After a night of heavy lightning and pouring rain, King Jarrek, General Diamondeen, and High King Mikahl, with the help of Master Oarly and Master Sholt, trudged through the gore and rounded up the survivors of the black dragon’s terrible acid bath. Some six hundred men and four hundred dwarves survived. Those too wounded to continue were carried back to the cavern where others tended their injuries under heavy guard.
The four surviving breed giants kept their distance from the High King and his sword, but the fifth’s eyes never left Mikahl. Bzorch had saved the man’s life, but had nearly taken his face off to do it. He wasn’t sure if he had lost, or gained footing with the deed. He could see that only an angry red scar remained where his huge bolt had sliced the High King’s flesh, but that was only one of the terrible wounds that the seemingly indestructible young man had taken. The power of Pavreal’s blade was staggering. It regenerated new flesh over the High King’s open wounds, and the wounds of several others. It didn’t seem to have replaced some of the stuff that had been eaten away inside, but the corroded pocks closed over and ceased to bleed. To Bzorch, seeing this was miraculous. He had never seen magic used for good. For the first time, he saw King Balton’s infamous blade in a different light. He decided that he would try to speak to King Jarrek privately soon, so that he could find out where he stood. Until then, he and his kind kept their distance.
Mikahl informed King Jarrek of the Dakaneese soldiers he’d harried to the southeast of their position. Jarrek decided that his numbers had dwindled just a little too far to face them. He handpicked a hundred men and had the dwarven general do the same. He then ordered the rest of the men to retreat to Low Crossing through the dwarves’ tunnel. He told them to set traps as they went, and seal the passage for good once everyone was safely back in Wildermont. He and the men he had chosen were going to try and speed south along the river, avoiding the other force altogether. If they made it clear, his intention was for them to converge with the larger force of Willa’s Blacksword, and King Granitheart’s dwarves. From there they would methodically put O’Dakahn under siege.
King Mikahl, still burning and itching from the deep destructive wounds he had taken, approved of the plan. Though Ironspike had somewhat healed his flesh, his left forearm and hand were ruined. He could barely grip a cup, and the length of limb from elbow to wrist looked more like a stick than anything human. Other than that, his shoulders had several deep pocks corroded into them, and they were itching terribly. He could scratch the ones on the left side, but reaching the ones on his right hurt his left arm so badly that he had to suffer the irritation.
He was well enough to give Jarrek and the dwarves protection from the back of the bright horse, though. When he was sure that they were clear, he was going to carry Master Sholt to Lakeside Castle so that he could aid the Westlanders and establish communication with Lord Gregory.
Just before they started south, Master Sholt informed them that Queen Rachel had organized a flotilla of Seaward ships. They were already en route to take up positions along the Dakaneese coast to prevent Ra’Gren from receiving supplies and fortifications that way. It would take some time to get them into position, but already five thousand more soldiers had left Ultura and were marching toward Lokahna.
With Master Sholt riding nervously on the bright horse behind him, Mikahl conversed with Lord Gregory. The Lion Lord didn’t tell Mikahl of General Spyra’s mad charge, or the demon’s destructive passage through Dreen. He rightly figured that just having knowledge of those events would distract Mikahl from what he was about. Mikahl asked the Lion Lord to explain the breed giants’ involvement in all of this, but Lord Gregory quite bluntly told him to ask King Jarrek.
Mikahl contemplated the fact that Bzorch had saved his life, but still it was hard not to hate the breed. When he was King Balton’s squire they had come out of the northern mountains and regularly attacked Westlander innocents. He had been at Coldfrost, and though he was never allowed to raise his blade against them, he saw many a man meet a gruesome end there. He remembered clearly watching Bzorch from across the icy flow through the glassine shield King Balton had created. He remembered wondering what so many huge beasts would eat on the small glacial island prison.
He knew now.
They had eaten each other.
He had never really understood the happenings at Coldfrost. His friend King Aldar, the ruler of the true giants did, though, and since he had a message to deliver to his friend Borg, he decided that when this was through he might pay them a visit. Thoughts of the starved giant he and Hyden had found in the dungeon, and the venomous wound Hyden Hawk had taken there, saddened him. Mikahl’s heart grew hollow for a time.
His mood lightened when he flew low enough over Jarrek’s group to see the dwarves flailing in the saddles of the horses they were riding. Their stumpy legs weren’t long enough to actually straddle the big Valleyan destriers. If the horses hadn’t been so well trained it would have been a fiasco. Even with the big steeds compensating to balance the squat little men on their backs, a few of the dwarves hit the ground tumbling. Luckily none of them were seriously injured, and even with the occasional delay of waiting on a dwarf to dust himself off and remount, the small group managed to get beyond the reach of the Dakaneese troop that was marching to Seareach.
Mikahl was thankful that they were safe. He was fighting exhaustion. If he fell asleep, he was certain that the ground would be the last thing that ever passed through his mind. He couldn’t remember when he last slept. Not since he was trapped and put under the red priests spell could he remember even resting.
Before he and Master Sholt peeled off for Westland, Oarly rode up under them and waved them down.
“I know you’re the High King and all,” the dwarf said, choosing his words carefully. “Young Phen is my friend, as was Sir Hyden Hawk Skyler. I know that Hyden’s soul will rest easier if Phen is located.” Oarly picked at the knee of his pants for a minute, letting his emotions cool. “The lad is a hero in my book.”
“I looked and looked for him, Master Oarly,” Mikahl told him. “I swear I’ll put Master Sholt, and any other I can, to the task of finding him.”
“Aye,” Oarly conceded, seeing the sadness and fatigue on the High King’s newly scarred face. “If I could get there, I’d search the fool boy out myself,” he added before urging his horse away.
“On my honor, I’ll do my best to find him,” Master Sholt called after him.
“Tell King Jarrek that I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Mikahl yelled as the bright horse lifted them away.
Mikahl took them north to check on the progress of the men and dwarves that had been sent back through the tunnels at Alliak. On the way, they passed over the body-strewn field around the buildings where Flick had trapped King Jarrek’s force. Some of the Dakaneese were arriving and milling about the carnage aimlessly. Another group of them were huddled around the big Choska’s carcass. Mikahl’s lightning bolt had pretty much cooked its insides and then the dwarves had swarmed over it and finished it off.
A small group of Dakaneese looked to be following the trail of the men bound for the tunnels. Mikahl, with Master Sholt gripping him more tightly than the tiny girl had, dived on them. He sent them scattering with a pair of hot crackling lightning bolts. Master Sholt relaxed a little bit and sent a few fiery blasts of his own down among them. After a second pass, the pursuit stalled and the remaining men began skulking back to their commanders.
Apparently Jarrek’s men, and the dwarves, had already gone into the tunnels. Mikahl didn’t see any of them out around the opening. He took this as a good sign and wheeled away to the west.
The sun was setting into the ocean when they came down out of the clouds over Lakeside Castle. Mikahl noticed that an attempt to clean the garden yard had been made. As he landed his magical pegasus on the balcony of the Royal Apartments, the half dozen people milling around the bedchamber screamed in startled fear. When they saw who the rider was they quickly recovered, but stayed away nonetheless. Master Sholt found a divan and collapsed into it. He leapt back up with a yelp when his arse hit something solid and invisible that was already lying there. He was too sore and worn from the long ride to worry about what it was, and he quickly found another place to rest.
Lady Able straightened the hem of her apron and smiled broadly at Mikahl. She ushered him to the side of the great bed and called for food and refreshments to be brought. Mikahl managed to introduce Master Sholt, and then listened as Lady Able proudly told him the reasonably stable state of things at Lakeside Castle. Mikahl only heard about half of it, and when she was done, he conveyed that the Highwander master wizard he had brought with him was at her service. After that he lay back in the soft feather bed and fell into a deep, much needed slumber.
Lady Able eyed Master Sholt suspiciously. She wasn’t sure what to think of Willa the Witch Queen’s master wizard. He and the High King both had burn scars about their neck and shoulders, and holes worn all through their dingy clothes. She wondered if she should find Master Sholt some frogs to eat to be hospitable. He looked to be as worn and weary as the High King was. Already he was snoring softly where he sat. Rest is what these men needed, she decided, and she left them to go find some clean garments for them to wear when they woke.
Flick sat at King Ra’Gren’s table. He had been busy flying along the western bank of the Leif Green River from one Settsted outpost to the next, rousting the zard and the marsh beasts, and giving them orders. He had returned to Ra’Gren’s palace to enlighten the man of his new plans.
The two of them were alone, but the table held enough food for twenty. Huge game birds, both fried and baked, several types of fish, and edible crustaceans, along with a good sized honey-glazed piglet were among the many different dishes laid out before Ra’Gren and his sole guest.
The King of Dakahn could afford such opulence a thousand times over, Flick knew. After Pael had leveled Castlemont he’d ordered King Glendar to load the gold and jewels they pulled from the wreckage onto wagons and haul them to O’Dakahn with the survivors of King Jarrek’s kingdom. The wagon train of slaves and wealth had been given to Ra’Gren, not only as payment for arming and armoring the zard troops Shaella had used to take Westland, but also to purchase several ships that had eventually sailed, carrying King Glendar and his personal battalions. A strange illness had come over the King’s ship and it was reported that the captains of the other vessels set it afire and sank it so that the affliction died with it.
Flick wasn’t interested in Pael or Glendar, though, he was curious as to what happened to the men from those other two ships. He knew something about them that no one else knew. As he had done with his entire army, Pael had poisoned those men and spelled them to rise again after death. Flick had an idea how to use those few hundred undead, if he could find them.
After hearing how Flick planned to save O’Dakahn from the mass of eastern soldiers that were marching across Dakahn unhindered, Ra’Gren happily sent out orders to seek out and capture the men that Flick was interested in. Ra’Gren knew who captained those ships. Other men on the docks would know who the crews were as well. Some of them would be easily found, and information about the others could be gained from them. It was a small price to pay to have the new, self-proclaimed Dragon King of Westland, and his army of skeeks, crush King Jarrek and Queen Willa’s forces against his walls when they arrived to put him under siege.