Michael Mathias - The Wizard and the Warlord

Once they were inside the thick canvas pavilion tent that was erected for them each night, Rosa became his world, and he hers. During the day, though, he felt as if he were being tortured. Rosa had begun rigorously working on creating an heir when they were alone, but during the day she was so prim and proper, and sometimes downright silly, that he couldn’t stand it. He was hoping that King Jarrek would appear soon so that he could excuse himself from her company without offense and get some air.

The queen’s mirth slowly faded to silence as the edge of Pael’s destruction came into view. She had seen Castlemont after its destruction, but it never ceased to be overwhelming. Even with thousands of men, dwarves, and a few dozen breed giants working nonstop to rebuild the wreckage, the magnitude of devastation was chilling.

Mikahl chose not to look. He wanted to see the reconstruction and the new bridge at Locar. He wanted to find hope in Wildermont. Out here in the outskirts there was little of it.

Allysan pointed out of the window at something. As Queen Rosa wiped a stray tear from her cheek a smile spread across her beautiful face. It was such a wonderful smile that Mikahl was forced to look to find what caused it.

Up on a gently rolling hillside, a pair of very young boys were running along a fence line, skipping and pointing down at the royal procession as they went. Another boy was ahead of them. This one appeared a little older and was shooing sheep out of the way so they could keep up. Higher up the hill, a woman stood before a cottage, smiling and waving down at them. Smoke rolled up from the chimney and clothes whipped in the breeze along the line where they had been pinned. Mikahl noticed that there was no man in sight, and that the stack of chopped wood beside the house was nearly exhausted.

He glanced ahead of them. The next property was a ruin. It had been larger, probably once a lord’s manor by the looks of the jagged pile of rubble and charred timbers. Mikahl could imagine Pael’s army, actually Glendar’s army, occupying the place while their troops marched past toward Dreen. They’d probably torched the place. Once the beams were burned through, it had crumbled. Out here, Pael hadn’t bothered to wreak havoc personally. This destruction was from the Westland men Glendar had recruited. Mikahl could see some of Pael’s magical destruction further ahead, though. From the procession’s vantage point in the hills, a good view of Castlemont Proper spread out before them. It looked as if a mountainous foot had just stepped down out of the clouds and crushed everything under it. A long line of leveled terrain lay where one of the gigantic towers had fallen.

Mikahl was about to pull his eyes away when he noticed a clump of buildings rising up out of the mess. They were new, and even from the distance, he could see the majestic quality of the dwarves’ construction: arched entryways, high, peaked corner towers, and steep tiled roofs decorated the cluster of two- and three-story constructions. A single tower rose up over them proudly.

Upon further inspection, Mikahl saw other buildings at various stages of completion scattered about the city.

He found himself feeling better about things. Rosa must have noticed his shift in mood because she reached over and squeezed his hand. He glanced at her and felt himself flooded with love. She was silly at times, but at others she was quite astonishing, both as a woman, and as a friend. Considering their marriage was brought about over a political need, he knew that he could not have done better. It was rare in such unions to find that both people could love each other.

Mikahl gave her a sparkling smile. He knew how lucky he was to have her, even if she sometimes drove him crazy.

“Oh look, Mik,” she said, following Allysan’s pointing finger. “It’s King Jarrek. He has called up a formal greeting party to escort us to his castle.”

Mikahl grinned. He hadn’t seen Jarrek in a few months and was anxious to be in the company of his old friend. “My lady,” Mikahl said through his grin, “King Jarrek’s castle is only a pile of rocks. They will probably escort us to an outlying stronghold within the city’s wall.”

“We can stay at our pavilion, for all I’m concerned,” Rosa said with a blush. “Lately, it’s become one of my more favorite places to be.”

Allysan giggled and whispered something, causing Rosa to giggle as well. Mikahl found his cheeks blooming with heat too. He was never more thankful than when the carriage came to a stop and one of the commanders knocked politely on the door.

“High King Mikahl, King Jarrek has invited Your Highness to join him,” the man said after the door had been opened. “If it pleases, he would like to give you a personal tour of the progress. Your horse has been readied. I’m to apologize to my lady, for the roads in most areas are not suitable for the carriage.”

Mikahl looked at his wife askance.

“Go on, Mikahl.” She smiled. “I’ll see you soon enough.”

“Thank you, Rosa,” he said as he hurried out to find Windfoot.

A few hours later, he and King Jarrek rode side by side through the heart of Castlemont. The score of men escorting them were spread out so that the two could speak privately.

“Under Diamondeen, the dwarves have done wonders,” Jarrek was saying. “They are using blocks and materials from the destroyed buildings to construct the newer ones. It saves us from having to haul so much debris out of the city.”

“Who will be their next king?” Mikahl asked. The former king of the dwarves had died fighting to free Jarrek’s people from Ra’Gren’s slavery. The dwarves, newly returned to the realm, had gravitated toward Castlemont and Oktin, where their service as stone workers was needed most. King Mikahl hadn’t received much news about them in Dreen, for King Jarrek was as busy as a man could be.

“It’s hard to say,” Jarrek answered. “It’s something that will be done below in one of the underground cities. I’m sure they will choose well, though.”

“How has our Lord Bzorch been faring?”

King Jarrek barked out a laugh. “You should see the new bridge. Well, you will see it when you cross it in the morning. He is a fair enough bridge master and I don’t think any other breed giant in the pack could keep the rest under control as well as he does.” Jarrek cringed. “I would sure hate to be Ra’Gren.”

“He’s still alive?”

“Oh yes.” King Jarrek made an elaborate circular gesture with his arm. “When he and the remaining overlords aren’t pulling Bzorch around in his cart, the Lord of Locar has them chained to a giant gear wheel that turns the dwarves’ millstones.”

“Do you think we are wrong torturing Ra’Gren that way?” Mikahl asked. “It seems sometimes that we are no better than him by doing so.”

“No, sir.” Jarrek’s voice was stern. “Ra’Gren and his overlords enslaved tens of thousands, and killed thousands of innocents, just to entertain themselves.” The Red Wolf’s tone grew heated as he spoke. “If they were to live a thousand years smoldering on a bed of hot coals, they wouldn’t have suffered enough.”

It was King Jarrek’s turn to enquire then, and the two men spoke for a long time about Queen Willa, Queen Rosa, and plans for the realm. Mikahl told him of Hyden’s quest and the progress at Oktin. That night King Jarrek held a feast in their honor and once again swore his fealty to High King Mikahl and the might of Ironspike.

Mikahl had told him of his concerns about the marshes and the threats the Zard might pose. After the main course was devoured, the Red Wolf announced that men would be sent immediately into Dakahn to help organize a marsh patrol similar to Westland’s.