A World Without Heroes (2 page)

Minutes passed. Hours. Finally the cell door opened, and then closed.

“We meet again at last,” a familiar voice said.

Chills raced across the prince’s shoulders. Maldor had visited Trensicourt years ago, trying to negotiate an alliance. As a boy the prince had studied his every move, this man who his father claimed was so dangerous.

“I promised that one day you would kneel to me,” the emperor said, his tone dry.

The prince moved his arms slightly, enough to jangle his chains.

“I would have preferred voluntary reverence,” the emperor admitted. “Perhaps in time. I understand you have lost your tongue.”

The prince hesitated. He had to be sure. He had learned this word of power at great cost. The emperor could not possibly suspect that he knew every syllable. Otherwise he would never have come here in person. But could the speaker be a trick? An imitator? The prince knew he would only get one chance at this.

“I had no interest in addressing your underlings,” the prince said, surprised by how hoarse and weak his voice sounded.

“The heir to Trensicourt speaks?” Maldor exclaimed. “You inhaled a caustic substance. I had begun to suspect you had lost the
ability to vocalize. Truly you possess a will of steel. Had I known you merely required my presence, I might have visited you earlier.”

If he was an impersonator, he was a very good one.

“What brings you down to the dungeon?”

The emperor paused. “I am here to celebrate the end of my worries.”

“You have many kingdoms yet to conquer,” the prince protested. “I am one man.”

“And a keystone is a single block,” the emperor murmured, “yet when it is removed, the structure collapses.”

“Others remain,” the prince insisted. “Others will rise.”

“You speak as though you are already gone,” Maldor chuckled. “My friend, I have never meant to kill you. I only needed to prove that you cannot stand against me. The way to confirm this reality was to defeat you. It pains me to see you like this. I would prefer to clothe you in finery and bind up your wounds. You may recall, I have extended my friendship in the past. Not only did you deny me, but you have fought against me, and urged others to do likewise.”

“You will never have my loyalty,” the prince pledged.

“I wish you would be reasonable,” the emperor lamented. “I am fully aware that none of my servants are your equal. You could be my chief lieutenant. I would make you Lord of Trensicourt, and more besides, free to govern as a king in all but name. I could restore your sight, extend your lifespan. You could accomplish much good.”

“And all of Lyrian would fall under your dominion,” the prince replied. “How do I know this is really you? My eyes are gone.”

“Surely you know my voice,” the emperor said, amused.

“Years ago you spoke to me in the parlor at Trensicourt. I showed you a toy.”

“Has this become a game of riddles?”

“Do you remember the toy?”

“A windup carousel with removable horses. You removed an enameled horse—mostly blue, I believe—and asked me to join you.”

The prince nodded in silence. Only the emperor would know that detail. It was too obscure. With hardly a pause he spoke the Word that he had kept secret since his capture. He could taste its power as it escaped his lips, a true Edomic key word.

The prince waited in darkness.

“What a peculiar exclamation,” the emperor remarked.

Dismay and confusion left the prince off balance. That word should have been the emperor’s undoing! Frantically the prince struggled to recall the Word, but uttering it out loud just once had abolished it from memory.

“You look troubled,” Maldor commented knowingly.

“That word should have destroyed you,” the prince whispered, the last of his resolve withering, his inner world dimming into a cold place where only the ashes of hope remained.

The emperor laughed. “Come now, my stalwart prince, surely you did not imagine me ignorant of your quest! We are conversing, in truth, but not in person. I am using an intermediary. After all, being a wizard should include a few advantages! My emissary can speak with my inflections, and we can readily communicate from afar. But since he is not me, that perilous word can have no effect on either of us. Now that you are divested of your final weapon, why not reconsider my offer?”

“Never,” the prince whispered. All he had left was the fact that he had never let the emperor entice him to switch sides. The prince owed that, at least, to all who had believed in him.

“I am very impressed that you learned the Word,” the emperor went on. “You are the first. I have long promised myself that he who learned the Word would be invited to join my inner circle. You have no more options. Do not perish without reason. Further
resistance will bring no reward. Work with me, and you can still accomplish much good. Respond with care this time, for you will not receive another opportunity. After all, you just tried to kill me. This introduction to the hospitality of my dungeon has been gentle compared to the horrors that await.”

Head bowed, the prince remained silent for a moment. After all the planning, the maneuvering, the bold alliances, the narrow escapes, he had failed! He had said the Word to a decoy! He had even anticipated the possibility, but in the end Maldor had fooled him, had ruined him, as happened inevitably to all of his foes. The prince searched inside for hope or faith and found nothing. Perhaps he should accept the inevitable. He was unsure how much longer he could retain his sanity in this unspeakable place.

The prince raised his head. “I will never serve you. You have defeated me, but you will never own me.” He owed these words to those who had died for him. He owed the words to himself. To be destroyed was one thing. At least he had not surrendered.

“Very well. You were my finest adversary, this I acknowledge. But you will break here. You know this. You have my admiration, but not my pity.” Footsteps retreated, and a door clanged shut with the finality of a tomb.

CHAPTER
1
THE HIPPO

O
ver the centuries individuals have crossed from our world to Lyrian in a variety of ways. Although some travelers have journeyed between universes deliberately, normally the sudden voyagers are caught by surprise. They become lost in deep caves and emerge into an unfamiliar landscape. They pass through the natural stone arches that occasionally link our realities. They sink into deep wells, enter passageways near mountaintops, or, less often, crawl through petrified logs. But nobody has ever passed from Earth to Lyrian in a less likely way than Jason Walker.

At the age of thirteen Jason resided in the town of Vista, Colorado. Since his father was enjoying a prosperous career in dentistry, and his older brother had just been accepted to dental school, most of his acquaintances expected Jason would one day become a dentist as well. His parents openly encouraged him in that direction. The expectations had rubbed off, and Jason’s vague plan for life included earning a baseball scholarship to a university where he could begin his quest for a dental degree.

He could not recall ever deliberately choosing this course—he had no real passion for tooth repair. The routine struck him as
dull and monotonous. Scraping teeth. Taking X-rays. Applying fluoride. Deep down Jason craved something else.

Ever since he could remember, Jason had felt drawn to animals. He read books about them, watched nature programs, and begged for pets. After he consulted with his father, this passion inspired his interest in a zoology major on the way to his dental degree. Unlike many prospective zoology students Jason actually worked in a zoo. Understandably, he had never imagined that his volunteer job might lead him to an alternate universe.

During an unseasonably warm week in late February, Jason leaned against the railing outside the fast-pitch batting cage at the local sports park. Tim stood in the cage, knees slightly bent, chipping a lot of foul balls as he struggled to regain his timing. Matt, the best hitter on their club team, had gone first, blasting nearly every pitch to the back of the cage with his fluid swing.

“Don’t try to murder the ball,” Jason suggested.

“I’d settle for assault and battery,” Tim grumbled.

On the next pitch Tim crushed a hard ground ball to the left side of the cage. Jason alternated glances between Tim and a labeled image in his biology textbook. He was memorizing the human skeletal system for a test.

“Get your nose out of that book,” Matt murmured to Jason as Tim fouled the next pitch back into the netting.

“I have to head to the zoo after this,” Jason apologized. “I won’t have much time to study today.”

“Trust me,” Matt said, nodding toward their left.

Jason turned his head to find a pair of girls coming toward them. They were April and Holly Knudsen, fraternal twins in his grade at Kennedy Middle School. The girls were not much alike in appearance or interests, especially for twins. Prettier and more studious, April was in three of Jason’s honors classes, including
biology. Louder and sportier, Holly held a softball bat in one hand and a batting helmet in the other.

Only two girls at school made Jason feel queasy and self-conscious: Jen Miller and April Knudsen. They were pretty, and smart, and seemed down-to-earth. Jason harbored secret crushes on both of them.

“Hey, guys,” Holly called.

Jason tried to smile. He was suddenly very aware of the textbook in his hands. Would it make him look like a nerd, reading a biology book at the batting cages?

Matt said nothing. He seldom spoke much around girls. Jason tried to make his voice casual. “Hi, Holly. April.”

“Getting ready for your last season before high school ball?” Holly wondered.

Tim whacked a hard fly ball.

“Coach Thayer is already scouting Jason,” Matt said. “He might end up pitching for varsity as a freshman.”

It was true. Jason had hit a growth spurt at the end of sixth grade. His hitting had initially fallen apart as he’d adjusted to his height, while his pitching had started to gain some real speed. He now stood almost six feet tall. His hitting was recuperating, and his fastball was up into the eighties, but his control had suffered.

“Wow, freshmen boys almost never play varsity,” Holly admired. “They almost took state last year.”

“I’m not sure how much I impressed Thayer,” Jason confessed. “My pitches were all over the place.”

“Only one guy on next year’s high school team throws faster than you,” Matt said. “When you throw your best stuff, I can’t hit you.”

“I tense up lately,” Jason admitted with a grimace. Over the past year, during games, he had started to feel very self-conscious,
and erratic pitches had been the result. He had blown some games by giving up too many walks, and he’d lost a key game with a wild pitch. He had also hit a few batters, and at the speeds he was throwing, that was a big deal. No opposing batters had been seriously hurt, but they could have been.