The Wizard and the Warlord (The Wardstone Trilogy Book Three) (33 page)

“Captain Hodge,” Bzorch said as he waved the thick smoke from the front of his face. “Is it a ploy to lead us away from the fang?”

“Aye, maybe so,” Hodge replied. It was clear he was beginning to respect Bzorch’s instinct about things. Being an alpha breed, Bzorch’s instincts were keen. He liked Hodge, because the man didn’t seem to fear his presence like most humans did. Hodge licked the grease from his fingers. “What do you suggest we do?” he finally asked.

“I say we split into two forces,” Bzorch said through a mouthful of geka meat. “One large group to move directly on the fang, and one smaller group to work out in flanks, just in case.”

“You want to attack the Dragon Spire?”

“If we chase these bands out here around the outer marshes, we just thin our numbers,” said Bzorch. “If there is a Choska roosting up in that hole, it will do what it has to do to keep us from finding it. They aren’t so easy to kill, and they can control the Zard.”

“You fought a Choska before then?” the captain asked.

“Killed one in the battle of Seareach,” Bzorch said, pounding his fist on his chest. “Killed a few hellcats and managed to get a barb in that nasty fargin black dragon, too.”

Hodge nodded respectfully. He hadn’t known. A flaw in Bzorch’s plan occurred to him, but it didn’t seem very probable that all the outlying bands of Zard would surround them and pin them in once they got to the dragon’s fang. He kept his thought to himself. Bzorch had probably already considered it. No doubt it was why he wanted to spilt the group in two.

A gasping murmur swept across the encampment. Men were pointing up at the sky and whispering nervously. Both Bzorch and Captain Hodge looked up, but nothing was immediately visible. Suddenly Bzorch growled and pointed directly above them. Hodge followed the breed giant’s finger. The dark shapes only became discernible because they eclipsed the stars as they circled.

“Two small to be a Choska,” Bzorch said. “And far too big to be a dactyl. Either a wyvern or a hellcat. Either way, something’s brewing out here, even bigger than King Mikahl suspects.”

“What should we do?” Hodge asked.

“I think we send two separate sets of messengers to inform the High King.” To Hodge, Bzorch seemed pleased. “The boat carrying the wounded, and another, hastier group, to ensure our words reach him. This is going to turn into very bloody business, Captain.”

Bzorch met Hodge’s gaze with a feral-looking grin that revealed the breed giant’s fangs. In the firelight, he looked far less human than he ever had.

Captain Hodge shuddered involuntarily. He was glad that he wasn’t one of those Zard out there, or one of those dark winged beasts. He was quite certain that Bzorch was going to enjoy killing them all.

***

The Abbadon left Shaella’s body lying in her guarded cave, at least for the moment. Outside, several dozen Zard and the Choska demon stood watch. All of them were on edge now that the kingdom men had ventured into their territory.

In the morning, when the men didn’t follow the trail he’d intended them to, the Warlord became miffed. He wasn’t disappointed, though. He had other ways to stop them. In an outright battle between them and Shaella’s trained Zard they would be easily eliminated. It was the reptiles’ natural habitat, after all.

Standing with his dark, leathery wings spread wide in the darkness of the Nethers, he let out a long, streaking gout of dragon’s fire. With the flaming pillar came a roar of summoning. In the yellow light, his elongated humanoid form glistened and reflected wetly. His plated hide was covered with a thick, glossy coat of greasy film. His legs were squat but powerful and gave way to an overly long torso. A barbed tail curled out from behind him, flicking this way and that whimsically. His hard-plated chest and well-muscled arms rippled, and the black claws on both hands and feet were as hard and sharp as steel daggers. His head still retained its humanoid shape, save for the open nose on the end of its slightly snouted maw. Long, ropy tendrils of hair hung crudely down from a face which vaguely resembled Gerard Skyler. They were still Gerard’s eyes. They were the size of melons, but they were perfectly human. Only a tiny bit of the once hopeful and good-hearted boy’s mentality remained inside the beast of beasts, though. The look of Gerard’s determination, however, hadn’t changed at all.

The yolk of the dragon egg he’d once eaten had caused the physical changes that had racked, stretched, and twisted his body into what it was now. His savage dominance over the demons and devils he’d killed and consumed changed the rest of him. He had become their master, and they would come to his call, if they were wise.

Slowly, the dark things that dwelled in the depths of the hells scurried and glided into the expanse of blackness before him. The hate, the pain, and the magnitude of the evil was rooted inside him. They could hide or flee, but he would remember and feast on them when he found them. Even the most powerful of creatures feared to face the Warlord in battle. He had bested Deezlxar, the former ruler of the hells. Now, two of Deezlxar’s dragon heads sat flanking the Warlord’s throne. The decorations were to remind all of how much power he wielded.

After a while, the space around Gerard was filled in all directions, and still more hellish things were arriving. Minotaurs, spidery things, six-legged cyclopeans, and all sorts of ember-eyed insectazoids had come and were now milling about, sharpening their weapons or displaying their venomous stingers.

Suddenly, another gout of fire erupted straight up from the Warlord’s terrible maw. The hissing, growling, and jostling stilled to a deathly silence.

“Soon,” the Abbadon boomed with a voice that shook the very ethereal substance of which the Nethers were formed. “Soon I will loose you back into the world above. Soon you will bring terror and destruction to mankind in my name. Soon!”

A murmur of excited approval spread through the crowd of hellspawn. The anticipation grew as Gerard told them what he wanted them to do. Even though he had very little power in Shaella’s resurrected body, he did have absolute power in his domain. Some of these demons and devils he commanded had servants and worshipers in the world above. Now he would bring them to bear.

If the High King was sending men and beasts to hunt for him, then he had to take action. He wasn’t prepared to send Shaella to Xwarda yet, and he had no other lair to retreat to. All he could do was have his minions buy him the time he needed.

He could not rush this. He would not, could not, fail. To do so would be a possibly eternal mistake. Soon, he would turn his subjects loose on the marsh invaders. He was anxious to witness just how much power he commanded. As he slid his consciousness back into Shaella’s body, he decided that he would ride the Choska’s back so that he might watch more closely as his influence was manifested on earth.

After gawking at King Aldar’s immense and spectacular castle, and catching their breath from the long climb up, Borg led them back down a switchback ramp into the pillowy mist of clouds. After some time, they found themselves in a huge cavern. As it was late in the day, Borg suggested they camp there. The journey over to Afdeon, he explained, would take most of the morrow.

As they laid out their bed rolls, Borg built a fire. Huffa gave Hyden a farewell lick and raced off with the other wolves. Talon sped off after them, and for the first time since they’d been in the mountains, Spike yawned and stretched then roamed about the companions.

“How is it possible to get to yon castle in only a day?” Oarly asked.

“There are tunnels and passes that lead to other tunnels that will get us there,” Borg shrugged. “That’s about as well as I can explain it.”

“Are they portals?” Phen asked excitedly. He had read about portals. His first instructor, Master Targon, had conjured one to save King Jarrek from Pael’s attack on Castlemont. Phen had heard the tale from the Red Wolf, as well as from Brady Culvert. Once, on a long shipboard journey, Brady had described the portal in detail.

Phen suddenly had to shake his head to get rid of the vision that came to him. He’d seen Brady partialy melted and killed by a vicious black dragon’s acidy spew. Luckily, Phen’s fascination with the idea of portals was enough to ease him past the sudden well of sadness.

“I think it may be portal magic, Phen,” Borg answered. “But that sort of conjuring is beyond me. I’m a mountain guardian and my ability is limited. Besides that, my visits here are few and short.”

Phen deflated after finding he wasn’t about to learn something.

“You’ll not be staying with us, then?” asked Hyden.

“No, my friend,” the giant answered. “An escort will come in the morning and take you from here. I have duties, you know.”

“Aye.” Hyden nodded his respectful understanding. “You have my thanks for aiding us.”

“I’m not leaving you just yet.” Borg grinned. “We’ve an evening to share before we part ways. There’s plenty of meat left, and the dwarf has liquor. I say we enjoy this warm, sheltered camp by getting fat and full of drink. It may be awhile before we meet again.”

“Aye,” Hyden agreed. “Well said, my friend.”

***

Hyden never passed up the chance to hear a story. Giants were the best storytellers, and he knew that after a few drinks Borg would spin a yarn. Hyden and Gerard had grown up hearing tales from a giantess named Berda. He was so hopeful that thoughts of Gerard, for once, didn’t bring him down.

Oarly reluctantly donated a small keg to the affair. The soldiers set up a spit and began roasting the remaining chunks of elk meat. Dostin took a flask from the dwarf and went around the camp filling cup after cup until Oarly snatched it back from him.

***

Corva spoke softly to Princess Telgra, but she made an irritated face and strode over to where Phen and Hyden were sitting. The elven guard hadn’t been offensive, he had merely been telling her things about herself. He was clearly trying to spark her memory, but Telgra just didn’t want to know yet. She found she was starting to dislike Corva’s insistence. His prodding and constant reminding of the self she didn’t remember made her want to scream.

***

Corva was growing concerned. Telgra didn’t remember anything about her childhood, nor her mother, nor her duty to her people. Corva had intentionally stayed away from the subject of her father. His death was still sharp in his own mind and he didn’t want to add to Telgra’s distress. The fact that she had grown fond of the marbleized human boy was an outrage, but he forced himself to hide his envy. He actually liked Phen, but when he saw them sitting close, or sometimes walking hand in hand, Corva found himself simmering with something he had to work to subdue. At those times, not even Dostin’s innocent pestering could break his sullen mood. He let the monk fill his cup, though, in hopes that a few sips of the potent liquor might lift his spirits. Soon they were all feeling the effects of the dwarf’s drink, save for Phen, who wasn’t able to swallow, but clearly enjoyed the way the brandy loosened Telgra’s tension. She was practically falling all over him after only her second cup.

“Master Dwarf,” she slurred, “how do you drink so much of this fire brew? Two cups and I’ve lost my wits.”

“You lost your wits long before you started sipping,” Oarly joked. “That’s why you’re on this fargin journey.”

Everyone laughed, except for Corva and Dostin. The worrisome elven guardsman didn’t crack a smile until seconds later when Dostin spoke. “What’s a wit?” the monk asked.

“I want to make a toast,” Hyden said, with a pat on Dostin’s shoulder. He had only sipped from his first cup of brandy. Borg, though, had commandeered a small cooking pot and had emptied it twice.

After whispering into Dostin’s ruined ear what “wits” were, Hyden raised his glass. “To our giant friend, who saved us from freezing our arses off.”

“Hear, hear,” Lieutenant Welch added, as did a few of the others.

Everyone mumbled a fond word or two to the humble giant. Then Hyden took Borg’s pot and filled it from one of the kegs piled in their gear.

“Since it might be a long while before we meet again,” Hyden said as he handed the giant back his makeshift cup, “can I trouble you for a tale?”

“Yes, another story,” Princess Telgra slurred with a girlish giggle.

“Tell us a tale,” Jicks and the archers echoed.

Not even Lieutenant Welch’s sharp look at them for speaking out of place could quell their excitement.

“Pleeease,” Telgra begged.

“All right,” Borg agreed. “Let me think a moment.” He took a long swill from his pot and then began his telling.

“This one is for Princess Telgra, my friends,” he said almost apologetically. “There will be no blood and gore in it.” The young soldiers groaned their disappointment, but Borg ignored them and continued. “But since it involves a princess and a mountain troll, and you have a princess among you, I’ll tell this tale. After all, the chances of you completing your journey through these mountains without meeting a hungry flesh-eating troll are thin at best.”

That was enough to draw the young men’s attention.

“There once was a fair princess named Karsen. She was as beautiful as a flower, and as tender as a babe. The farms around her father’s kingdom were constantly being bothered by a cattle-stealing troll that was as mangy and mean as the day is long. The king had his knights, and they had their proud horses, and nearly every day they rode out to fight with the beast. At night the horses all gossiped around the stalls of the royal stable, each bragging about one feat or another that they’d performed afield.” Borg resituated himself and took a sip of the dwarf’s liquor.

“Well, one day, the stableman’s cart-nag gave birth to a pony. It was the ugliest pony to ever be born. All black-and-white spotted like a milk cow, with a huge lump on its head between its ears. The knight’s horses all made fun of the ugly pony, calling it names and teasing it to tears every day.”

“Then one day the princess came to see the ugly pony she’d heard the knights talking about at her father’s table. When she came into the barn, the other horses were calling the poor teary-eyed colt names like “lumpy head”, and “milk horse”. The princess felt so bad for the creature that she asked her father if it could stay in the garden, away from the mean old destriers.