Balton had imprisoned them on the Island of Coldfrost. Now, though, he had access to recent maps that showed the kingdoms to the east, and the many islands that littered the southern coast. Bzorch’s one simple idea of finding Ironspike’s owner and giving him to his queen had evolved into a plan that was almost the complete opposite of his original intent. Already Graven had identified the banners of Highwander, Valleya, and Wildermont amidst the growing number of men gathering across the river. Bzorch had seen for himself from atop one of his watchtowers, through his sailor’s looking glass, the green and gold lion of Westland flying atop a stronghold’s tower over there.
He wasn’t sure what to do, but he wanted to hold Locar for him and his people. Of that he was certain. But he was growing less and less attached to the idea of fighting for Queen Shaella with each passing day. It was with this in mind that he started building the timber wall around his city. He was also having a great trench dug just inside the barrier. He wanted to be able to fill the trench with diverted water from the river if an attack came. The whole defensive plan was already underway. Now he was contemplating parleying with the humans across the river. Their might was beginning to show itself, and he was quite sure that thousands upon thousands more men from the east would eventually be brought to bear against Shaella. He would rather bargain for Locar and an allegiance, maybe even aid an attack on Westland, but only if Locar remained under breed giant control. Such was the reasoning that had him brooding on his throne.
“I want you to find a man,” Bzorch said after long deliberation. “A native Westlander, whose loyalty to us can be trusted.” He paused again, searching for someone to use as an example. “Farlanod, the logger we’ve made rich, or one of his braver men, someone like that. I will prepare a written message for whoever you choose. You’ll escort this person across the river into Castlemont. I want the message to reach the High King, or the at least the Red Wolf, if he is truly alive.”
“What will the message say?” Graven asked.
“I think the contents of the message…” Bzorch started with an angry look down at his spy’s questioning. “This will determine the future of our people. I’m not sure yet of the wording. You need not concern yourself, Graven. Your safe return will be guaranteed. One thing that I’ve learned about humans who call themselves noble is that they are mostly honorable. Killing a messenger, and his escort, goes against everything they believe.”
Graven didn’t believe it, but after the look he was given, he didn’t dare argue.
For a full day after they found Hyden sitting in a daze along the rocky shore of the island, the crew of the Seawande r scoured the area, looking for a sign of Phen. It was as if he had vanished. The only conclusion was that he could have drowned, unless he was still on the zard ship headed for Westland. Captain Trant ordered the men aboard and set sail for Salazar’s great port of Sala. There he would commandeer a ship to come retrieve the vast fortune they’d found on the island, and begin using the procedes to finance King Jarrek and the High King.
There was no doubt that Hyden was now planning to go off into Westland to find Phen and get back the artifact he needed. He now was of the belief that Phen had been taken onto the zard ship. From Sala he could find passage on a cargo vessel to Westland easily enough. As much as any of them hated to admit it, that was all they could do. Despite the great discovery of Cobalt’s hoard and all the freedom its value might purchase, a dark cloud of defeat hung over the Seawander as it worked its way out to sea.
Only Oarly seemed interested in what Phen said when Flick was taking him away. Instead of locking himself in his cabin, or the latrine, the dwarf locked himself in the Captain’s cabin. With careful attention to subtle detail, he began going over the work Phen had done translating Loak’s journal. Oarly was certain that there was something there Phen wanted them to see, something that had been ‘invisible to them.’
Chapter Thirty
“Someone once said that a dragon could lay waste to all of Salaya with a single breath,” Prince Raspaar said with a chuckle. The island was small, but it boasted a sizable city at one of its two approachable ports. Being that it was nothing more than the tip of a mountain jutting up out of the sea, it was completely surrounded by rocky shoreline. There was no need for defensive walls or archer towers here. Only the lower portion of the island could support roads, and Salaya was surrounded by wicked coral reefs that would shred the hull of a ship unless navigated correctly.
King Raphaen’s immaculate, yet modest, two-story home was far from being a castle. It was built on the crown of a hill overlooking the city that shared the island’s name. Save for a somewhat famous garden at the top of the mountain, the terrain above couldn’t sustain effective farming. The rocky mountainsides barely held enough greenery to feed the goat herds. The few sections of the island that did allow for agriculture were devoted to growing a rare herb that was in high demand throughout the realm. There were jade mines here too, but the entrances were hidden.
A great counter-weighted tram that clanked up and down the mountainside on a set of iron tracks was powered by two huge oxen walking in a circle around a spool of chain. The contraption lumbered up and down, carrying people, goods, and small animals in cages. The whole time he had been in it, Mikahl half expected it to go sliding back down the mountain into the city below.
“It is a small island,” Lord Gregory agreed with the Prince.
“But it’s beautiful.” Lady Trella’s elation was palpable as she nestled against her husband.
“You’re too kind, my lady,” the young prince of the island kingdom said with a smooth regal bow that caused Lady Trella to giggle.
They exited the tram and stood at an ornate wooden rail that surrounded a well-tended garden. It seemed as if they were riding on the bow of some colossal ship. From their vantage they could see the ocean in every direction save for behind them. There was a monastery somewhere below, and the monks who resided there tended the place called the Fairy Garden. The board walkway they were on wound its way around the bowl-shaped mountaintop. Clouds of white and sea-blue flowers, and ornately trimmed shrubbery surrounded small copses of perfectly formed miniature trees that were barely chest high to the High King.
The only tree able to sink its roots here, the fairy tree, was like any other tree, save for the fact that, at its full height, it would be barely as tall as a man. Bright green leaves the size of fingernails covered the branches. Looking at them, Mikahl remembered the little man dressed in frog skin that had tricked him, Hyden, and Vaegon in the Evermore. He half expected to see a handful of the little people walking around the miniature forest.
“Dugak and Master Oarly would feel like giants in that wood,” Mikahl observed.
“Who?” Lord Gregory asked. Mikahl smiled at his old friend. “Dwarves from Xwarda that I know.” Lord Gregory actually heard the answer, which surprised Mikahl. The Lion Lord’s head had been in the clouds since he’d found his lady wife.
“You’ve met dwarves?” Lady Trella asked curiously. Prince Raspaar seemed interested in Mikahl‘s story now, as well.
Lord Gregory slipped behind his wife and put his arms around her gently. He breathed deeply the scent of her hair, seemingly uninterested in anything Mikahl had to say.
“Aye, m’lady, I have.” Mikahl’s smile was wide. “And elves, and even a blue-skinned pixie that would fit this forest well. The dwarves are…” he paused in search of an appropriate description of his hairy, usually drunken friends. “Unique,” he finally said, remembering Dugak’s sweet bearded wife, Andra.
“And giants,” Lord Gregory added with his chin resting on Lady Trella’s shoulder. “Don’t forget the giants.”
“Not just giants-King Aldar, the king of the giants,” Mikahl said proudly. He reached into his collar and pulled out the piece of bone that the Great King had carved into a lion’s head for him. “It’s dragon bone,” he boasted. “It was supposed to be for my father, but, well, you know.”
The sudden thought of King Balton triggered a memory of the dream he had been having for the last few days. He wasn’t sure why he started dreaming of his father, but he had. He’d never dreamed of King Balton before. He decided that it was because of the familial feelings he held toward Lord Gregory and Lady Trella, and the memories that being around them evoked. They had raised him in his awkward years while he squired for the Lion
