Michael Mathias - Kings, Queens, Heroes, and Fools

As Mikahl gained his feet, another red blast exploded before him, but this time his shield diffused it. The bald-headed wizard at the end of the dungeon’s hall wasn’t Pael, he realized, but the bastard sure looked like him. The wizard was a bit worried too, now that Mikahl was shielded and on his feet. The black-robed mage started to charge down a side passage, but wasn’t quick enough. The swath of magical energy that shot forth from the end of Ironspike’s blade evaporated everything in its path. Stone, steel, and flesh flashed into nothing more than dust, leaving Cole half there. His shoulder, part of his ribcage, and a portion of his hip had been vaporized. Shocked, and still trying to flee, the wizard took half a step before folding in on himself and smacking wetly into the dungeon floor. He screamed as he realized his condition. Cole couldn’t cast a spell even if he could have mustered the concentration it took to do so. He only had one arm now, and his guts were draining onto the cold stone. He let out a bone-chilling wail that echoed down the corridors, but Mikahl didn’t hear it. His blast had burned through the dungeon wall, and several more walls, including the outer wall of the castle. Ironspike’s symphony was raging in his mind and he was moving toward the sunlight. Purposefully, he strode to the first hole and started to duck through it.

“Please,” Cole begged.

Mikahl spat, and left him to die in misery. He followed the big holes he vaporized until he found himself looking out over Lion Lake. He was maybe forty feet above its surface. He took a few steps back, and then he charged and jumped into the open air. As he fell toward the surface of the lake he called forth the bright horse from Ironspike’s symphony. In a brilliant flash of golden flames, the winged stallion came into being between his legs. Its wide powerful wings caught air, and some ten feet over the shimmering water they swooped round and started to rise.

It was late in the day and still the bright horse stood out like a lantern in the evening. Mikahl didn’t care anymore. He flew straight for Pael’s tower.

When he was hovering outside of the upper chamber where Princess Rosa was being held, he used Ironspike to blast a hole into the wall, big enough for a person to crawl through. Once the pieces crumbled away, Mikahl was shocked to see that it wasn’t just Princess Rosa staring out at him-Phen was standing beside her. The boy was fumbling crazily at his neck for something, but stopped when he saw that it was him.

Rosa was crying, but smiling, and trying to get her fingers through her tangled hair. It was clear that she was foolishly worried about how she looked. Her embarrassment seemed to fade when Mikahl smiled brightly at her.

“Phenilous,” Mikahl called sharply. “Are you a prisoner too? Did they take the ring Oarly told me of?”

“I still have the ring, but you are in peril. It’s a trap. They’ve used Rosa as bait.”

“I’ll worry about that.” He shook Ironspike in his hand, as if its presence could foil any trap that existed. “Hyden is down in the dungeon. Do you know how to get down there? He needs help badly.”

“Aye,” Phen nodded, thinking about the creatures he knew to be down there too, including his familiar. “I can find the way.” He helped Rosa out onto the bright horse. He could feel the urgency of Hyden’s situation radiating off of Mikahl, and as soon as Rosa was on the fiery magical creature he yanked the ring from his necklace.

Rosa hugged herself so tightly to Mikahl that he could barely breathe. “Hurry away before they come,” she said to Mikahl. Then she turned back to the gaping hole in the tower. “Thank you, Pin…” She was going to say more, but the space was empty and she didn’t know if he was still there or not.

Mikahl heeled the bright horse away from the tower. After the magical stallion put it a few dozen powerful wing strokes behind them, Mikahl began to think that the trap had failed. Already he and the Princess were hundreds of feet away.

“Oh, King Mikahl,” Rosa sobbed between his shoulder blades. “I’m so glad to see you.”

“I couldn’t resist the chance to save the most beautiful girl in the realm,” Mikahl replied, oddly thinking of Lord Gregory’s smoothness with his wife. It was the last thought he had before a wave of thick blackness came over him. It was like he had flown into a glob of honey. Princess Rosa, the bright horse, and even Ironspike faded from his world. There was nothing but himself, the blackness, and the sensation of falling.

At first he waited for the bone-crushing impact, but eventually he realized that he wasn’t falling at all. He was lying in a garden. He couldn’t move, not even his eyeballs. The woman looking down at him seemed blurry. The pink teardrop scar on her cheek, and the bald patch on one side of her head were alarmingly familiar, though. She smiled a wicked, sinister grin. He’d never seen Shaella up close before, and he had to admit that she was beautiful in her own dark sort of way. He tried to speak, tried to lash out at her, but he could do nothing. He felt as if he had been turned to stone.

Shaella woke to Fslandra’s gentle touch. Sunlight was streaming through the half open shutters. The golden rays that cut across the open space of her bedchamber were alive with sparkling motes. By the angle of the beams she could tell it was midday.

“What is it?” Shaella snapped rather harshly. The young zardess recoiled with a hiss. Not conversing, or even communicating with Gerard for the last few tortuous days had taken its toll on Shaella.

“The priests are calling for you, Mastress,” the zard girl hissed. “They have caught something in their trap.”

Shaella sat up quickly. “The priests have caught the High King?” she asked to make sure she had heard correctly.

“Yesss,” Fslandra hissed. “The priests are calling for you.”

“This is wonderful news, Fslandra.” Shaella stood and strode to the wash basin. “Get me my armor,” she commanded as she began to cleanse her naked body with a soft cloth.

A few, short moments later, she was looking like the imposingly powerful Dragon Queen that she was. Under a studded leather girdle, blackened Harthgarian mail shimmered like scales, as she made her way down to the gazebo where the red priests had erected their temple.

To Shaella’s delight, Ironspike was lying unsheathed on the altar to her lover. The High King was lying on the wooden floor beside Princess Rosa.

“How long will they stay like that?” Shaella asked.

“Indefinitely Your Highness,” one of the priests said.

“Unless we lift the stasis,” added another.

“No, don’t do that,” Shaella told them. She leaned down and looked into Mikahl’s eyes. She gave him a big gloating smile. “Does he see me?” she asked as she stood back up.

“Were not sure,” one of them answered. “He’s still able to blink, so it’s likely.”

“Would you like us to kill them now?” the third priest asked. He was hovering over Princess Rosa. The girl’s raggedy clothes were torn and one of her breasts was exposed. Shaella gave him a disapproving look that caused him to back away from her.

“The Princess is to remain unmolested,” Shaella barked. The look on her face made clear that she was serious. “I may have need of her in Dakahn.”

She dismissed the priest by smiling broadly past him at the person who was approaching across the lawn. It was Flick. He was grinning and nodding as if he were impressed with the sight before him. “He really isn’t much is he?” the wizard said as he came to stand over Mikahl.

“Not without that,” she pointed at the sword lying on the altar. “I was just debating over what I should do with him.”