Michael Mathias - The Wizard and the Warlord

Corva read the descriptions of the guardian of the Leif Repline and some of the other passages Phen had marked. He remembered the elven lore of the furry Gwag creature, and recalled thinking how, if it were up to him, a more formidable thing would be guarding a fountain that could allow the humans to outlive the elves. He was in the process of showing Phen a simple healing spell when Cade came to the door. He told them that King Aldar was dazed, but recovering from the dangerous dose of Oarly’s brew. Then he led Phen and Corva to the Hall of Chronicles.

The majority of the giants’ history was kept in the old language, Cade explained as they rode the lift down to the proper level. Phen and the elf were pleased when Cade offered to stay and help translate for them. Though both of them had a crude understanding of the old language, neither could read passages without stumbling on words or phrases that they didn’t understand. It took only a few hours to find what they needed to know. Whether it was good information or bad, it was hard to say. The Gwag was a formidable beast that they would probably have to kill to access the Leif Repline. From the more detailed descriptions of the creature, which spoke of its speed and ferocity, this would be no easy task.

High King Mikahl sat on his throne listening to the Westland mage, De’Rain, convey Commander Lyle’s report of the attack on O’Dakahn. Ironspike was not inserted into the sleeve in the throne arm. A display wasn’t necessary; they were alone. The day’s court had been dismissed after a vehement argument over the restored property lines between a pair of farms turned hateful. During the occupation the Zard had removed most of three rail cattle fences, because the splintered wooden beams and poles were perfect height for tearing open a running geka. Now one returned land owner was inching the fence into the neighboring property, trying to gain a bit more for his own.

Mikahl was stretched. One family’s teenage son had challenged the old neighbor, a man of at least sixty summers, to an honor duel. Mikahl had to raise his voice and went as far as drawing Ironspike from its sleeve. He blasted a soup bowl-sized divot out of the court room’s floor. Ultimately, a formal investigation was ordered. King Mikahl's’ constable would try to locate the old fence line and restore it.

The disruption had caused Mikahl to send the rest of the petitioners away. Already, Master Wizard Sholt and Lord Spyra had reported from Salazar. They‘d tracked down quite a few of the tainted sailors and dispelled Pael’s curse. They’d also spent time at the Lost Lion Inn with Lady Zasha, her husband Wyndall, and the newborn baby, Ellrich.

As King Mikahl expected, they’d refused to move into Settsted Stronghold and take over its lordship. Zasha’s request to have a smaller, safer holding set aside for her son to inherit was one that Mikahl couldn’t possibly deny. But now he would have to pick a lord to take over Settsted.

Lord Spyra was his first choice. The man had spent years as the general of Queen Willa’s Blacksword army. He was qualified. The only problem was, he wasn’t a Westlander.

Spyra and Sholt were on the way back to Westland trying to beat the stormy cold fronts that were threatening to rile the sea gods. Mikahl sighed and indicated for De’Rain to begin. Commander Lyle’s view of what happened would either ease his mind, or worry him further. It was time to find out which.

From his seat at the court scribe’s desk, the mage began with his condensed version of the report.

“All three dozen skeletons that carried out the attack in the port merchant district were destroyed. No skeletons have been seen in the city since that night.” De’Rain paused and took a sip of water from a goblet. “Several descriptions concurred that it was a Choska seen in the sky. A few people reported seeing the demon flying westward. Commander Lyle traveled to Nahka, on the riverbank at the marshes’ edge. A group of farmers saw the Choska attack a herdsman and his flock just outside of the village. This was after it left O'Dakahn. The Choska killed the herder and fed on his flock, then flew away west again, they say heading directly toward the Dragon’s Tooth Spire. It hasn’t been seen since.”

“Also, a marsh mage who reportedly dabbles in small animal resurrections and potions has disappeared from the village.”

De’Rain took another drink. “Commander Lyle is in Nahka now, awaiting orders. He wanted me to tell you that he was prepared to go into the marsh after the Choska, if necessary.

“No,” King Mikahl said flatly. “I want him to meet with the soldiers King Jarrek sent to help establish the eastern marsh patrol. Strongholds and outposts will need building. I want his assessment of that situation. Tell him that the threat at the Dragon Tooth’s Spire is being handled.”

“Is that all, King Mikahl?” De’Rain asked.

“Aye,” Mikahl said with a smile. “I think it is.”

The High King stood and glanced down at the chunk missing from the floor. “If you would, ask Lady Able to find a mason who can repair that. The queen was ill this morning and I must check on her.”

“As you command, Majesty,” De’Rain said. Then, as Mikahl was leaving, the mage added, “Congratulations.”

Bzorch was getting hungry. The huge flock of dactyls that had roosted on the side of the Dragon’s Tooth Spire made it almost impossible for him to leave his place up in the wormhole. He tried to climb back down in daylight but they tried to give him away. If he stayed where he was, he would starve to death. Already, he was contemplating using his dragon gun to kill one of the pesky swamp birds for food. He was so hungry he would risk setting the flock off to get one. He was just waiting for the sun to sink below the western horizon to do it.

The eastern side of the fang was bathed in evening shadow and would be perfect for him to get a clear shot at a dactyl, but the shape of the tooth made it almost impossible. The wormhole on that side opened up on thin air. The face of the rock below the opening scalloped inward in an inverted curve. His hunt, as well as any attempt to descend, would have to be carried out on the western face.

Bzorch decided to try to feed in the night, then climb down in the early morning shadows. The last two mornings, the dactyls had woken at dawn with a cacophony of shrieks and screeches. He hoped to be able to hurry down amid the noise. He didn’t feel hopeful, though. Even if he defied the flock of dactyls, he had hundreds of miles of snapper-filled marshes to traverse. Even if he could find and salvage one of the safety boats from the barges, he would have little chance of making it to Westland to warn the High King. Bzorch was determined, though. He was a survivor. He didn’t understand the concept of giving up, and he didn’t acknowledge fear. He was half beast, and that primal side of him was starting to take over.

He’d been observing the Zard encampment below and knew that the Choska’s lair was somewhere at the southern base of the island. Every bit of movement indicated that much. Whether it was the Choska or the Dragon Queen running things, he couldn’t say. He was half determined to take matters into his own hands and try to kill them all before they started moving toward Westland. He figured that it was too soon to think about that. He still had to climb down without getting shredded by the dactyls.

As the sun finally crept down from the sky, Bzorch took up a position lying with his upper torso hanging out of the wormhole. He carefully placed the coil of line at the edge so that it would unravel easily. He tied the loose end securely around a chunk of broken rock. He lay as still as he could manage and held the dragon gun aimed and ready to fire. The nearest nest he could see was too far down to shoot at accurately. So he lay there for a long while hoping that one of the restless creatures would fly within his range. None did.