“She knows you?” Telgra asked curiously. She was sitting across the fire from Hyden, on a blanket with Phen. She was staring into the flames and scratching the lyna’s ears lovingly. As Hyden answered, Talon fluttered down to land on Phen’s shoulder.
“Aye, my lady, she does. I have to tell you, though, there’s an elf and a monk following us. They tried to catch us in Dreen. I think King Mikahl might have told you about them. They were with you before you were lost in the storm.”
Her look soured. She seemed embarrassed as she spoke. “I don’t remember them. I apologize if I am causing trouble for you.”
“It’s not me who they might offend, my lady,” Hyden said. “We’re going to wait for them. We can’t keep leading them through the giant’s realm. They’ll meet an ill fate for certain.”
She nodded that she understood his reasoning.
“There’s more,” Hyden continued, trying to choose his words carefully. “I know you don’t remember much about yourself, but there’s one thing you should know.”
Hyden looked to Borg for help. The giant’s expression showed that he was offering none. Hyden took a breath and got on with it. “You are the heir of the elven realm, Princess Telgra. Your mother is the Queen Mother, and though she knows that you are alive and safe, she doesn’t know where you are, or the condition of your mind.”
“I knew it!” Phen blurted out excitedly. To his surprise and obvious disappointment, her yellow eyes filled with tears. She shoved him away as she jumped up and started off. After two steps, she stopped, turned around, and picked up Spike, who had tried to follow her.
“Why did she start crying? Why is she so upset?” Phen asked.
What Hyden thought was a boulder wiggled and unfolded into an over-bundled hairy dwarf.
“She’s a she,” Oarly said, before taking a pull from his flask. He offered it to Hyden, who refused, but Borg reached his big hand over and took it. It looked like a thimble between the giant’s fingers. “Woman folk, be they dwarves, humans, or even elves are peculiar at best. Give her a while to think. I’ll go talk to her for you after that.” Oarly reached up to take his flask back from Borg, who had squatted down among them.
Hyden had to laugh when Oarly shook the container and found it empty, then scowled up at the huge being. Borg returned his glare with a look that caused Oarly to blanch.
“I’ll fetch some more,” Oarly grumbled. “And a fargin bucket for ye to drink from,” he added under his breath.
Borg heard Oarly and belted out a deep belly laugh. After a moment he said to Phen, “The dwarf is right. Giant women are no different.”
Lieutenant Welch sat down nearby and began whetting his sword. “Aye. Is she really the Princess of the Elves?”
“Aye,” Hyden answered with a sigh.
“You’ve all gone mad then.”
Chapter 31
News of Petar’s death, Commander Lyle’s reassignment, and the skeleton’s attack on O’Dakahn came to King Mikahl all in the same day. Cresson had made a sending to Master Wizard Sholt, who was currently on the Isle of Salazar with Lord Spyra, tracking down the men afflicted with Pael’s taint. He relayed the information to De’Rain, the young mage at Lakeside Castle.
Unlike Cresson, De’Rain wasn’t afraid to add his opinion to the messages he passed. He was so brazen that, when he first spoke to his king, Mikahl almost took offense. Luckily, Lady Able was there in the throne room when the news of Petar’s death was announced. Her intervention kept Mikahl from reacting rashly to the insensitive way the information was given. By the time De’Rain brought the news of the attack on O’Dakahn to the High King’s ears, the two of them had come to an understanding. The mage hadn’t known that Mikahl was fond of Petar, and Mikahl hadn’t known that De’Rain had been humiliated by Glendar on more than one occasion. The boy had later been forced by the Zard to use his magical skills to mend pots and make collars and harnesses for their four-legged geka mounts.
A lot of Westland folk were bitter. They had been overrun and forgotten while Mikahl fought beside King Jarrek to free the slaves from Ra’Gren. The people in the streets cheered for Mikahl, but he realized it was hope, not him, that they were calling out for.
It wasn’t until Mikahl finally drew Ironspike before the nobles and merchants crowded in his court that true hope began to set in. To a man, the room took a knee. No one had seen the power of the blade since King Balton sat on the throne. Due to Balton’s cunning, Glendar never once possessed it, and the Dragon Queen only carried her Spectral Staff. Mikahl settled Ironspike's blade into the display sleeve that was built into the throne at the end of the right armrest. He'd seen his father do this a thousand times, and he wasn’t surprised when the whole throne lit up with the blade’s humming blue power. The soft glow radiated a kind of promise not seen in Westland for years.
Mikahl had been fighting evil since he left the place, but something King Balton once said came to him: “Fear of the blade, and respect of its power, are far more potent weapons than the blade itself. The more you display Ironspike’s might, the less you will have to use it.” He thought about his father’s words as he told the people to rise.
The people in court had seemed uncertain about him, but they were swelled with confidence now.
“De’Rain,” Mikahl said softly. “Make a sending to our magister in O’Dakahn. Tell him that Commander Lyle is on his way and is to have full cooperation from all involved. A count of the skeletal remains should be made and the debris stored. All witnesses should be made available to the commander so that he can make a full, detailed report for me.”
Until that day, Mikahl’s stay in Westland had been filled with joy. Recollections from his early childhood came to him often and left him smiling. Queen Rosa was distracted from the places in the castle that caused her grief. Lady Able was pleasant, and the most capable of castellans. Rosa spent the days with the other ladies from the area, visiting in the great ladies’ hall. There, women sewed and played games, but mostly gossiped about one thing or another. Several of Westland’s strongholds were vacant, having been emptied by the Zard invaders. Aspiring noble-born and notable citizens were vying for lordships, and their wives pursued Rosa’s favor relentlessly. Lady Able managed to keep things civil, but rumors and dirty looks were sometimes more plentiful than smiles among the women.
Rosa loved it. She had been raised in Seaward City and was accustomed to the games the lesser nobility played. Her mother, Queen Rachel, had taught her well. She found and marked her place as queen quite easily. From there, she used all the tidbits of information Lady Trella had fed her. Knowledge of a secret affair by a lady who was portraying innocence, or the many secret rivalries and friendships that existed among the women, came in handy when judging who to trust, and in whom to only feign interest.
With Rosa busily occupied during the day, Mikahl decided to see off the Lord of Locar and his marsh patrol. The Zard who had taken the knee and chose to remain in Westland were vocal against this intrusion into their lands. King Mikahl told them quite civilly that it wasn’t their land. He was the High King of the realm. That included the marshlands. Many of the Zard found no love among the Westlanders they had once conquered anyway. Most of them had either fled back to the marshes or taken up residence around Lion Lake in the growing Zard community there.
The next morning, long before dawn, Mikahl kissed Rosa goodbye, and on the wings of the bright horse, he flew to Settsted. It was a sad sight to see the place where Lady Zasha had grown up in such a state of disrepair. The familiar smell of the marsh filled his nostrils and mingled with the smell of the boats and the refuse from yesterday’s catch. It all stirred up memories long forgotten.