Michael Mathias - The Wizard and the Warlord

The hardest part of that jaunt was getting started. Phen’s thorn wall was quite a barrier. Corva tried using Oarly’s axe to cut a path through, but the progress was far too slow.

The troll had bled to death, and stank to begin with, but now with hundreds of scavengers in the tangle feeding on its flesh, the smell was somewhat worse. They tried fire next, but the vines and branches of the growth were so green that they wouldn’t catch. Finally, Hyden warned off all the creatures feeding in the tangle and blasted most of the stuff out of the passage with a fist of kinetic energy. He hadn’t intended to use such force, but the power of his ring was amplified by the dragon tear medallion and proved to be far more potent than he expected.

Afdeon wasn’t the same glorious place it had seemed to be a few days before. The loss of their companions eclipsed the awe-inspiring wonder of it. King Aldar was back to himself, though. After hearing the news of success, and the cost of it, a feast of honor was held. The deeds of the dead were glorified in tales told by the living. It was giant tradition and did a bit of good by bleeding the bleakness from the surviving companions.

After the feast, Hyden spoke to the others. King Aldar, his wife, and Princess Gretta were all still at the table when he did. Cade was there, as well, though he was the serving master, not a table guest. The giant emissary kept the room clear of interruption once the nature of Hyden’s words became clear.

“I must not dally.” Hyden stood as he spoke. “I cannot ask any of you to continue this quest with me. The powers of the elements themselves conspire against success. Yet I cannot wait until after winter. The goddess who guides me has warned me of dark days to come. Dark days for all of us, not just the kingdom folk, but here in the Giant Mountains and in the Evermore, where the elves live. I wish I knew more, but that is all the knowledge she allowed me.” He looked at Phen then. “Phen, Princess Telgra, three men died so that your futures would be pure and clean. I cannot allow those deaths to be in vain.”

Princess Telgra stood and faced Hyden. “Do not presume to command me, Sir Hyden Hawk,” she said in a tone that caused Phen to look at her strangely. Since she recovered her memory she had been bolder and more assertive, but not like this.

“A delegation of elves is coming to get me as we speak, and eventually I must return to my people. I must warn them of this dark premonition you speak of. But be clear, if I chose to accompany you, I would do so.” She turned and set her gaze on Corva. “I shan't continue with you though. Corva will go in my stead. If this dark threat you speak of will affect us all, then my people will not be denied a chance to face it with you.”

“Well spoken,” King Aldar said, rising to his feet and now towering over the table. “The Wedjak holds many threats, young Skyler, and there are ways we giants can hasten your travel to these lands. As the king of your clan, I command you to allow one of my guardians to travel with you, and at least a few of my wolves to watch over your way.”

“I’m going, too,” Jicks blurted out boldly. “There’s always room for a bladesman on a quest such as this, and I’m not afraid to die for the good of the realm, either.”

Phen started to demand his place on the list of those going, as well, but Oarly’s warning voice echoed through his head and he held his tongue.

Hyden bowed his head to King Aldar before scowling Jicks back into his seat. Jicks blushed scarlet, but felt his demand wouldn’t be ignored.

Hyden scanned the faces at the table and started to speak, but was cut off by a hesitant interruption.

“I’m… a… I’m going, as well.” Dostin said.

“I thought you were coming with me, Dostin?” Princess Telgra said sweetly. “With Corva going with Sir Hyden Hawk, who will protect me?”

The monk shrugged boyishly and looked at his plate. “Nevermind.” He managed to glance at Hyden. Even though he was sad, Hyden couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Corva, you and Jicks spend the evening getting your gear ready,” Hyden said to them. Then to King Aldar, who had given Cade a nod before sitting back down, “I hope to leave on the morrow, if it pleases.”

“Cade is going to fetch your guardian. I’ll have him meet you in the map room across from your quarters within the hour.” The King of Giant’s took a long, deep breath then settled forward with his elbows on the table and his chin on his hands. “Now tell me everything you can about this dark threat.”

“All I can really tell you, King Aldar, is that it’s coming,” Hyden said grimly. “That’s all I really know.”

The mirror glass in the room in which Shaella was waiting out the snowstorm captivated the puny part of her mind that was still Gerard. He had loved Shaella dearly, and she him. Only this likeness of her held no knowledge of her past. He suppressed the dark side of his demonic power and let his fiery dragon blood heat his desire as he slowly undressed her.

It was a strange sensation, looking out of one’s eyes and watching that person follow your every whim. Especially when that person was someone you loved beyond the constrictions of time and space, someone you knew loved you from beyond the grave.

The last button of the farm mother’s gifted shirt came loose and Shaella’s heavy breasts became visible. A dark brown stain was crusted on her chest between her large nipples, down into her cleavage. It was the farm boy’s blood. Seeing it ruined the mood of the moment. When she tasted the sticky gore, the coppery flavor woke up the Warlord. Gerard’s consciousness was no match for the powerful evil thriving in his mind, and he was soon forced back into a lonely, empty place where a rare memory of love and life was all that remained. The glimpsing of his past was so far removed from his reality, and so shadowed in pain and hatred, that it was madness anyway. He was trapped, a tiny, insignificant bit of consciousness drowning in a sea of pure malevolence.

The Warlord, the Abbadon, the Master of the Hells, was reveling in the memory of the dying farm boy’s gasping pleas. The confusion in his eyes when his flesh tore, and the way he had so foolishly expected her to let him bed her, was savory. Shaella rubbed and squeezed at her breasts feverishly. Flakes of dried blood and gore fell away or crumbled to powder in her kneading hands. A knock at the door was the wagon master. She let him in and pulled him to her bed. He was far more smitten than the farm boy had been, but as much as the Warlord lusted for his blood, he needed the man. As soon as the snow lessened enough to travel through, the wagon master’s personal carriage would carry her all the way to Xwarda.

Here in this shabby little inn, though, she would satisfy his every desire. First with her hot mouth, then with her body. Then she would command him to hire an armed escort, and if need be, chart a more southerly route across the continent that would be less affected by the snow. They could go through Weir and Seaward City, if they had to, then cut north.

From some deep, dark place within the Warlord’s mind, that tiny bit of Gerard watched helplessly through his lover’s eyes and a looking glass as she gave herself to the old wagon master. The jealousy and rage he felt added only to the sea of hate he swam in. The Warlord’s pleasure of using both her body and this man’s lust was palpable.

The Warlord moaned with Shaella’s delight. What better way to wait out a storm than by draining the life from an idiot in a warm bed?

Though he didn’t yet have a section of King Aldar’s kingdom to guard, Durge had earned the title of guardian well. When he was chosen from the rest of his peers to venture into the Wedjak with Hyden Hawk and Huffa, he was elated. At twenty-four years of age, Durge had room yet to grow. At fourteen feet tall, and nearly six hundred pounds, it didn’t seem possible that he could get any bigger. He was superbly fit and had walked the boundaries of his king’s land more than a dozen times as part of his training. He knew the locations and the commands to activate all of the teleportation symbols, and the rudimentary spells required to get them through the deep of the mountains. He carried a strange staff. The butt was booted in iron, while the head had a small yet wicked-looking blade attached to it. It was pointed like a spear tip, yet as long as a human forearm. One side of its edge was curved like an axe. It was an intimidating weapon, for the staff was as big around as Hyden’s leg and stood twice as tall as he did.