And then a voice came over the air, clear and strong.
“Welcome, my friends, to the House of Goél!”
Instantly Josh knew that voice! He turned and saw a figure standing on a flat rock that rose above the floor of the plain. A tall man, wearing a light gray robe with the hood thrown back, he stood before the host, looking around him calmly.
Goél. The mysterious leader who carried the battle to the Dark Lord. He was burned by the sun, and his eyes were deep set and darkly brooding. His hands were corded with strength, and there was a powerful presence about him as he looked around at those who had come at his bidding.
“My faithful friends, you have come—and I thank you all. For years now you have fought the Dark Lord. Many of our comrades have fallen in the struggle—and some will fall in that one which is to come.”
A voice called, “Is it time, Goél?”
“Yes! The time comes for the final battle. Will Nuworld be ruled by the tyranny of the Dark Lord, or will peoples everywhere come into the House of Goél and live as free beings should?”
The question seemed rhetorical, and he stood there for a time, apparently thinking. Then he began to tell them of many things, and no one moved as long as he spoke. At last, he said, “I will be giving you more instructions later—but for now, eat, and drink, and enjoy the fellowship of Goél.”
Josh turned to Sarah. “Well, that tears it,” he said. “We were right. There’s going to be a final battle this time.”
Sarah looked troubled. “It all sounds so—well, so final. What if we lose?”
Josh was silent. He did not want to consider that possibility.
The Sleepers continued to wander among the milling crowd, meeting more old friends. And then Goél himself appeared at Josh’s side and greeted him warmly.
“And here is my faithful Joshua.”
“Sire, we have come,” Josh said. “But we have not the strength that we once had. I fear that we are worn thin.”
Goél smiled at him. “You have done your best, and that is all that I ask of any of my servants. But the hour is near, and I must send you on a mission to alert three more groups of my people.”
“Who are they, Goél?” Sarah asked, standing close beside Josh.
“You must go to the Land of Ice and to the Centaurs and to Celethorn, Land of the Magicians. It will be another long journey, but when those three groups are here, my host will be complete. I will not send you alone. I will have guides for you. Will you do this for me?”
Josh suddenly felt refreshed. The very presence of the tall man, and the warmth of his eyes, and the power that seemed to flow through him strengthened the boy. He said sturdily, “We will follow your orders as long as we draw breath, Goél!”
“That’s my faithful Joshua!” Goél said warmly. “The Seven Sleepers are indeed my pride!”
2
Council of the Dark Lord
Far to the north of the Plains of Dothan, where Goél had summoned his subjects, a land fierce and terrible rose up out of the broken tableland. The trees of that land were withered and stunted, as if compressed by the air into bent, twisted shapes. Birds that would sing merrily in brighter lands avoided the place. The only sounds from the air above were the harsh croakings of ravens as they crisscrossed the somber skies.
Travelers avoided this fearsome country, though to do so meant detouring hundreds of miles through difficult terrain—and those who were caught in it by night sometimes did not live to regret it. When the moon arose, strange beasts, foul and unnatural, issued from caverns in the depths of this blasted land. It was a deadly country, feared and despised by those inhabitants of Nuworld who had the misfortune to find themselves within its borders.
Winter gales swept across the bleak, hostile environment, chilling to the bone and almost freezing the teeth of unfortunate travelers. In the fall, the winds pushed across the landscape as if seeking to shove travelers off the narrow mountain paths into the valleys of broken rock far below. Spring and summer, a time of joy and beauty in other parts of Nuworld, brought forth only blistering sunshine that cooked the rocks and baked the faces of those who hurried across the region.
Far inland in the center of this terrible land, a circle of jagged mountains ringed a castle that rose out of the stones of the earth. The mountains, which served as a fortress wall against any who would attack, were broken by only three passes, kept guarded at all times by the servants of the Dark Lord. Woe be to those who attempted to pass through! Those who did come were more often brought as prisoners—and most were never seen again.
The castle itself was made of solid stone. No one knew how long it had stood there, but its rocks were blasted gray with age and crumbled with the fierce snows and blistering suns that had beaten upon them. Nor did anyone know how such a fortress was built. Those who studied it could only be puzzled, for it would have taken thousands of men thousands of years to build such a structure. Its turrets pierced the sky like daggers, and the rounded walls of those towers were slitted to allow bowmen to deal swift death to any who would attack. At times foul smoke would issue from the chimneys, choking those who had the misfortune to breathe it. Neither plant nor animal could endure its stench for long.
The Dread Tower rose like a skeletal finger in the center, and from its crest the entire land could be surveyed by the Dark Lord and his henchmen.
Inside that tower all was massive stone. Steps carved out of rock led down deep, deep, deep into the bowels of the earth, where dungeons kept their terrible secrets forever. Cries and muted screams rose from these chambers far beneath the Dread Tower. There was at least one huge room, known to none but the Dark Lord himself, where a massive brass gate was bolted to the solid rock, strong enough to secure any living thing. At times the Dark Lord would come and put his baleful eye on the huge gate.
The most cheerful spot in the Dread Tower was the council room. It was here the Dark Lord summoned his commanders from time to time to plot his strategy for overthrowing Goél and his House. Even now, that wicked crew sat around tables, tearing at food like vicious animals and swilling down dark, strong liquor.
The Dark Lord did not join in these riotous festivities. He sat on a seat of stone, his clawlike hands clutching its arms. He was cloaked from head to foot in a black cape, his head hidden beneath a hood that fell over and concealed his countenance. Only the red gleam of his eyes could be seen by his captains as they glanced at him from time to time. Motionless, silent, fierce, the Dark Lord watched the revels of his dusky band.
Several vicious fights broke out as the rowdy feasting went on. Powerful, beastlike men pummeled each other. Once, swords were drawn, and their clash filled the council room. The Dark Lord made no effort to stop the duel, nor did the captains. All cried for their favorites, and when one lay on the floor, his eyes glazing in death, a cry of exultation went up from the supporters of his opponent, who raised his bloody sword high.
Finally the Dark Lord said, “Hear me!”
Instant silence fell across the chamber. The eye of every captain looked upward to where his lord sat on the dais, staring down at them. Not one, however, looked with love or admiration. Fear had brought them there, and fear kept them there. Every member of the horrid company knew that only strength would prevail with the Dark Lord. Failure was punished, sometimes with death—which was merciful—sometimes with something much worse.
The air seemed to grow heavy as each waited for the Dark Lord to speak.
At last he said, “The time has come.”
The Dark Lord’s voice echoed in the council room. Even the candles in their wall sockets seemed to bend with the force of it. “We have waited long enough! It is time to strike the final blow against the House of Goél!” His voice rose to a high pitch, filled with anger and frustration. “Goél must die and all who follow him!” The Dark Lord waited as shouts of agreement echoed, then he said, “I will hear what you have to offer as a method of ridding me of him.”
Once again there wa
s silence. All knew the penalty of rashness when dealing with this terrible being who sat watching them, his red eyes glowing. Few dared speak.
At last, however, a tall, thin form stood forth. This was Gnash, the victor in many of the Dark Lord’s battles. His features were dark, and his teeth showed yellow as he grinned horribly. He wore a leather jerkin and a sword at his side, which he fingered constantly. “My lord,” he said, “we are all aware of the problem of Goél and his accursed House.”
A murmur of angry cries went up, and Gnash held up a hand to silence it.
“The answer, as we all know, is somehow bound up with the prophecy that came long ago.” He hesitated, then quoted part of a prediction that had been circulated in Nuworld for many years: “‘And when the Seven Sleepers wake—the House of Goél will be filled.’”
“You dare speak that in my presence?” The Dark Lord leaned forward and half lifted his hand, as if to send a lightning bolt and strike Gnash to the floor.
“Hear me, my dread lord,” Gnash cried quickly, blinking. “We cannot win by ignoring the problem. We must strike at the Seven Sleepers themselves.”
His words seemed to appease the Dark Lord somewhat. He settled back in his chair, but there was a sneer in his voice as he said, “This is your answer, Gnash? Have you not tried, all of you, time and time again, to crush these accursed Sleepers? And all of you have failed! Seven babies—infants! And all the warriors of my kingdom cannot bring them to bay! Faugh! You are the infants and the babies!”
Gnash swallowed hard but managed to hold his ground. “We have failed—I admit it, my liege lord—but I have come to believe that there is more to these Sleepers than flesh and blood.” He waved a hand. “Have we not trapped them again and again? Have we not thrown our forces against them when all hope for them was wiped out—and still they escaped?” Gnash shook his head grimly. “This is sorcery, my lord, and we must fight it. And no amount of swords or shields can overcome such protection as they apparently have.”
Again, a murmur of agreement ran around the hall, and the flames in the fireplace leaped. The captains seemed hungry wolves as they leaned forward to hear what the Dark Lord would say.
“I think you may be right,” he said grudgingly. “I have often thought this Goél—blast his name!—is not of this earth. He is no mere man, or he would have been crushed long ago. What is your remedy then, Gnash?”
“I believe we must take the Sleepers not through brute force but through craft and guile.”
For some time the discussion went on. But though it was apparent that Gnash had spoken truth, no practical method of applying his remedy appeared.
The Dark Lord said crushingly, “Is this all of your help, my captains?”
“No, sire.”
A heavy, bulky figure appeared to the Dark Lord’s right. This was Morder, the chief of the council. There was a cruelty in the man that made even the brutal captains cringe as they watched him. His eyes were small and keen and had a yellowish tinge, peering out from under heavy brows. His skin was dark, and the hair of his head and beard was lank. Hair grew in tufts over his arms and neck as well. No one doubted his shrewdness.
“What is your word, Morder?” the Dark Lord asked. “You have never failed me. What now shall we do?”
“My lord,” Morder said slowly, his voice as heavy and bulky as his form. “I have good news. We have placed an informer in the House of Goél.”
“This has been tried before!” the Dark Lord said impatiently. “They have always ferreted out those we sent, no matter how clever.”
“Indeed, you speak the truth, my lord—but this time I have succeeded. We now have an opportunity to know the inner secrets of the movements of Goél’s people.”
Gnash cried out at once, “If we have done that, then we can lay snares for them and they cannot escape! War is certain. We must—we shall—destroy the Sleepers!”
Every throat was suddenly filled with screams of anger and hatred for Goél.
The Dark Lord looked down upon the burly forms of his lieutenants. He lifted a hand and in the silence that followed said, “We must not fail. This Goél, despite all of our efforts, grows stronger. More and more of the free peoples of Nuworld are flocking to his banner. If we do not destroy him now, he will destroy us.”
Morder said confidently, “Do not fear, my lord. We have the strength—and soon we shall have the knowledge—to trap the Seven Sleepers. Believe me, or let my head answer for it. I will have these Sleepers in the dungeons crying for death before long.”
“Your head is pledge, then, Morder. See to it.”
The Dark Lord leaned back and watched as the feast continued. He did not move, but his power seemed to fill the room.
Morder whispered to Gnash, “If we fail, you know the penalty.”
Gnash said nervously, “This informer—is he a reliable spy?”
“Very reliable. No one would suspect. Do not fear —this time we will trap the Sleepers!”
3
Two Guides
The various elements of the army of Goél were busy. Ever since Goél had stated his intention of bringing on the final battle, men and animals and Nuworld creatures had constantly been brought into the camp. Weapons were sharpened and burnished, and supplies were laid in.
This place is like a gigantic beehive! Josh thought as he looked over the milling soldiers early one morning. He had risen early and breakfasted with the other Sleepers and now stood in the center of the plain, looking for Goél.
He found him in the midst of giving orders to several of his captains. Josh waited patiently, and finally he caught Goél’s eye.
Smiling, Goél motioned Josh toward him. “Good morning, Joshua. Are your companions outfitted and ready?”
“Yes, sire,” Josh said. “What is it you would have us to do?”
“Come with me, and I will give you your orders.”
Josh walked alongside the tall form of his leader as they made their way through the teeming camp. Finally they found a fairly secluded spot in a grove of small trees. A little stream ran through the plain here, and Goél motioned to the bank. “Sit down, Joshua.”
For a time they sat quietly, staring into the water that bubbled pleasantly over the stones. From far off came the faint sound of men practicing with their arms, but here it was still and peaceful.
“I wish every place was as quiet as this one,” Josh said. He reached into the cool water and let it make a small wave over his palm. He caught some then and tasted it. “Good water,” he said. “Cold and clear.”
“You’ve had a difficult time, my son. I regret that I have used you so hard.”
Josh looked up with some surprise. “That’s what we were brought to Nuworld for, Goél. To serve you— to fill your House.”
“Yes, but it is an expensive task,” Goél said slowly. There was deep, almost bottomless, sadness in his eyes as he fixed them on Josh. “No kingdom is built without pain and sweat and blood. It is not easy to send good servants like you into deadly situations. You have been a joy to me, my Joshua.”
The words warmed Josh’s heart. As always, his weariness and fears fell away when he was in the presence of Goél. He smiled with pleasure. “We have done little,” he said, shrugging. “Sometimes it seems so hopeless, Goél.”
“I know. The Dark Lord has his armies—his terrible captains—roaming the earth. At times it seems that those of my House are being swallowed by the Dark Lord’s dreadful strength.”
“It does seem like that.” Josh nodded. “If it wasn’t for you, I would say it was impossible.” He flushed and ducked his head. “As a matter of fact, I have said that a time or two.”
“Never take counsel of your fears, Joshua,” Goél said. Then he smiled. “You have come a long way from that callow boy who first came out of a sleep capsule. You have done battle in high places, and you have maintained your honor—and my honor, as well—in times of stress and danger. No man could have done more.”
Then Goél sighe
d heavily. “It is quiet here. I long for peace, even as you, my son. And that peace will come someday. Can you believe that?”
“I believe it if you say so, Goél.”
“Good! But before the peace comes the war.” He leaned toward Josh. “I think few recognize what a terrible battle this last one will be. We have not seen the Dark Lord’s full strength put forth. His wicked servants have multiplied. They are scattered over the whole earth now, but he will draw them to this place soon. And here we must meet him. Every sword blade will count; every arrow and every club must count also. That is why I am now sending you and your company to bring in three groups that have not yet responded to my call.”
“What are these three armies, sire?”
“I would not call them ‘armies.’ They are more like small tribes. But I repeat, it may be that one sword will make the difference as to which way the battle goes. We cannot spare one man, or one horse, or one blade.”
“I understand, sire. Just give me the orders.”
“You must go first to the Land of Ice, where you will speak to the chief of the Aluks. They are a hardy people, and they love me, but they know not of this battle. Give them the summons to come at once to the Plains of Dothan. Second, you must go to the Land of the Centaurs.”
Josh lifted his head. “Centaurs?”
“You have heard of the centaurs?”
“Yes, but I didn’t know they were real. You mean the half-horse and half-man people?”
“Exactly, and they are very powerful allies. Not just in their numbers, but they have powers that go beyond flesh and blood. You must convince them to come at once.”
“And the third group?”
“The third group is more difficult.”
“Are they your people, Goél?”
“Some of them are, but there is an element among them that fights against me. You must go to Celethorn, Land of the Magicians.”
“Magicians?”
“You seem startled at that. Possibly ‘magicians’ is not the best word,” Goél said quietly. “Wise men, perhaps. And wise women too. They have deep knowledge and powers, even beyond those of the centaurs. In the end it may be that the special powers they bring will be more important to the success of our battle than any sword of steel.”
Final Kingdom Page 2
