by C. M. Gray
'I think we may have found some unexpected, but very worthy allies, Silas. This is the good news I've been waiting for all evening!'
'Indeed your Majesty.' The Magician turned to Loras. 'Young man, my name is Silas Falk, and I think we shall become very good friends, you and I.'
Loras beamed.
* * *
Chapter 4
The Warrior Queen Morgasta
The crew wandered the palace for the next few days as guests of the King, enjoying the luxury of court hospitality. Servants fetched their possessions from The Owl and they were given a suite of rooms decorated with such unrestrained extravagance that it had them exploring for ages. Tarent sent a letter with one of the Royal messengers to Mahra, and during their meetings with the King and Magician Falk, they learned more about the war in which the Realm was committed.
'To the North of us, the Warrior Queen Morgasta has already made the first advances towards war by attacking our most northern town of Barnham Bolt,' explained the King.
'Awful place… only reason it's there is to guard the pass,' added Silas Falk. 'It's the only real pass through the mountains, I went there once. Legend has it that during an ancient war between the gods, a giant crossbow bolt struck the mountain range, and it cleaved a path from one side to the other. Utter rubbish of course, but that's how Barnham became Barnham Bolt, and it's an awful place at any time of year.
'The garrison at the town of Barnham Bolt isn't a popular posting, I know that,' added the King. 'Anyway, Morgasta's army broke through recently and the fighting was fierce. We finally forced them back into the pass, but this was only an advance party. The scant few intelligence reports getting back from our spies in the North speak of a much larger army gathering at the far end of the Bolt readying for the spring thaw and frankly, we're worried.'
Magician Falk rolled out a large map of the Realm and pointed to the pass. 'This is where they'll come through in just a few months' time, but now the Barbarians aren't our only worry.
King Hugo traced his finger down to the west of the Kingdom to an area that appeared almost empty. Written in flowing script, in low-speak was, The Great Expanse. 'It is from here that we believe there is another, more immediate, and possibly even greater threat,' said the King, the parchment crackling under his fingers as he traced across it. 'We have long known of an ancient enemy that legends say lurks across the sands of the Great Expanse. The great city of Dhurban was built as a sentinel against this distant threat, and now our spies tell us a monstrous army is marching and will be at the gates of Dhurban within one lunar cycle, that's in just twenty-eight days.'
'Silas here believes that our sickly looking visitor the other night was sent from the west,' continued the King. 'Morgasta has never been one to break with tradition. The Northern hordes are bloodthirsty savages and have always delighted in looking their enemy in the eye when they face them. These attacks are not in keeping with their ways, the atrocities far too cowardly for their doing.' He sighed. 'However, it is strangely inopportune that both armies should be attacking at the same time. We have to ask, have they been conspiring against us without us ever knowing?'
The room was silent for a while as everyone contemplated the map, then Tarent asked, 'And where are the skulls? Do you know who took them?'
'Our belief is that Morgasta has them,' replied the King. 'The thieves left on a large merchant vessel, The Esmerelda, which was seen heading past the Northern port of Blasco. The ship was known to have been in the harbour at the time of the theft, and a notorious criminal was identified heading to the boat in the company of the captain. They killed two of my men, as well as two guards at the temple, before sailing north.
'The Esmerelda is …' started Pardigan.
'Bartholomew Bask's boat!' chorused Quint, Tarent and Loras all at the same time.
'… and the criminal would be Matheus Hawk,' completed Pardigan. The King narrowed his eyes.
'The two you had trouble with before, yes. Apparently, Mr Hawk was employed in my army, but I'm told we parted company with him some time ago. He is long due for a stay in our dungeons, a thoroughly nasty individual by all accounts.'
'I guess we can all agree with that,' said Pardigan, 'and now they have the skulls.'
'Indeed, now they have the skulls.'
'Then it's up to us to find them… now it's personal.'
Quint nodded and looked around at the others. 'Now it is personal.'
They set to work forming a plan to track the skulls and the King and Magician Falk were able to fill them in on where they should start.
'The Barbarians northern capital is several days from the pass. It's actually two cities divided by a huge river. On one side is Bedlam, which is where Queen Morgasta has her palace, and on the other side of the river is the aptly named, city of Mayhem. As the names suggest, the combined city is an awful place, avoid it at all cost. Fortunately, according to reports, the Queen's army is mustering much closer, just the other side of the bolt in the Northern side of the Massif Mountains, and with luck both she and the skulls will still be there.' The King sat down and waved for Magician Falk to continue explaining for him. The old man appeared eager to do so.
'The Northern Massif is a huge mountain range and a natural border for the Realm. The Bolt is the only true land passage between north and south. However, even in summer, the Bolt is no easy stroll. Frequent earthquakes bring avalanches down upon unlucky travellers, and if they escape the avalanches, there are bandits and mountain howlers preying on each other and anyone else that may happen through. It is a lawless place, a no-man's land if you will. In winter, the pass is truly treacherous and has always been thought impassable, not even an option.' He shrugged and looked at his King. 'For Morgasta's troops to have made it across at this time of year is incredible. We must pray to the Source that the main army will wait until the spring thaw… if they don't…' He left the sentence unfinished and the King laid a hand of comfort on the Magician's arm.
'We can only deal with what we know my friend, and then do all that is possible. We need a few months to make ready and address the more immediate problem in the west before we deal with Morgasta. But now they may have the skulls and…' A loud tapping sound brought the conversation to a halt. Pardigan looked over and gave a cheer.
'Mahra!' He leapt up and ran to the window. Throwing it open, he let in a blast of damp drizzle and a bedraggled, soggy owl. She flapped her wings and flew straight for the fireplace, immediately changing into the more familiar shape of their friend. Crouching down, she held her hands out to the warmth, her teeth chattering, unable to say anything.
'My word,' said Magician Falk. 'That's the first time I've ever seen someone actually do that. I've read about it of course, but I never really thought it possible before.' He stood up to go and meet Mahra, but Loras held out a hand to stop him.
'I really wouldn't at the moment. She can be a bit tetchy after a long flight. It's probably best to let her warm up a bit before asking her a whole bunch of questions. She's bitten my head off several times for asking questions.' He glanced at Mahra. 'But, then I suppose I do ask a lot of questions. Oh, and don't forget she can become a panther as well so biting your head off isn't only a turn of phrase.'
'My word,' repeated Magician Falk sitting back down again, still watching the silent Mahra by the crackling fire, her leathers steaming in the heat.
Once she had warmed up and dried out just a little bit, she came to the table to meet with her friends and then to be introduced to the King.
'I'm sorry. I've been flying for nearly four days with little rest, and the weather has been awful. I'm wet through and, to be honest, I can't wait to become a cat and clean myself properly.'
The King smiled. 'Please my dear don't let us stop you. We're getting used to strange happenings in the palace recently. However, if you would prefer, I'll ask one of the servants to show you to a room where you can bathe… err… properly?'
Mahra smiled. 'Thank you, that sounds like a wonderful suggestion
for later, but first I'd like some warm milk if that's possible, and to hear what's happening if you don't mind.' She turned to Quint. 'The talk in Freya is that the skulls have been stolen, are we going after them?' He nodded. 'Good, I thought we would be.'
'They were stolen by Bartholomew Bask and Matheus Hawk,' said Quint. 'It looks as if they're taking them north of the border to the Barbarians.'
They continued their conversation, filling Mahra in on what had been happening. A short while later she excused herself and, much to the delight of Magician Falk, turned into the grey cat then sat on Loras's lap to clean herself.
The King spread a map of the north across the table. 'We need two things, the skulls of course would be your first priority but also any information that you can get to us on Morgasta and her troops. We have to know if they plan to come through the Bolt before the spring thaw. So far, my agents have either returned with nothing or haven't returned at all.'
They decided to split up into two parties as they had so little information. In winter, it would be too cold to fly The Griffin over the mountains, at least for any long distances and the strain of her carrying all of them could possibly be too much for her. Quint, Mahra and Pardigan, would, therefore, make a series of shorter flights north, with Mahra returning to the King's agent in Barnham Bolt with any information on Morgasta's army that they manage to gain. Loras, Tarent and Magician Falk, would pursue The Esmerelda by sea. With luck, both parties would meet up close to Morgasta's camp. They would stay in touch using the two message books, the original 'Book of challenges' and Magician Pew's copy.
* * *
Water dripped with a constant melodic rhythm, splashing into the many containers scattered around the floor of the crowded tent. Every container was different and, therefore, each was making a different sound. Unfortunately, to those in the tent of a more nervous disposition, the strange melodic effect was somewhat unnerving. The sound of its drumming was all that broke the heavy silence surrounding the royal throne. Bartholomew Bask, a man of no small nervous disposition, was wringing his hands in frustration and no small amount of fear. The meeting with the Warrior Queen Morgasta was definitely not going as he'd previously imagined.
They'd encountered the Queen's ship without any difficulty, and Bartholomew had felt relief when the Hawk had kept to himself during negotiations with the vessel's captain. Even Nhasic, the tiny demon, had stayed hidden. The Queen's ship had escorted them to a protected anchorage where they had transferred to horses for three days of uncomfortable travel through harsh terrain and filthy weather, during which Bartholomew had been able to convince himself that Morgasta's court would receive them with celebration, ceremony and comfort… and of course a sumptuous banquet, and that riches would be immediately forthcoming.
When the sight of the Queen's army encamped in the low foothills of the Massif Mountains had signalled the end of the awful journey, he had experienced a great feeling of relief.
The army was sprawled over several hillsides surrounding a small muddy valley. The tents, of every shape, colour and size, were pitched for as far as Bartholomew could see. Gathered around smouldering campfires or huddled in shelters constructed from an assortment of scavenged materials, small groups of warriors watched them pass. Dogs ran freely through the camp, frequently erupting into vicious fighting over some discovered scrap of food, which caused the closest warriors to join in screaming at the animals as they kicked out sending the combatants whining. Bartholomew eyed them all with fear. The warriors of Morgasta's army appeared to be both men and women, or at least he guessed some of them were women, it was very hard to tell. They all wore the same assortment of ragged clothing and armour, and were all covered in filth. If you were a Barbarian, Bartholomew noted, washing was obviously seen as a sign of weakness. The further they travelled into the camp, the more attention they seemed to attract, and Bartholomew noted with trepidation that a silent and growing crowd had started to follow them.
'A collection of rag-tag tribes,' was how the Hawk described them, a little too loudly for Bartholomew's sense of self-preservation, and he hushed him as tactfully as possible.
'Hold yerself, Mr 'awk. Kindly hold yerself a little longer if yer please. I'd be ever so grateful.'
They had finally come to a large tent and were halted while the Queen was notified of their presence. Bartholomew spent a very nervous time waiting as the Barbarian warriors crept closer; silently surrounding them with an air of barely disguised hostile intent. When they were bade enter, it was a relief, however, regrettably, this had been a fleeting emotion.
So now, they stood before the Queen in her royal tent, and the silence continued. A silence broken only by the water that dripped with its constant melodic rhythm into the buckets around them, a Barbarian orchestra in this strange Royal court. Bartholomew felt as though he was teetering on the very edge of madness. He gazed about, seeking something, anything that might offer some view of sanity, but found nothing.
The Warrior Queen, Morgasta sat high upon her throne, a living goddess to the Barbarian people. Dressed from head to foot in black leather armour that was overlaid in a black, misty material offering the mere illusion of a gown, she made a strange if hypnotic sight to Bartholomew who didn't feel he should stare at her but also realised it was very hard not to. The lips upon her white powdered face were coloured in the deepest crimson and painted in a constant smile. It was not a smile of comfort, however, for the eyes above betrayed her true feelings and they were burning with an intense malevolence towards her guests.
It was during this drawn out silence, a silence that Bartholomew was beginning to think would never end that Nhasic chose to make an appearance. The little demon, tired of being shut away in the confines of the Hawk's cloak, scuttled out to sit on his shoulder where it hissed at the closest Barbarians. The rabble fell back with cries of alarm, several of them making the horned sign of protection against evil. Matheus Hawk didn't move. Possibly enjoying the fact that everyone's looking at him, thought Bartholomew, and welcome to the attention he is at this point.
An elderly man standing slightly behind the Royal throne leapt forward and brought his staff down with a bang on the small staging. Covered in rattling bones and coloured materials, it made a suitably portentous sound as it struck. If the intent was to send some form of spell at the unfortunate Nhasic, then it failed miserably. The Hawk casually held out a hand and forced the shaman to his knees with a spell of his own.
'Leave him be man,' hissed Bartholomew. 'For the sake of the Source and all that's profitable don't foul this any worse than it already is.' Wiping at his face with his handkerchief, he addressed the Queen doing his best to smile. 'My apologies your Majesty, Mr Hawk here should have kept his little friend out of the way till we were all properly acquainted, so to speak.' Bartholomew waddled forward and tried to help the shaman up, but the old man pushed him away and glared at the Hawk.
The Queen's painted lips continued their smile, unable to do little else. 'You are the ones who bring us the heart of the Southern Realm… do you not? Where is this… heart that you promised us?' The Queen's voice was lisping and girlish, yet Bartholomew could tell this was no young maid in the bloom of her youth. Beneath the paints and powders, the Queen appeared to be older than he was. He came forward with the sack that had been his companion since the evening in Sterling Temple and placed the skulls at the Queen's feet.
Bartholomew offered an oily smile of his own. 'We were told by your agent that you would be paying in gold your Majesty.' The smile became larger. 'I would very much like to return to my ship as soon as possible, with your leave of course.' The Queen looked down at the two skulls at her feet and prodded one with a mud-splattered boot.
'I was told there would be three of them, where is the third?' Bartholomew's smile dropped, and he turned to glare up at the Hawk. The hunter remained as silent as the rest of the rabble, showing little sign that he had any intention of parting with the third skull. Bartholomew flapped a hand at him, mak
ing Nhasic jump from one shoulder to the other chattering irritably. The crowd drew back again.
Lowering his hood, the Hawk stared up at the Queen seemingly bored by the whole exchange. 'The skulls are no good to you whether you have two or all three. The power of them is that they are not in Sterling Temple. I shall be placing the third skull elsewhere, to ensure they are never united again.'
The Queen leaned forward, the smell of stale sweat and too much perfume moving forward with her. Bartholomew's handkerchief automatically came up to his nose again.
'But, if I instruct my warriors to take it,' lisped the Queen, 'I would possess all three skulls and save myself a significant amount of gold as well.' She tipped her head to one side questioningly, the crimson smile bizarre amid the tension as she waited for some response from the Hawk. When he did finally react, it wasn't how any of them had expected, especially the cringing Bartholomew Bask. Bowing low to the Queen, the Hawk stepped forward.
'If that is your royal wish.' his tone was low and menacing, 'then that is what you should… try to do. But please, be warned, that anyone attacking us will be killed.' His growling voice spat out the last word, seemingly eager for confrontation as his glare switched from the Queen to the shaman, and then around the tent at the gathered warriors. Nobody moved as all eyes remained on the man with the demon on his shoulder.
The Queen studied him thoughtfully, her long lacquered nails tapping on her throne. 'You are sure of yourself, aren't you Magician? Do you have such power? Or will your ugly monkey come and bite us all?' This brought laughter from her warriors, yet the shaman drew back slightly and then whispered something into the Queen's ear.
'Why not find out,' snarled Matheus. Tossing his cloak back over his shoulders, he drew back his hands ready to cast a spell. Nhasic reclaimed his perch and bared his teeth, hissing at the Queen, but Morgasta continued to smile her frozen smile.
'What would you do to a whole army, Magician, can you fight us all?'
