The Sword and the Dragon wt-1

by Michael Robb Mathias

  With all of the swelling from his broken limbs, and the ghastly purple color of his pulverized flesh, Lord Gregory was not a pretty sight to look upon. He looked worse than dead. Late the second night, when he suddenly opened his eyes and croaked out a request to see Mikahl, came as a shock to everyone.

  Mikahl had to be rousted from sleep, but once he knew why he had been awakened, he hurried to Lord Gregory side. The dying man’s voice was weak. The gleam of life had left his eyes completely.

  “Is that you Mik?” The words came out in a scratchy hiss. “Are you there?”

  “I’m here, milord,” Mikahl told him. He wanted to take the man’s hand as a show of support, but it was so swollen, that it looked like the skin might split.

  To Mikahl, his onetime teacher and mentor looked more like a tangle of gnarled tree roots that a man.

  With appalling effort, Lord Gregory swallowed.

  “He was your father you know,” he croaked. “He made sure, in the best way he knew how, that you were prepared for your birthright.”

  “What are you talking about?” Mikahl asked, with a panicked look at the woman who had been watching over the Lion Lord. “You’re fevered and confused.”

  “Maybe so your Highness, but you’re still the intended heir to your father’s throne.” He blinked and lulled his head to the side so that he could look into Mikahl’s eyes. “Ironspike’s magic only ignites to those of Pavreal’s blood line, Mik,” he coughed.

  His body wracked with terrible pain, but he fought it back. Mikahl felt hot tears streaming down his cheeks. He realized that he loved this man just as much as he had loved King Balton.

  “Glendar is a greedy fool; Pael’s puppet, you’ll see. King Balton saw it a long time ago. There’s a third, but -”

  It looked as if the Lion Lord passed on then, but his chest still rose, fell and wheezed as his body struggled on.

  Mikahl stayed there the rest of the night, lost in teary-eyed sorrow, hoping that the mighty Lion of the West would speak to him again, but he didn’t. Mikahl couldn’t help but wonder what the third was that Gregory had started to talk about. Nor could he keep from being swallowed up by the confusion of the things the man had told him. Had Lord Gregory not turned and looked into his eyes, he might’ve dismissed the words as rambling, but now he couldn’t, because he knew it was the truth.

  Chapter 26

  “We’ve taken the bridge!” someone yelled from outside King Glendar’s command pavilion.

  An excited cheer came from the sea of Westland soldiers gathered and waiting in formation around it.

  “Don’t crowd the bridge!” a stern voice commanded over the ruckus. “Third, Fourth, and Fifth Cavalry, you’ll cross next! Stay in order! You’re captains will lead you! Once you’ve cleared some room on the other side, the rest of us will follow. Now go! Take the city! Go take Castlemont!”

  More cheers erupted as the orders began to be carried out.

  Inside the hastily erected command tent, King Glendar stood with his arms across his chest, tapping a foot impatiently. He was waiting for his two new page boys to get the carpets unrolled so that his desk could be situated in the center of the pavilion the way he had pictured it in his head. The pages were testing his patience to the limits.

  Lord Brach had led the First and Second Cavalry personally, and had taken control of the massive bridge that lead from Westland into Wildermont. He had done well. The taking of the bridge was paramount to this initial operation. Without it, there could be no mass troop crossing. No mass troop crossing meant there would be no element of surprise.

  It was just after dawn, and King Glendar was tired and cranky. It was one thing to plan a secret early morning attack, but it was another thing entirely, to have to get out of bed to carry it out. He would’ve much rather been back at Lakeside Castle, sleeping until midmorning, only to be awakened by the hot mouth of one of his many servant girls. But no, Pael insisted that Glendar lead the army of the west on this attack. It seemed to Glendar that Pael insisted on a lot of things lately; far too many things. There was no doubt that he owed Pael a boon or two for all the help he had given him over the years, but he was King now.

  King! It seemed at times, that Pael ordered him around, as if he were still a child. He’d heard the sniggers in the castle halls, whispering things like, “wizard’s puppet,” or “puppet king.” They had called him worse when he was growing up. Not anymore though. Nearly a hundred disloyal sniggering heads decorated the castle yards back at Lakeside. No one dared to say an ill word about him now. He gave one of the pages a glare that promised severe punishment if he didn’t hurry up.

  “The rest of you go now! Steady, keep it ordered!” the voice outside the tent sounded loudly. “Infantry, you go next! You already know what to do after we cross! Ready to march now! On my command! And march!”

  The carpets King Glendar insisted on using each weighed as much as a full grown man and were nearly impossible for the two adolescent boys to manage. On top of that, the youngsters were scared to death of the ill tempered new King. The younger of the two boys stumbled over the corner of a carpet that had already been unrolled, and went down in a face-first sprawl. The other page went to help him.

  Glendar yelled. “I should mount one of your heads on my desk, to remind your replacements of your clumsiness.”

  Neither of the boys considered the threat an idle one. Tears welled in the eyes of the fallen boy. The other wet his pants while trying to help his companion to his feet. At that point, all the work had stopped completely. Glendar had scared them stiff.

  “What?” Glendar screamed. “What is wrong with you two? It’s not complicated! You unroll the blasted rug and move the desk! How hard can it be?” Spittle flew from his clenched teeth. “I guess I’ll have to mount both of your heads!” He drew a sword that looked quite similar to Ironspike, but had no magical properties whatsoever. He would’ve used it to cut off their heads, had Pael not entered the pavilion just then.

  “Put the blade a way,” the wizard commanded sharply.

  Glendar spun, and looked at Pael, as if he had just told him that the sky was yellow, instead of blue.

  “Not now, Pael,” he shot back dismissively, and then turned his attention back to the trembling boys.

  Pael mumbled some unintelligible phrase, and made a grasping gesture with his hand, like he was choking the air. The look on King Glendar’s face went from anger to shock, to fear. An invisible hand had gripped his throat and was threatening to crush it. It was all he could do to draw in a breath.

  “Leave us!” Pael ordered the two pages. They wasted no time starting toward the tent flap.

  When they were about half way to it, Pael stopped them.

  “Report to Lady Trella at Lake Bottom Stronghold.”

  Pael looked each of them in the eyes in turn.

  “I may call upon you someday for repayment of this favor. When I do, don’t forget that I just stayed your execution.”

  Seeing that they understood, he dismissed them, and turned back to Glendar’s purple gasping face.

  Pael didn’t loosen his grip on Glendar’s neck.

  “Are you daft?” he asked the new King of Westland. “Look outside!”

  As if dragged by the hand that held his throat, Glendar stumbled forward, and peered out of the tent flaps. Of the more than twenty thousand men and horses that had been gathered there in the pre-dawn darkness, only the tail end of the last infantry division, and the supply wagons could be seen. King Glendar had been left behind. Only the riff-raff, the whores, the blade sharpeners, and the civilian scavengers hadn’t crossed out of Westland yet. King Glendar’s personal guard attachment was milling around outside the Command Pavilion, trying desperately to not look embarrassed when the stragglers jeered and pointed at them.

  “I told you to lead this army,” Pael said, shaking Glendar in his magical grip forcefully. “Those boys you would have killed are on your side, you buffoon! Your blade should be out there in that
city, raised against the Redwolf soldiers, not against Westland children!”

  As if discarding so much trash, Pael threw his hand off to the side. Glendar’s body followed the motion perfectly, and he ended up sprawled on the trampled grass floor.

  “You are nothing, KING Glendar!” Pael ranted, as he turned his back to the armed man he had just humiliated. “You’re spoiled, stupid, and have no respect for those who placed you where you are. Even your lowliest infantrymen will question your fortitude now.”

  Glendar wanted so badly to charge across the pavilion and bury his sword in the wizard’s back. He wanted it more than he had wanted his father to hurry and die after Pael had poisoned him. He couldn’t bring himself to do it though. Partly because he needed the wizard: Pael had guided him from childhood, like his father should have. Pael had helped him take the throne, and Pael could crush him like a fly if he chose to. And partly because Glendar was afraid – afraid that his blade would find nothing but thin air when he struck, or that if it did sink into flesh, Pael would only laugh at him and pull it free. He was also afraid that he might actually kill the only person in the kingdom that he could depend on, or that the wizard might go away and never return.

  “I thought that you…” Glendar started, but was abruptly cut off.

  “You THOUGHT Glendar, that is your problem!” Pael turned to face him, his voice brimming with anger. “Someday, boy, you will be in control, and when that time comes, you will make the rules. For now, I am making them. Do not think or wonder why I tell you to do something. JUST DO IT!”

  From his knees, Glendar flinched, as if a bolt of lightning might fly from the wizard’s hand. Pael sighed, then strode over and extended his hand to help Glendar to his feet. Reluctantly, Glendar took the hand and allowed Pael to pull him up.

  “Have I ever lied to you son?” Pael asked, in a softer voice. “Didn’t I hand you the Westland throne on a silver platter? The whole of the eastern kingdoms will be yours as well, if you’ll just do as I say.”

  Glendar still raged defiantly in the back of his mind, but he lowered his head like a scolded schoolboy.

  “I will try to listen better, Pael,” he said, with a heavy exhale of breath.

  “Good!” Pael clapped his hands together, and began pacing back and forth across the tent. “The rest of Lord Ellrich’s Marsh Guards, from Settsted Stronghold should be here within the hour. Have a handful of them move this pavilion into Castlemont City and erect it directly in front of King Jarrek’s palace.”

  Pael looked at Glendar for a moment, and then added, “Be sure that it is out of the wall-top archers’ range.”

  Pael turned, and came gliding back across the half-rolled carpet towards the king. His finger went to his smooth chin and his other hand found his elbow. Glendar could see a greenish-blue vein pulsing under the taut skin of Pael’s chalky white forehead.

  “As soon as this turns into a siege, which it surely will, I want you to send Lord Brach, and all the men that can be spared, up into the Wilder Mountains.”

  King Glendar started to protest, but Pael raised a hand to stop him.

  “Trust me, Glendar. Lord Brach is to find, and secure, a route through the mountains that will allow us to gain a favorable position on the Valleyan city of Dreen.”

  “Our plan was to march south and take as much of Dakahn as we can before winter sets in!” Glendar blurted out.

  He and Lord Brach had spent weeks planning. Now Pael was throwing those plans to the dogs and he couldn’t hold his tongue.

  “King Broadrick and Queen Rachel have joined forces,” Pael explained. “They are gathering up to march east against Highwander. King Broderick has taken it upon himself to punish Queen Willa the Witch for starting that mess at Summer’s Day. They will be beaten back badly by Willa’s treacherous Blacksword Warriors.

  “If we can get the bulk of our troops through the mountains before winter sets in, then we can take the kingdom seat of Valleya, while King Broderick and his army are still battling in Highwander. By then, Queen Rachel’s forces, and possibly even the Blacksword Warriors of Highwander, will be weakened enough for us to overrun them all.”

  Pael moved closer to Glendar, stopped his pacing, and looked the young king directly in the eyes.

  “I assure you that King Jarrek, the old Redwolf himself, will either bow to you, or he will die when I bring his mighty fortress to the ground. Either way, you will soon assume command of what’s left of the Redwolf army, thus doubling the size of our force.”

  “How will you bring down Castlemont?” Glendar asked doubtfully. “It’s as big as the mountain it’s built into.”

  “I will make that palace crumble!”

  The force of Pael’s words left no doubt in Glendar’s mind that he could and would do it.

  No army that Glendar knew of had ever taken the mountain castle, and he’d recently studied its history fairly well. It was built to survive a dozen years of siege. The original structure, the heart of Castlemont, was connected to massive mine chambers cut into the mountainside. Those chambers were filled with stores upon stores, and a surplus of defensive weapons built for just such an event.

  It was rumored that the dwarves, before they had disappeared into the earth, had made several secret ways in and out of the castle. Even if the massive amount of reserves were depleted, they could be restocked through the hidden passages.

  Glendar knew that Pael would not be the first wizard to try and break Castlemont. Pael was a determined, and a powerful Master Mage, but there were other wizards in the realm just as capable, and some of them served King Jarrek and Wildermont. It was, after all, the richest kingdom in the realm. Still, it was impossible for Glendar to doubt Pael. The egg-headed wizard, as cocky and controlling as he was, had always kept his word. Always.

  “As soon as I tell you to,” Pael continued, resuming his back and forth pace across the pavilion, “you will personally travel south to Dakahn and give King Ra’Gren a wagon train full of the Wildermont Wolf’s gold in exchange for as many ships as we can fill with our reserve men. While Lord Brach and his group are occupying the capital city of Valleya, you and the others will sail to Seaward City and surprise Queen Rachel while her troops are still aiding King Broderick. No one would expect you to sail out of Dakahn, so you’ll take her off guard. After that, it’s just a matter of bringing yours and Lord Brach’s forces back together again in Highwander to take Xwarda from the Witch Queen.”

  Then I will assume complete control of the fantastical power contained in all of that Wardstone she guards so dearly. Pael continued in his mind. With that much power and you, KING Glendar, dancing at my fingertips, I’ll be able to conquer the giant lands, the elven forests, and then the rest of the world as well!

  Pael’s plan was so perfect, that it left Glendar speechless. With Dakahn as their allies, they wouldn’t have to expend men to commandeer ships or to sail them. Nor would they have to wait for Westland’s own ships to make the long journey, from Portsmouth and Southport, down around the islands and the marshes. Even if Queen Rachel managed to aid her cousin by sending troops to help defend the Valleyan Capital from Lord Brach’s army, she would only be depleting her own forces in Seaward City. When Glendar and his troops landed at her doorstep, she would have no choice but to bow down to him. The bulk of her army would be scattered about Highwander and Valleya. Pael’s plan made the fall of the eastern kingdoms seem inevitable. It would be nothing less than a rout.

  Glendar’s silence snapped Pael out of his glorious reverie. He wasn’t one to get caught up in daydreams. What was it that King Balton had used to say so often? Oh yes, “Think, then act.” They were wise words, from a goodhearted king, a king Pael had despised and disposed of.

  He looked at Glendar, and the boy’s stupid expression put him back on track.

  “Of course, my King, this glorious battle plan was your own idea. You will be remembered as one of the greatest strategists and commanders of all time.”

  Pael bowed
mockingly, and then snapped back up screaming his next words. “NOW DO AS I SAY!”

  The wizard’s breath shot forth, like a blast of wind, hitting Glendar full in the face. It felt like an arctic gale, icy and cold. Glendar had to lean forward to keep from being bowled over backwards by the force of it. His hand instinctually went to shield his face, but by the time it was in place, the demonstration was over and he was stumbling forward to catch his balance.

  “The men from Settsted are arriving,” Pael continued as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened; as if he were on the outside of the pavilion and could see the men with his own two eyes; as if King Glendar wasn’t wiping ice crystals from his eyelashes.

  “I suggest that you claim a few of them to attend to your command pavilion. The rest of the Southern Muster should arrive on the morrow. Have them round up every single Wildermont man, woman and child that can’t wield a weapon or pull a cart. When the siege begins, have a detachment of soldiers march them down through Low Crossing and on to O’Dakahn. Send a scroll presenting them to King Ra’Gren as a gift. He and his slavers will like that. It will help his Overlords to see things our way when we need their ships later.”

  Pael stopped pacing again, and searched Glendar for some sign that he had been paying attention. When he was satisfied with what he saw, he made for the tent flap. He had more pressing matters to attend to this day.

  “Pael,” Glendar called, as the wizard was about to leave.

  “What is it, boy? I have business elsewhere.”

  King Glendar eyes found the ground somewhere between the two of them. “Thank you,” he mumbled.

  “You’re welcome son,” Pael replied almost warmly. Then he disappeared out the tent flap.

  Pael spent half of the day flying back to his tower in the form of a crow. He could have transformed himself into larger bird, an eagle or a condor, and made the trip in half the time, but he didn’t want to attract attention to himself. He wasn’t so much worried about the old and infirm, the wives, mothers, and small children who were all that was left inhabiting the Kingdom of Westland. It was more of a precaution, born of careful habits, and distrust of those that might try to detect his movements. He was certain that there were still plenty of enemies about. They would expect him to fly as something powerful and proud. None of them, he hoped, would question the flight of a common carrion bird, such as a lowly crow.