Bedtime Story (10 page)

Dafyd struggled to understand. “Then why are the Berok—?”

“Because their old king is gone. Died nearly five years ago now, in the Berok fashion. Killed by his eldest son, Queen Tanis’s brother, who now sits on the Berok throne. He was one of the strongest critics of his father’s diplomacy, and now that he rules, the agreements are worthless. The only bond that remains is the marriage of Tanis and the King. And now that they know of his illness—”

The magus didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence. A whistling sound came out of the air and with a startled gasp the guardsman closest to Dafyd fell backward in his saddle.

“Dafyd, get down,” he heard the captain cry when he noticed the red shaft of the arrow lodged in the guardsman’s chest. “We are under attack!”

“So how was that?” I asked after we’d read for almost half an hour. I tucked the bookmark into place. “Do you think it’s got some potential?”

“Maybe,” he said, but his tone of voice and his little smile told the real story. “He’s only fifteen—that’s not much older than me. Bilbo Baggins was fifty.”

“Well, not so long ago someone who was thirteen or fourteen was almost a grown-up. Kids were getting married and starting families when they were that age.” I stopped for a moment, trying to wrap my head around the idea. “People lived shorter lives in those days, so they had to start everything younger. That’s why when you see someone like a wizard or a mage in books like these, someone with white hair and a long beard, they’re important because they’ve lived so much longer than the people around them. Does that make sense?”

He nodded, but he was fading.

I couldn’t shake an odd feeling as I put the book onto the shelf and kissed my son good-night. It stayed with me as I pulled the door partway shut, making sure the light from the hall didn’t spill onto his face.

It was strange I hadn’t noticed that the main character of the book was named Dafyd—that sort of detail usually jumps out at me, especially when it was something I could have used as a selling point in winning him over with the book.

Maybe I had been thrown by the
f
and the y.

Dafyd froze, unable to look away as the guardsman’s horse bolted, the soldier’s body tumbling from the saddle and dragging in the dust from one foot tangled in the stirrup.

His own horse reared as the remaining guardsmen turned their mounts toward the rise to their left.

“Dafyd, get down!” the captain shouted again as he spurred his horse.

Dafyd’s horse turned to follow, and he felt a sudden streak of wind, a sharp burning against his cheek. He heard the same high, whistling sound follow: an arrow!

He reached up to touch his cheek as the magus launched himself toward Dafyd, knocking him from the saddle and pushing him to the ground.

A moment later the whistling came again, and Dafyd’s horse screamed and reared, flailing for a moment against the sky, then crashing to the earth mere inches from where Dafyd had fallen.

“Get close,” the magus commanded, pushing Dafyd toward the body of the horse. “Take shelter.”

Dafyd did as he was told, tucking himself behind the horse’s haunch.

“Keep your head down.”

But Dafyd couldn’t help but peek over the horse’s body.

Leaving a handful of men behind, the guardsmen rode furiously up the rise, the captain at the lead, his sword flashing in the sun, dust rising behind them like smoke.

At first, Dafyd couldn’t see what they were riding toward, but as he watched he noticed that parts of the dusty brown hillside seemed to be moving. Men dressed to match the landscape were running toward the charging guardsmen.

Were there three? Four? Dafyd couldn’t tell. As the guardsmen rode into them, their swords arced into the sky, then down, and again.

It was over in moments. As one rider broke from the pack and turned back toward them, Dafyd realized he had been holding his breath.

“Are you hurt?” the magus asked from somewhere nearby.

Turning, Dafyd saw the man hunched low behind the horse, his fingers wrapped around the medallion at his neck.

Dafyd shook his head.

The sound of hoof beats grew closer. The captain was at the base of the hill, riding toward them. His face was stern, masked in blood. His dripping sword hung loose in his right hand. When he saw Dafyd looking at him, a grim smile crossed his features.

“That was too close,” he said as he reined his horse to a stop beside the body of Dafyd’s own.

Dafyd stood up, and the captain flinched. “Your face.”

Dafyd brought his fingers up to touch the welt, now sticky and sharp with pain.

“Much too close.” The captain turned his attention to the magus, who was rising slowly, carefully, to his feet.

“Was it a scouting party?” Loren asked. “From the watchtowers?”

The captain shook his head, and his face turned even darker. “No. There were too few.” He glanced meaningfully at Dafyd, then back toward the hillside, at the bodies in the dust. “These were assassins, sent with only one purpose.”

I puttered around downstairs for a while. I straightened the living room, and took the garbage out to the can at the side of the house. I drifted into the kitchen, ran a sinkful of hot water over the dishes and left them to soak as I poured myself two fingers of vodka.

At the foot of the stairs, I flicked off the light, looking upwards toward David’s room. I wasn’t expecting to see what I saw: he’d been on his best behaviour lately, knowing that we’d confiscate his video game if he was caught playing it after lights-out again.

When I was a kid, I couldn’t figure out for the longest time how I was getting caught reading after I was supposed to be asleep. I finally realized that my parents were able to see the light under my bedroom door. Busted.

Oh, David.

I crept up the stairs, avoiding the creaky spots. I hated coming down heavy on him, but he’d had fair warning. If his video game was interfering with his schoolwork or his sleep, we, the almighty we, would have to take it away. He’d already lost it once for three days; next time, a week-long period of cold turkey.

I was halfway up the stairs when the light went out, a click from the lamp echoing down the hallway. I hadn’t been as quiet as I had thought.

His bedroom door was closed—I remembered distinctly leaving it open a crack. Clever kid. As if to myself, I said, “I could have sworn I left this open.”

Pushing the door wide, I paused before entering the room. In the spill of light from the hall, David looked almost like he was really sleeping, curled on his side, head tucked slightly, no telltale smile on his lips.

I stepped across the room, touched the ball of my hand to his bedside lamp and pulled it back from the heat.

“That’s strange,” I said for his benefit. “That lamp’s awfully hot.”

His composure didn’t falter.

I glanced down at the bedside table, looking for his video game, ready to put an end to the performance we were both participating in, but I stopped short.

His video game wasn’t there.

It was on his desk, right where he had left it earlier in the evening, its charging light bright.

Next to his lamp, though, was
To the Four Directions
.

I smiled.

“What’s this?” I asked. “I could have sworn I put this on the shelf when we were done reading it. I wonder how it got over here. Hmm.” I picked up the book. “Maybe I’m losing my mind.”

That got a smile out of him, the slightest upturn of the corners of his mouth.

Leaning over, I pulled his covers up and kissed him on the forehead. “Good night, Davy.”

He didn’t respond.

I tucked the book under my arm.

“Strange things are afoot in this room tonight,” I said, leaving the door open a crack. “I’ll have to keep a closer eye on things up here.”

After the attack, they rode at full gallop to the garrison. Dafyd rode the fallen guardsman’s mount, head heavy with the thought that another person had given his life to protect him.

At the gate, Bream waited impatiently while the gatekeeper examined the writ of passage the captain had been given by the Queen. Bream’s face was crusted with blood, dark and gritty from the dust of the journey. The gatekeeper finally nodded and shouted for the gate to be opened.

“Made a good show of it,” Bream muttered, as he folded the letter back into his saddlebag.

“What do you mean?” Dafyd asked.

“He can’t read,” Bream said, his voice laced with contempt. “Few
of the men can. But none of them want to look stupid, so they’ll stare at the paper until they think they’ve fooled you.” He shook his head. “At least he recognized the royal seal at the bottom.”

Dafyd could feel his face heating up.

Bream noticed. “My apologies,” he said. “Perhaps upon our return, someone can teach you to read.” He steadied his horse with a gentle pressure on the reins.

Dafyd nodded, spurring his horse to a canter.

As they passed through the gate, Bream shouted at the first uniformed man he saw. “I need your commander,” he barked. When the man hesitated, he shouted, “Now!”

I was elbow-deep in dishwater when Jacqui got home from work.