A World Without Heroes (15 page)

A
burst of three brisk thumps rapped against the door. Jason awoke, staring up at the underside of a dark blue canopy emblazoned with a golden sunburst, tucked between soft sheets, head cushioned on a feathery pillow. He occupied the room immediately below the Blind King’s personal chamber. Two sets of slatted shutters were latched over tall windows, mostly blocking the predawn grayness. Supercool weapons hung on the walls: several swords, a loaded crossbow, a javelin sharpened to a point at both ends, and a pair of bizarre weapons with short wooden handles from which sprouted many sharp, twisting blades of varying length, intricate as Chinese characters.

Thump, thump, thump.

Jason stretched. Apparently they wanted him to get an early start. Reluctant to leave his comfortable bed, he kicked off his sheets and crossed to the door, the stone floor chilly beneath his bare soles. After removing the bar from its brackets, he slid both bolts and pulled the thick door open. Dorsio stood on the landing, a short sword strapped to his side. He handed a bundle of clothes to Jason and gestured for him to follow.

“Should I put these on first?” Jason asked.

Dorsio gave a nod.

He dressed hurriedly. The shirt, trousers, and loose vest fit better than the clothing Rachel had received. There were no shoes in the bundle. “Do I just wear my same boots?”

Dorsio nodded again.

Jason laced his boots. Remembering his manners, he hastily straightened the covers on the bed. Despite the instructions the Blind King had given to lock his room, the night had passed uneventfully.

Jason climbed the stairs to the king’s room, passing the cook as she descended, a gaunt woman wearing a leather choker, clutching a large wooden spoon in one callused hand. He followed Dorsio to the top, where the attendant unlocked the door.

“Enter,” the Blind King invited.

Jason complied. Remaining on the stairs, Dorsio closed the door. A tray covered with steaming eggs, dark bread, and fat, crisp bacon sat on a low table. Jason took a seat. At an invitation from the king he piled eggs and bacon onto a slice of bread to make a breakfast sandwich.

“This morning you must depart,” the king said. “I will do what I can to help you on your way.”

“Where should I go?” Jason asked after spitting a mouthful of bread and egg into his hand because it had burned his tongue. He was glad the king could not see the unappetizing act.

The Blind King scowled pensively. “I have given the matter much consideration, and I’ve managed to revive a faint memory. I recommend you travel south, well beyond the crossroads, to a place where the road bends east along the top of sea cliffs. At the bend in the road you will leave it, heading farther south until you arrive at a tiny trickle of a stream that seeps away into a crack not
far from the brink of the cliffs. Looking down off the precipice near the stream, you will observe a pair of rocks shaped like arrowheads. At low tide jump between those rocks, and swim into the cave at the base of the cliff. A man who dwells inside will give you some of the answers I cannot supply.”

“When is low tide?’

“This time of year it should fall around midday.”

“How high are these cliffs? Won’t I get hurt?”

“The water is deep there. You might drown or be crushed against rocks, but you should survive the fall.”

“Comforting.” Jason had been blowing on his open sandwich. He took a tentative bite. “Will he give me part of the Word?”

The king crinkled his brow. “He might. I recall that a man in the sea cave assisted me in my quest. I do not remember where I obtained the fragments of the Word I collected, although I know some part came from
The Book of Salzared.
Whether the man in the cave knows part of the Word, or can simply offfer some guidance, I am unsure. The memory of his location was all I could salvage.”

“How did they erase your memories?”

The Blind King shrugged. “Torture. Toxins. Conditioning. Magic. It is all a miserable blur. I am not quite as old as I appear. I was once a proud, defiant man. The tormentors worked on me until I broke, mind and body. I have attempted to rehabilitate my body, to some success. Healing my mind has proven to be the greater challenge.”

With his tongue still feeling scalded, Jason finished his flavorless sandwich. He heard boots stomping up the stairs, followed by a firm rap at the door.

“Who seeks admittance?” the Blind King inquired.

“Brin, bearing urgent tidings.”

“Enter.”

A key rattled, and the Gamester came through the door, chest heaving, wearing a hooded cloak. “There has been a murder!”

Jason felt uncertain how to react. He wondered if this was more make-believe.

“Go on,” the king said.

“Francine, daughter of Gordon, has been taken. There was a slaughter at her home.”

“What?” Restrained outrage tightened the king’s voice. Jason leaned forward to the edge of his seat, alerted by the king’s genuine reaction. Did the Gamester mean Franny?

“Dire news, sire, but accurate.”

“Describe the scene.” The king had regained his composure.

“When I arrived, the door hung askew on twisted hinges. The parlor was a disaster. Furniture splintered, everything spattered with gore, tattered bits of fabric clinging to the walls and ceiling.”

“A mangler,” the king stated flatly.

“Assuredly.”

“She owned a boarhound.”

“I found no traces of the animal in the aftermath.”

“Could you identify the victim?”

“Yes.” The Gamester produced a bloody rag from inside his cloak, unfolding it to reveal part of a severed hand wearing a gray, fingerless glove.

“Aster!” Jason blurted.

The Gamester nodded at him. “So it would appear. Your Majesty, I found part of a dismembered hand upon a high shelf. I feel certain the hand belonged to the vagrant Aster, and young Jason seems to recognize it as well.”

“I spoke with Aster on my way here,” Jason recounted, sickened by the news that the vagrant had perished. “He sent his regards.”

The king nodded. “Aster was once a very respectable man. He must have tried to intervene when they came for her. Evidently not all heroic inclinations had abandoned him. Jason, I take it you spoke with Francine on your way into town?”

A pang of guilt hit Jason. “I did. I didn’t know it could endanger her!”

“This atrocity is meant as a message to you, and also to me. Maldor wants you to know he is watching. And he wants me to know what will happen to any who assist you. Brin, please hasten the preparation of provisions for Lord Jason to take upon his journey. And find out whether Rachel has elected to join him. I lament sending her into danger, but no safe choices remain for her. I still expect her best chance for survival is accompanying Jason, but she must reach that decision on her own. Maintain a guard at the foot of these stairs. Keep a close watch on the road.”

“As you wish, sire,” the Gamester said, bowing stiffly. He closed the door when he left.

“What will happen to Franny?” Jason asked, embarrassed by the catch in his voice.

“Did you mention the Word to her?” the king asked grimly.

“No, of course not. The loremaster warned me not to talk about it. I only discussed it with you because you brought it up.”

“Did you mention anything about the repository? Or your status as a Beyonder?”

“None of that,” Jason said. “I just asked the way to your castle.”

“Then she will probably live, although she might never return to her home. She will be interrogated and reprimanded.”

“I can’t believe this,” Jason murmured.

The king leaned forward. “Heed my words. I now share a lesson learned through a lifetime of sorrowful experience. Maldor possesses sufficient power that when he wants a person dead,
with very few exceptions that individual perishes immediately. Strangely, though, the greater threat an adversary poses, the less vigorously Maldor pursues a hasty demise. He toys with his greatest opponents, baits them, studies them, attempts to shatter their spirits, to drive them to utter ruin rather than merely slay them. For this reason I remain alive. No doubt it amuses him to envision me rotting away in a decaying castle, not dead but defeated. A pathetic monarch astride a throne of make-believe.”

“What a psycho,” Jason mumbled.

The Blind King raised a finger. “However, Maldor deviates from his sadistically inquisitive pattern when a foe fails to abide by his rules. He abhors the dissemination of sensitive information. He detests the recruitment of neutral parties. It bodes well for you that when Francine is interrogated, she will have no information about the Word or your quest. Had you told her about the Word, I would advise you to hastily gulp down your last meal. Do not take this counsel lightly. If you went around informing every soul you met about
The Book of Salzared
, you and all of the people you had spoken with—and most likely their relatives, friends, and neighbors—would be massacred.”

“But you and I have talked a lot about the Word,” Jason said.

“You have told me nothing I did not already know. Converse all you want with those of us who share the secret bound in living skin. Once you have been marked as an enemy to Maldor, you are actually safest when consorting with his other enemies.”

“Have I brought danger upon you?”

“Undoubtedly. But I would have it no other way. My only remaining purpose of any consequence is advising those who dare to challenge the emperor.”

The door opened silently, and Rachel entered, wearing the
same ill-tailored outfit as the day before. Dorsio waited in the doorway behind her.

“Rachel,” the Blind King said, tipping his head toward the door. “I take it you mean to join Jason?”

“For his sake,” she answered. “It didn’t seem like he’d make it far without me.”

“Ouch,” Jason said. “That’s the problem with homeschoolers. They haven’t learned to interact with their peers.”

“Enough bickering,” the Blind King said. “Save your energy for the road. Dorsio, the surrounding countryside remains clear?”

Dorsio snapped his fingers.

“See that we remain undisturbed.”

Dorsio snapped again and exited.

“Now that I’m officially coming,” Rachel said, “what’s the big secret?”

Jason explained about the book and the Word. She listened stoically. The Blind King advised Jason to wait to share the first syllable until he and Rachel were on the road, then repeated his advice about how to avoid provoking Maldor.

“So we’re going on a quest to find a magic word?” Rachel asked in the end. She seemed underwhelmed.

“Maldor was apprenticed to an evil wizard called Zokar,” the Blind King explained. “As a prerequisite to apprenticeship, dark wizards used to force their novices to allow a destructive spell to be woven into their physical makeup. A key word of Edomic could activate the spell and annihilate them. The practice granted the higher wizard assurance that his pupil would never turn on him.”

“And anyone can say the key word?” Jason checked.

“The key words were designed to be the simplest conceivable activation tools,” the king said. “This gave the mentoring wizard the assurance that he could overcome his apprentice under almost
any circumstances. The main protection to the vulnerable pupil was his trust that his master would keep the key word a secret and never use it unfairly.”

“But Zokar shared Maldor’s word,” Rachel concluded.

“Evidently,” the Blind King said. “Zokar must have shared the Word after terminating his relationship with his apprentice. Typically, obscure and slippery words were chosen, to minimize the chances of the destructive spell being triggered accidentally.”

Jason grabbed an extra piece of bacon. “
The Book of Salzared
said that I have to memorize the syllables, but to never say the Word or write it down, or it will be erased from my memory.”

The Blind King gave a nod. “Edomic words of power can only be retained by the most adept, practiced minds. Part of the magic inherent in these key words causes them to be forgotten upon utterance. Learn the syllables, but only combine them mentally. Do not write or speak them in any combined form, or you risk losing them. You will only get a single chance to utter the Word entire, and that must be in the presence of the emperor.”