Shaella looked down from the dragon’s back at the squat blocky shape of Settsted Stronghold with an expression of deep concentration, and purpose on her wind-raw face. Her satiny black cloak fluttered at the collar, and anywhere it wasn’t pinned between her shapely bottom and the dragon’s scaly hide. Her mind was clear and focused on her purpose. All thoughts of Gerard and Pael were pushed aside for the moment. She was invading Westland. She couldn’t afford to think about trivial matters. She was the Dragon Queen now, come to conquer Westland and make it her empire.
All along the river border, Shaella’s Zard army was attacking. The whole stretch of Westland was being overrun. The military outposts, and the cities and towns that sprouted up around them, were getting the worst of it. She had concentrated her forces in those heavily populated areas. They were the only places where enough people remained to put up any sort of organized resistance. Smaller groups of Zard were attacking the fishing villages, and it was her soldiers, riding on the backs of the big geka lizards, who were now patrolling the river roads. The metropolis of Southport would have to wait. She would use terror tactics to take hold of its people’s fears. That would have to work in Portsmouth to the north and Castleview at Lakeside as well.
“Nothing like a great big fire-breathing dragon to get the city folk in line,” she mused.
Between Claret and the savage breed giants she was about to let loose on the northern parts of Westland, she was sure that there would be very little resistance. Who could stop her? All the able-bodied men in the land were off with King Glendar. Westland would fall like wheat before a scythe.
When she was finished with Settsted, she had to fly to Locar, and then to Coldfrost. She couldn’t allow word of Westland’s demise to reach King Glendar, with enough time for him to pull out of Wildermont, and come home. She would use the half-breed giants to cut him and his army off soon, but she had to get Settsted out of the way first. It was the only place in Westland, save for Lakeside Castle, where a sizable group of trained soldiers remained.
The destruction of Settsted would be an example to the rest of the land. The fall of the much loved, and over-fed southern marsh lord, would be a blunt statement to those he had been sworn to protect. The message would be clear. Westland has fallen. You were never safe. Bow to your new Queen, or be roasted in a blast of dragon fire. Pledge your allegiance, or face slavery and torture, or a fate worse than death. The geka, after all, had to be fed.
The thrill and glory that Shaella had thought would accompany this moment was absent. So was the anger and passion she had felt in the dragon’s lair with her father. That night was intense, yes, but her mood and demeanor were cold and deliberate. Her actions and decisions seemed almost mechanical. Her emotion had been left up in Claret’s lair with the blackened stain that was once Gerard.
Mindlessly, and without feeling, she would take this kingdom, and squeeze the life out of it. She was too drained by the loss of her lover, to even savor the revenge she was taking out on King Glendar for stealing her father’s attention her entire life. She just didn’t care anymore.
The gluttonous Lord hadn’t shown himself on the walls yet, but his two old captains had. Time was running short. She had to make a calculated concession. Lord Ellrich was probably somewhere in the stronghold, shoveling food into his face. Shaella thought that he might be too fat to get himself up on to the wall anyway. What she had to do in Coldfrost couldn’t wait much longer.
Through the magical link of the collar, she commanded the dragon to destroy the stronghold. With barely a tweak of her huge wings, Claret started her dive towards the dark stone structure, drawing in a deep, billowing breath as she went.
Captain Layson sent half the men of the stronghold garrison, about a hundred of them, out to meet the attackers. The rest were scrambling up onto the walls with long bows and pikes.
Captain Munst had ordered the fire pits to be fueled and lit, and the tar pots to be brought out. The mile or so of town between the stronghold wall and the riverfront, was already half in flame. The men outside the walls were holding back the armed lizard-men, but barely.
“There are hundreds of them,” Captain Munst observed aloud. “And there are more of them riding on the backs of those geka. Why don’t they just rush the walls?”
“Probably too stupid,” Captain Layson spat. “They’re just Skeeks! They might…”
He was about to say more, but Captain Munst’s pointing finger and sudden wide-eyed gasp of breath, stopped him.
“No, they’re staying out of the way of that!” Munst’s tone was deflated. He knew then and there, beyond all doubt, that he would never see his wife and daughters again. All he could do was close his eyes and say a prayer for them.
“Gods,” was all Captain Layson could manage, before Claret’s flaming breath charred them, and the men around them, to smoldering husks.