The Changeling (20 page)

We are trying to tell this story as Owen would like to read it, stripped of things that might slow the reader. However, the treaty room plays an important role in what is to occur.

In the middle of the large, circular chamber sat a massive, wooden table surrounded by fat, sturdy chairs. Four tall windows ran from floor to ceiling, draped with thick curtains, velvety and heavy. At one end of the room stood a full suit of armor. At the other was an empty bookshelf.

On the walls hung portraits of the king of the west and his queen and a map of the western kingdom. There was also a rendering of the queen with a child in her arms, a girl with a cherubic smile, stubby teeth showing.

The queen took the seat beside her husband, glanced at the painting, and quickly averted her eyes.

RHM and the Dragon stood back from the table, the chairs unable to support the Dragon's girth and RHM not wishing to anger his boss by sitting. Daagn the vaxor pulled out an end chair and sat with his filthy feet on the table.

The Dragon smiled at the king and queen and folded his hands. “Nice of you to open your home. I like what you've done with the place and what has not been done to it, like that other castle we know.”

“How is our daughter?” the queen said. “And where is she?”

The Dragon nodded to RHM, who unrolled a scroll on the table, the signature of the king of the west prominent at the bottom. “As stipulated, she remains unharmed, though hidden.”

“We have heard rumors of a Wormling,” the queen said, brow furrowed.

“Do not be alarmed,” the Dragon said. “He is being dealt with and will not be able to reach your daughter.”

The king squinted, and the Dragon turned on him. “You wonder why the presence of a Wormling would be bad? He would endanger both your daughter and your estate. This Wormling seeks the Son so that the Son and your daughter might wed. Imagine the chaos. I would have to terminate my agreement with you and, in turn, terminate your daughter.”

The queen gasped. “You mustn't.”

“Not what I want to do in the least, madam,” the Dragon said. “I have your daughter's best interests at heart. However, it is the good of the people that I most care for. The Wormling, if he is not stopped, will make the rabble believe all sorts of nonsense—that they can rule themselves, that they are kings and queens with more power than they can imagine. Such cruel lies give commoners undue hope. Many would needlessly die before they realize how wrong the Wormling is.”

“He must be stopped,” the queen said.

“All that evil needs to flourish is for good people to do nothing,” the Dragon said, his head low. “Do all you can to encourage the people to bring him to me so that I might protect your daughter.”

“Yes,” the queen said. “Exactly.”

The king of the west finally leaned forward. “We have done everything required in the treaty. We have not searched for our daughter. We have not hindered you in any way. We have not contacted the other ruler of the Lowlands. We have met your every demand.”

“Yes,” the Dragon cooed. “And for that I am grateful.”

The king's eyes waxed steely. “But my patience is running thin. Your own treaty states that you will return Onora when the threat to your kingdom has passed.” His eyes filled, his lips quivered, and he ran his hands across the table. He looked more like a wounded father than a king.

“Where are my manners?” the king said, dripping with sarcasm. “I should be falling at your feet, begging to wipe the dust off your talons.”

A low rumble sounded in the throat of the Dragon.

The king stood. “I should be
thanking
you for taking our daughter, for depriving us of the opportunity to pour our lives into hers, to instill in her our values.”

“He's not thinking clearly,” the queen said. “Forgive him.”

“But then what values do we have left?” the king said. “We who would not even fight for our own flesh and blood. We who would not even stand up to someone who promises us freedom.”

“I have given you freedom.”

“You have given us slavery! We remain locked here awaiting the release of a baby who in the meantime has become almost a grown woman. We trusted you!”

“This is the first I have seen of your feisty side,” the Dragon growled. “For the record, I hate it.”

Daagn stood, ax at the ready. “I will cut down the one who dares insult the sovereign!”

The Dragon rolled his eyes. “Be seated.” He looked at the king. “And you as well.”

But the king leaned over the table, setting both hands atop it. “Can you possibly understand what it is like to have the thing you care about most in the world taken from you?”

The Dragon spoke soothingly. “I can identify more than you know. You will have your precious daughter back soon. You must realize that I've kept her for her own safety and yours.”

The king ran a hand through his gray-flecked hair. “Sure, always for her own good, for our own good. As if we should trust you.”

The Dragon rolled onto his feet, a thin line of black smoke escaping his lips. “Your insolence betrays your true feelings. You have pushed me too far.” With a snort and a rattle, the Dragon took a breath.

The king moved to a window, clearly unafraid but apparently not wanting his wife harmed when he was incinerated. He opened his arms and with a defiant look said, “Go ahead.”

An old man walked into the room with a live sheep over his shoulders. No one saw the lilt in the man's step or the strength in his arms, which betrayed a much younger man. The Dragon turned and snarled, but the old man kept his head down, seeming to not notice the import of the meeting.

“Matthew,” the king said, “the feast is downstairs. Take the animal there.”

“Oh, downstairs,” the man said. “Silly me.” He set the sheep on the floor. It took one look at the Dragon and scurried from the room. The man moved toward a window behind the Dragon.

“Get out or I'll fry you alive!” the Dragon roared.

“Matthew,” the king said, “we're in a meeting here. I need you to go downstairs.”

The man darted behind the curtains. The Dragon took another deep breath, but before he released it, the man jumped from behind the curtain.

“You wouldn't want to hurt your precious Wormling, would you?”

Daagn shot to his feet, his ax in both hands. “You!”

The Dragon swallowed his fire and covered the vaxor with his tail. “Careful, Daagn. Looks can be deceiving. This is the Changeling I told you about.”

“Changeling? It's the Wormling!” He raised his ax, but the Wormling paid him no mind.

“Lower your weapon,” the Dragon said.

“But he looks and sounds and even smells just like the Wormling.”

“Yes,” the Wormling said. “Isn't that the point?” He checked his fingernails and looked about the room. “Much better than that dreary Castle of the Pines. The draperies are a nice touch.”

“This is the Wormling?” the queen said, fear in her voice.

“The likeness is startling, eh, Your Queenness?” the Wormling said. “Nothing to be alarmed about. Although I present an exact representation. A clear and convincing voice as well, don't you think, Dr. Flamecough?”

The Dragon had quickly moved from anger to amusement. “He can change into any life-form. Go ahead and show them.”

“Yes,” Daagn said. “Show us.”

“I'm not here for a show. I'm here to report good news.”

“Yes?” the Dragon said, sitting up on his haunches.

“The Wormling is dead. Sealed in stone, never to be heard from again, unless you care to slog through that marsh out there.”

“Wonderful,” the Dragon said. “The Wormling is no more.”

“I'm so relieved,” the queen said, fanning herself.

“How do we know for sure?” Daagn said.

The Wormling eyed him mischievously and pounced on the table, sitting and swinging his legs. “Always questioning, aren't we, Daagn? Don't you want to move into the shadows around your master?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, that's right. You don't like the shadows as much as you like to run away.”

“What's this?” the Dragon said.

“He's making something up,” Daagn spat, raising his ax again.

“Am I? You haven't told His Flamethrowingness what happened in Yodom? How you were turned back by rock-throwing children and the Wormling's Watcher?”

“He's lying!”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you hate me and my kind.”

“I don't hate you any more than some disgusting refuse. I just thought your master should know.”

“And how do you know this?” the Dragon said.

“I was there,” the Wormling said. “I saw the whole thing.”

“He
is
the Wormling,” Daagn said.

“You admit this is true?” the Dragon said.

Daagn lowered his ax and dropped to one knee. “Indulge me, Your Majesty.”

While Daagn sputtered his lies, Owen moved toward the king of the west. He couldn't simply let the man be incinerated.

Still in character, Owen touched the king's robe and stared into his eyes. “What you said to the Dragon about your daughter—did you mean that?”

Owen could tell the man thought he was the enemy.

“I—I c-came upon the c-camp prepared to wipe them out,” Daagn said to the Dragon.

Owen leaned closer, winked, and whispered, “Things are not always as they seem, Your Majesty.”

The king's eyes widened. He peeked at the Dragon, then back at Owen.

“I l-lost many men in a landslide ambush they had prepared,” Daagn said.

“You call children throwing stones a landslide?” Owen said. He turned back to the king. “Give the vaxors access to your wine cellar. We need them to be—”

The Dragon thundered, “Tell me if what the Changeling said is true, Daagn!”

“My horse is the brown and white spotted one in the barn,” Owen whispered. “Ready him quickly.”

The king nodded and moved toward the door.

“I did not mean to deceive you, sire,” Daagn whined. “If you let me live, I will serve you with—”

Fire shot from the Dragon, engulfing the vaxor. His face melted and he fell, a heap of ash.

The queen moaned and hid her face.

Owen grabbed a pitcher of water and doused the flames. “One down and one to go.”

“What do you mean?” the Dragon said.

“The Wormling had something he wanted to say to the Watcher before he was sealed away. The information would be—how shall I say it?—
instructive
to you.”

“If the Wormling is dead,” RHM said, “we can simply kill her.”

“True. If you don't care where that little worm of a Mucker is hiding.”

“We have him,” RHM continued. “He's back in
The Book of the King.
”

“Perfect,” Owen said. “Bring it to me and give me a few minutes alone with this Watcher, and I promise you will be amazed at what you'll discover.”

RHM hesitated. “Sire, I don't think—”

“Do it,” the Dragon said. “Bring the book.”