just wanted to see and cheer the great young king who had defeated Pael.
In the evenings they went out of their way to avoid the persistent city folk, but it didn’t matter. The crowd came to them. The last time Mikahl had seen this many Valleyans gathered in one place, they had been living corpses, wielding everything from farm implements to two-handed swords, trying to kill him and Queen Willa’s soldiers. Now they were wielding the Valleyan banner, a dark shield on a red and yellow checked background, and they were cheering the very people they had been trying to kill. The Valleyans had been attacking Queen Willa and Highwander even before Pael had come along. It amazed him what a common enemy could do to get folks on the same side.
Besides being accepted by the Valleyan people, the only good thing to come of the attention Mikahl’s arrival was generating was the young, proud, and fully trained destrier that was presented to him that second evening. Thunder was the beautiful animal’s name, and Mikahl graciously accepted the horse. He had a squire get the information of the house that had given him the gift and hand wrote a letter of appreciation.
Thunder had the ill luck of being owned now by Mikahl. Thunder had heavy horseshoes to fill. Mikahl would take excellent care of the creature, but he would also compare the horse’s every action and detail to Windfoot. Mikahl had already vowed to retrieve Windfoot from the Skyler Clan village when he had the time. Thunder would never find a more caring owner, but when Windfoot came home, Thunder would probably spend a lot more time in the stable than he was used to. Windfoot and Mikahl had survived a lot together.
Mikahl was glad to get Kasta behind them. The road to Dreen seemed to be as crowded as the city had been. Many a cart and wagon was passed on the way to the Red City. Swine herds, goat herds, people making the journey on foot as well. Nearly all of them stopped to cheer Mikahl as he and the Blacksword detail rode past. When they finally reached Dreen, an escort of Valleyan cavalry led them from the outskirts of the fringe settlements into the big red clay brick wall that surrounded the capital city itself. Beyond the city, to the north and west, the Wilder Mountains rose up out of the arid plain.
When they approached the wall Mikahl was awestruck, not by its height, but by the amount of space it enclosed. It was said that, on foot, a man might take most of a week to walk the top of the wall all the way around the city. Mikahl didn’t doubt it. The main gates and the sections of wall to either side of them had been newly rebuilt. The fresh clay brick was a lighter shade of pink than the weathered brick around the gates. And the thick wood planks that had been bolted to the old rusty iron bands of the gate itself were still fresh and white. All that could be seen rising above the thirty foot wall were two crenellated towers that were set deep into the city.
When they passed through the gates, Mikahl saw that the wall was half as wide as it was tall. Clanking iron portcullises were being raised on the inside. Once clear of them he found that the Red City was not misnamed. Nearly all of the well-spaced buildings were made of the same clay brick as the outer wall. No building was higher than two stories save for the twin towers, which reached up out of what could only be King Broderick’s modest castle. The streets here were not crowded, and every other building appeared to be empty and abandoned. Most every structure boasted a fenced corral; some held prized Valleyan horse stock, others held sheep or goats. There were a few head of cattle here and there and more than one weary looking bull, but mostly there were horses ranging in the pens. The clay streets were wide and pocked with the hoof prints and cart tracks of the millions of animals that had been driven through over the years. The bulk of High King Mikahl’s host made an encampment near the east gates where they entered the city. King Broderick’s cavalry attachment led the others-King Mikahl, General Spyra, two archery units, and Spyra’s fifty man guard attachment-through the city toward the castle. They had to stop for the night before reaching it, and it was well into the afternoon the next day when they finally came to the unimpressive head-high wall that surrounded Broderick’s abode.
A pair of full-size stallions rearing to fight decorated the ornate double gate. They were a study in detail and craftsmanship. The dark stone they were carved from was veined with blood red and pinkish white. The color went well with all the red clay around them. Mikahl found that he wanted to get out of Thunder’s saddle and examine them closer, but decided against it. General Spyra eased close to him, and as they waited for the gate guards to announce them to the castle, he spoke.
“Notice that the people who live inside the red wall are a little quieter about your arrival?” The General grinned. The sun reflected off of his bald head into Mikahl’s eyes. Mikahl had to squint when he looked back at him.
“Aye. Days of being cheered, then all of a sudden only stares and nods inside the wall. Why?”
“Outside the walls,” the General leaned in close so that he could whisper, “the craven king’s power is thin. They would put you in his seat in a moment, I assure you. But here, inside the walls, Broderick has thousands of ears and a much stronger base of support. He’ll lick your boots, but he’ll do it in private.”
If the capital of Valleya was unimpressive compared to Xwarda or Castlemont (before Pael had destroyed them), then King Broderick was a total letdown. The large, fleshy man was robed in wrinkled layers of golden cloth trimmed in red. His black hair and beard were thick, curly, and unkempt, and the people who were gathered around him at the top of the castle’s entry stair looked about as happy to be there as they would at their own execution.
Mikahl had an urge and followed it. Before the craven king could say a word, he spurred Thunder forward and quickly closed the space between him and the foot of King Broderick’s entry stair. The Valleyan King’s Guard was surprised by the move, but more than one of them stepped up, with hand on hilt, ready, if a little reluctantly, to defend their big sloppy king. Mikahl drew Ironspike and the purplish glow of its blade was clearly visible in the midday sun. The people around Broderick, guardsmen included, instantly shrunk back from him. It was as if they all half-expected Mikahl to take off the man’s head in that instant. King Broderick himself seemed only slightly impressed by Mikahl’s display. Still, he was more than a little nervous as he glanced over at his court announcer and gave a sharp nod. “Thump! Thump! Thump!” sounded the butt of a staff on the sun-baked clay surface. “All hail High King Mikahl Collum, the Blessed Uniter.”
Reluctantly, King Broderick went to a knee. Every person in sight of the scene followed suit, save for one, a slim man who was dressed quite regally and standing in the castle’s entry way behind King Broderick’s retinue. Mikahl’s eyes met his and the man gave a nod of respect, no more, no less. Mikahl smiled and returned the gesture.
At least there’s one here not ready to lick my boots, Mikahl thought, and found that he had more respect for the one in the doorway than anyone else he’d met here so far.
“Rise,” Mikahl commanded with forced authority in his voice. He had to bite back a laugh when he heard General Spyra mumble under his breath, “He might be too fat to get up.”
General Spyra was correct, for two men quickly stepped up on each side of the Valleyan king and helped him to his feet. All around them, the Valleyan people started to cheer. The look on Broderick’s bright red face showed that this wasn’t the introduction he had envisioned, and that he was none too pleased about the situation. The smiles on the faces around the King of Valleya showed Mikahl that it was an introduction they had enjoyed, though. King Broderick had been put in his place swiftly, and publicly, right from the start, and those who’d seen it, especially the curious man in the doorway, had enjoyed it immensely. Mikahl wasn’t really amused, though. In fact, he found that he was disgusted by the way Broderick carried himself.
Chapter Eleven
The boat Dreg loaned Lord Gregory was as small as a watercraft could be and still be considered a boat. It was nothing more than a child’s skiff, with two oar locks, a rudder for steering, and two bench seats. With Lord Gregory and the man Dreg sent to escort him both sitting in it, the boat sat so low in the water that the slightest ripple threatened to wash over the sides.
The deal was fairly simple: Dreg would keep the chunk of gold, the horse, and Lord Gregory’s sword until he returned with or without his wife. If he did indeed return, they would travel to the cavern Lord Gregory said he had wintered in, where he had supposedly found the nonexistent deposit of gold. From there it would be an equal split. Lord Gregory had no choice in the matter that he could see. He hated to give up his sword, but it was only an object. His wife’s well-being was far more important to him than the blade.
Dreg was a snake, a slaver, and an opportunistic thug. There was a time when Lord Gregory would have imposed justice in King Balton’s name, and taken the man’s hands off, or worse. As it was, Dreg had the boats, and
