Michael Mathias - The Wizard and the Warlord

According to Lord Gregory, not this night, but the next, they would leave the wagons behind and make the half-day’s ride up into the foothills to the Skyler Clan’s village. Oarly seemed more intrigued by the clan folk’s underground rabbit holes than the chance to see the great Spire.

For Phen, the morning wore on as slowly as any he’d ever endured, but finally the base of the towering black triangular Spire came into view. It was awe inspiring, and the entire group was silent as they approached it.

Each of the three faces of the Spire’s base was about a dozen paces wide at the ground. It rose up hundreds of feet, tapering inward slightly as it went, forming a perfect needle-like spike.

Phen walked around it, scanning the hundreds upon hundreds of names carved carefully into the faces. The most recent names were just above eye level, and the space between them and the ground was filled with the names of champions. Phen noticed that the lower names were strange, and some were even carved in the old language. He observed that for many years, possibly centuries, the names had been carved in fancy script. From waist-high to the present, the names had been rendered in plain, simple lettering.

“Dwarves carved those,” Oarly boasted, pointing at the fancy work. “The lettering is too clean and complicated for even the elves to manage.”

Phen nodded. Oarly was probably right. Dwarves did stone work far better than any other race. They came around one side of the Spire to find Jicks, Lieutenant Welch, Lady Telgra, and a few others eyeing Lord Gregory’s name. Phen saw it and then eyed the Lion Lord. Pride radiated from the man like heat from the sun.

For many years Phen saw that there was a member of the Skyler Clan listed as the archery champion, but for the last two dozen festivals the names were all elven. Telgra studied those intently, but no sign of recognition showed on her face.

“If they had a competition for who could sink in the mud the fastest, you could be on there too, Phen,” Oarly laughed as he took a pull from his flask.

Phen pointed to a place only a few feet off the ground. “Look Oarly,” he exclaimed. “Tection Shardsworth, thrown forty-two paces clear by Draran.”

“No,” Oarly said, peering closely at the inscription.

Phen wondered if Tection was one of Oarly’s relatives. Shardsworth wasn’t a very common name in the dwarven history books.

Oarly huffed with a curious, yet prideful look on his face. He scratched his head and looked Phen in the eye. “How do you think they land, lad?” he asked seriously.

Phen shrugged. “Does it matter?”

Commander Lyle wasn’t pleased to be on the verge of heading back to Dreen empty-handed. He was sure that the High King wouldn’t be happy with his failure. After crossing the Southron River, they hadn’t seen a trace of the skeleton crew or their strange beasts. They spent a whole day going up and down the far shore and searched for another day in the village of Crags, questioning the folks about the fisherman and his initial catch. Then, just to be thorough, the commander had them search the rocky terrain around the village for any sign of the undead. There was nothing. It was like the skeletons they had been following just walked straight into the river and never came out.

Lieutenant Garret suggested that the skeletons had boarded a barge similar to the one they had used to cross the river. It made sense, but this mystery barge hadn’t been found. Nor was there a single witness who might have seen it.

Commander Lyle was certain that a barge was a possibility, but the lay of the land made it highly unlikely for a barge to pass by unseen.

At night, a barge with a capable water mage might have been able to land somewhere along the vast shore of Ultura Lake. Searching the shoreline of such a massive body of water would be next to impossible. It could be, Lyle decided, that the skeletons were going back in the direction from which they had come. Leading the commander’s group to the edge of the Southron River, then backtracking, didn’t seem likely for them to do, either. The idea that these things were intelligent enough to lose a trained pursuer was frightening.

As they rode into the town of Lake Port, failing King Mikahl was eating at Commander Lyle’s pride. He had to make a decision soon. Searching fruitlessly would only delay him from explaining what had happened. He was sure that failing to report an attack upon kingdom men by armed skeletons was some sort of dereliction of his duty. High King Mikahl should know everything that happened. Commander Lyle just couldn’t bring himself to give up the search yet.

After securing enough rations for the men and horses to last another week, Lyle found a merchant who had a detailed map of Valleya. While his men ate a hot meal of beef stew and freshly baked bread at a nearby inn, he studied it. After asking several questions about the surrounding areas, Commander Lyle made his decision. He had Petar choose four men to accompany him and ordered the other five to ride to Dreen. He gave Petar a written account of what had happened. It included a list of the dead and explained that Lieutenant Garret and six of Weir’s city guard had joined his company.

“Ride to Southron, then head straight north to Kastia Valley,” Commander Lyle told Petar. “Stay on the roads and make as much time as you can.”

“Yes, sir,” Petar answered.

Commander Lyle dismissed him to his duties and then ordered lieutenant Garret to take four men and go a few miles west out of Lake Port, and then work his way north to the town of Southron looking for any signs of the skeletons’ trail. The commander and the rest of the company would travel the road and the shoreline north and do the same.

“Don’t scout at night,” the commander said. “Study the terrain and scout for tracks till the light runs out and then make your camp. We should meet up at the north side of the lake, in Southron City, by tomorrow evening.”

“What if we find a trail?” Lieutenant Garret asked.

“Follow it,” the commander answered. “Use caution, and leave us a trail to find. If we don’t see you in Southron by the morning after next, we will come search you out. Do you really think you will find anything?”

Lieutenant Garret smiled and gave a shrug. “In just the last few days, far stranger things have happened.”

“Yes they have,” Commander Lyle agreed with a grimace. “If we find a trail, I’ll send a pair of riders out to find you.” He looked at his remaining men and then back at the lieutenant. “Make your trail obvious.”

“Yes, sir,” the Weir city guardsman replied. Without hesitation, he found his horse and started rounding up the men he would take with him.

The next night they met up in the lively trading town of Southron. Neither group saw anything to indicate that the skeletons had passed through. Reluctantly, Commander Lyle gave up the search. The next morning, as they started out for Kastia Valley, the whole group seemed defeated.

Commander Lyle reasoned that, when he reported his failure to the High King, at least it wouldn’t be a surprise. The message he sent with Petar would break the news for him. It was a small consolation, for he had to face the families of the eight men who had been killed under his command. That, he felt, was far worse than facing King Mikahl’s disappointment. The fact that he couldn’t report a success, that those men had died in vain, was the worst of it. Commander Lyle wasn’t looking forward to his return to the red city.

Three long days later, the commander entered the castle gates followed by his men, and the seven others from Weir. He sent them all to the stables to tend the needs of their mounts while waiting to see if they had new orders, or if they were to be dismissed to their regular duty. Lieutenant Garret would be interviewed by the king himself, since Lord Gregory was afield; that much he knew. Most likely the others would be questioned before they were added to the High King’s roll.