Michael Mathias - The Wizard and the Warlord

The Eldest smiled. “I hope you know that I would never do anything to hinder you, Hyden. If I didn’t know that you had a hundred other places to spend the winter, I might find a way to temper my brother’s hatred for the elves and keep all of you here.”

Hyden saw the love in his uncle’s eyes, and the sincerity. “I couldn’t put you in that position.” Then to Lord Gregory, Hyden said, “It was grand seeing you again, Lord Lion. Give Mikahl and Rosa my best. King Jarrek and Queen Willa, as well. I’m afraid I’m going to be far too busy to see you off. I’m sure Phen and Oarly will want to say goodbye, though.”

“I was hoping to get away without having to see those two again,” Lord Gregory joked. “I don’t envy you.”

Condlin poured a round of brandy wine for himself and Lord Gregory as Hyden left.

Hyden found he was relieved. All he had to do now was find an excuse for the sudden change of plans that didn’t offend Lady Telgra. He was sure King Aldar would shelter them through the harsher months of the winter. Finding Borg, though, would be the trick. He wouldn’t hole the party up while searching for the giant. He would lead them to the cavern where he, Mikahl, Vaegon, and Loudin had taken shelter once before. If they couldn’t find Borg, they could ride the bitter weather out there.

Lord Gregory left later that afternoon. Phen handled the goodbye well, but Oarly was drunk and became over emotional. Lieutenant Welch and Jicks had to pry the dwarf off of the Lion Lord. The clansfolk had a good laugh at the scene. A trail of little black-haired swordsmen followed the Lion out of the valley, but after he disappeared over the other side of the ridge, the children returned.

Two days later, the quest party, looking like a line of wild-haired two-legged creatures leading a train of horses, eased out of the snow-bleached valley as the sun filled the sky with a peachy light.

Hyden’s excuse for the change of plans was simple. He said that if they could get to the fabled city of Afdeon before the winter trapped them, then they were that much closer to the restorative fountain when spring came. Neither Phen nor Lieutenant Welch wholeheartedly believed the story, it was clear, but Hyden was glad that no one questioned him over the matter.

The shagmar cloaks were warm, but still Oarly complained. Spike rode in a deep, fur-lined pocket Phen had sewn into his. The few days spent trapped in the aereated trunk had quelled the lyna’s desire to get at the dwarf. Talon searched ahead of them for signs of trouble, and Hyden spoke some words that would hopefully find their way to the ears of the giants’ Southern Guardian by way of bird or beast.

The first leg of the quest was finally underway. An elven princess, an ornery dwarf, and six men leading ten heavily-loaded horses headed north into the Giant Mountains.

Hyden hoped they could find Borg before the weather turned nasty. A little snowfall was nothing in the foothills. Once they were in the heart of the range they would either find Borg and gain the shelter of Afdeon or be forced to ride out the winter huddled in a cave, like the ancients. Hyden hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He had to remind himself that he had newfound power to use, the power of the ring he had taken from what was left of Gerard in the Nethers. The many ways he might use magic to find Borg, or even the hidden city, made the odds next to impossible for them to be stuck for the winter. It was with that optimism that he began thinking of other ways to contact the giant while he led his friends into one of the most treacherous places in the realm.

Lord Gregory made it back to the wagons. Each had only a single horse to pull it now, but they were empty, so it was a manageable task. The three drivers were also soldiers, men King Mikahl had picked from the ranks because of their ability to drive the wagons. There was no perceived threat between the foothills and Dreen, but with demons still loose in the world, the High King made it clear that he wasn’t taking any chances.

Lord Gregory chose to ride in his saddle. The hard board seats weren’t very kind to his old body. The weather lessened the further south they went. When the tall, needle-like spire came into view ahead of them it was the afternoon of the second day. The snow was so light that it wasn’t even noticeable, but an icy mist had blanketed the Leif Greyn Valley. Visibility was limited as they moved through it, and they were almost to the base of the spire before they saw Corva and Dostin standing there nervously.

Lord Gregory dismounted and strode over to the face of the monolith, where his name was carved. He hadn’t met them yet, but he knew without a doubt who they were.

“She is important to our people, my lord,” Corva said. “Far more important than I can explain.”

“She doesn’t want to be bothered at this time,” Lord Gregory told them. “I know who Princess Telgra is. The problem is that they have already moved on from where I left them. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t tell you where they have gone.”

“The Queen Mother won’t understand the kingdom’s lack of cooperation in finding her daughter,” Corva explained. “I do not know how that will affect our already shaky relationship.”

“Your queen should understand lack of cooperation extremely well.” Lord Gregory’s tone had a bit of bite to it. “The princess is safe, I can promise you that. Men from the village where we parted ways are already on their way into the Evermore. That is all I can say.”

“Is your name really on there?” Dostin asked stupidly.

“Yes, it is.” Lord Gregory pointed to the script. “Here.”

Dostin eased up close and squinted at the carved letters. He spoke aloud as he read. “Lord Alvin Gregory, Lord of the West, victorious over Sir Willmont Baylor of Valleya in the Brawl.”

“The princess was under my protection,” Corva said to Lord Gregory with the proper amount of respect in his voice. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll just follow your tracks to where you came from. It is my duty.”

Lord Gregory nodded and shook his head. The elf’s sincerity, and good intent, was radiating from him. “You’d better hurry along then,” he said evenly. “It’s snowing in the foothills.”

Corva nodded then unexpectedly extended his hand up to the Lion Lord. “Thank you, my lord. Come now, Dostin, we must make time.”

Lord Gregory watched after them, but after only a moment they were lost in the icy mist. He wasn’t certain he wanted to know what would happen when the monk and the elf entered the clan village. The snow wasn’t deep enough to obscure his trail completely. If the elf could track at all, he would find the Skylers. If the two of them managed to survive that, then maybe they could find Hyden and the others. He decided that it wouldn’t be a bad thing if that happened. What King Mikahl had said about the monk’s fighting ability, and the elf’s determination to carry out his duty, meant they could probably help Phen and the others succeed.

Lord Gregory also found that he didn’t want to think about what would happen if the quest failed. If Princess Telgra didn’t return with her memory, or worse, didn’t return at all, then the friction between the humans and the elves would surely turn volatile.

King Mikahl sat jostling in the opulently decorated royal carriage. Queen Rosa and her attendant, a girl named Allysan, sat across from him, giggling and pointing out the window at the soldiers surrounding them. Their three-hour-long discussion of a green dress they were going to make had numbed his mind completely. The huge procession was far slower than anyone had hoped it to be. They had been traveling five days and were just now coming out of the Wilder Mountains into Castlemont. Mikahl wanted desperately to be riding Windfoot out in the open, away from the silly women, their shrill outbursts, and their whispery secrets.