

Rath shrugged. “I am not asking
you
to go. And if that tower falls with me in it, you and Idrygon may battle one another to the death, with my blessing.”

Vang looked as if he might relish that prospect. “It is your neck, Wolf. Never say I did not warn you. If you are fool enough
to climb up that tottering pile of stones, I will show you where to find it.”

“Lead on.” Rath plucked a flaming brand from one of the wall sconces.

“What do you mean to do?” Idrygon did not appear disposed to approve whatever it might be.

But Rath was done with asking Idrygon’s permission. If he was going to be king, it was long past time he started acting like one. “Something I should have done a while ago. If I had, we might not be in this pass now.”

Before Idrygon could argue him out of his plan, Rath set off after the bandit chief.

By the time they jostled their way through the crowd to the base of the north tower, he had managed to seize a second torch. He wished he could get his hands on that potion of Dame Diotta’s to make his voice carry, but there was no time to search the supply wagons now. He would just have to hope the tower’s height and perhaps a little aid from the Giver might help his words reach the ears of as many rebels as possible.

Vang unbarred the door. “Watch yourself on those steps, and on that balcony. I wouldn’t trust my weight on either, and it’s a long way down.”

Keeping Vang’s warning in mind, Rath picked his way up the steep spiral stairs that wound their way up the inner wall of the tower. It would have been an easier climb if he were not toting a flaming torch in each hand, but there was no help for it. Once he reached the top, he needed to be seen by the men below.

Halfway up, part of the stair crumbled under his weight and he nearly lost his balance. Somehow, he managed to recover it without dropping either of the torches. The rest of the way up, he climbed even more slowly, testing each step with his foot before committing his full weight to it.

At last he reached the top of the tower. Part of the narrow balcony had crumbled away and the rest looked as if it would not be long to follow. There was a small blessing though—or
rather two. On either side of the archway that opened onto the balcony were stone brackets in which Rath secured his torches.

Then he looked down into the courtyard below. A few faces were turned upward, their gazes drawn by the lights, no doubt. Most were paying him no heed, but talking among themselves in a steady rumble his voice alone could not hope to penetrate.

“Comrades!” he cried. The noise below did not lessen and no more faces turned toward him. In fact, some that had been now turned away.

Rath muttered a curse, then pulled his lips taut between his outstretched fingers and blew a long, loud, piercing whistle. A heavy hush fell over the crowd below. Rath sensed suspicion and hostility in that silence.

One voice rang out through the shadows. “Who’s up there?”

While Rath searched for the right reply, someone else answered in a challenging tone, “Him what’s been playing king all these weeks.”

“The Waiting King!” shouted someone else. “Naught but sorcerers’ tricks, that. He played us for fools and led us into a death trap!”

A grumble of agreement rippled through the crowd.

“Quit yammering!” ordered someone in a tone of harsh authority that sounded like Vang Spear of Heaven. “Let the fellow answer for himself.”

Before he lost another opportunity, Rath sent a silent plea for inspiration winging to the Giver and began to speak.

“Comrades, I swear to you, I
am
the Waiting King, though there have been times I’ve doubted it as much as you do now.”

Like a subtle shift in the wind, he felt the mood of the crowd alter, becoming a trifle more receptive. Suddenly, words welled up inside him and he knew he must seize his chance.

“I am not some drowsing king of old who knows nothing of your lives and troubles. I have delved in the mines. I have sweated and trembled for a sniff of slag. I have done a good many shameful things to keep myself alive. But I have also
discovered the hero buried inside that outlaw. I believe there are sleeping heroes inside each one of you, no matter how you have lived before. The time has come to wake those heroes!”

A few shouts of agreement greeted his words. Rath thought he recognized the voices of Anulf and Odger among them.

“When dawn comes and the enemy attacks, will you stand and fight?” he challenged them. “Will you be heroes?”

A great surge of cheers and whistles burst on the night air.

Then, like an echo, a wave of noise answered from beyond the forest—the harsh jangle of metal blades beating against metal shields.

Delyon stared in horror at the metal axes, picks and saws rusting on the floor of the huge underground chamber in the skeletal grasp of long-dead hands. “It seems we are not the first who have tried to claim the staff. A dangerous business.”

“So it is, gone about the wrong way.” Maura hoped her guess was right. She did not want to end up as another pile of bones on this floor warning off future searchers.

Would another Destined Queen come here someday if she failed? Maura pushed the thought from her mind. She must not fail! Not after all she had gone through to reach this night and this place.

“When I was a child, Langbard told me all kinds of stories about Lord Velorken.” She ran her hand over the rough, unmarked bark of the nearest tree-trunk pillar. “I recall one where Velorken was trapped in an enchanted forest. The harder he tried to cut down the trees that surrounded him, the denser they grew until his ax blunted.”

“And he became weaker with each stroke.” Delyon began to walk between the great pillars, taking care to avoid the piles of bones. “My grandmother told that old story to Idrygon and me when we were boys.”

“Do you reckon it holds a clue to help us claim the staff?” asked Maura.

Delyon gave a slow nod. “It is as likely as anything. But I forget how Velorken escaped that forest prison.”

Maura searched her memory. “Did he not climb the tallest tree, then crawl from branch to branch until he reached the edge of the wood?”

“That’s right.” Delyon’s gaze traveled up the pillar beside him. “Idrygon always hated that story because force did not solve Velorken’s problem.”

Maura could believe that.

“But what are you suggesting?” Delyon shook his head. “That we climb one of these pillars? For all they look like tree trunks, they have no branches to provide hand-or footholds. And even if we climbed them to the top, it would only take us to the ceiling.”

“True.” Maura pulled off her walking boots and stockings. “But while you are thinking of a better plan, I mean to give this a try. We have nothing to lose. Come, give me a boost.”

“Perhaps there is some incantation?” Delyon suggested as he came and stood behind her.

Maura kilted up her gown around her knees. “If you can think of one that might work, by all means start chanting.”

In her own mind, a simple litany ran over and over—
Please, Giver, I need your help. Only show me what to do and I will do it.

Delyon grasped her around the waist and lifted. Maura scrambled desperately for a hand or toehold in the rough bark, but found none. Perhaps Delyon was right—this was a daft idea.

“It will take you forever to reach the top at this rate.” Delyon sounded breathless. “You’re heavier than you look, lass. Can I let you down?”

“Aye.” Maura tried not to think about all the rebels who might be buying her time to search for the staff at the price of their lives.

Delyon let go of her…but she did not sink back to the floor.

The tree bark that had blunted saws and axes somehow gave way to the gentle pressure of her fingers and toes, permitting her a fragile hold.