Mikahl woke to a grave faced Master Sholt. The High King had slept for two whole days. Sholt stubbornly wouldn’t tell him what had him looking so somber until after Mikahl bathed, put on fresh clothes, and ate a healthy meal. Only then did the Xwardian wizard explain what he’d found.
“Turned to stone,” Sholt said. “A fine white marble like substance anyway? He had an elven ring of invisibility on when he was transformed, or petrified, however you want to classify it. It won’t come off without breaking the finger off with it. Without a spell, or a handful of flour, you can’t even see him.” Sholt rubbed his eyes with a thumb and a forefinger then sighed heavily. He was exhausted. Casting the spell required to see Phen while examining him, had drained him.
Mikahl put down his goblet. His eyes were filled with sadness. “That’s terrible,” he mumbled. “It won’t be easy breaking the news to Master Oarly.” He looked at the ceiling. “Isn’t there a way to break the spell?”
“Before I answer, Your Highness, there’s more.” Master Sholt stood and walked to the large window of the small private dining room. “It seems that Talon, Sir Hyden Hawk’s familiar, was guarding over Phen when it happened. The bird is in the same condition as the boy.”
“Talon,” Mikahl growled and stood abruptly up from the table. His sadness slowly morphed into an angry simmer. “Can’t you do anything? Can Master Amill? What will it take?”
Sholt held up a hand, trying to politely stall the High King’s emotion. “I don’t know yet,” he said honestly. “There may be ways to undo what’s been done, but I must study the situation. I don’t want to exaggerate the sliver of hope I hold. When I say sliver, I mean parchment thin, Your Highness.”
“Aye,” Mikahl sighed. Over the last few years he had lost more friends than he could count on his hands. With Hyden gone, and Phen and Talon possibly dead as well, he didn’t think that he could feel any more sorrow than he already did. “You have my leave to do anything and everything necessary to revive them, Master Wizard. Spare nothing,” Mikahl said sternly. It was all he could do.
“Rest assured, I will do all I can,” Sholt promised.
A long hour later, after a trip to the guard barracks where he’d often trained in his youth, Mikahl was wearing a heavy hauberk over his clean shirt, and flying east on the bright horse. He was going to join Oarly, and King Jarrek. He had no idea how far south they had gotten while he slept, so he flew over the marshes, hoping to find them close to O’Dakahn. As he passed over some of the deepest swamp he’d ever seen, he noticed a flurry of activity below. A large group of creatures was moving through the overgrown terrain with a purpose. He circled lower and made a few passes. He scared up a small flock of the big long-beaked dactyls, but saw nothing like what he thought he’d seen. A few large gekas and a pair of zard-men rooting around in an area that was infested with snappers was all. They were probably hunting. As he winged the magical pegasus back on a southerly course, he wondered why he’d thought he’d seen so many things moving. Tired eyes he told himself.
When the marshlands were behind him, and he was over Dakahn, he flew south, pushing the bright horse’s pace to its limits. He experimentally took some sharp turns and other evasive maneuvers. He’d seen how agile the dragon was in flight and wanted to mimic that grace. If he met Flick again in the air, he wanted to know what his own capabilities were. After only a few attempts to move as the dragon had, he knew that there was no way to out fly the wyrm. With its long tail to balance it, it could spin and stop, or twist in midair, right out of a streaking dive. With its elongated neck it could fly in one direction and attack with its acidy breath in another.
The one thing Mikahl knew for certain was that he did not want to be anywhere below the dragon. He knew he would have to be more than lucky to win a battle with a creature like that. He hoped it didn’t come down to an aerial confrontation, but he was pretty sure that it would. How else could he keep the wyrm off of the troops? Maybe one of the breed giants would get lucky and pull the nasty black bastard out of the sky.
Breed giants! Mikahl shook his head in angry wonder. The breed acted controlled, almost civil, while he and Jarrek were speaking. They weren’t the savage animalistic beasts he remembered from Coldfrost. Mikahl wondered what sort of an arrangement Jarrek had made with them. The way Lord Gregory passed the subject on to the old Red Wolf made Mikahl wonder. He trusted Lord Gregory and King Jarrek explicitly, though, so he decided to let that concern wait until another day.
Mikahl wondered what King Aldar would say about the situation. He knew that the true full-blooded giants hated the breed. He found that he didn’t relish his role as High King of the realm. There was far too much to worry about, too many responsibilities and decisions to weigh. His old horse, Windfoot, a good long bow, and a camp in the Reyhall Forest, or the Northwood, sounded far better. No battles, no dragons or demons, no slaves or skeeks, just a good old fashioned hunt for a boar or a stag. He could almost smell the pine needles and feel the soft earth under his boots.
His reverie was broken by the sight of not only Jarrek’s small group and the tattered Red Wolf banner they still carried, but another far larger force flying the rising sun of Seaward, the Blacksword of Highwander, as well as the red and yellow checkered Valleyan shield. From his vantage point in the sky he could see the dark smear to the south that was O’Dakahn. It was a huge metropolis, larger than Xwarda, Southport, and Dreen combined. The size of the encampments of soldiers below paled in comparison, and suddenly Mikahl didn’t feel so confident with their plan. Pael had failed to take Xwarda with an army that was twice as big, with soldiers that couldn’t die. He decided that, as soon as he landed, all the commanders and wizards, all of the kings, and queens as well, needed to be gathered. If he had no choice other than to be the High King of the realm, then at least he was going to try and be a good one.
Mikahl was glad to learn that the group of soldiers he’d been looking at was only two thirds of the force they were about to bring to bear on O’Dakahn. Other troops were still marching wide around the city to take up a position at O’Dakahn’s southern gate, nearer to the busy port.
According to the maps of the city that were laid out in Commander Escott’s war pavilion, the wall around O’Dakahn had only three gates set in it. One opened onto the docks and warehouses of Port Dakahn. King Granitheart and Master Amill were already leading a large division of men and dwarves that way. The northwestern gate opened onto the road that ran up the east bank of the Leif Greyn River to Seareach and into Wildermont. It was the biggest of the three portals, and King Jarrek quickly asserted that he and General Diamondeen would be leading the force that took up position there. Everyone agreed.
Commander Escott was assigned the northeastern gate that opened onto the road that ran to the crossing bridges of Lokahna and Oktin. One of the Highwander apprentices was to go with him, and the other with King Jarrek to replace Master Sholt, leaving Mikahl free to defend against the dragon, or anything else that might come at them from the sky. Each of the northern groups had a breed giant with a rope hauler. There were only two of the bulky crossbows left. Bzorch chose to go with King Jarrek to the northwestern gate. It was the gate nearest King Ra’Gren’s palace, which sat inside another set of walls. If the wizard was aiding Ra’Gren, Bzorch assured them, the dragon would most likely be defending that area.
Later that evening, before the main force split, they were all lingering around one of the bigger fires near the command pavilion. Many of the captains and sergeants were crowded around, seeking favor from their commanders, and trying to set their eyes on the High King. Mikahl’s battle with the demon-wizard Pael was the stuff of legends.
Suddenly, Bzorch stood up and drew everyone’s attention to himself with a loud primal roar. He let it be known to all that he had sworn to kill the dragon that had destroyed his kin. He warned soldiers and commanders alike, and even the wizards and kings, to give him much room if the dragon showed itself. Then, to everyone’s surprise, he and the three other breed all took a knee before High King Mikahl and bowed. Mikahl looked quickly at King Jarrek for answers. Jarrek cringed and backed out of the firelight as Bzorch began to speak.
“We might only be four, King,” the alpha breed beast said slowly and with deep conviction, “but we are willing to die to earn the right to control the crossing. Coldfrost is a painful memory that we will never forget it, but it is a memory nonetheless.”
Mikahl wasn’t sure what crossing Bzorch was talking about. Locar? Surely not Oktin, or Lokahna. He looked for King Jarrek again, but didn’t see him anywhere. He didn’t want to disrespect the breed giants’ show of fealty, and he absolutely didn’t want to dishonor the wild looking half-blood that had saved him from the Choska’s claws. Mikahl wasn’t sure how to react, so he gave them a deep nod of respect and did his best imitation of King Balton.
“I pray you get the chance to slay the dragon, mighty Bzorch. It has killed far too many. As for Coldfrost, I had no part in the battle there, other than as squire to my father and king. King Balton’s reign over Westland has ended. Mine is about to begin. None of us who were there can forget, but we can stand together and start anew.”
“One king, one kingdom!” someone yelled from beyond the fire’s light.
“One king, one kingdom,” another repeated loudly. Others took up the chant as well, including King Jarrek, and many of the dwarves.
It was in that spirit of unified purpose that the forces marched away the next morning toward their positions outside the city gates of O’Dakahn.
The few Dakaneese people who hadn’t sought safety inside the city’s walls were escorted away from the massive dwellings and shops that had been built against the protective barrier. It took most of a day to get them clear. Hundreds of stubborn families were displaced and sent north out of harm’s way. The besieged Dakaneese inside the walls didn’t waste any time taking action. During that first night they doused the structures with oil and set them to burning. They had no intention of letting the Eastern armies use them to build on, or the wood to build siege engines.
Lord Gregory’s planning counted on them doing this. They weren’t planning on building siege engines, other than for the sake of show. They would sit there, outside the city, and wait for the rest of the reinforcements Queen Willa and Queen Rachel had dispatched to arrive, while the dwarves dug a huge collapsible cavity under a single section of the imposing wall. The charred and smoldering structures outside the barrier gave the dwarves excellent cover when they crept in close and started to dig.
According to Oarly, the wall’s size and weight would bring it down. All that was needed was a large well placed gap under the foundation, and a little push. Oarly took his sappers away from the gate in search of a favorable area to collapse. Other crews of dwarven diggers were spaced around the barrier, each trying to bore a passage under the wall that might allow a small human force to gain entry. If they got through, the sheer number of people that lived in O’Dakahn would make it easy to blend in. If a small group of men could manage to get one of the gates open from the inside, then the eastern armies could just swarm in and go to work. Still, Oarly and many of the other dwarves agreed, collapsing an area of wall to make their own gate would be much more effective.
A day’s march due west from O’Dakahn, on the bank of the Leif Greyn River, sits the marshland village called Nahka. For several days, the zard and their gekas used the powerful current of the Leif Greyn’s main channel to carry them from the marshes. Larger dactyls carried roped bundles of weapons and supplies, while flying in small unnoticeable flocks. The snappers that resided in the marshes didn’t bother with the zard, and only one geka met its end during the crossing. By the time O’Dakahn was ringed with the fires of the structures burning outside the city’s wall, fifteen thousand zard-men had gathered along the river.
Flick, on the back of his dragon, flew high overhead during the night. He had rallied the zard with the telling of how sneaky King Mikahl murdered Queen Shaella in cold blood. The zard loved and respected the Dragon Queen. She had armed them and trained them and led them out of the swampy muck that the Westlanders had spent centuries driving them into.
Flick reminded them of all she had done, and incited their desire for vengeance. It wasn’t that hard to get them riled and moving, not with Vrot sitting proudly beneath him. Now he was studying the forces that had besieged Ra’Gren’s massive cesspool. Flick wanted them to attack outside the northwestern gate first. He had seen the ragged Red Wolf banner of King Jarrek fluttering among those soldiers earlier. His instincts told him to move on the southern gate first, though. The zard were extraordinarily silent swimmers and the forces that were gathering there wouldn’t be expecting an attack from the bay. The zard could slither through the water carrying weapons and creep up on the men before they established position.
Confident that he was making the right choice, Flick turned Vrot northward. The Dakaneese pirate ship that the sell-swords had taken over was speeding south to warn Jarrek and the High King of the zard movement. His zard had been watching the ship for days from the lake that now stood over Seareach. It baffled Flick how a king without a kingdom, with no coin chests, could buy up Ra’Gren’s well paid sell-swords. Maybe the High King had promised them land and titles in his make believe realm. Flick couldn’t imagine any real Dakaneese mercenary not demanding payment, at least partial payment, up front. It didn’t matter, Flick decided. The traitorous bastards were about to be snapper food. He brought Vrot down out of the sky in a streaking dive then leveled the dragon a few dozen feet over the river’s surface. Ahead, the boat could be seen riding the current swiftly southward.
Maxrell Tyne opened his mouth and screamed out a warning as he took a leaping stride and dove from his ship. Grommen looked up into a searing splash of corrosive breath. For long moments after the top half of his body was eaten away, his legs and lower torso stood frozen in place. The other men were either directly covered, or splattered and sprayed with the acidy liquid. The Shark’s Tooth was eaten through and sinking before the dragon’s tail had swept past it.
The pieces of the crewmen that weren’t eroded to a pasty liquid were quickly gulped down by hungry snappers. And those that were whole swam desperately, trying to get out of the water as quickly as they could.
As Flick brought Vrot around in a hard banking arc, his blood was alive with glee. A few snappers were now floating dead. The acid residue from the human flesh had eaten through their innards and killed them almost as quickly as it had killed the men. Flick shivered at the sight. His body was full of anticipation and the lust for vengeance. He couldn’t wait to destroy the High King and the eastern armies so that he could claim his place as the new king of the realm.
The Dragon King.