After years of imprisonment on that river formed island, bound behind the invisible magical walls King Balton had erected around them, they could not possibly refuse to take the deal. After all, to be allowed to ravage the lands and the families of the very men who had hunted them, the men who drove them onto the miserable island, and trapped them there, was just about the sweetest gift they could be given. To be considered free-folk, and to be able to claim that same land for their own, was simply icing on the cake.
Shaella was glad to have loosed them. A few, bloodthirsty bands of giant half breeds terrorizing the streets of Crossington and Portsmouth would go far in bringing the rebels and resisters under control, but that wasn’t her priority. Having the breed destroy the great bridge over to Wildermont, so that she could seriously begin to fortify her holdings, was.
There were more personal reasons for her wanting the final part of her Westlands takeover to be done with. She had found her father’s tower at Lakeside Castle. She hadn’t managed to figure out the lift yet, but she had accessed his vast library by going through the gaping hole in the upper chamber from Claret’s neck. From there, she climbed down through the trapdoor to the library.
She had already been there several times. She studied some of the writings on the power and qualities of the Seal that Pael had left out on the table there. It was the books that spoke about the Spectral Orb and her father’s own notes on that subject, that were driving her savage curiosity though. Something Claret had shared with her about the fate of Gerard back in the dragon’s lair, had sparked a fire in her. Once the final phases of the Westland conquest were complete, she would have the time to focus on what she now truly hoped she could achieve. It was that furious drive that motivated her actions even now, as Claret carried her down in a slow, descending circle towards the river-formed island called Coldfrost.
It was too cold this far north for her Zardmen, or any other of the marsh creatures to survive. She had leveled Northwatch, Westland’s northernmost stronghold, with Claret’s might. It was an example for the people who lived up here. From a wealthy fur merchant’s keep nearby, Flick held reign for the time being. Lord Brach had left behind only women, children, and just enough able men to hunt and care for them. All were terrified of what the dragon had done, but a few of the men that had been left at Northwatch had escaped the destruction, and had managed to get into the Reyhall Forest. A veteran Captain, named Bittercosp, was leading them, and had futile hopes of starting a rebellion. She already knew about them, and if Flick hadn’t tortured the location of their hiding place out of the common folk yet, then the feral Breed giants would soon root them out.
Those simple folk, who had dared to come out of their homes into the white-washed snowy world on this beautiful day, soon scattered like cockroaches from a lantern’s light. Claret announced Shaella’s arrival with a blood-curdling roar that left no room to question what creature it had come from. A few low passes over the nearby villages helped the stragglers find their way home. Soon, only the heavily bundled figure of Flick was braving the outdoors to witness the huge dragon’s landing.
As brutal as any winter blizzard, Claret’s great wings started up an icy, blasting gust as she swooped down out of the sky into a scampering run. The run died into a lunging sinuous walk as she folded her wings back to her sides. She finally stopped and lowered her head. Shaella slid deftly off of her back, down to the snow before Flick.
“Mastress,” Flick said with an intentional zardish hiss, and a flourishing bow.
“Oh please Flick, where’s the fire?” she asked, with a half angry shiver. “Or should I have Claret torch this little keep to keep me warm?”
He laughed cautiously, and led her into the place.
Inside, a central stone and mortar walled room was built around a large pit that was raging with flame. Shaella laid the Staff of Malice to the side and went straight to the blaze. She was glad for its heat. The spell she had been using to keep herself warm, while on Claret’s back was a simple one, but maintaining it hour after hour, while riding, was taxing, to say the least. Claret was warm, but Coldfrost was bitter. She decided she would eat and recuperate in the glow of the fire. Later, after she was rested, and the moon was high in the sky, she would turn loose the Breed giants on the sleeping, unsuspecting people of Northern Westland.
Flick watched her from afar. He had liked and respected Gerard, but he found that Gerard had made him jealous. What Flick felt for Shaella, he wasn’t sure. Something between awed respect and total adoration, but not quite romantic love. Or was it? If it was, it was foolish.
She still felt so deeply for Gerard, that it showed plainly in her every move and expression. He was sure she thought nothing of the sort towards him. Maybe, in time he could win her. No! It was improper. She was his Queen and he was her sworn servant; but that didn’t mean he couldn’t hope and dream of a day when he might feel her desire.