The Sword And The Dragon (57 page)

On Claret’s broad back, between two large triangular spinal-plates, Shaella rode comfortably through the cool, thin air of the higher altitudes. Far below her, King Glendar and his wagon trains were just leaving Wildermont’s southernmost city, and were heading steadily towards the Dakaneese border. She had waited patiently for this moment, and would now fly directly to Coldfrost to hear the answer the breed giants would give to her proposal. Of course they would agree. She had no doubt. They had no other option.

The days that had passed since she had made the offer, would have stirred their spirits. They would be greedy for freedom by now, she figured. Their mouths would be salivating for the feasts of vengeance she would allow them to reap across the northern half of her kingdom. 

After years of imprisonment on that river formed island, bound behind the invisible magical walls King Balton had erected around them, they could not possibly refuse to take the deal. After all, to be allowed to ravage the lands and the families of the very men who had hunted them, the men who drove them onto the miserable island, and trapped them there, was just about the sweetest gift they could be given. To be considered free-folk, and to be able to claim that same land for their own, was simply icing on the cake. 

Shaella was glad to have loosed them. A few, bloodthirsty bands of giant half breeds terrorizing the streets of Crossington and Portsmouth would go far in bringing the rebels and resisters under control, but that wasn’t her priority. Having the breed destroy the great bridge over to Wildermont, so that she could seriously begin to fortify her holdings, was.

There were more personal reasons for her wanting the final part of her Westlands takeover to be done with. She had found her father’s tower at Lakeside Castle. She hadn’t managed to figure out the lift yet, but she had accessed his vast library by going through the gaping hole in the upper chamber from Claret’s neck. From there, she climbed down through the trapdoor to the library. 

She had already been there several times. She studied some of the writings on the power and qualities of the Seal that Pael had left out on the table there. It was the books that spoke about the Spectral Orb and her father’s own notes on that subject, that were driving her savage curiosity though. Something Claret had shared with her about the fate of Gerard back in the dragon’s lair, had sparked a fire in her. Once the final phases of the Westland conquest were complete, she would have the time to focus on what she now truly hoped she could achieve. It was that furious drive that motivated her actions even now, as Claret carried her down in a slow, descending circle towards the river-formed island called Coldfrost.

It was too cold this far north for her Zardmen, or any other of the marsh creatures to survive. She had leveled Northwatch, Westland’s northernmost stronghold, with Claret’s might. It was an example for the people who lived up here. From a wealthy fur merchant’s keep nearby, Flick held reign for the time being. Lord Brach had left behind only women, children, and just enough able men to hunt and care for them. All were terrified of what the dragon had done, but a few of the men that had been left at Northwatch had escaped the destruction, and had managed to get into the Reyhall Forest. A veteran Captain, named Bittercosp, was leading them, and had futile hopes of starting a rebellion. She already knew about them, and if Flick hadn’t tortured the location of their hiding place out of the common folk yet, then the feral Breed giants would soon root them out.

Those simple folk, who had dared to come out of their homes into the white-washed snowy world on this beautiful day, soon scattered like cockroaches from a lantern’s light. Claret announced Shaella’s arrival with a blood-curdling roar that left no room to question what creature it had come from. A few low passes over the nearby villages helped the stragglers find their way home. Soon, only the heavily bundled figure of Flick was braving the outdoors to witness the huge dragon’s landing.

As brutal as any winter blizzard, Claret’s great wings started up an icy, blasting gust as she swooped down out of the sky into a scampering run. The run died into a lunging sinuous walk as she folded her wings back to her sides. She finally stopped and lowered her head. Shaella slid deftly off of her back, down to the snow before Flick.

“Mastress,” Flick said with an intentional zardish hiss, and a flourishing bow.

“Oh please Flick, where’s the fire?” she asked, with a half angry shiver. “Or should I have Claret torch this little keep to keep me warm?”

He laughed cautiously, and led her into the place. 

Inside, a central stone and mortar walled room was built around a large pit that was raging with flame. Shaella laid the Staff of Malice to the side and went straight to the blaze. She was glad for its heat. The spell she had been using to keep herself warm, while on Claret’s back was a simple one, but maintaining it hour after hour, while riding, was taxing, to say the least. Claret was warm, but Coldfrost was bitter. She decided she would eat and recuperate in the glow of the fire. Later, after she was rested, and the moon was high in the sky, she would turn loose the Breed giants on the sleeping, unsuspecting people of Northern Westland.

Flick watched her from afar. He had liked and respected Gerard, but he found that Gerard had made him jealous. What Flick felt for Shaella, he wasn’t sure. Something between awed respect and total adoration, but not quite romantic love. Or was it? If it was, it was foolish. 

She still felt so deeply for Gerard, that it showed plainly in her every move and expression. He was sure she thought nothing of the sort towards him. Maybe, in time he could win her. No! It was improper. She was his Queen and he was her sworn servant; but that didn’t mean he couldn’t hope and dream of a day when he might feel her desire.

It was with those thoughts swirling through his mind that he covered her sleeping body with a thick blanket, and went about making a meal that would fortify her for what she had come here to do.

“How many men did you leave guarding the bridge?” Pael asked Glendar in a sharp hiss, as he suddenly appeared beside him. 

Watching the shock and fear of his unexpected appearance explode across everyone’s face thrilled Pael to the bone.

His suddenness startled them all, especially Roark, who spun quickly, while drawing his sword, only to find himself held solid by some magical force halfway through the motion. The weight of his armor and his off kilter balance in his now paralyzed state, left him about to fall from his horse. Mercifully, Pael released him so that he wouldn’t tumble like a statue into the road and be trampled.

King Glendar, surrounded by his personal guards, was leading some four hundred of his men southward into Dakahn. Four horse-drawn wagons, full of gold, jewels and other valuables rolled amongst them. A few other wagons full of kegs, crates, and stacks of weapons, armor, and other various looted items straggled not far behind the procession. A dozen more wagons full of jewels, and gold bars, along with the finest of the forged things had been sent across the bridge into the Westland City of Locar. Eventually, Glendar wanted them hauled to Lakeside Castle and added to the kingdom vaults. King Glendar, it seemed, still had no idea that Westland wasn’t his kingdom anymore. Shaella’s Zardmen had apparently done a thorough job of intercepting and forging responses to the communications he had sent since he had marched out of Castlemont.

“A hundred men to guard the bridge in rotation,” Glendar answered Pael proudly. “There are fifty each in Locar and Castlemont, and a handful more to guard Westland’s piece of the pie.”

Pael chuckled at the young King’s total lack of awareness, and gave the boy a nod of respect, as he silently complimented Shaella on the patience, and diligent care she had used to keep her conquest from being discovered by the fool. She didn’t know it yet, but King Glendar had just made her kingdom that much richer by delivering all those wagon loads of loot to Locar. Pael wondered when she would loose the Wedjakin breed beasts from Coldfrost. It never ceased to amaze him how his past failures sometimes could be used to his advantage later on. 

“It’s late in the afternoon, my King,” Pael said. “Why not let these men rest? Open a few kegs, have the cooks make a rich stew. These men fought hard and deserve a victory celebration. And I would like to speak with you in a more comfortable, and private environment.”

“Master Wizard Pael,” Glendar leaned down from his saddle so that no one but Pael might hear him. “I believe that is the wisest idea I’ve heard in days.”

Pael didn’t doubt it.

Rising up in his saddle, Glendar projected his next words, to make sure that they were heard by many. He also made it sound like the whole thing was his idea. 

“Roark, break the men. Tonight we feast, and toast our victory over those Redwolf curs.”

A small cheer rose up from the ranks nearby, and spread as the order was repeated shoulder over shoulder, to those in the rear. By the time Roark rode down the line to make the command official, the troops were already breaking formation.

Pael instructed Glendar to have his new, far larger pavilion erected away from the bulk of the soldiers. He then pulled Roark to the side and told him that he would be on full duty this night, guarding the King’s tent soberly and diligently. 

The rest of Glendar’s personal guards were dismissed to celebrate with the others. Once he began his work, Pael wanted no interruptions, and when he was finished with the King, he had something he wanted to try on the big horn-helmeted soldier.

The celebration was taking place in a field just off the open road south of Low Crossing, but still shy of the Dakaneese border. The feast went as well as any roadside celebration might be expected to. Every man was allowed double rations, and the cook added far more meat than usual to the pots. Enough of the kegs were opened, so that each man would be able to get good and inebriated. 

King Glendar made a victory speech from atop a pyramid of barrels. When it was done, toast after toast was offered between congratulatory cheers and prideful boasts. Not long after, the mild sleeping spell Pael had placed on the food began to work. Glendar passed into such a comatose state, that Pael had to enlist Roark’s help getting him into the tent. Once that was accomplished, Pael casually stopped Roark’s heart with a hot, sizzling lightning bolt from his finger. The huge warrior crumpled into a smoldering heap. 

Pael began casting the spell that would summon the wounded hellcat that was once his familiar, Inkling, directly to the pavilion tent.

It took more than half the night to complete the process, but when it was done, Glendar Collum was no longer the one in charge of his body. He was still there, and had somewhat of a voice in the thought process, but for the most part, Inkling had taken over, and was wickedly grateful to Pael for freeing him from the crippled and pain-wracked body of the hellcat.    

Pael then turned his attention to Roark. In his search through the depths of Shokin’s knowledge, he stumbled upon a necromantic spell the Priests of Kraw had supposedly used to bring the dead into service. As he finished casting it on Roark, the crumpled soldier stirred, and then slowly rose before him. The big warrior made a daunting sight, with his huge horned helm, and eyes that glowed red, like the embers of a campfire when a breeze strikes them. The once brilliant shine of his armor had been dulled to a flat gray by the electrical power of the bolt that had stopped his heart. Pael wasted no time before casting a binding spell to make its will his own.

Pael was so pleased with himself, that he decided to experiment more with the necromancy spell he had cast on Roark. He cast the same spell on the soulless hellcat, but only after he had Roark and Inkling-Glendar hack it into pieces. 

Disappointed that the bloody parts didn’t squirm or twitch with attempts to reform a unified body, Pael had the haunches, and other meaty parts of the beast, skinned down, and placed by the cook’s pots. The rest, he had Glendar – Inkling, he supposed now – bury. 

After that, he summoned the mightiest of the dark things that had escaped the Seal before Shokin.

A Choska was no lowly minion, like a wyvern or a hellcat. It was an intelligent lesser demon that could command such things on its own. Somewhat bat-like in build, it was large enough to carry a man as big as Roark on its stout, leathery wings with ease. It had a wide, mastiff-like head, with tiny eyes that glowed deep and cherry. Its mouth was full of sharp, dagger-length teeth, and its clawed feet could snatch a man, or even a horse, off the ground, or just as easily mangle them to bloody ribbons. 

When the Choska demon came gliding down into the grassy plain in the pre-dawn light, and landed among the sleeping soldiers without a sound, Pael was delighted. He was further pleased when the thing moved before him, and bowed its dog-like head in supplication.

“Shoo-Keen,” it hissed. “How might I repay the one who released me?”

“The sword that might return either of us to that dark empty place is in the hands of a boy,” Pael said. “Errion Spightre has recognized him as Pavreal’s heir. I tell you that in warning, but the boy has no idea of the true power and purpose of what he carries. He is the last of his line, and if he dies so does the power of the Banishing Blade. Accept my gift: this undead human warrior is yours to command. Use him as you will to eliminate our shared threat, and your debt to me will be paid. Either kill the boy or relieve him of Errion Spightre.”

“Yesss, Shoo-keen,” the Choska demon hissed, and gave a bob of satisfaction towards Roark. 

Silently, the demon ordered the undead warrior to mount his shoulders, and was pleased that Roark did so obediently. After the big steel-clad man was situated, the Choska asked Pael, “Where might I find this boy?”

“You’ll find his trail in the lower region of the Giant Mountains. I trust you’ll be able to track him from there. Use all you must to aid you. Failure is unacceptable.”

“I will not fail you, Shoo-keen,” the Choska demon hissed. “When I bring you the blade, and the boy’s head, my debt will be paid in full, for all eternity.”