Twenty Three
A Night Not Rested
Just before sunrise the next morning, the day before the tournament, Borlan awoke to a horrible sound. Freedling was sitting on the floor with the king’s head in his lap, tapping him on the forehead with one finger. “Wake up, Your Majesty. Wake up,” the man repeated.
“What the hell is going on?” Borlan said, sitting up.
“I couldn’t find you, sir,” Freedling explained. “You didn’t check in at your scheduled bedtime. I searched high and low and finally found you asleep in here on the floor.”
“Where’s Elbore?” Borlan said, looking around the room. “Where’s the woman?”
“They’ve escaped, Your Majesty.”
“Escaped?” Borlan got himself to his feet.
“Yes, Your Majesty. I think you ought to prepare yourself.”
“What are you talking about?” Borlan said, growing
