The Dreaddrac Onslaught (Book 4) (44 page)

When General Sekkarian appeared, Saxthor was at his desk studying the maps. “General, King Grekenbach requests we garrison Castilyernov Tossledorn on the southern Graushdem border. He wishes to withdraw its garrison to defend Graushdemheimer and fears leaving the fortress uninhabited in their absence. What think you of the plan?”

“Tossledorn,” Sekkarian repeated, evidently thinking of the implications. Saxthor watched his face twist and wrinkle at the prospects. “It would mean abandoning Talok Tower. We would have to move that garrison to Tossledorn. We’ve not enough forces to garrison both installations. It would leave Talok Tower exposed.”

“Yes, that was our supposition.” Saxthor rose from the desk and moved around to face Sekkarian. “Is it worth the risk?”

“In my opinion, since you asked, we must assume the risk, Your Majesty. Tossledorn is the most powerful fortress on the eastern coast of the peninsular. Were it to fall into enemy hands, Talok Tower would be neutralized in any case.”

“We will send the count back with our agreement and ask for dates and details for the transfer. You’re dismissed.”

Sekkarian started backing up to withdraw.

“General, one other thing, Dreaddrac’s General Vylvex has consolidated his force and with some new beast, a whingtang I’m told, and has begun marching south on Graushdemheimer.”

“Whingtang, Majesty?”

“Yes, some huge monster Dreaddrac has created with armor plates, claws and tusks, it seems. You know how these things get exaggerated.”

“I’ll see what I can find out about this whingtang beast.” And with that, the general withdrew, leaving Saxthor alone. He returned to his desk, studying the map of northern Neuyokkasin, the Talok-Lemnos provinces, and southern Graushdem. Tossledorn Fortress stood prominently at the eastern end of the Talok Mountains, but the topography wasn’t clear on the map. Saxthor searched for a more detailed map among the stack of papers on the desk.

“Your majesty must take a break and eat something,” Belnik insisted, who had entered unannounced as was his custom as the king’s personal attendant. “You’ve been working much too hard of late. You’re not watching your health.” He pushed aside the maps and papers on the desk with the tray of food, nearly catching Saxthor’s fingers in the process.

“Belnik, how many times do I have to tell you? I’ll call for food when I’m hungry.”

“I’ve brought you a nice hot lunch, your favorite, a roast chicken with vegetables still steaming. It’s not easy to get up all those stairs with the vegetables still steaming,” Belnik said, ignoring Saxthor’s protest at the intrusion.

“I’m not hungry, Belnik. Take the tray away.”

Belnik moved around behind the king and pulled a napkin across his chest, tucking the top in the king’s blouse at the neck.

“Can’t have gravy getting on your tunic when you’ll be plagued with petitioners and generals any minute, no doubt.”

Saxthor snatched the napkin from his neck and threw it on the table.

“Belnik, you are so fussy. I’m not hungry. Put the tray on the refreshments table. I’ll eat later.”

“Now, Your Majesty, you know you’ll be involved in some crisis any minute now. You must eat something while you have time to swallow and digest it,” Belnik said, deftly reattaching the napkin over the tunic.

“Belnik! Stop that. Take the tray away; I’m busy.” Saxthor again snatched the napkin and plopped it on the table. “You’re not my mother. You’re too fussy, too demanding.”

Belnik lowered his head and slumped but said nothing. Saxthor couldn’t miss the frown, the hurt. Neither spoke for a good minute, but Belnik wouldn’t move or take the tray.

“OK, I’ll eat something,” Saxthor said. He grabbed the napkin and stuffed it in his shirt. Belnik dashed around behind him and straightened the napkin to his satisfaction, cleverly dodging Saxthor’s hands trying to slap him away.

“I’m the king, Belnik, remember that. You can’t always have your way.”

“Of course not, Your Majesty, whatever you say is law,” Belnik said, cutting the chicken into small, bite-size pieces.”

Saxthor grabbed the knife and fork.

Unperturbed, Belnik reached for the silver pitcher and goblet and poured Saxthor a drink to go with his dinner. Saxthor watched his caretaker, not sure if he should throw a fit in protest or give in.

“There now,” Belnik continued, as if the king hadn’t snatched the utensils. He carefully placed the goblet on the tray convenient to the plate and straightened the spoon that had been knocked ajar. “How’s the chicken? Still hot and juicy? It’s well prepared, isn’t it? Can’t have you getting sick.” Belnik stood back, studying the tray elements.

Saxthor glared at his valet. “Memlatec put you up to this, didn’t he?”

“Up to what, Your Majesty?”

“You fuss over my every movement. I can eat by myself you know, been doing it for years now.”

“Well of course you can, Your Majesty. But I did promise Memlatec, who promised your father, who promised your mother, to look out for you.” He locked stares with Saxthor. “You haven’t tried the chicken yet, have you?”

Saxthor stabbed two chunks of chicken and stuffed them into his mouth, barely able to chew the mouthful. He glanced at Belnik and chomped as hard as he could.

Satisfied at last, Belnik turned to the door and told the guard not to admit anyone until the king had finished his dinner. Saxthor swallowed with difficulty.

“Belnik, I’ll give instructions to the guard as to when and who shall enter.”

“Well, of course you will, Majesty. I wouldn’t presume to interfere in your affairs of state.”

“Belnik, would you leave me alone. I can fend for myself.”

“Well it seems to me that you need some looking after. After all, if you had married that nice girl that loves you so, she’d look out for you, and I wouldn’t have to take such good care of you.”

“Oh so that’s it, is it? You’re on that kick again. That nice girl you refer to is the Queen of Sengenwha. She isn’t likely to marry me now.” Saxthor tossed the napkin on the tray and bolted from the table. “Now you can take the tray. I’ve eaten enough to stuff a horse; that should satisfy even you.”

Belnik said nothing but went to the desk, lifted the napkin, and checked to see exactly what Saxthor had eaten. “I’m sure if you asked her, she’d still have you. After all, you are king.”

“That’s enough Belnik; take the serving dish and leave me to my work.”

Belnik shook his head, looking at the tray. He poked the remaining food with the fork. Then he looked up at Saxthor but pointed to the plate with the knife.

“You’ve hardly touched the vegetables. I had the kitchen fix them just the way you like them. If you insist on eating like a bird you’re going to end up skinny as a stick and then that nice girl won’t want you.”

“You just don’t give up, do you?”

Belnik shrugged his shoulders, picked up the tray, and started to the door, passing Saxthor. 

“Sure you won’t have just that one little chicken leg?”

“Out! Guard, remove this annoyance.”

“I’m going, I’m going, suit yourself, but you have no heir to inherit the throne should you collapse from starvation.”

“Heir again…”

The guard smiled at Belnik as he passed out the door, then looked at Saxthor and snapped to attention, wiping the grin off his face as he closed the door. Saxthor caught the glimpse of the smile return as the door closed.

King, Saxthor thought. I might as well be a child to my nursemaid. I should make him a general. He smiled and chuckled to himself before looking up to be sure he was alone.

*

Saxthor was just dispatching the count back to King Grekenbach with the agreement. Neuyokkasin would temporarily take possession of Tossledorn until such time as King Grekenbach should find it convenient to resume possession of it. Bodrin entered as the count was leaving.

“You summoned me, Saxthor?” Bodrin asked, following the official bow.

Saxthor rose from his desk and greeted his friend. “I must ask you again to take a contingent to Botahar. I’m worried about the queen and her defensive ability, or rather her forces being sufficient to repel General Tarquak.”

“Saxthor, Dagmar is quite the able queen.”

“Indeed and why do you say that?” Saxthor said. He felt a pang of pain at the suggestion she might not need him at her side.

“I heard her address to her people, Saxthor. You’d have been so proud of her.”

Saxthor couldn’t hold his head up. He turned back to the desk so Bodrin wouldn’t see the pain on his face. “I’ve always been proud of her. Look how she inspired the people of Konnotan, how she readied our people as her own for their defense.” He looked out through the balcony at the sky, seeing her as he remembered her.

“She’ll be all right,” Bodrin said, having come up beside Saxthor and put his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Of course she’ll be all right,” Saxthor said. He turned to Bodrin. “I’d like you to take a contingent to help her; how can that small, poorly defended city with so few soldiers and last minute defense works repel General Tarquak and his grand army?” He looked again out the balcony opening, past the draperies rippling in the breeze. He suddenly turned to Bodrin, gazing imploringly. “She was all right when you left her, wasn’t she?”

“She was fine, Saxthor. After the wizard burned the sinister vapor thing, she gave such an inspiring address to her people.”

Saxthor spun Bodrin around to face him. “Wizard! Sinister vapor thing! You didn’t tell me about any sinister vapor thing. What happened?”

“I didn’t mention it as she’s all right. Someone sent that thing to kill her, the Dark Lord no doubt. The wizard destroyed it. I didn’t want to worry you.”

Saxthor began pacing the room, swinging his head side to side and around, wringing his hands.

“You should have told me; no more secrets. You must go to her at once and watch over her. I should never have allowed her to return to Sengenwha until we remove the danger.”

Bodrin came to Saxthor, took his flailing hands in his own to steady Saxthor. “She’s queen now; she had to return. You know that. She could never allow foreigners to conquer her people while she remained safe in exile. You know her well enough to know that. She’s more the queen than you know. I’ve seen and heard her.”

“Why didn’t I ask Calamidese for permission to marry her?” Agitated, Saxthor rolled his eyes at his own failure.

“You should be proud of her, Saxthor.” Bodrin went to the table and picked up his helmet. They looked at each other but said no more. Bodrin bowed and left to lead his contingent to Botahar.

Weak from worry, Saxthor sat down at the table. He dropped his head in his hands. I hope I may prove worthy of her respect, too. Respect… I would she loved me as much as I love her, he thought.

Wizard Memlatec took the message from Aleman and went slowly up the tower stairs, sensing the feel of the letter through Saxthor’s seal. The first sensation, worry, was profound, then uncertainty, uncertainty almost to indecision. The wizard looked down to be sure Aleman wasn’t watching, then floated himself to the tower. The sensations in the message drained even the wizard. In the workroom, he closed the door and flicked fire into the great fireplace, feeling suddenly cold even for the time of day. The great horned owl, sleeping in the corner, turned his head to Memlatec, ruffled his feathers in the wavering firelight, and settled back into his daytime sleep. Fedra, the wizard’s great eagle, stood as sentry on the balcony rail looking into the west, unperturbed by the breeze.

The sorcerer settled into his heavily elfin-carved chair in front of the fire and opened the letter. He read the beginning and dropped the letter in his lap. The owl awakened and turned to face him. Memlatec looked up at those great yellow owl eyes staring back at him.

“I must talk to someone,” Memlatec said. “Aleman would chatter like a washerwoman at the marketplace if I mentioned more than the weather to him. He got up, went to the owl, and stroked his breast feathers. The owl would listen; his only communication was his blinking eyes. Memlatec returned to the chair and took up the letter once more. He squinted at the message, then flicked his finger, enlarging the lettering. “Saxthor’s handwriting is code in itself,” he mused through a tired, nervous chuckle. He read on and felt his ages pressing on him with each new sentence. Soon, he again looked up at the owl, still waiting patiently for the wizard to impart his concerns.

“Total war is upon us now; it’s come.” He looked out through the balcony doors, watching Fedra in the breeze but seeing further into time. He didn’t hide his strained frown from the owl, who shuffled his feet on the oak stand. He got up, walked to the balcony, stepped out into the wind, and stroked the great eagle’s back. They looked together to the north, out beyond Konnotan. The wizard reflected on the implications and sighed. He brought the eagle in, setting him on his perch, then returned to his seat by the fire. He reread the letter.

“Graushdem is under attack. I see from this communication, Saxthor doesn’t yet know about the attack on Feldrik. He’s seeing to Neuyokkasin’s defenses, but I don’t think he’s aware of the magnitude of the attacks. The big question now is can Sengenwha hold out against Tarquak’s onslaught. If Sengenwha falls and all resistance is smashed, the way will be open in the west for the attack on Neuyokkasin. Neuyokkasin is the last great kingdom to defy the Dark Lord should Graushdem fall, too. King Grekenbach doesn’t have a grasp of the forces now descending on him. I fear he is ill-prepared to defend his kingdom.”

Both the eagle and the owl shuffled on their respective perches. Fedra understood the implications as he was able to understand the wizard. Memlatec looked at Fedra.

“There’s no news from Hendrel in Hador. The Dark Lord knows of our involvement in Hador by now. He’ll be probing for energy and will spot an ornsmak if I should send one to Hendrel. I must wait to hear from him. He’ll send word by winged messenger when he dares.” Memlatec looked at both birds of prey. “Neither of you may take a winged creature as food. Rely on rodents.” Again both birds shuffled on their perches.

“The Neuyokkasinian people are not prepared for this war, either. Dagmar did what she could to help with the fortifications and to involve the people in the city’s defense, but now that she’s gone, they lapse. They see the defense as a military operation and trust that Saxthor will keep the war far from them. The people in the countryside don’t want to think about the war coming here at all.

“Saxthor is hoping, by taking troops to aid the kingdoms north of Neuyokkasin, he can keep the war at bay, but it will come here. No one here realizes the extent of the Dark Lord’s power and the forces he’s bred in the Ice Mountains all these years. No one living remembers the Wizard Wars. Only the tales survive to frighten the children at night around campfires. We will need more allies.

“I’ll send a letter to the Neuyokkasinian ambassador at the Imperial Powterosian Court. I must know where the emperor stands and Prince Augusteros. No one has heard from Augusteros in ages. The great empire might be our only hope now.

“How will Heggolstockin fair in this struggle? I know the duchess, being King Grekenbach’s sister, is highly strung. She has no concept of stress or threat of invasion. She won’t hold up under attack. What will the duke do? And the duke’s daughter, Demonica, what will she do? She’s an unknown element, but a potentially powerful player. None of them know the extent of her resentment that her mother married what Demonica considers beneath her. She resents her mother for not marrying a king and her father for having ruined her mother’s chances at a higher position and thus Demonica’s position as a princess instead of a mere lady. That one needs watching.

“I’ll send a message to King Bordabrundese, as well. He must commit to the war and use his forces to attack General Vylvex’s supply lines, or there will be no chance for King Grekenbach at Graushdemheimer. But will the dwarves reveal themselves to commit to this war?”

Memlatec moved to his desk, pushing aside stacks of papers and odd ingredients, pulled a piece of paper, and wrote his letter to King Bordabrundese, then reduced its size by magic and tied it around a winged messenger’s leg, sending it on its way. 

“You coming to eat?” Aleman shouted from the base of the tower. “It don’t stay warm long in this drafty old keep.”

Memlatec rose and went to the stair landing. “I’ll be down in a moment,” the wizard said over the railing.

“Well, you best come on down now, else I might as well throw the whole thing in a pot by the kitchen fire, and you can eat the jumbled stew if that don’t burn.” The old man shuffled his feet on the stone floor. His apron rippled over his paunch.

“I’ll be down directly,” Memlatec said again and turned to go into the workroom but turned back.

“Don’t be complaining to me about your dinner if it’s cold, or you’ll have to eat burned stew. I go to all this trouble to cook good food and you don’t appreciate it,” the old man grumbled. He took another swig from his pewter tankard. He glanced up at the wizard, staring down hard at him. “Tea.”

Memlatec shook his head, still looking over the landing rail at the red-eyed caretaker. “Thank you, Aleman, I shall be down shortly,” he said again and turned to go back into the workroom. As he closed the door, he heard slurping as the old man took another swig of his ale.

“I ain’t going to bother to cook nothing that takes much work anymore. It ain’t valued around here.” The door closed with a click.

Memlatec looked at the owl and the eagle, shuffling on their perches. He chuckled to himself, then addressed the birds. “Same argument and threats every day. You’d think the old man would learn after a while. He loves attention.” The wizard closed his old book of reminders after the ink dried on his note to write the imperial court ambassador. He put the book away and started down the stairs. Aleman was still down there, grumbling.

“The food is likely cold; don’t know why you bothered to come now.”

Memlatec looked over the rail. Aleman took a swig of ale, stared into the bottom of the tankard, and frowned.

“Humph.” The old man ambled back toward the kitchen, mumbling incoherently to himself.

The food was impeccable as usual, thought Memlatec, finishing his meal. He took a sip of his drink and replaced the goblet on the table, knowing the conversation that was to follow. He’s coming back into the dining hall for his complement. I’ll have to complain, of course, so he can throw his spoon and rattle on with endless excuses for any imagined deficiency. I mustn’t deprive him of his drama. I suppose it’s his only entertainment in this old tower.

“Dinner was delicious, Aleman. The fish was particularly succulent and tasty.”

“Don’t soft talk me, old wizard,” Aleman said, his eye cocked at Memlatec. “I know it was soggy and cold. I tried to get you to come to dinner on time, but no, you had work to do. You don’t appreciate all the work I did to cook that dinner or you’d have come when I first called you.”

“The fish was excellent Aleman.”

“You’re just saying that so you don’t have to take the responsibility for its being cold and mushy.”

“No Aleman, it was really excellent.”

“You’ll say anything so it ain’t your fault how it is. It won’t my fault you’re slow getting to the food.”

“Perhaps it was a tad over cooked. It’s not your fault.” The wizard was looking down at the empty plate, but he peeked up at Aleman. As was custom, the wooden spoon flew across the kitchen to the same spot on the wall.

“I knew it. I knew it was over cooked. If you’d come when I called you, but no…, you had important things you was cooking up up there.”

As Aleman was rambling on, Memlatec rose slowly and walked back to the tower steps with the old man following, grumbling all the way.

“I don’t know why I bother cooking here. I should go work for one of them lords what appreciates my hard work.”

“Good night, Aleman, don’t wait up for me.”

As he walked up the tower stairs, Memlatec heard his housekeeper shuffling back to the kitchen, still muttering. “Not my fault the fish was cold and mushy…Don’t know why I wait hand and foot on that sorry old wizard… ”

On his return to the workroom, Memlatec noted at once the two birds of prey glaring at the balcony doors. There was Twiddle, fluttering in the panes. Memlatec opened the door. The wren flew into the workroom and over on the fireside chair’s armrest. There, he deposited his protest for being kept waiting. Eyeballing Fedra and the owl, he waited for the wizard to be seated and hear his news.

* * *

At Hador, Duke Jedrac fumed on the Hadorhof’s battlements, watching General Vylvex bring order to his legions, preparing to march. The city that had come out of hiding at Magwaddle’s demise had fled back into hiding when the never-before-seen monstrous whingtangs flew over the mountains nearby. They thrashed and snorted in the slings under large dragons, whose great wings flapped furiously, sending endless whirlwinds over the city.

“This is a catastrophic disaster,” the duke said, watching the orc army starting south. “That any orcs got through the mountains is unthinkable, but that they’re a viable threat is unimaginable.”

“Your Grace,” shouted an aide, rushing up, glaring at the army on the plain below.

“What is it now? They’ve not broken through the mountains again, have they?”

“Come quickly, Your Grace. The remainder of the northern army, trapped behind the mountains, has now formed up in orderly units again. And they’ve made way for one of those new monsters.”

“Monsters!” the duke exclaimed and dashed around the aide, heading to the turret’s far side, aide following.

“Wizard’s nightmare! I’d hoped I’d never see one of those things again. Before him on the plain north of Hador was a vast army of orcs, with ogre commanders, and goblins here and there carrying orders to the legions. The army was now divided in two halves. The orcs scrambled backward on each side, making a clear passage between them. In the distance, something huge lumbered down the alley toward Hador. Even at a distance, Duke Jedrac could see the armored plates rippling, muscled limbs striding underneath, as the thing approached the mountains. As it moved closer, the duke saw the beast’s slashing claws and thrashing tusks he’d seen from half a dozen that recently flew over the mountains.

“What is it; what’s it going to do?” the aide asked. His voice trembled; his eyes locked on the beast.

“Summon Wizard Hendrel,” Jedrac said.

The aide hesitated, frozen and staring.

“Move, man, get Hendrel here at once.” The aide bolted, scurrying down the turret stairs.

The duke was still staring at the whingtang when he heard the grit scraping under Hendrel’s boots, rushing up the stairs with the aide. Below the Hadorhof on the plaza, most of the city was aflutter, racing to get supplies for another siege. The city below was exceptionally noisy, contrasting the total silence of the orcs, backing away from the whingtang’s path. The mahout barely controlled the rebellious beast, even with additional handlers on each side. The duke heard the snorts and guttural growls as the monster lumbered forward almost at the mountain below the fortress city.

Hendrel stared at the whingtang. “It’s one of those things the dragons flew over a week ago, isn’t it? Looks like a nightmare of a pangolin.”

“Yes, I’m told it’s called a whingtang,” Jedrac said.

“What’s it do? Rather, what’s it here to do?” the aide asked.

“How should I know? I’ve never seen one before last week myself,” Jedrac said. “I was rather hoping Hendrel found something about it in those wizard books there in the wizard’s workroom.”

“Judging from the armor plates, I’d say its self-defense comes complete,” Hendrel said.

“Really? And how long did you study wizardry to figure that out?”

Hendrel looked at the duke and grinned momentarily. The duke gave him a frozen look that vaporized the humor. Hendrel looked back at the beast. “Nothing in the books to explain that. It must be another of those things the Dark Lord has been breeding out of sight. Well, it comes from a pangolin source, we can see that. You can kill a pangolin; you can kill that thing. Look at those claws; they’re way too big for a pangolin. That thing digs.”