“Enough!” Lord Ellrich roared it this time.
Everyone in the room froze in place. Sir William was a sight, with his bloody cup raised for another blow, his expression, a mixture of childish glee, and utter befuddlement. The newly arrived young soldier’s heavy panting, Rosila’s whimpering sobs, and the slow scratching of the dying lizard’s claws as they raked across the table, filled the sudden and relative silence.
The young soldier looked desperate to speak, but afraid to make a sound. One could only imagine how he was interpreting the scene before him. Captain Munst unceremoniously dropped Rosila into his chair, and stepped around.
“What is it?” he asked, with a tinge of fear in his voice. The boy, he knew, had come a very long way to bring whatever message he was carrying. “Tell us now!”
“They’ve come out of the marsh, Captain!” The words came like water, bursting through a breaking dam. “I’ve run all the way from the Mids. It was happening at Half Point when I passed, and now here. Dane, a rider from Last Post, has just come into the yard bearing the same news from the other end.” The young man gasped for another breath, before continuing. “They’re armed to the gills and coming in swarms. We haven’t the men left to stop them.”
“What in all the bloody hells are you saying boy?” Lord Ellrich asked.
Neither of his two captains waited for the answer. They were bolting out of the hall to assess the situation for themselves. Sir William understood that something was very wrong and waited, still frozen in place, with his cup held high over his head, for the young soldier to answer his Liege Lord.
“We’re under attack, milord,” the boy said, with tears pooling in his eyes. They were obviously tears of terror. “We’re being overrun by the Skeeks!”
“The Zard?” Lord Ellrich looked to Sir William stupidly.
The Weapon Master’s arm finally fell to his side, and his mouth formed a perfect “O.”
The Zardmen had been hunted to extinction in the days of Lord Ellrich’s grandfather. Or so they had thought. Sightings had been reported from time to time over the years, but they had been dismissed as hoaxes or mistakes. In all his life, in all of the treks into the marshes to hunt snapper, dactyl, and geka, during all the deeper excursions to hunt wibbin and skirlsnake, not one of his men, nor any of his father’s men, had ever produced a shred of evidence that the Zard still lived. Ellrich couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and neither could Sir William.
“Master William,” the boy went on, after wiping away his tears. “They number in the thousands, we should see to our Lord’s safety.”
Shaella looked down from the dragon’s back at the squat blocky shape of Settsted Stronghold with an expression of deep concentration, and purpose on her wind-raw face. Her satiny black cloak fluttered at the collar, and anywhere it wasn’t pinned between her shapely bottom and the dragon’s scaly hide. Her mind was clear and focused on her purpose. All thoughts of Gerard and Pael were pushed aside for the moment. She was invading Westland. She couldn’t afford to think about trivial matters. She was the Dragon Queen now, come to conquer Westland and make it her empire.
All along the river border, Shaella’s Zard army was attacking. The whole stretch of Westland was being overrun. The military outposts, and the cities and towns that sprouted up around them, were getting the worst of it. She had concentrated her forces in those heavily populated areas. They were the only places where enough people remained to put up any sort of organized resistance. Smaller groups of Zard were attacking the fishing villages, and it was her soldiers, riding on the backs of the big geka lizards, who were now patrolling the river roads. The metropolis of Southport would have to wait. She would use terror tactics to take hold of its people’s fears. That would have to work in Portsmouth to the north and Castleview at Lakeside as well.
“Nothing like a great big fire-breathing dragon to get the city folk in line,” she mused.
Between Claret and the savage breed giants she was about to let loose on the northern parts of Westland, she was sure that there would be very little resistance. Who could stop her? All the able-bodied men in the land were off with King Glendar. Westland would fall like wheat before a scythe.
When she was finished with Settsted, she had to fly to Locar, and then to Coldfrost. She couldn’t allow word of Westland’s demise to reach King Glendar, with enough time for him to pull out of Wildermont, and come home. She would use the half-breed giants to cut him and his army off soon, but she had to get Settsted out of the way first. It was the only place in Westland, save for Lakeside Castle, where a sizable group of trained soldiers remained.
The destruction of Settsted would be an example to the rest of the land. The fall of the much loved, and over-fed southern marsh lord, would be a blunt statement to those he had been sworn to protect. The message would be clear. Westland has fallen. You were never safe. Bow to your new Queen, or be roasted in a blast of dragon fire. Pledge your allegiance, or face slavery and torture, or a fate worse than death. The geka, after all, had to be fed.
The thrill and glory that Shaella had thought would accompany this moment was absent. So was the anger and passion she had felt in the dragon’s lair with her father. That night was intense, yes, but her mood and demeanor were cold and deliberate. Her actions and decisions seemed almost mechanical. Her emotion had been left up in Claret’s lair with the blackened stain that was once Gerard.
Mindlessly, and without feeling, she would take this kingdom, and squeeze the life out of it. She was too drained by the loss of her lover, to even savor the revenge she was taking out on King Glendar for stealing her father’s attention her entire life. She just didn’t care anymore.
The gluttonous Lord hadn’t shown himself on the walls yet, but his two old captains had. Time was running short. She had to make a calculated concession. Lord Ellrich was probably somewhere in the stronghold, shoveling food into his face. Shaella thought that he might be too fat to get himself up on to the wall anyway. What she had to do in Coldfrost couldn’t wait much longer.
Through the magical link of the collar, she commanded the dragon to destroy the stronghold. With barely a tweak of her huge wings, Claret started her dive towards the dark stone structure, drawing in a deep, billowing breath as she went.
Captain Layson sent half the men of the stronghold garrison, about a hundred of them, out to meet the attackers. The rest were scrambling up onto the walls with long bows and pikes.
Captain Munst had ordered the fire pits to be fueled and lit, and the tar pots to be brought out. The mile or so of town between the stronghold wall and the riverfront, was already half in flame. The men outside the walls were holding back the armed lizard-men, but barely.
“There are hundreds of them,” Captain Munst observed aloud. “And there are more of them riding on the backs of those geka. Why don’t they just rush the walls?”
“Probably too stupid,” Captain Layson spat. “They’re just Skeeks! They might…”
He was about to say more, but Captain Munst’s pointing finger and sudden wide-eyed gasp of breath, stopped him.
“No, they’re staying out of the way of that!” Munst’s tone was deflated. He knew then and there, beyond all doubt, that he would never see his wife and daughters again. All he could do was close his eyes and say a prayer for them.
“Gods,” was all Captain Layson could manage, before Claret’s flaming breath charred them, and the men around them, to smoldering husks.
Lord Ellrich, bodily pulled Sir William toward his office. The young soldier followed nervously. He was too afraid to put his hands on his Lord to help the Weapon Master stop him, even though his superior, Sir William, was ordering him to do so.
Sir William wanted Ellrich to go with him to the stables. There, they could gather enough men to escort Ellrich away from the fighting, but the Lord of Settsted wouldn’t hear of it. After glimpsing the burning town from one of the arrow slits in the long hall, he had only one thing on his mind. He remembered as clearly as if it had been an hour ago, Pael and King Glendar arguing for the soldiers of his border guard to be taken away. The wizard had a hand in this, Ellrich was sure of it. And if it was so, then all of Westland was in trouble.
He ordered both Sir William and the boy to get out, then changed his mind, and ordered the young soldier to follow him to his study. The Weapons Master was doing everything, short of physically assaulting his Lord, to try and get him to see a reason, but it was no use. Ellrich just dragged him along as if he were a child.
Once in the study, Lord Ellrich sent Sir William stumbling across the room with a heavy shove. Sir William
