Michael Mathias - The Wizard and the Warlord

The Choska lingered, savoring the pain of the burned and wounded, the terror of the orphaned and widowed. The uncertainty of the futureless, whose livelihoods had just been destroyed, was like sweet nectar to the hell-born beast. As dawn approached, the Choska fled the city, sated and successful in carrying out the Abbadon’s command. It winged its way westward toward the Dragon Spire to tell the Warlord of its success. The Dark One would be pleased, and the Choska would no doubt be rewarded, maybe even with a more substantial meal of Zard flesh, one that it could peel from a living morsel, or even a thrashing geka. Gloating in its success, the Choska decided that it wouldn’t wait for the Abbadon’s reward. Swooping down over the village of Nahka, it spied a herdsman rounding up his goats in the dawn light.

The man never even saw the demon drop down on him, but his scream was no less harrowing because he couldn’t identify his attacker. Several people in the village saw him torn apart by the giant, bat-like fiend; they also watched the Choska wing away, heading due west. Everyone, even the children in Nahka, knew what lay due west. After all, a dragon had lived there for the last three centuries.

The same morning, High King Mikahl and Queen Rosa rode atop their carriage, on the parade bench, into the sizable Westland city of Crossington. All around them people yelled and cheered. The cobbled streets were packed, mostly with elderly folk and women. Wild packs of children ran around, too. It was clear that everyone in Westland was relieved to have one of King Balton’s sons, a rightful heir to the Westland crown, back on the throne.

Mikahl was exhilarated. In his youth he had spent many a day in Crossington. It wasn’t his actual home, but it was so close and so familiar that he was beside himself. The entire skyline of northern Westland’s main trading center was filled with fluttering golden lions. Green and gold wavered on the chilly breeze everywhere. It was inspiring.

Rosa waved and smiled at hundreds and hundreds of little girls, whose fathers and lives had been ravaged away by war. The smiles on some of their faces looked to be the first ones they had made in quite some time.

Crossington, it seemed, had been affected more than any other place by the Zard occupation, save for Lakeside Castle. The people were starving for familiar leadership. With Mikahl came a sense of security.

Even after they were back inside the carriage with Crossington behind them, Mikahl’s blood was tingling. The only feelings he could compare the sensation to were Ironspike’s symphony and Queen Rosa’s bed. His true home was ahead of them, the castle where he had been born and raised. Mikahl had worked for the kingdom since he could walk. He was a candle snuffer and message runner when he was a boy. Later, he was a stablehand, and finally, King Balton’s personal squire. This was his homecoming; the kitchen servant’s bastard-turned-king of the entire realm, returning to the place where his father and mother had died.

He looked at his wife and saw that she was chewing her bottom lip. He reminded himself that this was also the place where Queen Rosa was held captive by the Dragon Queen and mutilated by the Red Priests of Kraw.

“It will be all right, my love,” he told her. “This is our place now.”

“You’ll have that wizard’s tower torn down for me?” she asked.

“Aye, my lady, I will,” he agreed. “Even if I have to do it myself with Ironspike.”

“And the garden yard where Pin and Hyden Hawk stopped the priest from tearing open the world.”

“Aye, my lady.”

“And that wicked woman's bedchamber that overlooked it all?” She was looking happy now, and her eyes showed that she was pleased he would do these drastic things for her.

“I won’t have to do that, my lady.” Mikahl smiled at the look on her face. “Claret took care of that when she poked her huge head in to save Phen.”

She leaned into him and squeezed his arm. “I miss Pin. I would feel better if he were here.”

Mikahl wasn’t sure what to say to that. Phen had comforted his wife while she was imprisoned here.

“My lady.” Mikahl leaned over and kissed his wife deeply. “Phen is up in the Skyler village keeping Oarly and Hyden safe.” He kissed her again. “You'll just have to learn to feel safe without him.”

“Oh, Mik,” she purred. “You'll just have to keep my mind occupied so that the memories don’t take hold of me.”

“Rosa, I hope to spend our time here making new memories. Can we try to forget the rest?”

“Yes, my king. I believe that you’ve already caused me to forget.” She kissed him. “Whatever it was,” she whispered as she kissed him again, “that we were talking…” After that the words stopped and their kiss grew passionate.

A few minutes later, the royal carriage driver called a stop because of a sudden motion that made him think a wheel was busted. He was embarrassed to learn that he was mistaken.

That evening, while riding in Windfoot’s saddle, King Mikahl Collum rode through the gates of Castleview City, where he had once been chased away as a murderer and thief.

The reception he received, the explosion of well-wishing people, made Crossington’s excited crowd seem like an old lady’s tea party. For the first time since King Balton’s death, the people of Westland felt safe.

The afternoon was brisk. Coming over the previous ridge, the icy breeze had sliced through the companions’ garments as if they weren’t even there. The snow had stopped, though. The sun was bright overhead and now, as they eased down into the wooded valley, they found that they were protected from the wind. After four days of constant snowfall and cold, gray skies, the rays of warm sunlight were inviting.

“Let’s stop and fortify ourselves,” Hyden suggested.

Talon had located Loudin’s valley for them and was off searching for Borg. Hyden knew that if they ate heartily now, they could reach the cavern he was leading them to before sunset. Loudin’s valley was just beyond there. The cavern would provide them good shelter from the weather. Its stony walls would hold actual warmth. The tents they had been sleeping in, even bundled in blankets, were cold and far from comfortable.

“It tt- ttts f- fargin c- c- c- cold,” Oarly chattered for what was probably the two-hundredth time.

“Shut up, Oarly,” a chorus of voices returned.

“It’s so cold that I keep forgetting how cold I am,” Telgra snapped at the dwarf. “Why do you have to keep reminding me?”

“You sound like a little girl, Master Dwarf,” Lieutenant Welch said. “You’re not even tall enough to feel the wind. The horse you’re leading blocks it all from you.”

They found a break in the trees that sheltered them from the slighter breeze in the valley. Jicks and the archers went to gather deadfall while Phen piled up kindling and, with a flaming finger, set it to blaze.

Krey, one of the archers, and Hyden had killed a tuskaboar after they ran out of shagmar meat. Hyden was finding that feeding seven mouths on this trek might prove to be challenging in the higher altitudes. The cold caused appetites to be fierce. Luckily, Phen couldn’t eat because Oarly, besides whining constantly about the weather, ate like a pack of starving dogs.

Lieutenant Welch and Telgra tended to the horses while Hyden spitted a haunch of the wild hog on the fire. The elven girl had proven crucial while traversing a narrow rock ledge in a whiteout. Only she and Hyden had been able to see where they were going. By roping the group together in a line and moving the horses one at a time across the narrow path, they had accomplished it. At one point Oarly had begun complaining and for a long, tense moment Hyden thought Telgra would throw him from the ledge, but she restrained herself somehow. Every day they traveled together, Hyden’s respect for her grew. They let the horses rest and fed them oats from a sack, but there were burlberry bushes that thrived around the tree trunks and the horses were soon nibbling the leaves from them.