The Wizard and the Warlord (The Wardstone Trilogy Book Three) (43 page)

Mikahl had recently suggested a feast as a way to boost morale for the folk in and around the castle. They’d had a rough time over the past few years, with Glendar’s failing and the Dragon Queen’s occupation.

He was pleased that his wife liked the idea. To his surprise, she and Lady Able took command of the preparations, saying that it was important that, while the event be grand and uplifting, it shouldn’t be too much so. It would be improper to eclipse the Yule Day festival with a lesser affair. And even though Yule Day was a few months off, Mikahl agreed and let the women have their way.

Shouts from the ground to the north caught their attention and they strode to the parapet hand in hand to see what the ruckus was about. A group of riders escorting a carriage were coming in. The carriage flew the High King’s lion, the Red Wolf of Wildermont’s flag, and another banner boasting an axe crossing a hammer. It trundled through the North Road gate and slowed to a stop. Mikahl let out a bellowing cloud of breath and laughed. He turned to his wife with a face-splitting grin.

“I think King Jarrek has accepted our invitation to feast,” he said hopefully. “And it looks as if General Diamondeen and some of his dwarves have come, too.”

“Oh no, Mik,” Rosa said with a fluster. “What’s the proper setting for a dwarf?” She blew into her hands with a look of utter despair on her face. “Would children’s tables offend them? Oh, by the setting sun, Mikahl, Spyra and Sholt are due back any day now. The feast tables are already set and waiting. What do I do?”

“Be calm, my lady,” Mikahl soothed, and pulled her into his arms with a deep kiss.

She kissed him back, but he could sense that her concern over the matter was genuine.

“I’ll find out from Jarrek what is proper as soon as I can, my love.” Mikahl kissed her forehead. “But as long as you put out an open keg or two, they’ll not be offended at all.”

As Mikahl ushered the queen back inside, he made sure that she didn’t look at the west side of the castle grounds, where the Dragon Queen’s garden yard had once been. Though the new construction was almost done, the place where the red priest had burned the symbol into the ground and opened the portal was completely, and unnaturally, void of snow. Some dark taint remained in the earth there. It was Mikahl’s hope that Master Sholt could remove the curse, or whatever it was. With the ground covered in white, save for that one circular area, it was getting harder and harder to keep it from coming to Rosa’s attention. Mikahl didn’t want that to happen.

“Any word from Hyden Hawk and Master Oarly?” King Jarrek asked Mikahl later in one of Lakeside Castle’s luxurious gathering rooms.

General Diamondeen was there, as well. All of them had been drinking from a keg of King Balton’s brandy wine. The stuff was sweet and potent. A fire roared in the hearth and a couple of oil lamps lit the mahogany-paneled room well. The furnishings were plush and covered in golden velvet. The three men and the dwarf sat in a semicircle facing the fire. The men’s stockinged feet rested in the thick fur of an old bear pelt. Diamondeen’s feet dangled from his divan a good handspan above it. He had pulled off his socks after the last goblet and was now curling and uncurling his stubby, hairy toes while extending his feet toward the fire.

“Last we heard,” Mikahl said, falling back into his oversized chair, “they had reached Afdeon and were considering going on to the Leif Repline fountain. Though how they'd do such a thing up in those frigid mountains this time of year, I’d never know.”

“At least they made it that far,” King Jarrek smiled. “I suppose it’s time you spilled your news to the High King, General,” Jarrek said. “The dwarves have been busy doing more than rebuilding our realm, it seems.”

General Diamondeen let out a huff. “Picking a new king en’t no easy work.”

“They’ve chosen, then?” Mikahl asked.

“They have,” the dwarf answered as he sat up. His demeanor grew a bit more serious. He was too drunk to keep his balance, though, and ended up falling back into the cushioned divan. As intoxicated as he was, he didn’t spill a drop from his goblet. He managed to sit up enough to take another sip before continuing. “A Cragbert, they say. They have a distant blood claim to the throne and no one is protesting.” He belched and wiped his beard with the back of his hand. “Supposed to be crowned in Xwarda sometime betwixt now and your Yule Day. It’s a blasphemy to Doon, I tell ya. You can’t crown the king of the rock-dwellers above ground.”

“King Cragbert,” Mikahl said quietly.

“Of course, you and Queen Rosa will be invited to the coronation,” King Jarrek explained. “Willa is all in a worry about it now. She wanted the dwarves to wait until spring, at least, but try explaining the seasons to all the dwarves who haven’t yet come out of the earth in centuries.”

“What does it matter?” Diamondeen barked. “The High King and Queen can fly to Xwarda on that flaming pegasaurus.”

Mikahl and Jarrek laughed deeply.

“Aye,” Mikahl managed. “I can do just that, but by the gods of man and beast, it would be a blasted cold ride.”

***

The trek back to the teleportal cave that would carry the companions to Afdeon was slow and somber. Dostin and Corva took turns with Jicks carrying Oarly’s body. Nothing happened in the two days it took to traverse the cliff ledge back.

The hardest part of that jaunt was getting started. Phen’s thorn wall was quite a barrier. Corva tried using Oarly’s axe to cut a path through, but the progress was far too slow.

The troll had bled to death, and stank to begin with, but now with hundreds of scavengers in the tangle feeding on its flesh, the smell was somewhat worse. They tried fire next, but the vines and branches of the growth were so green that they wouldn’t catch. Finally, Hyden warned off all the creatures feeding in the tangle and blasted most of the stuff out of the passage with a fist of kinetic energy. He hadn’t intended to use such force, but the power of his ring was amplified by the dragon tear medallion and proved to be far more potent than he expected.

Afdeon wasn’t the same glorious place it had seemed to be a few days before. The loss of their companions eclipsed the awe-inspiring wonder of it. King Aldar was back to himself, though. After hearing the news of success, and the cost of it, a feast of honor was held. The deeds of the dead were glorified in tales told by the living. It was giant tradition and did a bit of good by bleeding the bleakness from the surviving companions.

After the feast, Hyden spoke to the others. King Aldar, his wife, and Princess Gretta were all still at the table when he did. Cade was there, as well, though he was the serving master, not a table guest. The giant emissary kept the room clear of interruption once the nature of Hyden’s words became clear.

“I must not dally.” Hyden stood as he spoke. “I cannot ask any of you to continue this quest with me. The powers of the elements themselves conspire against success. Yet I cannot wait until after winter. The goddess who guides me has warned me of dark days to come. Dark days for all of us, not just the kingdom folk, but here in the Giant Mountains and in the Evermore, where the elves live. I wish I knew more, but that is all the knowledge she allowed me.” He looked at Phen then. “Phen, Princess Telgra, three men died so that your futures would be pure and clean. I cannot allow those deaths to be in vain.”

Princess Telgra stood and faced Hyden. “Do not presume to command me, Sir Hyden Hawk,” she said in a tone that caused Phen to look at her strangely. Since she recovered her memory she had been bolder and more assertive, but not like this.

“A delegation of elves is coming to get me as we speak, and eventually I must return to my people. I must warn them of this dark premonition you speak of. But be clear, if I chose to accompany you, I would do so.” She turned and set her gaze on Corva. “I shan't continue with you though. Corva will go in my stead. If this dark threat you speak of will affect us all, then my people will not be denied a chance to face it with you.”

“Well spoken,” King Aldar said, rising to his feet and now towering over the table. “The Wedjak holds many threats, young Skyler, and there are ways we giants can hasten your travel to these lands. As the king of your clan, I command you to allow one of my guardians to travel with you, and at least a few of my wolves to watch over your way.”

“I’m going, too,” Jicks blurted out boldly. “There’s always room for a bladesman on a quest such as this, and I’m not afraid to die for the good of the realm, either.”

Phen started to demand his place on the list of those going, as well, but Oarly’s warning voice echoed through his head and he held his tongue.

Hyden bowed his head to King Aldar before scowling Jicks back into his seat. Jicks blushed scarlet, but felt his demand wouldn’t be ignored.

Hyden scanned the faces at the table and started to speak, but was cut off by a hesitant interruption.

“I’m… a… I’m going, as well.” Dostin said.

“I thought you were coming with me, Dostin?” Princess Telgra said sweetly. “With Corva going with Sir Hyden Hawk, who will protect me?”

The monk shrugged boyishly and looked at his plate. “Nevermind.” He managed to glance at Hyden. Even though he was sad, Hyden couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Corva, you and Jicks spend the evening getting your gear ready,” Hyden said to them. Then to King Aldar, who had given Cade a nod before sitting back down, “I hope to leave on the morrow, if it pleases.”

“Cade is going to fetch your guardian. I’ll have him meet you in the map room across from your quarters within the hour.” The King of Giant’s took a long, deep breath then settled forward with his elbows on the table and his chin on his hands. “Now tell me everything you can about this dark threat.”

“All I can really tell you, King Aldar, is that it’s coming,” Hyden said grimly. “That’s all I really know.”

***

The mirror glass in the room in which Shaella was waiting out the snowstorm captivated the puny part of her mind that was still Gerard. He had loved Shaella dearly, and she him. Only this likeness of her held no knowledge of her past. He suppressed the dark side of his demonic power and let his fiery dragon blood heat his desire as he slowly undressed her.

It was a strange sensation, looking out of one’s eyes and watching that person follow your every whim. Especially when that person was someone you loved beyond the constrictions of time and space, someone you knew loved you from beyond the grave.

The last button of the farm mother’s gifted shirt came loose and Shaella’s heavy breasts became visible. A dark brown stain was crusted on her chest between her large nipples, down into her cleavage. It was the farm boy’s blood. Seeing it ruined the mood of the moment. When she tasted the sticky gore, the coppery flavor woke up the Warlord. Gerard’s consciousness was no match for the powerful evil thriving in his mind, and he was soon forced back into a lonely, empty place where a rare memory of love and life was all that remained. The glimpsing of his past was so far removed from his reality, and so shadowed in pain and hatred, that it was madness anyway. He was trapped, a tiny, insignificant bit of consciousness drowning in a sea of pure malevolence.

The Warlord, the Abbadon, the Master of the Hells, was reveling in the memory of the dying farm boy’s gasping pleas. The confusion in his eyes when his flesh tore, and the way he had so foolishly expected her to let him bed her, was savory. Shaella rubbed and squeezed at her breasts feverishly. Flakes of dried blood and gore fell away or crumbled to powder in her kneading hands. A knock at the door was the wagon master. She let him in and pulled him to her bed. He was far more smitten than the farm boy had been, but as much as the Warlord lusted for his blood, he needed the man. As soon as the snow lessened enough to travel through, the wagon master’s personal carriage would carry her all the way to Xwarda.

Here in this shabby little inn, though, she would satisfy his every desire. First with her hot mouth, then with her body. Then she would command him to hire an armed escort, and if need be, chart a more southerly route across the continent that would be less affected by the snow. They could go through Weir and Seaward City, if they had to, then cut north.

From some deep, dark place within the Warlord’s mind, that tiny bit of Gerard watched helplessly through his lover’s eyes and a looking glass as she gave herself to the old wagon master. The jealousy and rage he felt added only to the sea of hate he swam in. The Warlord’s pleasure of using both her body and this man’s lust was palpable.

The Warlord moaned with Shaella’s delight. What better way to wait out a storm than by draining the life from an idiot in a warm bed?

Though he didn’t yet have a section of King Aldar’s kingdom to guard, Durge had earned the title of guardian well. When he was chosen from the rest of his peers to venture into the Wedjak with Hyden Hawk and Huffa, he was elated. At twenty-four years of age, Durge had room yet to grow. At fourteen feet tall, and nearly six hundred pounds, it didn’t seem possible that he could get any bigger. He was superbly fit and had walked the boundaries of his king’s land more than a dozen times as part of his training. He knew the locations and the commands to activate all of the teleportation symbols, and the rudimentary spells required to get them through the deep of the mountains. He carried a strange staff. The butt was booted in iron, while the head had a small yet wicked-looking blade attached to it. It was pointed like a spear tip, yet as long as a human forearm. One side of its edge was curved like an axe. It was an intimidating weapon, for the staff was as big around as Hyden’s leg and stood twice as tall as he did.

Durge was confident, cordial, and somewhat imposing. His smooth confidence was quickly welcomed into the group.

They were camped at the mouth of a deep cave, sitting around a roaring fire. Huffa lay with her big, fluffy head on Hyden’s lap. The other two great wolves, Urp and Oof, were standing vigilant, one at the cavern mouth, the other a few yards into the depth of the cave beyond the camp. The repetitive scraping ring of Jicks sharpening his sword blade could be heard over the crackling of the flames.