The Choska demon swept down out of the darkened sky and sent a series of streaking crimson rays into the gate. The heavy planked doors didn’t explode apart, but they burst into flames that were so hot the hinges and metal bands that held them together began to glow cherry red. Slowly, the metalwork grew malleable and dripped away, causing sparks to fountain up as the hot drips hit the cool hardpack.
Dogs barked in fear and anger. The guards sounded the alarm as the ember-eyed demon came back around. Crossbows thrummed and arrows shot forth, some striking the Choska as it came on again. The arrows did little more than enrage the thick-skinned creature. It let out a shrieking cry that dropped men to their knees. The clank of weapons hitting the cobbles echoed, as hands were pressed protectively over their ears.
Huge, clawed feet latched on top of the gate and tore the planks away from the melting metal. Then from out of the shadows, the robed skeletons came swarming. In a matter of seconds, the guards were overrun.
Torches flared to life, lit from the burning gates, and like maddened fireflies, small bands of undead spread out through the streets, shattering glass and setting curtains and thatch aflame. Soon a dressmaker’s shop was so consumed in fire that a whole portion of the city was illuminated. Another shop burst into flames down the way, and in the distance, as the sound of clanging steel rang out, a horrible scream cut through the night.
The Choska demon circled high above, shrieking and reveling as the horror and shock of O’Dakahn's residents wafted up into the night. Soon the ample city guard would be diverted from another part of the city to come and rescue the merchants, but until then the Choska basked in the horrific glory of the people’s terror.
To further the mayhem, the Choska swept by low a few times, rupturing eardrums and spreading panic with its horrible, piercing call. It watched as guardsmen came rushing in from several different places. They held their lanterns high and their swords flashed brightly. One by one the skeletons were cut down and trampled apart by city men.
The Choska lingered, savoring the pain of the burned and wounded, the terror of the orphaned and widowed. The uncertainty of the futureless, whose livelihoods had just been destroyed, was like sweet nectar to the hell-born beast. As dawn approached, the Choska fled the city, sated and successful in carrying out the Abbadon’s command. It winged its way westward toward the Dragon Spire to tell the Warlord of its success. The Dark One would be pleased, and the Choska would no doubt be rewarded, maybe even with a more substantial meal of Zard flesh, one that it could peel from a living morsel, or even a thrashing geka. Gloating in its success, the Choska decided that it wouldn’t wait for the Abbadon’s reward. Swooping down over the village of Nahka, it spied a herdsman rounding up his goats in the dawn light.
The man never even saw the demon drop down on him, but his scream was no less harrowing because he couldn’t identify his attacker. Several people in the village saw him torn apart by the giant, bat-like fiend; they also watched the Choska wing away, heading due west. Everyone, even the children in Nahka, knew what lay due west. After all, a dragon had lived there for the last three centuries.
The same morning, High King Mikahl and Queen Rosa rode atop their carriage, on the parade bench, into the sizable Westland city of Crossington. All around them people yelled and cheered. The cobbled streets were packed, mostly with elderly folk and women. Wild packs of children ran around, too. It was clear that everyone in Westland was relieved to have one of King Balton’s sons, a rightful heir to the Westland crown, back on the throne.
Mikahl was exhilarated. In his youth he had spent many a day in Crossington. It wasn’t his actual home, but it was so close and so familiar that he was beside himself. The entire skyline of northern Westland’s main trading center was filled with fluttering golden lions. Green and gold wavered on the chilly breeze everywhere. It was inspiring.
Rosa waved and smiled at hundreds and hundreds of little girls, whose fathers and lives had been ravaged away by war. The smiles on some of their faces looked to be the first ones they had made in quite some time.
Crossington, it seemed, had been affected more than any other place by the Zard occupation, save for Lakeside Castle. The people were starving for familiar leadership. With Mikahl came a sense of security.
Even after they were back inside the carriage with Crossington behind them, Mikahl’s blood was tingling. The only feelings he could compare the sensation to were Ironspike’s symphony and Queen Rosa’s bed. His true home was ahead of them, the castle where he had been born and raised. Mikahl had worked for the kingdom since he could walk. He was a candle snuffer and message runner when he was a boy. Later, he was a stablehand, and finally, King Balton’s personal squire. This was his homecoming; the kitchen servant’s bastard-turned-king of the entire realm, returning to the place where his father and mother had died.
He looked at his wife and saw that she was chewing her bottom lip. He reminded himself that this was also the place where Queen Rosa was held captive by the Dragon Queen and mutilated by the Red Priests of Kraw.
“It will be all right, my love,” he told her. “This is our place now.”
“You’ll have that wizard’s tower torn down for me?” she asked.
“Aye, my lady, I will,” he agreed. “Even if I have to do it myself with Ironspike.”
“And the garden yard where Pin and Hyden Hawk stopped the priest from tearing open the world.”
“Aye, my lady.”
“And that wicked woman's bedchamber that overlooked it all?” She was looking happy now, and her eyes showed that she was pleased he would do these drastic things for her.
“I won’t have to do that, my lady.” Mikahl smiled at the look on her face. “Claret took care of that when she poked her huge head in to save Phen.”
She leaned into him and squeezed his arm. “I miss Pin. I would feel better if he were here.”
Mikahl wasn’t sure what to say to that. Phen had comforted his wife while she was imprisoned here.
“My lady.” Mikahl leaned over and kissed his wife deeply. “Phen is up in the Skyler village keeping Oarly and Hyden safe.” He kissed her again. “You'll just have to learn to feel safe without him.”
“Oh, Mik,” she purred. “You'll just have to keep my mind occupied so that the memories don’t take hold of me.”
“Rosa, I hope to spend our time here making new memories. Can we try to forget the rest?”
“Yes, my king. I believe that you’ve already caused me to forget.” She kissed him. “Whatever it was,” she whispered as she kissed him again, “that we were talking…” After that the words stopped and their kiss grew passionate.
A few minutes later, the royal carriage driver called a stop because of a sudden motion that made him think a wheel was busted. He was embarrassed to learn that he was mistaken.
That evening, while riding in Windfoot’s saddle, King Mikahl Collum rode through the gates of Castleview City, where he had once been chased away as a murderer and thief.
The reception he received, the explosion of well-wishing people, made Crossington’s excited crowd seem like an old lady’s tea party. For the first time since King Balton’s death, the people of Westland felt safe.
Chapter 29
The afternoon was brisk. Coming over the previous ridge, the icy breeze had sliced through the companions’ garments as if they weren’t even there. The snow had stopped, though. The sun was bright overhead and now, as they eased down into the wooded valley, they found that they were protected from the wind. After four days of constant snowfall and cold, gray skies, the rays of warm sunlight were inviting.