“Make ready to fight!” he said sharply, as he made his way to the pile of packs that Urp had been carrying. “Something huge, and evil, is winging its way towards us.”
He described the creature and its rider as he strung the elven longbow Vaegon had given him.
Grrr rose to his feet and started pacing anxiously. The other wolves watched him, awaiting his command with alert eyes, high pricked ears, and ready stances.
Vaegon took out a long skinny pouch, and made to dump the contents onto the ground in front of him. Three arm-length shafts of intricately carved wood, and a wicked looking curved and serrated blade fell out of it. In a matter of moments, he had threaded them together into a pike-like bladed staff, which was a head taller than he was. He made a few thrusts with it to check its balance.
“I’m ready!” he said when he was satisfied.
Mikahl reached over his shoulder, and grasped Ironspike’s hilt. He didn’t want to draw it, and have its magic give away their position. Feeling that it was there, was enough for now.
“Let it begin then,” he said harshly, remembering the brutal message he had sent when he had crippled the hellcat, instead of killing it.
He pictured King Balton, all sweaty and breathless, dying on his bed. Then, he pictured Lord Gregory, sprawled out on the ground, his bloody body so swollen and broken that it was almost unrecognizable as human. Then, the scalding image of Loudin of the Reyhall forced its way through. His friend’s guts hung in the trees, as he clung onto the sword, with the last tendrils of his life spilling away from him.
Mikahl seethed with rage and anticipation. He felt nothing resembling fear at the moment. He was eager to face whatever it was that was coming. Through teeth clenched as tightly as a closed vice, he repeated the words again
“Let it begin!”
Chapter 45
Dreen, the kingdom seat of Valleya, is sometimes called the Red City, due to the color of the sun-baked bricks that make up its notably long wall. Its modest castle, and most of the other dwellings are made from the readily available resource as well. It sits in an arid, but grassy plain, just below the foothills on the eastern side of the Wilder Mountains.
King Broderick, the current ruler of Valleya, had received warning of Westland’s army’s march through the mountains towards his capital, but only a few days before the force’s expected arrival. He had taken those days to set up the defenses of the city, and to call the wealth of Valleya inside the walls for protection. The horse herds were the pride, and primary commodity, of the kingdom. They had to be protected at any cost.
The wall that encircled the city was taller than any building inside it, save for the twin towers of the modest Royal Castle. The wall stood thirty feet high, and the city was so widely spread, that it took a perimeter patrol a full shift to march all the way around on the top of it.
There was a lot to defend. Unlike most cities, the spaces inside the wall were open and un-crowded. Nearly every building, be it tavern, mercantile establishment, warehouse, or home sported a fenced-in stockyard, complete with stables and troughs. Some even had lush, magically fortified grazing pens, which were larger than an average family’s farm plot, that stayed green year round.
Even with all of the people and animals filtering into the city, Dreen didn’t have the feel of a place that was about to be attacked or besieged. The atmosphere, and the attitude of the people, was more like that of an open market day, or a minor festival. None of them had any idea of what was headed their way.
The Royal Castle itself was only a three storey rectangle, with a pair of crenellated towers rising up above it. The castle’s defensive wall was more like a tall fence, made to keep the Royal Herd in, more than to keep others out. The Valleyan way had always been the same. Save the horses, let the enemy tear the city down. There was enough of the easily worked red clay in the foothills to rebuild the city a hundred times over. It was in this spirit, that King Broderick, who had only a month ago sent the better half of his men to march against Highwander, went about gathering up the best of his personal herd, with the full intention of fleeing with them to the south.
If the Westlanders took the city, then so be it. He would never take the knee to young King Glendar, thus Valleya would never really fall to the west. Already, he had riders speeding with orders to recall those troops he had sent to Highwander. He also had riders on their way to Seaward City, to beg his cousin, Queen Rachel, to send those men of hers, that were about to march on Highwander, back to help save Dreen. She would not refuse him. After all, they were blood relatives. Since King Broderick’s wife had died childless, and he was without an heir, Princess Rosa, Queen Rachel’s daughter, stood to claim his throne, as well as her mother’s. As long as he didn’t take another wife, Queen Rachel would do anything he asked. Keeping the Red City out of Westland’s hands was in Queen Rachel’s best interest anyway.
King Broderick was confident that King Glendar wouldn’t expect a force of nearly ten thousand Valleyans and Seawardsmen to come bearing down on him so quickly. Glendar’s army would be driven right back into the mountains, and chased all the way back to Westland.
The Westland army was too small to occupy much more than the red city, King Broderick told himself. Valleya was far too vast. From Dreen, it was nearly three hundred miles south to the sea coast, and just over a hundred miles east to the Seaward border. If by chance, Glendar did get rooted into Dreen, it would only be a matter of days before King Broderick’s southern forces arrived and besieged the invaders. If the rumors out of Dakahn and Ultura were true, if a million lizards, and a dragon riding sorceress had risen out of the swamp, and invaded Westland, then the foolish young King of the west couldn’t afford to meddle with Valleya very long anyway.
All things considered, King Broderick decided that he could better manage the defense of Dreen from afar. In truth, he was as cowardly as a man could be. He was afraid for his life. Along with the rumors of Westland’s new Dragon Queen, he was beginning to hear tales of the wizard Pael’s display of destructive power on Wildermont. He had no intention whatsoever of getting caught up in something like that here. Thus, as dawn rose on the day his scouts expected the lion hordes to come calling, he and a dozen guards, along with two dozen handpicked horses from the Royal Herd, started south towards Stroud.
Pael stood alone, on a ridge looking down over the city of Dreen from a distance. The wind ruffled his silky, black robes, and threatened to blow the hood back from his chalk-skinned head. The gold worked embroidery on the belled sleeves and collar of his garb glittered in the morning sun like star-fire. Far below, and to his left, Lord Brach led a long, winding snake of some eight thousand men, out of the mountains, toward the irrelevant red wall. Inside the walls, Pael could see the Valleyan soldiers swarming like maggots on old meat. The fact that Lord Brach’s snake wasn’t spreading out, or marching toward one of the gates, was confounding them. Pael wished that it was Xwarda below him now, instead of Dreen, so much so, that his actions were mechanical, and his mood dismissive. The manic joy he had found while destroying Castlemont was absent, the exhilaration of the raw demonic power he possessed seemingly forgotten.
In a moment, he would breach the wall for Lord Brach’s men, so that the hungry snake might feed on the maggots, but now Shokin was forming an idea in his head. The idea made him regret sending Inkling, and those poisoned men to sea so far to the south, but only for a moment. When the idea fully bloomed in his mind, he laughed aloud, because neither the three ships full of men, nor the Imp King leading them, mattered anymore.
There might be joy in this day yet, Pael told himself.
He had just come up with a new plan of action, one that wouldn’t force him to have to wait out the winter here in Dreen. If it worked, he could take Xwarda, and gain the power of the Wardstone long before the snow started to fall. He would be able to launch his assault on Xwarda in days, not months.
As he transported himself down to appear before the big red wall of clay, he couldn’t help but laugh again. This time, the manic glee was abundant in his countenance.
The idea was wondrous. It would take a bit of quick work to pull it off, but he could manage it. Knowing this, it created a sense of urgency about him. This day would be a grand one after all. Riding his high spirits, and the possibilities of the days to come, Pael unleashed a blast of searing energy into the wall before him.
