“I read that, before your people went underground, the giants used to have a competition, too,” Phen said, with a flare of annoyance showing in his tone. “They called it dwarf tossing. The giants would throw a dwarf as far out into the swell as they could. Now that your folk have returned, maybe I could get with Borg. You two would make a great team.”
“Bah!” Oarly swatted at the boy then rose and made his way to his bed roll. He muttered under his breath, “No giant’ll be tossin’ this dwarf like a tater sack.”
Everyone laughed, but within moments the camp, and the surrounding valley, was filled with the sound of Oarly’s snoring.
One of the wagon drivers threw a couple of pieces of deadfall on the fire and stirred it to a roar. The cold of the coming season, and the breeze coming from the mountains, made the night bitter to everyone, save for Phen. The clear sky was reflected on the still surface of the reservoir the river formed. Phen sat with Telgra and enjoyed the beauty of the night. It didn’t take long for the others to turn in. Phen looked down to see that Telgra had fallen asleep against him. He gently woke her and helped her to her bed roll. He put one of his blankets over her, since he didn’t need it.
Jicks was on watch with the lieutenant, and Phen would have normally sat with them for a while, but tonight his mind was full. Lord Gregory’s great brawl, and Hyden and Vaegon competing on the archery range, filled his thoughts. Ages and ages of champions had competed against one another here so that the victor could have his name carved on the Spire for people to see for all time.
Phen woke from his light sleep to see that the sun was coming up. Oarly had just crawled out of his bed roll, Phen knew without looking. It was the sudden lack of his friend’s snoring that had woken him. He was feeling less and less intimidated by the dwarf as each day passed. They were the best of friends, and the unsettling image of the bloody dwarf throwing around a dangerous animal that he had killed with his bare hands had lost its edge.
He wished that Oarly would believe him when he said that he had nothing to do with the wildcat. He found Oarly and they spent the morning chatting and speculating about the Spire, Hyden’s village, and the long, treacherous journey beyond that. Apparently, Oarly didn’t like the cold, and Phen didn’t have the heart to tell him that up in the Giant Mountains, even in the summer, it was ten times as cold as it was right now.
According to Lord Gregory, not this night, but the next, they would leave the wagons behind and make the half-day’s ride up into the foothills to the Skyler Clan’s village. Oarly seemed more intrigued by the clan folk’s underground rabbit holes than the chance to see the great Spire.
For Phen, the morning wore on as slowly as any he’d ever endured, but finally the base of the towering black triangular Spire came into view. It was awe inspiring, and the entire group was silent as they approached it.
Each of the three faces of the Spire’s base was about a dozen paces wide at the ground. It rose up hundreds of feet, tapering inward slightly as it went, forming a perfect needle-like spike.
Phen walked around it, scanning the hundreds upon hundreds of names carved carefully into the faces. The most recent names were just above eye level, and the space between them and the ground was filled with the names of champions. Phen noticed that the lower names were strange, and some were even carved in the old language. He observed that for many years, possibly centuries, the names had been carved in fancy script. From waist-high to the present, the names had been rendered in plain, simple lettering.
“Dwarves carved those,” Oarly boasted, pointing at the fancy work. “The lettering is too clean and complicated for even the elves to manage.”
Phen nodded. Oarly was probably right. Dwarves did stone work far better than any other race. They came around one side of the Spire to find Jicks, Lieutenant Welch, Lady Telgra, and a few others eyeing Lord Gregory’s name. Phen saw it and then eyed the Lion Lord. Pride radiated from the man like heat from the sun.
For many years Phen saw that there was a member of the Skyler Clan listed as the archery champion, but for the last two dozen festivals the names were all elven. Telgra studied those intently, but no sign of recognition showed on her face.
“If they had a competition for who could sink in the mud the fastest, you could be on there too, Phen,” Oarly laughed as he took a pull from his flask.
Phen pointed to a place only a few feet off the ground. “Look Oarly,” he exclaimed. “Tection Shardsworth, thrown forty-two paces clear by Draran.”
“No,” Oarly said, peering closely at the inscription.
Phen wondered if Tection was one of Oarly’s relatives. Shardsworth wasn’t a very common name in the dwarven history books.
Oarly huffed with a curious, yet prideful look on his face. He scratched his head and looked Phen in the eye. “How do you think they land, lad?” he asked seriously.
Phen shrugged. “Does it matter?”
Chapter 22
Commander Lyle wasn’t pleased to be on the verge of heading back to Dreen empty-handed. He was sure that the High King wouldn’t be happy with his failure. After crossing the Southron River, they hadn’t seen a trace of the skeleton crew or their strange beasts. They spent a whole day going up and down the far shore and searched for another day in the village of Crags, questioning the folks about the fisherman and his initial catch. Then, just to be thorough, the commander had them search the rocky terrain around the village for any sign of the undead. There was nothing. It was like the skeletons they had been following just walked straight into the river and never came out.
Lieutenant Garret suggested that the skeletons had boarded a barge similar to the one they had used to cross the river. It made sense, but this mystery barge hadn’t been found. Nor was there a single witness who might have seen it.
Commander Lyle was certain that a barge was a possibility, but the lay of the land made it highly unlikely for a barge to pass by unseen.
At night, a barge with a capable water mage might have been able to land somewhere along the vast shore of Ultura Lake. Searching the shoreline of such a massive body of water would be next to impossible. It could be, Lyle decided, that the skeletons were going back in the direction from which they had come. Leading the commander’s group to the edge of the Southron River, then backtracking, didn’t seem likely for them to do, either. The idea that these things were intelligent enough to lose a trained pursuer was frightening.
As they rode into the town of Lake Port, failing King Mikahl was eating at Commander Lyle’s pride. He had to make a decision soon. Searching fruitlessly would only delay him from explaining what had happened. He was sure that failing to report an attack upon kingdom men by armed skeletons was some sort of dereliction of his duty. High King Mikahl should know everything that happened. Commander Lyle just couldn’t bring himself to give up the search yet.
After securing enough rations for the men and horses to last another week, Lyle found a merchant who had a detailed map of Valleya. While his men ate a hot meal of beef stew and freshly baked bread at a nearby inn, he studied it. After asking several questions about the surrounding areas, Commander Lyle made his decision. He had Petar choose four men to accompany him and ordered the other five to ride to Dreen. He gave Petar a written account of what had happened. It included a list of the dead and explained that Lieutenant Garret and six of Weir’s city guard had joined his company.
“Ride to Southron, then head straight north to Kastia Valley,” Commander Lyle told Petar. “Stay on the roads and make as much time as you can.”
“Yes, sir,” Petar answered.
Commander Lyle dismissed him to his duties and then ordered lieutenant Garret to take four men and go a few miles west out of Lake Port, and then work his way north to the town of Southron looking for any signs of the skeletons’ trail. The commander and the rest of the company would travel the road and the shoreline north and do the same.
“Don’t scout at night,” the commander said. “Study the terrain and s
cout for tracks till the light runs out and then make your camp. We should meet up at the north side of the lake, in Southron City, by tomorrow evening.”
“What if we find a trail?” Lieutenant Garret asked.
“Follow it,” the commander answered. “Use caution, and leave us a trail to find. If we don’t see you in Southron by the morning after next, we will come search you out. Do you really think you will find anything?”
Lieutenant Garret smiled and gave a shrug. “In just the last few days, far stranger things have happened.”
“Yes they have,” Commander Lyle agreed with a grimace. “If we find a trail, I’ll send a pair of riders out to find you.” He looked at his remaining men and then back at the lieutenant. “Make your trail obvious.”
“Yes, sir,” the Weir city guardsman replied. Without hesitation, he found his horse and started rounding up the men he would take with him.
The next night they met up in the lively trading town of Southron. Neither group saw anything to indicate that the skeletons had passed through. Reluctantly, Commander Lyle gave up the search. The next morning, as they started out for Kastia Valley, the whole group seemed defeated.
Commander Lyle reasoned that, when he reported his failure to the High King, at least it wouldn’t be a surprise. The message he sent with Petar would break the news for him. It was a small consolation, for he had to face the families of the eight men who had been killed under his command. That, he felt, was far worse than facing King Mikahl’s disappointment. The fact that he couldn’t report a success, that those men had died in vain, was the worst of it. Commander Lyle wasn’t looking forward to his return to the red city.
Three long days later, the commander entered the castle gates followed by his men, and the seven others from Weir. He sent them all to the stables to tend the needs of their mounts while waiting to see if they had new orders, or if they were to be dismissed to their regular duty. Lieutenant Garret would be interviewed by the king himself, since Lord Gregory was afield; that much he knew. Most likely the others would be questioned before they were added to the High King’s roll.
Lyle entered the castle and noticed immediately that something was happening. Servants and ladies hurried about with strained looks on their faces. Some were carrying bundles and boxes in their arms. He saw Cresson and got his attention. The mage came over, stroking his long goatee beard and informed the commander that the king and queen would be departing for Westland on the morrow. The whole place was in an uproar trying to prepare for the departure.
“I must see him,” Commander Lyle said urgently.
“Go wait in the council hall,” Cresson told him. “The High King is in the throne room trying to explain to someone why he can’t tell them where someone else is without betraying a trust. He will probably be glad for the interruption.”
Cresson entered the throne room and gave a wave of apology for intruding on Corva and Dostin’s inquiry. He whispered in Mikahl’s ear and then stepped away.
“I’m sorry, there’s urgent business forming,” the High King said. “I’ve already told you all I can. Lord Gregory may be able to tell you more when he returns, but I cannot.” The king excused himself and followed Cresson.
Commander Lyle was pacing back and forth nervously when Cresson and the High King came into the council hall. He was surprised to see the expression on King Mikahl’s face.
“Commander,” the High King smiled. “It amazes me that you could get a wagon cage with two living skeletons in it inside the castle gates without making even the slightest of a stir. I figured the rumormongers would have carried us the tale as soon as you entered the city.”
Commander Lyle blanched. Had Petar not delivered his report? Suddenly he was very worried for the young soldier. The concern must have shown on his face.
“What is it?” King Mikahl asked. His smile had faded.
“I sent a man with a message.” He put a hand on the back of a chair to steady himself. “He should have arrived yesterday at the absolute latest.”
“We received your message about the suspect activities going on in Weir.” King Mikahl looked to Cresson for confirmation. Cresson nodded. “Obviously that is not the report you are referring to.”
Commander Lyle stepped around and collapsed into the chair. “No, Your Highness, I suppose I should tell you everything.”
King Mikahl nodded as he took a seat at the head of the council table. Cresson peeked out the door and waited there as the commander began. After a moment, a tray of refreshments was brought. Cresson took it from the servant and placed it within both the king’s and the commander’s reach. Over an hour later, Mikahl rubbed at his stubbled chin with unhidden concern showing on his face.
“Cresson, get the kingdom map,” King Mikahl said. “The big one. Commander, I want you to show me exactly where you encountered these things, and the trail that you were able to follow.”
Cresson scurried away and quickly returned with a huge map that showed the realm from Westland to Highwander. “The commander located the bridge that crossed the Pixie River and the Highwander town of Xway.” He indicated a straight line from there to just south of Seaward City.
“Mark the line please, Cresson,” King Mikahl said.
The mage traced the commander’s route with his own finger. A faint red line remained visible on the parchment where the digit passed.
Mikahl studied the direction of the mark for a moment. “Now make a line that leaves South Port in Westland going due east into the marshes. Then make a line going southeast from the town of Riverbend in northern Westland.” The High King looked at Commander Lyle for a moment, clearly focused on his thoughts. His eyes brightened. “Extend all three marks until they intercept.”
They watched with growing concern as the marks came together.
“It seems that General… Lord Spyra, rather, was correct in his assumption,” Cresson observed. “The lines all lead to the Dragon Tooth Spire.”
“Somehow, something from the hells is calling these undead skeletons to the Spire.” Mikahl shook his head. “I suspect that your man Petar was either killed, or he found a trail to follow. Either way, I think the answer to this threat lies at the Fang.”
***
High King Mikahl suddenly remembered something from the ceremony he, the elf Corva, and the mighty monk had interrupted. The sacrifice. The girl had just vanished. No, he decided, she was just a body the priest was going to sacrifice. Why else had her body been shaved of all its hair? The odds of her escaping the snapper-filled marshland were so slim that Mikahl let that train of thought go. The ceremony had been far to the north of the Dragon Spire. He remembered that the great seal Pavreal had made in the dragon’s lair up there had been the point where Pael had breached the Nethers and let loose the power of Shokin. It was that same power that turned all those men into undead skeletons in the first place. It was possible that some lingering magical effect was drawing them there. Or maybe one of the demons still running loose was rooted into the lair and calling them. Either way, something had to be done about it before the situation was out of hand.
It still left the question of what happened to their man Petar. Mikahl knew the young man from the training yard. He was no slouch with the blade and had the kind of self-discipline off the field that commanded the respect of his superiors. There was no reason to believe that Petar would abandon his orders. However, Mikahl could see him going off half-riled, trying to take down the things that had attacked their party and killed his friends.
“Cresson, I want you to cast a sending to every wizard, mage, and marsh witch from O’Dakahn all the way to Pearsh,” Mikahl said, running his finger up the eastern bank of the Leif Greyn River delta on the map. “Petar and his four men are to be sought out and intercepted. If they are alive, I don’t want them going off into the marshes alone. I want men from O’Dakahn to search the edge of the marsh for any sign of man or beast that shouldn’t be there. I want our people in Strond, Oktin, and Lokahn que
stioned to find out if Petar and his men crossed the Kahan river. I want every man in the realm on the lookout for those skeletons, too. They attacked a large group of men under my banner. I doubt they will hesitate to attack a village full of innocents, or a trade caravan.” He turned to Commander Lyle. “Tell this Lieutenant Garret I want him and the men from Weir to ride directly to Xwarda. Queen Willa will take their statements. I think a dozen-man escort should do. Tell him that, once this mess with Lord Vidian has been settled, Queen Willa or I will see to his next posting personally.” He took a deep breath and indicated for Cresson to begin with his sendings. The mage studied the map for a few more moments then moved to a corner of the room and began chanting and moving his hands about quietly.
“Commander Lyle, I want you to pick out a small group who can track and travel fast. Five or six men at the most. Backtrack from here and search for the place where Petar left the road. You told them to mark their trail obviously. I’m sure he did so.”
Commander Lyle stood and gave a curt bow.
“I will be leaving for Westland on the morrow, Commander,” the High King said. “Until Lord Gregory returns from his current endeavor you will report to me directly through Cresson. Do not move to attack these undead things. If you find nothing between here and the last place you saw Petar, return immediately and Cresson will give you my commands.”
Commander Lyle nodded again and performed a smart about-face, then left the room to carry out his orders. King Mikahl went to the closet in the council hall where he kept some personal items and fumbled through them. He waited until Cresson was between spells before he spoke. “I’m going to investigate the Dragon’s Tooth,” he said as he pulled a shirt of chain mail over his head. He refastened his swordbelt at his waist over the armor and went to draw the blade.
“What should I tell the Queen?” Cresson asked with a look bordering on fear coming over him. “The two of you are due to leave in the morning.”
The Wizard and the Warlord (The Wardstone Trilogy Book Three) Page 17