Michael Mathias - Kings, Queens, Heroes, and Fools

He was Kraw now. He was Gerard too, but Kraw was a part of him. Each and every bite of the devil’s flesh he swallowed increased his strength. No longer just a disfigured dragon-blooded beast with a demon trapped in his mind, he was now a force to be reckoned with. He was as much demon as he was man, and as much dragon as he was demon. As his power grew, so did his thirst for it. He wanted to be free from this hell. Kraw’s dark knowledge flooded his mind and filled his molten veins with raw power. There were places down here where Gerard could feast, he learned from the hell-born essence. Places where he might gain the power he needed to escape. There were lesser demons he could send to the world above to help Shaella. There were so many possibilities that he found himself tearing savagely into what was left of his meal so that he might move on to another. Already the red-robed priests who worshipped Kraw were on their way to Westland. They would do Gerard’s bidding now. They would do all they could to help him and Shaella be together again. He would expend everything that he was to make sure of it, and he would devour anything that got in his way.

Mikahl couldn’t believe he was actually back in Westland. It would have been an emotional moment had he not been so wracked with nerves. He couldn’t understand how the people of Southport were going about their business as if nothing were amiss. There were scaly green zard-men working among the humans, and no one seemed to mind. They were doing the harder labor that the men who’d been drafted into King Glendar’s army had once done. The bustling city seemed to be thriving, and everywhere Mikahl looked he saw the yellow and black lightning star banner fluttering in the breeze.

Mikahl, Maxrell Tyne, and four Highwander soldiers, all dressed in the garb of Dakaneese sell-swords, only garnered the occasional glance from the people. Mikahl was torn between finding Lord Gregory and searching out Princess Rosa. He knew that if he could find Lord Gregory he would gain an adviser who understood both politics and strategy. Lord Gregory could also help him figure out what to do about Rosa, and the Dragon Queen. He had no idea where the Princess had been taken, but he had some information about Lord Gregory’s whereabouts from the mercenary, Tyne, so his course was decided for him. He wasn’t sure Princess Rosa was even in Westland. With Queen Shaella wanting his head so badly, he was keenly aware of his surroundings. He only hoped the Lion Lord hadn’t been caught by the Queen’s soldiers while snooping around looking for Lady Trella.

According to Tyne, if Lady Trella wasn’t a Dakaneese captive, she was most likely a refugee on the Isle of Salazar. A few dozen nobles and merchants had gotten word before Shaella’s attack and had fled Westland by ship. Salazar had taken them in. The Westland nobles that King Ra’Gren successfully ransomed had been sent to the island as well. Tyne knew this because he had escorted a few of them there himself.

Tyne spoke to a man who saw Grommen riding around in a fancy carriage with a secretive person of wealth. The two had stayed at an inn that Mikahl remembered as the Golden Lion, but was now called the Dragon’s Doorstep. Tyne said he hoped to find them still there, but if not, he assured Mikahl he would gather as much information as he could. Mikahl saw no sign of a fancy carriage as they approached the upscale place. When they gained the entrance, Tyne suggested that Mikahl and the other men wait outside. Mikahl had been the King of Westland’s personal squire for several years, and Lord Gregory’s before that. He didn’t want to be recognized. Against his better judgment, he agreed, knowing that if Tyne decided to betray him, he would be in a serious bind.

For a long while they waited near the entryway trying not to look nervous or suspicious. The Highwander soldiers looked as out of place as Mikahl felt. Their fidgeting and pacing seemed to betray them as impostors. The truth was it made them appear angry and impatient. This wasn’t the section of the city where idle sell-swords were welcome, and a nearby candlemaker soon started complaining.

From down the street a sarzard grumbled something in his tongue to a human underling who translated the question to the candlemaker. “What is the issue? These men are obviously waiting for their employer who is inside the inn.”

“They’re scaring away my custom is what they’re doing!” the man responded indignantly.

Mikahl heard the man’s voice over the din and saw the sarzard, and the others gathering around him, staring back at them curiously. Instinctively, his hand reached over his shoulder and fingered Ironspike’s hilt. He didn’t dare pull the sword here. Its powerful magic would draw unwelcome attention to him and his men. Casually, he moved his hand to his hip where Lord Gregory’s sword hung in its scabbard. It was all he could do to keep from drawing it to try and fight his way out of this predicament. The Highwander men were alert now too, but none drew steel. Mikahl’s only comfort was that he knew all it would take was a word for these men to follow his lead.

As the sarzard, and his group, approached, a few possibilities ran through Mikahl’s mind. If they were forced to fight, he thought they could make quick work of the zard-man and his troop. Hopefully they could do it without attracting much attention. They would have to silence the loud merchant who was now pointing and gesturing angrily, pulling passersby into the ordeal. They could make a run for it, but there really was no safe place to run. A human wearing a guard uniform similar to the sarzard listened to the lizard-man hiss and growl something that none of them could understand. He then stepped forward and spoke.

“Sarzard Askolzz said you have to wait somewhere else,” the man said with more than a little uneasiness in his voice. “You’re scaring away the custom.”

Mikahl was relieved that none of his men had drawn a weapon. “But our captain is inside,” Mikahl replied, easing his hand away from Lord Gregory’s weapon. “He should be along soon.”

The man gave him an odd look. Mikahl realized that his accent wasn’t even close to Dakaneese. If anything, it gave him away as a Westlander. The man spoke to the sarzard in a growling series of hisses and spurts. The lizard-man shook his head and replied. The man translated. “He says there are several taverns in the immediate area. One of you can stay and wait for your captain. The others must get out of the street.” The man looked to the sarzard as he clicked and hissed some more. “He says that if you were not here on business he would take your weapons.” The translator swallowed hard then looked Mikahl directly in the eyes. “I would go to the Otter’s Den if I were you. It’s just around the corner there.” The man pointed up the street away from the candle maker’s shop.

Mikahl noticed a crowd gathering at the other end of the block. He nodded and asked one of the soldiers to stay, and then with a nod to the guardsmen, and the sarzard, he led the others up the road to find the Otter’s Den.

The guardsmen had recognized him as a Westlander, he knew, and the look they’d shared conveyed that it was all right. There was something more to the look, and for the first time since being back in Westland, Mikahl got the sense that not everything was going as smoothly as it appeared in the city.

Maybe the people were just bustling along as usual, or maybe they were just pretending to.

The looks they received from the customers at the Otter’s Den showed that their presence was both surprising, and unwelcome. Apparently, Dakaneese sell-swords had the favor of the zard, but not the Westland men. Mikahl could imagine that many of these people’s liege lords, and maybe some of their family members, had been captured for ransom, or sold to Dakahn as slaves. Mikahl took a chance and loudly ordered a round for him and his men. His obviously Westland accent threw the people staring at them out of kilter, but not for long. A pair of intoxicated men started toward the bar with a look of ill-intent in their eyes. Mikahl cursed Maxrell Tyne under his breath. The last thing he wanted to do was get into a brawl with his own people.