The Gates of Heaven: The Dreaming King Saga, #4

By Richard Friesen

The ancient sleeping wizard has finally wakened. The prophesied day of evil is at hand.

On midwinter's night in Dendalen, each king must climb the treacherous path to the Tower of Dreams, where he will receive a prophetic dream to help him guide his nation through the year to come.

This midwinter's night, it is Prince Karlis who has the prophetic dream, marking him as the new king of Dendalen.

Becoming king is no easy privilege, however. He must reach an area warped by poisonous, reality-changing magic, known as the Forbidden, in time to stop his enemies from shattering the Gates of Heaven and destroying the world.

But it may already be too late.

The sleeping wizard trapped in the Forbidden to prevent him from destroying the gates of heaven has wakened, tipping the balance irrevocably in the enemy's favor.

On every front, from those left at home to face seeded rebellion, to the alliance of those who stand against the destruction and evil waiting to be unleashed, to the unstoppable Holy Warrior Kala and the other soldiers of the Dendalen army spearheading the attacks against the deadly wizards at the root of the war, there is little hope.

The only hope remaining is in the tenuous thread of prophecy…a prophecy that promises no victory, only a thin thread of possibility.

Join the heroes of Dendalen as they try to bring their war against the wizards to an end…or die trying.

 

The conclusion in the Dreaming King Saga:

The Tower of Dreams
An Uncivil War
Black Mesa
The Gates of Heaven (this book)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard Friesen
• Release date: Feb 28, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386922582

Book preview

Prologue: Falling Down

From the Teachings of Eirlys, First Wizard of the Diurn Spring

Safe on my island, I watched Elutheros fall from his magical path, as his construct failed. I watched city towers and bridges crumble. I watched civilization itself tumble into ruin and death. It happened as our teacher and mentor, Calfjoro, said it would. When he placed the last crystal and linked the power, he gave his own life, while my friends and fellow wizards, Giang and Iara along with thousands of soldiers, sacrificed themselves to distract Elutherous from what Calfjoro did.

My scrying spell survived the cataclysm because I knew what would come. Most wizards died in the backlash from their own spells. Many, many others died in falling buildings, starved, or froze in the disaster’s aftermath. My guilt will not be assuaged, and yet what Elutheros attempted would have killed all, destroying heaven and earth.

We should have found a better way.

We tried every other spell we knew and failed. I guess we were too stupid, more idiotic even than Iara would have said. I will miss her acerbic wit even more than my Palu, and Palu survived. He will stay at the Rusted Spire, and I will not go to him, for I have no heart left for love. Palu does not understand and seeks to build an empire from the ashes. Though it lasts a thousand years, it will not erase our guilt and failure.

I must prepare, for the wizards of the Diurn Spring will have a role to play in the end. I must do it, for only I saw. When Elutheros’s construct shivered and shattered, when the magic fell apart, when all the others mourned the dead and cleaned up the mess, I watched Elutheros.

Our enemy and grieving friend dropped from the sky, back through the strange corners and bends he found to reach the gates, but he did not crash down on the hard ground. Instead, he fell into the Koriotoy, the well itself, the center of all magic, very much alive.

That he has not emerged again I take as hopeful, but I do not think this will last.

Chapter 1: Surprise Dreams

King Jabez-Magnus stood in the frigid cold, waiting on the high priest, waiting to ascend the dark Skalletberg to the Tower of Dreams on the mountain’s flank. The cold crept through his fur-lined cloak and into his bones as wind howled, bringing pine and snow scents across the bare, snowy ground between the Vittsten Katedral’s peaked wooden roof and the Bergenfastning’s crenelated black-stone walls.

When he’d first dreamed, he had almost not felt the cold. Now, more than twenty years later, it nibbled at his attention, making him wish for a warm fire and mulled wine. Still, he held Carlota’s small hand. While it was not following strict protocol, he didn’t care. He treasured his wife and co-ruler too much. A strand of dark hair, now with a hint of silver, escaped from her hood, trailing across his upper arm. She glanced up at him, smiling without baring teeth to protect them in the cold weather. He longed to touch her skin; several shades darker than his.

Behind them, their son, Prince Karlis, shifted and stamped with nervous energy. At sixteen, he stood half a head shorter than Jabez-Magnus, with reddish-brown hair. Carrying more muscles on his lean frame than most his age, his eyes shone with delight and caring. Even so, Karlis chafed at any rules or restrictions. Dom Nels, Jabez-Magnus’s nephew, stood nearby, and Princess Ines, who at fourteen resembled her mother more every day, attempted whatever Karlis did. Now, cold and miserable, she bounced on her toes with arms tight around her body.

When the bells on the Vittsten Katedral rang, Jabez-Magnus turned with the others. Haug Prasta Asmund emerged, robed in snowy fur, followed by three other priests vested in sable. Two priests beat on drums, setting the pace for the procession. Asmund carried the steaming cup to start the ceremony leading to the prophetic dream on midwinter’s night.

When Haug Prasta Asmund reached the stair to the mountain path above, he raised the cup. We are gathered, on the year’s darkest night, so that Valjar’s light might shine on us and guide us through the coming days. Who dares ascend to the Tower of Dreams?

Queen Carlota stepped forward. She and Jabez-Magnus had agreed years ago to let her lead, as it reinforced their status as co-rulers. I, Queen Carlota, will dare the ascent in prayer and supplication. If Valjar finds me worthy, I will dream to aid and protect my people.

Haug Prasta Asmund offered Carlota the steaming cup. Drink then, tea from the Drom Flood’s holy water and herbs from the Night Grove. If you are worthy, step up.

Carlota took the cup and drank, then climbed five steps up to wait between the walls of stone, carved from the mountain’s bones. The way narrowed as the flight climbed thirty more steps.

Asmund repeated the question and admonition for Jabez-Magnus. When he drank, though, Jabez-Magnus expected the draught’s warmth to suffuse his body, beginning the ritual that pushed back time’s veil. It did not. The draught did nothing at all. Dread settled in his stomach. If he did not dream, who would? And why?

Once Karlis, Nels, and Ines had taken their turn with the cup, the haug prasta and another priest lit oil lamps and led the royal party up the stair in time with the beating drums. Here, the dreamer would feel claustrophobic, as if the walls closed in on him. Jabez-Magnus felt no such thing.

When they reached the top, Asmund and the other priest stood aside where snow blocked the path. The haug prasta said, Pass through the snow gate and enter the realm of dreams.

It only became a gate when one of them pushed through it.

Carlota glanced over her shoulder at Jabez-Magnus. From her confounded expression, he gathered she did not feel the walls closing in either. She stepped up and pushed through the artificial snowbank.

Jabez-Magnus followed, widening the way. Walking out onto the Skalletberg’s treeless, snow-covered flank, he stepped up next to Carlota. I won’t be dreaming tonight.

She shook her head. Neither will I.

They both looked back at the three youngsters. Nels appeared puzzled at the unexpected pause. Karlis ignored his father and mother and looked around at the mountainside. Ines scowled at her brother.

Jabez-Magnus looked at Carlota and nodded. She stepped up to their son. Karlis, this is your night. You will dream. Are you ready to be king?

Karlis looked her in the eye, then around at the mountain again. It’s time, then. I hoped it would be another few years. He placed a hand on each of their shoulders and stood taller. If I am to dream, then it must mean I am ready.

We will help, Jabez-Magnus said. For now, you lead. This night will be easy. What comes after is hard.

He gestured toward the snow-packed trail.

Karlis stepped up. He had been making the ascent since the wizards over the mountains had created a Wall of Wind to prevent Dendalen from annexing them. They called the province Eastfold now. This part would be familiar. Jabez-Magnus dropped back and let Karlis get a little way ahead. With the wind blowing, the boy wouldn’t hear quiet words.

He bent down so Carlota could hear. Why would Valjar choose him as king now?

Carlota shivered and didn’t answer for a long moment. Could the Day of Evil be upon us? Why did our dreams always show him as a child leading the army, not as a man?

How could someone so young lead an army? Then again, Magnus had only been a couple years older, and he’d made many mistakes, including not trusting his wife. Karlis had something Magnus had never had, his father and mother, experienced rulers at his back. His martial trainers said he did well, better than most his age. So said all his teachers and tutors. He’d always had a knack for magic and had been training with the Vale of Stars wizards since age four.

None knew what this Day of Evil might be, only that the Dreaming Child would lead an army guarded by the Order of the Nifikin to face whatever lay waiting out on the steppes, but how could someone so young do what was required?

Why are you letting him lead? Ines asked from behind.

Jabez-Magnus looked over his shoulder and smiled at her. Because he will be dreaming tonight, not us.

By morning, Karlis would be king.

Ines stopped, mouth open. Then she put hands on hips and scowled. Nels chuckled. He stepped around her, as if strolling in the country. He loved making the ascent, knowing he would never be king but hearing the dream firsthand.

Eyes flashing in anger, Ines pushed past Nels again, and closed on her father and mother, pointing an accusing, gloved finger up the slope. You’re going to let him be king? It’s not fair!

Jabez-Magnus dropped back and put an arm across her shoulder. No, it isn’t fair. Still, ‘let’ is the wrong word. Your mother and I have no more choice than you. For better or worse, your brother will dream tonight.

Folding her arms, Ines shrugged off Jabez-Magnus’s attempt at comfort. I don’t have to like it!

No, you don’t. Sometimes a contrary opinion is helpful to a king. My sister did that for me. You can do it for Karlis. Jabez-Magnus clasped his daughter’s shoulder then strode up the path to catch Carlota, letting Ines stew and think.

When he reached her side, Carlota took his hand again. She will get over it, although maybe she could train with the wizards this year.

Jabez-Magnus rubbed his face with a cold glove. Good thought.

The whole magic training had been another sore point. Karlis, having shown exceptional talent from a young age, had been trained for years now. Ines had done neither, and had always resented Karlis his magic.

At a bend in the trail, a shallow snow-cave had been carved back into the hill. Hangings depicting scenes martial and domestic covered the walls, and carpets of many colors from far lands draped the floor. A brazier offered heat to the two men. No longer young, they wore rich cloth, with gold chains and rings. Both looked stunned when Prince Karlis stepped in rather than Carlota and Jabez. Even so, they went to one knee. The older one handed Karlis models of a ship and a wagon. Gracious king, the Merchants’ Guild is honored to be present at the dreaming and asks that Valjar grant us assistance this year.

I will take these tokens and dream what I may, to give what aid Valjar blesses us with.

The merchants looked surprised with the ease Karlis showed speaking the rites, but Jabez-Magnus expected it of his son. Taking the two models, Karlis turned and withdrew from the cave. Outside, he set the tokens in a basket Haug Prasta Asmund carried.

Karlis started up the slope, climbing the Skalletberg’s flank. The next three caves—with farmers, followed by shepherds and weavers, then miners and smiths, all offered tokens and asked for assistance.

Without the rite’s magic, the cold bothered Jabez-Magnus far more than in previous years. Snow lay deep on the narrow trail. Toes numb and chest shivering, Jabez-Magnus followed his son over the last ridge. Dromorna Torn, the Tower of Dreams, came into view, anchored on a black rock spur. But for the occluded stars and the light from narrow windows, its sable stone would have blended into the night sky. The cylinder rose to a peaked roof, straight and smooth, as if untouched by the concerns of those below.

Down a gentle slope, one last snow cave waited. Captured moonlight shone from inside, and three wizards waited there, warmed by neither brazier nor fire. The two younger wizards looked jealous when Karlis stepped forward. They’d trained with him. Even tall Head Wizard Torvin, hair gray now and shimmering in the light, looked surprised.

Oh, gracious prince, Torvin said, smiling. We offer our gift in the making of the dream. He held up a glittering gem on a gold chain. May it maintain the peace and prosperity of our realm. In return, we ask Valjar to grant us wisdom this year.

Torvin placed the amulet around Karlis’s neck and stepped back. We of the Vale of Stars add our will this night to the dreaming. May it be clear and bright in all that is seen and all that will come. The three wizards spread their hands as they tossed a blessing to the wind. Jabez-Magnus expected the sparkling heat, but he saw nothing, felt nothing.

Karlis breathed it in, eyes alight. Jabez-Magnus remembered his first time, feeling the wizard’s magic augment the strange sight and not knowing what it meant. They had taught Karlis, so the Dream itself would be tonight’s only remaining surprise.,

Karlis might have stayed, but Jabez-Magnus turned him. With a sheepish shrug, Karlis climbed the stair to the Cave of Days.

The royal family, with the accompanying priests and guards, entered the dank cave, much warmer than the night outside. Their footsteps echoed, while strange shapes, distorted rock formations and human shadows danced in the lamplight. A wide, level stone floor gave them space to walk, and the ceiling had been made high, so they need not stoop. Against the far wall lay a dark, still pool. No visible water flowed into it, but a trickle ran out and down.

Haug Prasta Asmund stopped beside the pool. Drink now from the Drom Flood’s second source; then ascend to the heights and dream to guide us for the year.

Starting with Karlis, the royal family knelt, scooped water into the black stone bowl resting at the pool’s edge and drank the icy draught. It carried the strange, bitter mineral taste of magic. Jabez-Magnus had never noticed it before. He missed the warm mists that broke the bounds of time and let him see. He missed lying down in anticipation. He would miss the dream and the guidance it gave. He would miss being king.

Asmund said, Climb now. Sleep and dream.

Karlis led them up the steps from the cave into the tower. The audience chamber, taking up the entire bottom level, had a small dais with a spiral stair going up from it, and hangings depicting Jerek the Dreamer. Again Jabez-Magnus felt strange, knowing he would not address those holding vigil ever again. His feet carried him to the stair, and he started up. Karlis hesitated, so Jabez-Magnus beckoned him. The three floors above held sleeping chambers reserved for the royal family—a single room at the top, and two on each floor below.

When Karlis started into the first, lowest room, Jabez-Magnus propelled him to the topmost. This night is yours, son.

Carlota and Jabez-Magnus took the next highest, leaving Nels and Ines to sort out the rest.

Once they’d changed into their nightshirts, left out for them by priests earlier in the day, and crawled under the quilts, Carlota snuggled back against Jabez-Magnus, molding her body into his. I’m frightened for our boy.

Jabez-Magnus considered how he felt. The last dozen years’ prosperity and peace meant he and Carlota had done well. Asmund even had the Order of the Nifikin behaving now. They could not have done more. If Valjar wanted to replace them, what could Karlis handle that he and Carlota could not? Considering what they had faced in the war with Palua, Filip’s rebellion, and the war with the Scarred King, the thought scared him.

Yes, I am afraid, but we have seen and survived so much. We can help him through this. We have Kala and Asmund, and we can bring Anton back if we need. Let us first see what he dreams.

Carlota kissed his cheek. Yes, let us see what he dreams.

CARLOTA WOKE MORE NERVOUS than when she’d fallen asleep. Dread filled her. Even so, she dressed and kissed Jabez-Magnus good morning. His arms around her, warm and strong, helped. They heard movement outside, so they stepped onto the landing.

Taking Jabez-Magnus’s hand, Carlota led him out and down. Even after all these years, sometimes she missed her husband’s original body and wished he hadn’t stolen his brother Filip’s and so become Jabez. After that awful day when her husband died to the world, when he’d unmarried her by taking another body, he’d proven his loyalty and love over and over.

When they reached the bottom, those standing vigil waited, expectant and quiet; the people from the snow caves, royal guards, and the priests who had made the ascent. Together with Jabez-Magnus, Ines and Nels, Carlota stood by the back wall. It had been so long since she’d stood behind the dreamer that she felt slighted. No longer queen, what position, what life would she have?

It surprised Carlota when Karlis stepped forward and raised his hands without hesitation. He had been practicing the words under his breath, and she, his mother, could see his nervousness.

He opened his mouth, but no words came out until he coughed. Valjar has again blessed us with the dreaming.

The strong words came out uncertain, and his voice cracked. None in the audience so much as blinked, however. They’d had the long waking night to prepare themselves. Carlota would need to thank Asmund for such forethought.

Haug Prasta Asmund and Head Wizard Torvin raised the Sansten Amulets and spoke in unison. Let true words be spoken here.

The next part, Carlota knew, would come easily enough, for the dreams magic almost forced the words out.

Taking a deep breath and gathering his thoughts, Karlis looked around the room. Merchants, miners, farmers, shepherds, weavers, and smiths, this year all will change. For the next few months, life will be as it has been. Do not be fooled. Take few risks, keep what you can in reserve. Merchants, you must curtail trade across the steppes. When caravans return, do not send them out again.

This drew troubled, astonished murmurs from those holding vigil.

King Karlis, however, stepped down and approached Torvin. Wizards of the Vale of Stars, you will be front and center in the conflict to come but refraining from magic will matter more than any spell or power you may use, so have a care. Protect yourselves from magical interference.

Carlota shuddered. This dream sounded so different from any she or Jabez-Magnus had ever dreamed. How could one so young dream? The prophecies spoke of the Dreaming Child, not the dreaming man, and never of a dreaming teenaged boy. She prayed with all her might for him not to be the Dreaming Child, but her heart told her otherwise.

Stepping back onto the dais, King Karlis raised his hands again. Such is the dreaming for this year. Let all listen and prosper.

Asmund and Torvin each breathed on the Sansten amulets. They glanced at each other and nodded. The dreaming is true. Let all who hear heed and obey.

For the first time in all these years, Carlota wondered how the stones showed truth. She didn’t know.

After donning cloaks and gloves, the new king led the royal family down the short stair to the Cave of Days, the air turning musty and damp. Carlota held tight to her husband’s hand as they stepped out into an overcast day with a light snow falling. The priests behind donned their wool cloaks, like the ones all the petitioners except the merchants wore. They and the royal family had fur. The whole procession followed King Karlis down the long stair to the snow-packed path past the snow caves to the feast for the new year.

An hour later, when they reached the gap between the Bergenfastning and the Vittsten Katedral, King Karlis stopped and addressed the petitioners. Go, prepare for the feast. I have one more duty before I break my fast. He turned to Carlota. Mother, father, accompany me, please. You too, Haug Prasta. He appeared hesitant, this her child who always knew what he wanted. I dreamed this. It must be done.

Such specific dreamings were rare. What did it mean, besides that he knew what would happen in the cathedral? Carlota followed her son into the Vittsten Katedral through the main doors on the northwest corner, opposite the gates to the Bergenfastning. They passed across the narthex with its stone floor echoing their footsteps until they entered the main sanctuary through the dual White Doors of carved wood. Inside, the floor descended a gentle slope as the mighty wood beams rose from the back and came to a point above the black stone altar that looked carved from the living-stone floor.

Before Valjar’s holy altar, a lone priest knelt, robed and hooded in black.

Karlis strode down past the rows of wooden pews. The priest rose as he approached.

When the priest pushed back the hood, Carlota gaped. Prasta Wera! It has been too long since I’ve seen you.

Carlota also chided herself for not considering this priest could be a woman. Although a dozen girls had now enrolled in the school, only Wera had yet gained the priesthood.

Wera smiled at Carlota and curtseyed, although her eyes remained haunted, and tears stained her cheeks. The girl had her blonde hair braided and curled up on her head. Her light skin, typical in the mountain vales, appeared even paler today. Why the tears, though? They tore at Carlota’s heart. Wera had been orphaned in an avalanche while the Wall of Wind blocked the high passes. After she showed exceptional healing talent, Asmund had brought her into the cathedral school. She had endured much to become the first female priest. Carlota, as the first ruling queen, felt a kinship to this young, determined priestess. What did these two children know that Carlota did not? Distracted, Carlota almost missed what Wera said.

I am pleased to see you, too, Your Majesty.

The foundations of Carlota’s life shook. She’d grown up a damen, the daughter of an adelsmann, her father ruling Vasterdal province along the river. She’d married Magnus and become queen. Now, she was neither. I am no longer queen, so just Carlota will be sufficient. I’m not even sure I’m a damen anymore.

Karlis, who had been watching Wera with a strange intensity, turned to Carlota and took both her hands. Mother, I have in mind to appoint you adelsmann of Jereksdal. Father, I will retain you as the First Legion general.

One worry evaporated, leaving all the others. While Jereksdal had always belonged to the king, it did not have to. It implied Karlis would have to deal with bigger issues.

Karlis turned to Wera and held out a hand. You have dreamed this night?

Wera curtseyed. Yes, Your Majesty.

This shook Carlota too, for while there was only one prophetic dream given to whoever would be king, other dreams on this night were holy and blessed. In all her years at Magnus’s side, she knew of only two others.

Karlis looked in Wera’s eyes, serious and intense. Knowing the cost, are you willing?

Wera bit her lip, but she nodded and set her hand in his. I am willing.

Though he did not smile, Karlis leaned in and kissed her on the lips. I am most grateful. You are blessed of Valjar.

Karlis turned to Carlota and Jabez-Magnus without relinquishing Wera’s hand. Father, Mother, this day, Wera and I are betrothed. We will wed next week.

A hundred emotions ran through Carlota—shock, joy, confusion, consternation, and disbelief. She managed a bright smile for her soon-to-be daughter-in-law and leaned in to kiss Wera’s cheek. You have always been an extraordinary girl. You will make a fine queen.

Carlota spoke truth, but she had many questions too. Her baby could not be wed already. And to Wera? She had to be six years older than Karlis. While Wera lacked a title, Carlota appreciated her persistence and tenacity in becoming the first woman priest. Why the tears, though? Could the king marry a priest? What would the adelstand think? Why so soon? The haste added to Carlota’s worry.

As Karlis and Wera led them back to Bergenfastning for the feast, Carlota tucked herself under Jabez-Magnus’s arm, seeking some comfort. Why do I think the surprises have only just begun?

Chapter 2: The Forbidden

Kaamil dug his heels in, but his exhausted horse kept the same trotting pace. A wet winter wind blew from the northwest, right in Kaamil’s face. Behind him, he heard the pursuing horsemen.

His friend Dochin, son of Ganzorig Khan, braided hair streaming behind, rode another exhausted mount as they raced across the steppes. The clan had fought to hold off the invading Paluans while Kaamil and Dochin escaped to warn the Khan.

A small contingent of Paluan cavalry had chased them relentlessly and had been close behind all day. Even in the cold winter with the ground hard as rock, the Paluans had followed through twists and turns, journeys down deep valleys out of sight, and more. Maybe they had a wizard. Kaamil began to think they would not reach Ganzorig Khan.

With the sun nearing the horizon out across the hills, Kaamil and Dochin crested a low ridge. Below them spread a wide, shallow valley, almost a bowl. The long shadows highlighted a dry lakebed, odd in this country. On the east side, sharp, broken stone walls rose emerald and jade from the gray ground where a city used to lay, built long ago by forgotten wizards. Only one place in the steppes had such ruins: The Forbidden.

Dochin started down the slope but stopped when Kaamil did not follow. Come! We have to get through. Besides, there’s water down there.

Kaamil pointed at the ruins. Dochin! That’s the Forbidden.

What? Dochin looked from Kaamil to the valley and back. Then the Paluans won’t follow us. Let’s go! He turned and urged his horse down the slope.

Unsure whether to fear the Paluans or the Forbidden more, Kaamil followed. This is not wise, Dochin.

Even the horses grew restless as they got closer. When they crossed cobbled patches, Kaamil realized there had been stone roads coming into the valley. Besides the new road from the great river to the ocean, no paved roads crossed the steppes. Nomads and herdsmen, the Auktin had no need.

Dochin took a route to the west of the ruins. Halfway down, he pointed. Look, a well!

The well’s round stone ring had a broken, jagged rim rising above the flat, paved plaza around it. As they approached, the plaza’s scale became apparent. An entire ruined city bordered it on the east side, and more ruins, separate from the city, abutted the plaza on the northwest.

Dochin approached the well and dismounted.

Kaamil followed suit, but the stones beneath his feet tingled and buzzed with power. This is no ordinary well. We should not drink.

Dochin rolled his eyes even as he walked over and looked down into the dark maw. It had to be twenty feet across. Kaamil had never seen or heard of the like. The stone rim, though broken down in places, looked molded, not laid.

From the well, three darker stone streaks radiated outward in the stones of the plaza, each equidistant from the others. They did not line up with the cardinal directions—one a bit east of south, one east and a little north, and the third north and west. What did those point to?

While Kaamil looked around, Dochin had retrieved a rope from his saddle and tied his waterskin to it. He lowered it down into the well. If the massive well held unfrozen water, his makeshift bucket would work. The waterskin would fill.

They heard the splash when the skin hit. Dochin whooped.

Quiet, Kaamil whispered. Sound carries.

You worry too much.

Dochin peered into the dark well, trying to see when the skin sank, meaning it had filled up. Soon enough, a tug on the rope told Dochin what his eyes did not. What’s down there? Dochin shrugged and pulled the rope back up.

As the waterskin cleared the well’s lip, with water clinging to the outside and trailing back into darkness, a noise distracted Kaamil. Up on the valley’s rim, a dozen riders appeared. They paused to take in the scene below. The Paluans galloped down the hill, breastplates gleaming and plumed helms waving in the wind.

Kaamil whirled back to his friend. Dochin, we have to...

Dochin held the waterskin high, pouring the water into his mouth and over his face. In the failing light, the water shimmered silver rather than clear, and a trail ran back into the well, more like honey or sap than water. As Dochin spluttered, the water collected on his face, then expanded down over his body.

Dochin! Kaamil grabbed the waterskin and tossed it into the well.

The water still flowed upward, out of the well and onto Dochin. It shimmered in the dim light, moving as if alive. When Kaamil tried to wipe the stuff from Dochin’s face, Dochin grabbed his arm to stop him.

The water seemed to fade into Dochin’s skin.

Kaamil struggled to get free, but Dochin held him while he looked around as if he had never seen this place. Calfjoro, what have you done?

The voice had a strange accent.

Who is... Kaamil’s words died on his tongue when he looked in his friend’s eyes and saw flashing green rather than the familiar dark brown.

The thunder of hooves on cobbles echoed across the plaza. Dochin, or whoever he had become, looked over. Kaamil glanced too, unsure where the greater danger lay.

The Paluans, with lances lowered, charged across the plaza in tight formation.

We have to go, Kaamil cried.

This stranger-Dochin shrugged. What an odd language you two speak. He laid a hand on Kaamil’s chest and spoke in an unknown tongue. His hand glowed, and Kaamil felt weak.

Lightning sprouted from stranger-Dochin’s other hand. Branching, it struck the Paluans one at a time, coursing across steel breastplates. The soldiers jerked and convulsed, weapons falling to the ground. The ones at the rear cried out in terror before the lightning engulfed them too. One by one, the Paluans fell, smoke rising from the bodies.

Darkness encroached from the edges of Kaamil’s vision. His heart faltered in his chest, and a silent wail rose in his throat. He and Dochen had woken the sleeping evil in the Forbidden. Kaamil had not worried enough.

As his knees buckled and consciousness fled, Kaamil heard the stranger say, What has happened to the magic? Why is it so weak?

Chapter 3: Wedding Night

Carlota, with an arm around Jabez-Magnus, walked back to their new suite in the Bergenfastning. The ever-present vibrations in the stones seemed to anticipate this night. After spending a week in conference with Torvin and other wizards, the instructions King Karlis had given them for this night would make a monumental spell.

Carlota leaned her head against her husband. Why do I feel old?

Jabez-Magnus gave her a playful squeeze. You just watched your son wed. You might have a grandchild by this time next year.

He could be right, but watching her boy make the lonely journey around the Bergenfastning and the outer aisle of the Vittsten Katedral, created a pain in Carlota’s heart. The boy who’d painted with magic had traded innocence and exuberance to be the Dreaming King, and a husband. Worry muted her happiness for him. Could he not have stayed innocent a few more years?

If he’d picked any other woman, Carlota would have objected. Prasta Wera had endured being hated, being assigned the worst jobs, and being nearly friendless, to become a priest at last. Carlota liked and respected the girl.

Carlota had had no chance to adjust to her son being king, and he now wore a married man’s earring. The wedding spell coursed through his loins, as it did Wera’s. Although why the priesthood thought couples needed assistance in that area remained a mystery. Perhaps it created an awareness of the spouse’s desires and feelings.

As they prepared to leave the celebration feast where the assembled noblemen and dignitaries had smiled and congratulated the new king and queen, Karlis had asked his father and mother to create their special magic and cover the entire kingdom with caring and protection.

That Karlis knew about the cloth stoles, and what his parents did with them, bothered Carlota. The stole magic had let her and Magnus take down the Wall of Wind, but tonight theirs would be but part of the magic.

During the feast, Carlota had managed a quiet word with Haug Prasta Asmund, and his wife Captain Kala, the Tigress.

Is the Dreaming Child’s arrival good?

Asmund gave her a commiserating smile. From what I read; the result may be glorious. However, the Day of Evil will be ... difficult.

Carlota frowned, and her heart ached for her son. I don’t want him to be the Dreaming Child. I want him to live in peace for all his life.

Putting a hand on her shoulder, Asmund looked into her eyes. Valjar will not ask more than we can give, though he may ask for all.

Kala put hands on hips, making her military stance look natural in a dress. I will use all my might and all my skill to protect him. I am his to use however he needs.

Since Kala could take on any