Neither Hyden, nor Vaegon, had ever ridden a horse, much less a Great Wolf. Straddling one of the huge husky creatures on their bare backs was strange to Mikahl as well. A fourth wolf was rigged up to carry the saddle bags and blankets. They ate what remained of the doe the wolves had killed the evening before. Then, King Aldar introduced each of the animals to the companions by name. After a brief exchange of goodbyes, including a girlish kiss on Talon’s beak from the princess, they were off.
They covered over a hundred miles that first day. It was amazing how swift and sure the Great Wolves ran, even with the weight of grown men on their backs. By the end of the third day, they came out of the foothills of the Giant Mountains, right into the legendary and mystical Evermore Forest. The thick, lush canopy came as a welcome relief, for it had started to rain that last day in the mountains. By the looks of the dark, cloudy sky, it wouldn’t stop for some time.
Even with the sad state of affairs, and the dreary weather, Vaegon found that he was excited. He was on familiar ground now. Even the myriad dangers the Evermore Forest harbored, seemed to welcome him. Home, the elf decided, was like that.
Chapter 40
Pael felt the sudden and terrible agony that the hellcat felt when Mikahl crippled it. If it had not been for the great power of Shokin flowing inside him, the debilitating surge might have done him permanent harm. That particular hellcat was still bound deeply to the wizard. It had been formed from Inkling’s substance, and the imp’s familiar link to Pael was apparently still potent.
Pael had never been one for trivial affections, but the imp had been his familiar since he was a young man. Long before Shaella had been born, before his toy prince had come along, and long before he had stolen the Spectral Orb from the Palladian wizard Ah-Rhal, Inkling had been there. The imp had helped Pael kill his mentor, Allagar, after the old Master Mage tried to punish him for stealing the Staff of Malice from the not-so-distant continent of Murga. Pael couldn’t fathom missing a lover or a friend, but he missed his devilish little companion greatly.
It was old Allagar who had inspired the imp’s name, Pael remembered, with a sinister chuckle. When Allagar would catch Pael dabbling in the darker things, he would snatch away the books or devices, and say: “You haven’t got an inkling boy! Do you know what damage you might cause with that?” or something like: “You haven’t an inkling of what the effects of that spell might be!” Pael hadn’t liked that. So what did he do? He went and summoned for himself, an “Inkling.” He and the imp ended up sacrificing old Allagar to the Abbadon, in exchange for the location of the Spectral Orb. It was one of the fondest memories, and greatest triumphs, of Pael’s younger life.
Pael wasn’t sentimental, but Inkling deserved better than to spend his life trapped in the form of the horribly crippled hellcat. After he recovered from the brunt of the sensation that Mikahl had caused him, he reached deeply into Shokin’s knowledge, and found a way to spare the imp that fate. Like all powerful spells of transforming, this one required a sacrifice – in this case, a living body to house Inkling’s soul and essence, after it was removed from the hellcat. Inkling would lose most of his powers in the process, but Pael figured that it was a small price to pay to keep his life. After all, Inkling had failed to bring Ironspike back to him.
It took Pael a while to decide whose body Inkling could best serve him in. When he finally made his choice, it came as a revelation of pure, ironic joy. Pael would make Inkling a king – King Glendar to be precise. Glendar had served his purpose by leading Westland’s army out of Westland. He was nothing but a figurehead now, an obnoxious, spoiled-rotten figurehead. Pael had Shokin’s power now. He didn’t have to hide behind a king. With much excitement and manic glee, the wizard went about making his preparations to return to Wildermont. He would enjoy very much putting King Balton’s horrible sniveling son in his proper place.
On Claret’s broad back, between two large triangular spinal-plates, Shaella rode comfortably through the cool, thin air of the higher altitudes. Far below her, King Glendar and his wagon trains were just leaving Wildermont’s southernmost city, and were heading steadily towards the Dakaneese border. She had waited patiently for this moment, and would now fly directly to Coldfrost to hear the answer the breed giants would give to her proposal. Of course they would agree. She had no doubt. They had no other option.
The days that had passed since she had made the offer, would have stirred their spirits. They would be greedy for freedom by now, she figured. Their mouths would be salivating for the feasts of vengeance she would allow them to reap across the northern half of her kingdom.