The Sleeping King (36 page)

“Who are they?” she asked as she knelt between the two.

“My master and a gift for the governor.”

Her gaze narrowed. She'd heard about the governor's tastes. That he poisoned women to make them wildly in love with him and then did unspeakable things with them.

She frantically reviewed the incant for a life spell in her head. She could do this. Taking a deep breath, she began the process of clearing her mind and reaching into the ethos around her for spiritual energy.

“Hurry, girl! My master will have to resurrect soon.”

Irritated, she murmured the focusing incant, using its cadence and rhythm to shape the magic in her hand. She finished the incant and slapped her hand down upon the slave girl's chest, vigorously projecting the energy into her.

The slave girl lurched upright as she drew in a gasping breath. Wild-eyed, she glanced around as if waking from a nightmare. “Be easy,” Rosana murmured. “You live. I got to you in time.”

“Get on with it, girl! Heal my master!” the antsy rakasha cried behind her.

Taking her sweet time, Rosana started to draw another batch of magic but then stopped. “You know, this would work better if my target weren't clutching a metal object like that.” She pried the end of the leash out of the dead man's hand and passed it to the slave girl, who took it in shock, her eyes a mile wide. Rosana lifted her chin infinitesimally in encouragement.

“Go on, do it!” The rakasha was all but jumping up and down in panic.

Truthfully, Rosana did not believe she had the capacity to draw enough magic to herself for a second life spell. But she was not about to tell the agitated man with the big sword on his hip that.

Careful not to accidentally tap into her own spirit and making sure the cat-man's undivided attention stayed fully on her, Rosana did her theatric best reciting the incant, shaping all of the charge she was able to gather, and throwing it down into the rich man's chest.

Nothing happened. He was now beyond the aid of her magic. Only a resurrection would bring him back now. It was coldhearted of her, but she could not find it in her conscience to care overmuch that a slaver had died.

As a Heart member, she was obliged to do her best to save lives, but she was still a gypsy, too. Her kind had been pursued and bedeviled by slavers forever. And gypsies were not known for their forgiving ways. She pushed aside the frisson of regret that she had let down her Heart colors as she pushed to her feet and murmured an apology to the cat changeling who'd summoned her.

The rakasha guard was distraught that his master had not come back. He demanded to know where the Heartstone was and whirled to head for the Heart building, his long, tufted tail swirling behind him.

The drain of attempting a second life spell pulled at her. She had no more magic for this night and felt instinctive warning creeping into her consciousness that further casting would destroy a piece of her spirit. The physical exhaustion of being at the end of her magic pulled at her as well.

But she could still render basic first aid. She reached into her pouch for a rolled bandage and knelt beside a youth with a badly gashed arm. It looked like a sword had hacked it. As she wrapped the wound, a golden collar clattered to the cobblestones at the edge of the Heart building. The leash was still attached to it, but there was no sign of its wearer. Smiling a little to herself, Rosana tied off the bandage.

*   *   *

Will passed through tall double doors painted royal blue with four-pointed gold stars the size of his outspread arms upon them, a long comet's tail arcing away from each star. He stopped just inside the Mage's Guild.

A large, threatening man stood just inside in full chain-mail armor. The cloth tabard covering his mail shirt was the guild's royal blue with an embroidered gold dragon rampant upon it. He moved quickly to interpose himself between Will and Aurelius.

“I am Drake Bruin. Celestial Order of the Dragon. State your business, boy.”

Will's jaw dropped. The Celestial Order of the Dragon was the sect of warriors designated to protect and serve the Imperial Mage's Guild. Recognition of the colors and heraldry washed over him. Ty's blue and gold armor. Ki'Raiden demanding that the “dragon” show himself.
My father must have belonged to the Celestial Order of the Dragon
.

Aurelius had already hurried across the main room and his robes were just disappearing up the steps. Will was on his own.

The guard looked him up and down suspiciously and repeated more sharply, “State your business, boy.”

Will's jaw tightened against being called a boy. “I have a message for Guildmaster Aurelius, if you please.”

“What is the message?”

Will answered carefully, “I am charged with delivering my message to him alone and no one else.”

The guard took a long, suspicious look at Will's face, his frown deepening the longer he studied Will. Much as Anton Constantine's had. But eventually the knight replied gruffly, “Then you'd best see the guildmaster.”

Will took another step into the room and became aware of a sympathetic vibration in the air that resonated deep within his spirit. His kind of magic lived in this place.

He looked at the wall where the guardian was fiddling with an elaborate lock, maybe a palm's span across. Its brass surface was carved with swirls and curls. The fellow returned a similarly decorated key to a hook beside it. That must be a magical lock. And it raised and lowered the marvelous shell of protective magic around the building!

Will's hand rose toward the wondrous contraption, but the drake snapped, “Don't touch the wizard's lock!”

Will jerked his hand back.

“You may put your pack there on the floor. This way.”

Will dropped his pack by the door and followed the drake up two flights of stairs. He glimpsed books, mages conversing quietly among themselves, and even one hunched over a table, painstakingly copying a scroll. Ahh, how he'd love to become one of them. He'd been fascinated by tales of magic ever since he could remember. No wonder. It ran more deeply in his blood than he'd ever known. But none of the theory of magic, nor the history of it, nor the deeper study of it had been made available to him. The gall of his father's refusal to teach him soured his gut as he climbed two more flights of stairs.

He nearly bumped into Drake Bruin's back as the knight stopped abruptly in front of a closed door. The portal had a bright aura about it, distinctively yellow. His escort knocked upon the portal through the glow.

“Enter!” a resonant voice called from the other side of the door. The yellow glow blinked out.

The drake ushered Will inside. “This lad says he has a message, Guildmaster Aurelius. For your ears only.”

The sun elf looked up from his work, his amber gaze measuring Will narrowly. “You may go, Bruin.”

The drake frowned at the dismissal but left the room, closing the door with a disapproving thud.

Aurelius, who upon closer inspection was no youngster, leaned back in his chair and studied Will intently. “Have I met you before? You have a familiar look about you.”

“No, sir, we have never met.”

“And yet you know a rare and difficult skill, taught only to a knight of the Celestial Order of the Dragon. Where did you learn the Dragon's Roar, boy?”

“I don't know, sir. I just … did it.”

“Who are you? Where are you from?” Aurelius demanded.

“As I told the council, I come from Hickory Hollow.” He passed over the thorny question of his identity and plowed forward with delivering his father's message. “The hollow has been attacked by orcs, and everyone in the village has been killed except me. But there is more to the story, and it is this I was charged with relaying to you, sir.”

“Indeed? Then by all means, tell your tale.”

“Ki'Raiden, Sixth Thane of the Boki, led the attack. And he demanded that the yellow dragon show himself. He declared the villagers little more than sheep and of no interest to him.”

The elf's eyebrows shot straight up. In Will's experience with his mother, such an obvious display of surprise was rare. The guildmaster interrupted, demanding, “Do you know to whom this Boki referred?”

“I believe I do, sir.”

Aurelius stared at him a long time, myriad emotions flitting across his golden features. Finally, he asked, “How did you manage to survive and escape?”

“We—my parents and I—ran when the Boki came. My father had an emergency stash of weapons and armor in the woods. He and my mother stood and fought the Boki that I might flee. At my father's command, I came as fast as I could to deliver the message to you. Only you.” He hung his head. “I didn't know what to do when the governor's captain dragged me and Rosana before the council. I dared not lie.” He added, blurting defensively, “And I could not stand by and let them throw her into slavery. She spoke the truth!”

“Exactly how many orcs attacked your village?”

“Upward of two dozen, plus some ogres and goblins who were with them.”

The guildmaster asked carefully, “And who might your father be?”

“Ty the cobbler.”

“Of Hickory Hollow,” Aurelius finished dryly.

“Aye.”

“Dost know why he sent you to me?”

“He said I must continue the quest in his stead. That you would know more about it and could tell me how to proceed.”

The guildmaster flung himself backward in his chair, staring in open shock. Eventually, he muttered, “Did he now? He judged you ready, then?”

Not bloody likely.
Ty had never judged his only son ready to do much of anything. It had always been chores and more chores, always pushing, always demanding. But Will had never measured up to his father's ridiculous expectations. Of course, now he understood why his father's standards had been so unattainable. The man had been no cobbler at all. He'd been some sort of battle-mage knight for this man and his guild.
And the Empire
. The thought was bitter in his heart.

Will answered honestly, “I doubt he found me ready. It was simply that he had no choice in the matter. Ki'Raiden was coming for us, and he knew he was going to die.”

“Did you see your father's body?” Aurelius asked grimly.

“No. My mother struck me with a fear gas poison to make me run before they engaged the thane.”

Aurelius grinned, momentarily giving his features a surprisingly boyish cast. “That doth sound like Serica. Efficient woman.”

“You know my mother?” Will blurted.

Aurelius didn't bother to answer. Instead, he leaned back. “So your father sent you to me, did he? Did he tell you to ask me for training?”

“No, sir.”

That occasioned another smile from Aurelius, this one rather more wry, however. “Arrogant whoreson thought he taught you more than I could, did he?”

Will had never heard his humble father called arrogant before. It gave him pause. That last night, though, when his father had been snapping orders and toying with Boki warriors, Will supposed he'd seen a flash of a man who could be labeled arrogant. Or maybe just supremely confident.

“If you don't mind my asking, Guildmaster, who was my father to you?”

“He was my right-hand man. More than a friend. Like a son to me.” A pause as a distant look entered the elf's golden eyes. “Did he tell you that I adopted him?”

Will's jaw sagged. No speech came to him. This man was his adopted
grandfather
? His mind could not process the meaning of it.

Thankfully, Aurelius filled in the silence by explaining, “Solinari culture places great emphasis on family lineages. It is vital to bring honor to your family name and to pass that name on to your children. My career and … events in my past … have made it nigh impossible for me to have a family of mine own, however.”

Will frowned, not understanding.

“Females of my race able to bear offspring are exceedingly rare, for one thing,” Aurelius responded to his unspoken question. “For another, some years ago I drew out and absorbed the magics of the Hand of Winter to save my commanding general from being consumed by it. Some of Winter Lord's curse still resides within me. Ice magic and my gift for fire magics do not mix well.”

Who on Urth was the Hand of Winter? Hearth tales were told in Dupree of the Lord of the Harvest, who was a friendly fae lord with a pumpkin for a head. He visited the region each autumn to ensure a bountiful harvest. Was a winter lord similar, somehow?

Aurelius continued, “I have been close to the De'Vir family for centuries. When young Tiberius came along, so extraordinarily talented, I suppose it was natural that I should form a particular affection for him. I took over his training personally, and I confess I pushed him mercilessly.”

Will snorted. That must be where his father learned how to be such a hard taskmaster.

Aurelius's voice became almost hushed. “For my people, the highest expression of our race is to achieve everything of which one is capable. Only then can one's name be etched upon the Naming Stones at the top of Mount Sohlaya.”

Will recalled his mother speaking of this mountain once. It was in the Sunset Isles and was the heart of the solinari culture. A circle of standing stones crowned the mountain, one for each great solinari clan. And great heroes within the clans, upon their final death, got their names carved on the stones. As a child, he'd thought it sounded like an awful lot of work just to get one's name on a rock. But standing before a solinari now, seeing the longing in his golden gaze when he spoke of being remembered forever, Will understood a little better.

Aurelius continued, “Over the years, your father and I became a fighting team, he the warrior-mage and me the straight combat-magic caster. Tiberius was implacable. Invincible. A force of nature upon the field of battle. If a fight was unwinnable, he was the one person who could see a way through to victory, no matter how improbable the odds. He was instrumental in turning the tide of the Boki insurrection.”