Lord Gregory walked up to Mikahl and touched him on the cheek. He looked at the young squire long and hard, and then forced a smile. He gave Mikahl a nod that seemed to be full of equal parts of respect and regret, and then vanished down the stairwell without a word. Mikahl watched the empty air at the top of the landing long after Lord Lion had disappeared. The next thing he knew, the servant was pulling him by the sleeve toward the King’s chambers.
The apartment was hot and silent. A dozen candles and a dim flickering lantern barely illuminated the beautifully furnished room. Mikahl had expected to see the King sitting in one of his high-backed chairs, or on one of the plush divans, but he was in his bed, under piles of thick covers.
“Ah… Mikahl,” The King said weakly. A tired smile spread across his slick, gray face. Mikahl almost didn’t recognize this man as his King. Balton Collum looked so near to death that it made Mikahl’s head spin.
A sharp glance from the King sent the servants, and the black-robed priest who was attending him, quickly out the door. As soon as they were alone, King Balton motioned for Mikahl to come sit at the edge of the bed.
“We haven’t time to parley, Mik,” the old man rasped. “The poison has almost run its course.”
“Poison?” Mikahl was aghast. Who would do such a thing? The king was loved and respected by all. Mikahl was shocked speechless as he slid off the edge of the bed, and knelt before the man that was the closest thing to a father he had ever known. He wondered how long the King had known that he was poisoned? King Balton seemed a little too accepting of the situation. Was that what all the secrecy was about? Was he dying? The look in King Balton’s eyes said so, but to Mikahl it didn’t make any sense.
“Go to the temple by the north road gate,” King Balton whispered. “Father Petri has something for you to take with you on your journey. Take what he gives you deep into the Giant Mountains. A giant named Borg will find you and lead you to his King.”
As if saying all of that had leeched the life from the poisoned old man, his head lulled to the side. For a long while all that moved were his eyeballs and his heaving chest.
Mikahl wiped a stray tear from his cheek.
“Borg?” he asked. Who in all the hells is Borg?
“—esss. He is the Southern Guardian,” the dying King rasped almost inaudibly. “Go deep into the Giant Mountains, Mik. He will find you and lead you. Deliver Father Petri’s package to the King of the Giants.”
Unable to comprehend anything other than the fact that his King was dying before his eyes, Mikahl ran to the door and ushered in the priest and the servants who had been attending him before.
He stood there, watching in horror. One of the servants helped King Balton drink from a cup, while the priest started saying a prayer that Mikahl remembered all too well from his mother’s funeral a few years past.
Suddenly, the King’s arm shot up and he pointed directly at the door. Wide, white eyes full of authority and love locked onto Mikahl’s. The King was ordering him to go. After wiping the tears from his face, he went and did his best not to look back. It was the hardest thing he had ever done.
Ruddy, the Stable Master, mumbled something angrily at Mikahl as he reentered the stalls. The man was busy readying two other horses for departure. One was already saddled, and the other was waiting patiently for the half-drunken stableman. It was far too late for a jaunt through the woods. Mikahl recognized one of the horses as belonging to Lord Brach and that made him worry.
Lord Brach, the lord of Westland’s northern territories, was Prince Glendar’s constant companion. Lord Brach and that creepy, bald-headed wizard, Pael, never seemed to leave the side of the heir to the Westland throne. Lord Boot-licker, King Balton had often called Brach in private, because the man agreed to everything that Prince Glendar or the wizard suggested. Mikahl was far from a nobleman, and he didn’t meddle in the games they played, but he knew that Prince Glendar was about to assume the throne now, and the rotten fool hadn’t been in his father’s favor for many years. Prince Glendar would gain the most from King Balton’s death. In Mikahl’s eyes, Prince Glendar, or one of his men, was most likely the murderer. Why else would they be preparing to ride at this time of the night?