Michael Mathias - The Wizard and the Warlord

By the time they neared the circular symbol carved into the floor that would teleport them back to Afdeon, Hyden’s fear and worry had all but consumed him. Not only in his waking thoughts, but now in his dreams, he saw blood and pain manifested in every way fathomable. From lethal battle wounds and destroyed cities, to wailing mothers huddled over mangled children. Visions of tortured friends and enslaved families plagued his mind feverishly. Finally, with Afdeon only a half day of hard travel away, Hyden crumbled under the weight of the darkness that was pressing down on him. He fell from Huffa’s back, face first into the icy track and lay there unconscious.

The wigmaker’s orbs bulged as Shaella’s dagger jerked up from between her sagging breasts. The Warlord stared through Shaella’s eyes into the old crone’s, and trembled with delight. Watching the sparkle of life fade from his victims was thrilling. In that moment, the Warlord was privy to the mind of the life he was extinguishing. The terrible things some of the good folk had done were surprising.

This particular soul intrigued him. In her younger days, this dying wench had poisoned her first husband to inherit his wealth. While trying to seduce a younger, more vigorous man, she had killed her unborn child to avoid motherhood. Later in life, guilt consumed her. She donated much of the profits she made from making wigs and reading the cards of fortune. This made the Warlord laugh. Humans were so foolish. The gods of light cared even less for regretful groveling than he did. A dark soul was a dark soul. And no amount of coin or regret could take that away.

The joy of this kill now extinguished, the Warlord shoved the old woman's corpse away and disrobed.

Standing before a full-length looking glass, Shaella tried on wig after wig, finally settling on one of long, raven-black hair. Her hair had been that way in life, but without the dragon’s fire scar across her temple, or the dagger scar under her eye, the Warlord doubted she would be recognized.

She had attacked Xwarda before, on the back of the great red dragon she’d tricked into service. No one there would recognize her, for she had been wearing battle gear, not a noble woman's dress. She straightened the bodice of the blue garment. The dressmaker’s life light had irritated the Warlord with the kindness it contained. The only thing about the death of her that pleased him was that her kindness was no longer in the world. Satisfied that Shaella looked like any other privileged young lady in the realm, he motioned for the wagon master to lead her back to the carriage.

The large trading town of Platt, where they were, was only a half-day’s ride to Xwarda. The excited Warlord had to remind himself that getting to the Wardstone and breaching the minor boundaries was only the first step in his plan. He wasn’t in his own body, therefore he wouldn’t be placing his own hands on the Wardstone yet. Through Shaella, he could cause a breach. After he left the Nethers in his own body through that opening and embraced the Wardstone himself, he could destroy the boundary altogether. Some of his legions would leave with him by way of the breach Shaella created, enough to take the city before him. The rest of his horde would have to wait until he got there.

A few hours later the carriage stopped. The Warlord heard, through Shaella’s ears, the wagon master speaking with a stern-voiced man. A quick look out of the curtained window showed him that they had reached Xwarda’s southern gate. The confident urge to unleash his power, to try to battle for success, had to be suppressed. A soft knock on the carriage door helped push the thought aside, but did little to calm the Lord of the Darkness. Hands trembling with anticipation, Shaella reached and opened the door.

“My lady,” the guardsman said as he peeked into the carriage, “just a precaution.” He smiled at her. “We’re sorry to intrude.” With that, the door closed softly.

“Let them pass,” the man called out, and the sound of rattling chains and creaking gates followed.

If the castle gate is as easy to pass through, then I will be feasting on the terror of men by nightfall, the Warlord said to himself. He worked fervently to stay calm. His minions had worshipers here to aid him. They wouldn’t dare misstep as Lord Vidian’s patron devil had. He had made a clear example of the price he demanded for failure. He also made sure that the rewards for success were so great that none of the banished would leave anything they could control to chance.

From deep inside the Warlord stirred the tiny bit of Gerard Skyler that remained. He’d crawled into the depths of the Nethers seeking power. Now he had so much of it that it wasn’t him anymore. He’d been among the hellborn so long that he was like them now. Only, he had eaten the yolk of a dragon’s egg and had become something greater than all of them. He was the Warlord, the Abbadon, the Lord Master of Hell and Darkness and only one more gate, and a leisurely stroll into Queen Willa’s palace, was all that stood between him and his dominance of the mortal world.

For a moment, Gerard remembered Hyden and his cousins. He remembered the joy he had felt climbing the cliffs and dreaming of what he’d spend the money on that he earned for his harvest. But that memory was fleeting, for even the part of the Warlord that was still Gerard Skyler was lusting to bring the terror as much as the rest of the Warlord.

The guard at the palace gate was more cautious than the first. His steely eyes and the stripes on his shoulder showed he held some authority. Beyond him, on the wall the gate was set into, the Warlord saw the most peculiar sight. One of the Wedjakin was cursing angrily at a device made out of wood and steel that was mounted at the edge of the parapet.

“Don’t be alarmed, my lady,” the guard said gruffly, but in an obvious attempt to soothe her. “They are frightening creatures to look upon, but they fight for Queen Willa and the High King now.”

She nodded and made an expression of distaste. When she met his eyes, she dropped hers and smiled.

“Sir Hyden Hawk had Queen Willa put the wall guard on full alert. Unless you have legitimate business at the palace, my lady, I cannot let you pass.” He shrugged apologetically. “If you tell me why you’ve come, I’ll have a runner see if the castellan will let you in.”

Shaella smiled sadly and hugged herself in a somewhat ashamed manner. “My uncle, Lord Vidian, was arrested in Weir some days ago,” she said with her eyes focused on the soldier’s boots. “I must see him. As distasteful as his betrayal of the queen’s law is, I… I…” she stifled a tear and hid her face. “This is so embarrassing, so demeaning, sir. I’m ashamed.” After a long pause filled with sniffling and whining, she finished. “There are family matters, responsibilities both legal and personal, that his arrest has left unattended. I must speak with him to see what arrangements can be made.”

The sergeant was speechless. It was clear he felt Shaella’s embarrassment. The news of the Lord of Weir’s betrayal and arrest was common knowledge.

“Do you not have a husband to attend these matters?” he asked.

She shook her head in the negative and started to cry that much harder.

“You’re a strong and beautiful lady. I will see Master Dugak about the issue myself.” He reached into the carriage and patted her reassuringly. “If you will stay in your carriage, I will have your driver pull in and find somewhere out of the way for you to wait.”

“You are too kind, good sir,” the Warlord replied through Shaella’s roughened vocal chords. “Would you please be discreet? I… I…” She broke into another sob. “I can’t stand the embarrassment. If people know who I am, they will stare and whisper about my uncle. I just can’t.”