now patching the hole with new timber.
“Well, your dad was First Champion for a long time, I suppose he told you about it?” asks Uncle Cagney.
“Not really,” I reply.
“Oh.” He is silent a moment, and I can feel him studying me, weighing whether he should tell me, wondering why my parents have not told me anything about their lives. I guess he can’t see any harm in telling me, because he continues. “Well, First Champion is the king’s right hand, if you like. He commands the heroes in battle, meaning all protectors and the district guardians. He advises the king regarding all things having to do with the protection of the kingdom. He even deals with foreign emissaries and stands in for the king if the king is away or occupied.”
“Or missing,” I interrupt again. I’m treading on sensitive ground, bringing up the fact that king has been absent since early last year. Mom and Dad don’t talk about it. In fact, this is one subject that even the market folk tend to avoid, mostly.
“It’s rude to interrupt, but yes, missing counts, too.” I can hear the grin back in his voice.
I smile apologetically in his direction. “So Dad could have been king instead of Brogan last year?” I ask.
Tig jumps into my lap. “That would have been nice,” he mutters softly. “Mmm . . . another year picking a living out of a dried up farm ooooor—” and he drags out the “or” “—infinite luxury in the palace.”
Uncle Cagney snorts, “Brogan’s not king. He’d like to think he is, but he’s only a placeholder until the king returns. Brogan’s not even Champion—haven’t had one since your dad resigned—he’s just a district guardian. And a snotty one at that. But yes, Killian—er, your dad—would’ve filled the post if he hadn’t quit all those years ago—” Uncle Cagney hesitates and then continues, “well that’s neither here nor there,” he says briskly, although his voice tells me he thinks it’s very much somewhere.
I bring to mind everything I can remember about Brogan. He runs the kingdom since King Mactogonii disappeared last year. Dad doesn’t like him. Dad says he threatened and intimidated to get into his position.
Uncle Cagney continues, “It was because your dad was Champion that he was leading the scouts at Cauldron’s Crater.” I perk my ears but try not to look too interested. “Of course that ended as a mess,” Uncle Cagney sighs, unaware he has changed subjects. “We didn’t know what we were up against. The daemon, I mean. We’d heard reports of funny things happening in the swamplands of Bangular to the west of us. It’s not a part of this kingdom, but its close enough we keep an eye on goings on. Whole region being destroyed an’ some kind of portal opened from what we heard. I hate swamps, personally, though I’m not trying to say it turning into the petrified trees and ash of the Stone Forest is any better. King’s Champion is supposed to protect the realm. Look out for that kind of threat.”
Uncle Cagney’s voice has adopted a distant quality. He sounds like his mind is a thousand miles and ten years away. “So we went. Only a squad. Found the portal. Some kind of black pool at the bottom of a great big depression. Called it ‘the Cauldron.’ Musta been quite an explosion to blast that kind of crater. We knew something evil was around because we could hear it. Laughing. Calling some of the boys by name. Then the whole area turned into some kind of illusion.
“One minute it’s all blasted black sand and rock and mist, and the next it looked like the nicest little green hollow you’ve ever seen. Great tall grass and trees and everything, except for that black pool. That was still there. Then a black fog rolls out of the cauldron and through the valley. Couldn’t see your hand in front of your face. Half the squad killed in less than a few minutes, and we can’t even see what’s hittin’ us. Got separated even. Then here comes Killian out
“Well, your dad was First Champion for a long time, I suppose he told you about it?” asks Uncle Cagney.
“Not really,” I reply.
“Oh.” He is silent a moment, and I can feel him studying me, weighing whether he should tell me, wondering why my parents have not told me anything about their lives. I guess he can’t see any harm in telling me, because he continues. “Well, First Champion is the king’s right hand, if you like. He commands the heroes in battle, meaning all protectors and the district guardians. He advises the king regarding all things having to do with the protection of the kingdom. He even deals with foreign emissaries and stands in for the king if the king is away or occupied.”
“Or missing,” I interrupt again. I’m treading on sensitive ground, bringing up the fact that king has been absent since early last year. Mom and Dad don’t talk about it. In fact, this is one subject that even the market folk tend to avoid, mostly.
“It’s rude to interrupt, but yes, missing counts, too.” I can hear the grin back in his voice.
I smile apologetically in his direction. “So Dad could have been king instead of Brogan last year?” I ask.
Tig jumps into my lap. “That would have been nice,” he mutters softly. “Mmm . . . another year picking a living out of a dried up farm ooooor—” and he drags out the “or” “—infinite luxury in the palace.”
Uncle Cagney snorts, “Brogan’s not king. He’d like to think he is, but he’s only a placeholder until the king returns. Brogan’s not even Champion—haven’t had one since your dad resigned—he’s just a district guardian. And a snotty one at that. But yes, Killian—er, your dad—would’ve filled the post if he hadn’t quit all those years ago—” Uncle Cagney hesitates and then continues, “well that’s neither here nor there,” he says briskly, although his voice tells me he thinks it’s very much somewhere.
I bring to mind everything I can remember about Brogan. He runs the kingdom since King Mactogonii disappeared last year. Dad doesn’t like him. Dad says he threatened and intimidated to get into his position.
Uncle Cagney continues, “It was because your dad was Champion that he was leading the scouts at Cauldron’s Crater.” I perk my ears but try not to look too interested. “Of course that ended as a mess,” Uncle Cagney sighs, unaware he has changed subjects. “We didn’t know what we were up against. The daemon, I mean. We’d heard reports of funny things happening in the swamplands of Bangular to the west of us. It’s not a part of this kingdom, but its close enough we keep an eye on goings on. Whole region being destroyed an’ some kind of portal opened from what we heard. I hate swamps, personally, though I’m not trying to say it turning into the petrified trees and ash of the Stone Forest is any better. King’s Champion is supposed to protect the realm. Look out for that kind of threat.”
Uncle Cagney’s voice has adopted a distant quality. He sounds like his mind is a thousand miles and ten years away. “So we went. Only a squad. Found the portal. Some kind of black pool at the bottom of a great big depression. Called it ‘the Cauldron.’ Musta been quite an explosion to blast that kind of crater. We knew something evil was around because we could hear it. Laughing. Calling some of the boys by name. Then the whole area turned into some kind of illusion.
“One minute it’s all blasted black sand and rock and mist, and the next it looked like the nicest little green hollow you’ve ever seen. Great tall grass and trees and everything, except for that black pool. That was still there. Then a black fog rolls out of the cauldron and through the valley. Couldn’t see your hand in front of your face. Half the squad killed in less than a few minutes, and we can’t even see what’s hittin’ us. Got separated even. Then here comes Killian out