The Wizard and the Warlord (The Wardstone Trilogy Book Three) (16 page)

The superintendent at the Salaphel lumber tract welcomed Lord Spyra into a big log structure and generously offered his table to him and his men. Spyra indicated for his men to sit and did so himself. The table was long enough to seat forty men, and the torchlit room was open. The high, log-raftered ceiling was spacious but heavy with pitch smoke from the torches on the walls. No one knew why Spyra was there, so there was no need for posturing or trying to conceal his motives. The poor superintendent was clearly worried that he had done something wrong, or maybe he thought one of his men was guilty of a crime. Often the men wanted by one city guard or another for illegal acts ended up working the mills. Rarely did a lord come to visit, and never for social reasons. Lord Ellrich used to frequent the islands in the spring to enjoy the abundance of grottel that were rousted out of their forest nests as the undergrowth was cleared out before harvest. The huge lord could eat a dozen of them in a single sitting. The superintendent was hoping that a table full of the fat, meaty creatures would keep him in Lord Spyra’s good graces.

“Sir,” Spyra said, trying to use a comforting tone. “Could you invite a certain worker of yours to dinner?”

“They come and go, my lord,” the superintendent said guardedly. “Is this man in some sort of trouble?”

“Not in the way you might think. He has committed no crime. As a matter of fact, I would just like to ask him a few questions.”

“Give me his name, my lord, and I will make sure he is at the table this eve.” The superintendent scratched his chin curiously. “You’re sure he's not a wanted man?”

“No,” Spyra answered. “Believe me, after the man hears what I have to say, he will be thankful I spoke with him.”

The superintendent became a little nervous after Spyra gave him the name, but he repeated it to an assistant and told him which foreman the man worked under before sending him off to fetch him. Spyra sent his two men with the superintendent’s assistant just as a precaution. The superintendent disappeared into the kitchen and conferred with his cooks about the night’s meal, then returned and took a seat across from Lord Spyra.

“Can you tell me what this is about?” the superintendent asked.

Spyra saw no harm in telling the man, even though he felt foolish speaking of such things as wizards, spells, and living dead men.

“Some Westland men, who were fighting under King Glendar, sailed out of O’Dakahn. For whatever reason, they’ve become scattered about the realm. No doubt they believe themselves to be thought of as Westland deserters.” Spyra saw the superintendent swallow hard and wondered why the man was getting so worried. “Those men actually did the right thing by deserting Glendar. High King Mikahl wishes to thank them.”

“So they’re not in trouble, these men?”

“Not at all.” Spyra felt that he might just have found more than he’d hoped to. “In fact, the High King has declared that all they have to do is swear fealty to him to be fully absolved of the deed, but…”

“I knew there was a ‘but’. There’s always more to it,” the superintendent said. “What more is there? A penance for the Crown of a year’s labor, or a hefty fine to fatten the coffers?”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” Lord Spyra snapped. He was a big, formidable man who had spent his whole life in the Highwander military. He wasn’t used to being questioned, and frankly didn’t like it very much. He took a few moments and tried to remember the fact that he was a lord now and not a general. “Let me finish next time, before you go running off at the mouth, man.” He pierced the superintendent with his eyes and went on. “Those men were bespelled. All of them. The men on those ships with Glendar won’t die, even when they should.” Spyra stood and started pacing with his hands clasped behind his back. The idea of the undead, and the man before him, had him on the verge of anger. “Those who still have a beating heart can be saved from the horrible fate that awaits them. Many of them have already met a terrible end.”

“My lord.” The superintendent’s relief was palpable. “I apologize for interrupting you. We have seen the effects you speak of out here. Several, perhaps thirty, of our men were on those ships. There were more, but we had to burn them after they started rotting away. Only after their bones were charred to ash did they stay dead.”

“Well then, we have just made a great step to fulfilling the High King’s orders,” Lord Spyra said with a smile that showed he was holding no ill will, and that his irritation had passed. “I was ordered to question these men and compile a list of all who were on those ships. I have to find out who was burned and who else is missing, but a wizard named Sholt will come and do whatever it is he does to remove the enchantment Pael put on them. They can kneel to me and say the words of fealty to King Mikahl after dinner. That will make them free men again.”

“That will be good for them, my lord,” the superintendent said, “but I will lose more than a few of them when they learn that they are free to go home and such.” He stood and wiped his brow. “It’s good to know we wasn’t in the wrong by burning those that wouldn’t stay dead either.” He looked up, his eyes focusing on something far beyond the roof of the cabin. “It wasn’t easy.”

It took Spyra a moment to realize that the man was praying. He waited until the prayer was done before offering a suggestion.

“Why don’t you have them all rounded up after dinner. Tell them what it’s all about. I have to ask them who else was on those ships and then go track those men down.”

Later that evening, thirty-two men were absolved of their desertion. By morning, Lord Spyra’s list had grown to more than a hundred names, only eighteen of whom were known to be dead. His next stop was going to be a little trickier. More than half the men on the new list were working out of the New Westland settlement on the Isle of Salazar, where those lords and merchants who had escaped the Dragon Queen had settled. Most of them were working aboard ships. Finding them all wasn’t going to be easy.

Spyra decided that he had to go back to Southport and take a ship to Salazar from there. For this trek he would need at least a handful of men. Salazar wasn’t part of Westland, or even under the rule of High King Mikahl. Finding cooperation there wasn’t guaranteed.

He wanted to go back to Southport anyway. He figured he should at least grant the two skeletons being held there their last wishes. He didn’t relish the idea of it, but once that was done he would separate their skulls and end them.

***

With an anguished wail and a torrent of tears, Queen Rosa said goodbye to Phen and the others. They were standing in the starlit courtyard outside the red brick castle. The queen was only emotional over Phen, though. It amazed King Mikahl how much she cared for the boy. The small comfort he gave her while she was a prisoner of the Dragon Queen had bonded them for life.

Lady Trella wasn’t much better with her goodbyes. She didn’t wail and moan, but she wouldn’t let go of Lord Gregory for a long time.

“I’m only going to be gone for a few weeks, my love,” he told her.

“You told me that once before and I spent an entire year thinking you were dead.”

“Aye.” He squeezed her closer to him. “That won’t happen again. If it wasn’t for the Skyler Clan, I would never have been able to come and find you, though. I owe them a great deal.” He kissed her lips. “You’re welcome to come along.”

“No, Rosa needs me to help her prepare for Westland, and there are huge lists of things that she has to handle when she gets there. She doesn’t know our customs. Besides that, the skeeks destroyed Lake Bottom, and I’m sure Lady Able needs help at Lakeside.”

“I’ll be back soon, my love,” he told her again. “There and back again, I swear it. I’ll only stay for a few days.”

“What is this? No tears or hugs or kisses for me?” Oarly asked the High King with a smirk on his face.

“Master Oarly, I promise you that when you return from this adventure you will be awarded land, title, and a healthy chest for all you’ve given up for this realm.” Mikahl grinned broadly. “But if you want a kiss, you’d better find it elsewhere.”

“I’d rather kiss your horse than you, King Mikahl. But I’d rather kiss a bottle of brandy than either of you.”

Lady Telgra hugged Queen Rosa, then Lady Trella in turn. Her eyes seemed to glow in the predawn darkness. They were full of excitement and sadness, and more than a little uncertainty.

Jicks said goodbye to his mother. His father had died last year when Pael and Glendar sacked Castlemont. The High King shook his hand, which was no small thing to a common soldier. Mikahl went on to assure him that his mother would be well cared for while they were gone.

One of the archers was saying goodbye to a girl who was as loud as Queen Rosa. It was clear that she didn’t want to see her man go.

The other archer was a loner, like Lieutenant Welch. The two of them stood watching over the scene.

From somewhere in the darkness, the order to load up was called. A few moments later three overcrowded wagons, pulled by four horses each, rolled out of Dreen’s north gate. They were headed toward adventure.

Commander Lyle was on the verge of smacking the fat, dimwitted city guard captain who sat across from him. The office was furnished opulently with polished teakpanels, ensconced brass lanterns, and thick, padded leather chairs. The space was decorated far beyond the means of the man sitting on the other side of his huge, glossy-topped desk. He was obviously on the take, and it perturbed Commander Lyle quite badly. Worse, the man was actually refusing to give him aid, which meant he was refusing to act on an order given by the High King. The man kept reading and rereading the document Commander Lyle had given him, but incomprehension, or maybe disbelief that it was actually from the king, is all that showed on his round face.

“I’ll have to check with Queen Willa,” the man finally said. “I’ll send a rider in the morning. It’s already past the dinner hour. Too late to send one tonight.”

“Queen Willa lives in Xwarda, man,” Lyle said. “It will take a rider five days to get there and five days to get back. What difference does it make if it is dinner time when he leaves?”

The captain of the city guards scratched his head absently and handed the scroll back to Commander Lyle. “By the time a man readied his horse and prepared himself for such a ride, it would be dark. And it will take at least eight days to get to Xwarda, because my messengers do not travel at night. There are bandits and far worse dangers roaming the hills of Highwander. This isn’t Westland farm land.”

“Listen, Captain!” Lyle stood and roared while pointing a finger. “I don’t know what your game is, but this is an order from the High King.” He smacked the rolled parchment across the desk. “The High King reigns over Queen Willa. His order cannot be reversed, or be questioned by you, or even Her Majesty.”

The man’s confused look of dismay made Commander Lyle’s blood reach the boiling point. He was sure the veins in his neck were standing out like cords as he began to shout. In the background, beyond the rushing of the blood in his ears, he thought he heard footsteps scrambling outside the door.

“If you do not comply with my granted authority, I’ll have you arrested for dereliction of duty or insubordination. Better yet, if you think to defy me, I’ll do away with all the rank and rigmarole and just whip your fat ass.”

“Lieutenant!” the guard captain yelled, his face white with fear. “Arrest this man!”

The door to the office burst open and several armed men came in, though all of them except one looked to be as afraid of Commander Lyle as their captain was. Surely everyone outside the door had heard the conversation.

Commander Lyle drew his sword, and in a pair of heartbeats positioned himself behind the captain with his blade against the man’s fleshy neck. “Call them off, fool,” Lyle ordered. “I’ve fought dragons and demons and Dakaneese sellswords. I didn’t do it so some lazy scoundrel like you could pilfer the coffers and grow fat. We will send word to Queen Willa and the High King, just like you suggested, but it will be an inquiry into how you can afford to work in such luxury while half the people in the realm are fighting desperately to rebuild a simple place to call home.”

The lieutenant of Weir’s city guard, a short, wiry man with a very long mustache, seemed to think that was funny. After he finished laughing, he told his men to put away their weapons. Hesitantly, they did.

He picked the scroll up from the captains’ desk and read a few lines. “I think you’d better cooperate with this one.”

“I will,” the terrified captain blubbered. “I swear it. Just get him off of me.”

“It’s too late for that, man,” Commander Lyle said to the lieutenant. “I don’t know who you are, but unless you’re ready to back up the document you hold, you should mind your business.”

“There’s no need for violence here, Commander,” the lieutenant said through a wide, delighted grin. “Our corrupt friend can be put in a cell until your charges are rendered, but there’s no need to take off his head.”

The captain whimpered at that, and the lieutenant’s smile widened. Lyle realized then that the lieutenant was really enjoying this. Maybe he was tired of the captain’s treachery. He probably didn’t have the rank to do anything about it. Lyle knew that meant someone was empowering the captain, or he had some strong swords in his pocket.

“By all rights I would be justified to pike this traitor’s head at the city gate.” He returned the lieutenant’s grin so he knew he wasn’t really going to do it.

Just then, a man who towered over the lieutenant stepped through the door and pushed him aside. This man was armored in well-worn studded leather, and by the scars on his face and arms he looked to have seen his share of battles. He held a loaded crossbow in one muscled arm, and it was aimed at Commander Lyle.

“Shoot him,” the captain said, not realizing that the crossbow was also aimed at him. “Shoot him now, before…” his words were cut off by the feel of Lyle’s blade slicing into his neck. “Nooo, please,” the captain managed.

“It’s not very wise to order the death of the man whose blade is at your throat, Captain,” Lyle said with a glare at the man whose arrow might kill him if the trigger was pulled. He could tell by the look on the lieutenant’s face that the situation no longer amused him. His hand was on his sword hilt, but the hesitation in the gesture was obvious.