Fire Sea (8 page)

“How far are we from the lake?”

“Not far, I should judge, Your Highness.”

He started off. I laid a restraining hand on his arm.

“Edmund, take care. Our bodies’ magic has activated to protect us from the heat and the poisonous fumes, but our strength is not inexhaustible. We should proceed forward with caution, take our time.”

He stopped immediately, looked intently at me. “Why? What is there to fear? Tell me, Baltazar.”

He knows me too well. I cannot conceal anything from him.

“My Prince,” I said, drawing him to one side, out of earshot of the people and the king. “I cannot put a name to my fear and, therefore, I am loathe to mention it.”

I spread the map out on a rock. We bent over it together. The people paid little attention to us. I could see the king watching us with suspicion, however, his brow dark and furrowed.

“Pretend that we are discussing the route, Your Highness. I don't want to unduly worry your father.”

Edmund, casting the king a worried glance, did as I requested, wondering in loud tones where we were.

“You see these runes, drawn over this lake on the map?” I said to him in a low voice. “I cannot tell you what they mean, but when I look at them I am filled with dread.”

Edmund stared at the sigla. “You have no idea what they say?”

“Their message has been lost in time, My Prince. I cannot decipher it.”

“Perhaps they warn only that the way is treacherous.”

“That could be it… “But you don't think so.”

“Edmund,” I said, feeling my face burn with embarrassment, “I'm not sure what I think. The map itself doesn't indicate a dangerous route. As you can see, a wide path runs around the shores of the lake. A child could travel it with ease.”

“The path might be cut or blocked by rock falls. We've certainly seen enough of that during our trip,” Edmund stated grimly.

“Yes, but the original mapmaker would have indicated such an occurrence if it had happened during the time he was making the map. If not, he wouldn't have known about it. No, if these runes are meant to warn us of danger, that danger existed when this map was made.”

“But that was so long ago! Surely the danger's gone by now. We're like a rune-bone player beset by bad fortune. According to the odds, our luck is bound to change. You worry too much, Baltazar,” Edmund added, laughing and clapping me on the shoulder.

“I hope so, My Prince,” I replied gravely. “Humor me. Indulge a necromancer's foolish fears. Proceed with caution. Send the soldiers ahead to scout the area—”

I could see the king, glowering at us.

“Well, of course,” snapped Edmund, irritated that I should venture to tell him his duty. “I would have done so in any case. I will mention the matter to my father.”

Oh, Edmund, if only I had said more. If only you had said less. If only. Our lives are made up of “if onlys.”

“Father, Baltazar thinks the path around the lake may be dangerous. You stay behind with the people and let me take the soldiers—”

“Danger!” the old king flared, with a fire that had not burned in either body or mind for a long, long time. Alas, that it should have blazed forth now! “Danger, and you tell me to stay behind! I am king. Or, at least, I was.”

The old man's eyes narrowed. “I have noticed that you— with Baltazar's help, no doubt—are attempting to subvert the people's loyalty. I've seen you and the necromancer off in
your dark comers, plotting and scheming. It won't work. The people will follow me, as they have always followed me!”

I heard. Everyone heard. The king's accusation echoed through the cavern. It was all I could do to keep from rushing forward and throttling the old man with my bare hands. I cared nothing for what he thought of me. My heart burned from the pain of the wound I saw inflicted on his son.

If only that fool king had known what a loyal and devoted son he had! If only he could have seen Edmund during those long, dreary cycles, walking by his father's side, listening patiently to the old man's mad ramblings. If only he could have seen Edmund, time and again, refuse to accept the crown, although the council knelt at his feet and begged him! If only…

But, no more. One must not speak ill of the dead. I can only assume some lingering madness put such ideas in the king's mind.

Edmund had gone deathly white, but he spoke with a quiet dignity that became him well. “You have misunderstood me, Father. It was necessary for me to take on myself certain responsibilities, to make certain decisions during the time of your recent illness. Reluctantly, I did so, as any here”—he gestured to the people, who were staring at their king in shock—“will tell you. No one is more pleased than I am to see you take, once more, your rightful place as ruler of the people of Kairn Telest.”

Edmund glanced at me, asking me silently if I wanted to reply to the accusation. I shook my head, kept my mouth closed. How could I, in honesty, deny the wish that had been in my heart, if not on my lips?

His son's words had an effect on the old king. He looked ashamed, as well he might! He started to reach out his hand, started to say something, perhaps apologize, take his son in his arms, beg his forgiveness. But pride—or madness—got the better of him. The king looked over at me, his face hardened. He turned and stalked off, calling loudly for the soldiers.

“Some of you come with me,” the king commanded. “The rest of you stay here and guard the people from
whatever danger the necromancer theorizes is about to befall us. He is full of theories, our necromancer. His latest is that he fancies himself the father of
my
son!”

Edmund started forward, burning words on his lips. I caught hold of his arm, held him back, shaking my head.

The king set off for the tunnel exit, followed by a small troop of about twenty. The exit was a narrow opening in the rock. The file of soldiers, walking shoulder to shoulder, would have a difficult time squeezing their way through. In the distance, through the opening, the fiery light of the Lake of Burning Rock gleamed a fierce, bright red.

The people looked at each other, looked at Edmund. They seemed uncertain what to do or say. A few of the council members, however, shook their heads and made clucking sounds with their tongues. Edmund cast them a furious glance, and they immediately fell silent. When the king reached the end of the tunnel, he turned to face us.

“You and your necromancer stay with the people, Son,” he shouted, and the sneer that curled his lip was audible in his voice. “Your king will return and tell you when it is safe to proceed.”

Accompanied by his soldiers, he walked out of the tunnel.

If only …

Fire dragons possess remarkable intelligence. One is tempted to say malevolent intelligence, but, in fairness, who are we to judge a creature our ancestors hunted almost to extinction? I have no doubt that, if the dragons could or would speak to us, they would remind us that they have good cause to hate us.

Not that this makes it any easier.

“I should have gone with him!” were the first words Edmund spoke to me, when I gently tried to remove his arms from around his father's broken, bleeding body. “I should have been at his side!”

If, at any moment in my life, I was ever tempted to believe that there might be an immortal plan, a higher power…. But no. To all my other faults, I will not add blasphemy!

As his father had commanded him, Edmund stayed be
hind. He stood tall, dignified, his face impassive. But I, who know him so well, understood that what he longed to do was run after his father. He wanted to explain, to try to make his father understand. If only Edmund had done so, perhaps the old king might have relented and apologized. Perhaps the tragedy would never have occurred.

Edmund is, as I have said, young and proud. He was angry—justifiably so. He had been insulted in front of all the people. He had not been in the wrong. He would not make the first move toward reconciliation. His body trembled with the force of his inheld rage. He stared out the tunnel, said no word. No one said anything. We waited in silence for what seemed to me to be an interminable length of time.

What was wrong? They could have circumnavigated the lake by now, I was thinking to myself, when the scream resounded down the tunnel, echoed horribly off the cavern walls.

All of us recognized the voice of the king. I… and his son … recognized it as a warning, recognized it as his death cry.

The scream was awful, first choked with terror, then agonized, bubbling with pain. It went on and on, and its dreadful echo reverberated from the rock walls, screamed death to us over and over.

I have never in my life heard anything to equal it. I hope I never hear anything like it again. The scream might have turned the people to stone, as does, purportedly, the look of the legendary basilisk. I know that I stood frozen to the spot, my limbs paralyzed, my mind in little better condition.

The scream jolted Edmund to action.

“Father!” he shouted, and all the love that he had longed for during all the years of his life was in that cry. And, just as in his life, his cry went unanswered.

The prince ran forward, alone.

I heard the clattering of weapons and the confused sounds of battle and, above that, a dreadful roaring. I could now give a name to my fear. I knew now what the runes on the map meant.

The sight of Edmund rushing to meet the same fate as his father impelled me, at last, to act. Swiftly, with what remaining strength I had left, I wove a magical spell, like the nets in which we'd caught the fish, across the tunnel exit. Edmund saw it, tried to ignore it. He crashed full-force into it, fought and struggled against it. Drawing his sword, he attempted to cut his way through.

My magic, its power heightened by my fear for him, was strong. He couldn't get out, nor could the fire dragon—on the other side—break through the net.

At least, I hoped it couldn't. I have studied what the ancients wrote about such creatures, and it is my belief that they underestimated the dragon's intelligence. To be safe, I ordered the people to retreat farther back down the tunnel, telling them to hide in whatever passages they could find. They fled like scared mice, council members and all, and soon no one was left in the front part of the cavern but myself and Edmund.

He struck at me, in his frustration. He pleaded with me, he begged me, he threatened to kill me if I did not remove the magical net. I remained adamant. I could see, now, around the shores of the lake, the terrible carnage taking place.

The dragon's head and neck, part of its upper body, and its dagger-sharp spiked tail reared up out of the molten lava. The head and neck were black, black as the darkness left behind in Kairn Telest. Its eyes glowed a ghastly, blazing red. In its great jaws, it held the body of a struggling soldier and, as Edmund and I watched in horror, it loosed its jaws and dropped the man into the magma.

One by one, the fire dragon took up each of the soldiers, who were attempting, with their pitiful weapons, to battle the creature. One by one, the dragon sent them plunging into the burning lake. It left a single body on the shoreline—the body of the king. When the last soldier was gone, the dragon turned its blazing eyes on Edmund and me and stared at us for long, long moments.

I swear that I heard words, and Edmund told me later that he thought he did, too.

You have paid the price of your passage. You may now cross.

The eyes closed, the black head slithered down beneath the magma and was gone.

Whether I actually heard the fire dragon's voice or not, something inside me told me that all was safe, the dragon would not return. I removed the magical net. Edmund dashed out of the tunnel before I could stop him. I hurried after, keeping my eyes on the boiling, churning lake.

No sign of the dragon. The prince reached his father, gathered the old man's body into his arms.

The king was dead, he had died horribly. A giant hole— inflicted, perhaps, by the sharp spike on a lashing tail—had penetrated his stomach, torn through his bowels. I helped Edmund carry his father's corpse back to the tunnel. The people remained at the far end, refusing to venture anywhere near the lake.

I could not blame them. I wouldn't have gone near it either, if I hadn't heard that voice and known that it could be trusted. The dragon had taken its revenge, if that's what it was, and now was at peace.

I foresee that Edmund will have a difficult time convincing the people that it is safe to walk the path on the shore of the Lake of Burning Rock. But I know in the end that he will succeed, for the people love him and trust him and now, whether he likes it or not, they will name him their king.

We need a king. Once we leave the shores of the lake behind, we will be in Kairn Necros. Edmund maintains we will find there a land of friends. I believe, to my sorrow, we will find there the land of our enemies.

And here is where I have decided to end my account. I have only a few pages of the precious parchment left, and it seems fitting to me to close the journal here, with the death of one king of Kairn Telest and the crowning of a new one. I wish I could see ahead in time, see what the future holds for us, but not all the magical power of the ancients allowed them to look beyond the present moment.

Perhaps that is just as well. To know the future is to be forced to abandon hope. And hope is all that we have left.

Edmund will lead his people forth, but not, if I can persuade him, to Kairn Necros. Who knows? The next journal I keep may be called
The Journey Through Death's Gate.

—Baltazar, necromancer to the king

CHAPTER
7
THE NEXUS