Pael bowed mockingly, and then snapped back up screaming his next words. “NOW DO AS I SAY!”
The wizard’s breath shot forth, like a blast of wind, hitting Glendar full in the face. It felt like an arctic gale, icy and cold. Glendar had to lean forward to keep from being bowled over backwards by the force of it. His hand instinctually went to shield his face, but by the time it was in place, the demonstration was over and he was stumbling forward to catch his balance.
“The men from Settsted are arriving,” Pael continued as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened; as if he were on the outside of the pavilion and could see the men with his own two eyes; as if King Glendar wasn’t wiping ice crystals from his eyelashes.
“I suggest that you claim a few of them to attend to your command pavilion. The rest of the Southern Muster should arrive on the morrow. Have them round up every single Wildermont man, woman and child that can’t wield a weapon or pull a cart. When the siege begins, have a detachment of soldiers march them down through Low Crossing and on to O’Dakahn. Send a scroll presenting them to King Ra’Gren as a gift. He and his slavers will like that. It will help his Overlords to see things our way when we need their ships later.”
Pael stopped pacing again, and searched Glendar for some sign that he had been paying attention. When he was satisfied with what he saw, he made for the tent flap. He had more pressing matters to attend to this day.
“Pael,” Glendar called, as the wizard was about to leave.
“What is it, boy? I have business elsewhere.”
King Glendar eyes found the ground somewhere between the two of them. “Thank you,” he mumbled.
“You’re welcome son,” Pael replied almost warmly. Then he disappeared out the tent flap.
Pael spent half of the day flying back to his tower in the form of a crow. He could have transformed himself into larger bird, an eagle or a condor, and made the trip in half the time, but he didn’t want to attract attention to himself. He wasn’t so much worried about the old and infirm, the wives, mothers, and small children who were all that was left inhabiting the Kingdom of Westland. It was more of a precaution, born of careful habits, and distrust of those that might try to detect his movements. He was certain that there were still plenty of enemies about. They would expect him to fly as something powerful and proud. None of them, he hoped, would question the flight of a common carrion bird, such as a lowly crow.
While he was flying, Pael thought about King Glendar. He wondered how the boy could’ve turned out so completely ignorant and pig-headed. He could just picture the fool stepping out of his Command Pavilion into a flurry of Wildermont long arrows because he had set the tent too close to the wall. He had to bite back the chirping cackle that passed for a crow’s laugh. As he neared his destination, his thoughts drifted towards Shaella’s last message. He hoped that he had enough time to properly prepare for what was to come. There was much to do.
Once he was in sight of Lion’s Lake and Lakeside Castle, he made for the gaping hole the demon Shokin had left in his tower wall. Inside, he returned to his human form, and took his lift down to the darkened library, where a dozen ancient texts were spread out across an old reading table. With a point of his finger, the lamp hanging from a brass wall hook, flared to life, and the dimness of the musty room abated. Grotesque forms of melted dripping wax spread away from tiny used-up candle nubs at the table’s corners.
Most of the last few days, Pael had been there gathering in every bit of knowledge he could find on the subject of binding a spectral demon. He had learned much, but not enough.
He made a note to himself to send for more candles, and not for the first time, found that he missed Inkling the imp. Having to seek out a lamp, after the candles had guttered out, while in the middle of reading an account of the Priests of Kraw, had been a great reminder of how the minute details of a thing can suddenly become paramount. He could’ve just cast a light spell, but then the forty-odd pages of the priests’ tediously scribbled writing that he had been committing to memory, would have to be reread. It was easier to snatch a lantern from the laboratory below. Now, he smiled at the wisdom of that decision. It had been far easier than traipsing through the castle in search of candles.