Kings, Queens, Heroes, & Fools

by M. R. Mathias

  “No, Majesty,” Antone said. “I just wanted our new Battle Lord to know what sort of aid to expect. Of course, their presence couldn’t hurt our efforts.”

  “Once Wildermont is ours, your work here won’t be forgotten, Lord Antone. Is there anything else at hand? I’d like to be finished with the day’s buisness before anyone comes bursting through the door.”

  The court officers and the regular attendees had a good chuckle at that. After the mirth subsided, the announcer answered the King’s question.

  “All that’s left is another request from Lord Northall for the purchase of two thousand more head.”

  “If the crown can claim half of the transaction, approve it. But slip in one of our better handlers among the slaves. That’s six thousand head of mostly Wildermont folk he’s purchased already. I’d like to know what he’s doing with all of them. Do you know how he is shipping so many out of Dakahn so quickly?”

  “Majesty, the rumor is that Salazar has purchased a large amount of Harthgarian ore and is using the slaves as smiths to work it,” the announcer answered.

  “Nevertheless, I want one of our men in the next herd. Once those orders are written, have someone find me.” He stood and stretched, and strode out of the throne room, pausing only to give the announcer the order to dismiss court.

  ***

  “What in the devil is it?” the tattoo-covered commander of the Seaward muster asked Master Wizard Amill. They were standing on the Valleyan side of the bridge at Lokahna, looking at the huge gorax beast standing guard vigilantly across the span.

  “Exactly that,” the Highwander wizard answered. “A devil or a demon of some sort, as best as I can tell.”

  “Should we try to cross?” Commander Escott asked.

  “Those are Queen Rachel’s orders, though I don’t envy you the task,” answered the wizard.

  “It’s a fargin big bastard,” the commander said. “But if it bleeds, we can kill it.” He gave Master Amill a look. “It does bleed, doesn’t it?”

  “Who knows?” Master Amill responded with a shrug. “Most demon kind are formed supernaturally. Their earthly bodies are just shells that can die. The essence of the demon moves on. With devils, who knows?”

  “I guess we are about to find out.” The commander wheeled his horse away from the wizard and rode back to where his nervous troops stood. “Long archers come forth!” the commander yelled. “First pike, form up six abreast at the bridge. Captain Galen, I want your swords to follow them across on my command. Archers, get lined up along our side of the river. I want that thing killed. Send your arrows at the beast until our men get across and engage it. Then give them cover where you can. I see a few hundred Dakaneese cavalry camped at the city’s edge over there. Make sure they don’t get to our pike men.”

  As the men formed up to make the crossing, Master Amill rode over to the commander. “I’ll blast it with a kinetic ray to start things off,” he said. “It will most likely stun the thing long enough for your men to swarm over it and finish it off.” He glanced back at the several thousand troops formed up behind the ones making ready. “I think that, if it falls, you should get as many men across as you can. We can see those cavalry camped over there, but if Ra’Gren has any sense, there are a few thousand more soldiers hidden in the city as well.”

  Commander Escott nodded his agreement. “Let me know when you’re ready to send your kinsmatic wave, or whatever you called it. I’ll order the attack on your mark.” The commander spurred his horse back into the ranks of soldiers, calling out orders for them to follow across in an orderly fashion.

  The Seaward commander was an intimidating looking man, with his huge muscles and bird of prey body tattoo. The point of the ink-worked beak started at the bridge of his nose and ran back over his bald head giving his brow an extremely angry looking ‘V’ shaped set. Nearly all of the Seaward soldiers were heavily muscled, covered in tattoos, and in prime fighting condition. Commander Escott was bigger than most of them.

  The Seaward soldiers wore sleeveless chain mail hauberks that belled into knee length skirts below their wide leather belts. High plated boots and similar gauntlets finished the uniforms. Some of them wore helmets. Some chose to let the wicked ink that covered them from head to toe work as intimidation. Dragon skulls, fierce demon eyes, and huge toothy shark maws could be seen among the ranks.

  Master Amill didn’t envy the commander for having to send his men to face the gargantuan demon beast, but deep down he had more sympathy for the huge monster. These men looked like they would savage it to pieces if they had the chance. When he was ready to cast his spell, and in a favorable position for his work, Master Amill gave the commander a nod. After making a few last minute adjustments and calling out orders, the commander returned the nod and raised his long serrated sword up into the sky.

  Master Amill made the finishing gesture and spoke the word that released his spell. As the crackling static roar of it shot forth from his outstretched arm, Commander Escott dropped his sword, sending several hundred arrows hissing up from the thumping bowstrings along the riverbank. They seemed to be chasing the hot purple swath of magical energy that shone plainly in the brightness of the day.

  The ray of magical force hit the gorax full in its slick black chest, but it only staggered back two steps and growled. The heavy clawed hand that wasn’t clutching the huge knotted bone club shot out, pointing directly back at Master Amill. Powerful magic flowed from the demon in a searing streak. The blast exploded a divot of earth out of the Valleyan shore before the Highwander wizard. Master Amill and a few dozen Seaward archers went tumbling through the air. One was shredded to bloody pieces. Another man impacted a tree like a limp sack of grain. Master Amill hit the ground hard, but rolled to his feet. Blood and angry disbelief poured from his face equally. The demon seemed indifferent, even as arrows came raining down about its head and shoulders. The missiles all seemed to tangle in the beast’s thick silvery pelt before they could actually pierce its flesh.

  The bone club came crashing down into the first wave of pike men who crossed the bridge. Several were smashed flat and others were severely maimed. Then the monster took a full swing with its weapon, batting several more of them across the ground. A small group managed to get by the huge monster, maybe a hundred men, but the demon was making short work of anything that came within range of its deadly weapon. The middle of the pike men’s group halted midway across the bridge, stalling the flow of men to a complete stop. None of them wanted to face the creature.

  “Retreat! Come back,” Commander Escott yelled. He watched in horror as the group of Dakaneese cavalry came riding up and started harrying the knot of his men who had managed to get across. On foot, the Seawardsmen had no chance against the swift horses and expertly wielded spears of the Dakaneese.

  The screams of a drowning Seawardsman, fighting with all his might to keep afloat in the river with his armor on, added to the horrible chaos of the debacle. Less than half an hour after the crossing had started, the bridge was empty. The Seaward army was two hundred and seventy-four men lighter than it had been before. Other than a few arrows that had found the demon’s hide, the Dakaneese force hadn’t taken any injury. Whether to discourage further attempts at crossing into Dakahn, or just out of sheer meanness, the Dakaneese cavalry made a show of herding the last few of the Seawardsmen they had corralled toward the demon. Tired and utterly defenseless against the forces around them, the stranded men were either crushed by the pounding club, or run through by the cavalrymen’s spears. It was a sickening sight to behold, and both Master Amill and Commander Escott swore to avenge the brutal show of butchery.

  Their oaths wouldn’t be easy to keep though. To kill the heartless Dakaneese cavalrymen they had to find a way to get across the river. And at the moment, that seemed like that might be impossible.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Hyden’s abdomen swelled to the size of a small melon, but only for short time. The dragon’s tear medallion h
e wore around his neck was like a fountain, sending warm sparkles of healing magic showering over his body. Mikahl was adding to the effect by using the melodies of Ironspike’s song as well. The damage the poison was doing to Hyden’s body was being continually healed, but the poison itself was still inside him. Its potency didn’t seem to be diluting. Its deadly effects were still trying to shut down his vitals. Over and over he felt the horrible explosions of pain the venom caused in his gut. It was unbearable. Hyden found himself on the verge of wishing that death would take him so that he didn’t have to stand the pain.

  Mikahl was at a loss. He was scared out of his wits. Every time he touched Ironspike to his friend, he prayed to the gods that the sword wouldn’t take Hyden’s life. Mikahl could see plainly that Hyden was in a bad way. His friend’s normally tanned skin was a sickly greenish color and his clothes were soaked with perspiration. Hyden was trembling as if he were freezing cold, and Mikahl had no idea what to do about it. He found himself having to fight back tears as Hyden’s nearly unconscious body began to shudder and shake violently.

  “All the gods be damned!” Mikahl yelled at the dingy stone ceiling. “If this man dies, then you‘re no gods at all!”

  Hyden’s hand found Mikahl’s. “Go,” he rasped. “Save Princess Rosa.”

  “I’ll not leave you to die alone,” Mikahl said with tears flowing freely down his face. He couldn’t help but hiccup as a sob overtook him.

  The magic of the teardrop soothed Hyden, if only slightly. “You have to go,” he said, a little more forcefully. “They’ll know you’re here now. Get Rosa and go.”

  “Not without you.”

  “I’ll not be leaving.” Hyden stopped to cough. The pain was debilitating. It was a long time before he found his voice again. “Not leaving with you.” His hand fell away from Mikahl’s and his eyes rolled back into his head. Through tears and curses Mikahl used Ironspike’s magic on Hyden again. After a few moments Hyden’s eyes fluttered open. “You’re still here?”

  “I’m not leaving without you,” Mikahl promised.

  “You have to.” Hyden’s greenish face split into a weird grin. His hand went to the medallion at his neck. “I have a trick left up my sleeve, Mik. Trust me. You have to go.”

  “What are you going to do?” Mikahl asked.

  “If you’ll go away, I can call the dragon, Claret. She’ll come and heal me properly.” Hyden had no idea if Claret could heal him, or if she could even answer his call. He didn’t doubt she would come if she knew he needed her, but he didn’t think she could help him while he was down in the dungeon. She could be on the other side of the world. He just knew that he had to do something to get Mikahl on his way. He would rather die miserable and alone, with the hope that Phen and Princess Rosa might escape the Dragon Queen. He definitely didn’t want to go thinking that their only hope was down here waiting to get caught because of him.

  “What do I do?” Mikahl asked himself more than Hyden.

  “You go. You get Rosa and get her safe.” Hyden squeezed Mikahl’s hand. He was starting to tremble again. “Once she’s safe you come back and try to get Phen.” He coughed again and the pain made him drain of all color.

  “Aye,” Mikahl agreed. He leaned down and hugged Hyden tightly. “Are you sure you want me to go?” he asked through his anguish.

  “Aye, Mik, before you get caught.” Hyden managed to get his trembling arm around Mikahl and hugged him back weakly. “Hurry, before Claret comes.”

  “Aye,” Mikahl agreed, making his voice sound as confident and hopeful as he could. “Sir Hyden Hawk, I love you like a brother.”

  Hyden released him. “Aye. Go, Mik. Hurry.”

  Mikahl rose and wiped away his tears, then turned and nearly ran out of the death-filled cell. As soon as Mikahl was gone, Hyden sought out Talon’s vision. He found his familiar’s sight. After it combined with his own into a spectral view of the land below the soaring bird, he began calling out, not to Claret, but to the goddess of his people. He was about to die, and he wanted her company as he went. He needed Talon to make the journey to her. He knew that he was far too weak to make it alone.

  ***

  Mikahl stopped and leaned against the wall outside the cell. He was certain that Hyden was dying. He understood his friend, and he knew that Hyden wanted him to finish what they’d started. To do otherwise would make Hyden’s death pointless. After he steadied himself, and got the tears to stop flowing from his eyes, he decided to dispense with the subterfuge and started back through the dungeon the way they had come.

  He walked for a while in a daze. His mind couldn’t stay focused. It kept drawing him back to his friend and the horrible death that he was probably facing at this very moment. He found himself at the cross passages where Hyden had first heard the dying giant. It was the third time he had been there since he’d left Hyden. At least that’s where he thought he was. It looked exactly the same, yet felt different. He forced the dire thoughts of Hyden’s situation from his mind and tried to concentrate. After a few minutes he realized what it was. He hadn’t gone back down any stairs yet. This crossway was probably exactly over the other one, just on a higher floor. He started for the stairwell, which he thought he might know the location of. As he turned a corner, he heard a distant conversation taking place. He nearly tripped over a small creature, a cat, or maybe a big bug. It fled into the shadows before he could see exactly what it was. It didn’t matter, though. The conversation suddenly stopped. It took him only a moment to figure out why. The deep blue light of Ironspike’s blade had found those who were speaking.

  A scuffling sound came from ahead of him. He squinted into the gloomy edges of Ironspike’s light trying to see what it was. Just as he took a step in that direction, a zard-man leapt from the darkness at him. Its toothy pink mouth was open wide. In its big black-orbed eyes, Mikahl could see his own distorted reflection growing larger. He didn’t panic, nor was he startled. Almost casually, he sidestepped the creature and let its own momentum carry it across Ironspike’s blade. The zard was dead before it hit the floor.

  Mikahl strained his ears over Ironspike’s roaring chorus to listen for the other one, but he heard nothing. He took a few quiet steps back toward the intersection of tunnels he’d just left and chanced a glance down one of them. He saw nothing but darkness. He held his sword up to extend the range of its light and still saw nothing.

  Suddenly, he heard a crackling roar from behind him. His own shadow leapt forward down the hall as a sun-bright flash exploded at his rear. The blow hit him in the back and sent him sprawling. The massive jolt jarred him to the bone. He could barely see now, and would have surely been cooked by the magical lightning had Ironspike’s protective wards not absorbed most of the blast’s power. He rolled and called forth shields from Ironspike’s symphony. A translucent shell formed around him, but not before he was blasted again, this time by some bright red kinetic beam. After the shield stopped its burning power from reaching him, he looked down to see a big smoking hole in his shirt. The smell of burnt chest hair and flesh filled his protective globe. When he looked back up he saw the demon-wizard Pael looking back at him, and the rage that filled him turned the bluish glow of Ironspike’s blade white.

  As Mikahl gained his feet, another red blast exploded before him, but this time his shield diffused it. The bald-headed wizard at the end of the dungeon’s hall wasn’t Pael, he realized, but the bastard sure looked like him. The wizard was a bit worried too, now that Mikahl was shielded and on his feet. The black-robed mage started to charge down a side passage, but wasn’t quick enough. The swath of magical energy that shot forth from the end of Ironspike’s blade evaporated everything in its path. Stone, steel, and flesh flashed into nothing more than dust, leaving Cole half there. His shoulder, part of his ribcage, and a portion of his hip had been vaporized. Shocked, and still trying to flee, the wizard took half a step before folding in on himself and smacking wetly into the dungeon floor. He screamed as he realized his condition
. Cole couldn’t cast a spell even if he could have mustered the concentration it took to do so. He only had one arm now, and his guts were draining onto the cold stone. He let out a bone-chilling wail that echoed down the corridors, but Mikahl didn’t hear it. His blast had burned through the dungeon wall, and several more walls, including the outer wall of the castle. Ironspike’s symphony was raging in his mind and he was moving toward the sunlight. Purposefully, he strode to the first hole and started to duck through it.

  “Please,” Cole begged.

  Mikahl spat, and left him to die in misery. He followed the big holes he vaporized until he found himself looking out over Lion Lake. He was maybe forty feet above its surface. He took a few steps back, and then he charged and jumped into the open air. As he fell toward the surface of the lake he called forth the bright horse from Ironspike’s symphony. In a brilliant flash of golden flames, the winged stallion came into being between his legs. Its wide powerful wings caught air, and some ten feet over the shimmering water they swooped round and started to rise.

  It was late in the day and still the bright horse stood out like a lantern in the evening. Mikahl didn’t care anymore. He flew straight for Pael’s tower.

  When he was hovering outside of the upper chamber where Princess Rosa was being held, he used Ironspike to blast a hole into the wall, big enough for a person to crawl through. Once the pieces crumbled away, Mikahl was shocked to see that it wasn’t just Princess Rosa staring out at him—Phen was standing beside her. The boy was fumbling crazily at his neck for something, but stopped when he saw that it was him.

  Rosa was crying, but smiling, and trying to get her fingers through her tangled hair. It was clear that she was foolishly worried about how she looked. Her embarrassment seemed to fade when Mikahl smiled brightly at her.

  “Phenilous,” Mikahl called sharply. “Are you a prisoner too? Did they take the ring Oarly told me of?”