King Glendar made a victory speech from atop a pyramid of barrels. When it was done, toast after toast was offered between congratulatory cheers and prideful boasts. Not long after, the mild sleeping spell Pael had placed on the food began to work. Glendar passed into such a comatose state, that Pael had to enlist Roark’s help getting him into the tent. Once that was accomplished, Pael casually stopped Roark’s heart with a hot, sizzling lightning bolt from his finger. The huge warrior crumpled into a smoldering heap.
Pael began casting the spell that would summon the wounded hellcat that was once his familiar, Inkling, directly to the pavilion tent.
It took more than half the night to complete the process, but when it was done, Glendar Collum was no longer the one in charge of his body. He was still there, and had somewhat of a voice in the thought process, but for the most part, Inkling had taken over, and was wickedly grateful to Pael for freeing him from the crippled and pain-wracked body of the hellcat.
Pael then turned his attention to Roark. In his search through the depths of Shokin’s knowledge, he stumbled upon a necromantic spell the Priests of Kraw had supposedly used to bring the dead into service. As he finished casting it on Roark, the crumpled soldier stirred, and then slowly rose before him. The big warrior made a daunting sight, with his huge horned helm, and eyes that glowed red, like the embers of a campfire when a breeze strikes them. The once brilliant shine of his armor had been dulled to a flat gray by the electrical power of the bolt that had stopped his heart. Pael wasted no time before casting a binding spell to make its will his own.
Pael was so pleased with himself, that he decided to experiment more with the necromancy spell he had cast on Roark. He cast the same spell on the soulless hellcat, but only after he had Roark and Inkling-Glendar hack it into pieces.
Disappointed that the bloody parts didn’t squirm or twitch with attempts to reform a unified body, Pael had the haunches, and other meaty parts of the beast, skinned down, and placed by the cook’s pots. The rest, he had Glendar – Inkling, he supposed now – bury.
After that, he summoned the mightiest of the dark things that had escaped the Seal before Shokin.
A Choska was no lowly minion, like a wyvern or a hellcat. It was an intelligent lesser demon that could command such things on its own. Somewhat bat-like in build, it was large enough to carry a man as big as Roark on its stout, leathery wings with ease. It had a wide, mastiff-like head, with tiny eyes that glowed deep and cherry. Its mouth was full of sharp, dagger-length teeth, and its clawed feet could snatch a man, or even a horse, off the ground, or just as easily mangle them to bloody ribbons.
When the Choska demon came gliding down into the grassy plain in the pre-dawn light, and landed among the sleeping soldiers without a sound, Pael was delighted. He was further pleased when the thing moved before him, and bowed its dog-like head in supplication.
“Shoo-Keen,” it hissed. “How might I repay the one who released me?”
“The sword that might return either of us to that dark empty place is in the hands of a boy,” Pael said. “Errion Spightre has recognized him as Pavreal’s heir. I tell you that in warning, but the boy has no idea of the true power and purpose of what he carries. He is the last of his line, and if he dies so does the power of the Banishing Blade. Accept my gift: this undead human warrior is yours to command. Use him as you will to eliminate our shared threat, and your debt to me will be paid. Either kill the boy or relieve him of Errion Spightre.”
“Yesss, Shoo-keen,” the Choska demon hissed, and gave a bob of satisfaction towards Roark.
Silently, the demon ordered the undead warrior to mount his shoulders, and was pleased that Roark did so obediently. After the big steel-clad man was situated, the Choska asked Pael, “Where might I find this boy?”
“You’ll find his trail in the lower region of the Giant Mountains. I trust you’ll be able to track him from there. Use all you must to aid you. Failure is unacceptable.”
“I will not fail you, Shoo-keen,” the Choska demon hissed. “When I bring you the blade, and the boy’s head, my debt will be paid in full, for all eternity.”
“Bring me either, and I will grant you whatever you desire: an entire kingdom to feed upon perhaps? Or a place of power beside me as I send the world into chaos? Do not fail me, and whatever you desire is yours.”
“Yesss, Shoo-keen. Yesss!” the Choska replied greedily.
It didn’t linger further. It turned and leapt once on its big hind legs. After a second hopping leap, it snapped out its wide leathery wings and took to the air. Roark rode solemnly on its shoulders, looking like some ancient battle lord on his way to face something far worse than death.
Pael shivered at their departure. He could only imagine the terror that the sight of the dark armored warrior riding atop the Choska demon would instill in those who saw it coming. He was almost certain that the sight of his daughter, Shaella, on the back of her massive red dragon didn’t exude as much pure evil-born fear as the two red-eyed dark things that had just left.
The memory of Shaella’s wrathful eyes on him the last time he had seen her, caused him to re-evaluate his estimation. Nothing, Pael decided, was more terrifying, than an angry bitch on a dragon’s back.
Save, of course, for the wrath of Pael.
Morning came, and the hung-over soldiers unknowingly stood in line for their rations of hellcat stew. The meaty slop helped take the edge off the residual ale induced grogginess. The hellcat’s haunch-meat had a succulent sausage flavor. That pleasant taste masked the evil taint that Pael’s experimental spell casting had left upon the meat.
Pael was gone. King Inkling, in Glendar’s body, explained Roark’s absence to his other bodyguards, with the suggestion of a secret mission involving Pael. They wanted as little to do with the wizard as possible. They accepted the information, and as good soldiers do, asked no questions and showed no further concern.
Inkling spent the day’s march getting used to riding a horse, and feeling out the confining body of King Glendar. The imp was pleased that Glendar’s mind was cruel and weak. At least the mental aspect of his new home was comfortable. A few nights later, a bit of Glendar’s consciousness fought to the forefront long enough to get Inkling to experience a woman at a roadside inn in the Dakaneese Town of Pearsh. After that night, Inkling gave his host enough headway to allow himself to tap Glendar’s knowledge of human ways. It wasn’t long before Inkling was enjoying the flesh of women as much as, if not more so, than Glendar ever had.
The towns of Owask and Osvoin were ripe with Wildermont slave women. Inkling didn’t know it, but his obsession with human sexuality kept him in perfect character. Not even the Duke of Portsmouth, one of Glendar’s captain’s, and a man who had spent much time around Glendar over the years, suspected that the King was not in control of his own faculties.
For Inkling, the farther south the march took them, the more he grew to like his new place in the world. He figured he would be disappointed when they finally reached O’Dakahn and they had to start looking for ships to carry them on to Seaward. He was wrong however.
O’Dakahn was a cesspool of lust and greed, full of whores and gambling halls. Anything you could imagine could be had for a price. It was all free to Glendar, of course. The new King of Westland had brought with him gifts, which caused King Ra’Gren to cater to his every whim. As King Inkling and Glendar’s four hundred soldiers boarded the three ships, King Ra’Gren provided for them, he found he was more than content. As they say, “It’s good to be the king.”
It was only later, that Inkling began to have regrets about his situation. A human body can sometimes get very uncomfortable. He, and most of the men aboard his particular ship, began to fall ill, and when the men began to vomit blood and die horribly, the other two ships started to keep a distance. As it turned out, being a King held little weight with superstitious sailors and ships’ captains at sea, especially when everyone on your ship had the plague.
Chapter 41
King Jarrek, at the moment, was a bitter man. Not only had he been forced to flee his own lands, he had watched as some of his closest companions died trying to defend his exit. He’d seen the wizard Keedle, his longtime adviser and confidant, blown from the wall like so much fodder. Men, nobles, friends and family alike had died around him in their hard earned, red King’s Guard armor.
He had watched on helplessly as the Ladies’ Twin Towers were toppled by the Westland wizard. Inside them, his own mother and his betrothed, along with most every notable mother, daughter, and sister in all of
