wound was only superficial. Flick, however, cast an invisible wall into being in the air right in front of Mikahl. When the High King hit it, the sudden blunt impact caused Ironspike to twist from his grasp.
When his sword left his hand, the bright horse disappeared, as did all of Mikahl’s magical defenses. He fought crazily while tumbling from the sky to grab the sword that was tumbling with him. With catlike agility he twisted and finally managed to wrap his hand at around Ironspike’s leather wrapped hilt. The sword filled his lungs with breath and he called forth the bright horse only a few dozen feet above the ground.
As he righted himself into a hover, he found he was looking down the sights of a massive crossbow. He was so close that he could see the striations a sharpening stone had left on the barbed tip of its spear-sized bolt. Beyond that, a mud-covered breed giant seemed to light up with angry recognition at the same moment Mikahl did. The breed giant he had watched his father publicly disgrace before sealing them all away at Coldfrost sneered hatred as he fired the spear from his weapon. Mikahl had no chance at all to get out of its way.
Chapter Fifty-Five
“Something bad must be happening,” said Cresso with absolutely no emotion whatsoever. He tried to convey the messages he sent and received in a smooth soft monotone so as not to confuse the emotion he was feeling with that of the sender. The effect made him seem to be cold and uncaring of the events taking place around him-at least Lord Gregory thought so. “Master Sholt is not responding,” Cresso explained.
“Could he be…?” Dead? Lord Gregory didn’t want to say it out loud. He was so worried about the High King that he went to the mage to try and learn what was going on.
“No,” Cresso answered matter of factly. The certainty in his expression relieved the Lion Lord. “My spell message is reaching him, he just isn’t responding.” Cresso wrapped a finger and thumb around his long narrow beard and slid his hand down slowly. “He is most likely preoccupied.” The last was said with a little concern showing in the mage’s voice. Lord Gregory noted the fact that it was the young man’s own thoughts, not a conveyance from another that he was voicing at the moment. It made him feel more comfortable.
“If you would, Cresso, keep trying until he responds,” Lord Gregory said. “I will be at the map table or in the throne room.”
In most instances, a trip from a wizard’s tower top chamber was a strenuous journey that involved traversing countless stairways and passages. In the palace at Dreen, it was only a matter of descending three flights of stairs and then following a short hall that led to the keep’s main entryway. For a man as greedy as King Broderick, Lord Gregory mused as he trotted down, there wasn’t much opulence about. Nothing in the palace was over luxurious.
Lord Gregory’s thoughts were cut short by a hurried set of footsteps clanging up the stairs toward him. The frightened face of one of General Spyra’s men looked up at the Lion Lord. The man gulped and wiped the sweat from his brow. He was dressed in full armor and had to be sweltering in the summer heat. He started to speak twice, but heaved for breath both times.
Finally he said, “To the balcony, m’lord.” He pointed up at the door to Cresso’s room. “You’d best see it, rather than hear me describe it.”
Lord Gregory knew true fear when he saw it, and this man was afraid. He turned, racing up the steps and started to knock on the young wizard’s door. It opened before his knuckles ever touched wood. “Lord Gregory,” Cresso was almost bowled over when the Lion Lord rushed in.
“M’lord,” Cresso urged Lord Gregory over to the western facing balcony.
Once they were outside, the mage pointed southwest. The Red City, as it was called, was low built. No structure was over two stories tall save for the palace. Still, with the huge cattle pens and stable yards everywhere it was a large, widely spread metropolis. Less than a mile away a huge hairy head and shoulders rose above the rooftops. The massive beast was howling from its wolfish snout in what might have been rage, but just as easily could have been glee. The great club it carried was bashing in roofs and most likely crushing people and stock animals too.
“It’s the beast that tore through Queen Willa’s ranks south of Oktin,” Cresso explained.
“The General was… is readying to ride out to meet it,” the armored soldier huffed from the doorway. “He’s surely off by now.”
“He must be stopped,” Lord Gregory said. Spyra was in no condition to rage off into battle with a monster. He was far too emotionally distraught. A glance back at the loud destructive beast made Lord Gregory think that the General might have lost his mind.
“Cresso, can you get out there and warn the people to stay clear of it? Tell them to let it pass. I think that it will just move through.” He looked at the now fidgeting mage for reassurance, but found none.
“I can’t get out there any faster than anyone else,” Cresso looked sharply at the armored guard. He didn’t want to go out there. He was terrified, but he took in a deep breath and gathered his confidence. “…but I suppose I can do it far more effectively.” He shouldered past the soldier and disappeared down the stairs.
“You,” Lord Gregory said in a commanding tone. “By the order of the High King, the General is to be headed off before he manages to get himself, or his men killed. Use whatever means necessary outside of killing him. Order a troop of pike men to be ready if the thing turns toward the castle. And tell the stable man to ready my horse, just in case.”
When the young man was gone, the Lion Lord watched the creature from the balcony as it worked its way north through the Red City at a steady pace. It was a great relief to see that it held its course. If it kept going as it was, he decided, it would eventually end up in the Giant Mountains. The terrifying looking thing was quite a bit bigger than Borg and his kin, but the giants numbered in the thousands and would surely put a stop to its intrusion into their kingdom. Lord Gregory decided that a warning was the least he could do for the gargantuan men who had so kindly guided Mikahl to his destiny. He made a long study of the creature’s passage to make sure that it was well past turning on the castle, then went to the desk in Cresso’s room, found a parchment and a quill, and began scribbling out a message to King Aldar, the ruler of the giant folk.
The spear Bzorch launched from his dragon gun sliced painfully across Mikahl’s face, right through his cheek and ear. The roar that erupted just behind his head, though, told him that the breed giant had hit his intended target. Mikahl twisted around to see the huge Choska seemingly halted in midair by the shaft jutting out of its upper chest. Its sharp terrible claws were closed on the air where he had just been. He had to lean and twist to keep the bright horse from sliding into the ground just beyond the big breed giant. Then he had to duck under the swiftly uncoiling rope that another of them held. As if a great muddy boulder were coming to life, another huge breed giant rose up from the ground in front of him and aimed a similar weapon. Then Mikahl was past them.
His whole left side was covered in blood. It was no small wound on his face, but as soon as he thought about it, the symphonic power of his sword sent cool, tingling magic through him into the cut. He brought the bright horse around and sent a crackling bolt of lightning at the gigged Choska. The impact of his blast folded the flying beast in half and sent it flailing backwards. The unsuspecting breed giant that was holding the rope was yanked from his feet and pulled across the rocky ground for twenty feet before he finally let go. Mikahl heard Bzorch bellow out a laugh at the terrible folly.
Mikahl turned back just in time to dodge a searing crimson blast of Flick’s magic. It missed him, but Mikahl didn’t get clear of Vrot’s corrosive breath. As he flew right through the misty edges of the blast, Mikahl felt his skin start to sizzle. He hadn’t had his shields up and already he was choking and gasping for breath. His skin burned and bubbled. The horrible death scream of one of the unlucky breed giants behind him filled his ears and then abruptly ended in a gurgling gasp. Mikahl couldn’t see, nor could he stop the acidy muck from eating into his flesh. Instinctually, he landed the bright horse then began streaming through the melodies of his sword’s powerful song. He was searching for anything that might help him. He looked at his affected left arm and saw that most of his skin was already dripping away like melting wax. In a few places he could see muscle, tendon, and bone. Finally, in a panicked daze, he did the only thing he could think to do. He fell to his knees and called forth all of Ironspike’s power at once.
