Kings, Queens, Heroes, & Fools

by M. R. Mathias

  Mikahl noticed a crowd gathering at the other end of the block. He nodded and asked one of the soldiers to stay, and then with a nod to the guardsmen, and the sarzard, he led the others up the road to find the Otter’s Den.

  The guardsmen had recognized him as a Westlander, he knew, and the look they’d shared conveyed that it was all right. There was something more to the look, and for the first time since being back in Westland, Mikahl got the sense that not everything was going as smoothly as it appeared in the city.

  Maybe the people were just bustling along as usual, or maybe they were just pretending to.

  The looks they received from the customers at the Otter’s Den showed that their presence was both surprising, and unwelcome. Apparently, Dakaneese sell-swords had the favor of the zard, but not the Westland men. Mikahl could imagine that many of these people’s liege lords, and maybe some of their family members, had been captured for ransom, or sold to Dakahn as slaves. Mikahl took a chance and loudly ordered a round for him and his men. His obviously Westland accent threw the people staring at them out of kilter, but not for long. A pair of intoxicated men started toward the bar with a look of ill-intent in their eyes. Mikahl cursed Maxrell Tyne under his breath. The last thing he wanted to do was get into a brawl with his own people.

  “There you are, my lumps!” a loud Dakaneese voice blared out angrily from the open door of the tavern. Mikahl gave a sigh of relief. “There you are searching for the bottom of a cup when we’ve a package to retrieve from Lake Bottom.” The gleam in Tyne’s eyes told Mikahl that his statement wasn’t just intended for the customers of the Otters Den. The man had found out something, and Mikahl felt a glimmer of hope surge through his body.

  ***

  Grommen couldn’t believe he allowed the Lion Lord to talk him into breaking into the old stronghold at Lake Bottom. Yet here he was, in the late of the afternoon, standing in a darkened chapel, waiting on Lord Gregory to finish a search of his former home’s interior. To Grommen’s surprise, it hadn’t been hard to get in. There was a secret door hidden behind a section of wall that ran double for a short way.

  Footsteps sounded outside the chapel and Grommen dropped between a pair of pews and lay still. The door opened and a harsh orange glare shone in for a moment. The torchlight receded as the door closed.

  Grommen feared they were already looking for the Lion Lord. His golden cow was probably hiding in an attic, or scooted up under a bed awaiting capture. No, he decided. He had to give the broken down brawler a little more repute. This had been his home since birth. No doubt he knew every crack and cranny of the place. He—

  “Hey,” a voice whispered, just above Grommen’s head, causing him to jolt.

  The door hadn’t opened again had it? No, not since the torch-light had come through. He would have known by the shadows if someone came in then. His heart was hammering in his chest as he quietly reached for his dagger.

  “Where did you go?” the voice whispered again.

  Grommen relaxed, it was the Lion Lord, but how had he gotten back into the chapel without alerting him? “I’m here,” he groaned as he got back to his feet. “How did you get back—”

  The Lion Lord shushed him. “Follow me.”

  They exited the way they came in and, to Grommen’s surprise, two horses waited patiently outside the hidden entry. He could hear shouts and hisses of alarm around the building. A feeling of dread came over him. “What did you do?” he asked.

  “I set the barn on fire,” Lord Gregory laughed.

  He was in such high spirits that Grommen thought he might have gone mad. “What would you do that for?”

  “To cover the escape of a few old friends,” Lord Gregory grinned. “She escaped them Grommen,” he laughed out loud. “She, and Lady Zasha, got away.”

  “We’re likely not to get away, man,” Grommen grumbled. “We need to move.”

  “Aye,” Lord Gregory nodded. “Follow me.”

  To Grommen’s disappointment, instead of going back south into the woods, the Lion Lord headed around the wall toward the front of the keep. Reluctantly, Grommen spurred his horse to keep up with the Mad Lion. He wasn’t about to let a bunch of skeeks kill or capture his monetary future. His blood ran cold when he saw Lord Gregory stop in front of the main gate tower and begin yelling and screaming up at the zard-men posted there. He could tell by the surprise on his companion’s face that Lord Gregory hadn’t expected the gate to open so quickly. The two of them had to dance their horses around the crossbow bolts that were suddenly flying at them. Grommen heeled his horse and caught up with the Lion Lord. He whacked Lord Gregory’s mount on the rump with this meaty hand, but the horse reared up instead of bolting, nearly flinging the Lion Lord to the ground. Lord Gregory’s experience showed through as he held on and soon they were in a headlong gallop that seemed futile at best.

  A pair of zards riding one of their huge geka mounts was almost on them, and another geka with four zard-men on its long scaly back wasn’t far behind. Grommen was glad that they ended up fleeing southward. The last thing he wanted to do was go farther into Westland. They ran the horses as fast as they could gallop for a long time and managed to put the scene behind them. Only then did they stop and walk the animals for a while.

  The road they took led toward a town called Midway. It edged the western coast of the continent. On their left side was a line of a dense sea-blown forest; on the right, a vast expanse of cobalt and gray that smelled of brine. They stopped and rested in the darkness, but eventually they heard the shouts of the pursuing zard-men calling and they were forced to mount up again. The horses were tired, and the gekas were gaining on them. When dawn finally broke, a glance behind told Grommen they would soon be overrun. Already an errant crossbow bolt had nicked his shoulder. It seemed hopeless to continue fleeing, but neither they, nor the horses, were ready to give up. It wouldn’t matter, he decided. They had little chance of getting away now.

  “Look,” Lord Gregory shouted. He was pointing up ahead.

  In the distance, a small encampment of men looked to be stirring to see what the mad approach of hooves and claws was about. The lookout was standing and pointing back at them while calling out to his companions. The look of bewilderment on his face turned to drop-jawed shock as Lord Gregory and Grommen raced right past him. Lord Gregory recognized the man, but was so astounded that he didn’t stop until a radiant blue glow lit the morning like a beacon. By the time they reined their horses to a stop, the sound of battle coming from behind was clear.

  ***

  Maxrell Tyne had gotten the horses and some supplies from the merchant who was unfortunate enough to still honor Dreg’s company some credit. From what the innkeeper had said, the merchant Grommen was escorting was named Ellrich Alvin and he had enquired about the state of affairs at Lake Bottom far too many times for his interest to be just curiosity. It amused Tyne that the sarzard had become so lax in their duty that their queen’s greatest enemies could pass under their slimy noses like they were just sell-swords and merchants.

  The group rode out of Southport toward Midway. They could have forced their pace and found an inn at the little town that stood halfway between Southport and Lake Bottom, but they decided to camp along the way instead.

  Mikahl chose the last watch of the night because he liked to go through his ritual series of exercises with his sword in the predawn light. Out on the road, away from civilization, he wasn’t afraid to draw Ironspike and work through his positions and repetitions. This was a time of clarity and peace of mind that he couldn’t seem to find elsewhere. That first morning, going through his routine on Westland soil, had been fulfilling. Just knowing that he could get this close gave him hope. Thoughts of how to take his homeland back from the zard began to form. It could be done, he finally decided. And with that certainty came confidence.

  They rode through Midway that afternoon and made camp just before dark. Watching the sunset on the Western Sea again, after so long, filled Mikahl with resolv
e. It was the very same sunset he had seen a million times from the wall of Lake Bottom stronghold, and from the tops of the many towers at Lakeside Castle where he had grown up.

  The next morning, after his routine, he’d just finished washing the sweat from his skin when the approach of galloping horses caught his ear. He was glad Ironspike was in its scabbard now, and half thought that maybe its glow had attracted whoever it was that was riding down on them. That wasn’t the case, he learned, when he saw the two men being chased toward the camp by several armed and angry zard-men riding their huge lizards. When he recognized one of the men as Lord Gregory, he decided to end the chase on the spot. Without hesitation, he drew Ironspike and poised to attack.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The island was far bigger than Hyden imagined it would be. He had envisioned this part of the quest as being the easiest. He figured he would have Talon fly over the whole landmass. He would look through the hawkling’s sharp eyes and locate the decaying ship. Then they would retrieve the Silver Skull and be on their way. After seeing what the lay of the land was, he knew it wasn’t going to be that simple. But he found that, after the monotony of the long voyage, he wasn’t disappointed.

  While Brady and Oarly supervised the transfer of supplies from ship to shore, Phen explored the beach. Through Talon’s vision, Hyden surveyed the island from overhead. It was nothing more than a roughly circular crown of jagged rocky hills that jutted up out of the ocean around a bowl-shaped valley. The density of the foliage in the valley made it nearly impossible for Talon to see what was below the canopy. Nothing resembling a decaying ship revealed itself in the hills around the shoreline, so Hyden assumed that what they were after lay somewhere in the jungle of the island’s interior. Seeing that it might take weeks to search the area on foot, Hyden tried a different approach. With his eyes open he sought out Talon’s vision and made several passes over the valley. He was pleased to find a faint aura of magical power radiating from an area not far from the jungle’s edge, at the base of the steep section of the surrounding hills. What he saw was an oblong glow with a crude trail that tapered from it like a teardrop in the jungle floor.

  Hyden had to close his eyes to see the terrain through his familiar more clearly. The shared vision was not necessary anymore. Talon worked his way down, fluttering from limb to branch to vine under the canopy. With the hawkling’s large wingspan, sustained flight under the trees was nearly impossible—there were just too many obstacles in the way. From a perch just over where Hyden had seen the larger portion of the aura, he was now looking at a great oval mound of overgrown earth. The trail that tapered away from the mound ended at the gaping mouth of a dark cavern right where the forest met the surrounding up-thrusts of rock.

  Hyden judged the location to be a little more than a day’s hike from their landing point. He was glad they’d anchored where they had. Captain Trant had chosen the spot because of the shelter provided by the shoreline.

  Out on the sandy beach it was only slightly breezy. Hyden decided that they would camp on the island for the night and start out in the morning. Seeing that it was already getting late in the day, he asked Oarly and Phen to seek out some firewood while he and Brady finished the task of unpacking the supplies.

  Several of the Seawander’s crew came ashore to stretch their legs. Deck Master Biggs was ordered to take three of his men and accompany Hyden’s party on their journey. Biggs brought with him a bottle of brandy, and after the rest of Seawander’s crew had returned to the ship, he passed it around the fire. Neither Hyden nor Phen drank, but Brady took a sip, and Oarly and the four seamen proceeded to get good and drunk. While Brady sharpened first his sword, then a machete, Phen told them what he had learned from the elf’s journal over the last few days.

  “The ring was for King Chago,” he said. “From what I remember from Master Lunkle’s history lessons, King Chago was a tyrant. I can’t figure out why the elves would have wanted to give a gift to one of the worst rulers the realm had ever known.”

  “Maybe they sent the gift before he became that way,” Brady suggested.

  “No.” Phen shook his head. “I thought that a possibility at first, but Loak, that’s what I call the elf, Leafy Oak Heart, wrote about some of Chago’s horrible deeds, like when he had his men ride down and kill all the people from the village of Ultura, or when he had half the people at Summer’s Day put to the sword.”

  “I thought Summer’s Day was considered sacred ground?” commented Brady.

  “Not then, only after Pavreal trapped Shokin in the Seal with Ironspike.” Phen spoke matter-of-factly. “The pact that made the Leif Greyn Valley sacred ground was the pact Pavreal made with Claret to guard the Seal.”

  “That’s true,” Hyden agreed. The great red dragon, Claret, had told him as much.

  “But the Spire has stood there longer than man can remember. That makes the Leif Greyn Valley a special place. That’s why no kingdom has ever laid claim to it.”

  “Aye,” both Hyden and Phen agreed at the same time, as they often did, resulting in a laugh.

  “It doesn’t say why the elves were giving the ring to the tyrant?” Hyden asked.

  “It may, but I haven’t gotten that far yet. Loak details each day meticulously. I’m a quarter of the way through the journal and they’ve only been at sea a week.”

  “Just skip through it,” Brady suggested as he studied by the firelight the edge he’d honed on the machete. On the other side of the bonfire Oarly and the seamen all burst into laughter at some joke one of them had told. From beyond them came the sound of the waves rolling in and the faint creak of the Seawander’s rigging.

  “Would you skip through your training drills?” Phen asked Brady. Then to Hyden he added, “He probably does. I haven’t seen him practice once this whole trip. No wonder he can barely last five minutes with High King Mikahl.”

  “Anyone who can last a full minute with Mikahl is either extraordinary with a blade, or just plain graced,” said Hyden reverently. “I’ve seen Mikahl dance with a demon and send it skulking away like a scolded cur.”

  Brady gave Phen a satisfied grin that turned into a silly smirk.

  Hyden looked up at the starlit sky and watched Talon circle down and land by Phen. He was thinking of the day Loudin the hunter had died in the Giant Mountains. Through Talon’s vision he’d watched Mikahl cut the hind legs and tail off of the hellcat that killed their friend. That was also the day Hyden found his magic. He’d healed a mother wolf that had broken her pelvic bone in a fall. Weeks later her two pups led Hyden from the dying tree in Dahg Mahn’s trials to the door of the old wizard’s tower. Trying to keep Loudin’s memory from ruining his mood, he turned to Phen.

  “Teach me a new spell—that scrying spell.” His chest swelled as he continued. “I’ve learned the light spell, the flaming finger, and the jolting grasp.” He leaned closer and whispered, “I’m going to get Oarly with that one soon.”

  Brady laughed at them.

  “I’ve almost mastered the vanishing object,” Hyden said, “but half the time I can’t make the item reappear.” He gave Phen a serious look. “Where in all the hells do things go anyway?”

  “Another dimension, I think,” Phen said. “Work on that one until you have it mastered both ways before we start another.”

  “Aye,” Hyden nodded reluctantly then picked up a small sea shell to practice with.

  “I’ll be over here,” Brady said. He looked more than a little nervous as he crept over to the far side of the fire with the others. Already he had seen Hyden make one of Oarly’s old boots go away never to be seen again. He didn’t want to be next.

  ***

  Morning brought with it a sense of excitement. Hyden was glad for the men Captain Trant sent with Deck Master Biggs. They loaded up all the packs, ropes, and digging tools they could carry. Brady took the lead with his machete. Hyden followed with the elven longbow Vaegon had given him held at the ready. Phen was next, carrying a long steel dagger th
at he’d gotten in his dealings with the juju wizard who’d sent them into the Serpent’s Eye. The three deckhands were next. They were too weighted down to carry a weapon in hand, but each dangled a well-kept short sword at the hip. Oarly and Master Biggs took up the rear; Oarly, with his wide, double bladed axe slung over his shoulder, Master Biggs with a heavy crossbow wound and ready to fire.

  The passage through the humid undergrowth was far slower than Hyden expected. Brady had to hack and slash every foot of their path. Birds, and other things, cackled and cawed from everywhere. Undergrowth shook violently as large creatures fled their intrusion. Clouds of yellow flies swarmed around their heads, and sweat poured from their bodies by the bucketful.

  “This is not as fun as it sounded like it was going to be,” observed Phen.

  “Aye,” half of the group said in unison, but nobody laughed.

  Hyden didn’t have it quite as bad as the others, at least not when Talon was perched on his shoulder. The presence of the hawkling seemed to deter the pesky flies. Phen noticed this, and with a piece of dried meat devilishly lured the bird to his shoulder for a while. Behind them, the sound of Oarly’s labored breathing, and his constant grumbling competed with the buzz and hum of the insects. A persistent cry, shrill and angry, resounded from somewhere above. Whatever it was kept shaking the tree limbs, but was never seen.

  Around midday they came across a clearing that had been formed by a fallen tree. They stopped and rested, eating a meal of dried beef, sliced cheese, and sea biscuits. All of them drank plenty of water, enough that Hyden began to worry if they carried enough. They didn’t stop very long. The persistant yellow flies seemed to like them even more when they were still. A few grueling hours later the flies suddenly went away. Phen was the first to say something about the welcome relief.