“That will be good for them, my lord,” the superintendent said, “but I will lose more than a few of them when they learn that they are free to go home and such.” He stood and wiped his brow. “It’s good to know we wasn’t in the wrong by burning those that wouldn’t stay dead either.” He looked up, his eyes focusing on something far beyond the roof of the cabin. “It wasn’t easy.”
It took Spyra a moment to realize that the man was praying. He waited until the prayer was done before offering a suggestion.
“Why don’t you have them all rounded up after dinner. Tell them what it’s all about. I have to ask them who else was on those ships and then go track those men down.”
Later that evening, thirty-two men were absolved of their desertion. By morning, Lord Spyra’s list had grown to more than a hundred names, only eighteen of whom were known to be dead. His next stop was going to be a little trickier. More than half the men on the new list were working out of the New Westland settlement on the Isle of Salazar, where those lords and merchants who had escaped the Dragon Queen had settled. Most of them were working aboard ships. Finding them all wasn’t going to be easy.
Spyra decided that he had to go back to Southport and take a ship to Salazar from there. For this trek he would need at least a handful of men. Salazar wasn’t part of Westland, or even under the rule of High King Mikahl. Finding cooperation there wasn’t guaranteed.
He wanted to go back to Southport anyway. He figured he should at least grant the two skeletons being held there their last wishes. He didn’t relish the idea of it, but once that was done he would separate their skulls and end them.
***
With an anguished wail and a torrent of tears, Queen Rosa said goodbye to Phen and the others. They were standing in the starlit courtyard outside the red brick castle. The queen was only emotional over Phen, though. It amazed King Mikahl how much she cared for the boy. The small comfort he gave her while she was a prisoner of the Dragon Queen had bonded them for life.
Lady Trella wasn’t much better with her goodbyes. She didn’t wail and moan, but she wouldn’t let go of Lord Gregory for a long time.
“I’m only going to be gone for a few weeks, my love,” he told her.
“You told me that once before and I spent an entire year thinking you were dead.”
“Aye.” He squeezed her closer to him. “That won’t happen again. If it wasn’t for the Skyler Clan, I would never have been able to come and find you, though. I owe them a great deal.” He kissed her lips. “You’re welcome to come along.”
“No, Rosa needs me to help her prepare for Westland, and there are huge lists of things that she has to handle when she gets there. She doesn’t know our customs. Besides that, the skeeks destroyed Lake Bottom, and I’m sure Lady Able needs help at Lakeside.”
“I’ll be back soon, my love,” he told her again. “There and back again, I swear it. I’ll only stay for a few days.”
“What is this? No tears or hugs or kisses for me?” Oarly asked the High King with a smirk on his face.
“Master Oarly, I promise you that when you return from this adventure you will be awarded land, title, and a healthy chest for all you’ve given up for this realm.” Mikahl grinned broadly. “But if you want a kiss, you’d better find it elsewhere.”
“I’d rather kiss your horse than you, King Mikahl. But I’d rather kiss a bottle of brandy than either of you.”
Lady Telgra hugged Queen Rosa, then Lady Trella in turn. Her eyes seemed to glow in the predawn darkness. They were full of excitement and sadness, and more than a little uncertainty.
Jicks said goodbye to his mother. His father had died last year when Pael and Glendar sacked Castlemont. The High King shook his hand, which was no small thing to a common soldier. Mikahl went on to assure him that his mother would be well cared for while they were gone.
One of the archers was saying goodbye to a girl who was as loud as Queen Rosa. It was clear that she didn’t want to see her man go.
The other archer was a loner, like Lieutenant Welch. The two of them stood watching over the scene.
From somewhere in the darkness, the order to load up was called. A few moments later three overcrowded wagons, pulled by four horses each, rolled out of Dreen’s north gate. They were headed toward adventure.
Chapter 17
Commander Lyle was on the verge of smacking the fat, dimwitted city guard captain who sat across from him. The office was furnished opulently with polished teakpanels, ensconced brass lanterns, and thick, padded leather chairs. The space was decorated far beyond the means of the man sitting on the other side of his huge, glossy-topped desk. He was obviously on the take, and it perturbed Commander Lyle quite badly. Worse, the man was actually refusing to give him aid, which meant he was refusing to act on an order given by the High King. The man kept reading and rereading the document Commander Lyle had given him, but incomprehension, or maybe disbelief that it was actually from the king, is all that showed on his round face.
“I’ll have to check with Queen Willa,” the man finally said. “I’ll send a rider in the morning. It’s already past the dinner hour. Too late to send one tonight.”
“Queen Willa lives in Xwarda, man,” Lyle said. “It will take a rider five days to get there and five days to get back. What difference does it make if it is dinner time when he leaves?”
The captain of the city guards scratched his head absently and handed the scroll back to Commander Lyle. “By the time a man readied his horse and prepared himself for such a ride, it would be dark. And it will take at least eight days to get to Xwarda, because my messengers do not travel at night. There are bandits and far worse dangers roaming the hills of Highwander. This isn’t Westland farm land.”
“Listen, Captain!” Lyle stood and roared while pointing a finger. “I don’t know what your game is, but this is an order from the High King.” He smacked the rolled parchment across the desk. “The High King reigns over Queen Willa. His order cannot be reversed, or be questioned by you, or even Her Majesty.”
The man’s confused look of dismay made Commander Lyle’s blood reach the boiling point. He was sure the veins in his neck were standing out like cords as he began to shout. In the background, beyond the rushing of the blood in his ears, he thought he heard footsteps scrambling outside the door.
“If you do not comply with my granted authority, I’ll have you arrested for dereliction of duty or insubordination. Better yet, if you think to defy me, I’ll do away with all the rank and rigmarole and just whip your fat ass.”
“Lieutenant!” the guard captain yelled, his face white with fear. “Arrest this man!”
The door to the office burst open and several armed men came in, though all of them except one looked to be as afraid of Commander Lyle as their captain was. Surely everyone outside the door had heard the conversation.
Commander Lyle drew his sword, and in a pair of heartbeats positioned himself behind the captain with his blade against the man’s fleshy neck. “Call them off, fool,” Lyle ordered. “I’ve fought dragons and demons and Dakaneese sellswords. I didn’t do it so some lazy scoundrel like you could pilfer the coffers and grow fat. We will send word to Queen Willa and the High King, just like you suggested, but it will be an inquiry into how you can afford to work in such luxury while half the people in the realm are fighting desperately to rebuild a simple place to call home.”
The lieutenant of Weir’s city guard, a short, wiry man with a very long mustache, seemed to think that was funny. After he finished laughing, he told his men to put away their weapons. Hesitantly, they did.
He picked the scroll up from the captains’ desk and read a few lines. “I think you’d better cooperate with this one.”
“I will,” the terrified captain blubbered. “I swear it. Just get him off of me.”
“It’s too late for that, man,” Commander Lyle said to the lieutenant. “I don’t know who you are, but unless you’re ready to back up the document you hold,
you should mind your business.”
“There’s no need for violence here, Commander,” the lieutenant said through a wide, delighted grin. “Our corrupt friend can be put in a cell until your charges are rendered, but there’s no need to take off his head.”
The captain whimpered at that, and the lieutenant’s smile widened. Lyle realized then that the lieutenant was really enjoying this. Maybe he was tired of the captain’s treachery. He probably didn’t have the rank to do anything about it. Lyle knew that meant someone was empowering the captain, or he had some strong swords in his pocket.
“By all rights I would be justified to pike this traitor’s head at the city gate.” He returned the lieutenant’s grin so he knew he wasn’t really going to do it.
Just then, a man who towered over the lieutenant stepped through the door and pushed him aside. This man was armored in well-worn studded leather, and by the scars on his face and arms he looked to have seen his share of battles. He held a loaded crossbow in one muscled arm, and it was aimed at Commander Lyle.
“Shoot him,” the captain said, not realizing that the crossbow was also aimed at him. “Shoot him now, before…” his words were cut off by the feel of Lyle’s blade slicing into his neck. “Nooo, please,” the captain managed.
“It’s not very wise to order the death of the man whose blade is at your throat, Captain,” Lyle said with a glare at the man whose arrow might kill him if the trigger was pulled. He could tell by the look on the lieutenant’s face that the situation no longer amused him. His hand was on his sword hilt, but the hesitation in the gesture was obvious.
“I hope you’re not in Weir alone, Commander,” the lieutenant warned.
“I’m not alone. As a matter of fact, there’s my man Petar now.”
The man with the crossbow grinned. His expression showed that he wasn’t about to fall for that old trick. His grin disappeared, and the bolt from his crossbow loosed wildly and hit his captain in the shoulder, when Petar cracked him in the head with the hilt of his sword.
The captain gave out a painful yelp and Commander Lyle cursed at Petar for causing the man to fire at him. “By the gods, man, you could have waited until he was pointing that thing somewhere else.”
“Sorry, Commander.” Petar grinned.
The lieutenant sighed loudly and plopped down in one of the fine leather chairs that sat on either side of the office door. “Well I hope you have enough men to take Lord Vidian out, because that was his son your man just thumped.”
“Who is Lord Vidian?” Commander Lyle asked. He didn’t wait for an answer. “I have the entire armies of Westland, Dakahn, Wildermont, Seaward, Valleya, and even Highwander on my side, man. What are these people thinking? King Mikahl will come through here and clip all their heads if they think to defy his authority.”
“You might have to inform Lord Vidian about all that. Your wars never made it to Weir, and Lord Vidian has been leeching the city for as long as he’s been alive. His family owns the barges, the warehouses, and most of the people you see strutting about.”
Commander Lyle grabbed the four inches of arrow protruding out of the whimpering captain’s shoulder and pulled it sideways. The captain screamed and followed in the direction he was being pulled. A moment later, Lyle was sitting at the captain’s desk. He was no fool. He thought he knew exactly how to handle this mess.
“Petar, bind his hands please.” Commander Lyle rifled through the desk until he found a parchment and quill. He quickly scribbled out a few paragraphs. “Lieutenant, will you take this traitor out of my sight. I was sent here to deal with an entirely different mess. Petar, you stay here. I need a word with you.”
As soon as they were alone, the commander had Petar close and bolt the door. He scribed out two more scrolls identical to the first.
“Is Markeen still outside?” he asked his man.
“Yes, sir,” Petar answered. “He’s out front with our horses.”
“Take these. Keep them hidden. One is to be ridden to Queen Willa in Xwarda. One is for Queen Rachel in Seaward. The other should be taken back to Dreen, to the High King, but by way of Tip, not by crossing back over the Pixie River this far south.” The commander stood and indicated which parchment went where.
“Go now, and put our men on the road immediately. Give them each an extra horse, and here,” he took out several silver coins from his pouch. “Give them each enough to eat and maintain their mounts. Tell them they must hurry, though. There’s about to be a shit storm in Weir. Once the riders are off, have all of our men meet me in the alley where the skeletons are being displayed.”
“Yes, sir,” Petar answered.
“Be careful,” Lyle said as the man left the office. He glanced down at Lord Vidian’s son lying unconscious on the floor and shook his head. Quickly, before he followed Petar out, he wrote a few paragraphs on another scroll and carried it visibly in his hand as he exited the building.
Even at this late hour there were a lot of people about. Almost all of them glanced at him as he passed. No doubt they had seen the captain tied up and bleeding as he was escorted to the local cell house, or at least they had heard the rumors. None of them could know why, but surely the gossipers had come up with a dozen reasons why he was there. Even as he and Markeen rode through the streets toward the alley, people gawked and pointed with unsure expressions on their faces. He hoped he could take the wagon cage and get out of town, but if he couldn’t, he wanted to make sure his three messengers got well away.
He wasn’t sure if what he had in mind was the right thing to do or not, but he was certain he had to follow his orders. He hoped that a disruptive confrontation with the crowd as they commandeered the wagon cart would distract this Lord Vidian’s men long enough. The lieutenant would be on his own, Lyle knew, and he didn’t like it. There would be severe repercussions for laughing while the fat captain’s life was in jeopardy. Lyle figured that once he and his men were gone, the captain would be released and would seek revenge. He tried not to worry about it for the moment. King Mikahl or Queen Willa would send someone to deal with the errant lord soon enough. Lyle had plenty on his platter with getting the skeleton cage into his possession and moving toward Valleya. It was dark, and the alley was even more crowded by the time he and his men got into position. He sent Markeen to buy some torches and was now giving orders as they were unbundled and passed out.
“Use your horses to force through the crowd,” the commander ordered. “Be sure not to trample anybody.”
“What about us?” one of the three men who had given up their horses to the messengers asked.
“Once we commandeer the wagon cage, you’ll drive it.” Commander Lyle pointed as he answered. “Two of you get crossbows and guard the driver until we’re clear of the city. Once we’re away we’ll figure something else out.”
“Is the fisherman going to put up a fight?” a man asked.
“I doubt he will, but there may be trouble from the city guard, so have your weapons ready.” Lyle took a breath and gave the order to light the torches. A moment later he forced his destrier into the crowd and began shouting out commands as if a dragon were about to attack.
“Get back!” he yelled. “Go home. Clear the way. By the order of the High King, move away from the cage!”
His men began repeating the commands, and in only a few short moments the people were shouting their outrage. The well-trained Valleyan war horses didn’t flinch; instead they began shouldering the people back is if they were in a battle. Most of the crowd figured out that they needed to get back, but few of them went very far. They wanted to see the confrontation that was surely about to take place.
“By order of the High King, get back, clear the way,” Lyle repeated.
“Go home, people. This is none of your concern,” Sergeant Tolbar added from not too far away.
“What’s all this about?” screamed a small, weathered-looking man from the flap of the pavilion tent. A few people in the dispersing crowd echoed the d
emand to know why they were being herded away from the spectacle.
“Are you the man who owns this wagon?” Commander Lyle asked over the murmurs of the people who remained.
“I am,” the old fisherman said with his chin held out. “What of it? You got no right to stop me displaying my catch.”
“By order of the High King you are to pack up and turn your wagon cage over to us.” Commander Lyle shrugged at the man sympathetically. “King Mikahl wants to see these skeletons firsthand, and truthfully, so do I.”
“You can see them for two coppers a man. The High King can afford to pay me, too.” The fisherman made a face. “I was only charging a copper, but the Lord of Weir put a tax on me.” Saying this seemed to remind the fisherman of something. He took up a defensive posture in front of the pavilion flap beside a huge man holding a double-bladed axe. “What right does the High King have to interfere with a free man and his honest business?”
Commander Lyle looked at the axe man. One of Lord Vidian’s employees? Probably posted there to make sure the fisherman didn’t stiff them on the tax. He shook his head. “You are advertising that one of the skeletons is King Glendar. Is that correct?”
“It’s true,” the fisherman said with his hands on his hips. “Look behind you. You are costing me and the Lord of Weir our wages. Now be off.”
“I don’t care who we’re costing money,” Lyle said. “If the mighty Lord of Weir needs these hundred coppers so badly, then he needs to find better advisors. A hundred coppers wouldn’t feed the captain of the city guard for a day.” Lyle swung down off his horse and drew his sword. With a few confident strides he took up a challenging position in front of the axe man, who moved to defend himself.
“King Glendar was the High King’s half-brother, you buffoon,” Lyle informed them with wild, battle-eager eyes. “The man has every right to keep you from displaying his royal family as if they were a bearded lady or a three-legged elf. If you don’t want your skeleton lying among the others in that cage, step aside now.”
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