Kings, Queens, Heroes, & Fools

by M. R. Mathias

  Hyden Hawk needed Mikahl’s advice, and he had to let his friend know what sort of damage he had done by letting the black dragon fall under the control of Queen Shaella’s wizard. He didn’t relish telling Mikahl the news. Already Mikahl was miffed at him for not killing Shaella when he’d had the chance. Shaella had truly loved Hyden’s brother Gerard and for that reason he had foolishly let her live. Now his mistake might cost Phen his life. There was no guessing how much death and destruction would fall on his shoulders for letting the Silver Skull and the black dragon slip into the bitch’s hands. He was in such a state that it was all he could do to keep from taking the first ship to Westland to find out what happened to Phen and kill Shaella himself. The urge to do something, anything, to help right the wrong was overwhelming. This feeling was only eclipsed by his desire to save Phen.

  Oarly insisted that the High King and the Lion Lord be included in the planning of any attempt to go into the Dragon Queen’s domain, and Captain Trant’s conclusion that if Phen wasn’t dead already then it was unlikely that they would kill him now, helped Hyden keep his cool.

  They’d sent word to Mikahl and Lord Gregory by swifter hawk and Mikahl was to return on the morrow from Salaya. Then they would all sit down and figure out what to do. The fact that Lord Gregory was alive and had spent the whole winter among Hyden’s clan folk hovered in the back of his mind as well. He hadn’t spoken to, or even sent word to, his people since he had set off into the Giant Mountains what seemed like a lifetime ago. He decided that, as soon as he’d saved Phen and retrieved Gerard’s ring from the Nethers, he would go home for a while.

  Oarly was glad Hyden was remaining semi-clearheaded about the matter. He was on the cusp of finding something in Phen’s translation that was just out of reach. He had seen something happen in the dragon’s treasure cavern that hadn’t seemed possible until Phen made the strange statement about finding something invisible in his work. Just before the dragon had liquefied the seamen, Oarly had seen Phen huddle behind an artifact and disappear. The dwarf had dismissed it as being a trick of the eye caused by the rush of fear when the dragon came in on them, but now he felt that he might have been seeing true. As they waited for Mikahl to return to the Lost Lion Inn, and enjoyed the kind hospitality of the mother-to-be who was running the place, Oarly was delving deeper into Phen’s books trying to figure out the conundrum.

  The tavern had long ago emptied of custom, yet Hyden and the dwarf still sat at the bar. Uncharacteristically, Oarly refused to do more than sip at a goblet of mulled wine. Beside him, Hyden sat quietly talking with the innkeeper, Zasha, about Mikahl’s youth.

  “He was a troublesome cuss,” she said with a grin at the memory. “We all were. We caused a lot of silver hairs to grow in our time, I assure you.”

  “If I wasn’t in such a foul mood, I would be prying you for an edge of information to use against him in the next prank I play.” Hyden took a long sip from his goblet. “As it is, I feel like I’ll never be able to jest again.”

  “Whoever she was, she couldn’t have been all that.”

  “Nay, Zash,” Hyden smiled and shook his head. “It’s death that has me feeling so low. Death, and the possibility of more of it.”

  “Death is just part of life,” she said with an innkeeper’s practiced neutrality. After an uneasy glance at the big hawkling eyeing her from Hyden’s shoulder she asked, “Is there anything I can get for your feathered friend, Sir Hyden Hawk?”

  “Please Zash, it’s Hyden, just plain Hyden.” The slur in his voice revealed that he was more than just a little drunk. “A few strips of red meat, and Talon here will love you for life. He’s had enough fish to last an eternity.”

  Zasha wasn’t sure she wanted the fierce looking predator bird to love her forever, but she disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a platter of meat strips. Talon leapt to the bar with a flutter and began to consume them vigorously.

  The sound of the door closing behind Hyden brought a huge smile to Zasha’s face. She wobbled her pregnant self around the bar and hurried to greet a young man who looked to have spent a good deal of time laboring at some physical form of work.

  “I thought you’d never return,” she said as she nearly leapt into his arms. “Oh, Wyndall, so much has happened. Lord Gregory has returned, and High King Mikahl, and look.” She pointed to the back of Oarly at the bar, who absently scratched at the crack of his wide, partially exposed buttocks. She had to stifle a laugh. “There’s a dwarf here at the Lost Lion,” she giggled.

  “And the great wizard Sir Hyden and his hawk from the battle of Xwarda as well,” Wyndall added with a respectful grin. “After we offloaded in Seaward, we stopped at Weir in Highwander to search for more ore to purchase. Rumors of Sir Hyden and King Mikahl’s deeds are often spoken of over cups in those taverns. I think there’s even a song or two about them.”

  Just then Hyden turned and fell from the stool into a crumpled heap on the floor. Oarly gave him a glance and returned to his reading. Talon peered down from his plate, but soon went back to his meal.

  “He’s drunk,” Zasha said. “He just lost a few dear friends.”

  Wyndall nodded in understanding. He had lost everything to Glendar’s insane campaign against Wildermont, but his smile didn’t falter. “I bet Lady Trella is pleased.” He gave his wife a long kiss on the lips.

  “To say the least,” she replied and pulled him closer. “Promise me, Wyndall. Promise me you’ll not run off with them.” Her eyes took on a fearful look. “Lord Gregory is not your liege any longer, and you’re about to be a father.”

  “You’re everything to me Lady Zasha,” he reassured her with a pat on her swollen belly. “I’ll not leave you for the world.”

  “That is the smartest thing I’ve heard anybody say in months, lad,” Oarly said, turning from the bar with a grin. His voice was full of hope and joy, for he had just figured out what foolish young Phen had done. It was hard to have anything less than respect for the boy’s idiotic action. But after traveling for so long in the company of fools like Brady Culvert, and Sir Hyden Hawk Skyler, to expect anything less from the young mage was just plain silly.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “How many?” King Ra’Gren asked one of the underlords from the Dakaneese city of Owask. The title of underlord labeled a man whose station was a few steps above common. In Dakahn, if you were not a slave you were at the very least a lord. This man, Lord Antone, was Battle Lord Ra’Carr’s message runner, and he was fairly nervous. “So far we are thirty-five hundred strong. That’s not counting the men from Oktin and Lokahna. As far as Lord Ra’Carr has been able to tell, that is twice the number of men currently holding Wildermont.”

  It was late afternoon and the torch-lit throne room was stuffy with the smell of pitch and men.

  “I didn’t ask you for an account of our enemy,” King Ra’Gren growled down from his fur covered throne.

  Lord Antone visibly blanched. The last runner, Lord Archa, had been impaled by the King’s trident only a week previous for arguing about Ra’Gren’s attack strategies. Sadly, Lord Archa had been right, and two days after his death the King altered the plan to the man’s suggestion. Remembering this, Lord Antone held his tongue. If he could keep himself alive, he would find great favor and vastly increase his holdings once Wildermont was taken.

  “Where are they staged?” Ra’Gren asked. His eyebrows rose as he gazed on the nervous lord below him with a look that challenged him to say more than the simple answer to his question.

  “On the border, just north of Pearsh, my King.”

  Ra’Gren paused, his large hand clenching and unclenching on the shaft of the iron trident standing at his side.

  Lord Antone almost added, “A half day’s march from Seareach,” but wisely decided that the geography of the area made that perfectly obvious to his king. He was glad he held his tongue. King Ra’Gren looked as if he was eager to gig somebody this day.

  Seated in the rows of pews opposite the
throne were many of the community leaders of the city of O’Dakahn; the owners of the mercenary companies, the major slave traders, the men who owned the farmlands and the like. A few men from the shipping industry, and a group of builders from the Isle of Salazar were there to bargain for Wildermont slaves. Most of the Dakaneese slave merchants usually had representatives in court in their stead, but with Ra’Gren’s coming attack on Wildermont on the horizon, and rumors of a huge slave purchase about to take place, they came themselves.

  “Are there not more swords to be had?” Ra’Gren asked with a hard gaze out across the pews. “I know for a fact that there are more than thirty-five hundred sell-swords working in my kingdom. Why are they not in my service?”

  The Dakaneese army was strong. Ra’Gren had thousands of soldiers at his command, but for some reason he was trying not to use them in this campaign. He wanted to take Wildermont with mercenaries who didn’t fight under his trident banner. The idea of paying them all with the Wildermont gold King Glendar had gifted him was a pleasant irony.

  An older man stood, and visibly forced one of his competitors back to his seat as he worked his way forward. “If I may?” the man said over the murmur of the attendees.

  “Speak, Lord Tromas,” Ra’Gren said, causing the room to silence. “You and your company have served Dakahn well. I Trust your words.”

  “I can offer you a few hundred more men that have just come in from the sea,” he said with widespread arms. “I think I speak for all of the major companies when I say that we’re spread thin. The increase in our own piracy has created the need for ships and trained fighters to escort cargoes as of late. Most of my men are still away, my King, but as they return, I will gladly send them into your service.”

  A man from the front row of pews stood and spoke over the old mercenary. “My King, I have four hundred trained men, and two hundred untrained men to offer immediately.”

  “Those aren’t swordsmen, Lord Cryden, those are slaves,” Lord Tromas spat at the interruption.

  “Enough,” Ra’Gren said with a booming bang of his trident on the marble floor. “The next man that speaks without permission will be fed to the skeeks.”

  Lord Tromas smirked at the upstart then turned back to his king with his chin held high, but Ra’Gren paid him no mind.

  The King turned to one of the men standing patiently behind him. “I want the shifts of the city guard thinned down to the minimum. Send everyone who isn’t absolutely necessary along with two thousand of our cavalry to aid Lord Ra’Carr immediately. I want...”

  “My King,” a young breathless boy called out loudly, just before one of the great oaken doors of the throne room boomed closed behind him. “Forgive me,” the boy huffed between breaths. A clear path between Ra’Gren and the intruder had opened up. Everyone expected Ra’Gren’s trident to go flying into the young man at any instant.

  “This had better be extraordinary news, boy,” Ra’Gren said. The vein on his forehead looked like an earthworm, and his white hair contrasted violently with the bright crimson tint of his anger.

  Confused, the boy looked uncertainly at the men who had parted before him. “Lord Paleon sent me.” He gasped for breath and continued. “An army of Seawardsmen have crossed into Dakahn.” The boy breathed again, this time taking a few breaths before going on. “When Oktin’s guard challenged them, the Seawardsmen killed them all. M’lord Paleon says they’re headed to Wildermont to aid the Wolf King.”

  Ra’Gren turned to Lord Antone and said hotly, “Well you can scratch the men from Oktin from Ra’Carr’s count. I want riders, birds, and fargin smoke signals if need be sent to warn my Battle Lord. He is to advance his men into the Wildermont hills beyond Seareach long before those tattoo-covered mongrels can get there. The maps show a narrow bottleneck where he can trap them.”

  When he didn’t make for the door immediately, Ra’Gren stood and looked sharply down at Lord Antone. “You’d better make sure Ra’Carr gets the message soon, man,” the King growled. “If those Seawardsmen get there before Ra’ Carr can set the trap I will personally flay you and keep your children as pets.” The look in King Ra’Gren’s eyes conveyed a threat far more intimidating than the words, and with that Lord Antone was off.

  “You, the man with the trained slaves,” Ra’Gren called out.

  “Yes, my King,” the man rose and gave Lord Tromas a smug glare.

  “Take your men and slow the Seaward army’s passage.” Ra’Gren ordered as he began to pace back and forth before his throne. “I don’t care if your men are killed or not, nor you for that matter. Buy Lord Antone a day, that’s all I ask. If your men fail, and you still live, I’ll know you for a coward. Now go.”

  Lord Tromas pulled on his chin and cringed. He had expected the King to punish the man for his outburst, but not with such finality. He jerked his attention from the matter when his name was called. “Lord Tromas, I want your men on their ships,” Ra’Gren’s voice was harsh. “This goes for all you fargin pirates there in the back as well. Every ship flying Seaward’s setting sun is to be molested. If you can take the cargo, do so; if not, they rest at the bottom of the sea. Valleyan and Highwander ships as well. I want every captain who does not fly the trident to be afraid.”

  With a dismissive wave to the attendees Ra’Gren turned back to the captain of the city guard who was still waiting beside the throne. Ra’Gren almost berated him for standing there after he had been given orders, but remembered that the young messenger boy had interrupted them. “Two thousand cavalry, two thousand infantry, and all the city guard that can be spared,” Ra’Gren told him. “I want the cavalry riding today. They are to compress Queen Rachel’s little army between themselves and Ra’Carr’s sell-swords. When the infantry and the city guard arrive at the bottleneck at Seareach, I want them to find that there’s no one left to fight. Do you understand?”

  “I will lead the cavalry myself, my King,” Captain Da’Markell said with a sharp salute.

  “Good, Overlord Da’Markell,” Ra’Gren nodded. The new title of overlord made Da’Markell’s eyes widen and his chest swell visibly.

  “We will be expecting word of your victory soon,” Ra’Gren finished with a dismissive wave.

  The man saluted again, and hurried off to begin carrying out his orders.

  Ra’Gren turned toward the court’s scribe, whose desk was at the side of the hall. “Remind me later, Brackly, to send a bird to Shaella. The Dragon Queen owes us a favor or two.” The King surveyed the throne room then. It was nearly empty now, save for a few men still waiting patiently in the pews. “What else do we have today?”

  “A Lord Northall and his associates from the Island of Salazar,” the scribe answered dutifully. “They are seeking to purchase a large quantity of slaves.”

  “Lord Northall,” Ra’Gren said expectantly as he sat back down on his throne. The redness had left his face and he seemed to be far calmer than he had been earlier.

  Lord Northall rose and strode forward, his expression that of a nervous businessman, while inside he was torn.

  He wanted to help King Jarrek, and in the process get the mines and forges of Wildermont up and running again, but he had doubts now. He didn’t think Jarrek could protect the people he had released, much less any others. King Ra’Gren’s attack on Wildermont seemed far more serious now than it had before. It wasn’t just a bunch of greedy sell-swords now. Trained city guard, and cavalry were about to be involved.

  The fact that Queen Rachel was sending men to aid Wildermont brought about another set of problems. If Ra’Gren killed her men, she would retaliate, and after all the death and destruction that Pael and King Glendar left behind, Seaward and Dakahn had taken the fewest losses. Both countries still had strong militaries. A war between them could have unforeseen repercussions for Jarrek and the slaves he sought to free. Lord Northall decided to go about his plans to purchase a thousand slaves and free them. But he needed time to sort out his company and the island’s best interest in all of
this. It pained him how his personal feelings had to be put aside. If it were up to him, he would buy all the slaves, and the sell-swords, right out from under the power hungry tyrant, Ra’Gren. He’d set them on the man like a pack of wolves. He took a breath, and mentally checked his expression to make sure his hatred for the King before him wasn’t showing. Once he reached the foot of King Ra’Gren’s dais, he bowed graciously.

  “Salazarkian coins are always welcome in Dakahn,” Ra’Gren said encouragingly. “But it is a strange request when the island folk want to purchase slaves. Slavery is forbidden on Salazar, is it not, Lord Northall?”

  “It is Your Highness,” Northall answered, and offered no more.

  “Explain your need to me, and why you are choosing to break the law and custom of your people then.”

  “King Ra’Gren,” Northall started his well rehearsed and mostly factual story. “The sudden lack of iron ore and forged products from abroad has caused the prices of those items to take dragon’s flight. To compensate for the extra expense, some of the wiser builders are trying to cut down on the cost of labor. We believe the entire industry will come around to our way of thinking after they realize the losses their coffers will feel if we cannot continue to build and sell our ships.”

  Ra’Gren tilted his head, considering Northall for a moment. “How many do you need?” he finally asked.

  “A thousand head,” Northall said, hiding his disgust at the way he was speaking of human beings as if they were chattel. “Some of them need to be prime laborers. Men from thirteen summers to fifty, but we would like at least half of them to be younger, with women to look after them.” Northall smiled and shrugged. “We want some of them to grow into the trades, and the women can cook and tend the others.”