The Minions of Time (5 page)

Owen could not convince the king and queen of the west that they needed to move from the shore. He nearly left without them when they again laughed at him and his notion of being the King's Son. It wasn't until Mordecai thundered, “You'll become stew for the Kerrol!” that they picked up their things and followed.

A storm was brewing. The people walked side by side in small groups, Owen leading them and Mordecai bringing up the rear. At times they were forced to walk single file because stone walls rose on either side.

The queen appeared aghast that she had to walk. It bothered Owen that these were the parents of the girl he would one day marry—if he had understood the prophecy correctly. Would his wife be like her mother, demanding to be carried about? Would she whine and moan about rocky crevasses? If she looked like her mother, she would be beautiful, but even that would not make up for attitude.

“I must rest!” the queen cried out. “I am fatigued.”

“Choose fatigue or death,” Mordecai called from behind.

“I simply can't go another step,” the woman said.

“We'll leave you, then,” Mordecai said. “Better one die rather than the whole company.”

“Why must you scare us?” the queen sobbed. “You're worse than the Dragon.”

“Madam,” Mordecai said, “if you think that, you have not met the Dragon.”

“But I have,” she whimpered. “With him, you can negotiate, bargain. With you, there is no compromise.”

“You really think you can reason with the Dragon? There is no negotiating with—”

“That's not true,” she said. “We negotiated a treaty with him concerning our daughter.”

“And what did the Dragon say just before he threw you in that cage?” Owen said, nostrils flaring. “He said your daughter's blood would anoint his throne. So much for your treaty.”

“He felt betrayed,” she spat, glaring at her husband. “If you hadn't helped this urchin, we wouldn't be here now.”

“He saved our lives from that sea beast,” the king said.

“Oh, I forgot,” she said. “My mistake. Our future son-in-law. A commoner!”

“Enough,” Mordecai said, dragging two logs from a clearing. The king and two other men helped the queen onto the logs as Mordecai and Owen struggled under the weight.

“Comfy now?” Mordecai said.

“The bark is a little rough,” she said.

* * *

The sky grew darker, and Owen thought he heard strange sounds over the footsteps trudging around him. The castle dwellers seemed unaccustomed to traveling, but Owen was grateful to be on the ground and not in the water or the air.

“Small creatures up in the rocks,” a young boy said, pointing.

“Good,” Owen said. “They're friends. The reason we escaped the transport flyer.”

“The ones who shot at us?” the queen said.

“Halt!” someone said from above.

“Erol!” Owen called. “It's me! I've brought friends from the Castle on the Moor.”

“I wouldn't call them that,” Mordecai muttered.

Erol stared down, smiling. “I never thought you'd be back.”

“Help us up. There's a strange storm brewing, and—”

“That's more than a storm,” Erol said. “There are also invisibles and demon flyers about.”

The children of Erol led Owen and the others in a prancing procession to the main cavern. Starbuck, Erol's son, and many of the others Owen had helped rescue from the Badlands were there, whooping and singing as they danced along. Like a howling wind the storm descended, and Owen was glad to have everyone inside.

Erol welcomed Owen with a hug, and the company sang to him. The people of the castle huddled in the back, apparently afraid of these creatures, but Owen felt as if he had returned home.

“Tell us of your travels,” Erol said.

“In time,” Owen said. “But I have to know. I heard from villagers that you met with foul play by the Dragon, that he had blasted you and your clan from the mountain.”

“We're doing the attacking,” Starbuck said, beaming.

“That's right,” Erol said. “We shot down a transport flyer just yesterday.”

“We know,” Owen said. “We were the ones in the cage.”

Erol's mouth dropped. “You? And all of these? How did you survive?”

After Owen told the story, Erol shook his head and said, “Well, other than the Dragon's attempt to steal our children, which you foiled, we have not been attacked. Though we have felt an uneasy presence at times.” He leaned close. “Interlopers sent by you know who.”

Owen nodded, then introduced the king and queen of the west.

Erol bowed low. “Forgive the mess, Your Highnesses.”

Erol's wife, Kimshi, blushed. “If I'd known we had royalty coming, I would have put my husband to work cleaning.”

The king spoke. “Your dwelling is fine. Thank you for the hospitality. Especially the music. It's been so long since I've heard such wonderful sounds.”

The queen ran a finger along a dusty table and sneered.

“Play something else,” a young man from the castle said. “Something fit for a king and queen.”

The musicians gathered in the main room, and Erol counted time with his foot and bow. The bright and airy music made the clan of Erol dance. Owen couldn't help but clap and stomp along.

The music suddenly stopped when a hulking figure entered, stooping low. His face was grimy, and his shoulders slumped from carrying the queen. Owen wondered why it had taken Mordecai so long to come inside—did he fear these friends, or was he simply unaccustomed to such crowds?

“It's him,” Erol said nervously, gathering his children and wife.

“This is my friend,” Owen said. “His name is Mor—”

“I know his name. He cursed us many years ago as he went through here on his way to the island. Back to torment us?”

Mordecai spoke softly. “I was angry and hurt and wanted to die. But the King's hand was with me despite it all. He sent the Wormling to me. He came to learn, but he taught much more. And if he calls you his friend, you are friends of mine as well. Can you forgive an old man?”

Erol studied him warily, his face finally lightening. “We can, but not without food and more song. Kimshi, prepare a feast. We shall dine on the meat of forgiveness.”

A clap of thunder racked the mountainside and echoed off the walls. Children dived under tables, and the castle dwellers huddled.

“Do your caverns flood?” the king said.

Erol gazed at the ceiling and shivered. “That's not a rainstorm, Your Highness. That's a storm of a different sort. Something terrible is being unleashed in the invisible kingdom.”

Runners came from above, filling the narrow passages. “Demon flyers, sir. Along with every death machine of the Dragon. They're sounding the mountain. We had to abandon our posts.”

“Everyone take shelter in the depths,” Erol said. “Starbuck, lead our guests.”

“What is sounding?” Owen said.

Erol grabbed him by the arm and hurried along the passage. “They send waves that search for warm bodies. Deep inside these walls we won't be detected, but we must hurry.”

As the storm raged and the soundings continued, Owen, Erol, and Mordecai met in a secluded spot. Though Owen had revealed his identity to the king and queen, he still felt uneasy about talking with the castle dwellers about himself. But he had no reservations in speaking openly with Erol.

The being's eyes glistened in the firelight. When Owen explained what he had learned about himself, Erol dropped to his knees and bowed his head.

“I have no reason to doubt you,” he whispered. “I can tell by the fire that burns within you that you are the true Son of the King.”

Erol immediately summoned his people and told them the news.

Gasps filled the cavern as young and old, men and women covered their mouths, fell to their knees, or moved closer for a better look.

Starbuck leaned against a wall, half hidden in the dim light.

“I'm no different than I was before, Starbuck,” Owen said.

“No different? This changes everything. As the Wormling, you lived among us, talked with us, even came to our rescue. But now . . .”

Erol leaned close. “We have taught him that royalty is separate. They live in castles and eat food prepared by hired hands. Like them.” He nodded to the king and queen of the west. “They keep to themselves. They do not associate with our kind because we are lowly and different.”

Dalphus stood in front of the king and queen to protect them.

“That's not as it should be,” Owen said. “And that's not the way it will be in the King's household.”

“In your father's household,” Mordecai said.

Owen shuddered. “I don't know the King, don't remember him from my infancy. But I know in my heart that he would be pleased to call you his friend, Starbuck. And you, Erol. And you. All of you. There is no difference between people of low estate and high. We all come from the same dust.”

Mordecai scratched his beard. “Doesn't
The Book of the King
say something about our being equal in the King's sight?”

Owen nodded and recited:

“Those who put their hope in the King will never be disappointed. It doesn't matter if you are rich or poor, if you dwell in fertile lands or the desert, if you are praised among men or an outcast. There is one King, and he is generous and kind to anyone who asks for his help. All who call on him receive his love.”

Starbuck looked on, eyes wide. “How do you remember all that?”

Owen touched his chest. “The words were not written simply on the page. They were written on my heart. And each day they grow deeper and become part of me.”

“What would you have us do?” Erol said. “Anything you ask . . .”

“Do not be so quick in your promises,” Mordecai said. “You have no idea what he might ask.”

“And do not be so quick in your judgments,” Erol said. “We may seem a gentle breed of singers, but our hearts are fiercely loyal to the King and his descendants.”

“A great battle lies ahead,” Owen said. “I'm only now beginning to realize what that means. Before, I simply thought it would be the Son's responsibility. Now I understand I am the Son.”

“What can we do?” Erol said.

“Sing a new song—and not just here but throughout the land.”

“Singing is still forbidden; is it not?” Mordecai said.

“By edict of the evil one,” Erol said. “I have no problem defying him.”

“Many will hear your song and believe. They will follow you. Use all the instruments at your disposal, all the skill of the singers, all the harmonies that please the ear.”

“What shall be our theme?”

“That a new day is coming. After the fight is over and the battle is won, the King will establish his kingdom in every heart and unite every person from the Highlands and the Lowlands. There shall be no more division of clans, no more war, no more fighting with the Dragon, for he shall be defeated.”

“Cast out?” Erol said.

“Utterly.”

“We won't have to hide any longer, won't have to keep our songs to ourselves.”

“But what I'm asking you to do now is perhaps more dangerous than the battle itself. You'll be exposed to the enemy as you sing.”

Erol's eyes were wet. “We will not be able to take part in the battle?”

Owen pulled Erol close. “You will be by my side. I want to hear your victory song after the Dragon falls.”

“Then we have work to do,” Erol said, rising. “Bring the instruments and a parchment. We will sing a new song!”