Michael Mathias - The Wizard and the Warlord

“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.

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 passed.

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.