Then the king was gone.
“An era is passing,” Mallos said. “The time of great heros is slipping away, I’m afraid. King Karel and Wencil are the last of their breed.”
Alder looked at the chancellor. He was an extremely tall man, thin lipped, without an ounce of extra fat. Unlike most Bedoowans, he looked like a true warrior.
For a while the chancellor was silent. Wencil drew in a long, deep breath. It sounded as if he were having to fight just to bring in air.
“Can’t we do something?” Alder said. “Can’t the doctors—”
“He’s past that,” Mallos said.
Wencil drew another long, ragged breath.
“Stay with him, Sir Alder,” Mallos said. “He cared for you a great deal. As he slips away, let him know that you have understood what he has given you.”
Mallos left without another word, leaving Alder in the darkness.
THIRTEEN
After Wencil’s funeral, Alder felt aimless. He had nothing to do, other than meaningless guard duty at the castle gate. He had no friends. He had no one to train with. He was a knight now. But nobody cared.
As always, he remained cheerful, trying to be obliging, trying to be friendly. But it seemed to have no effect on anyone. He remained an outsider.
And the conversation he’d had with Press? It seemed distant and silly. All this talk about destiny and Halla and this big conflict between good and evil? Since that conversation, nothing had happened. He guarded gates through which no one entered the castle. He marched around the parade ground. So he was a Traveler. What did that even mean? The whole thing began to fade, almost seeming like some kind of dream. Or worse, like a cruel joke.
He felt as if he had been handed a brief moment of happiness. And now it was all being snatched away.
Then one day he returned to his room, and to his surprise, a man was sitting on his bed.
It was Mallos, black clad as always.
Alder stared at him.
“I apologize for invading your room,” the chancellor said.
“No problem, my lord.” Alder bowed. “Is there—did I do something wrong?”
Mallos’s thin lips smiled briefly. Then the smile faded. The cold blue eyes studied him for a moment.
“I too know what it means to be alone,” said Mallos. “To be without purpose and direction. To be without the bonds of friends and family.”
“Sir?”
Mallos nodded. “Wencil was right, you know. You are a boy of extraordinary promise. I’ve had my eye on you.”
Alder found this a little shocking. Other than the night Wencil died, he had never even spoken to the chancellor. “Really?”
Chancellor Mallos leaned toward Alder as if he were sharing a secret with him. “The knights here are mostly a useless bunch. But there are a few good ones. All the members of the king’s guard are good men.”
Alder couldn’t figure out where this was going. Why was the king’s chancellor sitting around talking about this in the room of a young man who’d been knighted not more than three weeks ago?
“How would you like to join them?” Mallos said. “You’d be under my personal command.”
Alder stared.
Mallos smiled. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’” He stood briskly and walked to the door. “Report to the guardroom at first light.”
“Thank you, my lord!” Alder stammered.
The chancellor paused. “Remember, Sir Alder”—he touched the side of his nose with one long finger—“whatever you do, wherever you go, my eyes are on you.”
And then the chancellor was gone. Alder paced around the room, a mixture of excitement and nervousness running through him like an electric charge. This was so unexpected that he didn’t know what to make of it. The king’s guard? They were the elite of the elite!
His head was in a whirl. Everything had changed so much lately. The king’s guard, the death of Wencil, this whole Traveler business…and now the sudden attention of Mallos. It was hard to make sense of it all.
Alder had always heard bad things about Mallos. Cruel, mean, deceitful—all that sort of thing. And yet here he was, being really nice to Alder. Maybe Mallos wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe he was just misunderstood. Maybe—Well, he’d find out eventually, wouldn’t he?
Book Two of the Travelers Page 17
