Michael Mathias - Kings, Queens, Heroes, and Fools

Mikahl booted Hyden’s body as gently as he could. “Hyden!” He yelled, eyeing the huge blood-drenched thing that was coming at him again. “Get up, Hyden!”

Mikahl spun away from his friend and thrust with his sword. He managed to stick the raging monster with its tip. It roared and slapped the blade aside and charged at him with savage purpose this time. As he drew back Ironspike’s blade, he saw Hyden jerk up into consciousness. Mikahl started to twist and spin and cleaved the thing before him across the middle, but a sour note in the chorus of his mind caused him to glance toward the corner where the scorpion had gone. Dripping a slick yellow substance from its body, it scrabbled at him with deceptive speed. Mikahl leapt out of its way, but barely. The scorpion stinger dug deeply into the freakish breed beast’s leg. The monster swatted the bug away and screamed out a horrible roar. Clutching at the wound, seemingly forgetting its attack on Mikahl, the hairy beast went to a knee. Mikahl looked on in shocked horror as the beast’s leg swelled with a visible quickness right before his eyes. He didn’t hesitate to take advantage of the monster’s ill fate, though. He took one step, then another, and swung down at the creature’s neck. Ironspike sliced through cords, bone, and gristle with almost no resistance. The monster’s roar of pain ceased abruptly, leaving the cell empty of sound, save for the symphony of the blade’s magic in Mikahl’s head, and the splattering of blood on the floor as it spurted from the stump of the malformed breed beast’s neck.

Hyden felt as if he’d been thrown down a flight of stone stairs.

“Are you all right?” Mikahl asked him as he stepped over the huge corpses lying in the middle of the cell.

“Aye,” Hyden grunted. His voice sounded unsure. “I took a whack on the head.” He reached back and found the knot forming on the side of his skull.

Mikahl reached the tip of Ironspike down and touched Hyden on the shoulder. He called forth its healing powers and sent them sparkling through his friend’s body. Hyden shuddered and looked up.

“Whahh!” he said. “That feels fargin strange, Mik.”

“But better, huh?” Mikahl grinned.

“Aye.”

Mikahl reached down and helped him to his feet.

“Thank you,” Hyden said sincerely. He walked over to where his bow lay and reached down to pick it up. It was too late when he saw the scorpion skitter out of the shadows at him. By the time he understood what he was seeing, the thing’s stinger was pulling out of his stomach just below his breast bone. The pain he felt explode inside him was so intense that he couldn’t even scream when he stumbled over backwards into Mikahl.

“Lord Antone,” Ra’Gren growled from his throne, trying to keep his anger in check. “As of this moment Battle Lord Ra’Carr is relieved of duty. He cannot demand more men.”

“Who’s to lead the forces against Jarrek then?” the now stupefied messenger asked.

The King of Dakahn cocked his head thoughtfully before answering. “It seems that we took the bottleneck in the first place, after Captain Da’Markell arrived with my cavalry.” Ra’Gren was speaking aloud, but mostly to himself. Then sharply he commanded the attention of the court’s scribe with a bump of his trident’s butt on the floor. “Write up a command! Declare Captain Da’Markell as my new Battle Lord. Lord Ra’Carr is to travel to Oktin immediately, where he will take command of the forces that are arriving there. He is to use those men to defend the Valleyan border from Oktin north. There are no bridges across the Kahna north of Oktin, and the river is far too deep to be waded, so he might just be able to manage the task.”

The scribe chuckled dutifully, as did a few of the other court attendees.

“Also,” Ra’Gren added, “have Lord Cryden accompany him. “The slave trainer did well harassing the Seaward troops as they marched through Archa, and Alliak. Rank him as lieutenant and make sure he knows to report all of Lord Ra’Carr’s actions to me.”

A representative of Overlord Paleon of Oktin had been listening from the front pew. He stood and bowed his head and waited for the King’s attention. Ra’Gren stared at him for a few long moments then harrumphed and gave the nod for the man to speak.

“Majesty, I am one of Lord Paleon’s underlords. He sent me to request troops to replace those that the Seaward army killed when they passed through, but I see that your wisdom is far ahead of our requests. How many men can I tell my lord that he should expect and what…?” He made a pained expression of confusion. “What pray should I tell my lord of Ra’Carr’s ascension to the command of his men in relation to my lord’s current position.”

Ra’Gren sighed. He was of a mind to empty the coffers into the hold of a ship and sail to Harthgar, leaving these boot-licking cowards behind. Either that, or put on his armor and lead his army into Wildermont himself. These fools wouldn’t dare ask half the questions they did, not if he was hefting his trident on his shoulder.

“Tell Lord Paleon that, until a time when the military concerns of my kingdom are settled, Lord Ra’Carr is assuming the position of overlord of Oktin. Assure Paleon though, that he will assume the seat that Pa’Peryn’s death left vacant once this skirmish with Valleya and Seaward has reached a conclusion.”

“My thanks, Majesty,” the advisor groveled with a deep bow. “May I enquire the number of men you’re sending?” he asked hesitantly.

“You may not,” Ra’Gren dismissed him with a wave. Out of curiosity, the King asked a man sitting at the scribe’s table a question. “How many men did we leave here in O’Dakahn?”

The man began rummaging through scrolls, most of which tried to curl back up as quickly as he unrolled them. After a moment he scratched his head. “Some forty-five-hundred cavalry, approximately eight thousand swordsmen, and twenty-five-hundred archers are left, Majesty.”

“It seems to me that, with Ra’Carr and Cryden guarding the Northern Valleyan border, the Dragon Queen’s demon beast guarding the Lokahna Bridge, and Battle Lord Da’Markell pressing Wildermont, we need not worry about being attacked here.” Ra’Gren spoke matter of factly, but he was fishing for suggestions, or faults in his line of thinking from those gathered at court. The only fault of thinking, though, was the fact that he actually thought someone might speak up and point out an error in his judgment. He’d gigged more men with his trident in the last few months than he had in a decade. No one dared to voice an opinion.

“Even if Shaella’s demon fails, she has Princess Rosa,” Ra’Gren continued assessing the situation aloud.

Lord Antone listened intently. He had been sent here to get more men for the upcoming invasion of Wildermont, and he liked where his king was headed.

“If we leave twenty-five hundred cavalry, half the swords, and fifteen hundred archers to guard O’Dakahn, that leaves what, ten thousand men to send to Seareach? Do you think that will be enough to take Wildermont?”

The question wasn’t asked to anyone in particular, and Lord Antone didn’t want to correct his King’s arithmetic, especially since the error was favorable to his cause. “Ten thousand more men would serve our new Battle Lord perfectly,” Antone said encouragingly. “In fact, with the reinforcements you’ve already sent, the taking of Wildermont under Da’Markell’s leadership should go quite smoothly.”

Ra’Gren smiled at Antone as if the young lord had just helped him defeat some great enemy. “Is there anything else we need for the invasion?”