Terry W. Ervin (46 page)

“This is just like riding a dragon,” I told Lilly as she gazed out the window. “Except we’re flying higher and faster, and there’s no wind.” Listening to the rumbling growl of the spinning blades on the wings, I added, “Just as noisy as having wind whistle through your helmet.”

Roos had awoken from the blow to his head just after nightfall. Lilly and I split night watch. Before noon the modern Stuka arrived. It was larger and much sleeker than the Necromancer King’s. Its wings rotated, angling upward, allowing the spinning blades that propelled the machine through the air to land and take off. The crewmen called it an Osprey.

I sat between Lilly and Roos on a bench fashioned from woven canvas straps with our backs against the wall. Our weapons and equipment sat in a pile tied down under a net near the back of the cabin—except for the Blood-Sword. After convincing the officer that it was securely lashed into the sheath, he allowed me to stow it beneath my seat.

The men who served the Colonel of the West seemed like common disciplined soldiers except for their gear. They wore puffy green garments with what Roos indicated was each soldier’s name stitched above his right breast pocket. They carried smaller, lighter, and far more complex guns than Roos. They were confident, but not arrogant, and refused to answer our questions and preferred to speak among themselves in their own fast-flowing language. Two of the soldiers guided the Osprey and five sat in the cabin across from us.

Lilly spoke into my ear. “Think we’ll ever see Belinda the Cursed again?”

I shrugged, trying to hide my concern. “She didn’t act like she expected to take us back across the ocean.”

Belinda was the daughter of the Colonel of the West, but that didn’t make any clearer what part if any she would yet play in my mission. She had left without a word. In the morning we’d watched from our camp on the building’s flat roof as trogs removed the damaged mast of her ship, presumably to replace it with a new one.

I didn’t pass Lilly’s question on to Roos. Although one of the Colonel’s men gave Roos a tiny white wafer to help with his aching head, I could tell he still didn’t feel well.

It was a long flight. About every ten minutes I looked out the window and stared at the terrain below. It was like seeing the landscape images conjured from the crystal by the prince’s enchanter while preparing for the recon mission of the Necromancer King’s mountain stronghold. Knowing a seer could draw images from my memories, I figured the aerial views would be valuable. Thinking about that made me realize I’d come a long way toward accomplishing what Prince Reveron had tasked me to do. Even so, the hours raced by while I struggled to formulate a plan to barter with the Colonel of the West.

The officer ordered us blindfolded when we neared a ‘refueling outpost,’ and several hours after nightfall when we neared the Colonel of the West’s stronghold, Mountain Base 1.

We remained blindfolded after landing. As before, I insisted on carrying the Blood-Sword, for what it was worth. If they’d have wanted to take it, I don’t think we could have stopped them even with our sight and weapons. Having a spellcaster like Grand Wizard Seelain around would’ve been handy.

We rode in a fast carriage that sounded like a muffled panzer and spent most of our time going uphill. Roos grumbled that he felt better and only once mentioned the annoyance of being blindfolded. I always figured Lilly to be the most suspicious of the three of us, but she adjusted better than me and Roos.

We stopped and waited while a gate creaked open. A few minutes after passing through, echoing sounds hinted that we’d entered a tunnel. Less than a minute later the officer from the Osprey helped us out of the carriage and announced, “I’ll take your blindfolds now.”

We stood in a tall corridor that reminded me of the coal mine near Pine Ridge. But this tunnel was at least twenty feet high, carved from stone, demonstrating expert workmanship, and lit by tubular glowing lights like the chandelier globes in Outpost 4.

“This way,” the officer said, directing us through a metal door. Two soldiers dressed and armed as those we’d met on the Osprey followed where the officer led us, through a maze of halls, doors, and stairs. The weirdest experience was entering a closet and feeling it drop like a bucket lowered down a well. Lilly reached for my hand, and I held hers, reassuring her.

“It will be fine, ma’am,” said the officer.

The refusal of the officer to speak or interact with us bothered me. His last statement was the closest he’d come, besides debating about keeping my sword. The Colonel of the West was definitely secretive. The tales about greater elves said they were all that way.

The hallways began to resemble the top level of Outpost 4 but without tapestries on the floor. We’d passed no one the entire time and I was sure it was intentional. I didn’t think the Colonel of the West’s stronghold would be sparsely manned, unless he was at war too.

Upon reaching the third door down on the right, the officer pulled out a flat key from a chain around his neck hidden under his uniform. He unlocked and opened the door and flicked a switch upward, causing a set of overhead tubes to light up. Inside the square room was a rectangular oak table. Three padded chairs lined the side closest to us. On the opposite side sat one chair and a thick stone pedestal. Three of the walls were painted olive green. The wall opposite had a door like the one we entered through. The forth wall, to the left, was actually a large mirror.

Before leaving, the officer said, “The Colonel of the West will be with you shortly.”

Roos took the right hand seat and gestured for me to sit in the middle one. Lilly walked up and stared at her reflection in the mirror. “I heard him lock the door,” she said.

“I know,” I said. “How do you feel, Roos?”

“Like we have been deposited into a spider’s lair, friend Hawk.”

“I meant your head. Has the knot gone down?”

He rubbed the back of his head. “It has.”

It was uncomfortable sitting with the Blood-Sword strapped to my back, so I removed it. “What do you think, Lilly?”

“I didn’t think a mirror so big could be made.” She scowled, staring at herself. “I’m ugly.”

I laughed. “Only when you frown like that.”

Straightening her green shirt and still frowning, she sat down next to me. “What’s your plan, Flank Hawk?”

“To speak with the Colonel of the West, and see what he is willing to offer in trade for this sword.” I rested a hand on the sheath lying across my lap.

“Is that it?” asked Lilly. “That’s all you’ve come up with?”

“Honestly, Lilly, I didn’t expect to get this far. All my energies were focused on simply getting here. Now that we’re here, my gut tells me that getting here was the easy part.”

Roos rubbed the stubble of his emerging beard before smoothing out his mustache. “The question is, friend Hawk, can ye trust one of immortal blood?”

“What do you know about them, Roos?”

“That ye names them greater elves. That they do not age, yet despite this they are rare. It is believed they always were. They are kin to fairies, ye names them pixies. The last immortal in the Reunited Kingdom was driven from the land over seventeen centuries ago.”

Lilly leaned forward to see past me and addressed Roos. “How did you know Belinda the Cursed had immortal blood? Remember what she said to that guardian?”

“Friend Lilly, memory of what the one Hawk names Belinda the Cursed, or what anyone in that room said, is not clear.”

“The Colonel of the West is her father,” I clarified, then laughed. “You held your own, debating that fallen angel. I’ll tell you all about it when we get the chance.”

“It’s true, Crusader,” said Lilly. “Even Belinda the Cursed enjoyed you knocking him down a few pegs.”

The far door clicked before swinging open. I stood, almost dropping the Blood-Sword. Roos and Lilly stood with me.

A soldier strode in. He was past middle aged, wearing an olive green jacket over a light green collared shirt with a black ribbon knotted at his throat. I immediately recognized the gray stone-like creature that followed him in—a gargoyle! Its grotesque, tusked face and pointed ears made them the subject of many childhood tales—most leading to nightmares. It walked like the baboon I’d once seen in a carnival, on all fours with its wings tucked back.

The gargoyle clambered up onto the pedestal and squatted, making it as tall as the soldier standing next to it. What seemed most out of place was the long sleeved white jacket the gargoyle wore. It reminded me of the time my sister tried to dress one of our goats. However, this jacket was made for the gargoyle, including flaps tied down across the back to accommodate its wings.

The clack of the door shutting returned my focus to the soldier who’d extended his hand across the table to shake. “I am who you would call the Colonel of the West. I have been informed that you are an emissary sent on behalf of King Tobias of Keesee.”

His handshake was firm and short. “I am Flank Hawk, mercenary in service of Prince Reveron of Keesee.” I clumsily set the sheathed Blood-Sword on the table. If he’d lied about being the greater elf, Roos would’ve told me. “I am here to barter in his name, and that of the king.” To verify my claim I placed Prince Reveron’s ring in the center of the table.

His eyes shot down to the weapon before turning to the gargoyle. “Doctor, would you care to introduce yourself?”

Our surprised expressions must have angered the creature, because it simply hunkered down on the pedestal, wrapping its long arms and clawed hands around its knees. “No need,” it grumbled in a fast, gritty voice. “I will listen.”

Its actions and apparent intelligence didn’t resemble anything from the dark tales involving sinister gargoyle cruelty. I turned to my right. “This is Paul Jedidiah Roos, Crusader from the Reunited Kingdom.” After they shook hands I turned to my left, “This is Lilly, scout and my guide through the lands of the Faxtinian Coalition.”

Lilly, surprised at my introduction, almost forgot to extend her hand. That gave me a second to consider the man, the greater elf in front of me. He reminded me of a disciplined infantry officer. His cropped short hair with just a hint of gray, and the deep crow’s feet framing his dark green eyes, didn’t speak of immortality. He looked just like any man.

“Be seated,” the Colonel said, “and tell me why you are here.”

Without getting into minor details, I told him of the war against the Necromancer King. How, instead of the annual crop disruption raids, a full scale invasion had already overrun the Doran Confederacy, the Faxtinian Coalition and most of the smaller, independent kingdoms. That the Vinchie Empire and Sint Malo have remained neutral, and that the Reunited Kingdom and the Kingdom of Keesee were allied, and the only major powers left opposing the Necromancer King’s evil forces.

With Belinda Iceheart, his daughter, living across the ocean in our lands, and with his ability to communicate from Outpost 4 to his stronghold with such ease, he certainly had spies reporting back to him. I wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know.

The Colonel nodded as I spoke, occasionally glancing up at the unmoving gargoyle. When I finished, he shifted in his chair and asked, “Is it the belief of your prince that the alliance between Keesee and the Reunited Kingdom will fall to the Necromancer King?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Is that your military assessment as well?”

“It is.”

“And you desire to trade this sword for something that will alter that fate?”

“Yes, I do.”

He leaned forward, folding his hands and resting them on the table. “It would appear that the Necromancer King has outfoxed his enemies both politically and militarily.” He glanced down at the sheathed sword. “I am familiar with that weapon. It is ancient, possibly more ancient than your king realizes.”

“If you are familiar,” I said, coming to believe the Colonel of the West truly didn’t care about the evil the Necromancer King intended to spread across all the lands, “then you realize its power. And value.”

“If use of the weapon in battle could not turn the tide, what makes you think that it would be worth something that could?”

“I have seen my prince wield the weapon in battle,” I said, realizing the Colonel of the West wasn’t interested. “I have slain a giant with it as well.”

“Then it should be on the battlefield now,” said the Colonel. “Why are you here instead of your prince?”

“Our party was ambushed. I carried on when he could not.”

“Did he perish?”

Anger began to well within me at the Colonel’s dismissive attitude. I retrieved the prince’s ring from the center of the table and gripped it tightly in my fist. “I do not know.”

“Your prince and his father are in error believing that, even if I had a spell or weapon to change the tide, this weapon would entice me to give it to them.”

“Do you know what the Necromancer King does to people he conquers?” I struggled to keep from leaping over the table. I had to make him understand! Images of my fallen comrades marching against us flashed through my mind. “Have you ever had family or friend become a rotted walking corpse?”

“I have not. And I regret that it has happened to you and your people. But, it is on the hands of your leaders.” He looked at each of us across the table. “Their failure to plan politically and militarily has failed you and your people.”