The Sword of the Wormling (19 page)

The water grew frigid again, and Watcher's muscles immediately tightened. She surfaced farther out in the lake and knew she had to keep moving. The shore before her was as near as the castle behind her. She opted for the shore, as far from the castle as she could get.

Halfway to her destination she heard a snort and turned around, searching the darkness as she floated. “Is someone there?”

When she turned back around, two reptilian eyes glowed before her. She thought about diving underneath whatever this was, but she was certain it would be quicker than she was. “Who are you?” she said as confidently as she could.

“Call me Hunger. I'll call you Food.”

The gator!

“I could make a quick end of you,” he said. “You won't feel much pain.”

“Is your stomach all you think about?”

“What else is there?”

“Freedom. Life. If you eat me, you may also seal your fate.”

The eyes blinked and dipped out of sight. Watcher was startled when they appeared again to her right.

“What is this fate you speak of, groundling?”

“Death—the fate of all who serve the Dragon. But do what you must.”

The gator seemed to study her. “Those who seek your life are nearby,” he said quietly. “Why did the Dragon want to kill you?”

Watcher's teeth chattered. “Because I oppose him. I do not acknowledge him as ruler.”

“If the Dragon is not our ruler, who is?”

“The King alone deserves our honor and obedience. Not this impostor who lies and kills. But you are dedicated to him, and you'll either deliver me to him or—”

The eyes disappeared in the blackness, and Watcher found herself in the gaping mouth of the gator. She tried to push on the roof of his mouth, but her ears popped from the pressure and her oxygen ran out as the animal dived for the bottom.

Finally, from the back of the throat came the same voice. “I'm sorry to frighten you, groundling, but I had to be sure you were on the side of truth. I neither chewed nor swallowed, though you seem tasty. I am protecting you from those above. Hold your breath just a little longer, and I will show you something you will never forget.”

The musty secret passageway snaked down through the entire castle and ended in a dank underground with soggy floors and only enough light to see things scurrying in the shadows. This proved to be an expansive area with catacombs and winding hallways, providing a wide base for the towering castle.

Owen immediately heard voices echoing off the walls. He stayed out of the scant light of the sparse torches that dotted the walls as two guards in full armor passed, leaving tracks in the moist earth.

“The master will find her,” one said. “They're scouring the lake and the countryside for the Watcher.”

“I'd like to sink my teeth into that overgrown vermin,” the other said. “How could any self-respecting animal hold its head high and not serve the master? Makes no sense.”

“Just like the Wormling. He'll wind up serving the Dragon one way or another—either delivering his food or
being
his food.”

When Owen moved out into the corridor again, he passed an old curtain fastened to the wall.
Strange.
Why would a curtain hang here with no window or bedchamber or bathroom to shield?

Wood crates were stacked here and there, some filling whole rooms. Despite ornate sconces for torches and embroidered tapestries near 20-foot ceilings—evidencing the past beauty and glory of the place—it seemed to have become a dumping ground for old containers of food. Alas, what had once been the domain of a king had become home to the Dragon's forces. The guards used corners of the hallways as their bathrooms, and bones and moldy bread lay strewed about.

But why did guards patrol this lowest level of the castle? No windows or doors led outside. One could get here only from long stairways above. Why not simply guard those entrances and exits?

Great stone pillars rose from the mud to the ceiling, and between them stood timbers lashed together like a makeshift raft. In the center of the wooden edifice was a door with a tiny window. On the other side, a double door, larger with no window.

At the sound of the guards talking again, Owen scampered back into the shadows behind a stack of crates.

When the guards passed, Owen hurried toward the first wooden door, hoping for a peek inside. Around the corner sat a guard's station, a simple table and a couple of chairs. Beyond that lay a room with another long table, this one with leather straps at the head and foot. Along the walls hung chains and knives Owen recognized from a book he had read on instruments of torture.

He stole toward the tiny window and saw two cells divided by bars. Hay was bunched in the corners of both, a bucket in each for a bathroom, and in one an empty wooden plate looked like it had been thrown against the bars. Owen grabbed a torch from the wall and was able to make out a lump in the corner of one cell that looked like some barn animal curled in the hay.

At the sound of footsteps behind him, Owen scrambled to throw the torch back into its holder and jumped out of sight.

“I'll bet she didn't even make an entire meal,” a guard said. “There is no end to his appetite.”

“Perhaps he had the Wormling too, for dessert.”

They sat at the table. “How did you hear this—about the Watcher?”

“A guard on the parapet says he saw a gator pounce and take her under. Good riddance.” He rose and thumped the double door with a foot, and a growl shook the earth. “I say the Wormling will be next.”

Watcher's lungs felt like they would burst. There was no light here in the jaws of the gator, just the creature's awful breath.

They descended as far as Watcher thought they could possibly go, and then they plunged farther. Her ears popped, and she felt like she was moving up toward the surface.
Oh, let it be so! I must breathe!

Suddenly the gator's mouth opened, and they were on dry land. Gasping, Watcher stepped off his spongy tongue and into an underground cavern, where the water reflected a dim light above.

“What is this place?” Watcher said, but the gator was gone, submerged.

Watcher moved toward a tunnel but turned around at the sound of flapping wings. A creature eyed her with a tilted head, and suddenly Watcher feared this had been some unholy scheme—the gator had brought her here to be torn limb from limb and eaten. Well, she wouldn't go quietly, not after all she had been through. She rose on her hind legs and looked menacingly at the being, ready to kick and thrash with all she had.

The bug-eyed creature shrieked with laughter. “My dear, you have nothing to fear from me or my friends.”

“Friends?”

“Rotag will return with another.”

“Rotag is the gator?”

“Harmless, isn't he?” He wiped his nose. “Well, he certainly wouldn't have left you down here to eat. We've heard about you. It was a long time ago, but my memory is sharp.” He sat on a rock and put his paws on his knees.

“How could you have heard of me?”

“Oh, you have friends in high places.” He laughed again. “I remember like it was yesterday.”

“What is this place?”

“Why, this is our hall of meeting, where the waterlings and undergroundlings get together to discuss important matters. And I daresay the matter before us today is exciting.”

“You're an undergroundling?”

The animal's mouth dropped. “I apologize. They'll kick me off the assembly if they find out I've been so rude. Tusin is the name. Assemblyman of the undergroundlings.” He bowed to her. “Welcome, Watcher.”

“Thank you. I think. So, what will happen—?”

Just then the water cascaded from below, and Rotag slid to a stop. A beady-eyed flyer with the wingspan of an eagle swooped into the cave and alighted on the rock above Tusin.

“Allow me to introduce Batwing, and you already know Rotag.” Tusin stood. “Meeting of the assembly convenes on this day of the King, all members present, the honorable Rotag presiding.”

Rotag rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “I have summoned this groundling to our meeting because she says a Wormling is in our midst.”

Batwing flapped and Tusin clapped. Watcher felt such energy in the room that she believed the very rocks would have cried out if they hadn't responded. The noise echoed, and other voices picked up on the word
Wormling
.

“I can see your bewilderment,” Rotag said. “The King, before he set out on the search for his Son, allowed certain of us to know his plan. He left us with responsibilities—”

“Which we have taken seriously,” Tusin said.

Rotag continued. “The King said that one day the Wormling and a helper would come to the Lowlands in search of his Son. And here you are.”

Everyone seems to know more about us than we know about ourselves.

“The King read to me from a book—”

“
The Book of the King
?” Watcher said.

“Exactly! How did you know?”

“It was given to the Wormling in his world, but it has been stolen. We think it might be in the castle.”

“How would you know that?”

“I sense things. It's my job.”

Rotag squinted. “Batwing? Could you . . . ?”

“At once,” Batwing screeched, flying off.

“I'm curious,” Watcher said. “Why did the King choose you? How did you become part of this assembly?”

Tusin said, “I could say it was because of our intellects or that we are the best specimens of our species. . . .”

“But he would be lying,” Rotag said.

“The truth is,” Tusin continued, “we were available. He called us to his service, and we responded gladly. How could we not?”

“How did he call you?”

“Like this.” Tusin waved. “‘Come here; I have something for you to do.' As simple as that. He talked of the deep things in his heart: How he grieved over what had become of the kingdom. How he longed for it to be restored, and how it would be when his Son returned. Our hearts burned with his every word. They were like red-hot pokers, stoking a fire we didn't even know existed.”

Rotag said, “He made us feel as important as his own Son. He said each of us has a story, and the smaller stories fit into the larger one. It was all very mysterious at the time, but now I can see how he was right. He gave us this job—to find the Wormling, to protect him, and to help him find the King's Son.”

“Is the Son here, in the castle?” Watcher said.

“Someone is being held there. I have heard the crying and moaning.”

“The Wormling is in the castle now,” Watcher said. “He believes the book and the Son are both inside.”

Rotag and Tusin looked away.

“What is it?” Watcher said. “What's wrong?”

Before either could answer, Batwing returned, short of breath, fangs jutting. He grabbed hold of a growth on the ceiling, hung upside down, and addressed the group. “I saw
The Book of the King
in the Dragon's highest chamber. It is guarded by four demon vipers—the Golden Guard from the east, west, north, and south. It will be impossible to get past them.”

“Not for the Wormling,” Watcher said. “I saw him battle the beasts in—”

“Yes, yes, and lop off the feet of some scythe flyers. We have heard. Well, these are quite different. They shoot venom at their enemies. Your Wormling wouldn't be able to even get his sword close to them before he would be cut down.”

“You don't know the Wormling,” Watcher said.

“I know these vipers, and they will not let the book out of their sight.”

“Then we must find a way to make them. Or kill the Dragon.”

Batwing closed his eyes and swung back and forth from his perch. Tusin stared at the stone floor.

Rotag spoke. “If this Wormling has read the book, he knows that
only
the Son can bring the worlds together.”

“He has become fearless and cunning,” Watcher said. “I believe he will find the Son and return with the book.”

“He will need help,” Tusin said.

“The King said
we
are to help,” Batwing squeaked.

Rotag sighed and gazed at Watcher. “New friend, we will do all we can.”