Kings, Queens, Heroes, & Fools

by M. R. Mathias

  Chapter Fifty-One

  In the light of early morning, Flick strode up the long run of stairs that led to the entrance of Ra’Gren’s palace. A pair of guards hurried behind him protesting his passage, but they were too afraid of the bald-headed wizard to try and stop him. He had, after all, flown into the grounds on the back of a giant, ember-eyed bat. Flick ignored them. He gained the top of the long flight of stairs where another pair of guards stood. They dutifully crossed their pikes in front of him to block the ancient wooden doors. With a dismissive wave of his hands, Flick caused the panels to fly open. The wide-eyed guards were so unsettled by the blunt display of magic that they pulled their pikes up and let him through.

  “I will be waiting in the throne room,” Flick said. “Bring me your king, and be quick about it.” Flick was grinning inside. The haughty bastard would be flaming mad. Ra’Gren was easily riled, and Flick loved to push the limits of the man’s tolerance. He just couldn’t respect a man, a king no less, who did nothing for himself. To be rousted out of his bed full of slave whores would have him on the edge of bursting.

  As Flick entered the throne room, he looked around and caused the unlit torches ensconced along the walls to flare to life. He almost took a seat in Ra’Gren’s fur covered throne, but decided against it.

  A long hour later, King Ra’Gren, dressed in nothing but a filmy robe of coral green silk, came into the throne room. He was carrying his iron trident on his shoulder as if to throw it. His white hair and beard were disheveled, and his face was a bright purplish color. The half dozen guards around him had their weapons drawn and looked a little more formidable than the ones Flick had met outside.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Ra’Gren snapped. His level of alarm dropped only slightly when he saw who was waiting for him in his throne room.

  “King Jarrek has closed off of the Wildermont passage and over a third of your men are floating home in the river.” Flick found that he was enjoying himself more than he expected. Ra’Gren’s eyes were as big as eggs and the worm on his forehead looked like it might crawl away. “What’s more,” Flick continued. “...the Red Wolf has a legion of dwarves aiding him now. They are tunneling into Dakahn as we speak.”

  “Dwarves? Underwater?” Ra’Gren looked at the trident in his hand then back at Flick as if he were judging the distance between them. “Are you mad? Tunnels?”

  Flick couldn’t help but laugh. Ra’Gren roared out at the blatant show of disrespect, but somehow managed to keep a hold of his weapon. The sound of his frustration caused the men around him to step back and cringe. “You’re telling me that the Red Wolf is attacking my kingdom now?”

  “If he’s smart, he will try to pin your troops against the giant lake that now sits where Seareach once was,” Flick said casually. “If he manages to pull it off, your men will have no escape.”

  “This is preposterous,” Ra’Gren snapped. “Where is Shaella?”

  “Queen Shaella. She is attending to her hell-born pets. She sent me to help you. At my own discretion, of course,” Flick added with a grin. “It seems your plans always go awry. I’m not one to dabble in failure.”

  Ra’Gren started to bark out an angry response, but a sudden whooshing sound accompanied by a bright yellow swirling light filled the space between him and the wizard. Reflexively, Flick called forth several protective wards for himself and a powerful kinetic blast that he could unleash with a word.

  Ra’Gren moved back from the strange apparition as well. Two of his six guards stepped up bravely between their king and the spiraling cloud.

  The magical energy took the smoky form of a plump young lady, whose dire expression was as intense as it was grave. She never fully came into form, but through the cloudy shape the blonde sheen of her curly ringlets and the icy blue of her eyes could be made out quite clearly.

  “King Ra’Gren,” she said with a slight bow and a nervous glance at something that those in the throne room couldn’t see. Her back was to Flick, but he knew exactly who she was. He had seen her reflection in Queen Shaella’s scrying bowl on occasion.

  “What is it, witch?” Flick asked sharply. The idea that Shaella’s spy was giving information to Ra’Gren as well as his Queen angered him to no end. She whirled around and peered through the light of her spell as if he were hard to see. Flick could tell by the terrified look on her face that his anger was misplaced.

  “Cole? Flick? Which one are you? I can’t see well enough to tell you apart,” she sobbed. “He’s killed her. Tell me it’s not true. Tell me our queen is not dead.”

  “What is this?” Ra’Gren growled through his unease.

  Flick held up a hand to still the angry king. He could tell that something was terribly wrong. “Who said she was killed?” Flick asked.

  “The High King and his Princess,” Lady Mandary cried. “He said he beheaded Queen Shaella after killing you, and some priests. The bastard brought Princess Rosa to Dreen then went off after someone named Fin.”

  Flick was staggered by the news and immediately began reaching out to Shaella for confirmation.

  “Are you sure?” Ra’Gren asked.

  Lady Mandary turned back to the King of Dakahn. “I saw the High King and the Princess with my own eyes,” she sniffled and gulped in a breath. “There’s a great army coming through Oktin; Seawardsmen, dwarves, and the Blacksword of Highwander, led by Queen Willa herself.” She looked away and her eyes grew wide. Her voice became a hurried whisper. “They’re coming for you.”

  Another voice, that of an angry woman, was heard in the background, and then Lady Mandary’s apparition was gone. The cloud of yellow smoke slowly dissipated.

  Ra’Gren started to say that it wasn’t just his plans that sometimes went sour, but the look of pure hatred and anger on the bald-headed wizard’s face stopped his voice in his throat. Instead of saying anything, he walked to his throne and sat down. He wasn’t sure what Flick was capable of, but he knew he needed to turn the wizard’s anger to his advantage. With Shaella dead, and his force at Seareach trapped, he would need every ally he could muster.

  ***

  Lady Trella was in the middle of fetching more hot water from the kitchen pot for Princess Rosa’s bath when she heard the General’s wife speaking crazily. She stopped to listen, thinking that Lady Mandary might have hurt herself and possibly needed aid. As she went to open the door and ask if everything was all right, she heard the woman’s words. “... and some priests. The bastard brought Princess Rosa here to Dreen...” It was all Trella needed to hear. The woman’s disrespect of the High King, and the tone of her words, only confirmed what Lady Trella had suspected since catching the woman spying on the war council. She burst into the room, just in time to see General Spyra’s wife warning King Ra’Gren.

  Before Lady Mandary could move to defend herself, Lady Trella punched her hard across the jaw. The woman crumpled to the floor. Trella wasted no time. She swept the scrying bowl off of the vanity into the floor. Then she tore a strip from the bed sheet and bound Lady Mandary’s hands behind her back and hurried off to find her husband.

  She found him with General Spyra, both speaking hopefully over a map of Westland that was held open on the table by an empty bottle of wine and a trio of goblets. She was glad the bottle had been empty for a few days. She didn’t want to tell the General about his wife’s treachery at all, but since she had no choice, she would rather him hear the news sober.

  “Sirs,” she said politely, interrupting their conversation. She didn’t give them the chance to ask what was wrong. “I’ve caught Lady Mandary,” she said. “I caught her in a treacherous act, and I’ve subdued her.”

  General Spyra looked up and blinked in confusion. “What? Lady Mandary?” He looked to Lord Gregory for some sort of explanation, but the Lion Lord looked just as confused by his wife’s accusation.

  Lady Trella explained in great detail what she’d heard and seen, both times that she’d caught the General’s wife acting suspicious. General Spyr
a looked stricken.

  Half an hour later, Lady Trella was dismissed to tend Princess Rosa. Lady Mandary stood unbound before her husband and Lord Gregory. She swore that lady Trella was a jealous liar. The conniving marsh witch had her husband convinced that she was innocent and was urging him to challenge the Lion Lord to a duel to prove her honor. Lord Gregory declined the challenge, explaining to Lady Mandary that the High King would be back soon, and with the power of Ironspike, he would be able to see the truth of the matter.

  Speaking to General Spyra, Lord Gregory said, “If your wife is still willing to deny Lady Trella’s claim before the King of the Realm, and the might of his blade, then I will place myself at your mercy, but I promise you, friend, my wife is no liar, and King Mikahl will know the truth.”

  Lord Gregory felt for the General. The man was as honorable as they come, and so in love with the woman that he couldn’t see past his heart. Lord Gregory’s statement hit home with Lady Mandary, though. Already she was starting to make excuses to leave Dreen.

  “I thought you were my husband,” she spat at General Spyra while glaring daggers at the Lion Lord. “If you’ve not enough rocks in your britches to defend my honor, then you’ll take me home to Xwarda now.”

  General Spyra took his time and weighed Lord Gregory’s statement in his heart. Already he knew that, even if his wife was proven to be innocent of Lady Trella’s accusations, the woman would never love him or respect him as she had before. A man who didn’t fight for his wife’s honor wasn’t worthy of her love.

  He almost did it. Even after the Westland lord had declined the challenge. He almost drew his blade. Common sense kept him from it. All along he had known that it was too good to be true. Lady Mandary loved him a little too much, a little too perfectly, always catering to his pride while gently prying information from him.

  Fighting a tear, and the dead weight of a lifetime of hope pulling at his heart, he cursed out loud and called for the guards to come. What a fool I’ve been, he told himself.

  Thinking that her husband was going to have Lord Gregory put in chains, Lady Mandary said, “It’s about time you came to your senses. These greedy Westland nobles just want your seat.”

  “I suppose you’re right, my love,” General Spyra said to her as a pair of Valleyan guardsmen stepped into the room. “It is about time that I came to my senses.” Then to the guards he said, “Take her to the upper cells and treat her well. She may be a traitor, but she is still a lady.”

  “You coward,” she yelled at him as the guards grabbed her arms. “You’re a fool, a buffoon. Wraaagh!” She spun and twisted free of the men holding her. She was far stronger than either of them thought possible. Her golden ringlets began to grow thick and grey and her chubby cheeks deflated to pale spotted leather-like skin. Her wide proud shoulders drooped, and her breasts sagged to her belly. In a matter of seconds she transformed from the plump young Lady Mandary into the old wrinkled Dakaneese swamp witch that she really was. Her long nails raked one of the guards across the eyes. He brought both of his hands to his face while the other guard was fighting through his shock to draw his sword. She sent a sizzling blast of static into his chest that sent him staggering backwards. The smell of burnt flesh quickly filled the room.

  The marsh witch whirled on the open-mouthed General and began barking out the words of a spell. He was entranced by her sudden transformation, sickened that he had loved such a thing. He had kissed that rotten toothless mouth and run his fingers through that matted gray mop of hair. She smelled of decaying fish and looked as if she were older than the Maker. It caused him to heave. Suddenly leaning over, he was vomiting on the floor.

  The fiery red streaks of magic that shot forth from her fingertips passed right through where his head would have been had he not gotten ill. She was cackling loudly now, and in the process of bringing her razor sharp claws down across the General’s back when Lord Gregory made his move. Drawing his sword, he took two steps then made a chopping swing that left him way over extended. He felt his sword tip bite into flesh, and heard the witch’s howling scream, but his breath was forced out of his lungs as he hit the hard stone floor squarely with his chest. The world filled with exploding white stars for a moment. When he opened his eyes, he looked up and saw the anguished General’s tear-streaked face as he pulled his sword out of the witch’s gut. The shining blade was covered in thick black blood. When the Lion Lord rolled over to push himself up, he saw the clenched hand and forearm that his sword had severed from her body. As he stood, he looked at the General. He saw an embarrassed, heartbroken man who was about to crumble. “I’m sorry, sir,” was all he could manage to say, but he said it as sincerely as he could. Then to the bloody-faced guard that was huddling over his fallen comrade, “Go. Find a healer for him, if it’s not too late.”

  “I’m a fool,” said General Spyra after the guard was gone. He was trying desperately to hang onto at least a scrap of his dignity. “If you’ll excuse me,” he managed to say before turning. After a few paces he stopped and drew in a deep breath. “Can you have your wife recount exactly what the traitor told our enemy,” he asked Lord Gregory without looking back.

  “Aye,” Lord Gregory answered. “Why?”

  “If we know what they think we are about, we can change our plans and regain the element of surprise,” the ever dutiful General said before walking away.

  “Aye,” Lord Gregory replied with an unseen nod of respect. He wanted to say something that might ease the heartache the General was feeling, but he could think of no words that would help. “I’ll go to her immediately.”

  “Lord Gregory,” General Spyra turned this time. His wet swollen face showed the depths of emotion he was feeling. He started to say more, but the look he saw on the Lion Lord’s face suggested that words were not necessary. They exchanged curt nods of understanding, and then Lord Gregory went to find his wife.

  General Spyra scrunched up his face and roared through clenched teeth. After glancing at the young Valleyan guard, who was possibly dying on the floor, he kicked the marsh witch’s corpse in the face with sickening force. He let his sword fall from his grasp and clatter to the floor, then hurried away to find a private place where he could let loose his anguish without shaming himself further.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Hyden felt himself being lashed and pummeled, but the blows were nothing compared to the pain in his abdomen. He was falling, and the blackness around him was absolute. He couldn’t tell which way was up, which way was down, or if he was conscious or not. Even after he became oriented to the cold stone floor under him, he was confused. For what might have been moments, but could have been days, all sensation, save for pain, stopped for him. His agonized state was eventually disturbed by an insistent scuffing sensation along his arm. When he swatted at it, it responded with an irritated meow. Hyden’s eyes blinked open to see that he was still in darkness. He reached out with his mind and felt the warm prickly lyna that was trying to wake him.

  Hyden couldn’t see the creature, but he remembered it from when it had woken him on the dungeon floor.

  He felt chilled, and his skin turned to goose flesh. Strangely, he noticed that his gut didn’t feel as if it were on fire anymore. Further investigation reminded him that his muscles and tendons, and maybe even his blood, were saturated with venom. His hair felt like icy needles prickling into his scalp, and he began to shudder. He was weak. His body felt as if it were melting into mush from the inside out. He knew he should have been hungry. He hadn’t eaten in days, the thought of food made him retch and he went into a coughing fit that lasted far too long. By the time he had his breath again, he found he could make out subtle shades in the blackness. He sat with his knees drawn up into his arms for a long time, trying to gather his thoughts. The lyna wiggled up against him, content to preen and purr. Eventually, Hyden cast the little ball of light into his palm. Its dull glow barely illuminated his face, and he soon began to feel like some sort of bait, so he extinguished i
t. He closed his eyes and sought out Talon but couldn’t find his familiar. He tried to find the hawkling’s vision with his eyes open, and though Talon didn’t connect with him, he found that his eyes focused into a crisp sort of clarity, even in the darkness. He found that he could see the edges of himself and the shape of the lyna lying beside him. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

  “We found the darkness, Spike,” he rasped to the creature. “Now it’s time to find the light. We have to hurry, though, the stuff inside me is going to melt me into a puddle.”

  The fact that his voice didn’t reverberate reflected the vast emptiness he was in. As he stood, the lyna hunched and stretched. Hyden wanted to do the same, but was afraid he wouldn’t snap back into shape if he did. He slowly turned, peering into the emptiness, searching for a sign, or a glimmer of anything that might indicate which way he should go. As he looked, he wondered where his brother had gone and why he hadn’t killed him. He only vaguely remembered falling out of the garden yard and battling. He forced the thoughts out of his mind because he loved his brother fiercely. Thinking about him made him sad. He couldn’t afford to wallow in emotion. He could actually feel his body breaking down.

  Spike saved him from having to choose a direction. The lyna raised his tail up high and, with a quick glance back, started off as if he knew exactly where he was going. Hyden shrugged and staggered after him. The direction was as good as any. The place, Hyden decided, was the definition of featureless.

  They walked for a very long time. Hyden had to stop once due to another fit of coughing that had him spitting out coppery tasting chunks of phlegm. Then he leaned over and vomited out most of the liquid that was left in his body. After that he fell to a knee and vomited some more. His head spun so bad that, for a time, he forgot where he was. He recovered, though, and continued staggering after the lyna. Once, he heard something growling low, and far too near. He saw several pairs of ember eyes watching him from a distance, but he we was too ill to be afraid of them.