not much different than the humans; just a few more god-granted gifts. Take them away, and they were the same. He couldn’t believe that he used to think that he was better.
Vaegon knew that Hyden Hawk needed someone to help him come into his power. Mikahl’s Power came from the sword. That was something Vaegon wouldn’t even try to understand. The Westland boy had had a great deal of potential coursing around his aura when they had met outside of Hyden’s Village. The sword had had no part in that, he remembered. It had been strapped to the horse that day. Still, the Westland boy needed some guidance too. They both did.
Vaegon sighed. If it had not been for Hyden Hawk’s brilliant shot that destroyed the arrow the Witch Queen’s archer had aimed at him, then he wouldn’t be here at all. He still owed his life to Hyden. That simple fact gave him purpose, which in turn gave him a little hope. He needed that.
Not just as a life debt anymore, but as a friend and mentor, Vaegon silently, and willingly pledged his existence to Hyden Hawk. He wasn’t sure what sort of help a Cyclops elf could offer, but he would give it nonetheless. He smiled brightly, and seemed to forget about his troubles, when Hyden Hawk appeared at the cavern entrance, slightly winded and blowing clouds of steam from the burden of hauling his kill.
Mikahl woke to the rich smell of cooking meat. The cavern was warm and toasty. As he blinked and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, Loudin handed him a flask of cold water. A moment later, Vaegon placed a piece of bread in his lap with a flourishing bow, then Hyden gave him a dagger that had a hot, sizzling chunk of fresh roasted meat stabbed on its point.
As Mikahl started to take a bite, he looked around at the faces that were staring at him. All three of his companions were about to burst into laughter. With mock severity they all bowed deeply. When they rose back up, they spoke in perfect unison, and the sarcasm dripped like honey from their words.
“Mighty King Mikahl, your most gracious Highness, we are at your service.” Before they even finished, their laughter exploded through the cavern.
Mikahl smiled broadly, gave a regal nod, and then broke his fast.
Chapter 33
Lord Ellrich was happy to be back at Settsted Stronghold. The familiar stone walls around the keep, with its little bailey yard, single tower, and its bird’s eye view of the seemingly endless and empty green swamp marsh that began on the other side of the river channel, made him feel comfortable and safe.
The smell of Rosila’s cooking wafting up from the kitchen, and the reassuring sound of the men – the few of them King Glendar and his wizard had left him – drilling in the practice yard, were sensations he had never thought to enjoy again. How he had managed to keep his head from being piked at Lakeside Castle was a mystery. He was sure it had more to do with King Glendar’s interest in his daughter than anything else.
Thank the heavens that Zasha was safe at Lake Bottom with Lady Trella. His only hope was that she still might be able to turn Glendar’s eyes away from her. Maybe Trella could get him interested in another maiden. He would send her a message as soon as he was settled and invite them to visit. Lake Bottom was probably a sad sort of place without Lord Gregory around to lend it his cheer.
The week had been extremely busy. Riding out daily to cull men from the garrisons had been no easy task. His huge, old horse could only go so far, so fast, with his great bulk riding on its back, so the work had taken some time.
The soldiers were mostly river folk, his folk. No matter who Lord Ellrich sent off to Wildermont to fight, he found protesting mothers, fathers, and wives. Some, he had managed to appease, others were still cursing his decisions. They were his people and he was their liege. It pained him to do his duty, but the new King of Westland was waging war against the east, and Ellrich would sooner anger a few families than donate his head to the cause.
The river folk were only a portion of Lord Ellrich’s responsibilities. Besides guarding the stretch of Westland shore that contained the Leif Greyn Rivers western channel, he held sway over a huge section of the kingdom’s southern lands. Farmers, herders, and craftsmen alike, all lived and worked under his banner. Lord Brach’s recruiters had come through, and hauled every able bodied man and boy away from their homes to fight. Very few people were happy in this part of the kingdom. Ellrich couldn’t imagine it being much better anywhere else. His people might not be happy with him, but at least it was his people that were around him now. He was home.
On the desk before him, was the remainder of the petitions and grievances that had piled up during his absence. Dealing with King Balton’s funeral, then Glendar’s coronation, and then the matter of sending the King most of his men had taken well over a month. What matters his captains hadn’t been able to resolve, were left here for him to review. It seemed that they hadn’t resolved much. He had thinned the stack down a bit over the past few days, but since the news of his return had spread, it was growing again.
Several people had sighted flocks of the big swamp dactyls flying into the farmlands. Dozens of goats, a few sheep, and even a milk cow, had been reported missing. The next report said that a handful of barges had sunk or been pirated before reaching their destinations. This was a fresh copy of an old report and he quickly tossed it away. A young girl had been raped by men in uniform, probably Lord Brach’s recruiters. Ellrich’s men knew better. She had just come forward with the claim. Her family most likely bade her to wait for Lord Ellrich’s return before she made the accusation. It was probably too late to find the men responsible, now that the invasion of Wildermont had begun. Lord Ellrich sighed and rubbed at the folds of his chin with his sausage-like a fingers. What a shame.
Another report said that a rash of burglaries along the riverfront had occurred in more than one town. “Highly organized,” Captain Long had written in the margin of the report. Ellrich tried to remember if Long had been sent to the Wildermont front or not. If he had investigated the thefts enough to learn how organized the perpetrators were, but still hadn’t managed to find them, then maybe the battlefront was the place for him. Or, maybe, Captain Long would like to lead an excursion out into the marshes to wipe out some of the pesky dactyls. Ellrich liked that idea better. A few of the big leathery birds hanging from the trees in the towns along the coast would make the people feel a little bit better. He started to read the next page, but sighed again, and tossed the stack of papers back onto his desk.
Since he had been home, he had been forced to deal with these sorts of matters personally. He used to assign a man to each and see what came about, but he didn’t have the resources of his garrison anymore. A few thousand men had suddenly turned into a few hundred. He would deal with it, on the morrow. The scent of Rosila’s meal had him salivating. Not even the upsetting matter of the molested girl, whose father he knew personally, was going to disturb his dinner this night.
The table was loaded with his favorites. Rosila had cooked and cared for him since he was knee high to a swamp bug, and knew just what would satisfy his vast hunger. Since he had been home, he had been too busy culling the outposts, and making the rounds, to sit down at his own table and enjoy one of her feasts, but she had insisted that he stay put this night. She had also invited his advisers, and warned them what would happen if they didn’t leave the Lord to get a good night’s rest after supper was finished. They knew better than to argue with her, as did Lord Ellrich. She was as old as Settsted itself, and as stubborn as the stone it was built from.
Captain Layson, a tall, thick man in his graying years, with a clean military demeanor and a balding head, had been invited. He was Lord Ellrich’s second in command here at the stronghold.
Captain Munst, a slightly younger and bulkier version of Captain Layson, was there as well. He was over all the men who manned the string of outposts that Lord Ellrich had just gutted.
Sir William, the wily old Weapons Master, who had trained nearly every man that served under Lord Ellrich, was there as well. He was getting on in years, but his wild explosion of snow white hair and his hardened physique, were still imposing. Especially on the training yard where he often proved why he was still the Weapons Master.
The rock-walled dining hall wasn’t very large. It held only one long table and was lit by torches spaced evenly along the long walls. The big fireplace at the foot of the table was blocked off with a wooden folding partition, and was painted the same dark and dreary shades of green and brown as the two swamp scene tapestries hanging on the walls that ran alongside of the dining board. Even this early in the summer, a fire would have made the heat in the windowless room unbearable.
