Horns blared when the spirit dragon touched down. The awed voices of many rang out against the high stone walls of the courtyard, voices that turned sharply to declarations of amazement when Dirk and Krentz dismounted and Dirk dismissed the dragon to the spirit world. By the time the glowing figurine died out, silence filled the square.
Again the horns blared, announcing the arrival of the king and snapping people out of their reverie. Many cheers went up, and a band of minstrels began a joyous tune.
King Carlsborough wore lavish furs fitting of the autumn weather. Behind him trailed a long cloak fringed with golden braids matching the decorative scepter in the man’s hand. His aging wife followed a pace behind him, her long silver hair braided into a bun atop her proud head. On the other side of the king trailed his many daughters.
Dirk noted the one he had decided to wed, walking at the head of the group of six young women, and offered her a nod. She remained steely-faced and gave nothing away but the blushing of her cheeks, and he noted how her eyes lingered upon Krentz.
“Ah, the brave Dirk Blackthorn has returned!” said Carlsborough for all to hear. He shook Dirk’s hand and nodded at Krentz, eyeing her with lingering interest. “General Blackthorn, I should say,” he added with a chuckle.
“It seems as though we have both risen in station. Good to see you again, King Carlsborough.”
“May I present my wife, Gertrude.”
“Hello, Queen Gertrude,” said Dirk, taking her offered hand and kissing it.
“I am glad to finally meet you, General Blackthorn. It seems as though your actions saved us all from a terrible fate.”
“I helped,” said Dirk humbly. “T’was your husband who orchestrated the brilliant defense.”
Carlsborough offered him a slow nod of appreciation of the small fable. “My daughters,” he said, indicating the many fair-haired girls to his right, ranging in age from nine to nineteen.
Dirk offered them a collective nod and glanced lastly at Mary Ellen.
Again she blushed and coyly batted her long-lashed eyes.
Beside him, Krentz cleared her throat.
“Let me introduce my closest and most trusted advisor. Lady Krentz, of the elven lands.”
Carlsborough honored her by kissing her hand, and the queen eyed her with interest. “I have never met an elf. Well met, my lady.”
“Good queen,” said Krentz with a curtsey.
“Let us dine and speak privately,” said the king, gesturing for Dirk and Krentz to follow.
They followed the king and his family though the courtyard, leaving the chorus of cheering voices and music of the minstrels in exchange for the dimly lit halls leading to the castle proper. The queen and her daughters stopped at the door to the king’s private quarters and soon took their leave.
“A drink?” the king asked once the doors were closed and only two guards and a pair of servants remained.
“Wine will do, thank you,” said Dirk.
“The same,” said Krentz.
The king gestured to the female servant. “Three glasses and a cask of wine it is.”
He invited them to a sitting area of many plush chairs near the fireplace and sat with the groan of a working man, though his hands and body were soft.
“What brings you to Eldalon?” the king asked as the servant girl poured the drinks and placed them on the table at the center of the circle of chairs.
“I have come to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage,” said Dirk.
The king nearly choked on his wine, and absently he placed it back on the table. He glanced at Krentz, reconsidering her it seemed. “My daughter’s hand, you say. But which one?”
“The eldest.”
Carlsborough considered Dirk thoughtfully, hesitant to reply. He seemed to be thinking of how to sugar-coat the words.
“Before you answer, please consider what I have to offer,” said Dirk.
Carlsborough seemed to be glad of the distraction and nodded.
“As you know, your nephew, Whillhelm Warcrown, is preparing to give his throne up in exchange for a government run by the people. Such a government still needs rulers, and it is in the best interest of Eldalon that such a successor be a man you can trust. One who is willing to work alongside Eldalon in the trying times ahead.”
“You are vying for the position?” said Carlsborough, as much to himself as Dirk.
“Yes, and I already have strong backing from the guild leaders and common folk alike. Taking your daughter as my bride will not only raise my esteem in the eyes of the people, but also give you an heir who will have a strong alliance with Uthen-Arden. With the barbarians settling Shierdon, and Isladon in shambles, our two nations will need to keep things in order. If someone else gains the position of governor of Uthen-Arden, such an alliance cannot be ensured.”
The king returned to his wine. He sipped it slowly, watching Dirk and Krentz from above the rim. He wiped his bushy beard and sat back in contemplation.
“It is true. I have no male heir. I may see twenty more winters if I am lucky, yet again I might see but one more. A man can never be sure. I must say that your words of promise ease my mind in this regard, but such an heir would not be fit to rule for nearly two decades.”
“In the case of such an unfortunate event, your daughter should rule in his stead, until he is of age. I will help in this regard, of course, and will ensure the safety of your family when the wolves come sniffing around what they will perceive to be a weakened crown. Of course there is always Whill himself, who will be first in line for the throne. Either way, you can rest assured that your lineage, and your legacy, will endure.”
“What are Whill’s thoughts? Has he endorsed you?” the king asked.
“He does not know that I am running for the office. I have been away north since his return to the city. It is with a long arm that I have worked toward my goal in the south.”
Carlsborough’s face lit with understanding. “You’re the fabled Wolf. He who has so generously helped the people and guild masters with large donations.”
“I am,” said Dirk, reconsidering his opinion of the man’s intelligence.
Carlsborough chuckled. “As clever a man as I remember.”
Dirk offered an appreciative nod and sipped his own wine, waiting.
“You saved us all when the assassins came, and I will never forget my debt to you,” said the king. “I accept your proposal, and will give my blessing in this union. I will endorse your nomination and look forward to a continued alliance with Uthen-Arden.”
“You honor me, good king. Thank you.”
King Carlsborough raised his glass. “To my son-in-law to be, Dirk Blackthorn. May your reign be long, and your children many.”
Chapter 14
The Hells Hath no Fury like a Dwarf Queen Scorned
“How long can it possibly take to get yerself ready?” Roakore yelled through the door to Arrianna’s dressing room. With a huff, he turned and went back to his pacing.
“Patience, love, I’m just finishing my hair now,” she called to him.
“Yer hair! We be flyin’ there on a silver hawk.”
“Ye just be worryin’ ‘bout yerself,” she said, none too kindly. “Ye got a descent suit for the ceremony? What about yer boots, they be polished? And did ye pack extra undergarments?”
“O’ course all that be ready. I been travelin’ Agora without the help o’ a lass fer, fer, well, fer a long time. Bah! I’ll be in the perch. Mind none o’ the other wives see ye leavin’.”
“Aye, dear,” Arrianna sang. “Bring my bags up with ye then.”
Roakore walked into the bedroom from the hall connecting to the dressing room and froze. His wife had six bags waiting by the bed that could have each suited a single person’s needs.
“Ye got to be kiddin’ me,” Roakore grumbled to himself.
He thought to scold her, to tell her that Silverwind couldn’t carry so much, but he held his tongue, knowing that he might upse
t her and delay their departure even longer. They were already late as it was. Instead he shouldered her many bags and his two smaller ones, along with the sack holding his metal armor, and headed for the door, grumbling to himself.
A startled voice cried out when he kicked the door open, and Roakore stopped to stare at his startled ninth wife. “Amethyst, what ye be doin’ here?”
She cocked her head at him curiously and eyed the many bags. “Just come to see me husband and king off. Why ye got so many bags, eh? And why ye got a pink one?”
“Huh? Pink? Did I pack things in the wrong bag again?” said Roakore, chuckling nervously.
She wasn’t buying it, and he felt her suddenly tugging on his baggage to open one of the bags.
“What ye doin—” he began to protest.
“Why ye be needin’ female knickers, ye lyin’ bastard?”
A strong shove left him on his backside, sputtering explanations and half-thought-out lies.
“Who be goin’ with ye, eh? Who’s in there?” Amethyst blew past him before he could get to his feet to stop her. She tore into the room, screaming obscenities, and became suddenly silent.
Roakore waited just outside the door, having thrown the last of the pack straps off of him. He eyed the standing guard, who glanced at him with a look of trepidation.
When a vase crashed against the wall, he hurried in. The commotion coming from the room suddenly sounded more like fighting mountain lions than dwarven females.
“Hey! Stop that!” he yelled when he saw his two wives grappling, each with a handful of the other’s hair. He ran to the females and pushed them apart with great effort. “I said stop!”
“Ye little whore! What’d ye do to get him to take ye, eh?” Amethyst screamed.
“Keep her away from me, Roakore, or Ky’Dren help me…” Arrianna warned.
“Dirty harlot!” Amethyst yelled and spit at her.
“Enough o’ that, I said!” Roakore released Arrianna to hold back his other wife with two hands.
That was a mistake.
As soon as she was released, Arrianna shot forward like a viper and punched Amethyst in the face. All hell broke loose, and Roakore found himself having to use his blessed abilities to pin both women to opposite walls.
“What in the hells has gotten into ye two?”
“I asked ye to bring me to the weddin’, and ye said that none o’ yer wives was goin’ with ye,” said Amethyst, sounding hurt.
“I…”
“Half the other wives asked, ye twit,” Arrianna snapped back. “And he chose me to be goin’ with him. Take yer defeats like a dwarf, for Ky’Dren’s sake!” Arrianna yelled.
“Let me go,” said Amethyst sullenly.
“Do ye promise that ye won’t—”
“Release me!”
Roakore released his mental hold on them both and waited for trouble. Arrianna waited as well. She was ready. But rather than attack, Amethyst broke down crying and ran out of the room.
“Ames!” Roakore called after her, but she didn’t stop and disappeared through the doorway.
“Let her go. We’re goin’ to be late,” said Arrianna, doing what she could to fix her mangled braids.
Roakore was so angry he didn’t dare speak. Instead he ordered the guard to gather up the ridiculous load of baggage and trudged down the hall to the lift.
When they reached the perch, they found Philo and Helzendar waiting for them.
“’Bout time,” said Roakore’s son. “What took ye so long?”
“Ye be knowin’, female folk and mirrors,” Roakore grumbled.
Helzendar took some of his mother’s baggage, hoping to alleviate Silverwind’s load, and soon they were all mounted up and putting on their goggles.
Arrianna grabbed Roakore about the waist in anticipation. Even through their collective fabric, he could feel her thunderous heartbeat.
“Ye sure ye be up for this?” he asked. She had only flown with him a few times, and each time it had made her dizzy and nauseous.
“I be sure. Hurry then and get it over with.”
Roakore chuckled. “Ye heard her, Silverwind. Into the wind!”
He snapped the reins, but the bird just stood there, pruning the feathers of her left wing.
“Yaw, yaw,” Roakore yelled. “Move, ye blasted bird.”
Helzendar shook his head and chuckled, and he and Philo rode their mounts out of the perch.
“She still doesn’t listen to ye?” Arrianna protested.
“She listens just fine. Just got a bit o’ a mind o’ her own. Nothin’ wrong with that.”
“Or she’s just a stupid bird,” said his wife.
Roakore cringed.
Silverwind’s body suddenly became rigid, and she turned to lay one dark eye on the dwarf queen.
“Ye best be holdin’ on for dear li—”
Roakore’s warning was shoved to the back of his throat as Silverwind suddenly lurched forward and took five long strides toward the perch’s opening. Arrianna cried out in fear and excitement, but then lost her voice altogether as Silverwind shot through the opening and plummeted like a stone.
Arrianna squeezed Roakore so hard from behind that he couldn’t breathe. Silverwind gave a triumphant cry as the ground came rushing toward them. Finally, Arrianna found her voice, and her screech was deafening. Roakore tugged and tugged on the reins, but still Silverwind dropped. She pulled up at the last moment and barrel-rolled only feet from the ground before leveling out and steering them straight up.
Roakore felt moisture soak through his clothes to his backside, and he chuckled.
“It ain’t funny! Yer blasted bird made me piss meself!”
Unable to hold it in, Roakore burst with laughter. He was joined by Silverwind, who cooed happily.
“Ye two be a couple o’ shites,” said Arrianna. But soon she too lost her composure, and she exploded with laughter.
Chapter 15
The First of the Guests
Gretzen and Azzeal reined in their horses on the ridge overlooking the farmland and city beyond. Del’Oradon stood tall in the distance, a shining beacon of hope in a land devastated by the draggard wars. It seemed as though Whill had used his power to restore the city, for it showed no sign of war. In the early morning light, the farmlands were green and lush; wheat and corn crops stood tall and thick, ready for the harvest, and the apple orchards closer to the city bore ripe fruit. Cows grazed there in the valley as well, along with goats, sheep, and horses.
“It looks as though Whill’s gifts have gone to good use,” said Azzeal approvingly.
Gretzen nodded agreement. She was happy to see a land so lush and alive with life-giving fruit, but the sight did nothing to brighten the darkness of her mind. She had been suffering terrible nightmares as of late, dreams of a chained figure wreathed in darkness.
Azzeal glanced up at her, worry taking away his wide smile. “My friend, are you alright?”
Gretzen was stirred from her dark ponderings by his concern, and she offered him a smile. “Yes, of course,” she said. “I am just weary from the road.”
“Then let us continue, my friend. For surely a feast awaits us at the table of the king.”
“Sire, two riders have arrived from the north. An elf and a Vald barbarian,” said the guard.
“Azzeal and Gretzen?” said Whill, putting down the scroll he had been reading and rising from his chair with excitement.
“Not sure. They haven’t reached the gate.”
Whill looked to the north with mind sight, focusing on the distant road beyond the many glowing inhabitants of the city. He spotted the two riders, focused in on them, and smiled. He recognized his old elf friend and Gretzen easily. “Avriel is in the cathedral. Tell her that Azzeal has arrived, and to meet me at the northern castle gate. As for the riders, have them brought to the castle. I will greet them there.”
“Yes, my king.”
Whill quickly changed out of his loose nightclothes and put on dress m
ore fitting a king before hurrying to the gate. Avriel was there to meet him, along with Zilena and Lunara. He joined them upon the battlements and saw Azzeal and Gretzen being led up the street.
“The first of the guests have arrived,” Avriel noted with an excited smile.
“It is Azzeal,” said Zilena before running to the stairs and hurrying down.
Whill followed, finding himself nearly as excited as the eccentric elf.
Gretzen rode upon a large Shierdonian, which stood heads over Azzeal’s pack horse. She looked tired from the road, as opposed to her companion, who stood straight in his saddle with head high.
Zilena reached them as they approached the gate, and she hugged Azzeal fiercely when he dismounted.
Two stable boys ran over and took the horses’ reins, at the same time glancing sidelong at the exotic guests. It wasn’t every day one saw a giant Vald witch and an elf traveling together.
“Welcome, Chieftain Gretzen, and the esteemed Azzeal, Ralliad of Elladrindellia!” said Whill with arms wide.
“King Whillhelm,” said Gretzen, bending in her saddle and allowing Whill to take her hand. She dismounted with Whill’s help and gave him a hug. She then surprised Whill by taking his head in both hands and inspecting his eyes. “How are you?” she asked.
Whill was at first confused by the knowing look she gave him, but then he realized that somehow she knew of the fool’s quest he had been cursed with.
“I am about to be married, I will soon be a father, and I am among good friends. What more can a man ask for?”
She offered a sympathetic smile and kissed his cheek before moving to greet Avriel.
When the pleasantries concluded, Whill invited them into his castle, and knowing that they were likely hungry from the long road, he ordered a meal be prepared. The group retired to the dining room, where drinks were poured and glasses were raised in many toasts.
Zilena and Azzeal had a lot of catching up to do it seemed, for the princess had many questions for him, having not seen him for many decades. Gretzen spoke little, though Whill could sense that she had a lot on her mind.
The Mantle of Darkness: Whill of Agora Book 7: Legends of Agora Page 6