The Wizard and the Warlord (The Wardstone Trilogy Book Three) (23 page)

“No… no…” She blushed even more and gave Dostin a girlish wave. “The truth is, I’m hiding from Queen Rosa.” She giggled uneasily. “She is driving me mad with her preparations for Westland. And now that King Mikahl has suddenly left she has become a terror.”

“Come, sit.” Corva indicated an open seat at the table. “Join us. We were just discussing our predicament. You’re not intruding.”

“Thank you.” She smiled a little easier. “I sometimes hide in here when I want to get away from the silliness of the younger girls.”

“My lady, you are barely a child yourself,” Corva said with all the sincerity of a hundred-and-twenty-five-year-old elf.

“No, she’s not,” Dostin said stupidly. “She’s probably thirty-five summers old.”

Lady Trella beamed at the both of them. She was in fact nearing her forty-fifth summer. Lord Gregory, Rosa, and the younger girls always told her how youthful she appeared. She’d always thought they did so to make her feel better. These two had no reason to exaggerate. She was suddenly at ease and her smile was brilliant. “You’re too kind,” she replied.

“Because Corva is an old elf, over a hundred, he thinks all of us humans are little children,” Dostin said to her conspiratorially. “If you ask me, he is the one who looks like a child.”

Corva just smiled and shook his head. He reminded himself to explain to Dostin later that, when speaking to women, elven or human, you weren’t supposed to cheapen the compliments others gave them. He doubted Dostin understood the concept of a compliment. The monk spoke entirely from the heart. When he said something nice about someone it wasn’t because he was trying to make them feel better. It was because it was the truth, as he saw it.

“They say all elves look young,” Lady Trella said to Dostin with a grin. Suddenly something passed through her eyes and her face changed to one full of concern.

“I was told that the fairy trees were destroyed,” she said. “Is it true?”

“Not all of them, my lady,” Dostin answered with an almost blank expression on his round face. Her sudden change of emotion must have confused the monk. “The elves saved some of them.”

“Far too few,” said Corva. “Hopefully, soon my people will be able to help the grove restore itself to its former glory. But that might take centuries.”

“One of my fondest memories is from that grove,” she said. “I’m sorry to have interrupted your conversation with my silliness. I think I will leave you two to finish your discussion.”

“My lady,” Dostin started. “Will your Lord Gregory tell us where Lady Telgra is spending the winter? We have to find her. It’s important.”

“And urgent,” Corva added with a look of appreciation at the monk.

“Only he or King Mikahl could tell you the exact location of the Skyler Clan village,” Lady Trella told them. “All I know is that it’s in the foothills of the Giant Mountains somewhere north of the Summer’s Day Spire.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Corva said. He stood and bowed. “You don’t know how much you’ve helped ease my mind about our Lady Telgra. Just knowing she’s safe and in good hands is a great comfort.”

“Well then, I’ll leave you two,”she said.

Dostin called out, “Good day, my lady,” and Lady Trella paused by the door.

She turned and smiled at him broadly. “If you need any provisions, just ask the stablemen,” she said. “I will give him the word to get what you need.”

“Your kindness will be remembered, my lady,” Corva said, bowing to her again.

Dostin stood awkwardly and bowed as well.

“Are we going to the Spire to find Lord Gregory?” Dostin asked.

“Yes, we are,” Corva said, feeling the relief of knowing that he could now find Telgra sweep over him.

“What if he won’t tell us where she is?” the monk asked.

“Then we will just wander the foothills until we find the Skyler Clan village,” Corva answered, thinking, but not saying, that they would wander down the tracks that the caravan left behind.

“What if the giants find us?” Dostin asked. “I heard a story that a giant guard roams the edge of the mountains and eats the people who trespass there.”

“I’m not worried about the giants, Dostin,” Corva said.

“Why not?” the monk asked, as if not being afraid of a giant were absurd.

“I’m not afraid because elves don’t taste good.” Corva laughed at Dostin’s expression, but a moment later Dostin said something that made his mirth vanish.

“There are ice dragons and trolls in the mountains, too, Corva.” Dostin scratched his chin. “I heard that they love to eat elves.” The statement wouldn’t have bothered Corva so much had it not been completely true.

***

It had been decided by Lieutenant Welch that he and the other three members of the king’s guard were to escort the quest party to the safety of the clan village. They’d then return to start hauling the supplies from where they had to leave the wagons. The six riders moved slowly, because Phen and Telgra were walking.

Lord Gregory was pleased to be returning to the calm and peaceful place where life had been slowly restored to him. He’d woken there after being unconscious for months. He’d had to relearn how to walk and ride, and it had been no easy road to travel. Only the deep love he felt for his Lady Trella, and the urging of the Skyler Clan members, had kept him striving.

Phen felt as if he were returning to a place he had visited a dozen times. He hadn’t actually been to the clan village, but Hyden Hawk had told him hundreds of stories about the place. He was anxious to meet the cousins too. They all had a story about them.

Oarly was drunk and trying desperately to stay on the back of his horse. His short, stubby legs weren’t long enough to straddle the animal, so he was forever teetering and tottering on the verge of falling to the ground. Every so often he would throw an arm out wildly and let loose a string of curses. Jicks, Phen, and even Lady Telgra were stifling giggles as they watched him. Two of the braver guards were discussing a wager over when the dwarf would hit the ground.

The hills were scattered with color. The wind was brisk and rattled the golden-brown and red leaves from the trees. The pines and firs were still green and filled the air with a pleasant aroma. The trail wasn’t bad for the riders, or the horses. The slow pace helped, as well. They made much noise as they passed, scaring away most of the wildlife, but in the distance the birds sang out, and once a pair of hearty deer shot off from a stream, waving their white tails like warning flags.

“It’s fargin cold,” Oarly yelled, then gave out a yelp as his feet shot over his head. He nearly flipped out of the saddle backward, but somehow managed to hang on. Everybody, including the normally serious Lieutenant Welch, had a good laugh.

“No, Oarly,” Lord Gregory said brightly. “Soon you will be begging for days like this.”

“I’m going back with ye, Lord Lion,” Oarly snapped. “We dwarves wasn’t meant to be out in this frigid climate.”

“You’re welcome to winter in Dreen, master dwarf,” Lord Gregory said. “You’re welcome to winter anywhere in the kingdom, as far as that goes.”

“Aye, but… ut… ut,” Oarly bounced up and landed on his side in the saddle somehow. For a long moment, both of his legs stuck out one way while his flailing arms shot out the other.

“By the gods, Oarly,” Phen laughed hysterically, “how did you manage to stay on?”

Lord Gregory had to stop his horse, he was laughing so hard.

“Bah,” Oarly yelled as he righted himself in the saddle yet again. “By Doon, what I’d give for a cave incher, or even a little mule.”

“What’s a cave incher?” Jicks asked.

“It’s what dwarves pee with,” Phen said.

Telgra blushed furiously and whacked Phen on the shoulder. Immediately, she yelped, feeling her hand smart as it found Phen’s stony flesh.

Everyone was laughing then; not even the guards were paying attention. That’s when a hairy beast shot out of the rocks and leapt with a wild, cackling growl, taking Oarly right out of his saddle.

Oarly screamed in terror as he crashed to the ground under the awful-smelling creature. “Ughhh! Get it off!”

Everyone else could see the pair of human legs sticking out of the ugly, but dead, creature’s hair-covered skull. Lieutenant Welch, Jicks, and two guards were off their horses with swords drawn, and one of the archers was ready to loose. Phen had to dart his horse in front of the bowman. The other archer’s horse had bolted in fear.

From above them, a few dozen young men, all looking quite similar with their long black hair, tan skin, and crude leather clothing, appeared out of nowhere. They were all laughing.

Just then, the screeching caw of a hawkling filled the air. Talon, his feathers as white as Phen’s skin, swept by them. The bird circled sharply and came flapping down onto Phen’s head. After folding his wings in and pumping out his chest proudly, the bird looked at Telgra and cooed.

“By Doon, get it off me,” Oarly was yelling. “It’s fargin got me!”

A younger version of Hyden Hawk wiggled his way out of the shagmar skull and hopped up to his feet. He looked around at all the tense faces nervously. When his eyes found Lord Gregory, he grinned broadly, showing a row of bright white teeth.

“Well met, Little Con,” Lord Gregory laughed. “You might want to clear off a ways. That dwarf is dangerous when he is agitated.”

The boy glanced at Oarly, who was finding his way out from under the huge shagmar skull. Little Con grimaced, then bolted up the nearest hillside.

The tension evaporated and everybody quit laughing, save for one. Up on the hill, a lone voice was guffawing madly. Phen turned to see Hyden Skyler huddled up in the grass, holding his stomach. After a few moments of this, Oarly shouted out indignantly. “It’s over, man! You fargin got me. It’s not that funny anymore.”

“No, Oarly, it’s not you,” Hyden said, pushing his long black hair out of his face with one hand as he pointed with the other. “It’s not you I'm laughing at anymore.” Hyden struggled to his feet while still holding his stomach. “This is the first time I’ve gotten to see Marble Boy.”

“That’s not funny, Hyden,” Phen yelled. And again, everybody, even Lady Telgra, had to chuckle.

High King Mikahl felt the chill of the approaching winter as he flew on the back of the bright horse. The magical pegasus carried him over the brown farm lands of central Dakahn, then out over the deep emerald triangle of the marshes. Queen Rosa hadn’t been happy about him leaving on some dangerous errand on the day of their departure, but he’d come anyway.

“Westland is
your
homeland, Mikahl,” she said. “If we were going to Seaward to winter with my people, would you like it if I ran off and left you to travel alone?”

No I wouldn’t,
he told himself. “There is a threat to the realm, my love,” he told her. “I have to go.”

“No, you don’t!” she yelled. “You have thousands of soldiers, six kingdoms’ worth at your command. You should send them to investigate and handle the threat. This is what they are for.”

What she said made sense to Mikahl. He’d been raised a squire, and he depended heavily on people like Lord Gregory, King Jarrek, and Queen Willa to help him make his decisions, but none of them were at hand for this one.

“I’m the only one who can get there in a few hours. I’m the one with the power of Ironspike at my command. Please try to understand.”

“I understand that if you don’t stay around long enough to make an heir, the sword will be useless for the future generations of men.” She began to cry then. As other emotions overcame her anger she sobbed. “If you die, the whole realm will lose the protective power of the sword. And beyond that, I will miss you so terribly. I can’t… can’t…” Her voice was lost in her tears.

Mikahl waited until her sorrow subsided. “Love and duty do not mix well,” she said as she wiped away her tears. Then she kissed him goodbye and went about preparing for the departure as if the whole scene hadn’t just taken place.

Mikahl was left feeling small. He saw the dark, fang-shaped spire rising up out of the jungly swamp and refocused his attention. He had to bank south to keep it in front of him. It rose about four hundred feet above the soupy mess of shallow swampland. A few mud islands supported the thicker groves of some tall, willowy trees, and a vast plethora of reptilian, amphibian, and avian life forms.

From the north or south, the “dragon’s fang” appeared to be about eighty paces wide at its base. It tapered up to a perfect point and had a slight curve to it, so that it truly did resemble some sort of fang. The history books said it was once a mountain that used to spit fire and flaming rocks into the air, but time and the powerful flow of the Leif Greyn River wore it down to what it was now. From the east or west, Mikahl thought it looked like a shark’s fin cutting through the swamp. There was a giant worm hole about midway up that went completely through the fin. Inside the worm hole, Mikahl knew it opened up into a cavern. Claret used to live there, before Hyden set her free.

Mikahl figured that a Choska, or a pack of hellcats, had moved in, or maybe a marsh witch had gotten hold of some old spell books and was dabbling with forces that were drawing the skeletons in. He also decided that Rosa was right. He shouldn’t risk his life until the protection of Ironspike’s magic was guaranteed to reach beyond his life. He decided he would only investigate, and then make a decision about what needed to be done. A few breed giants with their dragon guns could take out a Choska demon without the aid of magic. Add a capable mage and a few hundred men with well-equipped marsh boats and they should be able to easily handle the mess. There was no need to risk his life fighting the realm’s battles by himself. Rosa’s comments about the future of the land had sunk in. If he died, there would be no one of Pavreal’s bloodline left to ignite Ironspike’s power.

As the Dragon Tooth Spire loomed larger before him, he was thinking about spending the winter at Lakeside Castle with Queen Rosa, trying to make an heir. The sudden burst of a flock of dactyls taking flight startled him. The big birds had a ten-foot wingspan and razor-sharp beaks as long as a man’s forearm. These were smaller than most dactyls, but there were hundreds of them. A great cloud of thumping wings exploded out from the nooks and crannies near the lower part of the black rock formation. He was forced to go around them in an arcing loop so that he came at the worm hole from the side. He’d never seen so many birds at once, and he suddenly realized the damage that a flock could achieve if they acted in concert. Without a thought, he drew Ironspike and called forth all the shields that its power could generate.