“You’ve done well with the bridge, Lord Bzorch.” He held Ra’Grens gaze as he spoke. “You should fatten up your wagon team and make them into a stew.”
Ra’Gren paled and looked away. Bzorch laughed low and loud. “I would have eaten the bastards long ago, King Mikahl, but there’s no one left in the realm despicable enough to replace them.”
Mikahl nodded agreement, but in the back of his mind he was thinking about Lord Vidian, the tyrant from Weir. He was quite sure that Queen Willa would amend the man’s punishment and send him to Locar.
“I’ve got orders for some of your men,” Mikahl said as he reined Windfoot out of the way of the royal procession that was just now filing its way across the bridge. “I would like a dozen of your dragon gunners, with ropemen and whatever else they need to operate. I would have them in Xwarda before full winter sets in. Queen Willa and General Escott will assign them from there. Pick a few of your folk, the more civil of them, to establish an embassy there. Once that’s done, a rotation can be set so that no one has to stay for too long.”
Bzorch’s smile looked more like a snarl but his eyes showed that he was pleased his people were needed in such a way. “I can have them moving in two days’ time.”
“Good.” Mikahl nodded. The awkward tension between them was beginning to ease. “Also, the Zard and a Choska may be stirring up trouble at the Dragon’s Tooth Spire.” Mikahl noticed the breed giant’s grin growing broader on his ape-like face. “I’ll be sending a few hundred men on barges to investigate. I would like it if you could send a handful of your less civil kin, and a few dragon guns with them, as well.”
“If it pleases you, King Mikahl,” Bzorch said joyfully. “I would lead them myself. I hate the Zard.”
“I will leave that decision up to you, Lord Bzorch,” Mikahl smiled. “The soldiers and barges will be in Settsted in a fortnight. I want the area around the Dragon Spire thoroughly investigated and anything you perceive as a threat eliminated.”
Mikahl found that he felt sorry for anything Bzorch got his hands on. A seriously sharp-looking fang, as long as Mikahl’s little finger, was jutting menacingly over the breed giant’s upper lip as he strode away.
When Mikahl rejoined his wife in the royal carriage he was feeling better than he had since King Aldar told him he was King Balton’s son. For the first time in his reign, he felt that all was at peace. Nothing so dire or dangerous that it couldn’t be contained was threatening them, and hope was as plentiful as the leaves falling from the autumn trees. Even the people of Wildermont were bustling with purpose. The horrors of the past few years were all but forgotten as the people of his kingdom looked toward the future.
He smiled at his beautiful wife. Queen Rosa smiled back at him. He found the idea of spending the entire winter in Westland trying to make an heir as appealing as anything he could imagine.
Chapter 28
The white ram heard Hyden Hawk’s words from the blackbird, who had heard the words from one of the otters in the valley. Since the ram could traverse the mountain peaks with relative ease, and speed across the hills at will, the curved-horned beast took it upon himself to carry the words all the way to the Southern Guardian. For two days, the ram leapt across the rocky precipices and eased around the sheer cliffs on its way toward Borg. The animals knew the circuitous route the giant used to cover the part of the mountains he guarded for his king.
The smaller creatures had to know where Borg traveled. Sometimes he shared the company of King Aldar’s great wolves. They were servants of the Giant Kingdom, but they were predators as well. Knowing this, the white ram was hesitant to linger along Borg’s trail. He didn’t want to become dinner for one of the huge beasts. He found a snow owl sitting in an ice-laden fir tree and headed to tell her Hyden Hawk’s words. He hoped she would hang around until Borg passed. The scent of great wolves was heavy in the air and his instinct wouldn’t allow him to linger.
“Wise owl,” the white ram said in a way that only animals could understand.
“What is it, curved-horn?” she asked, twisting her gray-flecked head at an odd angle to look down at him. “You’re far away from the rocky heights you call home.” The owl’s coin-sized amber eyes snapped open and shut.
“I have words for the giant man, Borg.”
“Who… who… who spoke these words?” the owl asked.
“Hyden Hawk spoke them.”
The owl nodded. “They must be important words.”
“They are,” the ram replied, prancing nervously in place. The scent of wolf was strong, and the ram couldn’t help the way it made him feel. “Will you hear these words and speak them to the giant when he passes?”
“Who… who?” The owl fluttered down to a lower branch on the fir tree, sending a shower of collected snow cascading down onto the icy ground.
“The giant,” the ram answered, wondering if the owl had really been asking.
“I know who… who?” the owl said. “Tell me the words and I’ll tell the giant.”
“Hyden Hawk’s herd is moving north to the Cairn of Loudin. He wishes Borg to join them, and aid them.”
“Who?” the owl said.
“Who what?” the ram said in frustration. “Hyden’s herd is moving north toward the Cairn of Loudin. He wishes Borg to join them and aid them.”
“I heard you the first time,” the owl said defensively.
“Then why did you ask, ‘who?’” the ram growled just before charging the trunk of the tree and butting it with his horns. An explosion of snow and ice came piling down on top of him.
The owl fluttered back up to her original perch and chuckled. The ram shivered the snow off of himself and stepped back so he could see the owl again.
“I am an owl,” the bird said informatively. “I say ‘who’ because it is my nature, just like it is yours to butt heads or even trees when you get frustrated.”
“Will you give Borg the message?” the ram finally asked.
“Who?” the owl said.
The ram started to grow angry again, but stopped himself. Instead, he snorted and bounded off into the trees.
The owl laughed at the hard-headed animal again before taking to the air. Owls were wise, and this one knew exactly what part of the trail Borg was traveling. The owl also knew instinctually that any message from nature’s human counterpart was of the utmost importance. She wasted no time. Before the sun went down, the Southern Guardian was in the owl’s sight.
***
Sadly, Petar and his four companion’s bodies were found mauled and covered by a blanket of carrion birds. They were in a copse of trees outside Kastia Valley. Commander Lyle had returned to Dreen with more orders, but the High King hadn’t left any for him. Cresson suggested that he take his trackers and ride to O’Dakahn to help search for the mysterious skeleton crews.
Several Dakaneese troops had patrolled the banks of the Leif Greyn River as King Mikahl ordered. Skeletal footprints were found between Owask and Svion. Now the marsh witches and magi who catered to the superstitious sailors and bargemen along the river were saying that some dark evil was growing out in the swamp near Nahka.
Cresson thought that Commander Lyle should be the one in charge of investigating these things, but already a man from O’Dakahn had been placed in position. The commander’s experience outside of Xway made him the most informed man in the realm on the matter. Cresson was so confident in that reasoning that he made a sending to O’Dakahn telling them that once Commander Lyle arrived, he would take charge. He gave Lyle papers, resupplied his men, and assigned him more than the coin necessary to establish an office in Nahka.
***
Gerard’s—the Warlord’s—orders for the Choska had been vague. The bat-like demon had to ensure that all the skeletons that answered his summons were destroyed during the attack on O’Dakahn. Being a demon, the Choska fed on terror and pain as much as actual food. It decided that it could create quite a meal for itself if it planned well. With its evil magic, the Ch
oska enlisted the aid of a dabbling sorcerer in Nahka. The man bartered the goods the skeletons pirated, and brought them back swords, hooded robes, and torches.
The city of O’Dakahn was vast and wild. Though sections of the wealthy metropolis were well guarded and protected from the unsavory, most of the massive port was considered a cesspool of raw human nature. Pungent tobaccos and herbal potions of the most stimulating nature could be found, sexual fantasies were bought and sold, and a wager could be placed on almost anything at any time of the day or night. It wasn’t hard for the four dozen hooded skeletons to get into the underbelly of O’Dakahn where the streets stayed crowded through the night, and even the city guards tended to look away.
The gatehouse that led from this rough and tumbled part of O’Dakahn to the mercantile district stayed closed and barred at night. It was manned by reputable guardsmen, the incorruptible sort who hoped to rise in the ranks by protecting the merchants and lesser nobles who resided beyond their post. The gate guards were well trained and stayed in practice with their weapons by drilling responses to ways in which their posts might be compromised. As often as they went through these rigorous defensive maneuvers, none of them could defend what was coming this night.
The Choska demon swept down out of the darkened sky and sent a series of streaking crimson rays into the gate. The heavy planked doors didn’t explode apart, but they burst into flames that were so hot the hinges and metal bands that held them together began to glow cherry red. Slowly, the metalwork grew malleable and dripped away, causing sparks to fountain up as the hot drips hit the cool hardpack.
Dogs barked in fear and anger. The guards sounded the alarm as the ember-eyed demon came back around. Crossbows thrummed and arrows shot forth, some striking the Choska as it came on again. The arrows did little more than enrage the thick-skinned creature. It let out a shrieking cry that dropped men to their knees. The clank of weapons hitting the cobbles echoed, as hands were pressed protectively over their ears.
Huge, clawed feet latched on top of the gate and tore the planks away from the melting metal. Then from out of the shadows, the robed skeletons came swarming. In a matter of seconds, the guards were overrun.
Torches flared to life, lit from the burning gates, and like maddened fireflies, small bands of undead spread out through the streets, shattering glass and setting curtains and thatch aflame. Soon a dressmaker’s shop was so consumed in fire that a whole portion of the city was illuminated. Another shop burst into flames down the way, and in the distance, as the sound of clanging steel rang out, a horrible scream cut through the night.
The Choska demon circled high above, shrieking and reveling as the horror and shock of O’Dakahn's residents wafted up into the night. Soon the ample city guard would be diverted from another part of the city to come and rescue the merchants, but until then the Choska basked in the horrific glory of the people’s terror.
To further the mayhem, the Choska swept by low a few times, rupturing eardrums and spreading panic with its horrible, piercing call. It watched as guardsmen came rushing in from several different places. They held their lanterns high and their swords flashed brightly. One by one the skeletons were cut down and trampled apart by city men.
The Choska lingered, savoring the pain of the burned and wounded, the terror of the orphaned and widowed. The uncertainty of the futureless, whose livelihoods had just been destroyed, was like sweet nectar to the hell-born beast. As dawn approached, the Choska fled the city, sated and successful in carrying out the Abbadon’s command. It winged its way westward toward the Dragon Spire to tell the Warlord of its success. The Dark One would be pleased, and the Choska would no doubt be rewarded, maybe even with a more substantial meal of Zard flesh, one that it could peel from a living morsel, or even a thrashing geka. Gloating in its success, the Choska decided that it wouldn’t wait for the Abbadon’s reward. Swooping down over the village of Nahka, it spied a herdsman rounding up his goats in the dawn light.
The man never even saw the demon drop down on him, but his scream was no less harrowing because he couldn’t identify his attacker. Several people in the village saw him torn apart by the giant, bat-like fiend; they also watched the Choska wing away, heading due west. Everyone, even the children in Nahka, knew what lay due west. After all, a dragon had lived there for the last three centuries.
***
The same morning, High King Mikahl and Queen Rosa rode atop their carriage, on the parade bench, into the sizable Westland city of Crossington. All around them people yelled and cheered. The cobbled streets were packed, mostly with elderly folk and women. Wild packs of children ran around, too. It was clear that everyone in Westland was relieved to have one of King Balton’s sons, a rightful heir to the Westland crown, back on the throne.
Mikahl was exhilarated. In his youth he had spent many a day in Crossington. It wasn’t his actual home, but it was so close and so familiar that he was beside himself. The entire skyline of northern Westland’s main trading center was filled with fluttering golden lions. Green and gold wavered on the chilly breeze everywhere. It was inspiring.
Rosa waved and smiled at hundreds and hundreds of little girls, whose fathers and lives had been ravaged away by war. The smiles on some of their faces looked to be the first ones they had made in quite some time.
Crossington, it seemed, had been affected more than any other place by the Zard occupation, save for Lakeside Castle. The people were starving for familiar leadership. With Mikahl came a sense of security.
Even after they were back inside the carriage with Crossington behind them, Mikahl’s blood was tingling. The only feelings he could compare the sensation to were Ironspike’s symphony and Queen Rosa’s bed. His true home was ahead of them, the castle where he had been born and raised. Mikahl had worked for the kingdom since he could walk. He was a candle snuffer and message runner when he was a boy. Later, he was a stablehand, and finally, King Balton’s personal squire. This was his homecoming; the kitchen servant’s bastard-turned-king of the entire realm, returning to the place where his father and mother had died.
He looked at his wife and saw that she was chewing her bottom lip. He reminded himself that this was also the place where Queen Rosa was held captive by the Dragon Queen and mutilated by the Red Priests of Kraw.
“It will be all right, my love,” he told her. “This is our place now.”
“You’ll have that wizard’s tower torn down for me?” she asked.
“Aye, my lady, I will,” he agreed. “Even if I have to do it myself with Ironspike.”
“And the garden yard where Pin and Hyden Hawk stopped the priest from tearing open the world.”
“Aye, my lady.”
“And that wicked woman's bedchamber that overlooked it all?” She was looking happy now, and her eyes showed that she was pleased he would do these drastic things for her.
“I won’t have to do that, my lady.” Mikahl smiled at the look on her face. “Claret took care of that when she poked her huge head in to save Phen.”
She leaned into him and squeezed his arm. “I miss Pin. I would feel better if he were here.”
Mikahl wasn’t sure what to say to that. Phen had comforted his wife while she was imprisoned here.
“My lady.” Mikahl leaned over and kissed his wife deeply. “Phen is up in the Skyler village keeping Oarly and Hyden safe.” He kissed her again. “You'll just have to learn to feel safe without him.”
“Oh, Mik,” she purred. “You'll just have to keep my mind occupied so that the memories don’t take hold of me.”
“Rosa, I hope to spend our time here making new memories. Can we try to forget the rest?”
“Yes, my king. I believe that you’ve already caused me to forget.” She kissed him. “Whatever it was,” she whispered as she kissed him again, “that we were talking…” After that the words stopped and their kiss grew passionate.
A few minutes later, the royal carriage driver called a stop because of a sudden motion that made hi
m think a wheel was busted. He was embarrassed to learn that he was mistaken.
That evening, while riding in Windfoot’s saddle, King Mikahl Collum rode through the gates of Castleview City, where he had once been chased away as a murderer and thief.
The reception he received, the explosion of well-wishing people, made Crossington’s excited crowd seem like an old lady’s tea party. For the first time since King Balton’s death, the people of Westland felt safe.
Chapter 29
The afternoon was brisk. Coming over the previous ridge, the icy breeze had sliced through the companions’ garments as if they weren’t even there. The snow had stopped, though. The sun was bright overhead and now, as they eased down into the wooded valley, they found that they were protected from the wind. After four days of constant snowfall and cold, gray skies, the rays of warm sunlight were inviting.
“Let’s stop and fortify ourselves,” Hyden suggested.
Talon had located Loudin’s valley for them and was off searching for Borg. Hyden knew that if they ate heartily now, they could reach the cavern he was leading them to before sunset. Loudin’s valley was just beyond there. The cavern would provide them good shelter from the weather. Its stony walls would hold actual warmth. The tents they had been sleeping in, even bundled in blankets, were cold and far from comfortable.
“It tt- ttts f- fargin c- c- c- cold,” Oarly chattered for what was probably the two-hundredth time.
“Shut up, Oarly,” a chorus of voices returned.
“It’s so cold that I keep forgetting how cold I am,” Telgra snapped at the dwarf. “Why do you have to keep reminding me?”
“You sound like a little girl, Master Dwarf,” Lieutenant Welch said. “You’re not even tall enough to feel the wind. The horse you’re leading blocks it all from you.”
The Wizard and the Warlord (The Wardstone Trilogy Book Three) Page 22