The King, page 19
part #4 of The Jester King Series
“What?”
“Well, it was a very small chance.”
Billy shook his head. “What an adventure that would have been.”
“Aye.” Gwylid gave an impish grin. “Are you ready?”
“Ready?”
“To put this demon where he’ll do the least harm.”
“Back in the book?”
“Aye.”
“I don’t actually know how.”
“I will cast the spell. I want you to loan me your power, using the ring your mother left you. It will focus and multiply your energy. Just keep concentrating on me.”
“How does it ... ? Never mind. We’ll talk about that later. Anything else I should know?”
“You’ll be safe if you stay in the circle.”
“Safe from what?”
“You’ll see.”
Gwylid chanted and made gestures in much the same manner as the demon had been doing before. Billy concentrated on Gwylid and felt a surge of magical energy leave him.
At that moment, the demon transformed to his horned manifestation and began to thrash about in his magic circle. He beat against it and rammed it with his horns. He pressed his wings against the back of the containment barrier, and his hands against the front. The magical barrier containing him deformed and expanded until it exploded with a thundering boom. Billy held up his hand to shield his eyes, but when he looked again, he saw that the demon was still hovering inside the two intersecting silver triangles. Its arms and wings stretched as far from its body as was possible and its back arched. The expression on its face was both fear and anger. Billy realized that whatever forces the demon had called down on him were now at work on the fiend himself.
“Serves you right!”
At that moment, the demon’s voice was loosed, and he let out a terrible howl. He flexed and attempted to draw in his extremities. Small, wispy spirits of smoke appeared around him, holding and pulling on his appendages. The harder the demon struggled, the more visible the spirits became, and with each frustrated yank or stalled flapping of his wings, more of the spirits appeared, swarming over him like hungry wolves.
One of the spirits pulled away from the demon, taking with it a page from the black tome; ripped from his body. The demon grabbed for it with a growl, but it flew away. Soon, others followed, eroding his parchment features with each pass. Holes quickly appeared in his wings as his flesh dwindled. At last, only a half-winged skeleton remained.
The demon fell to his knees and feebly reached towards Billy, as the spirits continued to pick his bones clean. He opened his mouth and croaked, “All your power has come from me. When I am gone, you will have nothing!” At that moment, the spirits broke up the bones and threw them high into the air, where they became pages.
The individual pages flew up, carried by a whirlwind of rushing spirits. Lightning flashed and struck the ground where the demon had been. When the sound of the thunder faded into the distance, Billy and Gwylid relaxed.
“Whew!” Billy wiped his brow. “I’m sure glad it’s gone.”
Thump!
Billy jumped when the demon-tome landed in the center of the intersecting triangles. Smoke rose from the black cover, and the iron bindings still glowed red as Billy and Gwylid approached.
Billy turned away. “Phew, that smells like hell.”
“Nah, just one demon.”
“Say, what was that with the questions? Couldn’t you tell me from him?”
“I figured he was the demon when he called my name first, but I had to be sure.”
“I’m sorry, I only called your name after he did. If he had got it wrong, I would have too.”
“Don’t feel bad, Your Highness. When you have been king for a while, you will easily tell the Witan apart.”
“So, why the question about who I loved?”
“Demons cannot comprehend love. Like a blind spot, while wearing a helmet, they cannot see it. It’s all calculations to them. He must have calculated that King William was more valued by you, through something he observed.”
“I tried to defend my father the king, even though he murdered my mother. I think he saw that.”
Gwylid nodded in agreement. He then bent down and picked up the black tome, which had cooled and was no longer smoking. Somehow, it looked smaller to Billy. The old faerie put the troublesome book into a fold of his garment. “So, how goes your quest, Your Highness?”
“Well, … not well.”
The Witan cocked his head. “Which is it?”
Billy grinned. “Not well.”
“Ah, at least you still have your sense of humor.”
“As do you, my friend.”
“A good sense of humor won’t deflect arrows, but it comes close. So, do you want to tell me about it?”
Billy dropped his eyes and stared at the ground. “I think our cause is in jeopardy. I lost focus on my mission.”
Gwylid put a hand on Billy’s shoulder. “All is not lost, my friend.”
“It would be if you hadn’t saved me from that cursed book!”
“Didn’t we tell you not to touch the book?”
“Yes.”
“But you did it anyway.”
“Yes, but when I saw that book, I thought it must have some really great spells in it, maybe even the secret of spellbinding. It was such a big, impressive book.”
“That was the demon laying his trap for you.”
“I realize that now, but it kept calling to me.”
“Don’t you know that we have your best interests at heart?”
“Honestly, I felt unsure about the Witan, and when I touched the black tome, I felt sure that it had to hold what I needed. It felt quite a bit like my mother’s ring. It seemed to promise so much—the answers I needed.”
“Oh yes.” Gwylid nodded. “It promises the quick way—the easy life, easy magic, easy power ... and then, when you have become completely dependent upon it, when you need it most, it deserts you, breaks you, kills you. But, I am curious why it tried to get rid of you so quickly.”
“I think it didn’t like that I was doing things my way, without using it. It wanted to be my sole source for magic—for everything.”
“The better to make you dependent. But you are blessed.”
“Blessed?”
“Usually, the victim is addicted by now, a slave to the book. You seem to have some natural resistance to his charms. Perhaps your ring had something to do with that.”
Billy contemplated this. “Or my mother.”
“Aye. But don’t forget your father John.”
Billy stared at Gwylid.
“John taught you right from wrong and tutored you in listening to your conscience. Not a small thing, even for a good man.”
“Aye. And yet, when the book called to me, I could not resist what I knew I mustn’t do—what you told me not to do.”
“The book’s demon can be very seductive.”
“Then, you’ve heard it too.”
“I am the only one of the Witan to hear its sweet lies. It views me as the weakest, the most susceptible to temptation.”
“Did you ever succumb to the temptation?”
“No.”
“Not even a little peek, a tiny taste?”
“Who could resist honey once tasted? No. I never gave in. That’s one reason I could defeat it when you could not.”
“Even with the help of my mother’s ring, I couldn’t break the spell he’d placed on me.”
“Some demons take more than power or knowledge to defeat. In those cases, you need someone’s help. Someone who knows how to defeat them, someone who has defeated them, and someone, if you’ll forgive me, greater than yourself.”
“You have no need for forgiveness, Gwylid. You are greater than me. In fact, I’ll probably never be as great as you.”
“It’s not a competition, Your Highness.” The old elf turned and made his way towards the edge of the clearing.
Billy followed his teacher, keeping pace beside him. Gwylid glanced at him, and then continued, “My current greatness only came as a result of my past sacrifice.”
“And if I wish to be great ... ?”
“Greatness comes with sacrifice. But you must choose what path you will take.”
“What if I choose to follow your path?”
“My path is a path of sacrifice, but I will be there to guide you.”
“What should I do now?”
“You appear tired, Highness. I suggest you rest, and when you arise, continue with your quest.”
Billy lay down on a patch in the clearing with tall grass. He looked up at the Witan, who leaned over him, tucking him into his grass bed.
“You’re leaving, aren’t you?”
“We must each go our separate ways.” Gwylid stood upright.
“So soon? I wish ...” A sadness stole Billy’s words.
Gwylid smiled. “Me too.” He then faded and became thin as broth.
“Tell me: what will I find?” Billy sat up.
“Greatness ... and sacrifice.”
Then, like a vapor before the dawn, Gwylid disappeared. Billy lay back down in the grass and stared at the starry sky.
“Sacrifice.”
Questions about the Witan’s last word kept Billy up for a while. Despite this, and what had transpired in the little clearing, he felt at ease under the stars. At last, exhaustion overtook him. He fell into a deep sleep and dreamed of home, with his father, in the Valley of the Yew.
***
Billy stepped out of the Valley’s Finest Inn, on an errand for his father, and found himself in Tirn Aill. The ground and streams were frozen with a foot of snow frosting the evergreens. The trees no longer bore any leaves. The air was still.
Billy called out. His only answer, an echo. He searched the shores, the rivers, and the forest, looking for someone—anyone, but found no one.
Billy gasped and awoke to find Shaldra’s head resting on his chest. Rays from the dawning sun streaked across the clearing’s sky, sweeping the stars westward.
“I’m not dead,” Billy said.
Shaldra shot up to a sitting position. “My prince!” He shook sleep from his head. “You’re alive!”
Billy grinned. “I thought I had already established that.”
“Yes, of course, Your Highness.”
Billy noticed Shaldra’s uncharacteristic grogginess. “Were you asleep just now, Shaldra?”
“I—I. When I found you last night, you were so peaceful and still that I had to check to see if you yet lived. I put my ear to your chest and heard your heart beat. Such joy it brought me that I continued to listen. Soon, your heartbeat became mine. And then ...”
“Yes ... ?”
“Then you woke me up, Your Highness. This is terrible!”
“So you fell asleep... You were probably exhausted like me.”
“That’s not it, Your Highness. We elves do not sleep! At least, not as mortals do.”
“Well, look, you’re awake now. It’s not the end of the world.”
“I am not so sure.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s Tirn Aill I’m thinkin’ of. If the other elves have also fallen asleep ...”
In Billy’s mind, he was transported back to the snow-covered Tirn Aill of his dream. He closed his eyes, to see it more clearly, and saw that everywhere he had been, the kingdom was still. Everything from the trees to the wind slept.
“What is it, Your Highness?”
Billy opened his eyes. “It’s Tirn Aill. We must hurry!”
He got to his feet and looked for a way out of the clearing. Endless choices beckoned, with no obvious trail in sight. “Which way is it?”
“Are we going back to Tirn Aill, then?”
Billy turned to the hopeful elf. Perhaps I should send him home now. Once we reach Orgulous, he will be completely out of his element, and it could become very dangerous for him.
“Do you want to go home, Shaldra?”
“Of course.”
“Then, I think you should go.”
“My place is with you.”
“Where I must go, it will be extremely dangerous for you.”
“I will follow you to whatever end, my prince.”
“Then, no, we are not going to Tirn Aill. Our quest still waits in Orgulous.”
Shaldra deflated. “So, we’re not escaping?”
Billy considered this for a moment. Perhaps we should leave the others behind. We might slip into Orgulous undetected, but then what? The two of us wouldn’t stand a chance if we were caught.
“Sorry, Shaldra. We shall not escape today, but ask me again tomorrow.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” Shaldra grinned. “In that case, captivity awaits in that direction.”
“Lead on.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The Thunder of Captains
Cheers heralded Billy’s return on the arm of Shaldra, from everyone, including Deordrif, who then pretended not to care. Of course, Lady Myrredith made a fuss. First relieved, then angry, then relieved. However, the most unexpected response was from Prince Hereweald, who picked Billy up and lifted him high, like a long-lost little brother.
“Ouch!” Billy grabbed for his back.
The prince immediately put him down. “Is it the arrow wound?”
“Aye. It’s gotten worse.”
Hereweald’s physician recoiled when he lifted the bandage. “It is infected. It is not possible for it to become this bad so quickly. The last time I examined it, the wound was clean and healing. This ... this is sorcery!”
“Well ... fix it.” Hereweald gave him a stern look.
Myrredith touched the physician’s arm. “Yes, do.”
The physician looked at all their faces. “I know I can heal this wound, but if the magic is still at work, it will only get worse.”
Sylvys stepped forward and placed his hand on Billy’s back. He closed his eyes, and after a moment, announced, “The foul magic has gone.”
The tent sighed in relief, and then buzzed with cheery voices.
“Well done, Sylvys!”
“I did nothing, Highness. It was gone already.”
Billy cleared his throat until he had his friends’ attention. “I believe the physician can take it from here.”
“Yes, of course.” Hereweald grinned. “And we shall leave him to it.”
As the tent emptied, most wished Billy well and a “glad to have you back.” When it came to Sylvys, Billy asked him to stay.
When the physician was finished and gone, Billy turned to the aging satyr. “I had a fight with a demon.”
“I sensed as much.”
He explained to Sylvys the incidents of the previous night. “While the demon is gone, I am afraid.”
“Of what, young prince?”
“I’m afraid he has stolen all my magic.”
Sylvys examined Billy. “How?”
“I don’t know. The demon said that when he was gone, I would have nothing, and since my battle with him, even my mother’s ring will not heal the arrow wound, and I continue to weaken.”
“Perhaps the infection is infernal in origin. Magic cannot affect such wounds. They must heal naturally.”
“That could explain much, but still, I’m afraid that without the book, I will be helpless against Ergyfel. What’s more, I sense I must face him. I don’t even know if I truly know what I think I know.”
“What?”
“The magic that I learned in the Witan’s tree—the charms, the spells I remember casting ... I don’t know if it was me or the book!”
“I cannot answer to that, Prince, but have you tried to cast any other kind of magic?”
“No.” Billy looked at the ground. “I’ve got bits and pieces of spells flying around in my head, and no certainty with any of them. I’m afraid to try.”
“Afraid?”
“You probably can’t grasp my fear. If I can’t do it, then our quest is for naught, and Tirn Aill is doomed. I don’t want to know that I can’t.”
“I understand, Highness, more than you know. In part, that is why I left Tirn Aill with you. I didn’t want to know what I was incapable of. I’m afraid of what that world might look like. But as long as I’m with you, on this adventure, I don’t have to face that.”
“You do understand. Look, don’t tell the others just yet. Give me some time to work this out.”
“Of course, Your Highness.”
***
In the early evening, Hereweald arrived at Rowmeadow with his three legions. His scouts had reported the enemy numbers at less than ten thousand, so he was actually pleased to see the enemy campfires lining the western end of the vast meadow as he crossed over the small stream at its eastern border. With nearly sixteen thousand hardened warriors at his command, Hereweald was optimistic.
It was for moments like this that he was bred; a fact he did not disdain. The next day would mark him, mark history, but more importantly, mark the final thrust of his vendetta. The army before him represented all that Ergyfel could scrape together to stop him. It was a crumbling shield, and Hereweald relished the thought that soon, perhaps even the next day, he would have Ergyfel at sword point.
The lack of scouts from Ergyfel’s army was evidence that Hereweald’s spies were telling the truth about Lord Snegaddrick’s defection. Hereweald smiled, glad that he hadn’t shared his entire plan with the treacherous old snake.
He looked back at his commanders. “Enter in full parade formation. Let’s give them a good look at us.”
So it was that the First, Fifth, and Ninth Legions of Gwythia entered Rowmeadow with banners high and music blaring. The blasting horns, beating drums, crashing cymbals, and marching feet produced the desired response in the enemy camp. The men of Lyonesse rushed to the edge of their camp and watched as three well-trained, well-armed, and well-disciplined legions marched into view; row after row, until they filled the east end of the great meadow. The cavalry rode into a line behind the well-ordered infantry so that every soldier could be seen. Once in position, the host marched in place until the last beat of the music. A moment of silence followed, and then—in one voice—the army of Gwythia roared, “Hereweald, Hereweald, Hereweald!” and were still.
