The Sleeping King (66 page)

Might?
Will stared at the arch-mage.
Might?
He could be stuck with this tree spirit forever? Although the way Will felt now, forever might not be more than a few days away. The crowd of orcs parted and several heavily scarred, older Boki approached the party, still arguing.

Thar'Ok threw up his hands in obvious disgust. He stomped over to Will and grunted, “Hoo-man. No wuh-thee. Give Bloodroot ovuh.”

“Not worthy?” he repeated. Balthazar nodded behind Thar'Ok.

“I did not choose Bloodroot. He chose me,” Will stated slowly and clearly.

“No wuh-thee. Know too much. Kill hoo-man.”

Something broke within Will. A dam of rage he'd been holding back ever since that night in Hickory Hollow. Ever since Adrick collapsed, dead, with a Boki spear through his belly. Ever since he watched Lars gutted like a sheep. Ever since he realized his parents had sacrificed their lives for him. The rage surged up in him like a tidal wave, swelling until he could barely contain it.

The mob pressed in on them from all sides, brandishing mostly wicked-looking clubs, but a few axes and pikes glinted among them. Sha'Li hissed behind him, and a rock flew out of the crowd, striking the lizardman girl in the side of the head. She cried out in pain.

Will's rage spilled over. His entire being went white-hot with it and red rimmed the edges of his vision. He shoved forward between Eben and Cicero, batting them aside like flies. He raised his right hand high beside his ear and let go of his rage, hurling a massive ball of magic into the pile of logs burning at Scar Arm's feet.

The bonfire exploded. Literally. Blazing logs went flying every which way. Glowing embers made a stunning fireworks display overhead before they began raining down upon everyone around them. Hoarse screams erupted from the Boki as they scattered in all directions, dodging the burning missiles. Where there had been a bonfire moments before now there was only a shallow, ash-lined depression in the ground.

Darkness fell upon the clearing as the debris finished raining down. A few logs still burned here and there upon the ground, but no other light illuminated the shocked faces of the Boki. Still, it was enough to see them all staring at him, stunned.

“I'm the one who was chosen to wake the cursed king!” he snarled from between gritted teeth. “Chosen by my father, and chosen by Bloodroot himself.”

The vignette was still for a moment more, and then Scar Arms called out several commands in orcish. The Boki leaped into action. Some went to fetch torches, others quickly laid a new bonfire and got to work lighting it, but the majority stamped out the small fires burning across the clearing and checked the roofs of the huts for smoldering embers.

Eventually, the bonfire was restored, the camp made safe, and the Boki reassembled around Will and the others. But this time the guard from before stood well back and showed no inclination to lay a hand on him. Will stood at the front of the group, and all eyes were upon him now.

Thar'Ok was the first to speak. “Who be thee, hoo-man?”

“I am Will Cobb. I hail from the Wylde Wood, and I have been brought here by my companions and by Lord Bloodroot to wake the Sleeping King.”

His announcement was met with deep silence. It occurred to him that they had not laughed at his words. In fact, they seemed to take his announcement entirely seriously. Almost as if this sleeping-king legend was real, after all.

“Why Boki buh-leef thee?” Thar'Ok challenged.

Why indeed?
Will didn't believe it himself. He was just a boy who'd had a crazy father and been in the wrong place at the wrong time. The whole string of events that had brought Will to this place at this moment could add up to either colossal bad luck or the hand of fate. The Boki could take their pick. He didn't much care which it was.

He shrugged. “I am here, am I not? Believe me, it was no easy feat to stay alive and get here. Were I not bound by my quest, I would never be mad enough to walk into your camp and hand myself over to you. “

“Hoo-man stoo-pid come hee-uhh.”

He had to smile sardonically at that. “I agree.”

“Where hoo-man get?” Scar Arms demanded, his club raised in one hand, his other stubby green finger pointing at Will's chest. Will registered vaguely that the dark red wood of the weapon was strikingly similar in color to the disk upon his chest.

“I fell on it, and it just … stuck to my chest.”

“Why Bloodroot choo' thee?” Thar'Ok asked, incredulous.

Will shrugged. “I haven't the slightest idea.”

He thought maybe Thar'Ok looked awed for a moment, but he wasn't sure, for the orc turned away quickly and began conversing in grunted undertones with Scar Arms. Before long, a number of other Boki had joined what turned into a pitched argument. The orcs with stuff in their hair seemed arrayed against a half-dozen big, scarred warriors made from the same mold as Scar Arms. More wood was brought for the fire and the discussion almost came to blows more than once before their dispute was finally resolved.

Balthazar reported, “The warriors disagree with shamans in this matter. The warriors think Will should die, but the shamans think he should be given a chance to complete his quest.”

Raina, who had never once budged from his side, drew in a sharp breath. She murmured, “So. The Boki do know where the Sleeping King lies.”

She spoke urgently to the White Heart man. “Ask them why Bloodroot would attach himself to my friend and lead his steps to this place if he did not wish for them to help us?”

Balthazar looked regretful as he relayed the response. “The warriors have decided. Will Cobb is not the One.”

Desperation wrapped around Will's throat. He was so close. Somebody in this mob obviously knew something about the Sleeping King and was just being stubborn about telling him of it. If only he could prove he was who he said he was—

“Let me fight for it,” he blurted. “Honor combat. Let me prove that I'm the One.”

Balthazar's gaze lit with interest. “I do not condone combat, but they will kill you all, otherwise. Perhaps this way only you die, boy.” Balthazar translated quickly, sounding as if he negotiated for the lives of the others. Another argument ensued, this one blessedly much shorter and less heated than the first.

“Are you sure, Will?” Raina asked doubtfully. “Everything is at stake, here.
Everything
.”

“Can you think of any better solution?” he retorted.

A sigh. “No.”

“Then I fight. Maybe I die; maybe Bloodroot decides to get off his leafy arse and help me win.”

Balthazar turned to Will triumphantly just then. “Done. The Boki accept your offer of honor combat. In return, your friends live.”

A shout went up among the Boki. Three syllables, repeated over and over. For her part, Raina grabbed him fast and slammed a bolt of healing magic into him that hurt like fire for several seconds. He appreciated the sentiment, but he doubted anything would help him, now. At least her casting caused the Boki to stand a little farther back from her as well.

Eben murmured beneath the din, “I think they're saying something about ‘to the pit.'”

“What's that?” Will asked back.

“I have no idea. But the title seems fairly self-explanatory, does it not?” the jann replied wryly.

Will had been afraid of that. Many hands reached out for him, dragging him forward roughly.

He barely had time to call back over his shoulder to Raina, “Don't let Rosana watch!” before he was hauled out of sight of his friends and swallowed in a seething mass of green-brown bodies. They led him to the edge of the village and a clearing that reached into the woods beyond the huts.

“Yon be pit, hoo-man!” Thar'Ok shouted in his ear on a fetid breath that all but knocked Will over.

He looked where the orc pointed and saw a giant hole in the ground. It was mayhap thirty feet across and ten feet or so deep. A single rough, wrist-thick rope hung down the side of the earthen pit.

“Choo' weapon, hoo-man!”

Will reached for the staff still shockingly slung across his back, and he drew it forth, brandishing it across his body. It might be primarily a defensive weapon, but it acted as a shield of sorts in a pinch. And it was the one weapon with which he was truly comfortable. He would need every bit of his skill to make a decent showing before he died in this fight. It was a foregone conclusion that he would lose, of course.

He swung the staff experimentally and remembered wryly his mother saying that he had all the tools to become as great a warrior as his father. Little had Will known then of what she spoke. Who would have guessed that threshing and sweeping and mowing could teach a boy the rudiments of combat? Too bad Ty had never deigned to finish his training.

“This staff will do. And I have a name, by the way. It is Will Cobb.”

Balthazar stepped close to him. “The rules of the fight are that there are no rules. This is a fight to the death.”

Will nodded his understanding. He'd expected no less. Still, it was intimidating to hear the words.

The healer added fervently, “And for stars' sake, make it good.”

He could do this. He'd fought Boki before and won. Of course, he'd mostly relied on stealth, surprise, and a hefty dose of luck to beat them. It had been the swords of others who finished off his opponents, though. Did he have it in himself to kill if it came to it? To look another being in the eye and take his life in cold blood?

Too late to back out, now.

While a bevy of orcs planted dozens of torches around the top of the pit, Will stepped into the loop in the end of the rope. A single Boki casually lowered him as if he weighed no more than a babe. A ring of avid orcs leaned over the edge, jostling for position to see the fight. It was a miracle none of them fell into the pit with him.

He spotted Eben and Cicero in the crowd but saw no sign of the girls. That was good. He stood an excellent chance of dying this night, and he did not want Rosana to carry that memory with her forever.

“Where do I go to resurrect, White Heart?” he asked.

“Go to the Light. Your spirit will know what to do.”

He eyed the Boki warrior who'd been chosen to face him. He looked young—if a bumpy-faced, leather-skinned, undershot-jawed orc could look young. He had a collection of scars to be sure but nowhere near as many as the thanes who'd argued over him.

A young warrior, then. Proven probably, but not their best. Will supposed he should be grateful that they were trying to give him a fighting chance. Either that or this fight was so far beneath their honor that they'd passed the combat down to someone too junior to refuse the fight.

Will sighed. He could only do his best and hope it was enough. It wasn't like he could count on Bloodroot to help him, after all. It took him about two heartbeats to realize his best would be little more than a pitiful joke against this warrior. Across the packed-dirt circle, the Boki they'd sent down the rope to face him had pulled out a pair of axes and wielded one in each hand, swinging them as easily as if they were extensions of his arms. Will gulped.

“Arm self, hoo-man!” someone yelled down from overhead.

Will gave his staff a nervous swing. It banged clumsily against his boot.
A little help, Bloodroot? This is your quest, too
.

But only thunderous silence echoed inside Will's head.

I swear, if you abandon me now, I'll never help you again.

But as the young Boki stepped forward into the middle of the pit, it appeared that was exactly what Bloodroot intended. Will was on his own.

He glanced up at the circle of Boki overhead, a massive wall of leathery green writhing in the glare of the torches. Someone started a rhythmic grunting and the others quickly picked it up until the din was deafening.

Will's opponent touched his forehead with the crossed axe heads. “Ki'Rig Agar,” the orc announced.

Will saluted back, touching his forehead briefly with the tip of his staff. “Will Cobb.” He was tempted to give them his father's name, but he wished to get out of this thing alive and kept the identity of his sire to himself. Nonetheless, he silently dedicated this combat to the memory of his parents. He swept the staff across his body, gripping it in both fists, and assumed a ready position. The Boki did the same.

They commenced circling each other slowly. The grunting overhead rose to a howl so loud it hurt Will's ears. Cursing under his breath, he braced for the Boki's charge. At least he got that part right. The warrior roared and came running, his axes swinging like a windmill gone wild.

Will threw up his staff and caught a mighty blow on the shaft. He bent beneath the attack and slid to the side, deflecting the worst of the force, turning the parry into a riposte with the tip of the staff in a single movement his father had taught him a lifetime ago with a scythe. It wasn't as smooth as when Ty did it, but it served well enough. He jabbed the Boki in the ribs, and he fell back to regroup.

The Boki leaped in on the attack again and the tips of Will's staff flickered like candles in the wind, barely managing to counter the orc's rapid swings. His staff work was not fancy, but was sufficient to keep him alive for a few more breaths.

He jumped forward this time, but the orc was fast. And strong. The middle of Will's staff and the Boki's axe handle locked over their heads, and the orc easily pressed Will's back into an arch that forced him to retreat stumbling. The Boki pounced and Will barely got away, catching himself on the ground with his left hand to keep from falling outright.

He might be quicker than his opponent, but the orc was definitely stronger. And worse, the Boki seemed to know how to use it to his advantage. Ty would have told Will to look to his footwork and stay well clear of the larger, more powerful opponent. Thing was, in this tiny pit he had nowhere to go. Will dusted off his hand and settled into light balance once more.
Come on, Bloodroot. A little help here!