“If anyone can get Rosa out of Westland it’s the High King,” Queen Willa said in a vain attempt to comfort Queen Rachel. Princess Rosa was Rachel’s only child and had been the sole subject of conversation since she’d arrived in Xwarda.
“Am I a prisoner here too?” Queen Rachel asked through tear-filled eyes. “Oh, how the gods punish us for our folly,” she blurted. Then she began sobbing again.
“No, Rachel,” Willa gave an exasperated huff. “Your cousin is being held for a more recent treachery than last autumn’s attack on my people. As I told you, Broderick recently consorted with the Dakaneese and the Westlanders to betray the High King. These are the very same Westlanders that kidnapped your daughter, I might add. Nevertheless, Dreg was killed, and quite a few of Jarrek’s people were freed. I sent them as many men as I could spare, and King Mikahl has requested that you do the same. I think that, since he has gone off into Westland to find your daughter, you should comply.”
Queen Willa wasn’t sure that Rosa was the reason why Mikahl had snuck into Westland, but she made it sound that way. Queen Rachel came from Seaward as soon as she heard Broderick was a prisoner. She’d come seeking information, a terrified mother whose daughter had been taken for motives beyond her reckoning. Queen Willa gave her a shoulder to cry on, and for the last two days had come to realize that the treachery of last year was more of Broderick’s design than Rachel’s.
General Spyra hadn’t known Mikahl’s motives either. The General’s message made it sound like he wasn’t sure where Mikahl had actually disappeared to. Mikahl’s message to Willa, though, had made his destination, if not his motives, clearer.
“How many men?” Rachel sobbed. “Would five thousand be enough?”
Now we’re getting somewhere, thought Willa. “I think five thousand well armed, and well provisioned men would show the High King that his efforts to save your daughter are greatly appreciated.”
“Where should I send them? Under whose command?”
“To King Jarrek in Wildermont,” Willa answered as she thought of something that made the corners of her mouth turn up into a devilish smile. “Have them march right through northern Dakahn to Seareach. That’s where they will be needed the most.”
“Through Dakahn?” Rachel’s sobbing ceased. “But that’s… that’s…”
“This is what Ra’Gren needs to see. He needs to see firsthand our support for Wildermont. The sell-sword army he is putting together to defend the mines won’t dare attack five thousand me-”
A sharp knock at the door of the sitting chamber interrupted Willa’s words. She excused herself, wondering what was so urgent that someone would disturb her private meeting. Her advisors all knew the importance of this discussion.
As her hand moved toward the polished brass handle of the heavy wooden door, the knock sounded again. As she thought, it was Dugak. Only a dwarf’s knock came from that low.
“What is it?” she asked rather sharply as she yanked open the door.
Starkle, the little blue pixie, fluttered around the excited dwarf’s head. Obviously something extreme was happening. Still, Willa held out a hand to stop Dugak from coming in. Once the door was pulled shut behind her, she motioned for him to speak.
“Droves of dwarves,” the pixie said in a voice far too big for its size.
“It’s the might of Doon, Your Highness,” Dugak cut in over the fluttering blue gnat. “It seems they’ve come to answer your call after all.”
What in all the gods is he talking about? Is he drunk again? Willa wondered. Starkle must have seen her perplexed look and began trying to explain.
“Thousands of dwarves have come down out of the hills north of Jenkanta. They’re armed and prepared for battle.”
“Where did they come from?” Willa still didn’t grasp it. “There’s not a hundred dwarves left in the realm.”
“Oh, but there are,” Dugak said with a grin. He did a jump-skip in place, trying to contain his excitement. “Don’t you see? They came because you blew the Horn of Doon. They’ve come to answer your call for aid.”
Understanding replaced her confusion. Almost a year ago, when Pael’s undead army was standing outside the gates of Xwarda, she had blown the Horn of Doon, hoping to summon the dwarves to help them defend the Wardstone that the city is built upon. “They’re really late,” Willa said with a smile at the wonder of it.
“What should we tell them?” asked Starkle. “That we’ve no need of them. Should I send them back underground?”
Dugak swatted at the pixie as if he were a pesky insect. Luckily for Starkle the dwarf missed.
“Just because that battle is over doesn’t mean that there isn’t a need.” Dugak looked to his queen. Under his thick mass of beard, his chest was puffed out proudly. “Us dwarves are the ones who built this city in the first place. Who better to rebuild it?”
“I’m not going to put them to work, Dugak, unless they offer,” Willa said with a giggle at the silliness of the dwarven army coming out of the earth a whole year late. “Go welcome them, Dugak. That is an order. Explain to them what has happened and arrange a feast. No matter their tardiness, the return of the dwarves of Doon to Xwarda is a reason to celebrate.”
With an elaborate bow the dwarf turned and started away.
Starkle, now flying just out of arm’s reach, said, “The elves built Xwarda with the aid of the giants you dimwit dwarf. That was long before a dwarf ever set foot in this land.”
Queen Willa suppressed her amusement at the strange turn of events and retreated back into the sitting room. She thought it best to get Queen Rachel’s five thousand men committed as soon as possible. Maybe, just maybe, she could get some of the dwarves to go and help Mikahl and Jarrek too. Their legendary skills as fighters and builders would go far toward helping Wildermont raise itself out of the rubble. She would start working on that at the feast. Right now she still had Rachel’s offer to seal, and by the sound of the woman’s new sobbing, tactfully bringing the subject of soldiers back around wasn’t going to be easy.
General Spyra couldn’t have been more content. His young wife had arrived from Xwarda with the new troops Queen Willa had afforded the effort, and now two thousand men were on their way through the mountains to help King Jarrek. Dreen was as occupied as a city could be, and no viable threat was known. He didn’t have a concern beyond the lovely woman beside him.
Lady Mandary’s sparkling blue eyes twinkled, and her straw-colored ringlets dangled like ribbons of gold in the afternoon sun. The carriage ride had been her idea. She wanted to see as much of the Red City as she could. Spyra tried to explain to her that it was the same throughout the interior of the great red wall that surrounded Dreen. There were low, red block buildings surrounded by corrals and sheering yards, and as many grazing lots as there were homes. There were no towers or cathedrals, no spectacular landmarks, just wild-smelling functional stock pens and a few large taverns.
Spyra still found her interest in his work a pleasant surprise. She had always asked him of this and that, but now she seemed to want to know every detail of the High King’s plans. Spyra didn’t find this suspicious because Lady Mandary expertly catered to his ego. She kept him boasting of this, that, or the other. He found himself almost seeking her approval of the ideas that he and King Jarrek had been tossing around in Mikahl’s absence. When she learned that Mikahl might actually be in Westland, she hurried the tour, feigning lightheadedness. Of course the General rushed her back to the modest palace of Dreen. He hoped to get reacquainted with her in a more personal way after dinner, and getting her comfortable was of great importance to him. He had no idea that, once she locked herself in her chamber, she was going to use her witchy magic to confer with Queen Shaella. After all, Lady Mandary was one of the Dragon Queen’s favorite spies.
“Leave me for a while please,” Lady Mandary ordered her attendant when she was finally in her chamber. “I will be taking a nap and I do not want to be disturbed until dinner.”
“Yes, milady.” The servant woman had some doubts to her mistress’s sanity. Already she had seen the woman speaking into a bowl and had overheard several peculiar conversations when the lady was the only person in the room. She expected one of those to take place now, and hurried out to her own quarters. She didn’t want the ravings of the General’s wife to be any of her concern.
The single drop of blood that dripped from the vial into the basin of water seemed to stain it with abnormal potency. The liquid went from clear to pink to a deep thick crimson color in only a matter of moments. Once Lady Mandary was satisfied with the texture and color of the glossy red surface, her eyes rolled back into her head. She began to chant in rhythmic musical repetition while her hands danced at the ends of her outstretched arms. This would take awhile, she knew. Her queen wouldn’t be expecting this call.
The arrival of the red-robed priests of Kraw at Lakeside Castle in Westland happened with little fanfare. The four priests had little use for courtly pleasantries, and less for feasts and celebration. It was good that they didn’t expect much of a welcome, because Queen Shaella hadn’t bothered to prepare as much as a goblet of water to refresh them from their travels. The priests didn’t complain, but it seemed they didn’t understand why they were there. They didn’t know that Gerard was Kraw now. All they knew was that to serve their master, they had to serve her.
There was a bit of disagreement over this, but after the first prayer session, the priests began to understand. Gerard answered their questioning calls with perfect clarity by sucking the life out of one of them and commanding the others to follow Shaella’s every whim. It was impossible to argue when the dried up husk of a man was lying on the floor.
“Already one of my wizards has the Silver Skull of Zorellin in his possession,” she told them. “It is on the way here as we speak, and when it arrives we will use it to bring your Kraw out of the Nethers so that I can have my Gerard. But I do have another agenda that needs looking into while we wait.”
The priests’ first task was to make the High King aware of Princess Rosa’s presence in Pael’s tower, and set a trap for him. The trap, they determined, was the easiest part. They tried using Rosa’s fingertip to cast a drawing spell on Mikahl, but it didn’t work. Then they unpacked the library of spell books and journals they’d carried with them from the Isle of Borina, and spent the night scouring them for another way to draw their bait in. They didn’t find what they were looking for, but they settled their things into the comfortable gathering chamber they had been allotted and learned the reason why their first attempt had failed.
There had been an assumption. It had rendered the main component of the spell useless. It was this very component that they were now speaking about to Queen Shaella.
“What is it that you need to cast this spell?” asked Shaella. “I was told that the Princess’s finger would do.”
“We need a piece of her to mark her as the bait,” one answered.
“And a piece of someone that he truly loves,” added another. “It seems we misjudged his feelings for her.”
“And the finger I already gave you?” Her tone had an edge to it. “You told me that you could draw him with that alone.”
“That was our mistake, Queen Shaella,” the third priest said. “We assumed that the High King loved Princess Rosa, but apparently that is not so. As it is, we need another piece of her, and a piece of someone he truly loves, to correctly cast the drawing spell.”
“Find another way then,” she spat. She could think of no one that Mikahl might love. The only one he was close to was Gerard’s brother. Hyden was at sea, still alive because of Flick’s weakness. She wasn’t that angry with Flick, though. He had served her cause for years and was bringing her a grand surprise. Even evil queens like to be surprised every now and then. She was a woman after all.
An itch presented itself in her mind, like an insect crawling across the inside of her skull. It was insistent. She hadn’t been expecting anyone to reach out to her, and thoughts of Flick’s spinelessness caused her to think that maybe he had lost possession of the skull. She knew firsthand that Hyden Hawk Skyler was the trickiest of bastards. Flick should have killed him when he had the chance.
“A bowl of water!” she ordered the nearest priest. He grabbed the finger bowl from the table and set it before her. It was small, but it would do. She snarled at another of them. “Come now, a drop of blood. I know you can recognize a simple spell of seeing.”
One of the priests nicked his finger with a dagger and let a few drops fall into the bowl. Shaella’s deft chanting turned the dingy liquid into the distorted image of Lady Mandary.
It came as a relief that it wasn’t Flick, and Shaella couldn’t help but smile at the plump girlish image of the old marsh crone that was looking back at her from the surface of the water.
“My Queen,” Lady Mandary said reverently. “I only disturbed you because there is something you should know.”
“What is it, love?” Shaella asked sweetly enough to put the woman at ease. “I have a bit of a problem here that you might be able to help me with anyway. Tell me what you’ve learned.”
“It’s the High King,” Lady Mandary said with a bit of alarm in her voice. “He is in Westland as we speak. He has been for some time, though my General has no idea why.”
“How many soldiers are with him?” Shaella asked suddenly. How could he have invaded without me hearing of it? It made no sense at all.
“No troops, my Queen. Only a handful of men are with him.”
“Maybe our spell worked after all,” one of the priests said to his fellows.
“Who was that?” Lady Mandary asked with concern. If she was found to be spying for Queen Shaella, even in a roundabout way, she could lose her head. She had a good reason to worry about whose ears might hear her words.
“Just a Borinian priest,” Shaella said. “I assure you, the last thing on his mind is who, or where you are. Is Mikahl after the Princess?”
“The General isn’t sure why he’s there.”
“Tell me, dear,” Queen Shaella said, “who does that glorified squire truly love? We’ve learned that he doesn’t love the Princess just yet.”
“He hardly knows the girl,” Lady Mandary replied. “How could he love her? He loves his friends dearly, and King Jarrek too. No doubt he cares about the boy, Phenilous.”
“Wait!” Shaella snapped so loudly that the priests, as well as her spy, jumped from the sharpness of her words. “Oh, Mandary,” Queen Shaella giggled. “I think you’ve helped me more than you’ll ever know. You’ll reach me again if you hear anything else, won’t you?”
Shaella didn’t even wait for a reply before tapping the bowl of bloody water, causing a ring of ripples to evaporate the image on its surface.
“So you require a component that is a piece of someone he loves?” Shaella asked the priests with a smile on her beautiful scarred face.
“Yes, yes, Queen Shaella, we do.”
“And once this piece of that person is taken from them, it no longer lives. Is this correct?” The priests glanced at each other for reassurance, but finding no flaw in her reasoning, they nodded.
“Then this piece of someone the High King loves doesn’t have to come from a living body, does it?”
“There is nothing in the wording of the spell that requires the piece to come from someone alive,” one of the priests answered. “We are primarily necromancers. Most of our spells deal with the dead.”
“I think it’s time for me to designate a royal gravedigger,” Queen Shaella gave a haughty laugh. “For everyone who has heard Mikahl’s tale knows that there is no one he loved greater than his father. We will just have to dig up old King Balton’s corpse and take a piece of him.”
“And another piece of the Princess, Queen Shaella,” one of the priests reminded eagerly.