The Wizard and the Warlord wt-3

by Michael Robb Mathias

  “I like Jinx,” Phen said as he stepped up.

  “It’s Jicks, and he is in,” Mikahl replied, not looking away from the training yard. “Phen, go over to that group of archers and tell them that on my command they are to start loosing on the men sparring.” Mikahl scratched his chin. “Tell them to send high arcing lobbers, and use target tips. Remind them that we don’t want a bunch of injuries.”

  Phen nodded that he understood the command. “What are you up to, Mikahl?” he asked, knowing that any use of title was forbidden on the practice yard.

  Out here, a stable boy could whip the High King, or any ranked solider, without worry of retaliation. If he had the skill. Mikahl was extraordinary with his blade, though. The best swordsman in the realm could barely last five minutes with him. And that was without Ironspike. If Mikahl used his magical blade, the fight was over before it got started. Phen admired the fact that even now, as High King, Mikahl went through a vigorous ritual each and every morning. His dedication was admirable.

  “I want to find out who of the lot is calm under fire,” Mikahl answered Phen’s question with a grin. “Besides that, Oarly is out there.”

  A moment later, Mikahl called out, “Attack! We’re under attack!”

  As arrows came raining down around the combatants, some men dove for cover while some scrambled about. Oarly went streaking straight for a weapons rack to grab up an axe, which impressed both Phen and the High King. Jicks took up a defensive position in front of his king and ignored the falling arrows.

  Mikahl scanned the yard and the chaos that had taken it over. He saw his man standing with his sword still clenched in his fists. The man was looking at the archers angrily with his wooden shield over his head to protect himself. His opponent had run off.

  The man was at that age where gray starts to streak the hair over a man’s ears and the rest of it starts to thin out. Not as old as Mikahl would have preferred, but old enough to command his own respect from Oarly and Hyden. Mikahl was even more pleased to see sergeant stripes on the man as he strode over to him.

  Phen called the archers off, and after he saw who the king was moving to speak to, he jogged over to Jicks and introduced himself properly. Phen liked the fact that Jicks was from Wildermont. Brady Culvert, who had gone on a different quest with him and Oarly had been from there as well. King Jarrek made sure all of his soldiers were competantly trained. The two younger men eased close enough to hear what Mikahl was saying to the sergeant.

  “So, you’re from Highwander then?” Mikahl asked, seeing the insignia on the his leather protective gear.

  “I am,” the sergeant said. It was clear that he had a hard time keeping himself from adding a “Your Highness” or at least a “sir” to his answer. “I fought those stinking corpses both days, first at the west gate, then again at the breach near Whitten Loch.”

  “Aye,” Mikahl nodded, respectfully noticing the scars around the man’s mouth. During the battle of Xwarda, the west gate was where the demon wizard’s undead army came through into the city. It was one of the bloodiest, most gruesome battles ever fought.

  “What’s your name, Sergeant?”

  “Welch. Buxter Welch.”

  “Are you married, Lieutenant Welch?” Mikahl asked.

  “It’s Sergeant, Highness,” the man corrected kindly. “My wife died in the battle, along with my unborn son.”

  Mikahl clasped Buxter on the shoulder. “It’s Lieutenant Welch now, even if you don’t choose to go on the quest.”

  Lieutenant Buxter Welch smiled a smile filled with broken teeth. It appeared that at one time he had taken a sword hilt or a mace to the face. “I wouldn’t have been out here fooling with these youngsters if I didn’t want to go, my king.”

  Mikahl laughed. “You’re going to hold rank over the rest of the escort. Jicks here is your main blade.” Mikahl gave the young swordsman and Phen a hard look that told them both what he thought about their eavesdropping. “Come, I’ll introduce you to the archers.”

  Once they were away from Phen and Jicks, Mikahl continued speaking. “Phen, Master Oarly, and especially Sir Hyden Hawk, are not under your command, but you are not under theirs. I expect you to respect Sir Hyden Hawk’s wishes, but I also expect you to draw on your experience and speak your mind with them openly. They’ll risk their lives for the most trivial things if you don’t remind them what they are about. I need you to be the voice of reason among them. Now, let’s go find those archers.”

  Later that evening, after dinner, Lady Trella spoke to Telgra quietly in the ladies’ sitting room. Queen Rosa was there, as well as a few of the younger ladies in attendance. Trella had hoped for something more private, but didn’t want to offend Queen Rosa. Trella was also certain that Rosa would love to comment because the topic of this conversation was going to be her hero, Pin. Lord Gregory had brought several things to his wife’s attention in hopes that she would speak to the elven girl. It was awkward, but she agreed there was reason for concern. Phen was well loved and no one wanted to see him hurt, or pulled too far from his studies.

  “He adores you, you know,” Lady Trella said, getting to her point delicately. “He doesn’t understand the differences between elves and humans. At least his urges won’t allow him to see reason.”

  “I adore him as well, my lady,” Telgra admitted. “I suppose I hadn’t paid any mind to those things either. When I’m with Phen, I forget that I’m an elf. I can’t quite explain it.”

  “You’ll live to be a few hundred years old, the gods be willing,” Lady Trella said. “If he’s lucky, he might live to be eighty. Are you ready to watch him grow old, and are you willing to force him to watch you stay young while he withers?”

  “Oh, my lady.” Telgra wiped away a stray tear. Nervously, she scratched Spike behind his prickly ears as Trella’s revelations hit home. “I don’t ever want to hurt Phen. It feels so right when I’m with him. What should I do?”

  “Follow your heart,” Queen Rosa said. “Pin is very special to me, but I see plainly your love for him. To deny him that now is as wrong as to hurt him later. You must choose.”

  “Very well put, Your Highness,” Trella said.

  “I’m not even sure he likes me in that way,” Telgra said, biting at her bottom lip. “He gets quiet and distant when we are together; it’s as if he is thinking of something else entirely.”

  “Oh that.” Lady Trella gave a blushing grin. “It seems our dastardly dwarf has put something in Phen’s head. It’s awkward, but my husband explained it to me today when expressing his concern about your feelings.” She was blushing and had to look away before she could continue. “It’s about his manhood…”

  As she told her, the shrill giggles and shocked gasps that came from the ladies’ sitting room could be heard echoing through the whole castle.

  Unknown to anyone, Phen had been listening to the entire conversation through his link with his lyna familiar. Spike was in Telgra’s lap. If he could have blushed, he was sure he would have glowed in the dark with embarrassment.

  Chapter 16

  Commander Lyle was intrigued by what he was hearing about the caged skeletons he was trying to track down.

  “They try to talk to you,” a potter on the streets of Seaward City said.

  “One of them reached out from the cage and made to touch me,” an old woman told him.

  “They’re downright unnatural,” said another.

  “Nothing but empty eyes and clacking jaws,” a blacksmith said as he wiped sweat from his face. “It’s probably just a trick with wires.”

  If the people of Seaward City hadn’t been so welcoming to the commander and the two dozen men riding with him under the High King’s banner, he might have been angry that the old fisherman had moved on. He found it hard to be upset at anything when the people in the street were treating him and his men like heroes. Bakers passed them fresh bread and pastries as they rode by. A leathersmith even gave Commander Lyle a set of studded gauntlets as they passe
d.

  The city itself was spectacular, with its icy blue marble public buildings and large, wooded parks. The darker gray stone towers at the corners of the block wall that surrounded the city gave it a surreal appearance, for they glowed turquoise in the sunlight. The rooftops looked like poured molten gold. Some of the structures inside the walls were made of whitewashed wood, but they were clean and well kept. Occasionally a magnificent building formed of Jenkata glass blocks stood out from the rest. Queen Rachel’s palace wasn’t as big as Commander Lyle would have thought it to be, but its seven spires were impossibly tall and built of the same powdery blue stone as the city buildings. He was sad, as were his men, when they had to leave the hospitality of Seaward behind. The fisherman had taken his cage to the Highwander city of Weir.

  The commander figured that the man was planning on making his way up through the eastern coastal cities. By all accounts he had made at least a keg full of coppers in Seaward City.

  Commander Lyle didn’t feel like he had to hurry across Seward, but he did so because his king would wish him to. Weir was big enough to keep the spectacle for at least a week. Even still, as the ferry boat carried the group across the Pixie River into Highwander, he found that he couldn’t wait to see the skeletons.

  The ferry wasn’t large enough to carry all of his company across at once, so he posted four men to stand at the boathouse to wait on the next ferry and took ten men with him into the city.

  There was no heroes’ welcome in Weir. The procession of armored men riding under the High King’s banner barely merited the attention of the Highwander folk. They weren’t disrespectful; they yielded the way to the commander and his men, but the people were oddly incurious about why they were there.

  “It’s a true seaport,” Lyle’s second in command, Sergeant Tolbar, said to him. “They see folk from Westland, Dakahn, and the islands regularly.”

  “But we just left Seaward City a few days ago and it’s a massive port,” Lyle argued. “Don’t they see the same people there?”

  “It’s on the freshwater side of Ultura Lake. Most sea craft from farther east unload here. The goods then move along the coast and up the Southron River to Seaward City by way of local barges.”

  Commander Lyle pondered this as they made their way through the large, dirty city of Weir. The fisherman and his attraction weren’t hard to find, but it wasn’t easy to get up close to the small pavilion tent that had been erected over the wagon cage. Already a crowd of more than a hundred people was gathered in the alley where the man was set up. The distraught woman who told them where to go also said there were three skeletons now, not two. This baffled the commander, as well as Sergeant Tolbar, but didn’t distract them from their duty.

  “I think, Sergeant,” the commander said as they sat atop their horses, observing the growing crowd, “I think that we should find the city guard and explain what we’re about. With this many people, things could get messy rather quickly.”

  “Yes, sir,” the sergeant replied. “What should I tell them? Will we wait for the rest of our men?”

  The commander studied the crowd for a while before answering. “Post four men here before you go. They are not to do anything other than make sure the wagon cage stays put. I’ll find the captain of the guard myself.” He forced a smile through the sudden strange feeling that had come over him. Whether it was the idea of finally seeing the undead creatures, or something else, he felt that something here wasn’t right. “Why don’t you work on finding shelter and food for all of us. Two nights should be sufficient. I don’t want us to be spread out either.”

  He spurred his horse around and pointed to a pair of his men, indicating that they should follow him.

  “Once you’ve secured a place to put up for the night,” he called over to the sergeant, “set up a rotation for this post. I want to know if this wagon cage moves so much as a finger’s breadth.”

  Lord Spyra looked at the list of names in his hand. There were only seven. Worse was the fact that the two lumberjacks who should be dead, but weren’t, were losing the ability to speak. It was hard enough dealing with the stench of them. The one whose ribcage had been crushed was virtually a skeleton now. The other wasn’t far from it. The last words he had spoken were something to the effect of, “Kill me.” The other had nodded his maggot-ridden head.

  Only two of the men on the list were supposedly in Northern Westland. Another was last known to be in the city of Curve on Salaphel Island working another lumber tract. The rest had joined Dakaneese mercenary companies, or pirate crews, before the recent war and hadn’t been seen since.

  Already Spyra had sent men after the two in the north. He was in Southport, and Curve was only a day and a half away. He was going there himself. Since Salaphel was under Westland jurisdiction, he didn’t feel the need to take a military detachment with him, but he did bring a pair of his liege men to aid him if they were forced to give chase.

  The superintendent at the Salaphel lumber tract welcomed Lord Spyra into a big log structure and generously offered his table to him and his men. Spyra indicated for his men to sit and did so himself. The table was long enough to seat forty men, and the torchlit room was open. The high, log-raftered ceiling was spacious but heavy with pitch smoke from the torches on the walls. No one knew why Spyra was there, so there was no need for posturing or trying to conceal his motives. The poor superintendent was clearly worried that he had done something wrong, or maybe he thought one of his men was guilty of a crime. Often the men wanted by one city guard or another for illegal acts ended up working the mills. Rarely did a lord come to visit, and never for social reasons. Lord Ellrich used to frequent the islands in the spring to enjoy the abundance of grottel that were rousted out of their forest nests as the undergrowth was cleared out before harvest. The huge lord could eat a dozen of them in a single sitting. The superintendent was hoping that a table full of the fat, meaty creatures would keep him in Lord Spyra’s good graces.

  “Sir,” Spyra said, trying to use a comforting tone. “Could you invite a certain worker of yours to dinner?”

  “They come and go, my lord,” the superintendent said guardedly. “Is this man in some sort of trouble?”

  “Not in the way you might think. He has committed no crime. As a matter of fact, I would just like to ask him a few questions.”

  “Give me his name, my lord, and I will make sure he is at the table this eve.” The superintendent scratched his chin curiously. “You’re sure he's not a wanted man?”

  “No,” Spyra answered. “Believe me, after the man hears what I have to say, he will be thankful I spoke with him.”

  The superintendent became a little nervous after Spyra gave him the name, but he repeated it to an assistant and told him which foreman the man worked under before sending him off to fetch him. Spyra sent his two men with the superintendent’s assistant just as a precaution. The superintendent disappeared into the kitchen and conferred with his cooks about the night’s meal, then returned and took a seat across from Lord Spyra.

  “Can you tell me what this is about?” the superintendent asked.

  Spyra saw no harm in telling the man, even though he felt foolish speaking of such things as wizards, spells, and living dead men.

  “Some Westland men, who were fighting under King Glendar, sailed out of O’Dakahn. For whatever reason, they’ve become scattered about the realm. No doubt they believe themselves to be thought of as Westland deserters.” Spyra saw the superintendent swallow hard and wondered why the man was getting so worried. “Those men actually did the right thing by deserting Glendar. High King Mikahl wishes to thank them.”

  “So they’re not in trouble, these men?”

  “Not at all.” Spyra felt that he might just have found more than he’d hoped to. “In fact, the High King has declared that all they have to do is swear fealty to him to be fully absolved of the deed, but…”

  “I knew there was a ‘but’. There’s always more to it,” the superintendent
said. “What more is there? A penance for the Crown of a year’s labor, or a hefty fine to fatten the coffers?”

  “You’re getting ahead of yourself,” Lord Spyra snapped. He was a big, formidable man who had spent his whole life in the Highwander military. He wasn’t used to being questioned, and frankly didn’t like it very much. He took a few moments and tried to remember the fact that he was a lord now and not a general. “Let me finish next time, before you go running off at the mouth, man.” He pierced the superintendent with his eyes and went on. “Those men were bespelled. All of them. The men on those ships with Glendar won’t die, even when they should.” Spyra stood and started pacing with his hands clasped behind his back. The idea of the undead, and the man before him, had him on the verge of anger. “Those who still have a beating heart can be saved from the horrible fate that awaits them. Many of them have already met a terrible end.”

  “My lord.” The superintendent’s relief was palpable. “I apologize for interrupting you. We have seen the effects you speak of out here. Several, perhaps thirty, of our men were on those ships. There were more, but we had to burn them after they started rotting away. Only after their bones were charred to ash did they stay dead.”

  “Well then, we have just made a great step to fulfilling the High King’s orders,” Lord Spyra said with a smile that showed he was holding no ill will, and that his irritation had passed. “I was ordered to question these men and compile a list of all who were on those ships. I have to find out who was burned and who else is missing, but a wizard named Sholt will come and do whatever it is he does to remove the enchantment Pael put on them. They can kneel to me and say the words of fealty to King Mikahl after dinner. That will make them free men again.”