The Minions of Time (9 page)

Make it sound good, Connor,” Owen said, ripping a leather belt from his disguise and striking it against a rock. The leather made an awful sound, and Connor screamed in agony.

“What are you doing here?” Connor said. “We don't need your help.”

“You don't, eh? No, it looks like you're doing quite well. You have a knack for getting thrown into the pens.”

“We're organizing a revolt,” Connor said, then yelped again as Owen smacked the strap against the wall of the cave.

Owen narrowed his eyes at Connor. “Come now. You're starving and weak. The beasts watch your every move. They keep you in the mines until you nearly drop. And still you think you can overcome them in your own power?”

With dull eyes, Connor stared at Owen. When the strap struck the wall, he didn't cry out. “What about you? Do you not hold out the same hope? And yet you are alone.”

That Connor was even alive was a miracle. But Owen needed him in his fight against the Dragon.

“I've found the Son,” Owen said finally.

Like a cat slowly waking by his owner's caress, Connor came to life. “Where?”

“At the Castle on the Moor. I don't have time to explain, but I need you with the army.”

Connor looked past Owen. “So the Dragon didn't slaughter him like the beasts said? You've actually seen him?”

“From as close as you are to me. Maybe closer.”

“What does he look like? Is he strong? Is he like the King? My father told me the Son would one day return, but I didn't believe him. I thought we were the only army to fight the Dragon.”

“We won't force anyone,” Owen said. “Only those who are willing to fight should join us. But you must call everyone and bid them to come.”

Connor's hollow eyes now shone with a glimmer Owen assumed was hope.

“I must go to the Highlands,” Owen said. “The portal must be breached again for the prophecy from
The Book of the King
to be fulfilled.”

Connor stared at the floor and finally looked up. “I've always doubted you. Doubted not only who you say you are but your mission.”

“My mission is simply to serve the King and do his bidding. And his bidding for you is to help assemble an army to come against the Dragon. Will you do it?”

“If it meant fighting the enemy of my father and our people, I would gather stones for the fight.”

Owen smiled. Outside the cave came a wailing cry. “They've discovered the beast I hurt. We must go.”

“What did you do to him?” Connor said. “How did you disable him?”

“They are vulnerable here,” Owen said, pointing to his own throat. “Catch them there with a sharp jab, they double over, and you can render them senseless.”

Connor started for the opening.

Owen held on to him. “The Queen. Is she here?”

Connor's face fell. “They took her away.”

“Where?”

“Why are you so interested in the Queen? I thought you were to go back to the Highlands.”

“I must know where they've taken her.”

A horn sounded and Connor turned away. “They said they would kill 50 of us each time we so much as attacked a guard. How many will they kill if that guard is dead?”

“They won't kill any,” Owen said. “I'll help you. But tell me where the Queen is.”

Something came scampering from deeper in the cave, so Owen pulled Connor back into the shadows. When a lone guard emerged from the darkness, Owen slung the leather strap around the beast's neck and jerked it off its feet.

Connor leaped onto the animal, and a sharp blow to the neck with a rock rendered it unconscious. Connor drew the rock high over his head for a killing blow, but Owen stopped him. “Enough. Let's free the others.”

The Changeling led Watcher and the horse on a zigzag path toward the castle, ever closer to what he hoped was their rendezvous with death. The Changeling could hardly control his glee. He imagined a ceremony in his honor, the Dragon hanging a medal around his neck, applause from the army horde. The Dragon would no doubt offer him a seat at the council table, and he could go from court jester to one of the master's most trusted aides.

Several times the Watcher dragged him under cover when invisibles flew over. Why did they keep looking for him after he had requested a meeting at the castle? Perhaps the Dragon didn't trust him. Or more likely the invisibles had merely been sent as insurance against another slip with someone as important as the Watcher. The Dragon didn't want the Watcher to escape.

When they reached the huge lake within view of the castle, Watcher asked if the Wormling could remember the last time they were here.

“Of course,” the Changeling said. “What was your favorite part of that trip?”

“Favorite?” Watcher said. “We were nearly killed, and Quamay was. I don't even want to think about it.”

The Changeling tried to recall the type of drivel the Wormling would say in such a situation. “Yes, but many times good things happen when negative occurrences happen too.”

“You mean like
The Book of the King
says?” Watcher said, closing her eyes and reciting, “‘Celebrate difficulties, because if you endure them, you will learn patience.'”

The Changeling rolled his eyes. “Exactly. Fighting the Dragon will make us stronger.”

“If it doesn't kill us first,” Watcher muttered.

The Changeling laughed. “Yes. Yes, that's very funny.”

* * *

They came upon a wooded thicket that evening, and snow began falling heavily. Using the shelter of the trees, they made a refuge, and the Changeling gathered food for the horse and Watcher. “Wait right here while I find something for me to eat.”

“I sense invisibles nearby,” Watcher said.

“I will be safe,” the Changeling said.

“But—”

“Stop!” he said. “I'll be fine. Stay here and keep our refuge warm.”

He stole away, making sure the Watcher didn't follow, and moved to the frigid waters of the lake. Carefully he slipped in, feet and hands changing into large fins. In the form of a long fish now, he quickly swam toward the castle. When an animal approached, the Changeling sounded an underwater warning and scared it away.

Finally he flopped onto the ground and quickly grew wings and a scaly back. Still dripping, he rose through the falling snow to the parapet and entered the Dragon's chamber. It was empty, though a fresh scent of smoke told him the Dragon was not far away.

RHM met the Changeling, and they exchanged pleasantries. “We must keep our voices down,” RHM said. “His Highness is already in bed. Let's move onto the balcony.”

The Changeling grabbed rancid fruit from a bowl and followed, pointing out the general location of Watcher and the horse.

“Why don't you let us bring them in?” RHM said. “You'll still have your reward, and we'll have the prize in hand.”

“Oh no. No one else delivers my prize. Will His High-Hot-Breath be here in the morning?”

“Yes, up and waiting for you.”

“Good. I'll have them here in time for his breakfast.”

Owen freed his friends from the pen, but instead of running they hobbled like old people. Owen and Connor and several of the strongest men jumped the guards, using Owen's technique of attacking them in the neck and rendering them unconscious. They did the same to the guards posted deep inside the mine. The workers there, mostly children and younger women, followed them out.

Hundreds stood, watching Owen. “Is this everyone?” he said.

Connor nodded. “Now what do we do? If we don't kill these guards, they'll alert the invisibles that come by each morning.”

“How often are jewels shipped out?” Owen said.

“Once a week. Tomorrow is the next shipment.”

The crowd looked hungry, thirsty, and ready to drop. Owen found himself too emotional to look into the faces of the children and moved back into the cave.

Connor soon followed. “Why did you leave?”

Owen found it difficult to even talk. “They are like animals without anyone to tend to their needs. They remind me of . . .”

“Who?”

“Of myself. In the other world I had a father, but he paid very little attention to me. I was on my own much of the time and without guidance. Still . . .”

A torch flickered near the entrance. Connor stayed in the shadows. “Yes?”

“I felt a strange sense of direction, something moving me forward.” Owen sighed. “I sure wish your father were here with us.”

Connor clenched his teeth. “I don't know if I can ever forgive you for your part in his death. But if you can help save these people and get us out of here, I will fight beside you.”

Owen put a hand on Connor's shoulder. “The battle will come soon enough.”

“Go out and encourage them,” Connor said. “They need to hear from you.”

* * *

Employing the strongest of the group and two-wheeled carts, they managed to move the knocked-out guards into the cave. Two were waking, but Connor quickly put them out again. Owen took their cloaks and animal skins.

Owen found a stash of explosives and carefully lit the powdered fuse, running down the hill before a terrific blast rocked the mountain and sealed the mouth of the cave. The prisoners cheered, and Owen herded them into their pen (in case an invisible flew past), then helped prepare a meal.

Owen and some others dressed as the guards and even imitated them, dragging their feet and ordering people about. The children giggled so much it was hard for them to eat. Owen could tell it had been a long time since they had laughed.

From inside the cave they heard the guards waking and yelling. Connor stood by, but no one really believed the guards could dig their way out.

Owen and the other leaders agreed on a strategy. Seeing the fear in the young ones' eyes, he told them a story that made them laugh so hard they cried. Even the adults held their sides, eyes dancing.

“And now let me tell you another story,” Owen said, “of a King who had a Son who was taken. The King loved him so much that he decided to rescue him. But not in the usual way, with swords blazing and soldiers storming a castle. No, this was much quieter, with much less fanfare.”

“How did he do it?” a child said, eyes wide, as if she were waiting to unwrap a birthday present.

“He spoke,” Owen said. “He told a story. And the words rescued the Son.”

“How could words rescue anyone?” a father said.

“That makes no sense,” a mother said.

“Ah, but you don't understand the words or the heart of the one who spoke them. Words are powerful. They can mean death or they can mean freedom for the same person.”

“Magical words?” the child said.

“In a way,” Owen said. “But not magic that's stirred in a potion or casts a spell. This is a bottomless magic filled with love, one you can't understand until it overtakes you—until you abandon yourself to it.”

The parents listened with skeptical faces, but the children sat spellbound.

“The love you speak about,” a boy said. “It is only for the Son in your story, right?”

Owen smiled. “That's what I used to believe. But the more I have learned of this love, the more I understand that it's available to each of us.” He stood and looked over the crowd. “The King's Son is coming back. Perhaps he is here.”

The people looked at each other and seemed to marvel at the story.

* * *

In the flickering firelight of the camp, people appeared to sleep peacefully, probably unafraid for the first time since they'd been led here. With the soft breathing of the children and the noisier snoring of the adults, Owen went to Connor. Dreyanna slept with her head on her husband's shoulder.

“The Queen,” Owen whispered, “where did they take her?”

Connor looked away and rubbed his eyes. “I overheard guards say the Dragon feared the Son might return for his mother. She was taken alone, and we have not heard from her since. The guards did not even seem to know the destination.

“What does this mean for you?” Connor said. “Will you go with us?”

Owen nodded. “As far as the White Mountain.”