Hyden urged Talon across the finger to the other side. The billowy sails of several gliding ships glowed amber, illuminated by the rays of the setting sun. All along the shadowy docks people swarmed like ants loading and unloading boxes, crates and net-loads of fish. Some of the ships looked like trees—their masts stood proud but empty like limbs that had shed their leaves for winter’s coming. Farther up the docks the buildings started. There the lanes were full of carts and wagons. Swarms of people scrambled among others who were gathered in crowds to buy and sell fresh sea-fare. From above, it all it looked like chaos. Hyden couldn’t wait to get there.
When he called Talon back to him and opened his eyes, he was pleased to find that the group was already a good way out along the peninsula. The bay off to his right sparkled as it reflected the light of the setting sun back at them. The gray tidal wall that ran the length of the other side of the peninsula was almost invisible beyond the buildings to his left. Torches were being lit and lanterns hung along the roads. As the sun left this part of the world behind, wells of wavering light transformed shadowy corners into welcoming points of commerce and congregation. It reminded Hyden of the crowded Ways at the Summer’s Day Festival, especially the calls of the hawkers as they tried to draw attention to their particular wares.
More than a few people stopped to gawk at Oarly the dwarf as the group passed. Only a score of dwarves remained in the realm and all of them lived in or very near Queen Willa’s Xwardian palace. To see one out on the docks was rare. Some of the older tavern songs said that thousands upon thousands of them lived somewhere far below the earth’s surface, but when Queen Willa had blown the magical horn that was supposed to summon them to Xwarda’s aid, none had come.
Oarly made silly faces at the younger spectators, which put smiles on the faces of everyone else. Before long, rumors that the hawk-man wizard who’d saved Xwarda from the dragon was in Old Port caused the crowds to grow. Luckily, Captain Trant, the captain of the Royal Seawander had anticipated as much and paid some men from the docks to block off the mass of people as Hyden’s group gained the entrance to the yard of the Royal Seastone Inn.
“Wow!” said Phen as men came out of the shadows and took their horses away. “You’re a regular hero, Hyden Hawk.”
“Hardly,” Hyden replied with a blush. He was starving and thirsty, but afraid to consume anything. He didn’t know whether to be repulsed or enticed by the warm savory smells that wafted out of the inn’s open doorway.
“Well met, sirs,” a big barrel-chested man with a thick, but well-trimmed ginger beard said to them. He had a cob pipe clenched between his teeth and wore a spiffy gray and green captain’s uniform.
“You must be Captain Trant,” Hyden said with the slightest of nods. Mikahl had instructed him on rank and etiquette over the winter. Mikahl had explained that Hyden’s role as a key defender of the realm in the battle against Pael gave him a status that was beyond rank, yet still of a knightly nature. He was more often than not addressed as Sir Hyden Hawk. Since he was not a kingdom born man and his rightful allegiance was not to any of the realm’s human kingdoms, the slight nodding bow wouldn’t offend anyone. Still, Hyden felt uneasy whenever someone of note was around. If it were up to him, Queen Willa would be just Willa and High King Mikahl would just be Mik, like he used to be, and all the titles could fly out the window. Yet here, the ship’s captain was calling all of them ‘sirs’.
“Hyden of the Skyler clan, I presume,” Trant said as he reached out and shook Hyden’s offered hand.
Hyden was shocked to speechlessness by the fact that the man knew how his clansmen would have addressed him. He was saved from the awkward moment when Oarly approached.
“Ah, Master Oarly,” Trant reached down to shake the dwarf’s hand.
Master Oarly? Hyden thought. Master of what? Already schemes of revenge began plotting themselves out in Hyden’s mind. It’s going to be a sweet kind of revenge, Hyden promised himself. His thoughts were interrupted when he saw Brady starting to go help the other military men of the escort with the unloading. “No, Master Culvert,” Hyden stopped him. “Your sword can’t protect the three of us if you’re off with them.”
“Master?” He rejoined Hyden. The boyish grin on his face showed that he was glad to be included. “I’m no master.”
“You are now the Master of Defense for our exploratory party, Brady.” Hyden informed him. “And any man who can go seven minutes against Mikahl’s blade is a master swordsman in my book.”
“Phenilous, my lad, you’ve grown some since I last saw you at the palace,” Captain Trant was saying as he ruffled the hair on Phen’s head.
“Aye,” Phen replied. “You came up for the Harvest Ball last year. I didn’t realize that it was going to be you steering the boat.” Then to Hyden with excitement growing in his eyes he said, “The Captain has a blue monkey that dances on a leash. It can do flips even.” Then back to Captain Trant with his eyes darting all around the Captain’s feet, “Where is he? You still have him don’t you?”
“She’s alive and well and on the ship.” He motioned them into the common room of the Royal Seastone Inn with a sweep of his arm. “We’ll be sailing out with the tide on the morrow. Enjoy this night’s feast, for it’s all hard biscuits and salted meats for a long while after.”
The torch-lit room was decorated with sail canvas, rope nets, tiller wheels, seashells, and all other sorts of sailing paraphernalia. There were also a few sets of toothy fish jaws mounted on the walls. One was a wide open maw that was big enough for Hyden and Phen to crawl through at the same time. The air was warmer along the coast, so no fire was burning in the hearth. In a corner of the half filled room was a small stage where a harpist prepared his notes and began tuning his instrument with sharp plunking twangs.
“It’s a marsh thresher,” Captain Trant told Phen who was still gaping up at the big set of fish jaws on the wall. “A small one at that.”
Phen grinned at the others with mock terror in his wide open eyes. The serrated teeth in those jaws were as large as his hands. “How big do they get?” Phen asked the Captain.
“Big enough to bite the bottom out of a ship, I’d guess,” the Captain winked at him.
“We’re not going where them threshers live are we?” Oarly asked with genuine alarm in his voice. “It’s bad enough I’ve got to leave the land. Sailing amongst monsters such as that is for birds and fools.”
“Flying is for the birds, Oarly.” Phen said. “We’re sailing, and we’re only going to skirt the southern tip of the marshlands on our way to Salazar Island.”
“Just so,” the Captain agreed with a surprised nod of respect.
“How long will it take us to reach Salazar?” Brady asked, doing his best not to let his eyes linger on the thresher jaws as he passed them.
“More than two weeks, less than three,” the Captain said over his shoulder as he led them through the room. “It’s getting to be true spring now, and might be a storm or two blows at us along the way.” He stopped them when they reached a long empty table not far from the harpist’s stage. “We’ll lay over at Kahna to fill the water barrels in about a week. You might get some time ashore there if the weather looks questionable.” The Captain looked sharply at Hyden, who was peering back at the entry door.
The door swung open and two finely clad men came in laughing. From behind them, Talon swooped through the opening and glided smoothly across the room to alight on Hyden’s wrist. A woman gasped with fright, and a few men could be heard whispering above the sudden silence that followed. Talon sidestepped his way up Hyden’s arm to the shoulder where he settled in and began preening himself.
They took seats at the table and a pretty lady dressed as a pirate, complete with an eye patch, and mummer’s sword brought out a tall flagon of wine. Hyden stopped her at half full on his and Phen’s goblets and ordered sweet milk for the two of them to come with their courses.
The singer started into a ballad just as hot bread and clam
stew came to the tables. The man sang of a sailor who was out chasing treasure, and had left his beautiful lover back at port. There came a time when the sailor had to choose between the treasure and returning to his love. Of course he tried to have them both, and his lover ended up drowning in her own tears.
The wagon master and the commander of the Blacksword escort joined them, along with a senior member of Captain Trant’s crew, who was introduced as Deck Master Biggs. They brought the news that the ship had been loaded. During all this, Oarly put away goblet after goblet of wine but showed no signs of even starting to be intoxicated. He did laugh rather robustly at some things that weren’t that funny, but his speech never slurred and his wit stayed sharp.
They learned that they had suites in the inn for the night, courtesy of Queen Willa herself. Captain Trant told them this after a main course of nut crusted sea ray on a bed of rice that was smothered in mushroom sauce. Hyden was thankful to find this out, for his stomach was starting to roil. Phen was to share a room with him, but the boy wanted to stay and listen to the bard. Brady assured Hyden that Phen would be well supervised, so Hyden let Talon out to hunt, then went upstairs to their rooms to find the privy.
The singer was in the middle of a ditty about a fisherman who filled his boat full of fish and won the love of another captain’s daughter when Hyden’s horrid pain-filled scream cut through the whole place like a fog horn.
“That’d be that bite of cinder pepper coming out,” Oarly bellowed into the hushed awe that filled the common room. The dwarf didn’t care that he was the only one laughing. In fact, it made him laugh all the harder.
Chapter Eight
High King Mikahl, King Jarrek, and General Spyra rode three abreast across the wagon-bridge. Not far behind them came their squires. The Pixie River was running fat and swift through the wreckage that was once the town of Tarn. The river flowed out of the Evermore Forest southward and created the border between the kingdoms of Highwander and Seaward. The wagon bridge was wooden and strong, but not strong enough for two hundred Blacksword soldiers and three hundred archers to just come barreling across. There were a few footbridges as well. The three commanders, Mikahl, Jarrek and Spyra, found an old maple full of spring leaves and sat in the saddle under it conversing as the slow process of crossing the men into Seaward began.
“How far is it to Tip?” Mikahl asked the General. Tip was where they would cross out of Seaward into the kingdom of Valleya.
“A week at this pace.”
Barely half a hundred people were left in Tarn. They stopped rebuilding and planting to watch the procession cross the river. A crier had come through earlier to make sure that the way was clear and that the good folk wouldn’t be terrified. They’d been through enough already. King Broderick and Queen Rachel’s combined army had first attacked Highwander here. The fight had been bloody, and ultimately had only served to add more corpses to Pael’s undead army. Not much was left. Tarn had once been able to boast almost a thousand people, but no more. Those who hadn’t died in the first attack were ridden over when the undead came. The ones who survived were either lucky, or fled the mayhem for the forest. The Highwander city of Plat looked about the same when the procession had passed through the day before yesterday.
“We’re back-tracking the demon-wizard’s path of destruction,” said King Jarrek. “It looks like war tore through here, but something’s missing and I just can’t put a finger on it.”
“The bodies are missing. No grave stones even,” Mikahl said somberly. “Pael raised the dead and marched them to Xwarda to fight us.”
“Seeing this is a powerful reminder of what the people have been put through,” Jarrek mused aloud. “If King Broderick had a lick of sense he would have come to Xwarda so that you wouldn’t show up at his door with all of this fresh on your mind.”
“He’s afraid that Queen Willa will lock him away in her dungeon, I think,” said General Spyra.
“He is a coward. He fled his own castle at Dreen and left his people to face Pael,” Jarrek reminded them. “He ordered the small folk inside the red wall and then fled south to Strond. I think that’s where Brady said he went.”
“Brady is your man, the one who braved the enemy lines to warn them?” asked the General.
“Yes. Targon magicked me and a few others out of Wildermont, but barely,” Jarrek said. “I felt it only right to warn the people of Dreen of what was coming. I ordered Brady to ride to them. He stayed and fought with the Valleyans until the dawn broke and the dead started rising. He knew that I was headed to Xwarda with Targon so he rode ahead of Pael to warn everybody. He ran smack into King Broderick and Queen Rachel’s army at Plat. He was captured, but then escaped. He showed up in Xwarda at the palace gates in the middle of Pael’s attack, bewildered and half starved.”
“The boy’s got heart,” Spyra said.
“Aye,” agreed Mikahl. “Who managed to capture him?”
“Blacksword soldiers, I think,” answered Jarrek. “They thought he was one of King Broderick or Queen Rachel’s spies, I’m sure. I think that was why he was so confused. He was trying to warn them all that the dead were about to attack them, but no one would listen to him. His father was killed when Pael brought down the towers at Castlemont. He and I were fighting just a few hundred yards away.” Jarrek paused a moment picturing it all in his head. “I don’t think I want to talk about it anymore, if you’ll excuse me.” Before Mikahl or the General could respond he spurred his horse away.
“I don’t envy that one,” General Spyra said, after King Jarrek was gone. “There’s a long, hard road ahead of him. And you’ve got your work cut out for you as well. What will you do after King Broderick licks your boots?”
“Queen Willa would have me ride down to Seaward City to swoon over Princess Rosa, but I’m not sure if I will. I have a mind to go to O’Dakahn and see what this King Ra’Gren is all about. Maybe if I meet with him we can spare some future bloodshed.”
“Ra’Gren is about nothing but gold and power.” General Spyra actually spat his distaste for the man into the dirt. “The whole kingdom of Dakahn is run by greedy, pitiless overlords, and their king is the worst slaver of them all. You’ll have to either take Dakahn by force, or get really sneaky, unless you want to buy the freedom of the Wildermont people back. One thing about Dakahn is everything there has a price.”
“I guess I haven’t decided my course of action after we deal with King Broderick and Dreen.” Mikahl tried his best not to sound disturbed by the General’s lack of optimism. “I know you have a new wife back in Xwarda. I won’t keep you away from her any longer than I must.”
General Spyra beamed at her mention. He was proud of his pretty young wife, Lady Mandary. She was half his age and pretty as a picture. Her true affection was far more than an old, balding man of his girth could have hoped for, but yet he had it. She said that he was her hero. He had fought bravely in the battle against Pael, and Queen Willa had rewarded him publicly, but being his plump little wife’s hero was his favorite thing these days, that and trying to make a little baby general or two to carry on his name.
Thunder rumbled in the distant southern sky. A dark gray line of clouds had presented itself and appeared to be moving swiftly toward them. It was common enough this time of year for the sea to blow its wrath this far inland, but since they’d come all this way without bad weather they’d hoped to avoid it altogether.
“It’ll catch us as soon as we get moving again,” Spyra observed. He pointed to the empty dwellings around them. “We may as well spend the night here and let it pass over. If we don’t, the men will just be wet and slower on the morrow.”
“That’s fine with me, General,” Mikahl said. “I’m in no hurry to get my boots licked. You’re the only one with a reason to hurry home.” Mikahl laughed ironically. “By the gods, General, between you, Jarrek, and me, you’re the only one with a home left.”
Mikahl rode over to King Jarrek, leaving the General to call out the orders to
make camp among the empty houses and shops in the little town. As he approached, Jarrek forced a smile, letting Mikahl know that his company was welcome. The two of them were silent for a while after they dismounted. It was after their assigned squires took their horses, and they were alone again, that Jarrek finally spoke.
“I’m thinking of riding on with my group,” he said seriously. “We were going to split up when we get to Tip anyway. This…” he paused and indicated the Highwander soldiers who were starting to set up camp. “It’s slowing us down. I have thousands of people under the whip, yet we’re moving as slow as snails.”
“I think that maybe you should then,” Mikahl told him. “Your men are not needed here. Take them and ride like the wind. I’ve got five hundred of Queen Willa’s soldiers and General Spyra to watch my back.”
“Yes,” King Jarrek grinned broadly at the High King. The smile wasn’t forced this time. “We just might do that, but we’ll at least ride this weather out with you before we go.”
The rain came hard, and the long dreary night was filled with wicked lightning flashes and booming thunder. It reminded Mikahl of what his final battle with Pael had looked and sounded like. He tossed and turned, thinking about what he would do after he was finished in Dreen. He could ride south and help King Jarrek free the slaves, or he could ride west to the Leif Greyn River and see if he could spy out anything about his homeland, and the dragon-less Dragon Queen who’d taken it over. He didn’t make a decision, and eventually he fell asleep, but not for long.
Kings, Queens, Heroes, & Fools Page 7
