Kings, Queens, Heroes, & Fools

by M. R. Mathias

  With Master Sholt riding nervously on the bright horse behind him, Mikahl conversed with Lord Gregory. The Lion Lord didn’t tell Mikahl of General Spyra’s mad charge, or the demon’s destructive passage through Dreen. He rightly figured that just having knowledge of those events would distract Mikahl from what he was about. Mikahl asked the Lion Lord to explain the breed giants’ involvement in all of this, but Lord Gregory quite bluntly told him to ask King Jarrek.

  Mikahl contemplated the fact that Bzorch had saved his life, but still it was hard not to hate the breed. When he was King Balton’s squire they had come out of the northern mountains and regularly attacked Westlander innocents. He had been at Coldfrost, and though he was never allowed to raise his blade against them, he saw many a man meet a gruesome end there. He remembered clearly watching Bzorch from across the icy flow through the glassine shield King Balton had created. He remembered wondering what so many huge beasts would eat on the small glacial island prison.

  He knew now.

  They had eaten each other.

  He had never really understood the happenings at Coldfrost. His friend King Aldar, the ruler of the true giants did, though, and since he had a message to deliver to his friend Borg, he decided that when this was through he might pay them a visit. Thoughts of the starved giant he and Hyden had found in the dungeon, and the venomous wound Hyden Hawk had taken there, saddened him. Mikahl’s heart grew hollow for a time.

  His mood lightened when he flew low enough over Jarrek’s group to see the dwarves flailing in the saddles of the horses they were riding. Their stumpy legs weren’t long enough to actually straddle the big Valleyan destriers. If the horses hadn’t been so well trained it would have been a fiasco. Even with the big steeds compensating to balance the squat little men on their backs, a few of the dwarves hit the ground tumbling. Luckily none of them were seriously injured, and even with the occasional delay of waiting on a dwarf to dust himself off and remount, the small group managed to get beyond the reach of the Dakaneese troop that was marching to Seareach.

  Mikahl was thankful that they were safe. He was fighting exhaustion. If he fell asleep, he was certain that the ground would be the last thing that ever passed through his mind. He couldn’t remember when he last slept. Not since he was trapped and put under the red priests spell could he remember even resting.

  Before he and Master Sholt peeled off for Westland, Oarly rode up under them and waved them down.

  “I know you’re the High King and all,” the dwarf said, choosing his words carefully. “Young Phen is my friend, as was Sir Hyden Hawk Skyler. I know that Hyden’s soul will rest easier if Phen is located.” Oarly picked at the knee of his pants for a minute, letting his emotions cool. “The lad is a hero in my book.”

  “I looked and looked for him, Master Oarly,” Mikahl told him. “I swear I’ll put Master Sholt, and any other I can, to the task of finding him.”

  “Aye,” Oarly conceded, seeing the sadness and fatigue on the High King’s newly scarred face. “If I could get there, I’d search the fool boy out myself,” he added before urging his horse away.

  “On my honor, I’ll do my best to find him,” Master Sholt called after him.

  “Tell King Jarrek that I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Mikahl yelled as the bright horse lifted them away.

  Mikahl took them north to check on the progress of the men and dwarves that had been sent back through the tunnels at Alliak. On the way, they passed over the body-strewn field around the buildings where Flick had trapped King Jarrek’s force. Some of the Dakaneese were arriving and milling about the carnage aimlessly. Another group of them were huddled around the big Choska’s carcass. Mikahl’s lightning bolt had pretty much cooked its insides and then the dwarves had swarmed over it and finished it off.

  A small group of Dakaneese looked to be following the trail of the men bound for the tunnels. Mikahl, with Master Sholt gripping him more tightly than the tiny girl had, dived on them. He sent them scattering with a pair of hot crackling lightning bolts. Master Sholt relaxed a little bit and sent a few fiery blasts of his own down among them. After a second pass, the pursuit stalled and the remaining men began skulking back to their commanders.

  Apparently Jarrek’s men, and the dwarves, had already gone into the tunnels. Mikahl didn’t see any of them out around the opening. He took this as a good sign and wheeled away to the west.

  The sun was setting into the ocean when they came down out of the clouds over Lakeside Castle. Mikahl noticed that an attempt to clean the garden yard had been made. As he landed his magical pegasus on the balcony of the Royal Apartments, the half dozen people milling around the bedchamber screamed in startled fear. When they saw who the rider was they quickly recovered, but stayed away nonetheless. Master Sholt found a divan and collapsed into it. He leapt back up with a yelp when his arse hit something solid and invisible that was already lying there. He was too sore and worn from the long ride to worry about what it was, and he quickly found another place to rest.

  Lady Able straightened the hem of her apron and smiled broadly at Mikahl. She ushered him to the side of the great bed and called for food and refreshments to be brought. Mikahl managed to introduce Master Sholt, and then listened as Lady Able proudly told him the reasonably stable state of things at Lakeside Castle. Mikahl only heard about half of it, and when she was done, he conveyed that the Highwander master wizard he had brought with him was at her service. After that he lay back in the soft feather bed and fell into a deep, much needed slumber.

  Lady Able eyed Master Sholt suspiciously. She wasn’t sure what to think of Willa the Witch Queen’s master wizard. He and the High King both had burn scars about their neck and shoulders, and holes worn all through their dingy clothes. She wondered if she should find Master Sholt some frogs to eat to be hospitable. He looked to be as worn and weary as the High King was. Already he was snoring softly where he sat. Rest is what these men needed, she decided, and she left them to go find some clean garments for them to wear when they woke.

  ***

  Flick sat at King Ra’Gren’s table. He had been busy flying along the western bank of the Leif Green River from one Settsted outpost to the next, rousting the zard and the marsh beasts, and giving them orders. He had returned to Ra’Gren’s palace to enlighten the man of his new plans.

  The two of them were alone, but the table held enough food for twenty. Huge game birds, both fried and baked, several types of fish, and edible crustaceans, along with a good sized honey-glazed piglet were among the many different dishes laid out before Ra’Gren and his sole guest.

  The King of Dakahn could afford such opulence a thousand times over, Flick knew. After Pael had leveled Castlemont he’d ordered King Glendar to load the gold and jewels they pulled from the wreckage onto wagons and haul them to O’Dakahn with the survivors of King Jarrek’s kingdom. The wagon train of slaves and wealth had been given to Ra’Gren, not only as payment for arming and armoring the zard troops Shaella had used to take Westland, but also to purchase several ships that had eventually sailed, carrying King Glendar and his personal battalions. A strange illness had come over the King’s ship and it was reported that the captains of the other vessels set it afire and sank it so that the affliction died with it.

  Flick wasn’t interested in Pael or Glendar, though, he was curious as to what happened to the men from those other two ships. He knew something about them that no one else knew. As he had done with his entire army, Pael had poisoned those men and spelled them to rise again after death. Flick had an idea how to use those few hundred undead, if he could find them.

  After hearing how Flick planned to save O’Dakahn from the mass of eastern soldiers that were marching across Dakahn unhindered, Ra’Gren happily sent out orders to seek out and capture the men that Flick was interested in. Ra’Gren knew who captained those ships. Other men on the docks would know who the crews were as well. Some of them would be easily found, and information about the others could be gained from the
m. It was a small price to pay to have the new, self-proclaimed Dragon King of Westland, and his army of skeeks, crush King Jarrek and Queen Willa’s forces against his walls when they arrived to put him under siege.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Mikahl woke to a grave faced Master Sholt. The High King had slept for two whole days. Sholt stubbornly wouldn’t tell him what had him looking so somber until after Mikahl bathed, put on fresh clothes, and ate a healthy meal. Only then did the Xwardian wizard explain what he’d found.

  “Turned to stone,” Sholt said. “A fine white marble like substance anyway? He had an elven ring of invisibility on when he was transformed, or petrified, however you want to classify it. It won’t come off without breaking the finger off with it. Without a spell, or a handful of flour, you can’t even see him.” Sholt rubbed his eyes with a thumb and a forefinger then sighed heavily. He was exhausted. Casting the spell required to see Phen while examining him, had drained him.

  Mikahl put down his goblet. His eyes were filled with sadness. “That’s terrible,” he mumbled. “It won’t be easy breaking the news to Master Oarly.” He looked at the ceiling. “Isn’t there a way to break the spell?”

  “Before I answer, Your Highness, there’s more.” Master Sholt stood and walked to the large window of the small private dining room. “It seems that Talon, Sir Hyden Hawk’s familiar, was guarding over Phen when it happened. The bird is in the same condition as the boy.”

  “Talon,” Mikahl growled and stood abruptly up from the table. His sadness slowly morphed into an angry simmer. “Can’t you do anything? Can Master Amill? What will it take?”

  Sholt held up a hand, trying to politely stall the High King’s emotion. “I don’t know yet,” he said honestly. “There may be ways to undo what’s been done, but I must study the situation. I don’t want to exaggerate the sliver of hope I hold. When I say sliver, I mean parchment thin, Your Highness.”

  “Aye,” Mikahl sighed. Over the last few years he had lost more friends than he could count on his hands. With Hyden gone, and Phen and Talon possibly dead as well, he didn’t think that he could feel any more sorrow than he already did. “You have my leave to do anything and everything necessary to revive them, Master Wizard. Spare nothing,” Mikahl said sternly. It was all he could do.

  “Rest assured, I will do all I can,” Sholt promised.

  A long hour later, after a trip to the guard barracks where he’d often trained in his youth, Mikahl was wearing a heavy hauberk over his clean shirt, and flying east on the bright horse. He was going to join Oarly, and King Jarrek. He had no idea how far south they had gotten while he slept, so he flew over the marshes, hoping to find them close to O’Dakahn. As he passed over some of the deepest swamp he’d ever seen, he noticed a flurry of activity below. A large group of creatures was moving through the overgrown terrain with a purpose. He circled lower and made a few passes. He scared up a small flock of the big long-beaked dactyls, but saw nothing like what he thought he’d seen. A few large gekas and a pair of zard-men rooting around in an area that was infested with snappers was all. They were probably hunting. As he winged the magical pegasus back on a southerly course, he wondered why he’d thought he’d seen so many things moving. Tired eyes he told himself.

  When the marshlands were behind him, and he was over Dakahn, he flew south, pushing the bright horse’s pace to its limits. He experimentally took some sharp turns and other evasive maneuvers. He’d seen how agile the dragon was in flight and wanted to mimic that grace. If he met Flick again in the air, he wanted to know what his own capabilities were. After only a few attempts to move as the dragon had, he knew that there was no way to out fly the wyrm. With its long tail to balance it, it could spin and stop, or twist in midair, right out of a streaking dive. With its elongated neck it could fly in one direction and attack with its acidy breath in another.

  The one thing Mikahl knew for certain was that he did not want to be anywhere below the dragon. He knew he would have to be more than lucky to win a battle with a creature like that. He hoped it didn’t come down to an aerial confrontation, but he was pretty sure that it would. How else could he keep the wyrm off of the troops? Maybe one of the breed giants would get lucky and pull the nasty black bastard out of the sky.

  Breed giants! Mikahl shook his head in angry wonder. The breed acted controlled, almost civil, while he and Jarrek were speaking. They weren’t the savage animalistic beasts he remembered from Coldfrost. Mikahl wondered what sort of an arrangement Jarrek had made with them. The way Lord Gregory passed the subject on to the old Red Wolf made Mikahl wonder. He trusted Lord Gregory and King Jarrek explicitly, though, so he decided to let that concern wait until another day.

  Mikahl wondered what King Aldar would say about the situation. He knew that the true full-blooded giants hated the breed. He found that he didn’t relish his role as High King of the realm. There was far too much to worry about, too many responsibilities and decisions to weigh. His old horse, Windfoot, a good long bow, and a camp in the Reyhall Forest, or the Northwood, sounded far better. No battles, no dragons or demons, no slaves or skeeks, just a good old fashioned hunt for a boar or a stag. He could almost smell the pine needles and feel the soft earth under his boots.

  His reverie was broken by the sight of not only Jarrek’s small group and the tattered Red Wolf banner they still carried, but another far larger force flying the rising sun of Seaward, the Blacksword of Highwander, as well as the red and yellow checkered Valleyan shield. From his vantage point in the sky he could see the dark smear to the south that was O’Dakahn. It was a huge metropolis, larger than Xwarda, Southport, and Dreen combined. The size of the encampments of soldiers below paled in comparison, and suddenly Mikahl didn’t feel so confident with their plan. Pael had failed to take Xwarda with an army that was twice as big, with soldiers that couldn’t die. He decided that, as soon as he landed, all the commanders and wizards, all of the kings, and queens as well, needed to be gathered. If he had no choice other than to be the High King of the realm, then at least he was going to try and be a good one.

  Mikahl was glad to learn that the group of soldiers he’d been looking at was only two thirds of the force they were about to bring to bear on O’Dakahn. Other troops were still marching wide around the city to take up a position at O’Dakahn’s southern gate, nearer to the busy port.

  According to the maps of the city that were laid out in Commander Escott’s war pavilion, the wall around O’Dakahn had only three gates set in it. One opened onto the docks and warehouses of Port Dakahn. King Granitheart and Master Amill were already leading a large division of men and dwarves that way. The northwestern gate opened onto the road that ran up the east bank of the Leif Greyn River to Seareach and into Wildermont. It was the biggest of the three portals, and King Jarrek quickly asserted that he and General Diamondeen would be leading the force that took up position there. Everyone agreed.

  Commander Escott was assigned the northeastern gate that opened onto the road that ran to the crossing bridges of Lokahna and Oktin. One of the Highwander apprentices was to go with him, and the other with King Jarrek to replace Master Sholt, leaving Mikahl free to defend against the dragon, or anything else that might come at them from the sky. Each of the northern groups had a breed giant with a rope hauler. There were only two of the bulky crossbows left. Bzorch chose to go with King Jarrek to the northwestern gate. It was the gate nearest King Ra’Gren’s palace, which sat inside another set of walls. If the wizard was aiding Ra’Gren, Bzorch assured them, the dragon would most likely be defending that area.

  Later that evening, before the main force split, they were all lingering around one of the bigger fires near the command pavilion. Many of the captains and sergeants were crowded around, seeking favor from their commanders, and trying to set their eyes on the High King. Mikahl’s battle with the demon-wizard Pael was the stuff of legends.

  Suddenly, Bzorch stood up and drew everyone’s attention to himself with a loud primal roar.
He let it be known to all that he had sworn to kill the dragon that had destroyed his kin. He warned soldiers and commanders alike, and even the wizards and kings, to give him much room if the dragon showed itself. Then, to everyone’s surprise, he and the three other breed all took a knee before High King Mikahl and bowed. Mikahl looked quickly at King Jarrek for answers. Jarrek cringed and backed out of the firelight as Bzorch began to speak.

  “We might only be four, King,” the alpha breed beast said slowly and with deep conviction, “but we are willing to die to earn the right to control the crossing. Coldfrost is a painful memory that we will never forget it, but it is a memory nonetheless.”

  Mikahl wasn’t sure what crossing Bzorch was talking about. Locar? Surely not Oktin, or Lokahna. He looked for King Jarrek again, but didn’t see him anywhere. He didn’t want to disrespect the breed giants’ show of fealty, and he absolutely didn’t want to dishonor the wild looking half-blood that had saved him from the Choska’s claws. Mikahl wasn’t sure how to react, so he gave them a deep nod of respect and did his best imitation of King Balton.

  “I pray you get the chance to slay the dragon, mighty Bzorch. It has killed far too many. As for Coldfrost, I had no part in the battle there, other than as squire to my father and king. King Balton’s reign over Westland has ended. Mine is about to begin. None of us who were there can forget, but we can stand together and start anew.”

  “One king, one kingdom!” someone yelled from beyond the fire’s light.

  “One king, one kingdom,” another repeated loudly. Others took up the chant as well, including King Jarrek, and many of the dwarves.