Michael Mathias - The Wizard and the Warlord

Oarly downed his drink and wiped the froth from his tangled beard. “Your almost a grown man now, lad.” Oarly’s tone was fatherly. “This war of Hyden Hawk’s is not yours. When it is done, the realm will need you. Keep to your books, and follow your heart.” Oarly reached out his mug to a beautiful serving girl and let her refill it. After he took a deep swill he went on. “There’s got to be a ray of hope in all of this. Plant that seed! Heal the old wounds.” Oarly grinned. “Do it for Doon, lad.”

Telgra’s arm wrapped around him in the sleepy chamber and Phen’s dreams wavered away from him. When he awoke, he remembered Oarly’s words, but wasn’t sure what they meant. The first thing he did was give Hyden Hawk back his dragon tear medallion. Phen found he didn’t want it anymore.

Hyden nodded and took the dragon tear in respectful understanding. The White Goddess had given him a message, as well. He knew he would have to face on his own most of what was left to be done. Hyden couldn’t ask anyone to follow him further, especially those he held dear.

“Oh, it’s beautiful, Mikahl,” Queen Rosa said. The two of them stood atop a tower facing the southeast. The High King was draped in the golden lion’s mane cloak Queen Willa had gifted him. Queen Rosa was wrapped in a thick, silver-furred long coat. The view was pristine. Lion’s Lake might have been a sheet of glass; only the arrow-shaped wakes of a small flock of swimming geese shimmered along to indicate that it wasn’t frozen solid. To the west of the lake, the pine- and fir-scattered hills were a winter green wonderland of rolling drifts. A light snow fell lazily from the sky. In the near ground, what bit of the southern castle yard they could see was a bustle of adolescent youth. They were taking turns riding shields they had looted from one of the armories down a long, lazy slope. From above the sledders, but below the king and queen, the turret patrol heaved shovelfuls of snow down upon the youngsters as they cleaned the walkways atop their wall. Some of the children had built a snow fort to protect them from the assault. A few braver boys were firing back snowballs of their own. Every now and then one of them would manage to hit a guard. When that happened, a chorus of cheers went up from below. Mikahl had been one of those young warriors once, and silently urged the youth on.

Mikahl had recently suggested a feast as a way to boost morale for the folk in and around the castle. They’d had a rough time over the past few years, with Glendar’s failing and the Dragon Queen’s occupation.

He was pleased that his wife liked the idea. To his surprise, she and Lady Able took command of the preparations, saying that it was important that, while the event be grand and uplifting, it shouldn’t be too much so. It would be improper to eclipse the Yule Day festival with a lesser affair. And even though Yule Day was a few months off, Mikahl agreed and let the women have their way.

Shouts from the ground to the north caught their attention and they strode to the parapet hand in hand to see what the ruckus was about. A group of riders escorting a carriage were coming in. The carriage flew the High King’s lion, the Red Wolf of Wildermont’s flag, and another banner boasting an axe crossing a hammer. It trundled through the North Road gate and slowed to a stop. Mikahl let out a bellowing cloud of breath and laughed. He turned to his wife with a face-splitting grin.

“I think King Jarrek has accepted our invitation to feast,” he said hopefully. “And it looks as if General Diamondeen and some of his dwarves have come, too.”

“Oh no, Mik,” Rosa said with a fluster. “What’s the proper setting for a dwarf?” She blew into her hands with a look of utter despair on her face. “Would children’s tables offend them? Oh, by the setting sun, Mikahl, Spyra and Sholt are due back any day now. The feast tables are already set and waiting. What do I do?”

“Be calm, my lady,” Mikahl soothed, and pulled her into his arms with a deep kiss.

She kissed him back, but he could sense that her concern over the matter was genuine.

“I’ll find out from Jarrek what is proper as soon as I can, my love.” Mikahl kissed her forehead. “But as long as you put out an open keg or two, they’ll not be offended at all.”

As Mikahl ushered the queen back inside, he made sure that she didn’t look at the west side of the castle grounds, where the Dragon Queen’s garden yard had once been. Though the new construction was almost done, the place where the red priest had burned the symbol into the ground and opened the portal was completely, and unnaturally, void of snow. Some dark taint remained in the earth there. It was Mikahl’s hope that Master Sholt could remove the curse, or whatever it was. With the ground covered in white, save for that one circular area, it was getting harder and harder to keep it from coming to Rosa’s attention. Mikahl didn’t want that to happen.

“Any word from Hyden Hawk and Master Oarly?” King Jarrek asked Mikahl later in one of Lakeside Castle’s luxurious gathering rooms.

General Diamondeen was there, as well. All of them had been drinking from a keg of King Balton’s brandy wine. The stuff was sweet and potent. A fire roared in the hearth and a couple of oil lamps lit the mahogany-paneled room well. The furnishings were plush and covered in golden velvet. The three men and the dwarf sat in a semicircle facing the fire. The men’s stockinged feet rested in the thick fur of an old bear pelt. Diamondeen’s feet dangled from his divan a good handspan above it. He had pulled off his socks after the last goblet and was now curling and uncurling his stubby, hairy toes while extending his feet toward the fire.

“Last we heard,” Mikahl said, falling back into his oversized chair, “they had reached Afdeon and were considering going on to the Leif Repline fountain. Though how they'd do such a thing up in those frigid mountains this time of year, I’d never know.”

“At least they made it that far,” King Jarrek smiled. “I suppose it’s time you spilled your news to the High King, General,” Jarrek said. “The dwarves have been busy doing more than rebuilding our realm, it seems.”

General Diamondeen let out a huff. “Picking a new king en’t no easy work.”

“They’ve chosen, then?” Mikahl asked.

“They have,” the dwarf answered as he sat up. His demeanor grew a bit more serious. He was too drunk to keep his balance, though, and ended up falling back into the cushioned divan. As intoxicated as he was, he didn’t spill a drop from his goblet. He managed to sit up enough to take another sip before continuing. “A Cragbert, they say. They have a distant blood claim to the throne and no one is protesting.” He belched and wiped his beard with the back of his hand. “Supposed to be crowned in Xwarda sometime betwixt now and your Yule Day. It’s a blasphemy to Doon, I tell ya. You can’t crown the king of the rock-dwellers above ground.”

“King Cragbert,” Mikahl said quietly.

“Of course, you and Queen Rosa will be invited to the coronation,” King Jarrek explained. “Willa is all in a worry about it now. She wanted the dwarves to wait until spring, at least, but try explaining the seasons to all the dwarves who haven’t yet come out of the earth in centuries.”

“What does it matter?” Diamondeen barked. “The High King and Queen can fly to Xwarda on that flaming pegasaurus.”

Mikahl and Jarrek laughed deeply.

“Aye,” Mikahl managed. “I can do just that, but by the gods of man and beast, it would be a blasted cold ride.”

The trek back to the teleportal cave that would carry the companions to Afdeon was slow and somber. Dostin and Corva took turns with Jicks carrying Oarly’s body. Nothing happened in the two days it took to traverse the cliff ledge back.