THE KING HEALERS The candle was down to a stub, flickering in the draft that sneaked under the tent flap. My eyes burned. I had been staring at the same page of the white book for nearly an hour, trying to make sense of the flowing script. Outside, the camp was quiet, save for the occasional crackle of a dying campfire and the rhythmic pacing of a sentry.

"It doesn't make sense," I whispered, my voice thick with sleep and frustration. "None of it makes sense."

I leaned back, rubbing my face. My ...