wouldn’t have surprised her if King Mikahl had managed to circumvent the priests’ trap. They had assured her that he was close at hand, and that it wasn’t possible, but she was smart enough to keep from underestimating Ironspike. She found her heart fluttering with the fear that Mikahl might be behind her and whirled around.
“I was talking to you, Queen Shaella,” Princess Rosa answered sheepishly. “I’m so very hungry.” She began to cry, more from fear than anything, but the tears helped her be convincing. “You brought no food,” her sobbing grew deeper.
“Stop it,” Shaella snapped. “I’ll have some food sent up when I’m through here.” She stepped from the lift and strode to one of the tall narrow arrow slits in the wall. Once they had served as releasing and arrival perches for Pael’s army of messenger birds. What I would give to know who half of his spies were, Shaella thought to herself. Even with all of his information, and his strength of will, he had failed, she reminded herself. His quest for power had ended on a battlefield in Xwarda when Mikahl took his head. She shook the thought away, and returned her attention to the Princess.
“It seems that your High King may be coming for you after all,” Shaella smiled wickedly. “He hasn’t contacted you yet has he?” She studied the teary-eyed girl and decided that she looked too helpless to have had any good news. “It’s likely that he soon will. He might just fly his little fire pony up here and try to save you. He’ll be surprised to find that he’s expected.” Shaella started to pace around the circular room, forcing Phen to have to tiptoe out of her path. The swirl of air his movement caused made Shaella stop and stare at the space he had just been occupying for a long moment. A few heartbeats later she scrunched her nose at her paranoia and resumed her leisurely pace.
Phen wished with all his heart that he still had the knife Hyden Hawk had given him. The wooden handle had been ruined in the fiery mishap on the Slither. He almost talked himself into casting a spell on Shaella, but he knew that she was far more powerful than he. She could probably turn the magic against him with a thought. With the dagger, though, he could have just thrust it through her heart. He’d killed before, and he was certain he could do it again. He tried to pay attention to what she was saying about King Mikahl, while wrestling with his murderous thoughts.
“Oh, he will come get you, love, and start away, and then-oop!” Shaella giggled, causing Rosa to sob even louder than she had been. Phen had to put forth great effort to keep from bashing the Dragon Queen in the face for torturing the poor Princess this way.
“You saw my Gerard the other day, didn’t you?” Shaella immediately regretted letting her mind go to her lover, but she finished the thought before stepping back into the lift. “Once I’m done dismembering the High King, I think I’ll feed you to Gerard. He’ll be hungry after taking over the hells for me.”
Shaella stepped onto the lift, her mood ruined by her own gloating thoughts of Gerard. It made her a little jealous that King Mikahl was coming for this miserable wretch. Gerard wanted power more than he wanted her, and the tiny void of doubt that left in her confidence made her angry.
“Some food will come up soon,” the Dragon Queen said before speaking the command to lower the lift. “Eat it all,” Shaella added as she sank into the floor. “Get fattened for the kill.”
Phen hoped that Shaella wouldn’t notice anything amiss in the library below as she passed through it. He waited until the lift had time to clear the floor beneath the library before he pulled off Loak’s ring and went to the Princess. He put his arms around her hesitantly and let her cry into his shoulder.
“Don’t worry,” he told her. “We’ll find a way out of this mess.” At least I hope we will, he added to himself.
Chapter Forty-Two
Oarly was in the middle of his sixth or maybe seventh toast to the return of the dwarves of Doon. For centuries they had been underground. During that time, the few hundred dwarven families remaining on the surface dwindled in number, down to barely a score. All of them resided in the hills east of Highwander where Oarly had grown up. Why the dwarves had gone under was hard to determine. If you were to ask one of them, you were likely to receive an hour-long spiel that told you nothing. The most common response was that the sun affected their skin. This couldn’t be true because anybody who looked at them would know that the only part of the dwarves’ skin that ever saw the light of day was their hands and their big bulbous noses. For the most part, the rest of them was covered in hair.
The dwarves brought bad news to the surface with them. The Hammer of Doon, one of Ironspike’s counterparts, had been lost in a great molten sea of lava when the King of Dwarves used it to kill an elemental. It was a sad affair, but it happened so long ago that the dwarves who’d returned to answer Queen Willa’s call thought of it as just another story.
Bzorch was half asleep with his dragon gun crew near at hand. A watch had been posted among the breed in their area of Jarrek’s encampment. Lord Gregory’s sudden presence had eroded away most of the bridge of trust that Bzorch and the King of Wildermont had built. The hate between Westlander and breed beast was far too personal to let go of. Westland lords, just like Lord Gregory, had hunted down the breed as if they were vermin. They were mutilated and tortured, the remains left on display for months on end in the bloody snow.
Lord Gregory had about as much tolerance for the breed giants as Bzorch had for him. The breed had come out of the mountains in Northern Westland and raided, pillaged, and plundered for years, until finally they’d grown bold enough to attack a troop of Westland soldiers stationed at the Frozen Outpost. Lord Brach’s sister had been there attending a wedding. Thus what had previously been only occasional violent skirmishes between the races graduated in to a hateful, bloody war.
Lord Gregory spent his time with King Jarrek discussing the situation at hand, and what the possible courses of action were. An escort to take Lady Trella through the Wildermont Mountains to the safety of Dreen was already being assembled. Lord Gregory hadn’t told her he was going to stay with Jarrek to provide logistical aid. Both the Lion Lord and the Wolf King were of a mind to take full advantage of the current situation in Dakahn. Diamondeen, the dwarven general, had hinted at some possibilities that put their minds to churning. They were just waiting on a few messengers and scouts to return with current information before calling a full battle council.
It was late in the evening when the single breed giant that survived Queen Shaella’s attack, came stumbling into the camp. The bloodied creature found Bzorch and told the tale. King Jarrek and the badly scarred Sholt both hobbled out to hear the news. Lord Gregory watched and listened from a distance. He wasn’t welcome, nor did he want to go into Bzorch’s area of the camp. He found himself wincing at the gruesome details he heard, and he even grew angry at the idea that the breed had been melted away with acidy dragon’s breath. He imagined how he would feel if it were Westlanders Shaella killed that way. Oarly came to his side but said nothing, choosing to listen to the story from a distance as well. The celebratory mood of the encampment dissipated quickly, and the harsh realities of the war they were entangled in strangled the life out of the evening. After King Jarrek and Bzorch spoke in private for a while the breed began gathering their things to leave. Bzorch swore before them all that he would kill the Dragon Queen and her pet wyrm, or die trying. Then he and his troop loped away northward, intending to cross back into Locar on the ferry.
For the first night since Jarrek’s soldiers had taken back the bottleneck, the encampment was quiet. At least until Lord Gregory told his wife that he wouldn’t be traveling to Dreen with her. Lady Trella’s anger rang through the night like a shrill bell hammered by an ornery child. Her rage was soon replaced with sobs of disappointment and worry. Eventually, though, the Lion Lord made her understand. He wasn’t going into battle, he was just staying to help make plans and advise King Jarrek as the High King would expect him to do. Despite her anger and disappointment, she made love to him. His ever dutiful sense of loyalty to the good of Westland and the realm was one of the things that had attracted her to him in the first place. He promised to come to her just as soon as things were worked out and the battle plans were made.
“You’d better,” she told him severely from his shoulder. “I didn’t suffer that crowded ship and that smelly dwarf just to be sent away once we got to the mainland. I would have been plenty safe back at the Lost Lion with Zasha and Wyndall.”
“Aye, m’lady,” Lord Gregory sealed his promises with kisses. “I’ll be with you again before you even get settled.”
“You’d better be,” she repeated, as she gave in to temptation and kissed him back. They made love again,
