The King's Watch (The Adventures of Carmen Delarosa Book 2) Read online

  The Adventures of Carmen Delarosa:

  Carmen Delarosa and the King’s Watch

  Kody Boye

  The King’s Watch

  The Adventures of Carmen Delarosa, #2

  by Kody Boye

  Copyright © 2017. All Rights Reserved

  Cover art by Philip R. Rogers

  Copyedited by Dominique Goodall

  Formatting by Kody Boye

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronically, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the proper written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

  Prologue

  The Year 1715

  The pain was all she could feel.

  Staggering endlessly, guided by only her glowworm—she raised her head and saw the light she’d so desperately been looking for upon the near horizon.

  Ehknac, Carmen thought, breathless, her chest rising, then falling at the exertion forced upon her body.

  Everything hurt. Her head, her neck, her legs, her shoulders, the place along her collar where the Skitters had dug in and the back of her throat where water had yet to touch—she tried to call out, if only to summon aid, but found she couldn’t. Instead, all that came out was a wheeze—a desperate cry for a soul almost lost to the Deep Roads.

  You can do it, she thought, wanting to speak the words, but knowing she couldn’t. Come on. It’s only a few steps more.

  The light from the torches would soon be upon her. Once beneath them, she would be saved. They would cry out to ask her name, then to offer her aid. And when she fell, surely they—

  She stumbled, then fell—crying, only once, into the darkened night.

  The two figures she could see on the wall shifted.

  “Hello?” one of them asked, then in a louder voice called, “Is anyone there?”

  “Huh,” she gasped, then grimaced, “elp—”

  It was then she collapsed, onto the dirt road.

  Her breath was lost, her glow worm sent rolling.

  The last thing she saw before she closed her eyes was the jar coming to a stop and the worm reaching out for her.

  Chapter 1

  Carmen, a voice said. Carmen. Wake up, Carmen. Wake up.

  Why wake up, she wondered, if she was already dead?

  Or was she?

  Her body was an orchestra of pain. Sung on high from the tips of her toes to the top of her head, it radiated throughout her being with an intensity she could’ve never previously thought possible in a person of such small stature. Her arms were sore, her back felt like jelly, her legs felt like—and possibly resembled—a mass of black and blue tissue. She’d walked so far, had gone so long without food or water. It was any wonder she was still—

  She gasped. Breathing.

  How could she be breathing if she were already dead?

  Dear Odin and Thor, she thought, Hel and Loki. Please… tell me I am at the gates—that Valhalla is awaiting me.

  She opened her eyes to find not the planks of the greatest warrior’s ship, but stone—which, bathed in firelight, flickered as a slight gust entered the room and disturbed the flame within.

  “There now,” the same voice said. “You’re finally awake.”

  “Sis…ter Griffa?” she asked, blinking, unable to believe her eyes.

  The holy woman nodded as she looked down at Carmen. “By the gods, child. You’re alive.”

  “Thu… thank you for praying for me,” she said, struggling to wrap her left hand around the sheet at her waist. “I… heard it. At least, I think I did. The hymns.”

  “I sung them to the gods to ensure your safe return from Yggdrasil,” Sister Griffa said. “You died once, child. Maybe even twice. But the gods weren’t ready for you. They said you had a mission, here on this earth.”

  “I wish they would’ve taken me,” she said after a moment.

  “No, Carmen. You do not wish that. You merely think you do.”

  She tried to roll onto her side—to portray a childish defiance she felt would spite the sister greatly—but found herself unable to do so. The simple act of twisting her torso was enough to make her cry out in pain—to make her feel as though her spine were being ripped in half.

  The sister came to the bed.

  Carmen tried to shy from her touch, but again, was unable to.

  “There, there,” she said as Carmen began to cry. “Do not fear, dear child, for I am here for you.”

  “I just wanted it to be done,” she whispered. “For everything to be over.”

  “You are worth more to us alive than you are dead.”

  “I wish that drake would have killed me.”

  The sister did not reply.

  Carmen opened her eyes.

  When she looked upon the holy woman’s face, she found a mixture of shock and awe upon its aged features. “You,” she said, then swallowed, “found the drake?”

  “And killed him,” Carmen said. She pointed to the satchel which she could see out of her peripheral. “There. In my purse. Its tooth.”

  The sister approached cautiously, warily, as if afraid it could be true and unsure if it were at the exact same time. She lifted the coin purse from amidst the series of items and reached in, only to jerk her hand back a moment later. “By the gods,” she whispered.

  Carmen closed her eyes and expelled a deep breath.

  “Carmen,” she said, withdrawing the wicked fang from within, her eyes alight with terror and awe and everything it meant to be afraid and small. “You… you killed the drake of Ehknac?”

  “I bashed its head in,” Carmen said, “until its brain was nothing but mush.”

  The sister approached, tooth in hand, and dangled it at her side, its sharp end facing outward so as to not scar the sister’s delicate flesh. It gleamed in the firelight, nearly bone-white but fletched with yellow, and resembled a dagger in the woman’s hand—waiting anxiously to take the life of the one who had removed it. Carmen turned her head away, and that was when the sister—as though sensing her distress—took several steps back.

  “I did not believe it when I first heard,” Griffa Stonesinger said.

  “First?” Carmen frowned, turning her head to look at the woman.

  She returned the tooth to its bag and bowed her head, clasping her hands together and whispering one small prayer before she continued. “You,” she said, then stopped, swallowing, “were speaking in your sleep.”

  “Saying what?”

  “No. Stop, drake. I’ll kill you. I swear I will. At first I thought it was merely delirium. But now that I’ve seen this…” She paused to look back down at the bag. “You’re a hero, Carmen.”

  “I’m nothing but a fool,” she replied.

  “But a fool whose worth will be measured far beyond what she believes.” Griffa approached the bed in time for a medicine woman, complete in her bloodied gown, to step in. “I will leave you now, my daughter. Please, rest. You have done something great for us all.”

  Griffa leaned down, pressed a kiss to Carmen’s sweaty brow, then turned and walked out of the room.

  It was at that moment—when, at the brink of it all, Carmen thought she could sleep no more—that she slipped into unconsciousness. />
  - - -

  The next time she woke, she was alone in the room, and the fireglass fire was waning in strength.

  Struggling to push herself upright, Carmen reached for the bedpost to stabilize herself before reaching up to lift the skein of water from the bedside table. She drank, heartily, for several moments, as if she’d never tasted water before, then lowered the skein and reached up to rub a hand over her mouth, palm trembling and fingers stiff from sleep.

  She could still barely feel her left arm.

  She flexed her fingers to test their strength, found them able to move but with excruciating pain. Because of that, she drew her arm against her side, then sighed—the effort alone enough to inspire pain throughout her entire body.

  “Healer?” Carmen asked. “Madam Healer?”

  “I am here,” the woman said, stepping in from another room. “How are you feeling, Miss Carmen?”

  “I’m in pain,” she said. “A lot of pain.”

  “There is little I could do for the aches but try and soothe them,” she said. She sparked blue fire to her palms and then leaned forward to press them upon Carmen’s swollen flesh. “You broke bones, dear one. You’re lucky you weren’t hurt worse.”

  “My collar,” she thought.

  “Has been mended. You will surely scar, but it is nothing cosmetic magics cannot remove.”

  She didn’t care how the scars would look—at least, not at that moment. All she cared was that her wound was no longer open, and as such, no longer prone to infection.

  She sighed as the warm energy radiated throughout her forearm and coursed across her muscles. Its affects—resembling tiny hands massaging the most delicate of places—was enough to make her smile, for it was the first relief she’d had since awakening to Sister Griffa’s callings.

  “Thank you, madam healer,” Carmen said as the woman drew away. She started to stand, but swayed on her feet and was helped back onto the bed by the medicine woman.

  “Oh no, dear child. Do not try and stand. At least, not yet.”

  “I have to pee.”

  “Then wait here. I will hold the bucket for you while you do so.”

  Carmen grimaced as the woman left, then coughed as a wave of discomfort surged within her chest. She raised her hand to cover her mouth just as the woman returned with the wooden bucket. “Stand,” she said, “and relieve yourself.”

  Carmen did, sighing as the sweet rush of urine left her bladder and the pressure in her abdomen was relieved. She did this for what felt like hours before finally withdrawing and pulling her pants up her legs. She still couldn’t stand—at least, not on her own—and she secured the buckle at her waist before falling back into bed. “I was wanting to go home,” she said.

  “You’re not going anywhere in your condition,” the woman said.

  “What is your name, madam healer?”

  “Honest, child. My name is Honest.”

  “Thank you, Healer Honest, for taking such good care of me.”

  “I feared you dead when the guards brought you to my door,” the woman said, leaning out a nearby window to deposit the urine on the stone outside. “You were so cold, so still. Yet you spoke and said that you had won.”

  I did, Carmen thought, but said nothing to indicate such. She wrapped her arms around herself and sighed as she rolled onto her side, only just acknowledging the glow worm that sat on the nearby table amongst her things, dimly pulsing as it reared back on its hind legs and waved.

  Carmen raised her hand.

  “It’s been watching you,” the medicine woman said, turning her head to look at the object of Carmen’s affections. “It’s only just started pulsing now that you’ve awakened. It’s been sleeping otherwise.”

  “Such a strange little thing,” Carmen said, nodding as the medicine woman tucked the blankets over her body and then under her chin. “Healer Honest—when can I go home?”

  “When you prove yourself capable of standing on your own,” she replied. “And without the assistance of a cane or wall.”

  “All right,” Carmen sighed.

  “I imagine it will be no more than a few days, perhaps a week at the most. Try to relax. Your body needs time to recover from what it’s endured.” She paused, then smiled. “And if what Sister Griffa has said is true, then you’ve endured quite a lot.”

  “I have,” Carmen said.

  Even she could hardly believe it.

  As the medicine woman turned to make her way back to her living quarters, Carmen closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

  Though she wanted nothing more than to remain awake, sleep once again tugged at her.

  - - -

  She was out of bed and standing on her own a day later when the door opened to reveal Sister Griffa. “Carmen,” she said. “You’re up.”

  “I am,” Carmen replied.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Much better, thanks to Honest.”

  “Sister Griffa,” the healer said, approaching to greet the holy woman. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

  “I have come to offer Carmen sanctuary within the temple as she continues to recover.”

  “That isn’t necessary, Sister,” Carmen said.

  “Carmen,” the holy woman replied, stepping forward and taking hold of her arms. “You’re trembling, dear. I know you hold some resentment toward me for the things I’ve done in the past, but I promise this is no front. I want to try to make up for the wrongs I’ve committed. Even I am only a Dwarf.”

  “I know,” Carmen said, sighing as she melted into the sister’s arms and bowed her face into her neck, content as the fine linens kissed her face and lulled her into a sense of security. “I just don’t want to be a burden on anyone.”

  “Nonsense! The sisters would be more than happy to have a woman of your caliber. Besides—have you heard what they’ve been calling you?”

  “Who?” Carmen frowned.

  “The people. Or have you not had visitors?” When Carmen shook her head, Sister Griffa said, “Ah,” and smiled. “Well, darling. I would like to inform you that Carmen Delarosa, daughter of Madeline and Brutus Delarosa, is none other than the Drake Slayer of Ehknac.”

  “I’ve been given title?” she frowned.

  “The people have declared you as such, and the mayor seeks fit to follow.”

  Carmen couldn’t believe it. So stunned was she that she could only stare. “What?” she asked, still unsure if she had heard correctly.

  “The mayor has proposed you be elevated to a regional hero. You’ve done something incredible, Carmen, by slaying that monster. You’ve put a lot of people’s mind at ease, made a lot of the travelers who are currently lodged here feel safer. Why, there’s even been talk of sending men into the road to recover the corpse for preservation.”

  “That shouldn’t be done,” Carmen said with a shake of her head. “Let the thing rot and get eaten by the bugs.”

  “You are the only one who knows its location, so I feel it’s only fitting that you be the one to reveal it should you wish.” Sister Griffa extended a hand toward Carmen. “Come, my sister. Let us bask in your glory on this day, and celebrate the great act you have just performed.”

  “Celebrate?” Carmen asked. “What do you—”

  The sister gestured her toward the door.

  Swallowing, Carmen extended a hand and touched the handlebar.

  Wait, she thought. What is—

  She opened the door.

  A chorus of whistles, cheers and applause sounded as soon as the door was fully opened.

  “They came to see you,” Sister Griffa said.

  They stretched for what looked like miles—extending from the foot of the stoop and down the street until the mass of bodies began to merge into one another. Their cries were joyous, their cheers rampant, their applause deafening as she continued to look upon them. Some near the front cried, carrying wildflowers that grew only in the most tended of gardens, while others bowed to show their g
ratitude. Several warriors drew their swords and fell to their knees in honor of her accomplishment—displaying reverence reserved only for kings and those fallen in war.

  The crowd—it went on forever.

  Everyone cried, shouted, tried to reach out for her.

  Carmen took a few steps down the stoop and was almost immediately overwhelmed by people.

  A series of guards—who had likely anticipated such a reaction and as such had maintained post just outside Healer Honest’s door—drew forward to block their advance.

  “I’m,” Carmen started, then stopped. “Speechless.”

  Several laughed, others sobbed at her frank honesty. Sister Griffa stepped down to join her and slid an arm around Carmen’s shoulders. “Please tell everyone that Miss Carmen Delarosa, our drake slayer of Ehknac, will see guests tonight at the Stonesinger temple. Until then…”

  The crowd parted.

  Sister Griffa stepped forward.

  Carmen—unsure what to do—followed suit.

  Slowly, the crowd began to bow, from one end all the way down to the other.

  The wave of movement was enough to bring tears to Carmen’s eyes.

  I did this, she thought, crying, as she followed Sister Griffa through the crowd and toward the temple.

  She’d done, as Griffa had said before, something amazing.

  The looks on these people’s faces proved that.

  - - -

  She received countless visitors from all across Ehknac. Bearing gifts of coin, flowers, food and clothes, they fell to their knees before their self-proclaimed hero and deemed her a saint amongst the many.

  My father was killed by that beast, one man said.

  My mother, another added.

  My brother.

  My sister.

  Many made offers that she could not imagine—of riches, wealth and status plenty—wile some simply came to give thanks. Many cried. Several kisses upon the cheek were exchanged. Men came to woo her, women to admire, children to see the new hero that had just been born within their midst.

  It all, at one point, became too much; and as the hours dragged on, bringing with them the tales of woe, sadness and victory alike, Carmen felt herself defeated— not in body, but spirit.