Kings, Queens, Heroes, and Fools wt-2 Read online

  “And I did nothing to make them think any different,” she boasted. “Fear of Willa the Witch Queen has kept many a man from crossing me. I learned that from my grandmother. Rumor and gossip, and sinister legends can sometimes be a weapon far greater than steel.”

  “I’m not so sure that she isn’t really a witch,” King Jarrek said with a grin. “She’s been match-making and meddling so much as of late that it wouldn’t surprise me to see her pouring love potions into the Princess and the High King’s cups.”

  “It was Hyden Hawk doing the meddling and match-making, from what I hear,” Queen Willa defended with a devilish look at Mikahl.

  “I was just trying to show Princess Rosa the High King’s sword-I mean his swordsmanship,” said Hyden.

  Mikahl’s glaring eyes spoke volumes about the quality of the revenge he wanted to exact on his friend.

  “Nevertheless,” Willa went on, hiding her blush in the mane of the lion’s fur. “I do think she’s taken a liking to you Mikahl. She is smart, very pretty, and it’s obvious that she has caught your eye as well.”

  “We’re riding in the park tomorrow,” Mikahl said. “If I could get some time with her, without all of you meddling and eavesdropping, I might be able to have a conversation with her. Until I’ve done that much, she is just another pretty girl to me.”

  “I believe you’re right, Queen Willa,” said Hyden with a nod. “He has fallen for her.”

  ***

  The clang of Mikahl’s steel on the practice yard the next morning was louder and sharper than usual. Hyden came down with the elven longbow Vaegon had given him, and could tell immediately that Mikahl was hammering out his frustrations on some unlucky opponent. Since the day their friend Loudin of the Reyhall had died, Mikahl had risen every morning and put himself through rigorous drills with his sword. The feel of the longbow in Hyden’s hand, and the ringing intensity from Mikahl’s blade brought back a memory of the four of them on their trek through the Giant Mountains. This in turn spurred an even earlier memory of Hyden and Vaegon competing in the archery tournament at the Summer’s Day Festival.

  Either he or Vaegon would have won. The winner’s name would have been carved on the Spire at Summer’s Day with all the other champions of the realm, to be seen ever after. That seemed like a life-time ago to Hyden, but it had been less than a year. It was a shame that they never had the chance to finish the contest.

  This morning he was unintentionally giving a demonstration on packing the wizard’s eye full of arrows. He could get four of five in the center, but hadn’t found a way to squeeze the fifth one in yet. But it wasn’t for lack of trying. It wasn’t his aim, it was the size of the wizard’s eye. The center of the target was just too small to take five arrow tips completely inside its circumference.

  “What you need is smaller shafts, Sir Hyden Hawk,” Brady Culvert said from behind him.

  Hyden turned and smiled at the strapping young man. Brady was tall and bulky, but hardly any of it was soft. His unruly dark curls left him with a boyish look. “No more of that ‘Sir’ crud. Not if you’re going with me, Brady,” Hyden said matter of factly. “We travel, we fight, and we work together as equals on our quest.”

  “What should I call you then?”

  “Hyden, or Hyden Hawk is what my friends call me, and any friend of King Jarrek’s is a friend of mine.”

  “Hyden Hawk it is then,” said Brady with a nod. “My father used to buy hawkling eggs from your people at Summer’s Day. He said they were the best for sending important messages, such as troop orders and other royal documents.”

  “Don’t let Talon hear you say that,” Hyden joked as he began unstringing his bow. “I use to climb the nesting cliffs in the spring to fetch them down.” He thought of his younger brother Gerard then, and the ring Gerard had found among the nests up there. Sorrow threatened to take hold of him.

  The loud clashing of Mikahl’s sword filled the silence. Hyden forced Gerard and his terrible fate out of his mind. “You’ll not need your plate armor; chain mail might even be inappropriate. Good leather with rings should do. I have a feeling that we might have to do a bit of sneaking about, maybe some climbing as well, and a lot of walking.” Hyden paused to look over at a commotion that had broken out. Apparently Mikahl had dislodged an opponent’s sword and it had flown into a bystander.

  “I pity his sparring partners today,” Brady said with a grimace of understanding. “He seems exceedingly aggressive for some reason.”

  “He’s riding with the Princess this afternoon. All of this royal hoopla is keeping him from being himself.” The concern in Hyden’s voice betrayed how deep his friendship with Mikahl had become. “He wants to go with us more than you could imagine.”

  “He’s the High King. All he has to do, is what he wants to do.” Brady scrunched his face up in confusion. “Besides all of that, who’d rather go sailing after pirate treasure with a bunch of louts than ride with Princess Rosa?”

  Brady pulled his chin in and gnashed his teeth together in a regretful cringe when he realized he had just called Sir Hyden Hawk Skyler a lout. But to his surprise Hyden was grinning at him.

  “You’ll do just fine, Brady,” Hyden spoke his thoughts aloud. “And it takes a lout to know one.”

  ***

  Phen was waiting in the tower study when Hyden came down the next morning. “I can go!” The boy yelped excitedly. At his feet lay a big burlap sack full of his personal belongings and his extra robe. “When do we leave? What should I bring? What texts are we taking? Master Sholt said that I have to keep tutoring you, so I know we should at least bring three or four books. How about Tales of the Sea? How long do you think we will be gone?” All of Phen’s questions were asked with one breath. Hyden chuckled as the boy inhaled deeply. He was about to begin again when Hyden stopped him with a question of his own.

  “What did you learn about the Silver Skull?”

  Phen looked at him with a perplexed expression for a moment. “How do you know that I know anything about the skull?” Phen asked.

  “I am a great wizard,” Hyden said sarcastically. “How else?”

  “I’m starting to see what Master Amill meant when he said that you were a natural,” said Phen with a shake of his head. “Without even casting a spell you got me to scour the books for you.”

  “You’re just extra curious, Phen.”

  “I am, but you made Princess Rosa fall in love with the High King yesterday afternoon when you tricked the two of them. At least that’s what the gossipers about the castle are saying.”

  “I just gave her a little more to think about is all. Not much more, I assure you. Besides, I had to get him back for that Yule gift he gave me.”

  “He said it wasn’t him,” Phen said.

  “Just… He and I are even for the moment, and that’s that. Now tell me about the skull.”

  “The Silver Skull of Zorellin is the artifact’s proper name,” Phen started. “I only found one listing about it in the Great Tome of artifacts. Darin wrote that the skull could be used to speak with the dead, the undead, and some of the more intelligent demons. But,” Phen strode over to the table and pointed at the exposed page of the topmost text lying there, “In Dahg Mahn’s untitled journal, the one that speaks about the Seal and other things relating to demon kind, it said that the Silver Skull of Zorellin can be used to transport items, and people, to and from the Nethers.”

  “Does it say how?”

  “Wait, Hyden, I’m not done,” Phen’s voice was sharper than he intended it to be, but he didn’t stutter or stop his lecture. “In a book called Zorellin, that I got from the master’s library last night while all of you were at the feast, I found a bit… Hold on.” Phen went to his bag, rummaged through it a moment then came up beaming. In his hand was an ancient text. He held it up as if it were a great prize, which in this case, it was.

  “In here,” Phen tapped the cover of the book. “It tells how the wizard Zorellin made the skull, and how he used i
t to enslave the demon of Krass, who he eventually used it to kill King Baffawn the Bloodthirsty for the good of all mankind.”

  “Very good, Phen,” Hyden said. “Now the masters have loaned us the very book that gives away what it is we are really after.”

  “No, I sort of borrowed it,” Phen smiled. “You know, just until we get back. I left the Index of Known Forest Animals in its place. They’ll never know.”

  “That was my favorite,” Hyden said.

  “Aye,” Phen said, emulating Hyden’s response to almost everything. “But I also have in my sack The Index of Known Marine Creatures. I figured that, since we’re going on a ship, you’d want us to have it handy.”

  “See, Phen, that’s exactly why you’re going with us.” Hyden put his arm across the growing boy’s shoulders in a brotherly fashion. “Have your masters freed you of all your other duties yet?”

  “I’m yours to command, Sir Hyden Hawk,” Phen stepped away and bowed with a flourish and a grin. Only the excitement he had felt when the late Master Targon and Queen Willa had plucked him from the orphanage in Xwarda City and made him an apprentice could compare to the level of exhilaration he was feeling now.

  “Good,” Hyden said. “I want you to use some of that energy to go find Brady Culvert at the East Gate Barracks, and also Dugak’s nephew-I can’t ever seem to remember his name. It’s…It’s-”

  “Oarly,” Phen remembered.

  “Yes, Oarly. I want you to tell the two of them to meet us at the Golden Griffin tonight at dark fall.” Hyden was starting to get excited as well. “Tell them that the meeting is mandatory, but the food and drinks are on me.”

  “Aye,” Phen called as he tore out of the tower room to find them.

  Chapter Five

  Lord Gregory sat atop his mount cursing his fortune. Before him, where he would have crossed the shallows to the western bank of the Leif Greyn River, was a stretch of raging rapids that churned and thrashed with the full force of the spring thaw behind it. He was left with two choices now. He could either backtrack up into the mountains and go west, crossing the hundreds of streams, trickles and creeks that combined to make the powerful flow before him, or he could go south into Wildermont and hope that Harrap and Condlin Skyler had been exaggerating the amount of death and destruction they had found there. Even as that thought formed in his mind he dismissed it. He knew that Harrap and Condlin had most likely told him exactly what they had seen and heard. He also knew that, if the bridge that crossed over into Westland was really destroyed, his decision here and now would determine how long it would take him to finally make it back home. If I even have a home left, he thought to himself. Had he been younger or even healthier, he would have already been working his way back up into the mountains. Maybe it was good that he was half crippled and weary of backtracking. If Westland really had been taken over, he knew he would find no welcome there, but still he had to go look for his wife. Finding her was all that he lived for.

  He took a deep breath and spurred his horse southward along the eastern bank of the churning flow. He knew that there were a few smaller towns and a dozen villages south of Castlemont along the river-Low Crossing, Seareach, and others. The Leif Greyn River split at Seareach. Maybe he could find a boat there and take the Westland flow to Settsted stronghold. There he could at least learn of his friend and peer, Lord Ellrich’s fate.

  Lord Ellrich’s stronghold held the main barracks for the river guard. If the zard had come up from the marsh, Settsted would have fallen first. Maybe he should try to find a boat to Southport instead. No king or queen or invader of any sort would destroy the trade center of the kingdom they were taking over. Southport was Westland’s biggest port. Shipping trade with all of the east, the Isle of Salazar and the other southern islands took place there. It was also a place where Lord Gregory could probably blend in with the populace.

  A boat from Seareach to Southport then, he decided. He had enough gold in his saddlebags to buy his own ship. A chunk of raw gold ore the size of a man’s head was left in one of Mikahl’s packs, along with a fat sack of Westland coin. He’d taken the coins and with a dull axe, had broken a fist sized chunk off of the other. What he’d left behind was easily twice as much as he’d taken. Mikahl and Hyden would understand, he knew, so he didn’t feel guilty for helping himself.

  A day later, he saw the tip of the Summer’s Day Spire jutting up over the ridge ahead of him. That afternoon, when he topped the ridge, he saw the whole flooded bulk of the Leif Greyn Valley. The Spire looked to be rising up out of a great lake.

  “It’s cleansing itself,” he said aloud, and with some amazement. All of the dead bodies and burning wagons and deserted pavilions that he had seen as Vaegon the elf and Hyden Skyler helped him away from his routed camp were under water now. Hopefully the carnage was being washed down the river into O’Dakahn or the marshes.

  It took the rest of that day, and two more, to get to the city of High Crossing. Normally it would have only taken a day, but he had been forced to skirt the flooded valley. At least the High Crossing bridge was still intact. It didn’t cross the Leif Greyn River, though. It spanned the Everflow River as it came out of the Evermore Forest to join with the Leif Greyn.

  No toll-taker stepped out of the little house on the other side of the bridge when he crossed it. That alone confirmed most everything that Halden Skyler’s sons had told him. He didn’t have to look upon the nearly deserted rows of buildings that lined the streets beyond the bridge. He didn’t have to see and smell the bones and thawing remains of the corpses that had been haphazardly put into piles and burned before winter set in.

  He felt eyes upon him as he rode through the empty town. Suddenly a sharp squeal filled the air and a thin filthy boy came chasing a healthy looking piglet into the road. The boy couldn’t have been ten years old, and he froze in place when he saw Lord Gregory coming. Tears of terror welled up in the boy’s eyes as he darted back into the evening shadows, his piglet forgotten. From somewhere in that direction came a woman’s hushed, but scolding voice. Lord Gregory, saddened by the sight, but uplifted to know that there were some survivors about, spurred his mount onward.

  As he left the town of High Crossing behind him, the sun was starting to set. At an abandoned farm set a short distance from the road he holed up in a barn for the night. There was no telling what sort of pilferers and bandits were about. He didn’t want to spend the night out in the open. He thought about sleeping in one of the abandoned inns he had seen, but he would have had to leave his horse outside. What people remained here were desperate and would probably have the poor animal gutted and cooked in the blink of an eye.

  As he lay in the barn struggling to find sleep, his heart grew heavier. Throughout the day the signs of war had become apparent, making him wonder just how bad off his homeland might be. Was Lady Trella even alive? He had to find out.

  Westland couldn’t be as desolate as High Crossing, could it? It could, he decided, but he knew that it wasn’t. Instead of being empty and void of life, it was now full of skeeks and barbaric breed giants. The strand of hope he held for his Lady Trella was growing thinner, but he refused to let it go.

  He could picture her in his mind as she had been when he’d left her at the stronghold in Lake Bottom: the yellow dress with the sky blue ribbons, the sparkling of her sapphire eyes as she kissed him goodbye.

  King Balton had called on him. It was supposed to be a relatively short journey, a trip around Lion Lake to Lakeside Castle, then two weeks at the Summer’s Day competition, but when Lord Gregory arrived, King Balton was on his deathbed. He’d been poisoned and knew exactly who his murderer was. Secret orders were given, then at the festival all the hells broke loose.

  Lord Gregory had wanted to stay with his king, root out those responsible, and deliver them to the noose, or better yet, to the headsman’s axe, but King Balton had told him no.

  “Go to Summer’s Day,” he’d said. “Take good men, men that you trust. Mikahl will need you.
You know who he truly is. He’ll have my sword, and he’ll be scared. You’ll find him in the Giant Mountains looking for the Southern Guardian, but go to the competitions first and participate as if nothing is amiss. It’s imperative that the cause of my death remain between us. If they know that you know I’ve been poisoned, they will try to kill you too, and Mikahl needs your help far more than the rope needs necks.”

  Lord Gregory had passed Mikahl in the hallway outside the King’s chambers after that conversation. The young man looked troubled, as if he already knew some of what was happening. Lord Gregory remembered looking into Mikahl’s eyes then and seeing King Balton in them. He understood now that Balton had known that his son, Prince Glendar, would bring the kingdom down. There was no way Glendar could ever have Ironspike. Mikahl was the intended heir to Westland. Mikahl’s heart was true, and humble, and fierce. Mikahl would have to pick up all the pieces now. Lord Gregory only hoped that the boy was still alive. Why the Giant King had sent him off to Highwander where the Witch Queen ruled, he couldn’t understand. He could remember clearly her Blacksword warriors cutting down his men while he lay helpless. If he couldn’t find Lady Trella, Highwander was his next destination.

  In the morning, while rummaging through the barn, he found a crossbow and a handful of dull, but usable steel-tipped bolts for it. Before he had taken his injuries, he had been quite handy with the sword, but now his body felt a hundred years old. He could wield his blade if he had to, and he still wore it at his hip, but the crossbow would make even a well armored bandit wary of him.

  He saw no bandits that day. He did see a herder with seven goats out in a soggy green field, and a man on the wall of a keep that sat a good distance off the road. He saw a few folk who looked to be planting corn or maybe wheat behind a mule-drawn plow too. When he passed they huddled together and stared at him as if he had a golden horn sticking out of the top of his head. When he finally came into the outskirts of what used to be the city of Castlemont he saw nothing but destruction.