At the last possible moment Mikahl rolled into the direct path of the lead geka. The creature was moving too fast to snap at him with its needle-sharp teeth. Neither it, nor its riders expected anyone from the party on the roadside to intervene in their chase. The cold-blooded beast leapt over Mikahl intending to avoid the glowing blue blade he carried. As Mikahl hoped, it hadn’t leapt very high. With an upward heave of such force that it made Mikahl go to his knees he thrust his sword into the creature.
The geka shrieked in pain as its own momentum dragged its body across the razor sharp steel. It churned at the end of its leap, knocking Mikahl farther into the road, but the beast was dead before it found the earth again. The force of its limp impact with the rutted dirt threw the two zard-men riding its back over its head. They landed badly and before they were done tumbling Grommen was hacking into them with his heavy sword.
Mikahl didn’t get the chance to regain his feet before one of the zard-men riding the second geka leapt from its back down onto him. The geka’s driver reined the creature headlong into the camp and let its gnashing jaws go to work. Two of the Highwander soldiers were caught off guard by the attack. One of them was bitten almost in two. The other, who had been attempting to shove his companion out of the way, had his arm chomped off at the elbow.
The horses picketed at the forest’s edge brayed and bucked wildly. Maxrell Tyne charged toward the road to help Mikahl, drawing his blade, and cursing their sudden involvement in a battle with the skeeks as he went. It was only then that he realized one of the men who was being chased was the one they were seeking. One of the fleeing riders, brandishing nothing more than a carved walking stick for a weapon, was now charging his horse back toward the road. With a violent swing, he clouted the zard-man that had tackled Mikahl in the side of its green-scaled head.
In the middle of the camp, the other two zard-men were dismounting their geka; one with a short sword raised high, the other with a long barbed pike in its clawed hands. The geka driver stayed on his mount and fired a crossbow at Grommen. The bolt struck the big fighter, leaving the wicked missile protruding from his shoulder.
Tyne saw that Mikahl had found his feet and started toward the unprotected flank of the thrashing geka. The remaining Highwander soldier put a serious gash across the big lizard’s snout and was now ducked behind a tree near the horses, waiting for help. The geka lunged and snapped at him with futile effort. Finally, it screeched and hissed, and latched onto the nearest horse. It shook its head violently back and forth. As big as the geka was, it couldn’t sling the horse around, but it did lift the screaming steed off of its hooves, snap its tether, and tear a huge chunk of flesh away. The horse half bucked, half fell sideways into the trees with a loud crash, thrashing and whinnying pitifully. The geka, after several jerking chomps on the horsemeat, raised its head high and chugged the substantial morsel down its gullet.
Unable to keep the big lizard from exposing itself, the geka rider hissed a curse and leapt from its back. The Highwander soldier charged from the trees aiming his sword at the geka’s chest just as Maxrell Tyne ran a sword into the creature’s gut. Both blades struck deeply. The geka reared in pain and twisted its tail around, knocking Tyne to the ground. The Highwander man barely got his sword free and dove out of the way. The zard who had been riding the creature had no intention of continuing the battle and broke into a tail-slinging run back up the road the way they’d come.
“Stop him!” Grommen yelled to whoever was listening. He wasn’t close to his horse, and he was in terrible pain, or he’d have chased the zard down himself. Tyne heard him, and stumbled from the trees to get mounted, but when he started to climb on a horse, a fierce grinding in his knee dropped him.
The zard-man before Mikahl looked at him with its blank black orbs and hissed menacingly. Then it glanced at Ironspike’s glowing blade. It started toward Mikahl, feigned a claw one way then rolled around twisting to rake its claws from the other. Ironspike whistled as it cut through the air. Mikahl dropped to knee level and the zard-man tried to leap back, but it was no use. A deep furrow across its scaly upper thighs opened up. Mikahl stepped out of range of its thrashing claws and tail and glanced up the road at Lord Gregory. Beyond his friend he could see the fleeing zard. The other pair of Highwander soldiers were engaged with the remaining zard-men in the camp. Tyne was trying to get there to help them, but limping badly.
Mikahl pulled Lord Gregory’s sword from his hip and hurled it at him with a grin. “Lose something?” he yelled. He didn’t even look to see where the thing ended up. Instead, he started off toward the Highwander men who were fighting desperately to defend themselves.
Mikahl held out Ironspike’s tip, and in the symphony it sent coursing through him, he found the single melody he was after. Sharp red darts of magical force shot from the weapon into the zard wielding the pike. The thumping impacts sent the lizard-man sprawling across the roadside.
“Clear out!” Mikahl yelled. The Highwander men wasted no time falling to the ground and rolling away. A streaking blast of lightning consumed the remaining zard. Before it could register what happened it was charred to a husk.
Seeing his own sword twisting through the air toward him filled Lord Gregory with a surge of uplifting energy. He spurred his mount to meet the blade, and with effortless grace snatched it out of the air by its hilt. As if it knew what he intended, the horse under him turned and lurched forward after the fleeing zard. Lord Gregory knew that, if they let it get away, a hundred more would be on their trail. There was no telling what sort of system the skeeks used to deliver messages, but all it would take was a single bird to Southport and half of Queen Shaella’s army would be looking for them. He gained on the fleeing creature, but had to rein his horse toward the side of the road to avoid a whizzing crossbow bolt. After it loosed at Lord Gregory, the zard-man tore off into the forest. Lord Gregory drove his mount headlong into the trees after it. He ducked and twisted in the saddle, narrowly missing a low hanging branch and took a whipping snap across his face from a smaller limb, but he didn’t slow his pursuit. His horse leapt a chunk of dead fall then darted around a gnarled old stump. Just as he caught up to the zard, it looked back with fear showing in its black eyes. Lord Gregory’s horse stepped on the zard’s tail just as the Lion Lord’s blade swept down. The result was the lower half of the zard-man being trampled under the horse while the upper half rolled away into a tree trunk where it smashed to a halt with a wet crunch.
Lord Gregory trotted back out onto the road rubbing the welt on his face. He was bloody from the branches he’d ridden through, but he didn’t care. He was hefting the familiar weight of his father’s blade in his hand and feeling more hope than he had in ages. Lady Trella had escaped the invasion of Westland with little Zasha, and Mikahl had found him and returned his treasured heirloom. The Lion Lord of Westland couldn’t help but let out a roar. To his delight, his primal call was answered by the roar of another young lion. Mikahl was feeling it too.
The Highwander soldier who had lost his arm was so near to death that Maxrell Tyne pushed his blade quickly into the man’s throat and walked away. The man had been semi-conscious at best, and they were in no position to give proper aid. Mikahl saw the deed and swallowed his anger. Tyne had done what he couldn’t have, and it was probably for the best. They pulled the barbed bolt from Grommen’s shoulder and patched the wound as best as they could, then the five of them rolled the big geka carcasses to the forest’s edge and dragged them out of sight. It wasn’t easy. They were as big as three horses each, but it had to be done. After that they dragged the rest of the dead into the forest too. This part of the road wasn’t heavily traveled, but all it would take was one passerby to raise an alarm they couldn’t outrun.
As soon as the road was cleared they started back toward Midway. The first ship out of Westland might get them out before queen Shaella learned of the mess Lord Gregory had left back at Lake Bottom Stronghold, but if they lingered they were done. There was no time for reminiscing. In spite of everything Mikahl wanted to say to his one-time lord and mentor, he held his tongue. Lord Gregory did the same. There was plenty he wanted to learn about the state of affairs abroad. Neither could suppress the joy of being reunited, though, especially since the last time Mikahl had seen Lord Gregory, the man had been one heartbeat away from death, and Mikahl had been nothing more than a frightened squire.
Lord Gregory, before Queen Shaella’s invasion, had been the liege lord over most of Southeast Westland. With his hood down he might be recognized in Midway, but in his defiant mood he didn’t care. The people of Westland had always loved him and he knew they wouldn’t betray him to the zard. He hoped to use his status to get a fishing captain or a small cargo ship to sail them away from Westland as quickly as possible. They could easily find a ship if they rode through Midway and continued on to Southport, but the extra day on the road would put the group, and more importantly High King Mikahl, at great risk. Lord Gregory had taken the knee before Mikahl just before the hellcat had attacked them in the Giant Mountains. He had known all along that Mikahl was King Balton’s intended heir. His duty to protect his king overrode all other thoughts in his mind, save for those of getting to his lady wife.
He told Mikahl his thoughts as they galloped into the outskirts of Midway. Neither of the two sell-swords, nor the Highwander soldier could offer a better plan, so Mikahl agreed.
The people of Midway were wary of the travelers. The road suddenly cleared as the bloodied group came passing through. Lord Gregory and Mikahl both looked on in sorrow at the emptiness and gloom that hung over the once lively town. The people were still there, they were just hiding. The smell of cook fires was in the air. The fall of peaked curtains was seen as they made their way toward the wharf. Fresh laundry hung in the late morning sun and a few older men labored away with their heads down and eyes averted.
“Look,” Mikahl pointed down the way toward the dock as it came into view. Only one ship was tied to the moorings. It was a large two-masted vessel with a double row of oar portals along its side. It was a slave-powered galley, and Lord Gregory’s heart sank when he noticed the banner flapping lazily from its mast: the trident of Dakahn.
Just then the door of the tavern beside them burst open, and a young, shabbily dressed woman hurried away with tears in her eyes. A drunken man stumbled out after her. Gregory put a restraining hand on Mikahl when he started to intervene. The man was wearing fairly new studded leather armor, and the fancy hilted sword strapped to his belt spoke of either authority or experience. He paused when he noticed them looking down at him from their horses. He half growled, half laughed then stepped back into the doorway.
“Captain Konrath, we’ve got company,” he said with a heavy Dakaneese accent.
Maxrell Tyne eased his horse up between Mikahl and Lord Gregory. “Pirates,” he said under his breath. “Follow my lead.”
Under normal circumstances Captain Konrath would have ignored the men outside. They posed no threat to him. He had eight men on the ship watching over his supplies and the slave rowers, and six more men were not too far away enjoying the hospitality of the Midway tavern girls. These waters had been picked clean, had been for a time. He was of a mind to hire out to Ra’Gren, and a few more men behind him would increase his leverage. Looking through the tavern door, he could tell that the men outside were armed. A half dozen ways to either hire them, or cheat them of their belongings, passed through his head.
He gave a nod, and a pair of his unoccupied men followed him out. Like the Captain, they were well armored and carried quality steel. The Captain though, standing well over six feet, with legs as big as tree trunks, and a leather mask plate that covered one of his eyes, was by far the most imposing of the three. When he stepped out of the doorway and the morning sun caught his grisled visage, even the horses backed away. There was a hole in the mask to accommodate the covered eye. The white of that orb seemed far larger than normal, like there was no skin around the socket. It was unnerving to look upon.
“Seeking work maybe?” he asked in a gravelly voice.
“What sort of work?” Maxrell returned. His Dakaneese accent was as pronounced as the pirate’s.
“Ra’Gren’s hiring all the swords he can gather,” the pirate captain said, putting as much promise as he could into his voice. “Could be steady through the summer they say. It seems that King Jarrek and that so-called High King have been causing the old bastard some trouble along the Valleyan border. Killed a handfull of overlords and cut loose their slaves.”
“Guarding land borders then?” Tyne asked with distaste showing plainly on his face.
“Some of it,” the Captain took a pull from the bottle in his hand. “But from what I hear, he’s gonna try and take all of Wildermont while it sits near to empty.” The man leaned in and lowered his voice, his one brow narrowing conspiratorially. “My man said there be plenty of valuables to pick through. Slave whores aplenty too. That fool Glendar left behind as much as he stole. And those that stay around and fight for Ra’Gren are ’sposed to get a bit of Wildermont land as payment for the service.”
“I’ll fight for gold,” Tyne responded with a smirk. “I got no need for land or trinkets. Besides, we have business on Salazar. Might be we could find you when we’re through.” He paused for effect, and gave Mikahl and Lord Gregory a knowing glance. “If we still need any coin then.”
At the sound of the word ’coin’ Captain Konrath pricked his ears up, wondering what sort of business these men had in Salazar that might afford them the luxury of turning down months of good paying work. Salazar wasn’t even out of his way. Maybe a day, but he could provision his ship there instead of in Southport and save a handful of coin by avoiding the Dragon Bitch’s tariffs. Even if these men didn’t sign on with him, he could fatten his purse and save some expense by taking them to Salazar on his way back to Dakahn.
“Salazar is where you’re headed then?” the pirate gave a gap-toothed grin that combined with his menacing face plate to make him look utterly insane. “If you’ve a few coins for passage, the Shark Tooth ’s your ship, and I’m your captain.”
“If you can pull anchor right now, I’ll fill your fist with coin,” Tyne jingled his belt pouch and glanced at the two zard-men sitting just inside the tavern’s doorway.
Captain Konrath’s grin vanished. He elbowed the man beside him and mumbled an order. A moment later the call for “All hands!” was ringing through the tavern. In less than a turn of the glass, Lord Gregory, High King Mikahl, Maxrell Tyne, and their two men were on the Shark’s Tooth under sail for Salazar.