The Sword and the Dragon

by M. R. Mathias

  The next day, the three undead commanders, Lord Brach, General Vogel, and General Chatta, all prepared their undead troops to march on Xwarda.

  They split into three groups, each over ten thousand undead men strong. Each group was to make for one of the four main gates that opened into Xwarda’s massive outer wall. The last gate, the one with the road that led eastward through the foothills of the Wander Mountains to the city called Jenkanta, was to be left unguarded. Pael wanted the Witch Queen, and her refugees, to have a way to flee the city when they saw the army of undead coming. Even a heartless being like Pael, had some reservations about destroying the wonder of Xwarda’s palace. He could hunt down those who ran later, at his leisure. If he could avoid destroying the city, and the palace within it, Pael wanted to do so. Besides, the idea of watching the pitiful folk flee in terror entertained his ego to no end.

  Sooner or later, Queen Willa would see the futility of fighting his army. His was no ordinary siege force. They had no need to worry about raining arrows, or pots of boiling pitch pouring down upon them. They didn’t need food, nor did the weather concern them. They couldn’t be deterred by fear or pain, and none of them were afraid to die, because they were all already dead.

  Chapter 50

  Save for the raspy, and laborious, rise and fall of his chest, Mikahl lay perfectly still. The healers had done everything they could. It may or may not have been enough. His chain mail shirt, and his ruined travel clothes, had been stripped away. In their place, plain white robes covered his body. His skin had been cleaned, and his long, blondish brown hair brushed to shining.

  He lay atop a raw block of Wardstone, in a plain room at the back of the castle, in a wing designated to the healing arts, and the recovery of those who might need them. The room was formed of the same white marble blocks as the rest of the structure, and was illuminated by a soft, magical glow that seemed to radiate equally from every direction, so that no shadows were cast whatsoever. Darkness had little chance of taking hold in this room. There were no chairs, no windows, no tables; just the featureless room, and Mikahl lying up on the Wardstone block, like a forgotten altar sacrifice.

  To Hyden Hawk, Mikahl looked like some saint of old out of Berda’s stories, laying there after a battle. To Vaegon he looked as good as dead. To most any other, it looked like the room held a sarcophagus, with the likeness of the occupant carved, and painted on its top for visitors and mourners to see.

  “We know what he was about. Shall we continue it?” Vaegon asked Hyden.

  He raised Mikahl’s sheathed sword in his hand to indicate what “It” was. He had been tempted to lay it on Mikahl’s chest, and clasp his hands to the hilt, but that seemed like such a final gesture, that he couldn’t bring himself to do it just yet.

  “Aye,” Hyden answered, his voice thick with emotion. “I think I’ll go to the temple of the White Goddess, and seek counsel. I’ll ask her the location of the cooling stone King Aldar spoke of. Hopefully, she’ll tell me what needs to be done now.”

  “After seeing that grand depiction of Ironspike’s forging, I think that Queen Willa, or one of her people, might know of the cooling stone’s location. I’ll ask Dugak, the dwarf, while you visit Whitten Loch. Maybe he will know something about it, or who to ask.”

  “Aye,” Hyden wiped away a stray tear. “I’ll send the wolves home first. King Aldar will –”

  He didn’t finish. Looking at Mikahl, and thinking of Grrr’s brave sacrifice, overtook him. He turned and strode out of the room, nearly bowling over a pair of serious looking, robed and bearded men in the hallway. Seeing which room he had come from, they kindly waved his apology off, and made way for him. The pair of uniformed Blacksword soldiers posted at the end of the hallway did the same.

  It took Hyden a while to find his way out of the castle. He had started to feel claustrophobic, and more than once had to wipe away the salty tears that were clouding his vision and adding to his growing sense of panic. Once outside the clean air, and openness of the park around the lake was so refreshing, that each breath he took forced out some of his grief, and replaced it with crisp lungfuls of, not quite hope, but relief at least.

  He sought out Talon, and through his hawkling familiar’s keen vision, located the wolves. He made his way along a stone path that led to them and found them with the ease of one who was watching his way from above. When he came upon them, all three of them eased close, and greeted him with much licking and tail wagging. They picked up his mood easily, and as he settled amongst them in the grass, they spoke of Grrr, Mikahl, and the Lady Queen. They conveyed their need to return to King Aldar, so that he might know that his proud, and ferocious pack-leader, had given his life trying to save Mikahl.

  As he, Talon, and six soldiers from the inner gates escorted the great wolves through the city, Hyden noticed how much more crowded it had become. He and Vaegon had passed through only a day and a half ago, and already, the number of refugees packed into the streets had doubled. He remembered the other roads leading into Xwarda, the spokes of the wheel he had seen from above. He wondered how many more might be wedged in, before the Valleyan and Seaward armies attacked.

  Last night, at dinner, Queen Willa’s denial of having any knowledge of her men starting the bloodletting at Summer’s Day had been believable enough. With demons loose upon the land, and a Dragon Queen in control of Westland, the idea that servants of some dark force had started this mess, while posing as Highwander soldiers, made more sense, especially now that Highwander was under attack.

  The soldiers escorting Hyden Hawk and the wolves motioned for them to squeeze to the side of the lane. Another procession of soldiers was passing on its way toward the castle. Among them, Hyden saw two men wearing red armor, one with a ruby-eyed wolf skull mounted upon his helmet. Hyden had heard tales of the red armored guardsmen of Wildermont at Summer’s Day. It was Wildermont soldiers who policed the Festival every year, and every one of them revered the Redwolf Guard. These men looked haggard and road weary. Another of the group, a dark haired man, with a beard, and robes, that had once been crisp and white, but were now filthy, with forest grime, looked at Hyden curiously as they passed. The Great Wolves had drawn his attention, Hyden hoped, but the man’s eyes stayed glued to Hyden, and the hawkling that was riding tall on his shoulder.

  Once the two processions had passed each other, the way to the outer gate became easier to manage. The other group had caused all the debris and belongings to be cleared out of the roadway. When they passed through the tunnel-like gateway of the outer wall, Hyden imagined that it was full of soldiers, all ready to pour out and defend the city when the time came.

  Once outside the gates, they found a semi-private niche, and Hyden and the Great Wolves crowded together. He tried not to cry, but it was hopeless. He’d grown to love them. Urp’s frisky, and never ending playfulness, Oof’s cocky and proud attitude, and Huffa’s motherly authority, had found a place deep in his heart of hearts. They were as much his friends now as Vaegon and Mikahl were.

  He spoke with them, and they reminded him that they would meet again. It was far too warm for them here, and they were needed at home, to run the borders with Borg and the other Guardians.

  Hyden understood. He hugged each of them in turn, and used their fur to dry his tears. Huffa gave his face a thorough licking, and then he stood and watched as the wolves raced away to the northwest, towards the Evermore Forest and beyond. Talon winged after them for a while. Hyden watched through the hawkling’s eyes. It was good to see his friends running free, and without burden, as they were meant to do.

  One of the soldiers finally mastered his awe, and fear of Hyden, and told him that the gates needed to be closed. Hyden didn’t respond with words, he just turned, and quietly followed the men back through.

  Vaegon, with the help of some tired and worrisome servants, found Dugak. It amused the elf to think that he was the strange one here, in a place as strange as any he could have imagined. To Vaegon, Dugak was the oddity
among all these humans. Vaegon’s good eye might be yellow and wild looking, and his ears a bit sharp at the tips, but at least he wasn’t built like a tree trunk, with so much facial hair that only his nose poked through. How the squat, thick-bodied little people once ruled the realm, Vaegon couldn’t fathom.

  He found the dwarf in the Queen’s Council chamber, where he was as shocked as he was welcome.

  If Dugak, and his bearded wife, Andra, seemed strange to him, then the little, blue-skinned, winged fairy man, hovering a few feet in front of Queen Willa, left Vaegon bewildered. The tiny man was no taller than a hand span, and hovering there in the air on glassine wings that were but a blur to the eye. The sight of one of the flying fair folk, left the elf utterly speechless.

  “Starkle,” Queen Willa introduced the tiny man as Vaegon approached with a wide eye and an open mouth. “This is the elf, Vaegon. Vaegon, this is Starkle. As you can see, he’s a pixie. He’s one of my most trusted advisers.”

  “How do you do?” Starkle said, in a voice that was entirely too big for such a small creature.

  Vaegon was awestruck. Here was this man, the size of a sparrow, wearing a white robe, tied at the waist with a golden thread. The robe’s back was split to accommodate the wings, and on his tiny feet, were laced sandals. He was half the size of the little man Talon had caught in the Evermore Forest, but his neatly cropped hair and beard were the same exact shade of dull gray.

  It was all Vaegon could do to muster a response to the friendly greeting.

  “I’m better than my companion seems to be,” he finally said, trying to suppress his awe with the gravity of his reasons for being there.

  “Sir Vaegon is seeking the cooling stone,” Dugak announced, saving Vaegon the trouble of explaining.

  “Why do you seek the cooling stone?” Queen Willa asked pointedly.

  Vaegon noticed that her eyes went from his, to the sword he was carrying, and back to meet his gaze without a hint of emotion showing on her face.

  Vaegon glanced around the room. It was empty, save for the four of them. He wasn’t sure what he should say, so he said as little as possible.

  “I do not seek it for myself, but for my companion. The reasons are his to say.”

  “So, that is the mate to the Hammer of Doon, then?” She didn’t wait for an answer to her question. “Ironspike, the westerners foolishly call it. We have waited a long time for it to find its way home.” She paused, as if remembering something. “Why didn’t it extract the demon’s essence when King Mikahl drove it into the Choska? The boy is of Pavreal’s bloodline, no?”

  “Its power was drained by Mikahl’s father, in a deed performed for the benefit of the giants, and the people of Westland.”

  Vaegon chose his words carefully. He didn’t want to betray Mikahl, while trying to help him. He wasn’t sure what Queen Willa was inferring by calling this Ironspike’s home either, and he was beginning to feel uneasy. He decided to lend a little weight to what he was saying.

  “King Aldar, the ruler of the giant realm, told Mik – uh – King Mikahl that the sword had to be placed in the cradle it had formed in the cooling stone in order to replenish its power.”

  “Dugak?” Queen Willa looked at the dwarf expectantly.

  Starkle buzzed around behind Queen Willa’s head, and perched on the crown of her chair’s back. Dugak scratched at the side of his head. His whole hand disappeared into the tangle of his hair.

  “It can be done, as he said, your Highness.” Dugak looked a little uncertainly at Vaegon. “The people of the deep might not like the trespass, but the sword has every right to lie in its cradle.”

  “The people of the deep!” Starkle blurted out in his big, little voice. “Your people, Dugak, should have no concern over a trespass into a shallow place that they left behind and forgot.” The pixie shoved off from his seat, and took back to the air. “If the people of the deep had concerns over the cooling stone, then they should have taken it with them!”

  “It’s underground,” Dugak replied, in a yielding tone, as if any argument would be futile. “Is it wrong to respect the domain of my kin? They could surface just as quickly as they went underground.”

  “They’ve been to ground for centuries –”

  Queen Willa waved the pixie quiet with an attempted swat.

  “If your people return to blame anybody for the offense, Master Dugak, then the blame shall be mine.” She spoke diplomatically to the dwarf. “Just so there is no question, I will command you to lead Sir Vaegon to the chamber. That way, you can bear no responsibility, for you will be following my orders.”

  The Queen’s voice, and expression, changed to show her distaste, as she turned to scold the little blue pixie man.

  “There are not one, but two kingdom’s armies at our doorstep, Starkle. You have messages to deliver, and duties that do not include worrying about the dwarves and their domain.”

  The pixie bowed in the air.

  “Yes, your majesty. Please forgive me.”

  Before she could respond, he was off, on a zigzagging streak towards the open door.

  Dugak’s expression appeared as if it wanted to be smug, but he couldn’t quite complete the look.

  The dwarves of Doon hadn’t been seen in ages, save for the small group that had wandered to the surface by accident a little over a hundred years ago. Those dwarves were Dugak and Andra’s ancestors. Those short lived dwarves, that had shown up in Xwarda by mistake, had all but died out. Half a dozen families still lived in the mountains near Jenkanta, and a handful served the kingdom here in Xwarda. The rest of the race was hopefully still living in the depths of the earth, where they had retreated after war, and the quickly growing human population drove them away.

  Dugak seemed content with his orders. Vaegon couldn’t tell whether it was the act of trespass into the earth, or the idea that he might be punished for it, that had bothered the stumpy man so much. He was glad that the dwarf was taking the order seriously. Dugak wasted no time ordering preparations to be made, and supplies gathered, for their short journey out of the city.

  Dugak explained that the way would only take a few hours on foot. For obvious reasons, the dwarf didn’t want to make the trek on horseback. Vaegon wasn’t disappointed with this decision. He too would rather walk. His main concern, was that he had no idea how long they would have to remain with the sword at the cooling stone. He wanted it to fully reenergize, but had no way to know if and when that state had been achieved. One thing he was certain of was that he wouldn’t leave the sword there. He told Dugak to make sure they had enough supplies for a week or more. He figured the dwarf would balk at this news, but he didn’t. Instead, Dugak was completely excited by the prospect of getting to spend a few days underground.

  Vaegon started to leave Hyden a note, but remembered that his friend probably wouldn’t be able to read it. In an effort to spare Hyden Hawk the shame of having to ask someone to read it for him, he left the message verbally, with Dugak’s wife. The dwarfess, Andra, was more than happy to deliver the simple explanation of where Vaegon was going and why.

  As Dugak led Vaegon down through the castle to the hidden exit, a commotion began somewhere outside the place. The dwarf did his best to dutifully ignore the hubbub, but the news that the wizard, Targon, had arrived at the gates with the Redwolf King, still found its way to his and Vaegon’s ears. Neither of them bothered to comment on the happening, because it didn’t affect their present mission one way or the other. They were about to leave the safety of Xwarda, and make a short hike east into the hills, to visit a catacomb.

  Hyden stood before the boxy structure King Aldar had referred to as a temple. He was certain that the ranger had told him wrong. This place couldn’t be the temple of Whitten Loch. It was only three slab walls, with a slab roof, and a stone bench inside. The bench was placed so that one might sit on it, and watch the fountain play upon the lake’s surface. The floor and the bench were covered completely, with greenish, gray splatters of swan
dung. In one corner was a nest, empty, save for a few feathers, and some broken egg shells.

  As he stood there, debating whether to enter the place or not, Talon came swooping down out of the sky, and flew into it. The hawkling landed on the bench and bobbed up and down in a strange little dance, beckoning Hyden to come in. Hyden understood that Talon wanted him to sit there, so reluctantly, and with a grimace at the slime that covered the bench, he did so. The castle staff had already cleaned his leather breaches once. He hoped that they would do so again. When he sat down, he was discouraged, but then he looked out across the water, and knew immediately that he was in the right place.

  The angle of his position reflected the pure white marble of the palace across the lake’s surface, making it look like a great pool of rippling milk. The sparkles and spray from the fountain caught the green of the forest park and the blue of the sky, making it look as if emeralds and sapphires were spewing up out of the lake, and falling back into it. Hyden figured that after sunset, it would be an even more spectacular sight, because the yellows and reds of the stained glass panels, would lend their colors to the mix as well.

  The droplets and rolling ripples danced a colorful and mesmerizing dance that soon pulled Hyden into a hypnotic state of tranquility. His mind began to empty of all but the dazzle before him. His worry for Mikahl, and the situation that they were in, slipped away, and a hazy voluptuous shape began to form in the mist of the fountain’s spray. She turned slowly toward him, opening her arms as she did so, and a sad smile crept across her beautiful, mist-formed face.

  “You’ve found the right place at the right time, I think,” she said to him, in a soft musical voice. “Your heart has led you well.”