He eventually decided not to dwell on anything as he jogged on toward the rocky shore. Twice he went off course because he let his thoughts wander to the darker possibilities. If it hadn’t been for Talon’s persistence, he’d have been wasting his time, but just before dawn the hawkling’s keen direction led him right to the bolt-riddled body of the breed giant that had staggered away from the shore.
Eight crossbow bolts, the same as the one the zard had sunk into Master Biggs’s shoulder, jutted up out of the huge corpse’s back. This breed giant hadn’t been the one handling Phen, but Hyden searched all around him anyway, for any indication that the boy had been there. After finding nothing, he rolled the breed over for a closer look. The sound of the quarrels breaking as the giant’s great weight snapped them off startled Hyden. A great three-clawed gash ran across the breed’s lower abdomen, probably from the claw of the dead zard that lay beyond the edge of the jungle.
“Phen,” Hyden called out as loud as he could. “Where are you Phen? It’s me, Hyden.”
There was no response, save for the roar of the storm-born waves as they crashed into the rocky shore not far away.
The scene at the shoreline was the same as he had seen it before. A mangled zard that had seemingly been torn in two lay on the rocks just above the tide line, and the breed giant with the great black char mark on his chest was rolling to and fro in the shallows. It was hard to see in the rainy gloom, but Hyden used Talon’s eyes and continued anyway.
“Phen!” he yelled what could’ve been a thousand times over. “Come out, Phen! It’s all right.” Hyden didn’t even notice the sunrise, or the way the storm rolled past the island leaving the shoreline a vivid world of lush green foliage, dark rocky crags, and bright blue sea. Hyden’s eyes kept finding the crimson stain of the lizard’s lifeless body, and the puckered black char that covered the breed giant’s chest.
“Phen!” he screamed and screamed some more until he finally collapsed on the rocks. His voice had turned to a torn and raspy wheeze. Even Talon’s piercing shriek had lost its resonance. The two of them were completely spent, overcome with the realization that Phen was nowhere to be found.
***
“Lord Bzorch,” Cozchin said with a smile that revealed his long wicked-looking lower teeth.
The Lord of Locar was sitting on his wooden throne doing absolutely nothing, but breathing heavy. All of the duties of running the city had fallen on Cozchin as of late. He didn’t mind it too much because he got plenty of boons out of the deal: an occasional woman to rape and eat, and plenty of extra coin. It wasn’t that hard to scare the human inhabitants of the city into compliance anyway. And it was entertaining.
“What is it?” Bzorch snarled, revealing teeth easily twice as deadly as Cozchin’s. The breed giant Lord had been thinking a lot lately. His spy, Graven had been reporting things that caused him to think in a more diplomatic manner than what he was used to. Despite all of his instinctual primitive urges, he wanted badly to be a good leader for his people. He was the Lord of Locar, and he was starting to take the title seriously.
“Graven has returned from Wildermont again,” said Cozchin with a look of distaste on his apish face. “He has news and says that it is important.”
“See him in,” Bzorch ordered. “Then, my dutiful cousin, I want you to find out if the dragon gun he brought back last time has been successfully replicated.”
“Yes, Lord,” Cozchin almost spat the response.
Graven had stolen his place as Lord Bzorch’s favorite. Cozchin didn’t like it at all. All Bzorch ever worried about now was what was happening in Wildermont, and how to mimic the pitiful humans’ mechanical forms of defense. Cozchin didn’t understand what use there was for a giant spear-launching weapon. The idea that once a working replica was perfected, Bzorch wanted one installed on every single watchtower around the city was preposterous. And now a wall. Why was Bzorch having a wall built around Locar?
Cozchin let Graven into the lobby then went off to check on the dragon gun with the hot fire of jealousy burning in his primitive mind. Half of the Reyhall Forest would be gone before Bzorch was done, figured the disgruntled half-breed as he went. Not that Cozchin cared about the trees. He was starting to think that Bzorch had gone mad with paranoia. Trenches, towers, dragon guns, and defensive walls— it was as if Lord Bzorch was expecting an attack soon.
***
“Lord,” Graven growled with a bow after he heard the door close behind him. Bzorch waved the supplication off. “What news?”
“It’s as you feared, Lord Bzorch,” the big man-beast snarled. “Many hundreds of men, dozens and dozens of them, are coming into Wildermont from the mountains. They are building defenses to the south.”
Bzorch understood that Graven could hardly understand the concept of numbers. Bzorch could read, and count, and reason as good as any man. A few hundred men, he figured, was likely a more accurate count. This only strengthened the idea that was forming in his mind.
“They’re not fortifying along the river?” Bzorch asked. This still surprised him. He was sure the other humans were going to come for Queen Shaella soon. He had figured out that the Shaella that had stolen Westland wasn’t as strong as she first appeared. He’d also figured out that she lost control of the great red wyrm somehow. The dragon had not been seen or heard of for many long months. Until he had become the Lord of Locar, Bzorch’s access to books and maps had been limited to what the breed raiders had taken from the humans in the months before King Balton had imprisoned them on the Island of Coldfrost. Now, though, he had access to recent maps that showed the kingdoms to the east, and the many islands that littered the southern coast. Bzorch’s one simple idea of finding Ironspike’s owner and giving him to his queen had evolved into a plan that was almost the complete opposite of his original intent. Already Graven had identified the banners of Highwander, Valleya, and Wildermont amidst the growing number of men gathering across the river. Bzorch had seen for himself from atop one of his watchtowers, through his sailor’s looking glass, the green and gold lion of Westland flying atop a stronghold’s tower over there.
He wasn’t sure what to do, but he wanted to hold Locar for him and his people. Of that he was certain. But he was growing less and less attached to the idea of fighting for Queen Shaella with each passing day. It was with this in mind that he started building the timber wall around his city. He was also having a great trench dug just inside the barrier. He wanted to be able to fill the trench with diverted water from the river if an attack came. The whole defensive plan was already underway. Now he was contemplating parleying with the humans across the river. Their might was beginning to show itself, and he was quite sure that thousands upon thousands more men from the east would eventually be brought to bear against Shaella. He would rather bargain for Locar and an allegiance, maybe even aid an attack on Westland, but only if Locar remained under breed giant control. Such was the reasoning that had him brooding on his throne.
“I want you to find a man,” Bzorch said after long deliberation. “A native Westlander, whose loyalty to us can be trusted.” He paused again, searching for someone to use as an example. “Farlanod, the logger we’ve made rich, or one of his braver men, someone like that. I will prepare a written message for whoever you choose. You’ll escort this person across the river into Castlemont. I want the message to reach the High King, or the at least the Red Wolf, if he is truly alive.”
“What will the message say?” Graven asked.
“I think the contents of the message...” Bzorch started with an angry look down at his spy’s questioning. “This will determine the future of our people. I’m not sure yet of the wording. You need not concern yourself, Graven. Your safe return will be guaranteed. One thing that I’ve learned about humans who call themselves noble is that they are mostly honorable. Killing a messenger, and his escort, goes against everything they believe.”
Graven didn’t believe it, but after the look he was given, he didn’t dare arg
ue.
***
For a full day after they found Hyden sitting in a daze along the rocky shore of the island, the crew of the Seawander scoured the area, looking for a sign of Phen. It was as if he had vanished. The only conclusion was that he could have drowned, unless he was still on the zard ship headed for Westland. Captain Trant ordered the men aboard and set sail for Salazar’s great port of Sala. There he would commandeer a ship to come retrieve the vast fortune they’d found on the island, and begin using the procedes to finance King Jarrek and the High King.
There was no doubt that Hyden was now planning to go off into Westland to find Phen and get back the artifact he needed. He now was of the belief that Phen had been taken onto the zard ship. From Sala he could find passage on a cargo vessel to Westland easily enough. As much as any of them hated to admit it, that was all they could do. Despite the great discovery of Cobalt’s hoard and all the freedom its value might purchase, a dark cloud of defeat hung over the Seawander as it worked its way out to sea.
Only Oarly seemed interested in what Phen said when Flick was taking him away. Instead of locking himself in his cabin, or the latrine, the dwarf locked himself in the Captain’s cabin. With careful attention to subtle detail, he began going over the work Phen had done translating Loak’s journal. Oarly was certain that there was something there Phen wanted them to see, something that had been ‘invisible to them.’
Chapter Thirty
“Someone once said that a dragon could lay waste to all of Salaya with a single breath,” Prince Raspaar said with a chuckle. The island was small, but it boasted a sizable city at one of its two approachable ports. Being that it was nothing more than the tip of a mountain jutting up out of the sea, it was completely surrounded by rocky shoreline. There was no need for defensive walls or archer towers here. Only the lower portion of the island could support roads, and Salaya was surrounded by wicked coral reefs that would shred the hull of a ship unless navigated correctly.
King Raphaen’s immaculate, yet modest, two-story home was far from being a castle. It was built on the crown of a hill overlooking the city that shared the island’s name. Save for a somewhat famous garden at the top of the mountain, the terrain above couldn’t sustain effective farming. The rocky mountainsides barely held enough greenery to feed the goat herds. The few sections of the island that did allow for agriculture were devoted to growing a rare herb that was in high demand throughout the realm. There were jade mines here too, but the entrances were hidden.
A great counter-weighted tram that clanked up and down the mountainside on a set of iron tracks was powered by two huge oxen walking in a circle around a spool of chain. The contraption lumbered up and down, carrying people, goods, and small animals in cages. The whole time he had been in it, Mikahl half expected it to go sliding back down the mountain into the city below.
“It is a small island,” Lord Gregory agreed with the Prince.
“But it’s beautiful.” Lady Trella’s elation was palpable as she nestled against her husband.
“You’re too kind, my lady,” the young prince of the island kingdom said with a smooth regal bow that caused Lady Trella to giggle.
They exited the tram and stood at an ornate wooden rail that surrounded a well-tended garden. It seemed as if they were riding on the bow of some colossal ship. From their vantage they could see the ocean in every direction save for behind them. There was a monastery somewhere below, and the monks who resided there tended the place called the Fairy Garden. The board walkway they were on wound its way around the bowl-shaped mountaintop. Clouds of white and sea-blue flowers, and ornately trimmed shrubbery surrounded small copses of perfectly formed miniature trees that were barely chest high to the High King.
The only tree able to sink its roots here, the fairy tree, was like any other tree, save for the fact that, at its full height, it would be barely as tall as a man. Bright green leaves the size of fingernails covered the branches. Looking at them, Mikahl remembered the little man dressed in frog skin that had tricked him, Hyden, and Vaegon in the Evermore. He half expected to see a handful of the little people walking around the miniature forest.
“Dugak and Master Oarly would feel like giants in that wood,” Mikahl observed.
“Who?” Lord Gregory asked. Mikahl smiled at his old friend. “Dwarves from Xwarda that I know.” Lord Gregory actually heard the answer, which surprised Mikahl. The Lion Lord’s head had been in the clouds since he’d found his lady wife.
“You’ve met dwarves?” Lady Trella asked curiously. Prince Raspaar seemed interested in Mikahl‘s story now, as well.
Lord Gregory slipped behind his wife and put his arms around her gently. He breathed deeply the scent of her hair, seemingly uninterested in anything Mikahl had to say.
“Aye, m’lady, I have.” Mikahl’s smile was wide. “And elves, and even a blue-skinned pixie that would fit this forest well. The dwarves are...” he paused in search of an appropriate description of his hairy, usually drunken friends. “Unique,” he finally said, remembering Dugak’s sweet bearded wife, Andra.
“And giants,” Lord Gregory added with his chin resting on Lady Trella’s shoulder. “Don’t forget the giants.”
“Not just giants—King Aldar, the king of the giants,” Mikahl said proudly. He reached into his collar and pulled out the piece of bone that the Great King had carved into a lion’s head for him. “It’s dragon bone,” he boasted. “It was supposed to be for my father, but, well, you know.”
The sudden thought of King Balton triggered a memory of the dream he had been having for the last few days. He wasn’t sure why he started dreaming of his father, but he had. He’d never dreamed of King Balton before. He decided that it was because of the familial feelings he held toward Lord Gregory and Lady Trella, and the memories that being around them evoked. They had raised him in his awkward years while he squired for the Lion Lord and struggled to become a man. Still, the image of his dream—his father, half-decayed and worm-ridden, telling him to save the Princess of Seaward, while Rosa screamed in terror in the background, was an unsettling thing to recall so suddenly.
Lady Trella, noticing Mikahl’s loss of color and the change in his demeanor, put the back of her fingers against his cheek. “You’re fevered, Mik,” she said in a motherly tone. “You should rest.”
“Aye,” he replied, unable to shake the morbid picture his mind was displaying. He had the strange feeling that he had been magicked in some way. Instinctually, he stepped away from his companions and pulled Ironspike a few inches out of its sheath. The sword’s radiant blue glow brightened the leaves of the fairy trees near him and as soon as the symphony of the sword’s magic was in his ears the eerie feeling left him, but not the memory of it.
A monk in black robes who had been silently meditating nearby at one of the many altar-like shrines that were spread around the gardens, came upon them with an excited look on his face. The man was plump and bald, save for a thin horseshoe of graying hair that ran around the back of his head from ear to ear. The circle of his wide open mouth could barely be seen through the silvery gray mustache and beard that ran down to the rope that held his robes closed at the waist.
“Look!” he gasped, pointing at the fairy trees nearby. “It’s miraculous!”
When they turned to see what the man was so excited about, they were treated to one of the rarest sights to ever been seen in the realm. Everywhere Ironspike’s magical light had touched the leaves of the fairy trees, crimson flowers were blooming before their eyes. They appeared like droplets of blood, and after a moment a bright yellow and red explosion of needle-like pistols formed at the center of each flower. As they bloomed further, the yellow and red combined into a flaming orange that made the trees look as if they were catching fire. A light breeze ruffled the flowering leaves, and the phenomenon began to spread across the entire copse to the other trees until soon the whole grove had bloomed.
Mikahl and the others were left speechless. Only Lord Gregory bra
ved the silent awe to speak.
“M’lady,” he whispered softly into his wife’s ear. “It seems the local foliage has grown jealous of your beauty and is now trying to compete.”
Mikahl’s dream had been wiped completely from his mind by the sweet fruity smell of the blooms. At Lord Gregory’s words he glanced at Prince Raspaar and rolled his eyes. Both of them gave Lord Gregory a look and they eased away from the newly reunited lovers. The monk moving around the walkway was watching with shocked fascination. As the blooms matured he started to join them, but a look from the Prince sent him scurrying around to study elsewhere.
“There’s no doubt what they will be doing tonight,” the Prince said to Mikahl with a laugh. “I do believe that, if he hadn’t had his arms around her, she would have melted into the earth.”
“He does have a way of speaking to her, doesn’t he?” Mikahl said. “Even the most prudent of maidens couldn’t have resisted a compliment like that.”
“As you mainlanders always seem to say,” the Prince said in agreement. “Aye.”
***
News of the High King’s arrival at the Westland settlement on the island of Salazar traveled swiftly. When the Seawander anchored in the great port of Sala, the Harbor Master sent word to Captain Trant immediately. Hyden was pleased to hear that Mikahl was just a short sail away, visiting the island of Salaya. He, Oarly, and Trant traveled by carriage to the Westland settlement called Balton while Deck Master Biggs went about finding a ship to haul the dragon’s hoard.
Kings, Queens, Heroes, & Fools Page 26