Michael Mathias - Kings, Queens, Heroes, and Fools

“A thousand head,” Northall said, hiding his disgust at the way he was speaking of human beings as if they were chattel. “Some of them need to be prime laborers. Men from thirteen summers to fifty, but we would like at least half of them to be younger, with women to look after them.” Northall smiled and shrugged. “We want some of them to grow into the trades, and the women can cook and tend the others.”

“Ha,” Ra’Gren half laughed. “If you would have asked for all able bodied men I might have thought you were consorting with the Wolf King. Don’t think I’m a fool, Lord Northall. You don’t want women and children for the reasons you stated here.”

Northall cringed inwardly. Were his true motives to free the slaves so obvious? He began to worry. He couldn’t believe he was so transparent.

“Don’t look so chagrinned, man,” Ra’Gren laughed. “It is wise to think about the future.”

The future, Northall thought. What in all the hells?

“There’s no sense hiding it,” Ra’Gren scolded. “You want breeders. Some men to do labor now, some youth to grow into the work, and women to breed, so that a dozen years from now you’ll not need to come to us for more.” Ra’Gren nodded as if he respected the plan.

With a continuous effort, Northall tried to keep from commenting out of character. “Since you do not disapprove of our intention, I think we can double our first order.”

“Approve, disapprove, it doesn’t matter,” Ra’Gren laughed. “By the time your breeders’ offspring have matured enough to perform, you’ll have fattened my coffers aplenty. As it is, I will have owners bidding away to fill your order, with so many extra mouths to feed, the sellers are competing by upping the throne’s take. I’d bet my crown that one of the slavers offers me half the profit just for the honor of filling such a healthy order.” Ra’Gren’s gaze ventured past Lord Northall to the slavers still sitting in the back of the hall. They seemed to be conferring amongst themselves. A few of them had pallid expressions on their faces. Finally one of them stood and gave a nod to the King, indicating that he would split the profit of Lord Northall’s purchase evenly with the crown.

“Mortram Grail will see that your needs are met.”

“Thank you, Majesty,” Lord Northall said with a broad-faced smile. He bowed and made his way over to Mortram Grail. Once the great oak doors of the throne room closed behind them, the slaver sighed and turned to Lord Northall.

“It will take a few hours to ready the herd for your inspection,” he said in a way that showed his disappointment at having to pay his kingdom half the profit from this sale. “I assume you’ll want to pick from the lot?”

“Yes, yes,” Northall answered. The relief at being out of the King of Dakahn’s presence was visible on both of them. “I’ll be taking a meal at the Sea Master’s Inn. Do you know it?”

“Of course, excellent choice. The pen we keep the herd in is not far from there,” the slaver said, nodding his approval at Northall’s choice of eateries. “I’ll send a man to the inn to fetch you when we’re ready.”

“Very good,” Northall said. His group of private guards, posing as his associates, had gathered behind him.

“Come,” Northall ordered his men and started out of Ra’Gren’s lavish palace. As soon as they were away from the place and its many ears, Northall ordered one of his men to ride to Salazar’s embassy house. He told the man to immediately send birds to Wildermont and Dreen to warn King Jarrek and General Spyra of Ra’Gren’s intention. Northall wasn’t sure a warning from a Salazarkian lord would prevent what was to come, but at least he would know that he tried to tell King Jarrek of Ra’Gren’s intent to bottle up the approaching Seawardsmen. He could only hope that Jarrek had the men to stop the attack. If the Red Wolf couldn’t hold there, Ra’Gren would be able to take Wildermont with ease.

Having just heard from Lady Trella about the death of Father Petri, High King Mikahl was in low spirits when he walked into the Lost Lion Inn and saw his good friend Hyden. The look on Hyden’s face filled Mikahl with dread. A quick scan of the room explained the expression. Neither Phen, nor Brady Culvert was among them, and the reason was obvious.

“It gets worse,” Hyden said, seeing the look of grim understanding come over his friend.

Talon fluttered down from a roof beam and landed on Mikahl’s shoulder. The big hawkling softly cooed a greeting.

“Hey, Talon,” Mikahl said softly to the bird. He took a deep breath then sat at an empty table. Talon leapt to the tabletop and began preening himself, content to just be near his old companion.

It was after dawn and the Lost Lion’s common room was empty. The one other guest that had stayed the night left with the Highwander soldier and Master Biggs before sun-up. There was no need to worry about interruptions or prying eyes, which was just as well, because Lord Gregory and Prince Raspaar were laboring like commoners, trying to get Lady Trella’s travelling trunk through the door.

As soon as the luggage was properly put away there would be breakfast and a meeting of minds. Until then, Mikahl reflected inwardly while Hyden tried to figure out how he was going to explain all that had happened.

“I feel like I’m in a story,” Lady Trella said, trying to lighten the mood of the men around her. “Here I have a lord, and a prince carrying my things, and a king brooding in my common room. And there at the bar sits a renowned wizard and his pet dwarf. ”

Despite his ill mood, Hyden couldn’t help but smile at the jibe. Oarly growled in mock anger, which made him seem even more like a pet sitting at his master’s side. The noise Lord Gregory and Prince Raspaar were making with the trunk made it pointless to speak further, but the two men finally got the heavy box up the stairs.

“How is Jarrek?” Hyden asked, after Lady Trella had gone up to supervise the placement of her things.

“Not well,” Mikahl answered. “He harassed the King of Dakahn, killed a dozen of his overlords, and freed over a thousand of his people, but Ra’Gren is ruthless. He stopped Jarrek’s little war cold by executing hundreds of Wildermont innocents in the street. They say it went off like a stage show, that Ra’Gren relished the act. They said that he let the last little girl, who had watched all the others die before her, beg for mercy. He teased her with freedom, Hyden. Then he whacked off her head without a thought.” Mikahl pinched the bridge of his nose and continued. “From what word we’ve gotten, Jarrek’s war is no longer a little one. King Ra’Gren is buying up sell-swords to try and take a firm control of Wildermont.”

“Willa will help Jarrek,” Hyden said.

“Aye,” Mikahl agreed. “And so will I just as soon as I can get Princess Rosa back from that dragonless, dragon-riding bitch, Shaella.”

“Princess Rosa?” Hyden asked. What could have happened to her? His heart was sinking lower than it already was. The gods had made Rosa just for Mikahl, Hyden was sure of it.

Mikahl got up and strode around the bar. He made himself a mug of ale as he explained. “Rosa was taken from Seaward some weeks ago.” Mikahl gestured at Oarly and Hyden, asking if they wanted some ale too.

“Who am I to turn down the chance to get served by the High King,” Oarly said with a forced grin.

“Shaella’s not dragonless anymore,” Hyden said, almost too quiet for anyone to hear.

“What?” Mikahl nearly shouted. He’d heard all too clearly. The sound of his voice startled Talon. The hawkling flapped back up to his rafter perch, leaving a pair of feathers to flutter down from above.