Michael Mathias - The Wizard and the Warlord

The Abbadon knew he couldn’t just march her across the land to Xwarda and tear open a breach, though he was tempted. He had to plan, use the newfound peace in the realm, and the upcoming winter, to his advantage. He would let them find comfort and grow lax in the cold months ahead. He’d already had Queen Shaella order her Zard to start pirating ships. Gold could buy sell-swords. Sell-swords could spy on the state of things across the land. When the time was right, he would send Shaella to Xwarda and, through her, he would use the power of the Wardstone to destroy the barrier between his world and the world of men. He would not fail. He would get his revenge on the High King he had loved so much. He would tear his brother to pieces for taking his ring. He would lead an army of demons and devils and hell-spawned beasts across the land to devour everything in their path.

“Another bone man has come to your call, mastress,” a Zard said to her. The Abbadon hissed as the idea of thinking like Shaella, as a woman, came naturally to his consciousness. Outside the torchlit cavern that she’d taken over, a half-rotten being stood, awaiting her orders.

“Take him to the boiling pot first, Szlan,” the Dark Lord said through Shaella. Her perceptions were his at the moment, and the smell of the decaying man, however sweet to his nostrils, was foul to hers. For the time being, he appeased her senses. Boiling the meat from the skeletons remedied this, and the gore that came from them kept the snappers and the carrion from the immediate area.

To the Warlord, the undead were a nuisance. He hadn’t yet found a good use for them. His call to those of the dark had been intended to bring in the few demons and lesser hell-spawn that had already escaped the Nethers. Some had come to him. Others were on their way to the dragon’s tooth to do his bidding. The skelatons were completely unexpected.

The larger creatures weren’t allowed to travel at will. Only night time flights from one uninhabited place to another were allowed. The last thing the Warlord needed was to draw attention to Queen Shaella’s empty body and the growing army of Zard returning to her service.

Gerard wasn’t worried about being attacked there. It would be next to impossible to come at the Dragon Spire through the marshes. Too many Zard were alert for just that sort of approach. This was their terrain, and a handful of the lizard-men could destroy a full regiment of men out here in a matter of moments. It was the High King and his magical pegasus, and Hyden and his blasted hawkling that he had to worry about.

Shaella had once been a capable sorceress, but now that her mind was mush, she couldn’t cast a simple cantrip. Through her, the Warlord could do some magic, but if confronted, even an inexperienced mage would be able to kill his host. This would destroy the link the red priest had created between her and their Abbadon, Kraw. They secured a defense and stayed hidden until the time to leave for Xwarda became the priority. Making sure the way to Xwarda would be clear of obstacles was also on the agenda. Gerard figured it might be as simple as mounting Shaella on the back of the Choska demon and flying her there. That decision wouldn’t be made until after he had his spies tell him all the little ways that peace time had taken the realm off its guard. Remaining undiscovered was the most important thing for them to do at the moment. If they could manage that, it was just a matter of time until he could finally be free.

The next few days, for the quest party, passed by relatively quiet and uneventfull. Oarly shared a wagon bench with Lady Telgra, and the two of them spent the days conversing quietly. Phen spent his days trying to read while bouncing along, and his evenings helping Jicks dig the latrine pit outside the camp. The young swordsman hadn’t so much as blinked during his watch since being reprimanded. Both Lord Gregory and Lieutenant Welch spent time with him explaining the importance of duty and the toll it sometimes took on a man. They also told him of the rewards that come to those who bite down and bear the heavy load that superiors sometimes pile on their men. Phen listened, too. He was determined to share Jicks’s punishment, even if it hadn’t been imposed on him.

Both boys kept a wary eye out for Oarly. Phen told Jicks how Oarly once faked his own death just to prank Phen. The dwarf was ruthless. The torturous hell he had put Sir Hyden Hawk through with the cinder pepper was downright evil. Neither of the boys looked forward to what the dwarf was no doubt planning for them. The look on Oarly’s face when they happened to catch each other’s gaze was mischievous and full of malice.

The dwarf didn’t act out of the ordinary, though. As a matter of fact, the night after the incident with the wildcat, while everyone was at the campfire, Oarly spent a long time sincerely congratulating Phen and Jicks on their prank. No matter how much Phen denied having anything to do with the wildcat, Oarly refused to believe him. On the surface, everything seemed to be as it always had been. Phen, though, was deeply disturbed by Oarly’s pledge of revenge, and by the bright red slashes across his body. The feelings were intensified by jealousy. Telgra had spent all of her time with Oarly as of late. Her smile seemed forced, and she hadn’t allowed herself to be alone with Phen, even for a moment, not since Oarly was mauled.

She and the dwarf carried on like old friends. Phen couldn’t see any physical attraction between them, but that didn’t help clear the confusion and conflicting feelings that clouded his mind.

The small caravan came out of the Wilder Mountains into the northernmost reaches of Castlemont. The road here leveled out as it carried them through the parts of King Jarrek’s land that hadn’t been totally destroyed. They didn’t linger. Their first destination was still a long way north.

The morning they crossed the Everflow River at High Crossing into the Leif Greyn River basin, Telgra left Oarly and squeezed in the bench seat next to Phen. A wave of relief washed over him, yet he felt a nagging hesitation. This could be the start of Oarly’s revenge, a voice told him. Telgra’s smile and easy demeanor soon evaporated those thoughts, though, and hand in hand they chatted excitedly about seeing the Great Monolith called Summer’s Day Spire. Both of them were disheartened to learn that, though they might be able to see it most of the afternoon, they wouldn’t arrive at its base until afternoon of the following day.

As the day wore on, the breeze coming down off the Giant Mountains looming to the north grew chill.

Telgra giggled and pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders as Oarly’s complaints rang back from the wagon ahead of them. Phen wished he could put his arm around her and pull her close to warm her, but he couldn’t. His stony skin was as cold as the air around them. Telgra didn’t complain. She wiggled closer to him. The two of them watched as the smooth black spike before them grew taller and taller.

That night at the fire, Oarly asked Lord Gregory about the brawl he had won a few years back. The Lion Lord had gotten his name carved into the base of the great monolith beside the other champions of the realm. Lord Gregory waived the question away with the shake of his head, saying that it was nothing, but everyone knew better. The Lion Lord was famous throughout the kingdom.

“I was there,” Lieutenant Welch said, reaching for Oarly’s flask. “I lost a handful of coins that night, I did.” He paused to take a sip of the liquor, wincing at its bite, then handed the container back to the dwarf. “The Valleyan Stallion, they called him. They said he could lift a horse, and by the gods he looked like he could. Then there was Lord Gregory, the Lion of the West. Just like now, he didn’t look like much.”