The Sword and the Dragon wt-1

by Michael Robb Mathias

  He liked Vaegon well enough, but no matter how many times he looked at him, he would never become comfortable with the fact that he wasn’t human.

  “It’s no jest, Hyden Hawk. There are also smaller fish that are still five times bigger than a man, that have rows of teeth the size of dagger blades. They call them sharks, and believe it or not, they sometimes eat the whales one big bite at a time.”

  “If that is true, then the sea is a place I’d like to see some day.” Hyden’s attention trailed away.

  He noticed that Vaegon had been staring at the same place for quite some time now. He sensed that something had alarmed the elf. He quickened his pace, forcing Lord Gregory to spur his horse to keep up with him.

  Vaegon could see the question form on Hyden’s lips as he gained the top of the rise.

  “Someone, or something, is behind us,” he said.

  “Where?” Lord Gregory asked sharply, as he turned his horse.

  “There,” Vaegon pointed to an area a few hilltops back. “It’s in the valley now, out of view. I just caught a glimpse of movement before it went down out of sight. A dark horse maybe, or some other large creature.”

  Hyden was peering from beneath his hand trying to see what they were talking about.

  “About a day back you think?” he asked, when he saw what set of hills were in question.

  “No more than that, if it’s men with horses,” Vaegon said, with growing concern in his voice. “Far less though if it’s a predator.”

  “We’ll have to wait for it in the next valley then,” Hyden said with some disappointment and a sigh. “My village is close. I dare not lead anything or anyone else into it. Already, I am going to feel the full wrath of the Elders for bringing you two there.”

  “What if it is a predatory beast, as the elf suggested?” asked Lord Gregory.

  Before Hyden could answer, Talon came out of the sky and fluttered down to his shoulder gracelessly.

  Though he wasn’t very big yet, Talon’s body had taken the true hawkling form. He was still too small to lift a field mouse into the air, but not too small to swoop down and kill one, a feat which he had proven the day before. When he was fully grown, he would be able to snatch a fat rabbit off the ground and fly away with it in his claws. His wings would be as wide as a man’s outstretched arms. At the moment though, he wasn’t much bigger than a crow. For all his smallness, the bird still found a way to posture itself proudly on Hyden’s shoulder.

  “Go see what it is that’s following us, and then come back and tell me,” Hyden said jokingly to the bird.

  To everyone’s surprise, save for Vaegon’s, Talon leapt back into flight, and started toward the valley where the elf had spotted the pursuit.

  Hyden was confounded tenfold, when a weird, yet familiar, sensation came over him. It was just like the dreams he had been having as of late, yet he was awake. The sensation of seeing Lord Gregory and Vaegon in front of him, while seeing through Talon’s eyes, was overwhelming. It was too much for his mind to handle, and he was forced to close his eyes. When he did, it was as if he were in Talon’s body, flying over the foothills, with the cold mountain air streaming through his feathers.

  Only the tops of the western facing hills were in the sunlight. The rest of the world was drowned in shadow, and the valley bottoms were even darker than the rest. He found them though: two men with four horses, two of which looked to be carrying a log. The group was moving slowly through the shadows, snaking their way down through a scatter of pine and scrub brush. They didn’t appear to be in a hurry. They were obviously not hunting Lord Gregory, but their direction of travel would lead them dangerously close to Hyden’s Village.

  Talon swooped in closer, and landed on the gnarled branch of an ancient oak. It was tall, and it towered over the whole of the valley bottom. Near its base, a stream trickled and gurgled through the rocky area, where spring’s thaw had washed away the plants, and most of the soil. Even though there was very little light, the hawkling’s sharp eyes could pick out the details.

  “What are you seeing?” Vaegon asked excitedly. The idea that the human boy was really seeing through the eyes of the hawkling was thrilling, yet it made the elf feel more than a little jealous of Hyden.

  Vaegon’s question seemed to shake Hyden’s concentration free of the vision, but only for an instant. With closed eyes, and from miles away, Hyden refocused on the approaching horses, and spoke softly.

  “Two men, four horses – Hold on -.”

  He squatted down, and put his elbows on his knees, as if perched. He heard Lord Gregory whispering softly to Vaegon. The western lord seemed as astonished by this as he was. The elf seemed to have expected it.

  The tale of Pratchert came to Hyden’s mind then. Was he destined to be like Dahg Mahn? It was an incredible thought, one that would seem absurd, were he not watching these travelers come toward him through the eyes of a bird. It was as if he himself were sitting in the tree that Talon was now perched in. “Hawk Man.” He tried it on the tip of his tongue, and then dismissed it. He would have to try to remember to ask Vaegon what the word for hawkling was in the old tongue. He would also have to… Wait, what was that? Voices? He gasped loudly. Not only could he see these unsuspecting travelers, he could hear them as well. They were talking.

  “What is it?” Lord Gregory asked.

  “Shhh!” Hyden hissed.

  Being a high Lord of the most powerful kingdom in the realm, Lord Gregory wasn’t used to being hushed. It offended him momentarily, but the idea that he was feeling well enough to get offended was enough to keep him from reacting rashly. Most likely, he would’ve died had it not been for Hyden and the elf. He owed them all the respect he could give. If he had to take being shushed by the village boy, then he would take it like a man.

  Hyden was amazed, thrilled beyond words. He could hear the crickets in the distance; the scuttle of a varmint; the song of the jay bird telling its mate about the berry bush by the stream. He even registered the disgusted huff of a fox coming from the ridge behind him, after it had missed a meal that it had been hunting. The steady crunch and shuffle of the approaching horses, and the jingle of tack, then a voice, came to his ears from closer by. He almost shushed again, but he realized that it was one of the travelers speaking, not the Lion Lord.

  “- you’re not lost?”

  “Nay Mik,” a deeper voice responded. “The village is not far now, I think. I traded there with an old man named, Hardin, or Halden, maybe. I never forget a place where I made a profit.”

  “You’re lost,” the first voice said flatly.

  Hyden could see them clearly now that they were out of the trees and the gloom. The younger one, the one that was following the big tattoo covered Seawardsman, was the one speaking now.

  “You keep telling me you’re not lost, but you’re just trying to convince yourself of it.”

  “Aye Mik!” The Seawardsman laughed. “Maybe so, maybe so. Either way, I know we’re getting close.”

  Hyden realized he recognized the bigger man. He had once wandered into the Skyler Clan’s village accidentally. Hyden had only been a boy then, but he would never forget the big tattoo covered trapper. He hadn’t traveled out of his village at that point in his life, and the sight of those tattoos, the slick bald head, and the bulging muscles, was etched into his mind forever. Hyden remembered that the man had saved himself by naming several of the giant folk that he had bartered with. Had he not done so, the Elders would have killed him. It had been one of the most exciting things that had happened in Hyden’s youth. He remembered the man telling several stories about the land of Seaward, where ships lined the shores, and a Queen ruled, instead of a King. He tried, but couldn’t seem to remember the man’s name.

  Talon leapt into the darkening sky then, and Hyden’s vision went abruptly black. When he opened his eyes, he was glad he was squatted down. The world at hand hit him like a forge hammer. He rolled onto his back and covered his face with a loud grunt. The wealth o
f emotion that churned through him was unbelievable. He had heard the animals, what they were doing, what they were calling out, and what they were feeling. He wasn’t sure what you would call it. He wasn’t sure there were words to describe the sensation. He had been right there among them, seeing, hearing, and even smelling what was around Talon. He had watched them like a hawk! He burst into a joyous peal of laughter at the insanity of it all.

  “Well it doesn’t look like trouble is coming,” Lord Gregory observed.

  Seeing Hyden’s manic joy caused him to smile, despite himself. He looked at Vaegon, searching for some sort of explanation.

  The elf was scowling at first, but his expression soon softened, and then broke. Hyden’s joy was contagious, and Vaegon eventually smiled down at him. His jealousy faded into the hills with the setting sun. Who was he to feel wronged by the decision of the gods to gift Hyden so wonderfully?

  When Hyden finally regained his composure, he told them all of what he saw and heard. They decided to make camp right there, on the lee side of the hill, and wait for the travelers to catch up with them.

  Lord Gregory thanked the heavens that Mikahl was alive and well. When Hyden had told him that the Seawardsman had called the other man “Mik” the Lion Lord had cried.

  Hyden shared in detail, particularly with Vaegon, the wonders of the experience. The amount of innocent fervor that Hyden displayed, while expressing himself, made the elf feel more than a little ashamed for having let his selfish emotions get a hold of him. Hyden, Vaegon found, was as good and pure hearted as any man could be, which was most likely exactly why the gods had chosen to bless him so. With this realization, nearly all of Vaegon’s hidden contempt evaporated like water on a hot stone. He had to admit that he was still a bit jealous, but it wasn’t the dark sort of envy that brings about hatred. It was more of a healthy, competitive sort of feeling. He grinned ear to ear, and slapped Hyden on the back.

  “Well, at least we now know how a mere human archer could come so close to beating an elf,” Vaegon jested. “With the eyes of a hawkling to aim with, how could you miss?”

  Hyden couldn’t seem to find a response to that.

  Loudin decided that he and Mik would camp in the valley by the tiny stream that trickled through it. They built a fire across the flow from an old oak tree and ate the last of Mikahl’s cheese. Loudin warmed a bit of the small, feral pig he had killed the day before on a stone by the blaze, and then split the meat with his companion. The meal and the cold stream water filled their stomachs to bursting. Only moments after they had stretched themselves out by the fire, they were asleep.

  Mikahl’s sleep had been so thick and heavy for the few days that followed his killing of Duke Fairchild that Loudin had had to boot him awake in the mornings. That had all changed the previous night. Mikahl’s sleep had been fitful, fevered, and full of dark dreams of even darker creatures.

  This night, the dreams were even worse, because the creatures seemed to recognize him. One of them in particular was after him, a black hulk of muscle and claw, driven by nothing less than pure hatred and evil intent. In his dream, it was searching for him so that it could destroy him. It wanted something from him, but Mikahl had no idea what it could be. He was only a squire he tried to tell the dream creatures as they chased him through his dark, empty dreamscape. The highest ranked squire in the realm, but a squire nonetheless.

  “You’re a Squire no more! The King is dead,” they cackled and howled at him. “Everyone you know and love is out to get you now!”

  Occasionally, the dream creatures would retreat, as something monstrous came near: something so much darker and more sinister than the rest of them; something that seemed to leech the life force from everything around it. This hulking, evil monstrosity radiated hatred and foulness, like a desert radiates heat. Evil shimmered from it in wavy sheets of blackness. When it would move off, the others came right back at him, snapping, growling, and cackling with their lustful desire to tear his flesh from his bones. There was always the one beast though, the one that had singled him out to hunt in the darkened dreamscape. That one had form and substance to it now, unrecognizable still, save for the glossy reflection of menace in its black eyes. It stood before him snarling and ready to pounce. Then it did.

  Mikahl woke with a start. Thunder boomed, and then grumbled from not so far away. A peal of lightning streaked across the sky, silhouetting the jagged peaks of the mountains that loomed over them to the north. The air was frigid, and steam billowed from Mikahl’s lungs, as he fought to get his breath. The waning moon was still in the sky, its pale blue glow highlighting the tops of the clouds that were rolling over the mountaintops towards them. He shivered. The clouds were thick, black, and churning violently. It took only moments before they completely blotted out the moonlight. Suddenly, the whole world was engulfed in blackness, just as in his dream.

  Mikahl’s hair suddenly stood on end. A massive crackle of thunder exploded, and a jagged streak of white lightning filled his world.

  It struck no more than a dozen paces away from the camp. The concussion from the blast was so great, that it literally took away Mikahl’s breath. Loudin came up with a raspy yelp. One of the horses screamed in fright. The others pulled at their tethers, trying to get away. Across the little stream, the old gnarled oak tree showered the night with orange sparks, as it slowly split in two. Already, its lesser limbs and branches were consumed in dancing flames.

  Mikahl wasn’t sure why he did it, but the urge to do so was irresistible. He got up, hurried over to Windfoot’s saddle, and untied the straps that held Ironspike to it.

  Duke Fairchild’s blade lay alongside his bedroll, but it was completely forgotten. He sat back down with the King’s blade in his lap, ready to draw it from its scabbard at a moment’s notice. While he and Loudin huddled silently, waiting for the storm to subside, Mikahl watched the slow, flaming death of the once mighty oak tree, and found that he was thankful beyond words for its dying light.

  Chapter 22

  When dawn broke, Lord Gregory mounted his horse, and started back towards Mikahl. He was feeling as well as he had since before the Brawl, despite the wet and gloomy weather.

  If Loudin, or Mikahl, had seen him coming, then most likely they would have set a trap or an ambush for him, but they didn’t catch sight of him until he topped the ridge opposite the one they were on. They spotted the lone rider and knew without a doubt they had been seen. There was no need for trickery after that, only caution.

  It was nearly midday then, and the rain that had been drizzling for hours, was starting to subside. Out, over the Leif Greyn Valley to the south, the clouds were letting go of their burden fully. A steel gray wall of natural fury could be seen inching its way over the sacred grounds. The lightning storm had been a brilliant display, and the continuous thunder had made sleep all but impossible. The day was cold, damp, and somewhat depressing. It was as if the storm had left a dismal stain, both in the sky, and in the tired minds of those who had witnessed its power.

  “Should we keep going?” Mikahl asked from Windfoot’s saddle.

  Loudin was sitting on his mount beside him. Both watched as the lone rider approached, with seemingly excited haste. Loudin was annoyed at being so exposed. What if it had been a dozen armed kingdom men across the way instead of only one? What if it had been an angry band of rock trolls? What if? What if? What if? Be happy he finally told himself. It’s just a single man. At least it’s not worse.

  “He’s about to fall out of his saddle, for all that waving and hollering,” Loudin observed. “Could be a trap. There could be a handful of men waiting on the other side of that rise.” He didn’t sound convincing, not even to himself. Still the possibility was there.

  Since Mikahl had killed the Westland nobleman, since that eerie magical blue glow had filled the forest around them, Loudin had let Mikahl have a say in things. He would put the facts and possibilities out there, and Mikahl would ask questions, and give his opinion on the situat
ion. Loudin knew that there was something special about the boy. He also knew that the boy had no idea that he was special. Loudin was trying to help the lad see the complexity of the situation. Mikahl, most of the time, seemed oblivious.

  “Nah, nah,” Mikahl finally said, more to himself than to his companion. He turned to Loudin. “Let’s go on down and see what he’s about. Maybe he isn’t lost.”

  “Bah!” Loudin cursed through his tired grin. “I’m not lost, blast you!”

  Lord Gregory, after seeing that they were going to continue coming his way, sat back into his saddle, and hurried his horse down the slope. He wasn’t satisfied to wait for them at the bottom of the valley. Their pace, hindered by the big, long object that their pack horses were carrying, was so slow that he couldn’t stand the wait. He met them a quarter of the way up the slope they were descending, in a semi open area, which was spattered with young pine trees, old oaks, elms and sycamores.

  “Mikahl!” The Lion Lord shouted, in a voice that was thick with emotion. “Oh Mikahl!”

  The sound of Lord Gregory’s voice was startling. He was the last person Mikahl would’ve expected to come across out here. He shook his head, and rubbed at his eyes, wondering if he was hearing and seeing things.

  Loudin recognized the embroidered patch on the king’s-man’s saddle and drew his dagger with a muffled curse. Loudin’s bladed pike, his favorite weapon, had been shoved through the center of the lizard-skin roll to keep it from sagging in the middle.

  Mikahl’s hand went to the hilt of Duke Fairchild’s sword at his hip, while his other hand felt behind him to make sure that Ironspike was still secure in its place on Windfoot’s saddle. Only when he was sure that it was safe, did he let his full attention fall on the familiar man reining up his horse before them.

  It took half a minute for Mikahl to register that the pale, sickly man was really Lord Gregory, but when he did, the dam of emotion he had been holding back inside himself burst forth in a teary flood.