Michael Mathias - Kings, Queens, Heroes, and Fools

As the day’s ride progressed into a moonlit dash, Jarrek wondered about the rest of Queen Willa’s missive. A little surprise from Doon was coming his way. He knew that Doon was some sort of dwarven god or underground city. He understood that she was trying to convey something to him covertly, but her meaning was lost to him.

Willa was a strange woman, but her free spirit and strong demeanor had captured Jarrek’s heart. Her beauty and elegance were things that crossed his mind frequently. He was sure she didn’t know how he felt. Once his people were freed from Dakahn, he hoped to find the chance to tell her. There was much to do before that dream could be realized, though.

Late the next afternoon, tired and hungry, Jarrek’s troop crossed the bridge at Low Crossing. They could see carrion in the dusky sky, circling to the south, so they didn’t rest the horses long. Instead they pressed on with dread building in their hearts.

They found the battle in the dark. Jarrek barely had time to don the wolf skull helmet that completed his red enameled armor before a blazing torch went hurling by his head. There were other torches, mostly on the ground, and deeper into the fray an oil keg had been smashed against a tree and set aflame. Not many fighters braved the illuminated areas for fear of the enemy archers in the hills.

Jarrek rode his horse deep into the skirmish, and despite his fatigue, he fought in a precisely controlled rage. Steel rang on steel. Men cried out in agony, while other men danced around them in the wild shadows. Every few minutes, at a different part of the battle, a torch went sailing down from the hills. Mercenary arrows would then come streaking into the illuminated area. Queen Rachel’s men, and now King Jarrek’s, would suddenly sprout quills, while the swift sell-swords would dart in with their steel then disappear.

More soldiers, uniformed Dakaneese, came up behind the Seaward force. There was no retreat. Along an alley barely half a mile wide, between the river and an up thrust of mountain, thousands and thousands of men fought savagely through the night.

The men were tired and the horses exhausted, but they battled anyway. When dawn finally broke Jarrek was still darting his horse into the Dakaneese ranks hacking and slashing fervently. Seawardsmen and Dakaneese sell-swords lay dead or dying everywhere. The uniformed soldiers, Jarrek saw, were mounted city guard from O’Dakahn. They pushed hard, trampling the bodies under their mounts. By midday, the surviving Seawardsmen, and what was left of Jarrek’s group, had been pushed back over the bridge at Low Crossing. The Dakaneese seemed content to stop there. It was obvious why. They now held the passage. The bottleneck was behind them. Maybe fifteen hundred of Queen Rachel’s five thousand men had been saved, but the single most important piece of land in the realm had been lost. Defending Wildermont from a full Dakaneese invasion would be all but impossible now.

Jarrek decided that, since this was now all-out war, he would promise the breed giants Locar in the High King’s name. If Mikahl didn’t back him, he would give them a piece of Wildermont instead. It would take a long time to get more men from Valleya, much less Highwander or Seaward. If they didn’t force the Dakaneese back beyond the bottleneck before they fortified the position, Wildermont was lost.

Jarrek handpicked an escort, commandeered the freshest of the horses, and rode with haste back to Castlemont. He would bargain with this Lord Bzorch. If the savage breed beasts were willing to fight for Wildermont, King Jarrek wouldn’t deny them the opportunity.

The only thing Queen Shaella loved more than flying on a dragon’s back was Gerard. But, since she had been deprived of the glorious feelings of flight for so long she couldn’t help herself. The Silver Skull of Zorellin and her hell-bound, mutant lover could wait just a little while longer. After putting on the controlling collar, she boldly mounted the young black drake, her blood electric with giddy anticipation.

“Fslandra, go fetch my staff,” she ordered her zard servant. Then to her two wizards, “I was about to ink a reply to a request from King Ra’Gren,” she told them. Cole, Flick’s near twin, was standing beside him holding the Silver Skull. Flick was beaming over having delivered Shaella the artifact and her gift successfully. He had spent all afternoon getting Shaella’s dragon harness adjusted down to the black wyrm’s size.

“I think I’ll go see the bastard instead,” she giggled and patted the creature.

Behind the two bald-headed wizards, the three remaining red-robed priests of Kraw looked on in awe. The will of their demon god was at work before their very eyes.

The group was gathered on the long stairway in front of the castle's great arched entry. A reluctant group of uniformed zard had formed a loose ring around them because a crowd was beginning to gather. Tales of the beast had spread like a wildfire through the inns and taverns, and soon everyone inside the vast walls of Lakeside Castle knew about it. Everyone wanted to see the Queen and her new dragon.

Phen eased around the spectacle and positioned himself by the great oaken doors to the castle. Flick had given the Silver Skull to another bald-headed wizard-a thinner, taller one. Phen planned on following him when he came in, so that he could nab the skull, or at least see where it was placed. All the attention the sleek black-scaled dragon was drawing made it easy for him to move around. He figured that he didn’t even have to be invisible to get into the castle. Nevertheless, he kept the ring on his finger. There was no sense in tempting fate.

The dragon’s mighty roar caused him to look back. He was halfway up the steps. The dragon looked at him, and Phen knew beyond any doubt that the wyrm could see him. Luckily it was in no position to worry about him. The sound of hurried footfalls startled Phen back around just in time to avoid a young zardess. The reptilian girl, defined by the feminine cut of her strange attire, was carrying a wicked looking staff that had a melon-sized crystal orb for a headpiece. She didn’t slow as she made her way through the group of people past the ring of zard soldiers to the dragon’s side. With little show of fear she handed the staff up to Shaella.

With her partially scarred scalp and her long raven black hair, Phen thought that Shaella looked even more beautiful and intimidating than the rumors portrayed her.

Too bad you’re gonna die soon, Phen thought as he started up into the castle to wait on the skull. He was wondering why he still wasn’t feeling afraid when the dragon leapt from its haunches into flight. Zard soldiers hissed and people jeered and cheered alike. When a man heaved open the door, Phen steeled to the task, and darted into Lakeside Castle.

Shaella was exhilarated. The young black drake wasn’t nearly as big or powerful as Claret, but he carried her effortlessly. His anger suited Shaella’s demeanor. Before long it was clear that the dragon favored her too. They were flying east over the vast expanse of her kingdom. She was the Dragon Queen, and he was her wyrm.

Even though it wasn’t necessary, Shaella leaned forward and spoke loudly over the wind. “What are you called?” she asked.

“Daragrathomlegenvrot,” the wyrm replied into her mind.

“Dar-agra-thom-legen-vrot,” Shaella repeated carefully. “I’ll just call you Vrot.”

“You are the ones with control,” Vrot chuckled sarcastically. “Call me whats you will.”

As they circled higher, Vrot picked up the scent of fresh death. Through the link of the controlling collar, Shaella sensed it as well. She told him to seek out the smell.