The Sword and the Dragon wt-1

by Michael Robb Mathias

  Eventually, the walls of the chamber faded. All around and above them, was nothing but a deep empty blackness. Hyden looked up into it. A pinpoint of light appeared, then another, and then several more.

  Suddenly, Hyden was looking at the open night sky. It looked exactly the same as it would have if they were outside around a campfire in the very same place. Or did it? Hyden questioned. Hadn’t the real sky been gray and cloudy?

  Hyden became aware of the stark silence around him. Between the dragon’s horns, a thin wisp of smoke began to swirl up from the blue flames. The tendrils thickened and twisted like a miniature funnel, and spun crazily until a small featureless humanoid form appeared. It was about as tall as a man’s forearm is long. A pair of arms rose away from its sides. Hyden could see the back and buttocks of a shapely woman slowly define itself. Long flowing hair, curvaceous hips, and smooth tapering legs, formed in perfect miniature out of the swirling smoke. It was the White Goddess, but she was facing away from Hyden. He wanted badly to move to the other side of the dragon skull so that he could look upon her face, but he dared not do anything that might startle her away.

  Halden spoke a greeting in a strange language and bowed his upper torso to the misty woman before him. The rest of the Elders remained silent, but all of them bowed their heads to her in a show of respect. Hyden bowed his head too, even though he didn’t think she could see him. Looking down, he noticed that Talon was standing alert, like a statue, with his raptor eyes glued to the apparition floating in the shimmering air over the fire.

  The goddess spoke then. Hyden couldn’t understand the words, but he knew that he was the subject of the conversation. He could feel it. Halden responded to her, and then their words switched to the common language.

  “The Pact has been broken,” she said gravely. “The guardian of the seal is no longer bound to protect it.”

  There was a long silence. After the pause, the voice of the goddess grew angry and harsh.

  “This is what happens when old men grow jealous and covet another’s abilities. You changed tradition. It is shameful that a foolish squabble with the elves would cause grown men to act like children.” Before Halden could respond, her smoky form turned to face Hyden.

  His breath left him, and his heartbeat quickened. His eyelids felt like they might peal back over his skull. She was beautiful, perfectly formed, and naked. He was glad to see her expression soften before she addressed him.

  “For now, you must follow your heart, Hyden Hawk. When you’re lost or confused, Talon will help you find the right path to follow. Eventually, you must get back the ring your brother wears. It was not meant for him. It was meant for you to find.”

  She glanced back over her shoulder at Harrap and the other Elders, with distaste showing clearly on her tiny, smoky face.

  “The balance of things is out of kilter. The entire nature of prophecy has been fractured. Not even I can know what to expect until the balance has been restored. You must follow your heart Hyden. Your heart and your familiar will guide you until the time comes when you can get the ring back from Gerard.”

  She turned back toward the Eldest then, leaving Hyden staring after her.

  “The power of prophecy is useless now,” she said, with a quick, nervous glance up into the false sky around them. “Fractured and uncertain is the only future I can see -”

  She paused again, and for a moment, seemed confused. Her suddenly fearful expression, along with her words, created a wave of panic among the Elders. More than one pair of shame-filled eyes fell on Hyden. Even the Eldest glanced at his grandson with an expression full of dire concern.

  “There is no sure path for him to follow,” she continued. “Any deed of honor might prove to be horribly destructive. A cold betrayal might prove to be the most righteous act ever committed. No one can say with any certainty.”

  She spun, and half ducked reflexively, and then looked up into her starry sky, with an arm held out protectively over her face. High over her head, something as dark as the night glided by. Had it not been eclipsing the stars it was passing under, it would have been invisible to them.

  “Evil approaches as we speak! It is upon them. You mus -”

  Her voice ended abruptly, and her image turned into a shapeless swirl as Talon shot through her, towards the dark thing gliding overhead.

  “NOOO!” Hyden screamed at the bird, but it was too late. The spell had been broken. The night sky had been replaced by the stone ceiling of the chamber and Talon struck it with a sickening thump. The Elders gasped as the brave hawkling tumbled to the floor like a feather-covered stone.

  The door to the chamber burst open then, and young Derry Skyler came in huffing and covered with sweat, with eyes as big as saucers.

  “Something has attacked them!” he said between breaths.

  Being a seasoned climber, the boy was in spectacular shape. Hyden knew that he would’ve had to run a long way to be so out of breath. Hyden’s stomach clenched as he realized that Derry had been watching over Vaegon and the kingdom men.

  “It was coming down out of the sky on them when I left to warn you. The…they were asleep. Oh Hyden,” he sobbed. “I should have warned them awake instead of…of…”

  He fell apart then. He was crying and very confused.

  “I pa…panicked. I thought…thought there…thought there might be more of them…come…come…coming here.”

  Mikahl’s eyes popped open. His hand went to Ironspike’s hilt and he took in a long deep breath to clear his mind. The beast from his dreams was there! As he exhaled, he tried to force out all of the fear and anxiety that the nightmares had left inside him.

  The sudden screeching roar of some creature, followed by the wet ripping sound of one of the horses being brutalized, saved him from having to wake the others. Mikahl spun to his feet and drew the King’s Blade in one fluid motion. Its soft, bluish glow filled the night around them. He didn’t advance towards the beast. Instead, he stood over Lord Gregory and Vaegon protectively until they were both on their feet and armed.

  Lord Gregory stared open-mouthed at Ironspike, then at Mikahl.

  “So it’s true,” he muttered in astonishment. It was all he could do to keep from falling to a knee on the spot.

  At the edge of the blade’s light, the horses brayed and nickered in terror. Beyond that was total darkness.

  “Should we cut them loose?” Mikahl asked, indicating the frightened animals. One of them was already a bloody mess, and the scent of its death was traumatizing the others.

  “Aye, your Highness,” Lord Gregory said, then went to release them. Mikahl had heard the Lion Lord’s words, but was too intent on the matter in hand to make sense of them.

  Vaegon turned in a whirl, and fired an arrow up into the air above and behind Mikahl. Mikahl felt the presence of evil there. He also felt, and heard, a distant musical vibration. He wasn’t sure, but he thought that it might be coming from the sword in his hands. He didn’t have time to contemplate the sensations though: he had to duck. He turned, and came back up quickly with a sharp thrust, but missed the dark thing. Luckily, its big swiping claw missed him too. He saw the elf’s arrow. It was stuck into the creature’s shoulder, and there was a black wetness where it had penetrated.

  “It bleeds!” he yelled more to himself than to the others.

  It was an odd relief to know that the creature from his dreams was made of flesh and blood, that it had form and substance, and that it could most likely die.

  As fast as the hellcat had come, it disappeared back into the darkness. Above, the sky appeared empty, but the thick grayish clouds were backlit by the moon.

  “Look for the shape,” Vaegon called out, “the shadow in the sky.”

  A sudden sound swept by in the darkness. A horse? Mikahl hoped so. It was probably trying to get as far away from the light of his blade as possible. He also hoped that it wasn’t Windfoot that had been slaughtered, but he didn’t dare take the time to go and check.

&nbs
p; Lord Gregory came hurrying back into Ironspike’s radiance. Mikahl saw it then, a speeding shadow coming at them from the side. He cringed and felt his heart drop to the dirt. Not even a warning shout could save the man he respected and loved so much.

  Vaegon loosed another arrow and it struck true, but it didn’t help the Lion Lord. The hellcat’s claws dug deep into Lord Gregory’s back and shoulder, and yanked him screaming up into the darkened night. Vaegon started to launch another arrow, but thought better of it. As good as his aim was, under these conditions, he could easily hit the Westland Lord by mistake. He wondered for a fleeting moment if that might not be the merciful thing to do, but then the chance had passed.

  “I think it’s afraid of the sword,” said Vaegon. “Or maybe, it’s just the light it’s weary of. Otherwise, I think it would land and fight us tooth and claw.”

  “Aye,” Mikahl agreed absently. He was in a state of shock now. His confidence had been snatched away into the night with the Lord of Lake Bottom.

  From behind them, came the hellcat’s shrieking growl. Mikahl nearly dropped Ironspike and ran. They turned, and Vaegon made to loose the arrow he had nocked, but the spiked tip of the hellcat’s tail caught him square in the face. He went down hard on his back, his bow tumbling uselessly to the ground as his hands shot up to protect what was left of his ruined eye.

  Mikahl swallowed his fear, and swung at the beast with all he had. A glancing slice was all he could manage, but the contact of the blade on the beast’s skin caused it to howl out in rage and pain. It gnashed its teeth together, and snapped its catlike head out, as if it were striking viper. The sharp, blackened maw smashed closed just inches from Mikahl’s nose. The beast’s hot breath stank of burnt steel, rotten flesh and hatred. It reminded Mikahl of how the body-strewn field at Coldfrost had smelled a month after the snows had melted. He had to choke back the urge to vomit.

  Mikahl used his backswing to hack at the thing’s extended neck, but it withdrew its head even faster than it had lunged. The miss would’ve carried him off balance, had he been a fraction less agile. Instead of stumbling away as he came around, he pulled his arms in close to his body, like he had once seen a dancer do in a mummers play. It made him spin faster. He did a full revolution, and as he came around the second time, he extended the blade out as far as he could and caught the surprised beast.

  From shoulder to shoulder, the hellcat’s narrow chest opened up like a bright red maw. Mikahl noticed two things before his momentum twisted his legs, and sent him tumbling to the ground. The first was that Ironspike’s glow had briefly changed from blue to red, before turning to the bright white radiance that it was emitting now. The second was that he had missed the vital tendons and veins in the hellcat’s neck by only inches. He had sliced too low, and had only caused a flesh wound.

  The feline monster snapped out its wings for balance and reared up on its hind legs, like some nightmarish horse. The roar it let out was bone-chilling. It seemed more angry than hurt by the wound Mikahl had inflicted.

  To Mikahl’s side, he saw Vaegon fumbling with his bow. The elf’s face was a bloody mess. There was so much blood, that it was a wonder he could even see. By the way he was handling his weapon, Mikahl thought that maybe he couldn’t.

  Mikahl started to rise, but before he could sit up, or even bring Ironspike up to protect himself, the hellcat pounced at him. Its savagely graceful leap landed its bulk right on top of him. Its fore claws found his chest and shoulders, and pinned him in place. The beast’s great weight forced the breath from him, causing him to gasp a lungful of the hellcat’s fetid breath. Warm saliva dripped from a blackened tongue, some of it found its way into Mikahl’s mouth, causing him to retch and gasp for more rotten air. Black empty eyes that he recognized from his nightmares, raged down at him with nothing less than death reflecting from their glossy depths. He felt as if he were about to choke on his own vomit. Mikahl tried desperately to raise Ironspike, but the beast’s paws were huge, and covered his upper arms, chest and shoulders. He could barely turn his head.

  Vaegon’s bow thrummed as he loosed an arrow into the creature’s rear flank. The hellcat tensed and roared out its anger at the assault, but didn’t move to get off of Mikahl. Instead, it reared back its head and opened its foul, toothy maw.

  This is it, Mikahl thought, remembering the way the monster lunged out its head before. It’s going to tear my face off with those teeth. I’ve failed King Balton and I’m about to die. I’ve come all this way and I’ve failed.

  The beast’s head darted down then. Mikahl could see that his own head would easily fit into the hellcat’s mouth. He hoped that the thing would rip it away quick. He didn’t want to die slowly, half maimed out in these foothills. At the last moment, he squeezed his eyes shut, turned away, and waited for the pain.

  It never came.

  The hellcat suddenly stiffened and froze in place. Its head slowly drew back far enough for Mikahl to see that those hungry, evil eyes had grown wide with shock, or maybe confusion. The beast’s brow furrowed. Mikahl heard a solid thump, and then another. The monstrous winged feline, jerked with each of the sounds. Suddenly, it leapt to the side, writhing and shrieking in frustration.

  Mikahl couldn’t possibly imagine what was happening to the thing, and he didn’t wait around to try and figure it out. He sucked in a deep, well needed breath of fresh air, drew his knees up to his chest, and then kicked out, while arching his back. The move brought him acrobatically to his feet, and he was in a defensive stance, facing the hellcat less than a heartbeat later. The beast had at least half a dozen arrows sticking up out of its back now. Another arrow came streaking down out of the sky, and stuck into the ground between Mikahl and the monster. Not daring to take his eyes off of the raging and confused creature before him, it took Mikahl a moment to figure out what was happening.

  The hellcat started toward Mikahl again. As he steadied himself to make a swing with Ironspike, another of the arrows slammed into the creature’s back, but it didn’t stop. It took one long, lunging leap, then another, and then launched itself into a crushing pounce. Mikahl stumbled over the ring of rocks they had placed around their campfire as he instinctually backed away. He brought his sword up, and managed to hold the blade out steady, even though he fell, and landed hard. The hellcat’s great weight would impale it on the sword when it came down on him this time.

  Mikahl waited, with his eyes clenched shut, to feel the beast come crashing down, but it didn’t happen. The heavy “THUMP!” of leathery wings catching air came instead. The nightmare come to life, flew over Mikahl’s head, and disappeared back into the darkness.

  He passed a few anxious moments waiting to see if the hellcat would return, but it didn’t. As soon as he was sure the beast had fled, Mikahl went to Vaegon’s side.

  “Go! Find your Lion Lord,” the elf said waving him away. “I’ll be all right.”

  “What if that thing returns?” Mikahl asked.

  “Then we will deal with it,” a breathless voice spoke from the darkness beyond them.

  It was Loudin, Mikahl realized in a flood of relief. He was coming out of the darkness with a handful of the hawkman’s people.

  “Is it hot?”

  One of them kicked a booted foot at the barely visible fire ring where Mikahl had just been sprawled. The tiny swirl of sparking embers was stirred up by the kick. He poured liquid from a flask into it and flames leapt up. Wood that had been set aside for the morning’s cook fire was thrown into the blaze by another man.

  “We have light here now,” Harrap said sternly. “And we have torches on the way. Use the sword’s light to search for the other man.”

  He turned to a pair of young men who were not much older than Mikahl. “Tylen, Derry, go and help him.”

  Even though each and every one of the hawkman’s people had deeply tanned skin, and sported the same long, slick black length of hair, Mikahl could tell that the man giving the orders was Hyden Hawk’s father. It was clear he was an
authority figure here, and the resemblance was unmistakable.

  It was dawn before they found Lord Gregory. He was just over the next ridge, half in, half out of a huddle of pine shrub. He was still alive, but barely. He had been dropped from a great height, and it appeared that nearly every bone in his body was broken. He also had several puncture wounds in his back, and a wide open tear, from his chest to his chin. When they got him back to the camp, Vaegon tried to heal him, but it didn’t work. He wasn’t strong enough. One of the elf’s eyes was swollen shut and the other was blood red. A deep, jagged tear ran from his slightly pointed ear to the closed eye.

  The men from the Skyler Clan ended up making a travois for Lord Gregory, and then toted him back to the village, where a burrow had been cleared out just for the outsiders.

  Hyden had helped only slightly in the search for the Westland Lord. He hadn’t raced down into the camp either. Instead, he had stood on the ridge, and used his bow and his hawk-like vision to put those arrows into the hellcat’s back. As soon as he was sure that the creature had fled, he had gone to tend to Talon. Only after the hawkling had come out of the half stunned state his collision with the ceiling of the council chamber had caused, did Hyden leave the village to help the others in the search.

  The women cooked a stew that was chocked full of healing herbs and goat meat. Poultices and liniments were administered. Mikahl took several stitches in a wound on his chest that he didn’t remember getting. All that could be done for him, Lord Gregory, and the elf was done.

  Vaegon would survive. One eye was probably ruined, but it was too soon to say for certain. Lord Gregory though, was nearly torn in two. Vaegon did what he could do, but even with the elf’s magical healing abilities, the Lord of Lake Bottom would most likely die. If the gods did decide to let him live, the elf told them, he would never walk again.