The Dark Lord's Demise (37 page)

In the royal bedroom at Nephesh Palace, King Tiqvah's head
rolled back and forth on a sweat-soaked pillow. This was his worst
spell of weakness yet. He groaned and looked toward the window.
From here he could see one of the towers on the city wall of
Nephesh, where a long, bright banner streamed in the wind.
Broad daylight, vital work to be done in Anthropos, and the king
must lie in bed! He tried to roll over, but the effort exhausted him.

Never had he known such a strange weakness. It had a terrible
strength of its own. It was like a conscious enemy. It pressed him
down onto his bed and drained his vigor like a spider that sucked
life from its victims. It was stronger even than the silk of weaver bees.

Tiqvah reached toward the glass vial of honey and spoon that
stood on a table by his bed. A small bell was next to them, but he
was determined for once he would not ring for a servant. He was
King of Anthropos! At least he could administer himself a close of
medicinal honey!

Tiyvah struggled to a half-sitting position in the bed and braced his head against the massive carved headboard. He propped himself on one elbow and managed to grasp the vial of amber liquid.
But one hand was not enough for the task. He would have to
remove the vial's glass stopper and pour the honey into the spoon.

The king rolled over further and removed the stopper. He fumbled for the spoon. He was alarmed at how numb his fingers had
grown. The spoon fell from his grasp and landed beyond his
vision next to the bed. He heard the clatter of metal on stone, for
the bedroom carpet ended several feet from the bed. Tiqvah
leaned over the edge of the bed to reach for the spoon. His head
swam with dizziness and he closed his eyes.

The crash of splintered glass made his eyes fly open. He stared
stupidly at his two hands, both empty. With a groan of despair lie
lay back on the bed, unwilling to look down at the mess of splintered glass and spilled honey on the floor.

The king turned a gaze of despair to the window. He started and
stared. He struggled to regain a half-sitting position. What was this?
Had his illness at last driven him mad? Did it cause impossible fantasies to appear before his eyes? He blinked, rubbed his eyes and
looked again. He could not believe what he saw.

Kurt tied off a rope knot and griped, "This raft repair is taking
forever. How come we have to spend hours at it when Gaal could
have done it himself in a couple of seconds?"

"It's the way Gaal usually does things, isn't it?" Wes answered.
"He could do everything himself. Instead he leaves some things to
us. It means we've got an important part in his plans."

"Yeah, you're right. I'd rather have it that way than be left out."

"Besides," Lisa added, "we can't go until dark anyway. If we went
in broad daylight, one of Lunacy's henchmen could spot us from
the island. But I agree, Kurt. This is tedious."

Wes grinned. "Tedious. That sounds like a word Betty Riggs
would use."

Kurt looked out across the lake at the island fortress. "I hope
Betty's okay. I hope we can rescue her from the queen's influence.
Maybe after we finish whatever it is Gaal has planned for us on the island, he'll have us go back to Nephesh and save her. I admit I've
thought all along that she's a big pain. But Gaal really cares about
her. I've spent a lot of time wishing we'd never gotten mixed up
with her."

Wes laughed. "She probably wishes she'd never gotten mixed up
with

Betty covered her mouth to keep from screaming again. Two of
the figures she saw below were the Matmon beekeepers who had
arrested her and the Friesens. Between them they grasped Queen
Hisschi. She struggled and shouted words of fury that came faintly
through the window. Betty recalled the frightening strength of the
iron grip of the Matmon. The queen had no hope of escape.

Now a droning hum combined with the wild wail of Hisschi's
voice. Weaver bees zipped past the window. From instinct Betty
ducked, though she knew they could not come in. As she looked
more closely, dark clouds of bees emerged from all over the courtyard: from cracks under stone steps, from beneath roofs, from
among the jigsaw puzzle stones.

Lord Lunacy pointed a waxen finger at Queen Hisschi. His
voice penetrated even the walls of the tower. "Bind her! Bind her
with the silk of weaver bees so she cannot escape! She has defied
me once too often. Now she shall know what becomes of those
who covet my power!"

Shamith and Ildreth wrapped loops of weaver bee silk about the
queen, pinning her arms to her sides. They dragged her to the
south wall of the fortress, near the steps where she and Betty had
climbed to the top of the wall. Betty thought there must be an iron
ring there because they fastened the queen to the wall in some
way. Then they stepped back.

As the light faded, Lunacy paced slowly back and forth before
his captive. If they talked, Betty could not hear them. When he
appeared satisfied with his victory, he stepped away and raised a
hand. The buzz of weaver bees rose to a roar that rattled even the
window where Betty stood. The bees hovered in several tight
swarms around and above the spot where Hisschi stood helpless.

The Dark Lord pointed at Hisschi. She screamed a defiant curse
at him. A yellowish streak of fire crackled from Lunacy's finger and
lit up the courtyard for an instant. Immediately the insect roar
escalated to a deafening level. Thousands of bees smothered the
queen from head to foot. More came over the fortress walls to pile
themselves on her until she appeared nothing more than a crawling, squirming dark mass of vicious insects.

Betty covered her face and turned away. How could he do that!
she screamed inside herself. She rushed to the door of the room.
No, that would do no good. She could not go down to the courtyard
where that evil Lord of Darkness stood and gloated over his victory. She never wanted to see or be near him again. But where
could she go? Someone would come soon to summon her. He had
ordered her to wait in the room below the top one.

That was it! There was still one room above her. If she couldn't
go down, she could go up. Betty hurried out the door and ran up
the stone stairway. The stairs were very dim, lit only by small openings in the wall, and it was already dusk. She ran despite the darkness. She ran so hard that she collided with the door to the highest
room.

This door was heavy, dark and intricately carved. Betty landed
with her hands against it. She felt the deep creases of its carvings
and put her hand on the heavy brass doorknob. What f it's locked?
she thought. At that instant she recalled the words that had raced
through her mind in the courtyard below: Gaal, I'm walking toward
you.

She thought, Now I'm running toward you! Please let the door be
open! Betty threw her weight against the ornate door. It opened
silently, and she almost fell through it. She stumbled inside. The
door closed behind her without a sound.

"Hey, I think that's the last rope." Wes said, "We're done!"

"Come on, let's launch this thing and see if it's seaworthy," Lisa
urged. "Or rather, lakeworthy. Did you notice the three paddles are
three different lengths, to fit our heights? Gaal thinks of everything!"

Together they shoved the heavy raft into the water. It took three
tries before the boat slid across the mud and floated free. For a
while they went back and forth parallel to the shore so they could
all practice paddling and steering. At dusk tiny lights appeared in a
few windows in the fortress. As darkness fell, they said goodbye to
Philo and then pushed off for the island. The horse watched his
friends until they were out of sight before turning and beginning
his lonely journey back to Nephesh.

With steep hills and rocky cliffs on all sides, Lake Nachash was
host to constantly changing temperatures and unstable winds, but
they had sailed this lake often enough to be familiar with its winds
and have an idea how to use them. The sunset wind blew from the
west, and they knew that the cave entrance to the wharf was on the
west end of the island. If they paddled to a point straight west of
the island, they could turn and let the wind help propel them along
on a direct course for the cave entrance.

Lisa handled the tiller-paddle as the raft closed in on the island.
The boys quit paddling fifty yards out. The raft had enough headway and enough of a tailwind that it continued to drift all the way
to the rock cliff below the tower. But darkness confused their
approach. Wes squinted until his eyes hurt. "Now where's that ...
why can't I see it? We should be able to spot the entrance. Have I
forgotten where it is?"

They scanned the choppy line where lake washed against
island. Finally Kurt pointed and said in a hoarse whisper, "There!
To the left of where that chunk of rock juts out. See it?"

"No ... yes! Okay, we're right on target."

Lisa whispered, "I'm kind of nervous. I wish Gaal were here on
the raft with us."

"He is. Remember?" said Wesley.

The words comforted all three of them as they drifted toward
the forbidding iron portcullis in the cave opening. Quietly Wes
said, "Open in the name of Gaal!" He said it so softly that he wondered if the iron barrier had heard him. It had! Immediately it rose
into a slotted recess in the stone, exactly as if someone in the boat
was operating a garage-door opener. The raft drifted through the
mouth of the cave into cool darkness. All wind and choppiness were gone. Only small waves splashed against the sides of the cave
and bounced watery echoes around the walls.

The cave narrowed to a tunnel, which was obviously not natural.
The tunnel walls were smooth and showed the scars of tools. You
might wonder how the children could see anything at all, but the
tunnel was not totally dark. The walls themselves glowed with red
light: the ominous light of the Mystery. The children had seen it
here before, but they thought it had never showed such wicked
brightness.

Something small and bulletlike zipped past their heads. It
moved too fast to be seen. "Weaver bee!" hissed Kurt. They ducked
and covered their heads with their hands. More bees zipped past.