Wyndall’s face contorted at the idea of it all. Anguish was threatening to take hold of him.
“They cut down Westland innocents, Redwolf soldiers, and they killed half a herd of Valleyan horses. Then they set fire to some of the Dakaneese wagering pavilions, while people were still in them,” he sniffled. “Then they came through here. It was only me, Gowden, and Parker who survived it!”
He started breaking down then. Tears flowed down his dirty cheeks, and the ghastly reality of the horrors he had just seen, racked through his young body with a force. He shuddered as he finished.
“A Seawardsman got Gowden, and Willem, was, he was down. I fell and I – I didn’t get back up. Not until after – after they had moved on.” He slumped down into himself, and began bawling like a babe.
They know about King Balton’s death, Lord Gregory thought to himself. The thick blackness in his skull seemed to be ebbing. Fear of what was to come was like a torch light in the dark foggy muck. He was sure that someone here knew that King Balton was dead.
The funeral had been public. Poisoned, King Balton had told him, from his own deathbed. Now, Prince Glendar, the wizard Pael’s little puppet, would have the whole of Westland behind him when he started his war on the east. Gregory couldn’t figure out why the kingdoms of the east were playing so perfectly into Glendar’s hands though. Another thought struck him then like a hammer blow. Lady Trella, his wife.
“Wyndall,” He rasped. The boy was lost in his grief and didn’t seem to hear him. “Wyndall, listen to me!”
This time, the boy responded by wiping his nose on his forearm, and taking a deep breath.
“Yes, my lord?” he whimpered.
“Listen very closely, Wyndall.”
It was painful to be speaking, but things had to be done and people had to be warned. King Balton had given him orders that still had to be carried out, and now he understood the magnitude of them. The King had foreseen his own poisoning, and this collapse of order, and had prepared for it wisely. Gregory was sorry that he wouldn’t be able to complete his part of the design. Hopefully, Mikahl would be able to get along without him.
“Take my ring. It will be proof of the origin of this message. Take anything else you might need, save for my horse. Ride like the wind to my stronghold, at Lakebottom, and tell my wife…Tell Lady Trella these things for me…”
When he finished giving his orders, he made Wyndall repeat the messages and swear to deliver them. He also made him swear to protect Lady Trella with his life. The boy foolishly thought that he had shamed himself when he hadn’t gotten back up earlier to be slaughtered by the impossible odds. He was glad for the chance to regain his honor, and he gave his solemn oath that he would die before he let any harm come to her.
Sometime later, Lord Gregory slipped out from the blackness again. He had dreamed that he had died, but he found now that he no longer wished to be dead. He still hurt so badly that he couldn’t move his body, and he was sure he had pissed himself yet again, but his mind seemed clear. He felt, at the moment, like he might somehow survive. He had a duty to King Balton that needed to be fulfilled. Its importance demanded that he get up and fight for his life, but no matter how hard he tried to rise, he couldn’t.
He was still laying there, half conscious in his misery, when an eager carrion bird came flapping in, and landed on his face. It was a hungry looking, scraggly brown crow. He was sure that it would try to eat his eyes out first. They usually did. He had seen it happen dozens of times. He wished he could move his arms to bat it away, but he couldn’t. When he rolled his head and yelled, the bird just flapped and hovered, and then re-landed, as if his nose were its favorite perch.
Feeling stupid now for cursing the gods and asking them to take his life, he squeezed his eyes closed, and waited for the inevitable. He only wished that he wasn’t letting his beloved King, his wife, and probably the entire realm down, by dying. He remembered his mother then, of all people, chiding him for something or another in that matter-of-fact voice that only mothers can muster.
“Be careful what you wish for Alvin, because you just might get a barrel full of it!”
Chapter 16
“Look!” Mikahl whispered.