Commander Lyle was intrigued by what he was hearing about the caged skeletons he was trying to track down.
“They try to talk to you,” a potter on the streets of Seaward City said.
“One of them reached out from the cage and made to touch me,” an old woman told him.
“They’re downright unnatural,” said another.
“Nothing but empty eyes and clacking jaws,” a blacksmith said as he wiped sweat from his face. “It’s probably just a trick with wires.”
If the people of Seaward City hadn’t been so welcoming to the commander and the two dozen men riding with him under the High King’s banner, he might have been angry that the old fisherman had moved on. He found it hard to be upset at anything when the people in the street were treating him and his men like heroes. Bakers passed them fresh bread and pastries as they rode by. A leathersmith even gave Commander Lyle a set of studded gauntlets as they passed.
The city itself was spectacular, with its icy blue marble public buildings and large, wooded parks. The darker gray stone towers at the corners of the block wall that surrounded the city gave it a surreal appearance, for they glowed turquoise in the sunlight. The rooftops looked like poured molten gold. Some of the structures inside the walls were made of whitewashed wood, but they were clean and well kept. Occasionally a magnificent building formed of Jenkata glass blocks stood out from the rest. Queen Rachel’s palace wasn’t as big as Commander Lyle would have thought it to be, but its seven spires were impossibly tall and built of the same powdery blue stone as the city buildings. He was sad, as were his men, when they had to leave the hospitality of Seaward behind. The fisherman had taken his cage to the Highwander city of Weir.
The commander figured that the man was planning on making his way up through the eastern coastal cities. By all accounts he had made at least a keg full of coppers in Seaward City.
Commander Lyle didn’t feel like he had to hurry across Seward, but he did so because his king would wish him to. Weir was big enough to keep the spectacle for at least a week. Even still, as the ferry boat carried the group across the Pixie River into Highwander, he found that he couldn’t wait to see the skeletons.
The ferry wasn’t large enough to carry all of his company across at once, so he posted four men to stand at the boathouse to wait on the next ferry and took ten men with him into the city.
There was no heroes’ welcome in Weir. The procession of armored men riding under the High King’s banner barely merited the attention of the Highwander folk. They weren’t disrespectful; they yielded the way to the commander and his men, but the people were oddly incurious about why they were there.
“It’s a true seaport,” Lyle’s second in command, Sergeant Tolbar, said to him. “They see folk from Westland, Dakahn, and the islands regularly.”
“But we just left Seaward City a few days ago and it’s a massive port,” Lyle argued. “Don’t they see the same people there?”
“It’s on the freshwater side of Ultura Lake. Most sea craft from farther east unload here. The goods then move along the coast and up the Southron River to Seaward City by way of local barges.”
Commander Lyle pondered this as they made their way through the large, dirty city of Weir. The fisherman and his attraction weren’t hard to find, but it wasn’t easy to get up close to the small pavilion tent that had been erected over the wagon cage. Already a crowd of more than a hundred people was gathered in the alley where the man was set up. The distraught woman who told them where to go also said there were three skeletons now, not two. This baffled the commander, as well as Sergeant Tolbar, but didn’t distract them from their duty.
“I think, Sergeant,” the commander said as they sat atop their horses, observing the growing crowd, “I think that we should find the city guard and explain what we’re about. With this many people, things could get messy rather quickly.”
“Yes, sir,” the sergeant replied. “What should I tell them? Will we wait for the rest of our men?”
The commander studied the crowd for a while before answering. “Post four men here before you go. They are not to do anything other than make sure the wagon cage stays put. I’ll find the captain of the guard myself.” He forced a smile through the sudden strange feeling that had come over him. Whether it was the idea of finally seeing the undead creatures, or something else, he felt that something here wasn’t right. “Why don’t you work on finding shelter and food for all of us. Two nights should be sufficient. I don’t want us to be spread out either.”
He spurred his horse around and pointed to a pair of his men, indicating that they should follow him.
“Once you’ve secured a place to put up for the night,” he called over to the sergeant, “set up a rotation for this post. I want to know if this wagon cage moves so much as a finger’s breadth.”
Lord Spyra looked at the list of names in his hand. There were only seven. Worse was the fact that the two lumberjacks who should be dead, but weren’t, were losing the ability to speak. It was hard enough dealing with the stench of them. The one whose ribcage had been crushed was virtually a skeleton now. The other wasn’t far from it. The last words he had spoken were something to the effect of, “Kill me.” The other had nodded his maggot-ridden head.
Only two of the men on the list were supposedly in Northern Westland. Another was last known to be in the city of Curve on Salaphel Island working another lumber tract. The rest had joined Dakaneese mercenary companies, or pirate crews, before the recent war and hadn’t been seen since.
Already Spyra had sent men after the two in the north. He was in Southport, and Curve was only a day and a half away. He was going there himself. Since Salaphel was under Westland jurisdiction, he didn’t feel the need to take a military detachment with him, but he did bring a pair of his liege men to aid him if they were forced to give chase.
The superintendent at the Salaphel lumber tract welcomed Lord Spyra into a big log structure and generously offered his table to him and his men. Spyra indicated for his men to sit and did so himself. The table was long enough to seat forty men, and the torchlit room was open. The high, log-raftered ceiling was spacious but heavy with pitch smoke from the torches on the walls. No one knew why Spyra was there, so there was no need for posturing or trying to conceal his motives. The poor superintendent was clearly worried that he had done something wrong, or maybe he thought one of his men was guilty of a crime. Often the men wanted by one city guard or another for illegal acts ended up working the mills. Rarely did a lord come to visit, and never for social reasons. Lord Ellrich used to frequent the islands in the spring to enjoy the abundance of grottel that were rousted out of their forest nests as the undergrowth was cleared out before harvest. The huge lord could eat a dozen of them in a single sitting. The superintendent was hoping that a table full of the fat, meaty creatures would keep him in Lord Spyra’s good graces.
“Sir,” Spyra said, trying to use a comforting tone. “Could you invite a certain worker of yours to dinner?”
“They come and go, my lord,” the superintendent said guardedly. “Is this man in some sort of trouble?”
“Not in the way you might think. He has committed no crime. As a matter of fact, I would just like to ask him a few questions.”
“Give me his name, my lord, and I will make sure he is at the table this eve.” The superintendent scratched his chin curiously. “You’re sure he's not a wanted man?”
“No,” Spyra answered. “Believe me, after the man hears what I have to say, he will be thankful I spoke with him.”
The superintendent became a little nervous after Spyra gave him the name, but he repeated it to an assistant and told him which foreman the man worked under before sending him off to fetch him. Spyra sent his two men with the superintendent’s assistant just as a precaution. The superintendent disappeared into the kitchen and conferred with his cooks about the night’s meal, then returned and took a seat across from Lord Spyra.
“Can you tell me what this is about?” the superintendent asked.
Spyra saw no harm in telling the man, even though he felt foolish speaking of such things as wizards, spells, and living dead men.
“Some Westland men, who were fighting under King Glendar, sailed out of O’Dakahn. For whatever reason, they’ve become scattered about the realm. No doubt they believe themselves to be thought of as Westland deserters.” Spyra saw the superintendent swallow hard and wondered why the man was getting so worried. “Those men actually did the right thing by deserting Glendar. High King Mikahl wishes to thank them.”
“So they’re not in trouble, these men?”
“Not at all.” Spyra felt that he might just have found more than he’d hoped to. “In fact, the High King has declared that all they have to do is swear fealty to him to be fully absolved of the deed, but…”
“I knew there was a ‘but’. There’s always more to it,” the superintendent said. “What more is there? A penance for the Crown of a year’s labor, or a hefty fine to fatten the coffers?”
“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” Lord Spyra snapped. He was a big, formidable man who had spent his whole life in the Highwander military. He wasn’t used to being questioned, and frankly didn’t like it very much. He took a few moments and tried to remember the fact that he was a lord now and not a general. “Let me finish next time, before you go running off at the mouth, man.” He pierced the superintendent with his eyes and went on. “Those men were bespelled. All of them. The men on those ships with Glendar won’t die, even when they should.” Spyra stood and started pacing with his hands clasped behind his back. The idea of the undead, and the man before him, had him on the verge of anger. “Those who still have a beating heart can be saved from the horrible fate that awaits them. Many of them have already met a terrible end.”
“My lord.” The superintendent’s relief was palpable. “I apologize for interrupting you. We have seen the effects you speak of out here. Several, perhaps thirty, of our men were on those ships. There were more, but we had to burn them after they started rotting away. Only after their bones were charred to ash did they stay dead.”
“Well then, we have just made a great step to fulfilling the High King’s orders,” Lord Spyra said with a smile that showed he was holding no ill will, and that his irritation had passed. “I was ordered to question these men and compile a list of all who were on those ships. I have to find out who was burned and who else is missing, but a wizard named Sholt will come and do whatever it is he does to remove the enchantment Pael put on them. They can kneel to me and say the words of fealty to King Mikahl after dinner. That will make them free men again.”
“That will be good for them, my lord,” the superintendent said, “but I will lose more than a few of them when they learn that they are free to go home and such.” He stood and wiped his brow. “It’s good to know we wasn’t in the wrong by burning those that wouldn’t stay dead either.” He looked up, his eyes focusing on something far beyond the roof of the cabin. “It wasn’t easy.”
It took Spyra a moment to realize that the man was praying. He waited until the prayer was done before offering a suggestion.
“Why don’t you have them all rounded up after dinner. Tell them what it’s all about. I have to ask them who else was on those ships and then go track those men down.”
Later that evening, thirty-two men were absolved of their desertion. By morning, Lord Spyra’s list had grown to more than a hundred names, only eighteen of whom were known to be dead. His next stop was going to be a little trickier. More than half the men on the new list were working out of the New Westland settlement on the Isle of Salazar, where those lords and merchants who had escaped the Dragon Queen had settled. Most of them were working aboard ships. Finding them all wasn’t going to be easy.
Spyra decided that he had to go back to Southport and take a ship to Salazar from there. For this trek he would need at least a handful of men. Salazar wasn’t part of Westland, or even under the rule of High King Mikahl. Finding cooperation there wasn’t guaranteed.
He wanted to go back to Southport anyway. He figured he should at least grant the two skeletons being held there their last wishes. He didn’t relish the idea of it, but once that was done he would separate their skulls and end them.
With an anguished wail and a torrent of tears, Queen Rosa said goodbye to Phen and the others. They were standing in the starlit courtyard outside the red brick castle. The queen was only emotional over Phen, though. It amazed King Mikahl how much she cared for the boy. The small comfort he gave her while she was a prisoner of the Dragon Queen had bonded them for life.
Lady Trella wasn’t much better with her goodbyes. She didn’t wail and moan, but she wouldn’t let go of Lord Gregory for a long time.
“I’m only going to be gone for a few weeks, my love,” he told her.
“You told me that once before and I spent an entire year thinking you were dead.”
“Aye.” He squeezed her closer to him. “That won’t happen again. If it wasn’t for the Skyler Clan, I would never have been able to come and find you, though. I owe them a great deal.” He kissed her lips. “You’re welcome to come along.”
“No, Rosa needs me to help her prepare for Westland, and there are huge lists of things that she has to handle when she gets there. She doesn’t know our customs. Besides that, the skeeks destroyed Lake Bottom, and I’m sure Lady Able needs help at Lakeside.”
“I’ll be back soon, my love,” he told her again. “There and back again, I swear it. I’ll only stay for a few days.”
“What is this? No tears or hugs or kisses for me?” Oarly asked the High King with a smirk on his face.
“Master Oarly, I promise you that when you return from this adventure you will be awarded land, title, and a healthy chest for all you’ve given up for this realm.” Mikahl grinned broadly. “But if you want a kiss, you’d better find it elsewhere.”
“I’d rather kiss your horse than you, King Mikahl. But I’d rather kiss a bottle of brandy than either of you.”
Lady Telgra hugged Queen Rosa, then Lady Trella in turn. Her eyes seemed to glow in the predawn darkness. They were full of excitement and sadness, and more than a little uncertainty.
Jicks said goodbye to his mother. His father had died last year when Pael and Glendar sacked Castlemont. The High King shook his hand, which was no small thing to a common soldier. Mikahl went on to assure him that his mother would be well cared for while they were gone.
One of the archers was saying goodbye to a girl who was as loud as Queen Rosa. It was clear that she didn’t want to see her man go.
The other archer was a loner, like Lieutenant Welch. The two of them stood watching over the scene.
From somewhere in the darkness, the order to load up was called. A few moments later three overcrowded wagons, pulled by four horses each, rolled out of Dreen’s north gate. They were headed toward adventure.