Michael Mathias: Kings, Queens, Heroes, and Fools

Maxrell Tyne opened his mouth and screamed out a warning as he took a leaping stride and dove from his ship. Grommen looked up into a searing splash of corrosive breath. For long moments after the top half of his body was eaten away, his legs and lower torso stood frozen in place. The other men were either directly covered, or splattered and sprayed with the acidy liquid. The Shark’s Tooth was eaten through and sinking before the dragon’s tail had swept past it.

The pieces of the crewmen that weren’t eroded to a pasty liquid were quickly gulped down by hungry snappers. And those that were whole swam desperately, trying to get out of the water as quickly as they could.

As Flick brought Vrot around in a hard banking arc, his blood was alive with glee. A few snappers were now floating dead. The acid residue from the human flesh had eaten through their innards and killed them almost as quickly as it had killed the men. Flick shivered at the sight. His body was full of anticipation and the lust for vengeance. He couldn’t wait to destroy the High King and the eastern armies so that he could claim his place as the new king of the realm.

The Dragon King.

Master Amill was having a rough time of it. Between conferring with Master Sholt on Phen’s condition, and helping the dwarves clear out civilians from the ships and warehouses at Port O’Dakahn, he was exhausted. He was more than pleased to find his tent had been erected and that a meal of stew and biscuits was waiting inside with his things. The stew was cold, but he wolfed it down anyway. He didn’t bother to unpack his small satchel of books and personal necessities. This night, if it was actually still night, lasted far too long and he had only one thing left on his mind. Sleep.

With the practiced ease of a man who’d been afield for several weeks, he snapped the straps on his bedroll and kicked it. It rolled open invitingly. A heartbeat later he was stretched out and trying to clear his mind so that sleep would take him.

The situation with Phen was too disturbing to think about, so he forced it out of his brain completely. He wished that Queen Rachel’s flotilla would hurry and arrive. Keeping the harbor clear would be far easier once they had support from the sea. The extra soldiers those ships carried would come in handy as well. He figured that the other two gate areas were easier to clear. Merchants, traders, and travelers had to be more cooperative than the hardened crews, pirates, and salty dogs they came across here. It was done, though. The harbor area was clear of all but the men and dwarves under King Granitheart. And now Master Amill was finally slipping into slumber.

The zard came silently and swiftly, from under the docks, from the rocky jetties that extended out into the bay, from the lightly forested shore. Small groups creeping on clawed feet snuck through the shadows or slithered through the alleyways of the shipping district. Several of the human sentries had to be killed to keep alarms from being sounded, but otherwise the first part of the zard assault went unnoticed.

When the zard were littered about the sleepy encampment, Vrot came roaring out of the sky and bathed long swaths of tents and pavilions in acid. Flick sent fireballs streaking down that erupted in half a dozen places.

When the waking soldiers, who weren’t corroding away, went to defend themselves they were overrun by heavy-footed gekas, and the swift silent attacks of the zard, and dactyls. The men and dwarves on watch duty were the first to be melted or scorched into oblivion by the aerial assault. Swift flying flocks of swamp birds swarmed down and shredded anything they could with their long sharp beaks. The dwarves fought bravely, with both hammer and axe, but even with their fierce determination they were no match for Vrot, the wizard, or the overwhelming number of slithery zard. Flick showered them all with bright fiery concussions and Vrot spewed entire lanes clear with his horrible spray, at least until his venom glands ran dry.

Master Amill woke from a twisted battlefield dream to find a huge patch of his tent hissing away. A glance outside the flaps sent a chill of terror through the master wizard. Over half of the company was destroyed, either fizzling into a gory soup, or smoldering in flames. He contained his panic long enough to cast a sending to Master Sholt. As it was cast, he realized that Master Sholt was no longer with King Jarrek. He was in Westland now, but it was too late, the spell link was already forming. Master Amill heard a great groaning creek and turned to see the massive city gates opening. A stream of Dakaneese soldiers came pouring out, and in moments the chaotic encampment was overrun.

Master Sholt woke to an insistent itching sensation in his mind. It felt like someone was scratching the inside of his skull. He sat up and glanced hopefully at the deep indentation that Phen’s heavy body was making in the soft feather bed. Realizing that it was a sending that had woken him, he rose out of the divan he was sleeping on and strode across the royal bedchamber to the balcony. He threw the doors open and let the breeze stream in. Once he had shaken the cobwebs from his head, he reached out and grabbed a hold of the magical voice that was calling to him. The faint light of the night sky was blacked out momentarily, but Master Amill’s panic stricken sending drew his focus. As he listened, he stepped to the balcony rail and looked up curiously. Seeing nothing other than stars, he turned and looked back at the bed.

The words of his friend and peer suddenly sank in and filled him with worry. “By the gods, the zard and the dragon?” he replied. “Get yourself and King Granitheart out of there. He is royalty, man… Amill? Amill?”

The sending ended abruptly, leaving Master Sholt trembling with concern. He knew that he had to warn the others. It was possible that the zard were planning on attacking all three of the siege forces. He closed his eyes and began speaking the words of another sending, but a sudden looming presence behind him stopped him cold.

The starlight had been eclipsed again, only this time whatever had blocked it out hadn’t passed over. It was still there. Master Sholt began to shake as furnace hot breath that smelled of rot and brimstone blew across him. He was sure that one of the many demons that had climbed up out of the hells was behind him. He felt his hair curling and could smell the harsh acrid scent of it burning. A voice that could have been a crumbling mountain growled behind him.

“Where is Hydens Hawkss?” it asked.

Master Sholt took two steps toward the room and turned with the balcony doors in his hands. He was ready to throw them closed and run. What he saw staggered him to stillness.

Cavernous nostrils, bigger than wagon wheels, with tendrils of smoke rolling up out of them were pressed against the balcony rail. Half a dozen feet behind them were luminous yellow eyes that were slitted vertically by pupils as long as a man is tall. They blinked with lids that rose from the bottom upward then narrowed fiercely.

“Where is Hydens Hawkss?” the monstrous thing asked again.

When Sholt heard the voice this time he realized what was speaking to him, but the knowledge caused him to faint into a heap on the floor.

The massive red dragon pushed its snout through the balcony entry, shattering glass and splintering wood as if it weren’t even there. Then it reared back and brought its head down, using its chin to batter the balcony from the wall.

The door across the room came flying open. Lady Able, and a pair of nervous looking men bearing swords and torches charged in. The lady crumbled when she saw the giant slitted eye pressed up to the gaping hole in the wall. One of the men turned and fled screaming. The other filled his britches before falling to his knees and putting his face to the floor as if he were praying.