The officers all attended the evening meal in the King’s cabin with the exception of General Corlis, who was so seasick he couldn’t leave his own small room. The other officers seemed to enjoy the respite from the young High Commander and spent as much time as possible ingratiating themselves with King Felix.
They dined on pheasant, with a mix of stewed vegetables, cheese, and wine. Normally the talk around the king’s table was upbeat, but the rough seas made dinning a chore. The men were forced to hold onto their plates and drink their wine from the wide bottom, weighted mugs the sea officers used to keep their drinks from spilling.
“Will the storm knock us off course?” asked General Griggs.
The sea captain, Alswyth, also attended the nightly feast. He normally refrained from the conversations which almost always either concerned their invasion strategy or matters of court. The storm, though, made all other topics seem inconsequential.
“Captain?” the King said.
“It’s hard to say,” Alswyth replied. “It’s possible, I suppose.”
“How will the fleet stay together in such foul weather?” asked General Tolis.
“This isn’t foul,” said Alswyth. “This is nothing more than a slight blow. I’ve seen storms at sea that would turn your bowels to water. I’ve seen forty foot waves and winds so strong it rolled ships and split masts. All the King’s ships are sailing with lanterns hung in the rigging. As long as the ships keep in sight of one another, we’ll stay together alright.”
“You don’t think the weather will get worse?” King Felix asked.
“It could, but I doubt it,” Alswyth persisted.
He was wrong. The storm that began in the Walheta Mountains turned out to sea and churned the waves into towering swells. Fortunately for the king’s ships, the winds were favorable. The captain soon left the dinner to supervise the sailors handling the ship in the storm. Most of the sails were furled, but still the ship sped along through the night, rising and falling on the tumultuous waves until half the crew was laid low with sea sickness.
When morning finally broke, the sea was an angry gray and the waves were still nearly eight feet high, but the Walheta Mountains were behind them and King Felix was pleased. He couldn’t wait to make land fall so his conquest could begin.
* * *
Willam looked up wistfully. Gyia was circling lazily overhead, while Willam rode along on a lightly armored stallion. The horse didn’t like the slow pace any more than Willam, but Commander Hausey had assigned the Prince to be the liaison to the Dwarves. Willam guessed that it was easier for a Commander to move the Crown Prince to an independent assignment rather than have the King’s son second guessing every decision the commander made. Willam didn’t blame Hausey for reassigning him. Being a liaison to the dwarf army was really the perfect situation for a prince. It was a duty that kept him out of harm’s way but was of significance at the same time. The only problem for Willam was that he was a fighter. He’d learned his lesson in Osla, he didn’t mind commanding, but he would do it from the front from now on. Being assigned to escort the dwarves on the march south was honorable, but it wasn’t what Willam wanted.
Commander Hausey had given Willam a staff of three junior officers. Most of the supply train was traveling with the Dwarves as well. Hausey had wanted to assign a century of cavalry soldiers to help protect the supply train, but Willam had insisted he refrain. The dwarves were a proud people; Prince Willam had learned that very early on. He felt that sending a squad of soldiers to protect the supply train would have been perceived as an insult. The dwarves were hardy folk. They marched nonstop from sunup until dark. They would have pushed on long into the night; the darkness was more comfortable to them than the bright sunlight, but they stayed with the supply train. Perhaps it was out of a sense of duty, or simply being near so much food and ale, Willam wasn’t sure, but the dwarves had attached themselves to the soldiers driving the heavy wagons.
With so much free time on his hands, Willam couldn’t help but think about the future. For him, Brianna was that future. He still worried constantly that she had agreed to marry him out of some sort of obligation, but he didn’t like to dwell on that thought. Instead, he wiled the hours away dreaming of their return to Orrock, the wedding, their children, his coronation, and all the good things he would do as king.
“So?” asked Bloc one night as they sat around a small fire. “What is being a prince of Yelsia like?”
“Not as glamorous as you might think,” Willam said. “I had a happy childhood and went into service for my father when I was fourteen.”
“It’s hard to imagine how brief human lives are,” Bloc said. “We dwarves can live five times as long as a human, but at fourteen we are already two years into our apprenticeships.”
“Really?” Willam asked.
“Oh, yes, usually with our fathers, but sometimes with other members of the clan, if a need arises.”
“You live in clans?” Willam asked.
“Yes, our clans are not much different from your cities. Each clan has its own space under the mountains and each is independent of the others.”
“But you are the king of the dwarves, aren’t you? Do you have a capital or a castle somewhere in the mountains?”
“No,” Bloc said, with a smile on his lips. “My family has served as the kings of the dwarves for thousands of years, but we do not rule under the mountains. Our role has been to lead the clans when we leave our wonderful homes. My forebears have worked with the humans and other races to make sure the dwarves are treated fairly. In truth, I am little more than a liaison, much like yourself.”
“How do the clans settle disputes without a king?” Willam asked.
“Disputes are rare under the mountains,” Bloc said. “But we have traditions that dictate how clans treat one another. If a complaint cannot be settled without help, they may call on me, but in that role I am a facilitator, not a judge.”
“That is fascinating,” Willam said.
“In some ways it is, but my family has no clan, no permanent home. I move from clan to clan, with no real wealth or place of my own. The other dwarves gain honor through their craft and prestige within their clan, but I am more like a beggar, reliant on the hospitality of the clans I stay with.”
Willam considered how different being a king was like in his world. His father was the wealthiest man in the entire kingdom, even though he earned none of the money in the royal treasury. He was treated with deference wherever he went, and had absolute power among the citizens of Yelsia, as well as a place of honor in the Royal Court in Osla with the other rulers of the neighboring kingdoms.
Willam couldn’t help but wonder how different his own life would be if he could see himself as dependent on the people of Yelsia, instead of above them. His father had taught him that a king ruling his people provided them with a better life, but the truth was they provided the King with everything. People treated Willam as if he was different, but he was just a man. He had the best education and opportunities to prove himself as he grew up, but the truth was, he was no different than any other person in the kingdom.
“I think there is merit to your way,” he told Bloc. “I think I have much to learn from your people.”
“The dwarves and humans can always learn from one another,” Bloc said, “If we are willing. It is unfortunate that so much time has passed without contact between us.”
“Why is that?” Willam asked. “Why don’t the dwarves come out of their caves more often?”
“For the same reason you do not come down into the caverns under the mountains,” Bloc said. “For most dwarves, venturing out of their homes is not an enjoyable experience. In our caverns the world fits us, on the surface, we feel out of place. Everything is so large, so open, and so infernally bright.”
“I would like to ensure that our people benefit from one another,” Willam said. “When all this is over, when we have peace once more, I would like to come and visit your home under
the mountains.”
“And you would be welcome,” Bloc said. “We will have feasts like you have never experienced. But as you say, we must first survive the coming battle.”
“It gives me confidence to know that we will fight side by side,” Willam said.
“Yes, we will fight, but even all together we may not be able to stem the tide of darkness that rolls toward us. I feel deep in my bones that our world is on the cusp of a new era.”
“One of new friendships and prosperity, I hope,” Willam said, trying to sound confident.
“Yes,” Bloc said, a shadow crossing his face. “I hope so as well.”
But there was no hope in his voice.
Chapter 27
Zollin felt the tension from Brianna and the dragons with her. The pride, now larger than ever, was flying again and talking wasn’t really a possibility, even though Zollin really wanted to talk. He told himself that the tension didn’t have anything to do with him, but he was having trouble believing it. He realized that he just wanted to talk so that he could be reassured that he wasn’t the reason for her tension. So, he did his best to rise above his personal feelings and put himself in Brianna’s place.
When he thought back to their time together in Osla, he realized she had been tense then, too. She had just lost Torc, the small, blue, twin dragon that looked almost identical to Tig. Then they had fought Gwendolyn together, and both of them had seen horrors beyond belief. He remembered just how shaken up Brianna had been after diving down into the ground, using her unbelievable fiery powers to melt the ground underneath the behemoth that Gwendolyn had sent to kill them. She had seen the witch’s work down in the depths of the underworld. Zollin couldn’t imagine how that would affect a person. Now, she was going back to face the very army she’d seen Gwendolyn creating. He chastised himself for worrying about his own happiness instead of realizing what a difficult task going south must be for Brianna.
They flew all through the afternoon, and Zollin began to send out waves of magic in search of King Zorlan’s forces. The sun was setting when he sensed the large settlement with his magic. He redirected the dragons, and they flew toward the village of Glen Green.
They were a little over a mile from the valley where the village was located, which was now filled with refugees and soldiers. Zollin directed the dragons to land on a mountaintop. In the distance they could see the glow from the settlement’s many fires.
“It’s probably better if we don’t go flying into the middle of the settlement with a pride of dragons,” Zollin said. “I can only image what state King Zorlan’s army is in.”
“I doubt they could hurt the dragons, but if they tried, it could send the wrong message to the dragons you brought with you.”
“They are a little shy,” Zollin said with a smile.
“I’m surprised they came with you at all,” Brianna admitted.
“They were worried about you, I think,” Zollin said. “At any rate, they are most welcome. I’ll go into the settlement and find out what’s what. Do you want to come?”
“No,” Brianna said quickly. “I’ll stay here with the pride for tonight.”
“Alright,” Zollin said, tamping down his feelings of insecurity. “I’ll miss you. It’s hard to separate again after finally reuniting.”
Brianna didn’t speak, rather she just nodded, but didn’t meet Zollin’s gaze. Ferno’s rumbling growl was likewise ignored. Zollin suppressed a sigh, and then nodded at the big, green dragon.
“Good hunting,” he told the pride. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”
There were growls and barks from the dragons. Zollin smiled, still finding it hard to believe he was in the middle of a pride of living, breathing dragons. He started off down the steep mountainside. He slid down the loose soil, letting gravity do the work as he sprang from tree to tree to keep himself from tumbling down the steep incline.
It was impossible to see in the dark with the tall evergreen trees blocking the light from the moon and stars above. Zollin let his magic flow out around him, sensing more than seeing the path he needed to take. The distance to the village was little more than a mile, but it took him nearly an hour to travel the distance. By the time he was walking down the final hill leading into the valley, he was sweating, despite the cold weather. His clothes were snagged and torn from the tree branches he’d been forced to cling to, as he made his way down the mountainside.
He walked into the settlement, which was little more than a huge campsite. Many of the refugees huddled around fires with no other place to go. There were large pots hung over fires with what looked and smelled like gruel of the worst sort. Still, the people eyed the pots hungrily, many with bowls and spoons in their hands as they waited to get a small helping for their supper. There were tents, but not enough to shelter the multitudes of people, most of which looked shocked and frightened. There were large, wooden frame pavilions with canvass stretched over the frames to give the refugees a place to escape the weather.
Zollin could only guess how miserable the storm had been on the settlement. Zollin wound through the small groups of people and made his way to the village. There were so many strangers in the valley that no one seemed to notice him. Zollin wasn’t sure where to go, but then he saw soldiers standing guard around what appeared to be a small inn. Zollin made his way to the building and was stopped by the guards.
“No one is allowed inside after dark,” said one of the men. “If you have a problem, it’ll have to wait until morning.”
“I’m here to see King Zorlan,” Zollin said. “He’s expecting me.”
“No one is allowed inside,” the man repeated. “You’ll have to wait until morning.”
“Tell the King that Zollin, Wizard of the Five Kingdoms is here.”
“Sorry, I’m not a servant,” the soldier said. “Now beat it or I’ll give you a taste of my boot leather.”
“There’s no need to be rude,” Zollin said.
He stepped forward toward the door of the inn. The soldiers on either side of the door tried to move forward and block his way, but they found themselves rooted to the spot. Zollin couldn’t help but give the soldier a quick glance. The man’s eyes were bulging with shock. He was straining to move or speak, but Zollin’s magic held him and his partner in place.
“I’ll release you in a moment,” Zollin said softly.
The door to the inn was bolted from the inside, but a quick burst of magic levitated the thick cross beam up and out of the rough wooden slots. The beam fell with a thud as Zollin swung the door open. Light spilled out, along with the smell of roasting meat. Zollin’s stomach growled at the smell, but he didn’t notice. He was riveted by the sight of a man sitting against the far wall.
Quinn sprang to his feet, and Zollin rushed forward. They embraced, both men laughing and slapping each other on the back.
“What is the meaning of this,” thundered King Zorlan, who sat in a large chair by the fireplace. Zollin and Quinn both ignored him.
“Guards!” the King thundered.
Soldiers came rushing into the inn’s common room.
“What is happening?” Zorlan shouted. “Why are you letting people into the inn?”
“That was my doing,” Zollin said. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t see the point in waiting.”
He released his hold on the two soldiers’ right outside the door. The two men rushed inside, but didn’t speak, although Zollin saw their angry glances and tried not to smile.
“Who are you?” the King asked angrily.
“You don’t recognize me?” Zollin asked.
“You look like a beggar.”
“It’s been a long time since I last slept in an inn,” Zollin said. “I daresay I need a good washing and fresh clothes, but my mission hasn’t provided the luxury of those things.”
“Are you the wizard?” King Zorlan asked.
“Aye, he is,” Quinn said. “This is my son, Zollin.”
“I didn’t recognize you,” the King
said.
“That’s quite alright,” Zollin said. “I have good news from Yelsia and the magical people from the Northern Highlands.”
“They are coming to help?” Zorlan asked.
“They are, indeed. King Felix is sailing most of his army down, but the King’s Cavalry are moving south through the mountains. The dwarf army from the Northern Highlands is coming south as well. Even some of the mountain giants, but I’m not sure when we’ll see them.”
“And the dragons?” King Zorlan asked.
“I have a pride of dragons with me. They are spending the night in the surrounding mountains, hunting and resting after our long journey.”
“They’ll have to venture far afield to find game,” Quinn said. “The surrounding area is barren. We’ve been forced to exhaust the game hereabouts in an effort to feed all the people.”
“The dragons can probably help with that,” Zollin said. “They’re excellent hunters.”
“When will King Felix’s force arrive?” King Zorlan asked.
“I’m not sure,” Zollin said. “Brianna may have a better estimate on their arrival. She was with them, I wasn’t.”
“Where is this Brianna?”
“She’s in the mountains with the pride of dragons,” Zollin explained. “She’ll come down tomorrow.”
“Fine,” the King said. “You’ll dine with us, of course. But you’ll have to sleep in your father’s room.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Zollin said.
Zollin and Quinn talked late into the evening. Unlike the King, they limited themselves to just one mug of ale each, and Zollin gave the remaining food in his pack to the innkeeper’s wife to add to the supplies she was using to feed the refugees.
Zollin was happy to learn that Mansel was safe. Quinn had not seen or heard from Mansel or Nycoll since he’d been sequestered with the King in the village’s tiny inn. Zollin assured his father that he would check on them the following day.
Five Kingdoms: Book 06 - Evil Tide Page 25