The Minions of Time Page 7

  He stole away, making sure the Watcher didn’t follow, and moved to the frigid waters of the lake. Carefully he slipped in, feet and hands changing into large fins. In the form of a long fish now, he quickly swam toward the castle. When an animal approached, the Changeling sounded an underwater warning and scared it away.

  Finally he flopped onto the ground and quickly grew wings and a scaly back. Still dripping, he rose through the falling snow to the parapet and entered the Dragon’s chamber. It was empty, though a fresh scent of smoke told him the Dragon was not far away.

  RHM met the Changeling, and they exchanged pleasantries. “We must keep our voices down,” RHM said. “His Highness is already in bed. Let’s move onto the balcony.”

  The Changeling grabbed rancid fruit from a bowl and followed, pointing out the general location of Watcher and the horse.

  “Why don’t you let us bring them in?” RHM said. “You’ll still have your reward, and we’ll have the prize in hand.”

  “Oh no. No one else delivers my prize. Will His High-Hot-Breath be here in the morning?”

  “Yes, up and waiting for you.”

  “Good. I’ll have them here in time for his breakfast.”

  Owen freed his friends from the pen, but instead of running they hobbled like old people. Owen and Connor and several of the strongest men jumped the guards, using Owen’s technique of attacking them in the neck and rendering them unconscious. They did the same to the guards posted deep inside the mine. The workers there, mostly children and younger women, followed them out.

  Hundreds stood, watching Owen. “Is this everyone?” he said.

  Connor nodded. “Now what do we do? If we don’t kill these guards, they’ll alert the invisibles that come by each morning.”

  “How often are jewels shipped out?” Owen said.

  “Once a week. Tomorrow is the next shipment.”

  The crowd looked hungry, thirsty, and ready to drop. Owen found himself too emotional to look into the faces of the children and moved back into the cave.

  Connor soon followed. “Why did you leave?”

  Owen found it difficult to even talk. “They are like animals without anyone to tend to their needs. They remind me of . . .”

  “Who?”

  “Of myself. In the other world I had a father, but he paid very little attention to me. I was on my own much of the time and without guidance. Still . . .”

  A torch flickered near the entrance. Connor stayed in the shadows. “Yes?”

  “I felt a strange sense of direction, something moving me forward.” Owen sighed. “I sure wish your father were here with us.”

  Connor clenched his teeth. “I don’t know if I can ever forgive you for your part in his death. But if you can help save these people and get us out of here, I will fight beside you.”

  Owen put a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “The battle will come soon enough.”

  “Go out and encourage them,” Connor said. “They need to hear from you.”

  * * *

  Employing the strongest of the group and two-wheeled carts, they managed to move the knocked-out guards into the cave. Two were waking, but Connor quickly put them out again. Owen took their cloaks and animal skins.

  Owen found a stash of explosives and carefully lit the powdered fuse, running down the hill before a terrific blast rocked the mountain and sealed the mouth of the cave. The prisoners cheered, and Owen herded them into their pen (in case an invisible flew past), then helped prepare a meal.

  Owen and some others dressed as the guards and even imitated them, dragging their feet and ordering people about. The children giggled so much it was hard for them to eat. Owen could tell it had been a long time since they had laughed.

  From inside the cave they heard the guards waking and yelling. Connor stood by, but no one really believed the guards could dig their way out.

  Owen and the other leaders agreed on a strategy. Seeing the fear in the young ones’ eyes, he told them a story that made them laugh so hard they cried. Even the adults held their sides, eyes dancing.

  “And now let me tell you another story,” Owen said, “of a King who had a Son who was taken. The King loved him so much that he decided to rescue him. But not in the usual way, with swords blazing and soldiers storming a castle. No, this was much quieter, with much less fanfare.”

  “How did he do it?” a child said, eyes wide, as if she were waiting to unwrap a birthday present.

  “He spoke,” Owen said. “He told a story. And the words rescued the Son.”

  “How could words rescue anyone?” a father said.

  “That makes no sense,” a mother said.

  “Ah, but you don’t understand the words or the heart of the one who spoke them. Words are powerful. They can mean death or they can mean freedom for the same person.”

  “Magical words?” the child said.

  “In a way,” Owen said. “But not magic that’s stirred in a potion or casts a spell. This is a bottomless magic filled with love, one you can’t understand until it overtakes you—until you abandon yourself to it.”

  The parents listened with skeptical faces, but the children sat spellbound.

  “The love you speak about,” a boy said. “It is only for the Son in your story, right?”

  Owen smiled. “That’s what I used to believe. But the more I have learned of this love, the more I understand that it’s available to each of us.” He stood and looked over the crowd. “The King’s Son is coming back. Perhaps he is here.”

  The people looked at each other and seemed to marvel at the story.

  * * *

  In the flickering firelight of the camp, people appeared to sleep peacefully, probably unafraid for the first time since they’d been led here. With the soft breathing of the children and the noisier snoring of the adults, Owen went to Connor. Dreyanna slept with her head on her husband’s shoulder.

  “The Queen,” Owen whispered, “where did they take her?”

  Connor looked away and rubbed his eyes. “I overheard guards say the Dragon feared the Son might return for his mother. She was taken alone, and we have not heard from her since. The guards did not even seem to know the destination.

  “What does this mean for you?” Connor said. “Will you go with us?”

  Owen nodded. “As far as the White Mountain.”

  Watcher was awakened by the Wormling before dawn, and she and Humphrey followed him, setting out for the castle. Several inches of snow had fallen, so they left tracks, making Watcher pine for her home in the mountains.

  She knew what the townspeople, especially the children, said about her—that she was strange to keep the ancient tradition of waiting for the Wormling. Still, she had waited and watched. And now as she walked by his side, warmth coursed through her. She had proved them all wrong and distinguished herself by her diligence. She wondered if anyone dared scoff at her anymore.

  “Isn’t the countryside beautiful?” the Wormling said. “Like someone threw a blanket over it while we slept.”

  “You didn’t sleep,” Watcher said. “I heard you pacing the whole night.”

  “Probably something I ate,” he said. “I can’t wait to get my sword back. Can you imagine having all three with us again—the sword, the book, and the Mucker?”

  “You will be ready to go back to the Highlands,” Watcher said. “After you’ve located the Son, of course.”

  The Wormling stopped. “What did you say?” He looked pained, as though he had lost a dear relative.

  “You’ve said all along that you need to go back to the Highlands,” Watcher said. “I assumed when you had everything, you would do that.”

  “Of course. How perceptive of you. Hurry along now.”

  Humphrey whinnied, and the Wormling shushed him. “We’re getting close to the castle.”

  The moon was still high, occasionally peeking from a shroud of clouds like a child playing a game.

  Across the immense body of water, the castle loomed d
ark and foreboding and sent shivers down Watcher’s flanks. Strange that the Wormling could stride so resolutely toward it without fear. He didn’t even seem to remember much about the last time they’d been here.

  Humphrey whinnied when the surface of the water swirled and became choppy as if something huge had just passed below. Or was it following them?

  Watcher heard wings and looked up, expecting a demon flyer, but it was just a bird.

  The Wormling swatted at it and kept moving, clearly eager to reach the castle before first light.

  Watcher had never seen the Wormling swat at a fly before. He must be preoccupied.

  As they passed through another wooded area, Humphrey blew air through his lips and shook his tail.

  “What?” Watcher asked. “Do you see something?”

  But just as Humphrey’s eyes fixed on Watcher, the Wormling turned. “Come on, you two. Keep up.”

  With the castle rising before them like a ghost, the three walked single file near the lake. “Watch your step here,” the Wormling said. “The water is frigid.”

  As the Wormling grabbed a sapling and pulled himself up the bank, Watcher heard a splash and turned to see Humphrey sinking into the water and great jaws coming after her as well.

  In a flash, she was yanked into the freezing lake with the horse, and they were pulled deep into the shadows.

  The sky was still dark when Owen moved the others into position at the camp. The people plainly would rather have stayed asleep, as this was the first time they’d been well fed, but they obeyed. Connor, as the largest among them, took the commander’s place on a high rock. With the man’s animal skins and spear, he looked frighteningly similar. The question was, could he and the rest fool the demon flyers?

  Owen wished Watcher were here to warn them of demon flyers. Connor held up a finger to signal that one demon flyer had landed. (There was dust flying everywhere and large talon marks in the ground.) The demon flyer would lead the two transport flyers in the distance.

  Owen and the others pretended to berate and punish the prisoners, slinging leather straps and shaking weapons at them. The people cowered on cue.

  Two transport flyers arrived with the rising sun, wings flapping slowly, a cage suspended beneath each of them.

  Connor imitated the guards, shouting, “Bring the prisoners for loading!”

  Owen positioned several men before the pile of mined rocks and jewels.

  Then came an unearthly voice sounding like grating metal. “Why is the cave closed?” the demon flyer said.

  “Trouble with some of the beasts,” Connor said. “We’ve sealed them until they die.”

  “The Dragon will be displeased,” the flyer roared. “We are near the quota.”

  “This load completes the quota,” Connor said. “Go and tell him.”

  “I accompany the transport!”

  “You think those beasts don’t know the way? Take the news to the Dragon now! You will no doubt earn a reward of food and drink.”

  The transport flyers landed, lowering the cages.

  Owen slapped his leather strap against a rock near the head of a prisoner. “Get to work!”

  The wind rose quickly as the demon flyer left.

  Connor held out a hand as if to say, “Keep working until it is out of sight.”

  Finally he stood. “Everyone into the cages!”

  Owen opened the cage doors, and the transport flyers inched back, plainly sensing something amiss.

  The people hesitated, murmuring, and children wept.

  “It’s all right,” Owen said. “Don’t be frightened. Everything will be okay. Just get inside as quick as you can. We’re taking you to safety.”

  Connor rushed to Owen’s side, whispering, “What if they take us back to the Dragon?”

  “It is written,” Owen said, “‘He will have charge over the beasts of the land, sea, and air. He will bid them come, and they will obey.’”

  “Who is ‘he’?” Connor said. “The Wormling?”

  “You’ll learn,” Owen said. “Soon enough.”

  Connor and his wife crawled into a cage together, leading others inside. Owen ushered people into the other cage. When all were inside, both cages were full to overflowing. Owen closed the doors and secured them so no one would fall out. One flyer began to flap its wings, but Owen commanded it to stop, and to everyone’s amazement—even Owen’s—it did.

  Owen tied a long piece of rope to the neck of one transport flyer as the beast eyed him warily and edged back, tipping the cage. The people cried out, but Owen calmed the beast by petting it like a dog and talking soothingly to it.

  Owen tied the other end of the rope to the foot of the other flyer, then crawled up its back and wrapped his arms around its neck.

  Just like riding Humphrey, Owen thought. Except Humphrey doesn’t fly or weigh 8,000 pounds.

  Owen dug in with his heels, and the flyer rose into the air with a jerk, pulling the cage quickly from the ground. Immediately the second flyer was yanked aloft. Owen felt the same sensation as when he rose in a fast elevator in a tall building in his Highland town. The transport flyer’s muscles rippled and swelled under him.

  Children squealed with delight, as if on an amusement park ride, certainly different from when Owen had flown here before. Adults kept them from the edges of the cage, just in case.

  The flyers rose to cloud level, heading into the golden sunlight, and the temperature dropped. The beasts were trained to fly from the mines to the Dragon, but Owen steered his flyer toward the White Mountain in the distance. The following flyer tried to veer off, but the rope tightened and it was forced to follow.

  Owen pulled an animal skin over his shoulders and hunkered down to stay warm.

  Watcher gasped and swallowed freezing water as she plunged to the depths. Only when she finally saw the lights of the underground cavern did she believe she might survive. They broke the surface in the jaws of the huge crocodile, and Humphrey sputtered and shook his way onto the rocky shore. Coughing, Watcher examined The Book of the King and found it and Mucker in good condition. She had fashioned a waterproof pouch out of jargid skins for the book and was glad.

  “Rotag!” she exulted. “Great to see you, but what about the Wormling?”

  “A thousand pardons, my friend,” Rotag said, his voice gravelly. “We tried to think of some other way—”

  “We?”

  Humphrey stepped back and whinnied as Batwing flew in.

  “Are they all right?” Batwing said in his high-pitched voice. “Were you noticed?”

  “How could we not be?” Rotag said. “We made quite a splash.”

  “What’s going on?” Watcher said.

  “That is not the Wormling you were with,” Batwing said. “Tusin spotted it last night headed for the castle, and I overheard its conversation with an aide of the Dragon.”

  Humphrey whinnied and struck a hoof to the ground.

  “You were trying to tell me,” Watcher said.

  “The one you think is the Wormling is actually a Changeling,” Batwing said. “He was luring you to the castle to be food for the Dragon.”

  Watcher shook her head. “But why couldn’t I sense he was not the Wormling?”

  A small creature climbed down into the light.

  “Tusin!” Watcher said.

  The two hugged, and Tusin patted her on the back. “We thought it was the Wormling at first as well, but Batwing learned the truth.” He sighed. “My guess is that somewhere inside you, there was a feeling that something was wrong, out of place. But you ignored that.”

  “I was so happy to see him,” Watcher said. “I wanted it to be him.”

  “Yes,” Tusin said. “And that is why it is important to never ignore those feelings. No matter who it is who gives them to you.”

  “We were going to be eaten?” Watcher said.

  “After the whereabouts of the real Wormling were tortured from you,” Batwing said.

  “Never,” Watcher said.
“All I can say is thank you.” She introduced Humphrey and told him, “This is the hall of meeting I told you of, and these are our friends. Without them, we would never have escaped the Dragon.”

  Rotag asked about the Wormling, and Watcher told him everything she knew, which wasn’t much. Then she put a hand over her mouth. “Oh, Humphrey, what if he comes back for us, and we’re not there?”

  The horse shook his head and nickered.

  “Perhaps we can help,” Rotag said. “What did the Changeling say was the reason you were going to the castle?”

  “He said we were going to fetch the Sword of the Wormling.”

  Rotag cleared his throat and nodded at Tusin, who stood and held his head high. “Meeting of the assembly convenes on this day of the King, all members present, the honorable Rotag presiding, the honored Watcher and Humphrey as guests. The matter of the friends of the Wormling is the agenda.”

  The Dragon paced the library, which ironically held no books, for he had banned and burned them long ago. As he passed the empty shelves, he gloated. He had kept words and knowledge from the people of the Lowlands these many years, and soon the Highlands would experience the same—though they had no idea what was about to happen.

  The Dragon had been awakened just before sunlight by a demon flyer’s report that the final mineral load was on its way from Diamondhead. That, coupled with the prospect of questioning the Wormling’s Watcher one final time, had left the scaly beast as sleepless as a child awaiting Christmas morning. Watcher was the channel to the Wormling, and the Wormling was the channel to the Son, and the death of the Son meant the end of the King’s plan for this world and the other.

  The Dragon rubbed his claws in glee. He let out a screaming belch of fire that scorched the shelves.

  RHM entered quickly, rubbing his eyes and yawning. “Yes, Highness?”

  “What have you heard from the Changeling? He should be here by now.”

  RHM shook his head as if trying to knock cobwebs from his brain. “Stalkers guarding the outer wall will let us know the moment they approach.”