Michael Mathias - The Wizard and the Warlord

“Aye,” Phen agreed. “I’m sort of afraid of him now.”

The thirty-two wood cutters, mill workers, and loaders who had deserted Glendar’s army and wound up on the Isle of Salpahel congregated around the large table of the company cabin. Master Wizard Sholt had already prepared his spell and dusted the table with a silvery powder reagent that was required to make it work. The gathering men were nervous. Lord Spyra banged a goblet on the table, loudly drawing everyone’s attention. The large, imposing form of the former general standing beside the wizard helped bring about a sudden hush.

“In a moment, Sholt here will relieve you of the curse that you’re under, but I have a question I want to ask first.” Spyra began pacing back and forth as if he were about to make a pre-battle speech to encourage his troops. “Have any of you had an urge to go east? Or have any of you heard voices in your head?” He paused in his stride to listen for an answer. “I know nobody wants to sound like a raver, but this is important. Speak up now, and be honest.” He stopped and clasped his hands behind his back and surveyed the men. None of them said a word, but none of them looked away either. He sighed with relief. “Very well then,” he finished with a nod. He opened an arm to the wizard, indicating for him to take over, then made his way outside the cabin.

A few moments later the light of the afternoon sun was challenged momentarily by a surge of bright lavender light. A collective gasp from inside the building coincided with the flash. Lord Spyra shivered involuntarily. The idea of being spelled with magic, even in order to be rid of a curse, was enough to make him cringe.

He was glad the living men who had fallen under Pael’s enchantment were not being called by the Dark One. He had learned his men were tracking some of the others across Westland in a southeasterly direction, and not on a known road. After comparing the reports and looking at a map, he had come to the conclusion that they were all being called to the Dragon Tooth Spire.

With Master Sholt’s help, Spyra planned to send a message to High King Mikahl explaining his findings and informing him of the trip to the Isle of Salazar he and Master Sholt were about to undertake. His orders were to track down the men who had been affected and, with Master Sholt’s help, do what could be done to cure them. His orders were not to chase after rotting undead skeletons who claimed to hear voices, even though his military mind told him that it was of concern.

Men were starting to filter out of the company cabin. Some stopped to thank Spyra, and others questioned him about their freedom.

“You’re as free as any man,” Spyra assured them.

The superintendent, knowing that at least half of the men were as good as gone, was talking about improvements he was planning for the operation. Spyra gave him a shrug that said it wasn’t his fault, then turned and went back inside to check on Sholt. The wizard was slumped at the head of the table. Spyra knew that curing all those men at once had drained him. He sat down beside his old friend, willing to wait while he slept.

Commander Lyle studied the trail that the skeletons and their beast had made when they fled. The tracks led them north to Xway but disappeared there. Lyle picked up the trail again west of the bridge. After some intense questioning, they learned that no one in Xway had seen anything out of the ordinary. The bridge guard and the toll man hadn’t allowed a group of hooded men, certainly no skeletons, across the bridge, yet the trail resumed on the other side of the Pixie River and continued straight west through the countryside. After following for two full days on horseback, Commander Lyle knew that they should have come upon anyone who was traveling on foot.

Already Commander Lyle could see Seaward City a good day’s ride to the west and slightly north of the trail. He was confused and unable to figure out how the skeletons were covering ground on foot faster than his trackers were on horseback.

Lieutenant Garret didn’t have much to offer on the matter. He stated that there was no bridge across the Southron River within a hundred miles of Seaward City. Its flow was considerably stronger and wider than the Pixie River, which the skeletons might have been able to wade across. That wasn’t possible here. Garret suggested being prepared to fight when they closed on the river bank. He was fairly sure that no ferryman would haul the group they were pursuing across, and if one did, he would remember them plainly.

As the day wore on and the direction of the trail didn’t vary, Commander Lyle took the lieutenant’s advice and ordered the men to prepare for action. It was only a matter of hours before they came upon the river. The terrain was lightly hilly and not suitable for an ambush, but the commander was fully aware that there were forces far greater than normal involved here. He didn’t want his men caught off guard. They were following living skeletons, after all.

Things grew tense as the sun began to get low in the sky and the smell of the river filled the air. The shallow valley offered a few places where a group could hide, but they saw nothing other than the sparse trail. The tracks led right up to the river’s edge, then disappeared.

“Did they go in?” Commander Lyle asked his trackers.

“Must have,” one answered with a perplexed look on his face.

“There’s no indication that they went up river toward Seaward City or the other way, neither,” the other tracker added.

“It’s easily five miles north to the closest ferry,” the lieutenant said.

“I’m guessing we’ll pick the trail up across the river, unless the fargin bastards washed back out to sea.”

“The fisherman caught the two he kept in the cage off of the coast of Crags,” one of the men said.

“Have two men ride upriver and get us a barge,” Commander Lyle ordered. “Make sure there is a water mage aboard. We will want to cross and be able to move up and down the other shoreline until we pick up the trail.”

“Maybe those two litch yard ghouls washed out of the river into the man’s nets,” Lieutenant Garret said.

A long silence passed as they watched two men ride up the river bank to fetch them a boat.

“Maybe he didn’t catch them in his nets at all,” Commander Lyle finally said.

Her mind was not her own, that was certain. The Abbadon, the thing Gerard had become, had a firm grip on her since the red priest cried out the last word of his spell. It was no easy task getting her through the marshes that night, fleeing the High King and avoiding the hungry snappers that seemed to be everywhere. Eventually, a small Zard craft had picked her up. Using the knowledge of the Dragon Queen’s memories, the Warlord of Hell recalled his lover’s past and took command of her. Through Shaella’s body, he called the marsh creatures in from near and far. With her hands, he raised the lightning star banner for them once again. He had the Zard set up a command post in a little known lava-bubble cave that was formed at the base of the Dragon Spire.

The Abbadon was powerful beyond reason, but he was still trapped in the empty Nethers. With Shaella under his command, though, he could tear open a breach large enough to free all the dark demons and devils trapped below with him. Together they could take back the world from which they had been banished. He knew he had to restrain himself, though. The demon Shokin had used Pael to break free. They had failed because of haste and power lust. Gerard himself had been blinded by his own love for Shaella. If he hadn’t been weak, King Mikahl couldn’t have taken her head. Gerard’s brother Hyden had played a large part in that. Shaella was his again now, but she was no longer Shaella. She was only a vessel, a body for him to occupy. She had no way to resist him, no will of her own.