Mikahl had recently suggested a feast as a way to boost morale for the folk in and around the castle. They’d had a rough time over the past few years, with Glendar’s failing and the Dragon Queen’s occupation.
He was pleased that his wife liked the idea. To his surprise, she and Lady Able took command of the preparations, saying that it was important that, while the event be grand and uplifting, it shouldn’t be too much so. It would be improper to eclipse the Yule Day festival with a lesser affair. And even though Yule Day was a few months off, Mikahl agreed and let the women have their way.
Shouts from the ground to the north caught their attention and they strode to the parapet hand in hand to see what the ruckus was about. A group of riders escorting a carriage were coming in. The carriage flew the High King’s lion, the Red Wolf of Wildermont’s flag, and another banner boasting an axe crossing a hammer. It trundled through the North Road gate and slowed to a stop. Mikahl let out a bellowing cloud of breath and laughed. He turned to his wife with a face-splitting grin.
“I think King Jarrek has accepted our invitation to feast,” he said hopefully. “And it looks as if General Diamondeen and some of his dwarves have come, too.”
“Oh no, Mik,” Rosa said with a fluster. “What’s the proper setting for a dwarf?” She blew into her hands with a look of utter despair on her face. “Would children’s tables offend them? Oh, by the setting sun, Mikahl, Spyra and Sholt are due back any day now. The feast tables are already set and waiting. What do I do?”
“Be calm, my lady,” Mikahl soothed, and pulled her into his arms with a deep kiss.
She kissed him back, but he could sense that her concern over the matter was genuine.
“I’ll find out from Jarrek what is proper as soon as I can, my love.” Mikahl kissed her forehead. “But as long as you put out an open keg or two, they’ll not be offended at all.”
As Mikahl ushered the queen back inside, he made sure that she didn’t look at the west side of the castle grounds, where the Dragon Queen’s garden yard had once been. Though the new construction was almost done, the place where the red priest had burned the symbol into the ground and opened the portal was completely, and unnaturally, void of snow. Some dark taint remained in the earth there. It was Mikahl’s hope that Master Sholt could remove the curse, or whatever it was. With the ground covered in white, save for that one circular area, it was getting harder and harder to keep it from coming to Rosa’s attention. Mikahl didn’t want that to happen.
“Any word from Hyden Hawk and Master Oarly?” King Jarrek asked Mikahl later in one of Lakeside Castle’s luxurious gathering rooms.
General Diamondeen was there, as well. All of them had been drinking from a keg of King Balton’s brandy wine. The stuff was sweet and potent. A fire roared in the hearth and a couple of oil lamps lit the mahogany-paneled room well. The furnishings were plush and covered in golden velvet. The three men and the dwarf sat in a semicircle facing the fire. The men’s stockinged feet rested in the thick fur of an old bear pelt. Diamondeen’s feet dangled from his divan a good handspan above it. He had pulled off his socks after the last goblet and was now curling and uncurling his stubby, hairy toes while extending his feet toward the fire.
“Last we heard,” Mikahl said, falling back into his oversized chair, “they had reached Afdeon and were considering going on to the Leif Repline fountain. Though how they'd do such a thing up in those frigid mountains this time of year, I’d never know.”
“At least they made it that far,” King Jarrek smiled. “I suppose it’s time you spilled your news to the High King, General,” Jarrek said. “The dwarves have been busy doing more than rebuilding our realm, it seems.”
General Diamondeen let out a huff. “Picking a new king en’t no easy work.”
“They’ve chosen, then?” Mikahl asked.
“They have,” the dwarf answered as he sat up. His demeanor grew a bit more serious. He was too drunk to keep his balance, though, and ended up falling back into the cushioned divan. As intoxicated as he was, he didn’t spill a drop from his goblet. He managed to sit up enough to take another sip before continuing. “A Cragbert, they say. They have a distant blood claim to the throne and no one is protesting.” He belched and wiped his beard with the back of his hand. “Supposed to be crowned in Xwarda sometime betwixt now and your Yule Day. It’s a blasphemy to Doon, I tell ya. You can’t crown the king of the rock-dwellers above ground.”
“King Cragbert,” Mikahl said quietly.
“Of course, you and Queen Rosa will be invited to the coronation,” King Jarrek explained. “Willa is all in a worry about it now. She wanted the dwarves to wait until spring, at least, but try explaining the seasons to all the dwarves who haven’t yet come out of the earth in centuries.”
“What does it matter?” Diamondeen barked. “The High King and Queen can fly to Xwarda on that flaming pegasaurus.”
Mikahl and Jarrek laughed deeply.
“Aye,” Mikahl managed. “I can do just that, but by the gods of man and beast, it would be a blasted cold ride.”
The trek back to the teleportal cave that would carry the companions to Afdeon was slow and somber. Dostin and Corva took turns with Jicks carrying Oarly’s body. Nothing happened in the two days it took to traverse the cliff ledge back.
The hardest part of that jaunt was getting started. Phen’s thorn wall was quite a barrier. Corva tried using Oarly’s axe to cut a path through, but the progress was far too slow.
The troll had bled to death, and stank to begin with, but now with hundreds of scavengers in the tangle feeding on its flesh, the smell was somewhat worse. They tried fire next, but the vines and branches of the growth were so green that they wouldn’t catch. Finally, Hyden warned off all the creatures feeding in the tangle and blasted most of the stuff out of the passage with a fist of kinetic energy. He hadn’t intended to use such force, but the power of his ring was amplified by the dragon tear medallion and proved to be far more potent than he expected.
Afdeon wasn’t the same glorious place it had seemed to be a few days before. The loss of their companions eclipsed the awe-inspiring wonder of it. King Aldar was back to himself, though. After hearing the news of success, and the cost of it, a feast of honor was held. The deeds of the dead were glorified in tales told by the living. It was giant tradition and did a bit of good by bleeding the bleakness from the surviving companions.
After the feast, Hyden spoke to the others. King Aldar, his wife, and Princess Gretta were all still at the table when he did. Cade was there, as well, though he was the serving master, not a table guest. The giant emissary kept the room clear of interruption once the nature of Hyden’s words became clear.
“I must not dally.” Hyden stood as he spoke. “I cannot ask any of you to continue this quest with me. The powers of the elements themselves conspire against success. Yet I cannot wait until after winter. The goddess who guides me has warned me of dark days to come. Dark days for all of us, not just the kingdom folk, but here in the Giant Mountains and in the Evermore, where the elves live. I wish I knew more, but that is all the knowledge she allowed me.” He looked at Phen then. “Phen, Princess Telgra, three men died so that your futures would be pure and clean. I cannot allow those deaths to be in vain.”