Oarly didn’t snore?”
“Where is he?”
“He’s still sleeping,” Phen said incredulously. “I wonder what they were drinking last night? It smelled awful.”
“You noticed it, too, then?”
“Aye,” Phen said. “Deep earth granite juice? What was that stuff?”
“I don’t know.” Hyden made a grinning cringe. “But whatever it is, it’s so potent that a thimbleful put King Aldar down.”
“It’s called Malagma Cobbless,” Oarly said in a rough, wheezy voice from the doorway to his bedchamber. “Concentrated to a syrup and then quantified.” Only the top of his now wildly tangled hair could be seen over the back of the divan as he shuffled into the room. He had to dive up to the seat on his belly and wallow around on the soft cushions to get upright. He grunted and growled at the humbling, almost embarrassing effort he had to make just to get situated.
“The giants like to dilute the stuff into their wine,” he finally continued. “That canteen should treat a half dozen kegs properly.”
“What were you drinking?” Phen asked.
“Oh, that.” Oarly rubbed his sunken eyes. “Liquified lotus blossom. It’s a gargantuan specialty.” He yawned. “I think I drank too much of it.”
“The stuff you gave King Aldar is supposed to be diluted in six kegs?” Hyden asked.
Oarly nodded.
“No wonder just one sip put him down.”
Oarly’s eyes snapped open and he looked up with all the alertness he could muster. “He sipped it right from the flask?”
“Just a little nip,” Hyden said. He couldn’t help but be alarmed.
“By Doon, someone should check on him. In its concentrated state that stuff will eat a hole in a steel plate.”
“I’ll go,” said Hyden. Before he could get up, an insistent banging came from the door.
Phen quickly went and opened it.
It was Corva and he looked worried. “Dostin’s not waking up. I'm worried.”
“He’ll be fine,” Oarly said. “He only had one goblet of liquefied lotus last night. He should come around sometime later today.”
After Hyden hurried out to check on King Aldar, Phen sat back at the desk and turned toward Oarly. “If one cup of that stuff will put Dostin down for a day and night, why doesn’t it do that to you?”
“I’ve got a drinker’s constitution,” Oarly said proudly. “Besides, I’m a dwarf.”
Corva took a seat where Hyden had been sitting and looked at Phen. “Have you found anything useful in all of that?” He indicated the books piled on the desk.
“Not enough,” he answered.
An awkward silence took over for a moment. Oarly slipped off the divan and returned to his room.
“You’re really lucky, Phen,” said Corva. “It’s rare for one of the Arbor’s Blood to take a liking to an elven man, much less a human.”
“You’re speaking of Telgra?” Phen asked.
Corva nodded.
“I like her, too,” Phen said. “Very much.”
“She will live four hundred years, if no harm comes to her, Phen,” Corva said softly. “How many more years will you live?”
Phen looked away, but there was heat in his voice when he responded. “In my current state, I could live forever, Corva, but a life not feeling the warmth of a touch or the taste of a meal seems like no life at all.”
Corva hadn’t considered that Phen’s condition might affect his lifespan. The elf, now that he thought about it, couldn’t remember Phen needing food or drink, or even to sleep since they had been traveling together. The gravity of the boy’s situation, and the weight of the choices he would soon have to make, became clearer to him. Phen would have to decide if he wanted to spend hundreds of years enjoying Telgra’s company without feeling her touch, or tasting her kiss, or being able to couple with her. The alternative was what? Maybe forty or fifty years of enjoying the full sensations of love and life. Corva didn’t envy Phen, and was finding that he had a deep respect for him.
Corva read the descriptions of the guardian of the Leif Repline and some of the other passages Phen had marked. He remembered the elven lore of the furry Gwag creature, and recalled thinking how, if it were up to him, a more formidable thing would be guarding a fountain that could allow the humans to outlive the elves. He was in the process of showing Phen a simple healing spell when Cade came to the door. He told them that King Aldar was dazed, but recovering from the dangerous dose of Oarly’s brew. Then he led Phen and Corva to the Hall of Chronicles.
The majority of the giants’ history was kept in the old language, Cade explained as they rode the lift down to the proper level. Phen and the elf were pleased when Cade offered to stay and help translate for them. Though both of them had a crude understanding of the old language, neither could read passages without stumbling on words or phrases that they didn’t understand. It took only a few hours to find what they needed to know. Whether it was good information or bad, it was hard to say. The Gwag was a formidable beast that they would probably have to kill to access the Leif Repline. From the more detailed descriptions of the creature, which spoke of its speed and ferocity, this would be no easy task.
High King Mikahl sat on his throne listening to the Westland mage, De’Rain, convey Commander Lyle’s report of the attack on O’Dakahn. Ironspike was not inserted into the sleeve in the throne arm. A display wasn’t necessary; they were alone. The day’s court had been dismissed after a vehement argument over the restored property lines between a pair of farms turned hateful. During the occupation the Zard had removed most of three rail cattle fences, because the splintered wooden beams and poles were perfect height for tearing open a running geka. Now one returned land owner was inching the fence into the neighboring property, trying to gain a bit more for his own.
Mikahl was stretched. One family’s teenage son had challenged the old neighbor, a man of at least sixty summers, to an honor duel. Mikahl had to raise his voice and went as far as drawing Ironspike from its sleeve. He blasted a soup bowl-sized divot out of the court room’s floor. Ultimately, a formal investigation was ordered. King Mikahl's’ constable would try to locate the old fence line and restore it.
The disruption had caused Mikahl to send the rest of the petitioners away. Already, Master Wizard Sholt and Lord Spyra had reported from Salazar. They‘d tracked down quite a few of the tainted sailors and dispelled Pael’s curse. They’d also spent time at the Lost Lion Inn with Lady Zasha, her husband Wyndall, and the newborn baby, Ellrich.
As King Mikahl expected, they’d refused to move into Settsted Stronghold and take over its lordship. Zasha’s request to have a smaller, safer holding set aside for her son to inherit was one that Mikahl couldn’t possibly deny. But now he would have to pick a lord to take over Settsted.
Lord Spyra was his first choice. The man had spent years as the general of Queen Willa’s Blacksword army. He was qualified. The only problem was, he wasn’t a Westlander.
Spyra and Sholt were on the way back to Westland trying to beat the stormy cold fronts that were threatening to rile the sea gods. Mikahl sighed and indicated for De’Rain to begin. Commander Lyle’s view of what happened would either ease his mind, or worry him further. It was time to find out which.
From his seat at the court scribe’s desk, the mage began with his condensed version of the report.
“All three dozen skeletons that carried out the attack in the port merchant district were destroyed. No skeletons have been seen in the city since that night.” De’Rain paused and took a sip of water from a goblet. “Several descriptions concurred that it was a Choska seen in the sky. A few people reported seeing the demon flying westward. Commander Lyle traveled to Nahka, on the riverbank at the marshes’ edge. A group of farmers saw the Choska attack a herdsman and his flock just outside of the village. This was after it left O'Dakahn. The Choska killed the herder and fed on his flock, then flew away west again, they say heading directly toward the Dragon’s Tooth Spire. It hasn’t been seen since.”
“Also, a marsh mage who reportedly dabbles in small animal resurrections and potions has disappeared from
