Kings, Queens, Heroes, & Fools

by M. R. Mathias

  An explosion of crackling lightning erupted in the middle of the fray in the street. Clods of smoking dirt and debris flew out from the impact. An empty helm tumbled through the air and what might have been a hand clutching a short sword clattered down not too far from where Mikahl stood. An arrow streaked upward from the knot of men. He followed its path. It deflected away a few feet in front of a man in a black robe who was looking down from a balcony and gesturing frantically.

  “Got you,” Mikahl whispered as he pointed Ironspike at the robed figure. He found the melody for lightning and let it rise above the rest of the chorus. A bolt shot forth from the blade into the unsuspecting mage. Mikahl held it there for long smoldering moments then finally, when the smoke was rolling up from the man in a thick black cloud, he let it go. The wizard’s sizzling body crumpled to the deck. Mikahl turned to see the approaching blue-cloaked riders. A few of them ran the wounded breed giant screaming into the river. The rest kept coming. Mikahl was heartened to see swords coming out of scabbards and being raised high. These weren’t the traitorous pikemen that King Broderick had sent to betray him to Dreg. These were General Spyra’s men. He looked back to the battle in the street. The sell-sword’s and the Dakaneese were pulling back, thinking that surprise reinforcements had come.

  “Break!” Mikahl yelled above the din. “To the roadside, to the alleys. Break men, break!”

  Those that heard, repeated the call, and the Highwander men darted out of the lane into alleyways, or out toward the docks and the fishing houses on the river’s side of the road. The Dakaneese were shocked when the blue-cloaks rode right into them and began cleaving and slashing away.

  Mikahl hoped the long double-time march General Spyra had imposed on his men hadn’t been too hard on them. They had turned north out of Dreen and trekked through the lower Evermore Forest around the passage that Mikahl’s men had taken. Mikahl was glad to see them. Keeping his men moving slow enough for General Spyra to keep up had been taxing.

  Mikahl gathered some of the men from the roadside and put them to the task of taking prisoners while the rest came into the dwindling battle to help finish the Dakaneese soldiers off. To Mikahl’s surprise, General Spyra had come himself. The man fought brilliantly, just like he had against Pael’s undead army. He seemed dissapointed when Mikahl called him away from the butchery to speak with him.

  “Well met, General,” Mikahl grinned. “What of the real blue-cloaks?”

  “Stripped naked and under guard just north of Castlemont,” the General reported. “Most of them laid down their arms freely and swore they would kneel to you. They seem to dislike King Broderick’s treachery as much as you do. I still put them under guard, though. So that’s the zard, then?” the General asked, directing his gaze over to a twitching green-scaled mass at the roadside. “They don’t seem as deadly as the rumor-mongers would have us believe.”

  “Aye,” Mikahl agreed. “It was easy for them to take Westland while the whole of its army was here in Wildermont fighting, but don’t underestimate the scaly bastards. They’re tough.” Mikahl pointed to the river where two of them were swimming like snakes against the Leif Greyn’s powerful current.

  “We’d better hurry ourselves out of their sight then,” General Spyra suggested. “They seem to be able to cross the river at will. We could be swarming with them if we’re not careful.”

  “Finish this then. I want as many prisoners as possible, especially Dreg’s men. A close friend of mine may have passed through here and I hope to learn as much of that as I can.”

  The General gave a curt nod and rode off toward the jumble of his men who had surrounded the surviving Dakaneese soldiers and sell-swords and were awaiting an order. Mikahl sought out Lord Gregory’s sword in the muck and gore that was spread about the street. It took some effort, but he found it. Amazingly, it wasn’t badly damaged—just a few missing jewels and a gouge in the gold-chased hilt. The blade was still sharp. Mikahl ordered a soldier to find Dreg’s corpse and retrieve the scabbard.

  He found Thunder limping and whinnying in pain among a group of other riderless horses. Pulling Ironspike free of its scabbard, he saw that its blade radiated a soft blue glow now that his rage had subsided. With a pat on the destrier’s rump with the flat of the blade, Ironspike discharged its restorative power into the steed. Thunder snorted his relief and nuzzled Mikahl in thanks. Mikahl gave the horse a pat on the neck then went off to lend Ironspike’s power to the injured. He’d done the same thing after he’d recovered from his terrifying battle with Pael. He was glad to help those in need, but Ironspike’s healing power was a double-edged sword, so to speak. If its healing powers were tried on one who was wounded beyond the sword’s power to heal, the sword instantly took that life to ease the suffering. Mikahl found that he had no taste for that sort of thing. Many men who lay dying wanted a priest, or a friend to hear their last words no matter how much pain they were feeling. Mikahl didn’t feel right about taking that little bit of life from them. So he used the blade selectively, on those he felt it could help, and left the others to Spyra’s company cleric and the few godly knights that traveled with the special cavalry.

  It was well after dark when they finally got all the prisoners and the injured inside an abandoned stronghold just outside of what used to be Castlemont proper. They were far enough away from the river, and the view of the new Westland watchtowers, that they felt safe from an attack. The stronghold’s outer wall was made of thick stone blocks and easily defendable. They had too many men to put all of them inside the place, though, so many of the uninjured camped outside the walls. Watches were set, and the gate left slightly ajar so that if the zard or the breed did come across the river they could crowd all of the men inside quickly. It wasn’t the perfect place to hole up a makeshift army for the night, but it would do. They still had over three hundred men and fifty prisoners camped a day’s ride to the north at High Crossing. Even if the zard did try to come and surprise them, they could mount a formidable counter-attack.

  Mikahl let General Spyra worry about the details of the defense. He had every confidence in the man’s abilities. Mikahl was more worried about Princess Rosa, and how he was going to find a way to get her out of the Dragon Queen’s evil grasp. While that ate up the back of his mind, he was eager to figure out how Lord Gregory’s sword had come to be in Dreg’s possession. He was in no mood for pandering or parley when he went and found the sell-sword prisoners tied up and guarded in a lower chamber of the keep.

  There were eighteen prisoners who were not dying or severely injured, eleven of whom were sell-swords. Of these eleven, only seven were involved in Dreg’s mining and slavery enterprise. Mikahl pulled them out for private interrogation. He found a pantry on the same floor as the prisoners. It had a stairway that led up to the kitchens, and that gave him an idea.

  The first sell-sword said that a man came through from the north with a big chunk of gold and traded the sword and the gold for a boat, but he didn’t know where the man was going. Mikahl put the tip of Ironspike’s blade to the prisoner’s throat. The man’s eyes went wide, and he began to sweat profusely, especially when he felt the hum of the powerful magical weapon vibrating against his skin. Once Mikahl was certain the man had told him everything he knew, he told him to scream out in agony. When the man was done he sent him up to the kitchens where some soldiers were waiting to watch over him.

  The next man to be interrogated had been waiting right outside the door under guard and heard the cries of the man before him. When he came in he was terrified and ready to talk, but to Mikahl’s disappointment he knew less than the first man. His yelling and screaming however, sounded far more agonized and convincing than the first man’s had. The third man named a prisoner who knew the details before Mikahl had even finished the first question. Maxrell Tyne was the name, and he was one of Dreg’s captains.

  Maxrell Tyne was frank with Mikahl. He was loyal to the coin, not to Dreg, or any other man.

  “You’ll never s
pend another copper if you don’t tell me everything you know about the man who carried that sword.” Mikahl’s gaze left no room for argument. “You’ll not leave this room.”

  Maxrell didn’t disappoint. He told Mikahl everything. “The man with the gold took a boat with a mercenary named Grommen. They are headed to Southport to search for the man’s wife and niece. The man said he found the sword on a body at Summer’s Day. I heard him myself.”

  Mikahl was ecstatic. It had to be Lord Gregory. The Lion Lord hadn’t left his sword at Summer’s Day, he had taken it into the mountains. He asked Maxrell for the name the man had given, and when he heard the answer, he was sure beyond all doubt that Lord Alvin Gregory was alive and well, and seeking Lady Trella and Lord Ellrich’s little daughter, Lady Zasha.

  Mikahl happily corrected his thought. Zasha wasn’t so little any more. She was a beautiful young lady. He hoped that she and Lady Trella had survived the madness. “You could recognize this Grommen?” he asked.

  Maxrell Tyne nodded. Mikahl then made his prisoner an offer that couldn’t be refused.

  Mikahl told General Spyra most of his newest plan and the man laughed a deep laugh of joyous mirth. General Spyra was unbelievably happy about his part in the things to come. When he and forty five of his best men rode back into Dreen wearing blue cloaks no one would suspect a thing. The gates to the city would open right up for them. King Broderick would think that his soldiers were home from their treachery, at least until General Spyra took him into custody. After that happened, General Spyra would become the acting ruler of Valleya. He could send for his new wife, Lady Mandary, and she could come live like a queen until Mikahl finished what he was going to do. She would love him for it, he was certain.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Hyden couldn’t say which smelled worse, the cavern they were in, or the dwarf. Oarly was still drunk from the previous night’s feasting. Brady was as well, but Oarly had apparently bathed in spirits of some sort. He smelled like a monastery’s brew barn—like fermenting fruit and yeast. The cavern, on the other hand, smelled of brine and rot. Something had died down in the passageway and Hyden could tell by the sickly sweet odor that the death had been relatively recent.

  Hyden’s head was pounding, more from the heady smoke the bonfires had bellowed out late last night, than from the few goblets of ale he drank. He didn’t know what green plant it was that the painted Ja Jebba sorcerers had thrown on the fire, but its smoke had been uplifting, to say the least. It still amused him that Captain Trant called the Ja Jebba village sorcerers ‘juju wizards.’ Their language fit his mocking description well. Every other word they spoke sounded like “ju”, “ja”, or “jo”. Their almond skin and wickedly painted faces made them seem to turn into fantastical things as the pungent smoke took effect on the people gathered around the fires. Their honey-skinned half-naked women had, as Captain Trant promised, known exactly what parts of their bodies to gyrate and exactly how to gyrate them. The only negative aspect of the whole experience was the fact that no one in the group had been allowed to sleep off the haze of the evening.

  Before dawn broke the horizon, Phen was raring to go. As soon as they landed on the island, the eager young mage purchased a map of the tombs. He discounted it entirely. It showed the same caverns that the sailors he’d questioned had visited. He knew there was no teasure in them. While the others drooled and drank and floated on the smoky high, Phen was busy. He bribed a native who worked at the inn they were staying at, and learned of an ancient tribesman whose daughter sold love potions, charmed trinkets, and curses. He had to buy a sackful of useless crud to learn what he wanted, but after spending enough coins and teaching the woman a minor spell of finding, she let him speak to her father. The old man had cackled with delight when his daughter told him that Phen was searching for the real tombs of the Jakarri.

  “Who knows?” the woman translated the old man’s words to Phen. “The Jakarri have been dead for two thousand years, but there is a place on the island where you might find something very interesting.” The woman looked at her father with more than a little concern showing when he named the place. She didn’t seem to like the idea of translating its location to Phen, which made Phen all the more eager to learn it.

  “The Serpent’s Eye,” she finally said with a voice full of reluctance. She showed Phen its general location on the map she’d sold him. It wasn’t labeled as such—it was just a cove on a stretch of rocky shore. “You’ll have to enter at low tide and by boat,” she told him. “The eye closes when the tide comes up. But be warned, none who have ventured there have ever returned.”

  Now here they were, still reeling from the night before, hunched in a low-ceilinged cavern watching the tide close up the only way out. Deck Master Biggs had let them off and rowed out of the cavern some hours ago. Talon was outside as well. The hawkling was hunting the glade of windblown trees at the top of the rocky formation they were inside of. Hyden wanted his familiar close so that he might send him for aid if the need arose.

  They had already followed one of the two passages that led away from the entrance. It terminated in an ancient pile of bones, many of them human. They were scattered about a long abandoned nest of some sort. Phen found a rusty shirt of chain mail, a broken dagger, and a chain made of fine silver with an ornate key dangling from it. In a dried out oil cloth sack, he also discovered a small journal. The pages were brittle and the wire-thread binding was ruined, but the strange text that had been expertly scribed within could still be made out. Phen carefully wrapped the old volume and put it in his pack. Then he put the silver chain over his head with a proud grin of accomplishment.

  Phen was so pleased with what he found that he already agreed to return to the inn without exploring further. The others wanted to sleep off their agony, but there was a problem: the tide had already risen past the point of no return. Now they were stuck in the cavern until the tide withdrew. After coming to terms with their plight, the others agreed to explore the other passage with Phen just as soon as they had a meal and a took short nap.

  They ate dried salted meat and cheese, with fresh bread Phen purchased from the inn’s cook. After they had eaten, Oarly and Brady both lay back and rested. Hyden used the time to practice a simple illumination spell that Phen had already mastered. When it was cast properly, a small fist-sized ball of yellow radiance, about as bright as an oil lantern, would appear in the caster’s hand. It would rise above his head and hover there, following him wherever he went, until he broke the spell with a gesture and a spoken word.

  Hyden had managed it a few times, but more often than not, his sphere appeared too small or misshapen, and the light was some strange mixture of green and orange that barely lit his hand when it formed.

  “Your problem is your pronunciation of the words in the spell,” Phen scolded him. “You can’t speak like a village hick when you’re using magic. Very, very bad things can happen.”

  “The boy found, and looted, a dead man,” Oarly grumbled between snores. “Now he’s grown bigger than his britches.”

  Brady laughed. “No, Oarly, he’s right. Hyden Hawk might turn one of us into a goat by accident if he gets his words wrong.”

  The dwarf didn’t hear. He was already snoring again. What Oarly referred to as peaceful sleep sounded more like a cavern full of angry bears. Oarly was happy to be off of the ship, and ecstatic to be underground. He had said so at least a hundred times while they were exploring the first tunnel. The quality of Oarly’s snoring shifted and began to sound more like a trapped and wounded animal bellowing for its life. Hyden tried to blame the terrible sound for his mispronunciation of the spell words, but Phen wasn’t buying it.

  “If you can’t say the words with Oarly snoring,” Phen lectured. “How are you going to be able to say them when arrows are flying at you?”

  “All right, Phen,” Hyden sighed and tried again. This time the orb appeared in the correct shape and with the proper amount of yellow light emitting from it, for its
size. The sphere was only the size of an acorn, though—far too small to light anyone’s way.

  “You’re getting closer,” Phen encouraged. “It’s more in th—”

  “Shhh!” Brady hissed suddenly. “Can you hear that?” he added in a whisper.

  The light in Hyden’s hand dissapated, leaving them in relative darkness. The sloshing water surging in and out of the cavern’s mouth had a blue-tinged glow deep within it. It kept the space swirling and drifting in a perpetual glimmer of subtle illumination. Over the sound of the ocean, a long deep hissing sound could be heard. The shimmering of the water played on the stalactites crazily. Hyden could barely see Phen, who was sitting only a few feet away from him.

  “What is it?” Phen whispered. The sound was growing louder.

  “Look,” Brady pointed toward the black gaping maw of the tunnel they hadn’t explored yet.

  They could barely see what he was pointing at. A faint green glow was flickering slowly along the tunnel walls. It was growing brighter, as if someone were carrying a green-tinted lantern out from the tunnel’s depths. The hissing sound came again, and this time the fact that it was coming from something very big and very alive was unmistakable. Oarly’s snore rumbled through the cavern over the hiss, then stopped abruptly as Brady cuffed him in the side of the head.