“Aye,” he added. It was just another example of the power of youth that he no longer had access to.
Loudin raised himself back up to his feet, and managed to do it without an audible groan this time.
“I’ll have a fire waiting,” he said, then made his way back toward the cavern.
Hyden chided himself for letting the hunter sneak up on him like that. That kind of carelessness would not do. He hadn’t told the others yet what Borg had said about there being more of those dark creatures about.
It wasn’t until he heard the story of Dahg Mahn again, that he began to truly believe that the power of Mikahl’s sword had something to do with the attack. If the sword truly made Mikahl the King of Westland, then more of them would surely come for it. Hyden wasn’t learned in the way of kings and kingdoms, and he knew even less about magical swords, but it was obvious that whoever was running Westland at the moment wouldn’t want Mikahl showing up and ruining his plans.
A warning shriek from Talon brought Hyden’s attention back to the ram. It was getting closer to him laterally, but working its way higher up the mountain. He sent Talon to swoop down the slope at it. He was as anxious to see if the bird could harry the ram where he wanted it to go, as he was about to kill one of its mates.
Vaegon woke to the first crackling sounds of Loudin’s fire. The pain in his empty socket had lessened considerably, but not the pain in his heart. The empty space there was like a raw, open sore. He felt like part of him, the part that made him elven, had been ripped away from him by that beast.
None of his companions could know the true extent of his loss. Only an elf would understand. The night vision, the ability to see the life force of living things, and the currents of magic flowing around and through the rest of the world, was so distorted now, that it was useless. For him, seeing was now like a human trying to hear with his nose, or smell with his tongue; like trying to wield a sword with a booted foot, or trying to run with only one leg. He felt empty and useless.
As much as he had been missing the Evermore Forest, he no longer found the idea of going back there very comforting. His people would be accepting and loving of course, but the whispers as he walked past the flower gardens, without being able to tell the shapes the scents made as the sunlight reflected through them, would be unbearable. They would laugh, as he missed the signs of the trail that the forest showed him to follow. They would be consoling, polite, and their good intentions would be a constant reminder of the myriad things he could no longer sense with his elven vision. It was sickening to think about. Even now, the flames that danced to life before his eyes were like a single cricket call, where before, they would’ve blazed forth in his vision, like the entire nocturnal symphony of the forest.
It had pained him dearly to give his longbow to Hyden Hawk, but he could have found no better owner for his longbow. Not in all of the races, including his own, would a person respect the gift more than Hyden Hawk did. The young human was special, as was Mikahl. In all of Vaegon’s seventy-three years of life, he had not met anyone, be they elf, giant, fairling, or dwarf, that had the power of life radiating from them like those two did. He couldn’t see it anymore, but he had seen it before he lost the gift of his elven sight.
A gift was all that his wonderful vision had been, he realized now. He shook his head, thinking how his kind took such things for granted. That thought humbled him even more than the actual loss did. In truth, his race was not much different than the humans; just a few more god-granted gifts. Take them away, and they were the same. He couldn’t believe that he used to think that he was better.
Vaegon knew that Hyden Hawk needed someone to help him come into his power. Mikahl’s Power came from the sword. That was something Vaegon wouldn’t even try to understand. The Westland boy had had a great deal of potential coursing around his aura when they had met outside of Hyden’s Village. The sword had had no part in that, he remembered. It had been strapped to the horse that day. Still, the Westland boy needed some guidance too. They both did.
Vaegon sighed. If it had not been for Hyden Hawk’s brilliant shot that destroyed the arrow the Witch Queen’s archer had aimed at him, then he wouldn’t be here at all. He still owed his life to Hyden. That simple fact gave him purpose, which in turn gave him a little hope. He needed that.
Not just as a life debt anymore, but as a friend and mentor, Vaegon silently, and willingly pledged his existence to Hyden Hawk. He wasn’t sure what sort of help a Cyclops elf could offer, but he would give it nonetheless. He smiled brightly, and seemed to forget about his troubles, when Hyden Hawk appeared at the cavern entrance, slightly winded and blowing clouds of steam from the burden of hauling his kill.
Mikahl woke to the rich smell of cooking meat. The cavern was warm and toasty. As he blinked and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, Loudin handed him a flask of cold water. A moment later, Vaegon placed a piece of bread in his lap with a flourishing bow, then Hyden gave him a dagger that had a hot, sizzling chunk of fresh roasted meat stabbed on its point.
As Mikahl started to take a bite, he looked around at the faces that were staring at him. All three of his companions were about to burst into laughter. With mock severity they all bowed deeply. When they rose back up, they spoke in perfect unison, and the sarcasm dripped like honey from their words.
“Mighty King Mikahl, your most gracious Highness, we are at your service.” Before they even finished, their laughter exploded through the cavern.
Mikahl smiled broadly, gave a regal nod, and then broke his fast.
Chapter 33
Lord Ellrich was happy to be back at Settsted Stronghold. The familiar stone walls around the keep, with its little bailey yard, single tower, and its bird’s eye view of the seemingly endless and empty green swamp marsh that began on the other side of the river channel, made him feel comfortable and safe.
The smell of Rosila’s cooking wafting up from the kitchen, and the reassuring sound of the men – the few of them King Glendar and his wizard had left him – drilling in the practice yard, were sensations he had never thought to enjoy again. How he had managed to keep his head from being piked at Lakeside Castle was a mystery. He was sure it had more to do with King Glendar’s interest in his daughter than anything else.
Thank the heavens that Zasha was safe at Lake Bottom with Lady Trella. His only hope was that she still might be able to turn Glendar’s eyes away from her. Maybe Trella could get him interested in another maiden. He would send her a message as soon as he was settled and invite them to visit. Lake Bottom was probably a sad sort of place without Lord Gregory around to lend it his cheer.
The week had been extremely busy. Riding out daily to cull men from the garrisons had been no easy task. His huge, old horse could only go so far, so fast, with his great bulk riding on its back, so the work had taken some time.
The soldiers were mostly river folk, his folk. No matter who Lord Ellrich sent off to Wildermont to fight, he found protesting mothers, fathers, and wives. Some, he had managed to appease, others were still cursing his decisions. They were his people and he was their liege. It pained him to do his duty, but the new King of Westland was waging war against the east, and Ellrich would sooner anger a few families than donate his head to the cause.
The river folk were only a portion of Lord Ellrich’s responsibilities. Besides guarding the stretch of Westland shore that contained the Leif Greyn Rivers western channel, he held sway over a huge section of the kingdom’s southern lands. Farmers, herders, and craftsmen alike, all lived and worked under his banner. Lord Brach’s recruiters had come through, and hauled every able bodied man and boy away from their homes to fight. Very few people were happy in this part of the kingdom. Ellrich couldn’t imagine it being much better anywhere else. His people might not be happy with him, but at least it was his people that were around him now. He was home.
On the desk before him, was the remainder of the petitions and grievances that had piled up during his absence. Dealing with K
ing Balton’s funeral, then Glendar’s coronation, and then the matter of sending the King most of his men had taken well over a month. What matters his captains hadn’t been able to resolve, were left here for him to review. It seemed that they hadn’t resolved much. He had thinned the stack down a bit over the past few days, but since the news of his return had spread, it was growing again.
Several people had sighted flocks of the big swamp dactyls flying into the farmlands. Dozens of goats, a few sheep, and even a milk cow, had been reported missing. The next report said that a handful of barges had sunk or been pirated before reaching their destinations. This was a fresh copy of an old report and he quickly tossed it away. A young girl had been raped by men in uniform, probably Lord Brach’s recruiters. Ellrich’s men knew better. She had just come forward with the claim. Her family most likely bade her to wait for Lord Ellrich’s return before she made the accusation. It was probably too late to find the men responsible, now that the invasion of Wildermont had begun. Lord Ellrich sighed and rubbed at the folds of his chin with his sausage-like a fingers. What a shame.
Another report said that a rash of burglaries along the riverfront had occurred in more than one town. “Highly organized,” Captain Long had written in the margin of the report. Ellrich tried to remember if Long had been sent to the Wildermont front or not. If he had investigated the thefts enough to learn how organized the perpetrators were, but still hadn’t managed to find them, then maybe the battlefront was the place for him. Or, maybe, Captain Long would like to lead an excursion out into the marshes to wipe out some of the pesky dactyls. Ellrich liked that idea better. A few of the big leathery birds hanging from the trees in the towns along the coast would make the people feel a little bit better. He started to read the next page, but sighed again, and tossed the stack of papers back onto his desk.
Since he had been home, he had been forced to deal with these sorts of matters personally. He used to assign a man to each and see what came about, but he didn’t have the resources of his garrison anymore. A few thousand men had suddenly turned into a few hundred. He would deal with it, on the morrow. The scent of Rosila’s meal had him salivating. Not even the upsetting matter of the molested girl, whose father he knew personally, was going to disturb his dinner this night.
The table was loaded with his favorites. Rosila had cooked and cared for him since he was knee high to a swamp bug, and knew just what would satisfy his vast hunger. Since he had been home, he had been too busy culling the outposts, and making the rounds, to sit down at his own table and enjoy one of her feasts, but she had insisted that he stay put this night. She had also invited his advisers, and warned them what would happen if they didn’t leave the Lord to get a good night’s rest after supper was finished. They knew better than to argue with her, as did Lord Ellrich. She was as old as Settsted itself, and as stubborn as the stone it was built from.
Captain Layson, a tall, thick man in his graying years, with a clean military demeanor and a balding head, had been invited. He was Lord Ellrich’s second in command here at the stronghold.
Captain Munst, a slightly younger and bulkier version of Captain Layson, was there as well. He was over all the men who manned the string of outposts that Lord Ellrich had just gutted.
Sir William, the wily old Weapons Master, who had trained nearly every man that served under Lord Ellrich, was there as well. He was getting on in years, but his wild explosion of snow white hair and his hardened physique, were still imposing. Especially on the training yard where he often proved why he was still the Weapons Master.
The rock-walled dining hall wasn’t very large. It held only one long table and was lit by torches spaced evenly along the long walls. The big fireplace at the foot of the table was blocked off with a wooden folding partition, and was painted the same dark and dreary shades of green and brown as the two swamp scene tapestries hanging on the walls that ran alongside of the dining board. Even this early in the summer, a fire would have made the heat in the windowless room unbearable.
The occasion was informal, old friends who trusted and respected one another, just socializing, and enjoying the return of their Liege Lord. These were the three men who had shaped Lord Ellrich’s ideals and raised him after his father had passed away many years ago. His title meant little in their company; they were like family, and none of them would hesitate to speak their mind. All three of them were pleased to get to enjoy Rosila’s feast. It was rare that she let them share the Lord’s table.
Not much was said while they were eating. Roasted game hens, and sliced pork, drenched in gravy, seemed to keep their fingers and mouths busy enough. Fresh baked loaves of bread, heavily buttered, sweet jellies, and a mix of green vegetables, weren’t ignored either. The best cask of red in the cellar had been brought up, and Rosila and her daughter kept the goblets full. Dessert was sugared moss cakes, with candied gar root, a swamp land delicacy that was as rare as snowfall to the men. They ate their fill of all of it.
The conversation stayed light, until Lord Ellrich, who was sweating profusely, and bloated like a boar hog, had a pair of candelabras brought out so that the torches might be extinguished. After wiping the grease and sweet jam from his hands, he belched loudly, and then touched on the subject of King Glendar’s campaign against the east. He was buzzed from the wine and had a green smear of icing from the moss cake on his cheek. His manner and tone were almost comical.
“You think this war is a winnable thing?” he asked the table.
“Why that Highwander Witch would set such a thing off at Summer’s Day, I cannot imagine,” Captain Layson offered.
“I heard it was a Seaward bastard who started the blood flowing, after Lord Gregory killed their fighter,” Sir William said.
The mention of the Lion Lord caused a long moment of head shaking reverie as they all thought about the much loved, and greatly missed Lord of Lake Bottom.
“He was a fine man,” Lord Ellrich slurred. He raised his flagon up in toast. “To a fair and noble warrior, who will be sorely missed.”
“Aye, he was that,” Sir William added.
“Here, here,” the others agreed.
“They say ol’ King Jarrek is already holed up in that castle fortress of his, like a scared rabbit.” Sir William changed the subject before the loss of Lord Gregory ruined the mood of the evening completely.
“Those Redwolves like to snarl and bark a lot, but when it comes time to really fight, what do they do, but run like curs.”
This came from Captain Munst, who was obviously the least intoxicated of them. He had only been sipping at his goblet while the other men had been drinking deeply. He had three daughters, and an anxious wife at home. With the loss of manpower along the riverfront, he was sure that he wouldn’t get another chance like this for a good long while. Always traveling from outpost to outpost limited his time here. He had the chance this night to go and see them, and he wasn’t about to come home to them in a drunken stupor.
“If they had policed the festival like they were supposed to,” Munst continued, “then none of this would’ve happened. They brought it upon themselves.”
“THAT FOOL’S PUPPET GLENDAR!” Lord Ellrich roared out quite loudly.
Only here in his home, with these men whom he trusted completely, would he speak what was truly on his mind.
“He and Lord Brach would’ve found a reason to go after Wildermont sooner or later. They’ve been scheming on it since long before King Balton died.”
“Another great man who will be sorely missed,” said Captain Munst, hoping to detour his Liege Lord’s treasonous line of thought, before it went too far. “To good King Balton,” he toasted. “May he lie with the gods for all eternity.”
“Agreed,” the others chimed in, getting the drift of Captain Munst’s intention.
None of them wanted to find out what their fate would be if Lord Ellrich got his head spiked for being treasonous against the new king. They had all heard the rumors about how the bailey yards, a
nd the garden gates of Lakeside Castle were sporting the heads of those who so much as irritated young Glendar. It was also said that Lord Brach had spies everywhere. Between the resourceful Northern Lord, and the King’s strange wizard, Captain Munst feared that Glendar’s ears might be privy to the words Lord Ellrich spoke, even here in his own stronghold.
Sir William started to speak, but the wooden fireplace cover fell flat onto the stone floor with a sudden and resounding, WHACK!
Lord Ellrich didn’t seem to notice, but Captain Layson and Sir William both snapped their heads around, instinctually alarmed by the sound.
Captain Munst, who was at the foot of the table, and had his back to the hearth, chose to gauge the reaction of the others, instead of twisting in his chair. Only when Captain Layson’s brows narrowed over squinting, quizzical eyes, and when he stood and strode towards the sound, did Captain Munst’s curiosity get the better of him.
“What caused that?” he asked, as he made to join Captain Layson’s investigation.
Lord Ellrich noticed them, and became only mildly concerned.
“Probably the wind,” he said with a dismissive wave. “Leave it be.”
“What in the name of -?” Captain Layson’s voice was cut short, as he leapt back from a cloud of soot that erupted suddenly from the back of the stone recess.
“It’s a fargin Widow Worm!” Captain Munst yelled, when he saw the venomous marsh lizard.
It was as long as his leg, covered in grey ash, and it was already streaking across the floor. It leapt sideways into Captain Munst’s empty chair, paused for half a heartbeat, then jumped onto the foot of the table, and shot full speed across it towards Lord Ellrich’s wide eyed jiggling head.
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