Michael Mathias - Kings, Queens, Heroes, and Fools

Shaella didn’t let his remark about her burned scalp bother her. She wasn’t a vain little girl. She knew that her scars were ugly. Instead of reacting, she had Vrot stretch his long sinuous neck over her so that his acid dripping maw was inches from Ra’Gren. The King of Dakahn’s face went as a white as his hair. It was obvious he was fighting not to tremble as the fetid stench of Vrot’s corrosive breath blew his hair back.

A long silence ensued, while Ra’Gren gathered himself. “If your dragon is hungry, Shaella,” he said as he pushed the clattering captain of his guard toward her, “this one has volunteered to be his meal. A captain who would allow a dragon to land at my doorstep without even a warning is worthless to me.”

As the soldier stumbled forth, Vrot didn’t wait for Shaella’s Command. He clamped his mouth down over him. The sound of crunching bone and corroding metal drowned out the man’s screams. The dragon then tilted his head back and chugged the body deeper into his maw. In two heartbeats the captain’s kicking legs disappeared down the dragon’s gullet. Somewhere higher up the steps the sound of retching and the splatter of vomit was heard.

“Enough foolishness,” Shaella snapped.

“I agree,” said Ra’Gren. “Tell me, Shaella, why is it that you sold me all the Westland nobility that resisted you, but you’ll not have a slave in Westland?”

Shaella smiled. “Slavery breeds weakness.”

“Slaves can be bred to be strong or weak,” retorted Ra’Gren.

“No,” she corrected him. “Slavery breeds weakness in the master. If you take away all of your slaves, Ra’Gren, you and your overlords are helpless.” She laughed at his expression. “When you have sons, I hope they are wiser than you are.”

His growing scowl made her want to laugh even harder, but she calmed herself. “What do you want from me?” she asked harshly.

“Who are you to…” Ra’Gren’s angry roar was cut short when Vrot’s head came striking down at him.

“You’ll do well to remember who needs who,” Shaella snarled. With a wave of her hand she stopped the dragon’s attack. Ra’Gren’s face was a bright shade of red now. “You wrote that Westland owed you, but you are mistaken. Who sent you all these wagon loads of Wildermont gold, and every man, woman, and child that remained in Wildermont after my father wasted it?”

“King Glendar gave me those gifts,” Ra’Gren argued with impotent defiance.

“My father’s puppet,” said Shaella hotly. “Why do you think Pael would give you these things? Do you think he did it so that you could insult his daughter, and try to claim debts you’re not owed?”

Ra’Gren took a deep breath and tried to temper his rage. “Shaella…” he started.

“Queen Shaella,” she said. “If you want to see what power is, I will show you here and now. I will crumble your castle and let your slaves dance on your throne. If you want Westland’s aid, and are willing to ask me for it, you might get what you need. Now tell me, Ra’Gren, what do you want from me?”

Amazingly, Ra’Gren still seemed more angry than afraid. The people around him were terrified. With a scowl of distaste showing plainly on his face, he finally spoke. “I need to know that, if Queen Rachel and Willa the Witch come marching through Valleya, you will take up arms against the east and finish your father’s failed conquest.” Ra’Gren was glad to have said it the way he did. He hadn’t expected Queen Shaella to be this strong.

“You’re impossible,” she spat. “I will aid you against the east, but for my own reasons. Not for yours, or my father’s.”

Vrot lowered his head and she climbed up onto his neck. Once she was comfortable she looked down at the King of Dakahn. “You’d have me fight off the whole of the east just so you can take Wildermont. It would be easier for me to take both, Dakahn and Wildermont, for myself.” She laughed as he realized the truth of her words. “Remember that, Ra’Gren.”

As the dragon leapt into the air, Shaella was lost in the rush of her power. She’d almost forgotten how it was supposed to be. With a dragon under her, it all came back. She decided that she would reward Flick handsomely for the gift. Then she realized that the gift had truly come from Pael. After all, he was the one who had placed the charm on Flick that gave him the desire to serve her so well.

She had no doubt that Pael loved her, but she still hated him for killing Gerard.

Gerard!

Hyden was starting to worry about Mikahl. His friend wasn’t sleeping, and on those rare occasions that he did manage to find slumber, the High King tossed and turned. He was sweating profusely, as if he were feverish, but only when he was dreaming. Every now and then he would mumble something about, Princess Rosa, or King Balton. Sometimes he would wake suddenly and look around as if he were a lost child.

Hyden knew that Mikahl had plenty to worry about, but as they drew nearer to Westland, and the dangerous task they were set on taking, he found he was concerned. Mikahl was possibly too ill to attempt sneaking into the Dragon Queen’s castle. If anything, the High King’s exhausted condition would be a hindrance. Hyden hoped to help his friend sort out whatever was the matter as he didn’t want either of them to get caught. He approached Mikahl with these concerns one evening, after Mikahl woke from a troublesome dream.

The ship they were on was called Shepherds’ Goddess. As the name implied, it was mainly used to haul stock. Prince Raspaar purchased it from a yard in Salazar where it had been sitting in dry dock for most of a decade. At least it held water and seemed sturdy enough in the one storm they sailed through. In its hold, forty head of prime Valleyan breeding stock whinnied and stomped about in the narrow stalls. Even on the deck with the breeze, the rich earthy aroma of digested oats was potent. Below decks the smell could only be described as ripe.

Hyden and Mikahl shared a tiny cabin. There was barely enough room for both of them to stand up at the same time. Hyden noticed Mik was awake and leapt from his upper bunk. He took a seat on the footlocker near his friend’s feet. Mikahl looked terrible.

“What is it, Mik?” Hyden asked. “You have to tell me. We can’t go into Westland with you half awake.”

“I have to go,” Mikahl said harshly. “I don’t expect you to follow me. If you don’t think you can trust me, or the state I’m in, then beg off.”

“Trust you?” Hyden’s voice was tinged with anger now. “We’ve been through too much for this. Tell me what the problem is or I’ll call the whole thing off, at least your part of it. I have to find Phen, and I’ll somehow get Rosa free if I can, but you’re sick, Mik. How are you going to keep from being discovered when you call out in your sleep?”

“How could you stop me from going?” Mikahl asked. He propped himself up on an elbow and it was obvious that he was more curious now than aggravated. The effects of his dream were fading, save for the sheen of the sweat that slicked his face.

“I’m a legendary wizard, Mik,” Hyden joked. He was relieved to see Mikahl grinning. “I can send you to another plane of existence. While you’re there you can go on a quest to find Oarly’s other boot.”

“Aye,” Mikahl chuckled. “The stumpy bastard told me about his boot, and the cinder pepper.” Mikahl cringed at the idea of it. “Brutal.”

“Aye,” Hyden nodded. “Talk to me, Mik. We have to succeed here. It’s not just me and you who will perish if we fail. If something happens to you, the kingdom will lose Ironspike’s might.”

“Bah,” Mikahl huffed as he reached for his boots. He pulled a shirt from the pack by his bunk and tried to shake the lingering effects of the dream as he dressed.