Michael Mathias - Kings, Queens, Heroes, and Fools

At first Shaella thought they were going to fly over the marshland that separated Dakahn from lower Westland, but Vrot followed the scent north of the swampy regions. Soon the dragon was circling the lower Wilder Mountains where they met the split in the Leif Greyn River.

Vrot flew high enough that the men below didn’t notice him. Shaella cast a spell that allowed her vision to zoom in and focus on details below.

Thousands of corpses lay in scattered masses, from Low Crossing all the way to Seareach. A torn and bloodied banner lay among them displaying the rising sun of Seaward.

So Ra’Gren wasn’t exaggerating, Shaella mused. Nearer to Seareach where the passable land narrowed, there was more life. Men in uniform, flying the Dakaneese trident had made an encampment. Seeing that Ra’Gren had sent his own men told her how serious he considered this matter. King Jarrek had jabbed a thorn deeply into his pride.

When they circled back around they saw that there was another encampment north of Low Crossing. Shaella could tell by the banners fluttering in the breeze that this group was a mix of Highwander men, Valleyans, and Seawardsmen. At the moment they didn’t look like much, but Shaella knew that if all three of the other eastern kingdoms had come together to help King Jarrek, soon many more men would be marching to his aid. Now that she had the Silver Skull of Zorellin, she could summon Gerard into the world, and other demons as well. She thought that it might be wise to quell the enthusiasm of this eastern coalition before it grew too strong. If King Jarrek and the High King somehow managed to defeat Dakahn, then Westland would certainly be next.

She wasn’t worried about King Mikahl and his sword anymore. Soon he would be in the red priests’ trap. She worried about Queen Willa’s Blacksword soldiers, and all those vicious, tattoo covered bastards from Seaward. She didn’t have a sizable force of men to lead into a war, but she had a dragon.

She wondered if it might be wiser to let Willa and Queen Rachel send more of their fighters. That way the demons and devils she intended to release from the Nethers could have them all at once. In her mind’s eye she saw Gerard’s fearsome demonic visage, and knew that it would be up to him. He would tell her what to do. He would reach through her staff and fill her belly full of sticky heat, the kind that scalded her insides. He would get his way.

She started to urge Vrot northward so that she might investigate the wall that she’d heard Lord Bzorch was building around his city, but she changed her mind. She had to laugh. The stupid breed giant had hated the magical walls King Balton imprisoned them behind at Coldfrost. Now he was building his own walls around himself. Whether it was made of stone and wood, or of magic, to Shaella, a wall was a wall. If all Bzorch really wanted was to be isolated with his own people he could’ve just stayed in Coldfrost. Did it matter who made the walls?

She wasn’t worried about the Lord of Locar, though, she was the one who had freed him and his people from the eternal prison of Coldfrost. She wouldn’t let him forget that.

Gerard’s image formed in her mind again and she longed for him. The red priests were preparing to call him forth, but she still needed to visit Ra’Gren. She needed to assess his battle plan and wanted to remind him of her might.

Below them, near Seareach, a small group of men were heaving body after body into the Leif Greyn River. The snappers and dactyls would be thick along the edge of the marshes, all of them fighting to get a taste of the ripening human flesh as it floated south toward the sea. By the looks of it there would be plenty to go around.

Farther south a large troop of Dakaneese foot soldiers was marching toward the passage. She had to respect Ra’Gren. The dead were far too fresh for him to have sent the reinforcements after the battle. He had done so in anticipation of victory.

The Dakaneese cities all long the marshy Leif Greyn passed under them quickly as Vrot sped toward O’Dakahn. They soared over the fishing villages of Pearsh and Owask, then Osvoin, where Shaella’s mother had lived her pitiful life as a swamp witch. Pael had planted his seed in her and disappeared into the mountains north of Westland. He’d ignored Shaella until her first menstruation. Then out of nowhere he’d arrived and given her a spell book. Gifts that caused her to have to use her mind arrived irregularly. Then came Flick and Cole, and the grand idea to train the zard and conquer Westland. Shaella had only learned recently from reading Pael’s journals that her two wizards were literally under her spell. Pael had charmed them to her long ago. They had no choice but to obey and adore her. This was disturbing because she had long thought them her true friends.

Looking back, she realized that Pael had loved her. After all, he had conquered Westland for her when he made King Glendar empty it of able bodied men. The knowledge of the spell he cast over her wizards allowed her to order them around more objectively now. Pael had left a trail of information that led her directly to his journals. She’d spent most of her life thinking that he had forgotten her, that he loved Prince Glendar and had really wanted a son. Now she understood that a lot of what he did had been done for her, at least until he found the power of Shokin. She still hated her father, though. He killed Gerard.

Gerard had become more than human, and she longed for him like a desert longs for water. She growled with frustration as O’Dakahn came into view below them. Here she was fussing with King Ra’Gren when she could be bringing Gerard out of his hellish prison. The King of Dakahn had pointed out in his missive that she owed him, and maybe she did. His pirates had helped capture the barges of weapons and supplies that sustained her zard army while they prepared to take Westland. But Pael had paid him handsomely for the aid. She owed Ra’Gren the courtesy of hearing his need, but nothing more.

She was a true Dragon Queen again, and her lover was about to provide her with an army of demons. Ra’Gren needed to understand the only reason he was sitting his throne was because she allowed it. If anything, he owed her for that.

After a meal of sea-born delicacies that was followed by the slow satisfaction of a young slave girl’s mouth, King Ra’Gren reconvened his court. The announcer’s staff finished booming, and his mouth opened to call out, but the news of Queen Shaella’s arrival burst through the door in the form of an overly excited messenger boy. The poor runner was as terrified of catching the King’s trident in his chest as he was of the sleek black dragon outside.

“Welcome her in then,” Ra’Gren ordered one of the men lingering near his throne.

“She says for you to come to her,” the boy said before darting back out of the throne room as fast as he possibly could.

It was hard to tell whether the long low sound that escaped Ra’Gren was a sigh or a growl. After a moment of brooding, he rose. “Very well,” he conceded. “Gather my personal guard.”

A few moments later Ra’Gren’s procession made its way out of the front doors of his lavish palace. At the bottom of the long flight of stone stairs that led into the statue-strewn bailey, a sizable young black dragon sat, looming over Queen Shaella. Its slitted yellow eyes held enough challenge in them that some of Ra’Gren’s court scurried back to the higher steps. Ra’Gren might have felt fear himself, but he didn’t show it. The captain of his guard did, though. His trembling was so pronounced that his armor was clattering. When Ra’Gren was five steps above Shaella, he stopped.

“I like what you’ve done with your hair,” he said with a slight bow and a smirk on his face. “You’ve grown into form, I see.”