The Dreaddrac Onslaught (Book 4) (23 page)

“We’ll send a messenger to King Grekenbach and Queen Nonee informing them of the news and offering what support we can.”

“I hope Princess Dagmar is well,” the wizard said.

He’s changing the subject to spare me embarrassment, Saxthor thought.

“Dagmar has begun to organize sanctuaries for the sick and wounded in the event the attack comes here and we need to evacuate injured from the battle front along the border. Her Highness is quite amazing in her concern for the people here. The dowager queen wishes to establish such houses to care for the sick in Sengenwha when she can return there,” Saxthor said. He pointed to Dagmar’s portrait on the wall. “We’re very proud of Dagmar.”

“Perhaps we should adjourn the meeting until tomorrow and get some rest, Majesty,” Memlatec suggested.

“Yes, of course. This has been a long day, and we need time to consider this new power shift before making additional plans. Meeting adjourned until ten in the morning.”

When the generals had donned their plumed helmets, and they with the other ministers and councilors left, Memlatec remained with his protégé. Saxthor was rolling up scrolls and maps when the wizard approached him at the head of the great table. He put his hand on Saxthor’s shoulder.

“Your mother and father would be proud of how you’ve grown and risen to the throne’s responsibilities so quickly. Your bringing the Sengenwhan royal family to Konnotan was a stroke of genius.”

“Not genius, Memlatec, just the right decision in a crisis.”

“You’ve been able to ally the venerable but hostile Kingdom of Sengenwha with the Neuyokkasinian Kingdom nonetheless. Generations have failed to do that. While Dagmar may rule Sengenwha as queen independently during her lifetime, if you two marry, your son will rule an empire from Talok-Lemnos in the north to Sengenwha in the west and south to the Powterosian Empire. The fact that the two of you are so obviously in love is quite the unusual bonus.” He turned away and started to leave. 

“Marry?” Saxthor questioned. He looked up at his mentor. “I love her, that’s certain, but we can’t marry, Memlatec. Had I asked Calamidese for her hand when he was last here, we might have married, but now with him gone, and her queen in absentia, her people wouldn’t permit her to marry their generational enemy as monarch.” His head drooped.

For a moment, Memlatec turned back. “We shall see. For now, if your infant empire can just survive the onslaught of the evil pouring down from Dreaddrac, the future may be bright. Time heals wounds, Saxthor.”

Saxthor followed the wizard out of the room in silence. Heals wounds but leaves scars, he thought.

* * *

At the meeting the next morning, Memlatec brought up the subject of Sengenwha and the orc army threat there.

“What news of Sengenwha, Your Majesty?” a general asked.

Saxthor sat at the head of the conference table behind a flutter of maps.

“Count Vicksnak has returned with grim news indeed. General Tarquak is consolidating his power in Sengenwhapolis. The orcs are said to be reorganizing on the southern plains, while in the north there’s little defiance of the new order. All serious resistance has evaporated since Tarquak wiped out the late grand duke’s northern forces in the battle to relieve pressure on the capital.

“The troops that survived the battles are pouring into Botahar on the Pundar River. Being a trading port, it has few substantial defenses, and those were only built when Calamidese fortified the city after the first seizure of Sengenwhapolis. Certainly it will crumble in the event Ozrin flies east from Sengenwhapolis and attacks the city. He’ll reduce it to ash and rubble at will,” Saxthor replied. His stance slumped, and he fiddled with the map where Botahar displayed.

“Sengenwhapolis was such a beautiful country, and the capital was a maze of grand old palaces and quaint little streets. Its people were warm for the most part. They only wanted to trade and farm in peace. Now, their homes and farms are forfeited. They’re left wandering beggars in their own land,” the last ambassador to Sengenwha added.

Memlatec had stood back against the wall, leaning on his staff, listening. He now moved forward; the rod clacked on the stone floor. The councilors turned to hear what he had to say.

“I fear once General Tarquak consolidates his power, his cruel nature will want more blood, and his army will turn south. We must be ready, Majesty.”

“Yes,” Saxthor responded. “We’ve done all we can to prepare for the war as it moves to our borders. We fear that must happen soon. The question now is will General Tarquak move on his own, or will he hold back until General Vylvex moves his forces down the peninsula’s eastern side to attack us on both fronts. We don’t know that we can muster troops enough to defend the border the full length along Talok-Lemnos and across Neuyokkasin to the Tixosian Sea. Would that we had Sengenwha as an effective ally. It would greatly reduce the expanse of border we must defend,” the king said, studying the maps and borders. He casually crossed off Sengenwha on the map, denoting it was no longer an active player.

*

Twiddle flitted onto the table from the window ledge and hopped across the maps. Unlike his crusty old father, he was young, yet also impatient.

Memlatec needs to get this moving along, thought Twiddle. This place offers little in the line of food for this high maintenance bird. I’m ready to get back to the wizard’s tower, where I can always find something tasty and crunchy crawling about.

“Get off the table, you pesky bird,” scolded the wizard, embarrassed at his little helper’s impertinence.

Woo! Twiddle thought. He hopped up just in time to evade Memlatec’s sweeping hand.

“It’s quite all right,” Saxthor said, stroking the little bird’s breast feathers. “His father saved my life more than once on the adventure. He’s granted the privilege of flitting about where he likes.” The king smiled at Twiddle, who looked up as if understanding and then looked indignantly at Memlatec. His little bobbing tail bounced as he hopped across the table and up onto the wizard’s shoulder.

Granted? Privilege?
Twiddle wondered. Bobbing up and down faster, he watched Saxthor. Who does he think he is? I do as I please. He squatted, then bobbed some more.

Memlatec raised his hand in submission and then nodded at Twiddle, but the smiles quickly faded.

Seeing the look on their faces change, Twiddle flew back to the window. I guess they’ve seen my comment on Memlatec’s shoulder. We’ll be leaving soon.

“You rude bird!” Memlatec said. He winked at Saxthor. “How dare you leave your smart remarks on my shoulder?” Memlatec thumped the dropping at the bird and wiggled his nose to ensure it smacked the bird on his side.

Twiddle just bobbed up and down like a kid and hopped about on the window ledge. Guess he knows I’m ready to go now.

“Come on then, I’d better take you home before we get thrown out of here by the cleaning staff.”

You’re making a mountain out of a little poop, Wizard.

Saxthor smiled at the exchange. “Thank you for coming to keep Memlatec in line, Twiddle.” The wren bobbed up and down as a child pressed by a call of nature.

“Keep me in line!” the wizard exclaimed in a rare moment of frustration. “That bird couldn’t keep Aleman in line.”

“Yes, well, Aleman is another matter entirely,” the king remarked, chuckling. “I suspect you’re challenge enough for one little bird.”

Challenge indeed, the old crank is a full time job. Twiddle flew down and landed on Delia’s head. Delia just curled her lip in a smile and wagged her tail at the bird’s attention. This musty old dog misses Pop, too. She tolerates me for his memory sake, Twiddle thought.

*

I like the flighty little bird, Delia thought. She strained looking up but couldn’t see the top of her head. The thought warmed her, and she wagged her tail. He has great potential when the impatience of adolescence wears off. Assuming it will wear off before someone swats that puffball.

*

Memlatec motioned Twiddle to his shoulder and, bowing to the king, withdrew to leave Saxthor to his councilors. Once outside, the wizard went to find Tournak, his assistant who moved freely between the palace and Memlatec’s tower, assisting both the king and the wizard. Reading the energy grid within the palace, Memlatec had no trouble finding his apprentice wizard for an assignment on the border.

* * *

Even with the lightened load, Earwig and Dreg were exhausted after two days of dragging the cart with little progress. They huffed and puffed with the cart creaking at the slightest movement. Wheezing, the witch turned from pushing to prop herself against the cart. She rolled her boot over pebbles on the road bed and kicked a rock off the roadside. “We’ll have to abandon the cart or find some draft animal to pull it.”

“You’re not going to try another of them transmutation things, are you?” Wide-eyed, Dreg began backing away from the cart, shuffling backward down the road.

“Get ahold of yourself, Dreg. And it’s those transmutations, not them transmutations.” Still gasping, she turned sideways, pushed herself upright off the cart, and after a moment to recover, sat down on a log by the roadside. Looking at Dreg, she patted the log beside her.

Dreg cocked his head, studying the witch. He hesitated, then shuffled over and sat down. They sat thinking in silence.

“I miss Zendor the Magnificent,” Earwig blurted out, shattering the silence.

“What’s that you say?” Dreg stared at her. “You done complained about Zendor from first you saw him. You ain’t never said nothing nice about him before.”

“Yes, well, that gasbag had his good point, however faint that was.”

“Did I hear that right?”

“Yeah, well, we can breathe now. However, the old nag did have a certain feisty attitude I could relate to,” she replied, staring off into the forest across the road. She smashed a grasshopper with a stick.

Dreg was keeping an eye on the road. “Maybe some traveler will help us get a horse. Don’t you go trying to steal the traveler’s animal. I hopes you remember the last horse you tried to steal.”

“Me! Steal! You wound my very heart, you ungrateful lout.”

“Don’t you have some spell that’ll make the cart fly on its own?” Dreg asked, speaking before he thought.

“I could see if there’s something in one of the books we salvaged. If they’ve dried enough to unroll without tearing them.” Earwig heaved herself up, wheezing, and started over to the cart. When she looked back at Dreg, his bottom jaw had dropped. 

“That’s OK, Miss Irkin. We’ll gets a horse soon, I’m sure. Don’t you go troubling yourself with them spell books.” He jumped up and tried helping her back to the log, but she jerked her arm away and glared at him. She’d have none of that.

Earwig was on a mission and began rummaging through the moldy junk pile on the cart. “Here’s something of interest.” Earwig drew out a damp parchment spotted black with growing mildew.

“Maybe we oughta wait for a horse,” Dreg pleaded.

Earwig looked up at Dreg, who was scanning up and down the road. “You’ve no faith in your mentor.” Earwig returned to the scrolls, intrigued by the book in hand. She scanned it, ignoring his veiled warning.

“Now let me see, it seems we need some common ingredients, and there are a couple of spells. Drat! Part of the second spell is missing, torn away in the stream I suppose.” Earwig began to scrounge ingredients and play with a stick to substitute for her lost wand.

“Please don’t attempt to make the cart come to life, Miss Irkin,” Dreg begged. “Didn’t that fanged rat thing learn you anything?”

“I heard that!” Earwig spun on the spot and shot a stare at him that would freeze dragon’s blood. “How dare you bring that up! You know it was only a simple mistake. It had many horse attributes.”

“Yes, but them other attributes almost eat us up!”

Earwig fumed. Using the stick she was fiddling with, she shot a feeble wizard-fire bolt at the poor unfortunate. The stick was crooked, its fibers weak, and the bolt fizzled before it reached Dreg, crouched and cringing at the expected strike. That made the witch even madder, and she attempted the shot again, only to have the stick smolder, glow, and fall as ash at her feet. “Get up and go find us something to eat. I’ll fix this cart so we can go to Dreaddrac with some dignity and
not dragging the thing like peasants.”

Dreg shook his head and wandered up the road in search of some source of food, shaking his head all the while. “I ain’t coming back ‘til I gets a good look at what you conjures from a safe distance.”

Earwig sneered at him. She collected her ingredients and piled them near the fire. One by one, she inspected each before tossing them into the pot hanging over the fire and began to mumble her incantations. The first spell brought a chartreuse glow from the bubbling pot. So far, so good.

“Now what would the last of this second spell be?” Earwig mumbled. She reread the scroll, but there was no hint of the missing section, only “and then” at the end before the scroll melted away. “I should know what this spell is; it’s an old one. I must have studied it before.” She slammed her fist down as the scroll rolled up with a snap.

Earwig had first salvaged her beloved caustic mushrooms when the cart flew into the stream. Everything else had gotten wet and was piled onto the cart in their haste to flee the possibly returning fanged horse. Mildew quickly spread over the mushy mass until it ran into the mushrooms. The two fungi fought a violent, if silent, battle under the bedrolls’ protective cover. The mildew was no match for the mushrooms, and the mushrooms mutated again, feeding on the helpless new fungal food source.