The Wizard and the Warlord (The Wardstone Trilogy Book Three) (20 page)

Men were starting to filter out of the company cabin. Some stopped to thank Spyra, and others questioned him about their freedom.

“You’re as free as any man,” Spyra assured them.

The superintendent, knowing that at least half of the men were as good as gone, was talking about improvements he was planning for the operation. Spyra gave him a shrug that said it wasn’t his fault, then turned and went back inside to check on Sholt. The wizard was slumped at the head of the table. Spyra knew that curing all those men at once had drained him. He sat down beside his old friend, willing to wait while he slept.

***

Commander Lyle studied the trail that the skeletons and their beast had made when they fled. The tracks led them north to Xway but disappeared there. Lyle picked up the trail again west of the bridge. After some intense questioning, they learned that no one in Xway had seen anything out of the ordinary. The bridge guard and the toll man hadn’t allowed a group of hooded men, certainly no skeletons, across the bridge, yet the trail resumed on the other side of the Pixie River and continued straight west through the countryside. After following for two full days on horseback, Commander Lyle knew that they should have come upon anyone who was traveling on foot.

Already Commander Lyle could see Seaward City a good day’s ride to the west and slightly north of the trail. He was confused and unable to figure out how the skeletons were covering ground on foot faster than his trackers were on horseback.

Lieutenant Garret didn’t have much to offer on the matter. He stated that there was no bridge across the Southron River within a hundred miles of Seaward City. Its flow was considerably stronger and wider than the Pixie River, which the skeletons might have been able to wade across. That wasn’t possible here. Garret suggested being prepared to fight when they closed on the river bank. He was fairly sure that no ferryman would haul the group they were pursuing across, and if one did, he would remember them plainly.

As the day wore on and the direction of the trail didn’t vary, Commander Lyle took the lieutenant’s advice and ordered the men to prepare for action. It was only a matter of hours before they came upon the river. The terrain was lightly hilly and not suitable for an ambush, but the commander was fully aware that there were forces far greater than normal involved here. He didn’t want his men caught off guard. They were following living skeletons, after all.

Things grew tense as the sun began to get low in the sky and the smell of the river filled the air. The shallow valley offered a few places where a group could hide, but they saw nothing other than the sparse trail. The tracks led right up to the river’s edge, then disappeared.

“Did they go in?” Commander Lyle asked his trackers.

“Must have,” one answered with a perplexed look on his face.

“There’s no indication that they went up river toward Seaward City or the other way, neither,” the other tracker added.

“It’s easily five miles north to the closest ferry,” the lieutenant said.

“I’m guessing we’ll pick the trail up across the river, unless the fargin bastards washed back out to sea.”

“The fisherman caught the two he kept in the cage off of the coast of Crags,” one of the men said.

“Have two men ride upriver and get us a barge,” Commander Lyle ordered. “Make sure there is a water mage aboard. We will want to cross and be able to move up and down the other shoreline until we pick up the trail.”

“Maybe those two litch yard ghouls washed out of the river into the man’s nets,” Lieutenant Garret said.

A long silence passed as they watched two men ride up the river bank to fetch them a boat.

“Maybe he didn’t catch them in his nets at all,” Commander Lyle finally said.

***

Her mind was not her own, that was certain. The Abbadon, the thing Gerard had become, had a firm grip on her since the red priest cried out the last word of his spell. It was no easy task getting her through the marshes that night, fleeing the High King and avoiding the hungry snappers that seemed to be everywhere. Eventually, a small Zard craft had picked her up. Using the knowledge of the Dragon Queen’s memories, the Warlord of Hell recalled his lover’s past and took command of her. Through Shaella’s body, he called the marsh creatures in from near and far. With her hands, he raised the lightning star banner for them once again. He had the Zard set up a command post in a little known lava-bubble cave that was formed at the base of the Dragon Spire.

The Abbadon was powerful beyond reason, but he was still trapped in the empty Nethers. With Shaella under his command, though, he could tear open a breach large enough to free all the dark demons and devils trapped below with him. Together they could take back the world from which they had been banished. He knew he had to restrain himself, though. The demon Shokin had used Pael to break free. They had failed because of haste and power lust. Gerard himself had been blinded by his own love for Shaella. If he hadn’t been weak, King Mikahl couldn’t have taken her head. Gerard’s brother Hyden had played a large part in that. Shaella was his again now, but she was no longer Shaella. She was only a vessel, a body for him to occupy. She had no way to resist him, no will of her own.

The Abbadon knew he couldn’t just march her across the land to Xwarda and tear open a breach, though he was tempted. He had to plan, use the newfound peace in the realm, and the upcoming winter, to his advantage. He would let them find comfort and grow lax in the cold months ahead. He’d already had Queen Shaella order her Zard to start pirating ships. Gold could buy sell-swords. Sell-swords could spy on the state of things across the land. When the time was right, he would send Shaella to Xwarda and, through her, he would use the power of the Wardstone to destroy the barrier between his world and the world of men. He would not fail. He would get his revenge on the High King he had loved so much. He would tear his brother to pieces for taking his ring. He would lead an army of demons and devils and hell-spawned beasts across the land to devour everything in their path.

“Another bone man has come to your call, mastress,” a Zard said to her. The Abbadon hissed as the idea of thinking like Shaella, as a woman, came naturally to his consciousness. Outside the torchlit cavern that she’d taken over, a half-rotten being stood, awaiting her orders.

“Take him to the boiling pot first, Szlan,” the Dark Lord said through Shaella. Her perceptions were his at the moment, and the smell of the decaying man, however sweet to his nostrils, was foul to hers. For the time being, he appeased her senses. Boiling the meat from the skeletons remedied this, and the gore that came from them kept the snappers and the carrion from the immediate area.

To the Warlord, the undead were a nuisance. He hadn’t yet found a good use for them. His call to those of the dark had been intended to bring in the few demons and lesser hell-spawn that had already escaped the Nethers. Some had come to him. Others were on their way to the dragon’s tooth to do his bidding. The skelatons were completely unexpected.

The larger creatures weren’t allowed to travel at will. Only night time flights from one uninhabited place to another were allowed. The last thing the Warlord needed was to draw attention to Queen Shaella’s empty body and the growing army of Zard returning to her service.

Gerard wasn’t worried about being attacked there. It would be next to impossible to come at the Dragon Spire through the marshes. Too many Zard were alert for just that sort of approach. This was their terrain, and a handful of the lizard-men could destroy a full regiment of men out here in a matter of moments. It was the High King and his magical pegasus, and Hyden and his blasted hawkling that he had to worry about.

Shaella had once been a capable sorceress, but now that her mind was mush, she couldn’t cast a simple cantrip. Through her, the Warlord could do some magic, but if confronted, even an inexperienced mage would be able to kill his host. This would destroy the link the red priest had created between her and their Abbadon, Kraw. They secured a defense and stayed hidden until the time to leave for Xwarda became the priority. Making sure the way to Xwarda would be clear of obstacles was also on the agenda. Gerard figured it might be as simple as mounting Shaella on the back of the Choska demon and flying her there. That decision wouldn’t be made until after he had his spies tell him all the little ways that peace time had taken the realm off its guard. Remaining undiscovered was the most important thing for them to do at the moment. If they could manage that, it was just a matter of time until he could finally be free.

The next few days, for the quest party, passed by relatively quiet and uneventfull. Oarly shared a wagon bench with Lady Telgra, and the two of them spent the days conversing quietly. Phen spent his days trying to read while bouncing along, and his evenings helping Jicks dig the latrine pit outside the camp. The young swordsman hadn’t so much as blinked during his watch since being reprimanded. Both Lord Gregory and Lieutenant Welch spent time with him explaining the importance of duty and the toll it sometimes took on a man. They also told him of the rewards that come to those who bite down and bear the heavy load that superiors sometimes pile on their men. Phen listened, too. He was determined to share Jicks’s punishment, even if it hadn’t been imposed on him.

Both boys kept a wary eye out for Oarly. Phen told Jicks how Oarly once faked his own death just to prank Phen. The dwarf was ruthless. The torturous hell he had put Sir Hyden Hawk through with the cinder pepper was downright evil. Neither of the boys looked forward to what the dwarf was no doubt planning for them. The look on Oarly’s face when they happened to catch each other’s gaze was mischievous and full of malice.

The dwarf didn’t act out of the ordinary, though. As a matter of fact, the night after the incident with the wildcat, while everyone was at the campfire, Oarly spent a long time sincerely congratulating Phen and Jicks on their prank. No matter how much Phen denied having anything to do with the wildcat, Oarly refused to believe him. On the surface, everything seemed to be as it always had been. Phen, though, was deeply disturbed by Oarly’s pledge of revenge, and by the bright red slashes across his body. The feelings were intensified by jealousy. Telgra had spent all of her time with Oarly as of late. Her smile seemed forced, and she hadn’t allowed herself to be alone with Phen, even for a moment, not since Oarly was mauled.

She and the dwarf carried on like old friends. Phen couldn’t see any physical attraction between them, but that didn’t help clear the confusion and conflicting feelings that clouded his mind.

The small caravan came out of the Wilder Mountains into the northernmost reaches of Castlemont. The road here leveled out as it carried them through the parts of King Jarrek’s land that hadn’t been totally destroyed. They didn’t linger. Their first destination was still a long way north.

The morning they crossed the Everflow River at High Crossing into the Leif Greyn River basin, Telgra left Oarly and squeezed in the bench seat next to Phen. A wave of relief washed over him, yet he felt a nagging hesitation. This could be the start of Oarly’s revenge, a voice told him. Telgra’s smile and easy demeanor soon evaporated those thoughts, though, and hand in hand they chatted excitedly about seeing the Great Monolith called Summer’s Day Spire. Both of them were disheartened to learn that, though they might be able to see it most of the afternoon, they wouldn’t arrive at its base until afternoon of the following day.

As the day wore on, the breeze coming down off the Giant Mountains looming to the north grew chill.

Telgra giggled and pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders as Oarly’s complaints rang back from the wagon ahead of them. Phen wished he could put his arm around her and pull her close to warm her, but he couldn’t. His stony skin was as cold as the air around them. Telgra didn’t complain. She wiggled closer to him. The two of them watched as the smooth black spike before them grew taller and taller.

That night at the fire, Oarly asked Lord Gregory about the brawl he had won a few years back. The Lion Lord had gotten his name carved into the base of the great monolith beside the other champions of the realm. Lord Gregory waived the question away with the shake of his head, saying that it was nothing, but everyone knew better. The Lion Lord was famous throughout the kingdom.

“I was there,” Lieutenant Welch said, reaching for Oarly’s flask. “I lost a handful of coins that night, I did.” He paused to take a sip of the liquor, wincing at its bite, then handed the container back to the dwarf. “The Valleyan Stallion, they called him. They said he could lift a horse, and by the gods he looked like he could. Then there was Lord Gregory, the Lion of the West. Just like now, he didn’t look like much.”

This drew a chuckle from the group. They were all crowded around the bonfire for warmth and listening dutifully. All eyes were either on the lieutenant, or the subject of his tale.

“I bet on the Valleyan because he’d destroyed his opponents in the preliminary rounds. Our Lion Lord looked like a swollen lump by the time he won his way to the brawl. There were thousands gathered ‘round the fighting circle, screaming out wagers, and carrying on like savages. When they announced the fighters, they called out Lord Lion first. Once I saw the look in his eyes, I knew I had lost my coin.”

“He was hungry that night, and determined, and though he wasn’t bulging with muscle like the Valleyan, he was veined and ropy. He moved like a big cat.

“When the battle began, the Stallion charged in, swinging his huge roundhouse blows. One caught the Lion Lord and sent him to a knee.”

“Aye,” Lord Gregory chimed in, rubbing at the side of his head reflectivity. “It felt like getting hit by an anvil.”

“I thought it was over with,” Lieutenant Welch continued, with arm reached out toward Oarly. “But the Lion Lord leapt back up and kicked the big bastard in the chin. After that, it was blow for bloody blow.” He leaned over and snatched the flask from the dwarf’s hand, since Oarly wasn’t paying attention. After a long sip, Welch eyed the dwarf and then took another. “They went down in a tangle then, the both of ‘em.” He passed the flask back to Oarly, who was staring back at him now. “They rolled around and grappled for a terribly long time, each getting a shot in here and there. The crowd was on the verge of exploding, but then, all of a sudden, the Valleyan was sitting on the Lion’s chest with a bloody grin on his face. He pulled back an arm the size of a tree limb and the whole crowd gasped in horror. The blow would have surely caved in Lord Lion’s skull, but that’s when our Westlander made his move. He bucked his legs up behind the Stallion’s back and scissored them around the man’s drawn arm. The Lion bucked again and rolled over underneath him…”