The Wizard and the Warlord (The Wardstone Trilogy Book Three) (42 page)

“Put Oarly in,” he called out, hoping against hope that there was life still left in the dwarf.

Phen did, but all that happened was the release of his pent-up emotion. Oarly was beyond saving.

The Choska had been mortally wounded. Being a demon, only its body was going to die. Its malignant soul would be pulled back into the Nethers where it would rally and ready the others of its kind to prepare them for the breaching of the seal. Even as it died, it served the Warlord, carrying Shaella’s body out of the marshes and over Dakahn. The dead Choska glided to a crash near Lokahna, at the edge of a farm. Shaella’s body survived the tumble and she ended up stumbling, bruised and bloody, toward a little cottage.

The farmer’s son, a young man of seventeen years, saw her clinging to a fence post. She was half-naked, shaven-headed, and trembling in the early winter chill. He gave her his cloak. He put her on his horse and led her back to the warm safety of the farmhouse. She wouldn’t speak, so the boy’s mother tended her wounds, bathed her, and put her in some ill-fitting clothes while the boy and his father rode out to see from where she had come. They found the Choska twisted and broken. Clutched in one of its claws was a piece of the strange girl’s clothes.

“What is it, Da?”

“Can’t say, Tarren.” He scratched his stubbly chin. “Naught good, I’d guess. She’s a lucky lass.”

“Can I have her for a wife, then?” Tarren asked seriously. “She’s far more prettier than Mara Swain.”

“That she is, lad, but she might be married already. She might be trouble, too.”

“A roll with that might be worth a little trouble, huh?” Tarren joked with his father.

“Most likely,” the older man grinned. “Once she gets her wits back she will probably want to return to her kinfolk. I suppose, since winter is on us, you could help her home and find out.”

Later that evening at the supper table, Tarren and his parents slowly ate their meal while staring at the strange, stubble-haired girl who wouldn’t speak. They had asked her a hundred questions. Her only response was to look at them with helpless doe eyes and to clutch at herself as if she were freezing.

In truth, the Warlord had left her mind for a time. She was thoughtless. Back in his domain he was commanding his legions to bring forth all their earthy influence and ensure that Shaella’s body made it safely to Xwarda.

The Lord of the Hells learned that one of his devils had a following in the Valleyan town of Strond. Among the worshipers was a wagon master who was more than willing to appease his chosen deity. Already, a carriage was being readied to meet Shaella in Kastill. All the Warlord needed now was to get Shaella’s body across the river into Valleya. It was a three-hour hike at worst, but without warm clothes or shoes, it could be impossible.

Coming back into Shaella’s consciousness, the Warlord had to be mindful of the voice he used when he spoke. It wouldn’t do for the bewildered stranger at the farmhouse to speak out in the voice of the Dark One. The Warlord chose not to speak for a while. He sized up the family before entering the conversation.

“Maybe she's from O’Dakahn, Dran,” the wife said to her husband. “Wildra Swain said there’s a barrelful of loonies running around there who drink that fire brew and smoke frog skins and such.” She leaned forward and continued in a whisper, as if Shaella couldn’t hear her. “Maybe she's one of them.”

“She was carried here by some winged beast, Ma,” Terran said defensively. “You think them loonies from the city fly around in the claws of beasts?”

The mother dropped her eyes and shook her head, making her chubby cheeks jiggle. Her husband whacked Terran with the back of his hand. “Speak to your ma with respect, boy,” he growled.

“I’m from Southron,” Shaella said sheepishly. She sounded as if she were a scared girl of only ten summers. “My ma shaved my head ‘cause I got the lice. Where am I? I’m so afraid.” She burst into tears then and buried her face in her hands.

“See there, Ma,” Terran said, rubbing the knot on his head. “She’s not some loony from the city.”

“What’s your name, child?” the farmer’s wife asked. “There’s nothing to fear here. We’re simple folk. So come on now, tell me your name.”

“Shae,” the Warlord answered, peeking through Shaella’s tears at Terran. “Thank you for bringing me in from the cold.”

“My da says I can help you get home,” Terran said excitedly. His expression abruptly changed to a look of concern. “You ain't got no husband, do ya?”

The Warlord wanted to take the carving knife from the meat plate and jab it into this oaf’s eye. That, or just lean forth and take a bite out of his face. Instead, he let a grin show on Shaella’s face. “Not yet,” she blushed, partially from the anger of having to partake in this farce, partly because she was working to restrain herself. The Warlord knew from that moment on that the boy would be smitten with Shaella.

That night, Terran and his mother went into the attic and found some warm clothes, some boots, and a cloak for Shae. The father dug up his jar of coins and shook out a handful of coppers for his son to use on his journey to Southron. He couldn’t spare them horses to ride, but since the snow decided to start coming down that evening, he could at least make sure they could afford a stall, or a loft to sleep in, and a hot meal or two on their journey.

Southron was several days, most of a week, away, but many a farm dotted the road. Secretly, the father hoped the girl had parents well off enough to offer a bit of a dowry. He had heard Southron was an uppity place—all horse traders and cattlemen, people whose only interest in farming was feeding their herds.

The next morning, Terran and Shae set out across the white-blanketed farm toward Lokahn. From there they would cross the river into Valleya. The hopeful young farmboy had no idea that his journey would end there. Shaella’s wagoneer was waiting in Kastill, just on the other side of the bridge.

***

Hyden used his ability to converse with animals to try to stay the Gwag while Dostin and the two soldiers pried Phen away from Oarly. The creature was skittish enough to hear his soothing tones, but hesitant to comply, especially since it was in pain.

Princess Telgra healed her mind in the fountain’s water. When they were done with the pool, Hyden cast the same spell he’d used to snatch Lieutenant Welch’s sword from him when they met in the foothills, only this time he removed Oarly’s dagger from the roof of the Gwag’s throat. He made the strange creature drink from the fountain and then hummed a ballad until it slipped into slumber.

Jicks came and helped drag Oarly’s body out of the cave. They rolled the mangled dwarf’s remains into one of the waterproof canvases they’d brought along for shelter, then carried him back to the first fountain. The whole while, Hyden’s not-so-melodic voice echoed through the cavern.

Corva wasn’t doing well. While Princess Telgra and Phen huddled with Dostin in sorrowful mourning and prayer, Jicks and Krey helped the elven man to the Leif Repline. As soon as he drank of the water he began to heal. The deep punctures in his body slowly sealed themselves and then puckered into fat purple scars.

“Why didn’t it heal Master Oarly?” Jicks asked Hyden as he wiped away a stray tear.

“I think Oarly was already dead when his body found the water.” Hyden answered, ending his mourning lullaby.

The young swordsman glared at the sleeping Gwag, letting his anger overpower his sorrow. “Why would you save the beast that killed your friend?”

“The beast was bound to guard this place from trespass.” Hyden sat at the edge of the fountain’s retaining wall and cupped a handful of the water. He let it drain between his fingers as he continued. “If we left the fountain unguarded, and some dark sentient beast or a power-hungry man were allowed to abuse it, where would we be?” He looked Jicks directly in the eye. “That creature was only doing its duty.”

Jicks nodded that he understood. “What if it had been you or the princess that had gotten killed?”

“Unlike me, or Oarly, you are here because of duty, so this might be harder for you to understand.” Hyden watched Corva climb out of the pool studying his healed flesh with curious yellow eyes. “I am more than willing to die for my friends, Jicks. Oarly was, too. He died an honorable death. His life was given to heal Phen and Talon, and I suppose the princess, too. If I knew my death would bring peace and long life to those I love, I would welcome it.” He had to chuckle ironically at his own words. He meant them, but here he was doing everything except trying to kill Gerard, or the Demon Lord he’d become. He was dead set on banishing his brother to the hells for good instead. Was it because he knew that when Gerard died, he would, too? Was he afraid to die? No, he decided, as he fought back tears of sorrow. If he could trade places with Oarly that moment, he would have. It was something else.

If it was truly as simple as facing death, he thought, he would have the courage to meet his fate. He wasn’t sure that it wasn’t coming to exactly that anyway. If he failed to banish his warlord brother, he would have to kill him. According to the goddess, his duty was to maintain the balance. Hyden contemplated this long after the group had rejoined in the first chamber where they had made some semblance of a camp.

The princess had her memory back and was worried about her mother and what her arrogant people might have done in her absence. She was also saddened beyond measure, not only because of Oarly’s death, but because of the deaths of the others in her life, particularly her father, and the elven party back on Salaya.

Phen looked bad, but only because his body was starving for sustenance. His hair and robes were still bleached white, but his skin was mottled pink with color from his blood resuming its flow. Telgra, between bouts of sobbing, forced Phen to eat cheese, meat and dried fruit. He took more than one piece of the nutrient-rich herb bread that Princess Gretta had slipped her before they left Afdeon. After Dostin fell asleep, Phen kissed Telgra on the cheek and lay down in his bedroll. She lay down next to him and soon joined his slumber.

Hyden, with Spike scampering along beside him, went back to the Leif Repline fountain and sat cross-legged on the retaining wall around it. He sank into a trance and sought his goddess.

His choices, and the price they were demanding of his companions, were weighing heavily on his soul. He wasn’t sure what he would ask her for, or if he would seek her guidance at all. All he knew was that after losing his brother to the darkness, and friend after friend to war and quest, he needed to feel her ethereal presence. Losing Oarly was as hard a loss as any he had ever felt. The end of his brother, Vaegon Willowbrow and Brady Culvert, just to name a few, had pained him deeply. Now, with the ornery dwarf added to the list, the weight of the dead was threatening to drag him down. He couldn’t allow that to happen. Hopefully, the goddess would lighten his burden somehow.

Long after the others had gone still, Phen found a restless sleep. He dreamt at first of toothy trolls and savage demons. He was being chased through a long, dark cavern. Whatever the things were behind him, they were right on his heels. They wanted to eat his flesh, to tear it from his bones like the troll had done Mort. The cavern turned narrower and graduated into a tunnel. He had to scrabble for every inch of his retreat. His nose filled with the smell of dirt and stale air. Buzzing, clicking insects crawled over his skin, and the ripe breath of what was behind him warmed his neck. He couldn’t seem to gain any distance from the fiends, but ahead, he saw a light, an opening out of the depths, where he was crawling.

Phen’s breath came in ragged gasps. His lungs felt weak and tired. His body was giving up on him. The opening was right there and yet he couldn’t get to it. With all he had left, he reached for the light. Oddly, an invisible hand grasped his and hauled him up through the hole. Standing now on a wooden plank floor, he looked up to see a long oak table laden with delicacies and crowded with feasters.

The room was plain, yet warm and homey. Torches rested in plain brass sconces along the walls. The floor was littered with straw and rushes. A pair of stealthy dogs moved among the feet, hunting for scraps.

As Phen watched the dogs, he saw a pair of boots that dangled from the chair, but stopped a foot from the floor. He looked above the table and found Oarly there. The dwarf was chewing a mouthful of meat while downing a mug of ale. Master Wizard Targon sat at the head of the table. To his right sat Master Wizard Amill. To his left was a young man in red enamel plate armor. It was Brady Culvert, and he was smiling broadly. There were a few dozen other faces that Phen recognized. Some he knew well, but others only vaguely. All of them, though, had died battling evil.

Oarly banged his mug with the young Red Wolf fighter’s in toast. The dwarf suddenly jumped up on the table and rested his boot on the head of the glazed pig. They all turned to face Phen. There was a lot of love, but a tinge of jealous longing in their eyes.

Oarly downed his drink and wiped the froth from his tangled beard. “Your almost a grown man now, lad.” Oarly’s tone was fatherly. “This war of Hyden Hawk’s is not yours. When it is done, the realm will need you. Keep to your books, and follow your heart.” Oarly reached out his mug to a beautiful serving girl and let her refill it. After he took a deep swill he went on. “There’s got to be a ray of hope in all of this. Plant that seed! Heal the old wounds.” Oarly grinned. “Do it for Doon, lad.”

Telgra’s arm wrapped around him in the sleepy chamber and Phen’s dreams wavered away from him. When he awoke, he remembered Oarly’s words, but wasn’t sure what they meant. The first thing he did was give Hyden Hawk back his dragon tear medallion. Phen found he didn’t want it anymore.

Hyden nodded and took the dragon tear in respectful understanding. The White Goddess had given him a message, as well. He knew he would have to face on his own most of what was left to be done. Hyden couldn’t ask anyone to follow him further, especially those he held dear.

“Oh, it’s beautiful, Mikahl,” Queen Rosa said. The two of them stood atop a tower facing the southeast. The High King was draped in the golden lion’s mane cloak Queen Willa had gifted him. Queen Rosa was wrapped in a thick, silver-furred long coat. The view was pristine. Lion’s Lake might have been a sheet of glass; only the arrow-shaped wakes of a small flock of swimming geese shimmered along to indicate that it wasn’t frozen solid. To the west of the lake, the pine- and fir-scattered hills were a winter green wonderland of rolling drifts. A light snow fell lazily from the sky. In the near ground, what bit of the southern castle yard they could see was a bustle of adolescent youth. They were taking turns riding shields they had looted from one of the armories down a long, lazy slope. From above the sledders, but below the king and queen, the turret patrol heaved shovelfuls of snow down upon the youngsters as they cleaned the walkways atop their wall. Some of the children had built a snow fort to protect them from the assault. A few braver boys were firing back snowballs of their own. Every now and then one of them would manage to hit a guard. When that happened, a chorus of cheers went up from below. Mikahl had been one of those young warriors once, and silently urged the youth on.