To the east, the devastation of Pael’s meteoric fireball stood out amid the otherwise unharmed section of mercantile shops and residences. At the eastern gates of the inner wall, an isolated scuffle between a hulking boar-like beast and a knot of men was raging under the gate tower’s bright lanterns.
To the north, and west, large groups of the undead were gathering in the shadows thrown by the burning structures, and reorganizing their numbers. Just inside the secondary wall, to the south, the ruin was empty, save for a lone figure, robed in dirty white. Willa could barely make it out as a person.
He was standing in the center, of what was nothing more than a huge circle of rubble. Upon seeing this, Talon leapt from Willa’s shoulder, and with widespread wings, glided down through the air, away from the tower. The sudden action from the long still bird, startled the troubled Queen.
King Jarrek “harrumphed” his presence from the top of the stair landing. He had been standing a few steps down, inside the boxy shelter, for a few long minutes, so that he could catch his breath before engaging Queen Willa. After fighting in the field all morning, and tending to Brady Culvert in the afternoon, the long journey up the stairs had taken its toll on him. He wasn’t a young man. When she turned, and greeted him, with a tired, and obviously forced smile, his exhaustion was forgotten, and he was taken aback by her plain, natural beauty.
She was the first pleasant sight his eyes had fallen upon, in what seemed like forever. The vision of his mother, and his betrothed mangled in the collapsed ruin of the Ladies’ Tower, back in Castlemont, quickly erased any mirth or admiration he might have started to feel. He moved his eyes from hers quickly, lest she see the sorrow, and lack of hope he was suddenly feeling. His gaze landed on the cloak covered body, lying dead in the middle of the roof. He started to comment, but thought better of it
She understood his silence, and walked back to the southern facing edge of the parapet. She was relieved to see the men there fighting their way back towards the inner wall. Her orders had been received, and relayed. Seeing that the retreat had been called, she turned to Jarrek.
“The word is that you saved a lot of our men.”
He shook his head, as if he didn’t want to speak on the matter, as if it had been nothing.
“You’re calling them in, then?” he asked tactfully.
“Something like that.” She met his gaze.
“The hawk boy flew off on the dragon. He said that when he does whatever it is that he’s going to do, Pael will lose some of his demonic strength.”
She made a strange, deliberate face, and forced back the feelings of hope that were brewing as she spoke the words.
“He said to hold off Pael as long as we can.” She indicated the castle grounds around, and below them, with a sweep of her hand.
“We can hold out strongest here, where I can access the Wardstone. Spread out about the city, the wizard is picking us apart.”
“You’re putting all of your eggs into a single basket,” Jarrek said, but not in any disapproving or judgmental way. “Does this ‘Hawk Boy’s’ word hold such merit?”
“I can only hope.” She turned to face away from him.
A sudden, blue radiance had caught her attention, out where the lone, white-robed figure had been standing.
“The power of the Wardstone is strong here, and I can…” Her voice cut off suddenly as she took in a sharp audible breath.
It was Mikahl. The sapphire glow was Ironspike’s blade, and the demon-wizard Pael had just appeared behind him.
“We were all destined to bow before that one,” said Willa absently, her attention held raptly on Mikahl.
“Aye,” Jarrek agreed.
He leaned out between two crenels, to get a better look, and cringed in horror, when he saw a swirling emerald column of wizard’s fire erupt, and consume Mikahl.
Pael fumed at the audacity of the idiot squire. How dare he call him out, as if he were just a drunkard at some piss poor tavern? Pael took his time, studied the situation, and the terrain, long and hard from afar, before he made his move.
He was too wise to be baited with mere insults. Was the boy even capable of setting a trap? he wondered. Was he using himself as bait? No. He was only an adolescent young man, driven by a need for vengeance, and blinded by youth, and inexperience. Pael let him sit, let him wonder, and wait. Pael let him relax and tire. He let the white-hot fire that had fueled Mikahl’s earlier rage die out. Then, and only then, did Pael attack.