Michael Mathias - Kings, Queens, Heroes, and Fools

“So you’re telling me that, if and when the trade routes are free of Dakaneese pirates, your kingdom will start trading with the eastern kingdoms for your needed goods?” Mikahl didn’t wait for an answer, but stepped closer as he pressed on. “What if I…” He darted quickly then and went into an attack with his sword. This press was a little more forceful than the Prince was accustomed to. In the span of three heart beats Prince Raspaar’s sword was spinning across the yard. After it clanged to the earth, Mikahl only shrugged with an innocent grin on his face.

“So you could eventually sail a ship full of horses right up into Southport or even Portsmouth in Westland?”

The Prince glanced at his sword lying several feet away in the trampled grass. He had heard rumors of Mikahl’s true abilities with the blade, so he wasn’t surprised, or offended, by the sudden defeat. He had come to like Mikahl’s straightforward attitude and the way he cut through the formalities of his position to get right to the point of things. The possibilities that King Mikahl was just now beginning to see had been in Raspaar’s mind all day along. Raspaar felt in his gut that Mikahl would eventually bring Dakahn down and retake Westland. To have the High King as a friend was an honor, whether Mikahl succeeded in those two ventures or not, but if he did succeed, the bond would be the best thing that ever happened to Salaya. To the people Prince Raspaar was sworn to protect, that was what mattered most.

With a devilish grin of his own, he bowed to Mikahl’s training yard victory, and felt triumphant with his own political score. “High King Mikahl,” the Prince whispered as he rose from his bow. “Not only would ships full of horses be sailing right into Westland’s harbors, but the agents of our equine importing houses could move about Westland’s cities completely unmolested. Salaya is such a little non-threatening island kingdom, and King Broderick’s treachery doesn’t have to catch your attention, or Queen Willa’s. Just think, in a matter of months, you could know every little thing about Westland’s situation.”

“We’ll need to find you a less notable supplier of horses than the King of Valleya,” Mikahl said. “He won’t be available. It shouldn’t be hard, though, every other man in Dreen is a fargin breeder.”

“I see,” the Prince replied curiously, wondering what exactly it was that Mikahl had in store for King Broderick.

Two days later, General Spyra started back toward Xwarda with one hundred and one less men in his host than had come. Thirty archers, thirty infantry, and forty cavalrymen stayed behind with the High King. The day after Spyra marched back east, Mikahl took his little army out of Dreen’s north gate on a northwesterly course up into the Wilder Mountains. King Broderick lent fifty of his specially chosen blue-cloaked pikemen to the group.

Mikahl didn’t hurry them, even though he felt a certain desire to do so. They took their time going through the mountains and stuck to the trampled path of the Westland army’s passage. That host had numbered nearly ten thousand, and almost a year after they had come through, the evidence of their passing was still quite clear. Like a well-travelled road a lane of dirt and destruction wound its way over the rocky ridges and down into the green valleys. Where the forest infringed upon the way, it had been hewn down by the Westlanders’ axes. Where the way had been rocky, boulders and other scree had been cleared to the side. Deep ruts, where hundreds of supply wagons had rolled through, gouged the earth, and the stone rings of a thousand campfires dotted the landscape.

They made good time even at their relaxed pace. For three days their movements were slowed even further by heavy rainfall, but Mikahl didn’t let them stop. Not even when they were forced to wade waist deep, with their horses in tow, through a flooded valley while lightning flashed all around them. Mikahl had left his fancy pavilion tent behind and was using a standard issue canvas just like the others. His only luxury was that he didn’t have to share his lodgings with three other soldiers.

The last night of the rain storm a rider came into the encampment bearing messages for Mikahl. He had been expecting one message, but was handed three. The first was from General Spyra. It was the one he had been expecting. After dismissing the messenger to the mess kettle, he broke the General’s seal and unrolled the scroll. It read:

I’ve done as you asked, and things are in order as you hoped for. A message quite unexpectedly arrived bearing the Prince of Salaya’s seal. I’ve enclosed it, and his messenger is still among my men. I thought it the best course of action to take due to his unexpected arrival. The third message, I fear, is dire news, but unless I receive a command from you ordering a change in my plans, things will go as we discussed.

Your humble servant,

General Thomas Spyra

It was good to know that the General was ready, but it must be truly grave news for Spyra to think that Mikahl would change his plans now. He could guess what Prince Raspaar’s message said. King Broderick had betrayed him to King Ra’Gren, or something similar. Mikahl was glad to know that Raspaar was truly on his side. The young Prince would make a great king some day. He didn’t bother to break the seal on that message yet. He went straight to the third message. The seal on it, the seal of Xwarda, had already been broken as it was addressed to both Mikahl and General Spyra. It was from Queen Willa, and the news was staggering.

Mikahl had to put the damp parchment down and catch his breath. He understood why Spyra might think he would change his course of action now. Maybe he would eventually, but not until he handled the matter of Dreg for King Jarrek. He couldn’t afford to dally with Broderick anymore, and a few more days of his absence wouldn’t affect the new situation much, if at all. Queen Willa would know what to do until he was done scouting. He would try and figure out a way to get Princess Rosa back from the Dragon Queen while he did it. The fact that Queen Shaella was bold enough to carry out Rosa’s capture and now demanded Mikahl’s head in return for the girl, made his blood boil. He was so mad he cursed Hyden Hawk for letting the bitch live.

At least Hyden took her dragon from her, Mikahl thought. No doubt Princess Rosa’s mother, Queen Rachel, was at this very moment contemplating the value of his head. Surely her daughter’s life had to be more valuable. With King Jarrek in O’Dakahn, and Broderick working against him, what Queen Rachel chose to do here could very well turn the bulk of the east against him. He was at a loss. He wished for his father, or Lord Gregory, or even King Jarrek’s advice. They were all experienced diplomats and strategists. He was nothing but a squire with a magical sword.

He spent long hours that night, and every waking moment of the rest of the journey to Castlemont, turning over his possible courses of action. None of them seemed appropriate. He didn’t give up, though. King Balton had always said there was a way out of every situation, a way to turn every wrong into a right. Mikahl wasn’t sure he believed that at the moment, but he knew his father’s favorite saying: ‘Think, then act. If you aren’t doing either of those things then you’re really not doing anything at all.’ He scoured his brain like it was a cook’s dirty pot, searching for any idea he could think of that might help him save Princess Rosa. As the empty, ruined outskirts of Castlemont came into view, though, his mind began to grow numb.

The mightiest castle in the land was wasted. The city around it was a ghostly desolation of nothing but shambled ruins and burned out shells. He spied a company of men up high amid the wreckage of the castle’s main structures and sent some of King Broderick’s mounted blue-cloaks to investigate. He knew what they were though-scavengers, grave robbers, looters of the dead. He figured they were working for somebody, maybe even Dreg. The idea of being enslaved and forced to pick through your own people’s corpses for valuables with a man behind you holding a whip made Mikahl sick with rage.