Michael Mathias - The Wizard and the Warlord

As the commanders and wizards left her to carry out her orders, the alarm bells sounded. The harrumph of dwarven battle horns filled the air, as did the ringing of bells in the towers. The city was so crowded with panicked people and herd animals that most of the commanders couldn’t get back to their troops in time to command them. The more powerful of the wizards teleported to the wall top and began spreading the word, but already the battle had begun in earnest.

Queen Willa returned to her private chamber hoping to have a word with Mikahl before the battle began, but he was already gone. In his place was Master Wizard Sholt, all the way from Westland, and lying on the divan was Queen Rosa. The rise and fall of her chest was obvious and the soft snore that accompanied the movement left no room to doubt that she was alive and whole.

“She’s alive,” Queen Willa gushed, feeling a tidal wave of relief wash over her. She turned to Sholt, “But how?”

Master Wizard Sholt shook his head in confusion. “What do you mean? Was her safety ever in doubt?”

Queen Willa gasped, covering her open mouth with her hand. “Mik thinks the Warlord killed her when he came out of the Nethers.”

Sholt was silent for a few long moments. From outside, the distinct clanging of bells and the tiny shouts of men came to the room. As soon as Mikahl had given him the order to sound the alarm, Sholt had teleported to the garden yard to try to save young Suza from the same fate De’Rain met. The sounding of alarms was a simple kinetic spell. He didn’t tell a man to ring the bells. He rang them magically and went directly to his students. He found Queen Rosa frozen in shock. She had blood spattered across her chest and was so close to the hellborn beast that was crawling out of the gateway that Sholt had no other choice but to protect the queen. He grabbed her and teleported them from the garden yard to an empty, snow-covered field just south of Lord Able’s abandoned stronghold. The casting had cost him most of his strength. Spell weary and somewhat in shock himself, he checked and found that the queen wasn’t wounded and led them through the snow to the crumbled tower. A few rooms were still intact, and with the rest of his strength he set a magical fire to blaze and slipped into a deep slumber.

“I don’t know why he would think such a thing,” Sholt finally said to Queen Willa. “There was a small girl there in the yard, and Rosa’s handmaiden was down. Maybe he…”

“She was wearing my green dress,” Rosa whispered. Neither the wizard nor Queen Willa had noticed that her snoring had stopped. “That thing crushed her and nearly twisted her in two. I was wearing that dress when Mikahl saw me that morning.” Rosa got to her feet and ran the few steps from the divan into Queen Willa’s arms. “She was just trying it on so we could get the hem the right length,” she cried. “He must be horribly sad. He was so pleased about the baby, and now he thinks…”

“He’s more than sad, dear,” Queen Willa said. She was relieved. Mikahl wouldn’t rage off into an unsurvivable situation if he knew that his wife and child were still alive.

“Master Wizard Sholt.” Even though Queen Willa was no longer his liege, she commanded him with total authority. “As soon as you have told the High King that his wife and child are here safe, that he must fight with some restraint, then you should rest.” She gave her old castle wizard a look that was insistent. “Those magi serving on the wall will want and need your guidance now, but your strength will be more valuable when they have grown weary and you have recouped. King Mikahl, though, must be told this news immediately.”

Queen Rosa lifted her head from Willa’s shoulder and sobbed. Sholt had teleported the two of them more than a dozen times. He had only enough constitution to move them so far at a time, and each effort was all the more taxing. He had seen what the demon horde left behind in Locar and Dreen. His assessment of the enemy left him anything but optimistic, and he wanted to converse with the High King anyway, before this battle became all-consuming.

King Mikahl had sworn him to the duty of protecting Pavreal’s bloodline, no matter the cost. If things grew dire, he wouldn’t hesitate to take Ironspike and Rosa and sail to Harthgar, or seek protection in Afdeon. He felt the High King should be aware of these things. Even though it would take all the strength left in him to find his king, he nodded his understanding to Queen Willa and then disappeared from the room with a crackling pop.

Outside Xwarda’s western-facing gate, the setting sun’s rays painted the horizon beautiful shades of pastel blue and peach. The wingless faction of the demon horde engaged the ranks of defenders in a violent clash. It was a disheartening sight for the High King to look upon. The relatively white field of trampled snow turned quickly into a steaming mush of gore. Mikahl decided that defeating this army with swords, axes, and bows might prove impossible. Already, streaking bolts of lightning and scarlet blasts of hellborn magic were scattering body parts. Mikahl held his position and continued his search for the vaguely human form baring those familiar Skyler eyes. It was all he could do to keep from drawing Ironspike and raging mindlessly into the fray. He might clear a path through the enemy’s ranks, or kill a handful of the monstrous creatures, but that would serve no real purpose.

To the south he could see the flying beasts going high over the wall, out of the archers’ range. They were coming down in the crowded streets now. A Choska demon was flapping wildly like a kite in a gale. Its vain attempt to get away from the barbed tether one of the breed giants had stuck into it was futile. It would die as soon as they could reel the line in, but it was only one of a thousand foes swarming the sky.

“Mikahl! High King Mikahl,” Sholt’s voice called weakly from the roof below and behind the High King’s position. Mikahl barely heard him over the shouts of the archers and the roar of the beasts. He turned and nodded to the wizard, but quickly put his attention back on the enemy. “You made it,” he said simply.

“We must speak,” said Sholt, but he was so exhausted that the words barely made a sound as they came out of his mouth. Sholt closed his eyes and summoned what was left inside him. “My lord,” he said a little more loudly. Seeing that Mikahl had heard him, the wizard continued. “The bloodline must be protected.”

Mikahl assumed that Sholt meant that he shouldn’t enter the battle and risk dying. As far as he knew, he was the last of Pavreal’s kin. “I’ll only fight the Hell Master himself, wizard,” he snapped his response. “Now leave me,” he commanded as he saw a gout of flame shooting skyward, reflected in the wizard’s eyes. He turned to find the source of it, hoping it was the beast Hyden’s brother had become. “Do not return until you have rested.”

Before Sholt could respond Mikahl leapt to the next merlon, then the next.

Sholt found that he was so tired he could barely move, yet he screamed out, “My Lord, listen to me! Queen Rosa is…”

“Dead!” Mikahl finished for him as Ironspike came out of its scabbard with a rasping metallic ring. The normally passive blue radiance the sword emitted was white hot with Mikahl’s rage and was nearly as bright as the sun. Sholt was temporarily blinded by it, and by the time he could see again, King Mikahl was gone.

The over-fatigued wizard could barely make out the bright horse as it went streaking madly toward a distant eruption of flame. Ironspike lit the carnage immediately below the High King as if it were midday.

Sholt managed to get to his feet, and the amount of bloody death he could see in the field was sickening. He started to cast one last spell before consciousness left him, but he was yanked off the wall by the claws of a swooping hellcat. He didn’t have the strength to fight back, and the creature wasn’t strong enough to carry him far. Both of them went sinking toward the battle below, until the hellcat dropped him right into a knot of swarming demon kin and banked away.