Owen shot out of the cell like a cannonball and brought the butt of his sword down onto the guard’s head before he even had a chance to get a whistle to his lips.
“Finish him,” Qwamay said. “We have to make sure he doesn’t wake up.”
When Owen hesitated, Qwamay reached for his sword.
Owen yanked it away. “I never take a life when I don’t have to.”
“You read too much. Well, it’s your own funeral. I’ll be long gone by the time he squeals.”
They ran past crates and cages, coming to a musty room full of rotting food. Prince Qwamay paused, shoving a handful of turnips into his mouth. How strange to see the Son of the King of all the land resorting to eating trash.
“I’ll find food fit for you,” Owen said. “Just follow me.”
“Never mind. I’ll find my own way out.”
As footsteps caromed off the walls, Owen pulled Qwamay into a corner behind the black curtain. They stood deathly still while someone passed, snarling, headed for the cell.
“Through here,” Owen said, pushing the panel that led to the secret stairwell.
“Only if it leads outside,” Qwamay said.
“There is no way out from down here. Come on. At least you’ll be safe.”
Qwamay shook his head. “Give me your sword, and I’ll fight my way out.”
“Don’t be foolish! They’ll cut you down as soon as they see you. Follow me and I’ll get you to safety.”
Qwamay snorted. “You really believe you’re the Wormling, don’t you? some kind of hero with a sword and a chomping Mucker?”
“How could I not believe? It’s been proven over and over. Some who have seen do not believe, though the evidence is right before them. Listen, I promised your mother I would bring you to her, and that’s what I’m going to do, whether you like it or not.”
“My mother?” Qwamay said. “Where did you see her?”
Owen told him.
“And she bought your story about being this special worm child?”
“She trusts me to bring you to her and release the captives.”
“She trusts too much.”
“That is no place for a Queen. But if you and I band together—”
“If you’re such a savior, why didn’t you rescue her yourself?”
“My mission was to find you! But you have to step up and lead.”
“Lead who?”
“There are many in the land loyal to your father; they just have to be given a vision. They perish for lack of knowledge.”
Qwamay patted Owen’s shoulder. “Well, good luck spreading the vision.”
A shout came from the cell area and a whistle blew.
“Now you have no choice, Prince,” Owen said, pulling him through the panel.
Watcher’s ears perked up as shouts rang through the castle. She and Tusin and Batwing had found each other and hidden in an isolated room on the main floor. They were about to head out again when Watcher pulled them back. “Strong vibrations,” she whispered, her eyes shut tightly. “Invisibles coming this way. Huge. Bigger than I’ve ever felt . . .”
These invisibles, though she did not want to tell her new friends, were different from the ones Watcher had sensed before. These seemed more evil and also had abilities other invisibles did not. They communicated in squeaks and blips and carried weapons, cloaked by their bodies.
A sudden gust whipped the decaying velvet draperies about them, and a presence moved into the room.
Watcher’s eyes flew open. “Run!”
Watcher heard the squeaks and blips of the invisibles and an echoed response from upstairs. Batwing was the first out, darting and flitting like a moth on fire. A horrible burst from a weapon exploded behind Watcher, and the thwong enveloped Batwing. He crashed to the floor.
Tusin had turned the other way and beckoned Watcher through a sitting room that had been reduced to ashen rubble. The two raced through in search of a hiding place. Another weapon burst met Watcher’s ears, and together she and Tusin lunged and landed in a heap as the blast crashed into the wall. Dust and ash fell as Watcher scrambled to her feet and pulled Tusin along. The invisible above her was joined by another, and Watcher’s head filled with pain. The burst came again just as she and Tusin ducked behind a wall, and a stone fell, barely missing them.
* * *
In the chilly water outside the castle, Rotag floated and watched, somehow not associating all the commotion with his friends until Batwing flew toward a window and spiraled to the floor. Rotag moved toward the shore to get a better look and was right under the window when Tusin appeared, running headlong for the opening, followed by Watcher.
Tusin jumped just as a shock-wave burst immobilized him, and he somersaulted to the water with a slap, sending spray over Rotag. In a flash, the gator gathered Tusin in his huge mouth as a scythe flyer passed overhead.
Going up the winding stairs proved a different undertaking than coming down. Though in the best shape of his life, Owen felt his muscles tense with each step and his whole body ached. Halfway up, Prince Qwamay collapsed and rolled onto his back.
“How long have you been in that cell?” Owen said.
Qwamay shook his head, gasping. “I don’t even know. Tell me, how did you know of this passage?”
“I stumbled upon it.”
“Really? No special worm-child guidance you received?”
Mordecai had taught Owen that nothing happened by chance and that not even the smallest inconvenience was wasted in the economy of the King. Of course, he could not explain that to Qwamay just then. The young man certainly didn’t seem ready for the truth that he, of royal lineage, was in line to reign with his father and defeat the enemy.
A terrific blast shook the stone around them. Another piercing burst and Owen was up, taking the stairs two at a time. “Sounds like an attack!”
“Who would be stupid enough to attack the Dragon?”
“I told you! There are many loyal to your father!”
“Then I should be able to easily slip away with all this commotion.”
Owen’s charge from Mr. Page had been to guard the book and find the Son. He had failed at the first; he didn’t want to fail at the second. If he could find The Book of the King quickly, perhaps the King’s writings would convince the Son to get involved with the mission. One look at those compelling words would make him see the wisdom of following such a wise and loving ruler. Whatever stood between Qwamay and his father, Owen was sure it could be overcome.
Gasping, Owen finally reached the top and listened at the secret entrance. He pushed the panel that opened into the bedchamber. Wings flapped outside, so he crouched low to the floor. “Qwamay?” he whispered.
But the young man had not followed.
As Owen neared the canopied bed, the voice that had protected him so long ago spoke again, this time with an unusual urgency. “Prepare your sword and shield.”
Shield? Had he missed something during the initiation? He pulled the weighty sword, and merely holding it brought back the words from The Book of the King.
The King is good and worthy of honor. He is a shield to all who wield his truth. Enemies shall be cut down because of him.
Owen noticed a strange glow from the hallway. Cautiously he stepped out. In spite of his fear, he knew from some instinctual place that this was why he had been called to the job of the Wormling. This confrontation was what he had prepared for on the islands of Mirantha.
In Owen’s former life, he had done everything he could to remain safe. But in this world he was in constant danger. Enemies were all around, and he had to be prepared at every moment.
In the hallway he found another stone stairwell. He passed a roomful of more charred furniture. A hiss emanated from the next room, where the glow was as bright as daylight.
He reached his sword into the yellowish green light, and in the reflection saw the ugliest beasts ever. Four had planted their talons on the four sides of an immense table. They looked
somewhat like demon flyers but smaller and more ghastly. Their glowing eyes made the room so bright. Their beaks were like the mouths of snakes, tongues darting as they hissed, and instead of tail feathers, these bore small casings full of tiny beads that clattered when they shook—and all four shook now.
Owen stepped into the doorway and locked eyes with a demon viper. (He did not know the creature’s name at that moment, but that is what it was.) The other three arched their backs and strained, as if they wanted to fly but couldn’t. When Owen moved into the room he saw The Book of the King on the table.
The head of the viper before him elongated like a snake’s, and the other four followed suit, their rattles joining in a percussive hymn to their master. When their heads were two feet longer than when Owen first saw them, he smiled. This would be easy. One swing of the Sword of the Wormling and these creatures’ heads would fly off like toy rockets.
Owen poised to strike, but he was soon mesmerized by the glowing green eyes, the fangs, and the trickle of sticky saliva from the roof of its mouth. When the sides of the viper’s neck fanned out like an umbrella and its eyes turned bright red, Owen was entranced.
Liquid shot from the beast’s mouth, straight at Owen’s head.
The creature had struck with lightning speed and accuracy, a drop of its venom potent enough to kill a man by merely touching his skin.
Without thinking, Owen threw up his sword to block the poison, inches from his face, deflecting it into the wall, where it immediately ate away the stone. Owen shot from his crouching mode into a full-bore run, diving under the table.
The other three vipers went wild with their rattling and clacking and shrieking. Owen rolled onto his back to face the four sets of vipers’ eerie eyes, changing from green to red. Without waiting for their venom shots, he drove his feet up and kicked the table, sending the beasts flying into the wall and the sacred book sliding across the floor.
A viper screeched, and Owen saw smoke coming from its back, where one of its compatriots had apparently misfired its venom. Within seconds its screeching turned to a hiss as its body shriveled into a quivering mass.
Owen was on his feet now, sword ready, three vipers stunned by his quick action. The surviving vipers took flight, circling and eyeing him. Perhaps no one had ever countered them before; clearly they were as angry as hornets. Owen lunged at the nearest, but it darted and Owen’s sword caught only the end of its tail, rattle beads clattering to the floor. Owen turned just in time to use his blade to divert yet another stream of venom, this time into the face of the third viper. It fell to its death, hissing and sizzling.
The only two left were at opposite ends of the room now, but they screeched at each other and flew straight for him.
Owen dived for the table and turned it as both beasts unleashed their poison. The table split as the vipers swooped past, coming around for another pass.
Owen reached for the book as a viper plunged at him, shooting. He blocked the spray with the book, and the venom ricocheted back at the viper, striking it in the chest and killing it. Unlike the heavy wood table, the book had suffered no damage.
The last viper dive-bombed from the ceiling, eyes afire, fangs exposed, venom dripping. Owen dropped the book and reached for his sword as another flying being entered, not as fast and looking woozy. It screeched and flew directly toward the viper, causing the enemy to change course. It was a bat! And it had protected Owen.
The delay had given Owen just enough time to raise his sword above his head, and the viper flew right into it, chopping itself in half.
The bat cocked his head. “Careful of the venom, Wormling.”
“Thank you, friend,” Owen said, reaching up to shake before remembering bats didn’t have hands. He patted its head instead. “You know me?”
“Your friend told me about you.”
“My friend?” Owen said, carefully wiping the sword on a charred drapery.
“Calls herself Watcher. Brown hair, about this high . . .”
Owen’s mouth dropped. “That’s her. Is she alive?”
“She was when they dragged her from the room.”
“Who?”
“Invisibles with a powerful weapon. They hit Tusin and he fell—”
“Tusin?”
The bat—who said his name was Batwing—explained everything, and suddenly Owen was hopeful again. But Batwing said the invisibles had taken Watcher to the highest part of the castle, where Owen hadn’t even been.
He had retrieved the book, but the King’s Son had disappeared. He had to find the Son again. But his heart refused to leave Watcher in the hands of the Dragon.
Watcher moaned and groaned, struggling to open her eyes, but the ringing and pounding in her head would not stop.
She couldn’t move her legs. When she finally was able to see, she realized she was strapped to a wooden chair secured to the floor. She also sensed a presence so evil that the hair on her back rose straight up.
“Well, well, we meet the Watcher,” a deep and rattly voice boomed behind her. “Did you have a nice rest, my dear? You know, few survive a blast from the concussers.”
Watcher could tell by the putrid, sulfurous breath and the sound of the long heavy tail slithering about that this was the enemy of the King, the enemy of the Son, the enemy of the Wormling, and the enemy of all the citizens of her world. Just outside the door stood the being who had stolen The Book of the King, but when she looked at him, he quickly moved out of sight.
“Come, come, Watcher,” the Dragon said. “There are so many things we could discuss. How about you answer a question from me, and then I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
“You never speak the truth,” Watcher said.
“Oh, please,” the Dragon whined. “Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I? You haven’t bought into propaganda of my opposers, have you? It must have been an ordeal, traveling with someone spouting passages from that dreadful book. Tell me, is the Wormling self-absorbed, obsessively focused? That must be terribly draining for you.”
“I will tell you nothing about the Wormling.”
“But you have been traveling with him, hmm? Haven’t you? Come, come, you can tell me. . . . Well, you are to be commended for your long-suffering. Now, as a gesture of goodwill, despite that you refused to answer, please feel free to ask me something. Go ahead. I’m dying to know what’s on your mind.” The Dragon finally came into view, his face lit with anticipation.
“The King’s Son,” she said. “Do you know where he is?”
“Hmm,” the Dragon groaned. “And I promised to answer.”
“I knew you would not tell me the truth.”
“No, no, it’s not that. It’s just that at the moment I don’t know. I did know where he was, but now . . . it seems I’ve misplaced him.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ah, ah—that’s two questions. If I answer, you must promise to answer my next one.”
Watcher could not lie or her powers would leave her. Silence was an option, but she felt compelled to help the Wormling. “All right, I promise.”
“Good! So, you seek the whereabouts of the King’s Son. To be truthful, we had him in a dark place, very safe and hidden. Now it seems he’s escaped. So, no, I don’t know where he is. But as soon as he is found, believe me, you will be the first to know.”
The Dragon inched closer, his ugly body squeaking as Watcher felt the heat of his breath on her neck. “My turn. And you promised. Where is the Wormling?”
Watcher gritted her teeth. “He told me to wait outside. That’s the last I saw of him.”
“Going in the castle?”
“Ah, ah. That’s two questions.”
The Dragon backed away and straightened. “No, it’s one. The question is where is he?”
“The last I saw him, he was entering the castle, yes. But, like you, I really don’t know. If he found the King’s Son, they could be miles from here.”
“Without you? Not a chance.” The Dragon
snorted, and a finger of fire leaked from his snout. Clearly he wasn’t happy. “Well, regardless, he’ll be back for you, won’t he?” He leaned close again. “Want to know something about your Wormling? He’s been hiding something from you, keeping something to himself, despite your loyalty.”
Watcher pretended otherwise, but he had her full attention. “I’d be surprised.”
“Have you any idea who this Wormling really is?”
“He’s told me of his life before, in the other world.”
“Ah, but has he kept from you the most important information all this time? Tsk, tsk, tsk. And you, such a faithful friend. It’s a shame, isn’t it?”
Watcher tensed against the ropes.
“Let me guess,” the Dragon continued. “There is more than loyalty in your heart for this Wormling; am I right?”
Watcher pursed her lips and shook her head.
The Dragon chuckled. “Getting too close to the heart of the matter, am I?” He leaned close to Watcher’s ear and whispered in his sweetest, most cunning voice, “Your Wormling is in love. It’s true. His heart belongs to someone in the other world, and he doesn’t want you to know.”
“Why would I care? He’s not even of my species.”
“Some things cannot be explained by science. Admit that there is some feeling deep inside that Watcher’s heart of yours. I can sense it, just as you can sense invisibles.”
“You don’t even know him. You’ve never met him. How could you know—?”
The Dragon’s aide stepped in, head bowed.
“I told you I did not want to be disturbed!” the Dragon roared.
“I beg your pardon, sire, but I have urgent news. The vipers. They’ve been killed.”
“How many?”
“All, sire.”
The Dragon’s throat rattled and his skin flushed. “And what of the book?”
At this the being sank, his head nearly touching the ground. “I’m sorry, sire.”
The Sword of the Wormling Page 16
