Michael Mathias - The Wizard and the Warlord

The yolk of the dragon egg he’d once eaten had caused the physical changes that had racked, stretched, and twisted his body into what it was now. His savage dominance over the demons and devils he’d killed and consumed changed the rest of him. He had become their master, and they would come to his call, if they were wise.

Slowly, the dark things that dwelled in the depths of the hells scurried and glided into the expanse of blackness before him. The hate, the pain, and the magnitude of the evil was rooted inside him. They could hide or flee, but he would remember and feast on them when he found them. Even the most powerful of creatures feared to face the Warlord in battle. He had bested Deezlxar, the former ruler of the hells. Now, two of Deezlxar’s dragon heads sat flanking the Warlord’s throne. The decorations were to remind all of how much power he wielded.

After a while, the space around Gerard was filled in all directions, and still more hellish things were arriving. Minotaurs, spidery things, six-legged cyclopeans, and all sorts of ember-eyed insectazoids had come and were now milling about, sharpening their weapons or displaying their venomous stingers.

Suddenly, another gout of fire erupted straight up from the Warlord’s terrible maw. The hissing, growling, and jostling stilled to a deathly silence.

“Soon,” the Abbadon boomed with a voice that shook the very ethereal substance of which the Nethers were formed. “Soon I will loose you back into the world above. Soon you will bring terror and destruction to mankind in my name. Soon!”

A murmur of excited approval spread through the crowd of hellspawn. The anticipation grew as Gerard told them what he wanted them to do. Even though he had very little power in Shaella’s resurrected body, he did have absolute power in his domain. Some of these demons and devils he commanded had servants and worshipers in the world above. Now he would bring them to bear.

If the High King was sending men and beasts to hunt for him, then he had to take action. He wasn’t prepared to send Shaella to Xwarda yet, and he had no other lair to retreat to. All he could do was have his minions buy him the time he needed.

He could not rush this. He would not, could not, fail. To do so would be a possibly eternal mistake. Soon, he would turn his subjects loose on the marsh invaders. He was anxious to witness just how much power he commanded. As he slid his consciousness back into Shaella’s body, he decided that he would ride the Choska’s back so that he might watch more closely as his influence was manifested on earth.

After gawking at King Aldar’s immense and spectacular castle, and catching their breath from the long climb up, Borg led them back down a switchback ramp into the pillowy mist of clouds. After some time, they found themselves in a huge cavern. As it was late in the day, Borg suggested they camp there. The journey over to Afdeon, he explained, would take most of the morrow.

As they laid out their bed rolls, Borg built a fire. Huffa gave Hyden a farewell lick and raced off with the other wolves. Talon sped off after them, and for the first time since they’d been in the mountains, Spike yawned and stretched then roamed about the companions.

“How is it possible to get to yon castle in only a day?” Oarly asked.

“There are tunnels and passes that lead to other tunnels that will get us there,” Borg shrugged. “That’s about as well as I can explain it.”

“Are they portals?” Phen asked excitedly. He had read about portals. His first instructor, Master Targon, had conjured one to save King Jarrek from Pael’s attack on Castlemont. Phen had heard the tale from the Red Wolf, as well as from Brady Culvert. Once, on a long shipboard journey, Brady had described the portal in detail.

Phen suddenly had to shake his head to get rid of the vision that came to him. He’d seen Brady partialy melted and killed by a vicious black dragon’s acidy spew. Luckily, Phen’s fascination with the idea of portals was enough to ease him past the sudden well of sadness.

“I think it may be portal magic, Phen,” Borg answered. “But that sort of conjuring is beyond me. I’m a mountain guardian and my ability is limited. Besides that, my visits here are few and short.”

Phen deflated after finding he wasn’t about to learn something.

“You’ll not be staying with us, then?” asked Hyden.

“No, my friend,” the giant answered. “An escort will come in the morning and take you from here. I have duties, you know.”

“Aye.” Hyden nodded his respectful understanding. “You have my thanks for aiding us.”

“I’m not leaving you just yet.” Borg grinned. “We’ve an evening to share before we part ways. There’s plenty of meat left, and the dwarf has liquor. I say we enjoy this warm, sheltered camp by getting fat and full of drink. It may be awhile before we meet again.”

“Aye,” Hyden agreed. “Well said, my friend.”

Hyden never passed up the chance to hear a story. Giants were the best storytellers, and he knew that after a few drinks Borg would spin a yarn. Hyden and Gerard had grown up hearing tales from a giantess named Berda. He was so hopeful that thoughts of Gerard, for once, didn’t bring him down.

Oarly reluctantly donated a small keg to the affair. The soldiers set up a spit and began roasting the remaining chunks of elk meat. Dostin took a flask from the dwarf and went around the camp filling cup after cup until Oarly snatched it back from him.

Corva spoke softly to Princess Telgra, but she made an irritated face and strode over to where Phen and Hyden were sitting. The elven guard hadn’t been offensive, he had merely been telling her things about herself. He was clearly trying to spark her memory, but Telgra just didn’t want to know yet. She found she was starting to dislike Corva’s insistence. His prodding and constant reminding of the self she didn’t remember made her want to scream.

Corva was growing concerned. Telgra didn’t remember anything about her childhood, nor her mother, nor her duty to her people. Corva had intentionally stayed away from the subject of her father. His death was still sharp in his own mind and he didn’t want to add to Telgra’s distress. The fact that she had grown fond of the marbleized human boy was an outrage, but he forced himself to hide his envy. He actually liked Phen, but when he saw them sitting close, or sometimes walking hand in hand, Corva found himself simmering with something he had to work to subdue. At those times, not even Dostin’s innocent pestering could break his sullen mood. He let the monk fill his cup, though, in hopes that a few sips of the potent liquor might lift his spirits. Soon they were all feeling the effects of the dwarf’s drink, save for Phen, who wasn’t able to swallow, but clearly enjoyed the way the brandy loosened Telgra’s tension. She was practically falling all over him after only her second cup.

“Master Dwarf,” she slurred, “how do you drink so much of this fire brew? Two cups and I’ve lost my wits.”

“You lost your wits long before you started sipping,” Oarly joked. “That’s why you’re on this fargin journey.”

Everyone laughed, except for Corva and Dostin. The worrisome elven guardsman didn’t crack a smile until seconds later when Dostin spoke. “What’s a wit?” the monk asked.

“I want to make a toast,” Hyden said, with a pat on Dostin’s shoulder. He had only sipped from his first cup of brandy. Borg, though, had commandeered a small cooking pot and had emptied it twice.

After whispering into Dostin’s ruined ear what “wits” were, Hyden raised his glass. “To our giant friend, who saved us from freezing our arses off.”