He felt her misty hand caress his cheek again.
“I do not envy you, Hyden Hawk Skyler. You may very well have to seal your own brother into the dark of the Nethers to stop the demon. Yet some day, you will have to take the ring back from him, so that the nature of prophecy can be restored. Doing both seems impossible. Your heart is the only true guide you have now. Follow it, and you cannot fail.”
With those words, she began to shimmer away.
Hyden wanted to call out to her, to stall her departure, but he couldn’t form a question, or find a real reason for doing so. He knew what he had to do first. Pratchert’s tower was looming up over him even now. He hoped beyond hope that his instincts about his brother were wrong, but no matter how much he wished it to be different, his heart told him the truth of the matter.
Chapter 51
Not long after he returned to the castle, Hyden was summoned to Queen Willa’s council hall. With Talon riding tall on his shoulder, and occasionally flapping to keep his balance, he made his way through slanting bars of sunlight that shone like mote filled splashes of gold, across the softly lit corridor. Andra, the dwarfess, greeted him at the heavy double door, and quickly told him what Vaegon was out doing with Dugak and Ironspike. There wasn’t time to question her before the door came creaking open, and he was approached. A tired looking man, with long, straight dark hair, a well trimmed beard, and wearing a white bell sleeved wizard’s robe, stepped in front of him, and bowed deeply. Talon “cawed” at the action, and Hyden realized that this was one of the men he had seen riding into the city earlier. Not sure how to respond to the deep bow, Hyden nodded slowly, and slightly dipped his knees.
“Lord Hyden Hawk,” the man said, rising back up to his full height. “It is an honor. Queen Willa has spoken highly of you and your companions. My name is Targon, I’m the High Wizard of Xwarda, and I am at your service.”
Hyden wished that Mikahl were there to coach him about what was proper to do, and say, around all these fancy people. He also wished he hadn’t just come from sitting on a bench, covered in swan dung. He felt like a fish that had chased some bait up the bank, out of the water clear into the tall grass. What could he say to that introduction? What should he say? He was at a total loss for words, until he heard the White Goddess’s soft whispering voice in his ear. “Follow your heart,” it said.
“When this is done, Master Targon,” Hyden indicated the table, and gathering that was about to commence inside the chamber. “Could you please show me Pratchert’s… I mean Dahg Mahn’s Tower?”
The master wizard’s head cocked slightly to the side, and his eyes squinted, as if he were trying to see through to the inside of Hyden’s skull. A wry smile soon crossed his face, and he nodded in the affirmative.
“There are things you might want to be aware of, before you open that door, Lord Hyden Hawk. I will explain, as you said, when this is done.” He put a hand on Hyden’s back, turned him toward the door, and gently ushered him into the council hall. “I saved you a seat near mine.” Targon indicated the chair he had reserved for Hyden. “I hope you don’t mind.”
Hyden let himself be seated. There were a half dozen people in the room that he had not yet been introduced to, and none of them, at the moment, seemed to even notice his existence. A couple of the men looked to be high ranking soldiers or guardsmen. The others looked to be lesser royalty, or wealthy merchant types. All of them looked important. He was glad that none of them could see the swan refuse that was caked to the back of his britches. Nonchalantly, he sniffed at the air around himself, and was happy to find that he didn’t smell of the stuff.
He was just beginning to relax in the strange environment, when everyone who wasn’t standing, jumped to their feet. Not sure what else to do, but stand with them, he did so, but he was careful to keep his behind against his chair’s back.
“King Jarrek the Redwolf of Wildermont!” an announcer called out in a booming voice, while a staff thumped heavily on the floor.
From behind a row of heavy curtains a tall, worn looking man limped into the room. As he gained his chair near the head of the table, the announcer called out again. “General Spyra, Commander of the Blacksword, and her Majesty, Queen Willa.”
“Enough! Sit please. Please, sit!” The Queen’s voice was adamant. “This is a war council, not a Summer’s Eve dance.”
She looked the part of a warrior queen, thought Hyden: fierce and commanding, and seemingly ready for battle, in the same plated leather girdle, over glittering chain mail, that she had worn when they had met in the forest.
Earlier in the day, Hyden had learned from Andra that Queen Willa had dreamt of his, Mikahl’s, and Vaegon’s coming. Obviously, the Queen of Highwander didn’t ride out to meet with everyone that rode into her lands. He hadn’t had a chance to talk with her about any of that yet, but he wanted to. He was curious to learn, if her dream had also included the attack of the Choska, or if the prophetic nature of her dream, had revealed some other happening that never had a chance to take place.
The nature of prophecy is fractured, he reminded himself, but still, he was curious. After some prodding, Andra had revealed that in the Queen’s dream, Mikahl had flown on a horse of fire and light, and had somehow saved Xwarda from coming under siege. Hyden didn’t think that Mikahl would survive, much less be able to do anything, on any sort of horse, anytime soon.
General Spyra was a big, round-faced man, with the build of a barrel keg. He wasn’t fat or even plump. He was just round and big. His head was balding, and the little hair that remained, was grayish white and ran in a strip around the back of his head, from temple to temple. He wore old ringed leather armor, that looked to have been put to proper use over the years, and he carried a dull gray helmet under his arm. At his hip, was a sheathed blade, which was probably as wide as Hyden’s thigh, and at least four feet long. The look on his face showed that he was anything, but pleased about the situation at hand.
From behind the heavy curtains, Hyden saw a huge moth come fluttering towards the Queen. Only after Willa put her hand out, and the thing landed on it, did Hyden see that it wasn’t a moth. It was a little blue fairy man, right out of one of Berda’s tales. He tried not to stare, and it was all he could do to keep Talon from instinctively going after the little guy.
A servant brought around goblets, full of a light fruity wine. When he was gone, the announcer banged his staff on the floor again in three sharp raps. “Crack! Crack! Crack!” and the council of war began.
“King Jarrek, you’ve already heard the tale of the demon that escaped us in the forest just north of here,” Queen Willa started. “Please tell us all of the battle at Castlemont, so that we might better understand what sort of enemy we are up against.”
“Forgive me, your majesty,” General Spyra cut in, before Jarrek could start his tale. “We have an army – No, two armies, marching freely through the kingdom with the intent of taking this very city. What happened in Wildermont, between them and the Westlanders, has no real bearing on our current situation.”
“I understand your concerns for the well-being of Highwander and Xwarda, General, but I believe that the same dark force that was behind the attack on Wildermont is behind all of this madness.”
Queen Willa reached over to the General, who was sitting immediately to her right, and gave his hand a pat of reassurance.
“We will get to the defense of Xwarda, I assure you.” Then to King Jarrek, who was waiting patiently for his chance to speak: “Please, go ahead.”
Jarrek stood, and spoke with heavy emotion of the fall of his castle city, the herding and selling of his people to the Dakaneese slavers, and even of the way that young King Glendar had so casually beheaded several of his kingdom’s notables, and displayed their heads like trophies. But mostly, he spoke of the Westland wizard’s incredibly destructive power. When he was done, he slipped down into his chair, as if utterly defeated, and yielded the floor to Targon, who had witnessed the happenings as well.<
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“The power Pael wielded was beyond mere human capability. Not even the great wizards of old could have wrought so much destruction, with so little effort. I sensed the taint of brimstone in the air as well.”
Targon spoke as if he were lecturing a classroom full of students.
“It was as if one of the greater demons had lent Pael his power. He even…”
“The demon was torn in two!” Hyden burst out over the Master Wizard.
He had jumped to his feet so quickly, that Talon had to flutter his wings over Hyden’s head, to keep from tumbling to the floor.
“The White Lady, the Goddess of my people, told me that only part of the demon has escaped the Seal. The other half of it is still trapped in the…the…the…”
Hyden couldn’t remember the word she had used. In his awkward pause, Talon flapped down onto the table before him.
“Nedders,” he finally said knowing that he hadn’t gotten it quite right.
He looked around the table at all the strange faces staring back at him, and with a face, hot with embarrassment, quickly sat back down. Talon’s fierce gaze met those faces though, and many of those eyes were abruptly averted. Hyden was never more thankful for his feathered companion. The hawkling’s pose was unyielding, and full of swell-chested pride.
General Spyra used the moment of silence to stand, and face down Targon.
“That army, and that demon power is not what we’re facing, sir. There is a pair of battalions marching up from Plat as we speak. The mages among them are arrow diverters, and fire starters, at best! I don’t see how a single sorcerer could…”
An icy breeze fluttered through the room, and a deep, sizzling hum suddenly popped like a miniature crackle of thunder over the table.
Everyone was startled. Talon cawed out a warning cry, and General Spyra drew his sword with uncanny speed. A figure had appeared, hovering a few feet over the table. Talon leapt into flight at it, and passed right through the man-sized form. Queen Willa stopped General Spyra from attacking the apparition, and held the room still, as the vision slowly gained definition and detail.
The figure was robed and booted in shiny black. At the sleeves, collar, and hem of the robe, glittering rows of crimson shapes, that strongly resembled droplets of blood, sparkled and dazzled the eye. Inside the upraised hood of the robe, Hyden could see a menacing smile on a pale, grayish face.
The little blue pixie man took up a hovering position behind the Queen, and Andra, the dwarfess made the hand sign to ward away evil, from her cowering place half under the table.
“A sending only,” Targon said quickly, in a voice full of forced reassurance.
To demonstrate, he reached out, and passed his hand through the apparition.
“See, it’s just a vision sending, it has no substance.”
“Sort of like your feigned confidence,” Pael chuckled softly.
“Who are you? What do you want?” Queen Willa snapped.
Her voice was harsh and commanding, but her eyes plainly betrayed her fear.
“Hmmm,” Pael’s voice, shimmering with magical energy, tinkled coldly into the room from seemingly everywhere, yet from nowhere at all.
He reached up and slipped the hood back from his head. The color of his skin so perfectly matched the white marble walls of the room, that for a moment, the shape of his skull was hard to define. His gleefully evil expression, and cold dark eyes were perfectly clear though.
“I want you out of my castle. All of you,” Pael said menacingly. “You have until the end of tomorrow to vacate the city. My army will leave the Jenkanta Passage unmolested for those who are wise enough to flee me.”
He indicated King Jarrek with a flourishing, outstretched hand.
“As the former ruler of Wildermont can tell you, I can and will tear this ancient place to the ground. If you swear fealty to me though, Willa the Witch, I might let your citizens repopulate Wildermont. The place is completely empty at the moment.”
Pael chuckled coldly, and turned away from Jarrek’s outraged crimson expression.
“If you do not, then my Dakaneese friends will be pleased to sell your people afar.”
It wouldn’t have surprised Hyden if smoke began rolling out of King Jarrek’s ears. The man was fuming with anger, but somehow managed to keep his tongue in check.
Seeing his effect on Jarrek’s demeanor, Pael laughed more deeply, then strode through the air, over the table, toward Queen Willa.
“I would rather not destroy this place, but have no doubt that I will, if you resist me, witch.”
“We will not run from you!” Willa said fiercely.
From somewhere high in the room, Talon cried out a proud shriek of support. The hawkling’s call reverberated around the stonewalled room harshly, causing Pael to flinch and glance about. Once the wizard determined that there was no threat to him, his temper flared.
“You fools will think differently when you gaze upon my army.”
Pael turned, and strode back over the table towards where Targon, Hyden, and Andra were. Clasping his hands behind his back, he continued his tirade.
“My daughter, who incidentally, is now known as the Dragon Queen of Westland, was only supposed to cause blood to be shed on the sacred soil of the Leif Greyn Valley so that the Dragon’s Pact might be broken. With the dragon unbound to the Seal, I had my way. The fact that her little band, dressed as your Blacksword soldiers, caused King Broderick and Queen Rachel to attack you was a boon I couldn’t have conceived and better planned myself.”
He stopped, and turned back towards General Spyra. From across the length of the table the General met his eyes.
“By the way, General, you needn’t worry about the Valleyans and Seawardsmen now. I’ve killed the lot of them. You’ll find out when the dawn breaks, that they march for me now!”
Pael strode quickly back towards that end of the table, where he stopped and bent forward to meet Queen Willa’s eyes. She was standing rigid, clenching her fists over and again. The set of her jaw looked painfully tight, and her eyes were alight with fear and fury.
“They are already dead, witch!” Pael yelled at her. “Take the morning to gaze upon them. Loose a few arrows into the ranks and see for yourself. They will not fall. And when the morrow ends, they will set upon Xwarda. You’d be wise to flee, before I arrive to oversee the occupation!”
“We have the sword, and we will stop you!” Hyden stood and yelled at Pael’s back.
Targon put a restraining hand on his shoulder, but Hyden shrugged it off, as Pael turned, and almost ran back down the table at him.
Pael recognized the boy, and it startled him. It wasn’t the specific face he remembered though. It was the brother’s face, and he remembered it well enough to immediately recognize the relation.
“It was your brother’s life blood that opened the Seal and bound the demon for me, boy!” Pael was trembling with fury, and spittle flew from his mouth, as he spoke. “My daughter used him to collar the dragon, and then left him for me to sacrifice!”
Talon swooped down from somewhere above, and landed on Hyden’s shoulder. Hyden was terrified by the white-skinned abomination. He didn’t know what to do or say, or why he had said what he had. It was all he could do, to hold the defiant look on his face, as Pael took a knee, and leaned down to look him in the eyes. For a long moment, the demon-wizard just stared at him. Then, in a half pouty, childish voice Pael spoke.
“Little Fawlkra Mahn, you should’ve taken the ring from your fool brother when you had the chance. It was meant for you, and without it, you are nothing to me.” Pael’s voice grew hard and menacing. “And tell that idiot squire, if he survived the Choska, that I will chew him up, and spit out his pieces all across MY FARGIN KINGDOMS!”
The last few words were screamed in a demonic voice so deep, that it rattled the cups on the table.
Pael jerked upright, and whirled toward Queen Willa. His voice grated like a massive stone slab being dragged across a gravel r
oad.
“On the dusk of morrow, if you are still here, you will all be slaughtered!”
Then, with a flourish of his robes, and a hissing pop, his apparition was gone.
Later, as the sun was setting, Targon showed Hyden the door to Pratchert’s Tower, and gave him a dire warning.
“You either pass Dahg Mahn’s trials, or you never return from beyond that door.”
“How many have passed?” Hyden asked, hoping to be able to speak to one who had done so.
“None,” Targon replied simply.
Hyden nodded his understanding. He wasn’t ready to enter yet, and he knew it. Ready or not, he would have to enter soon though. The demon-wizard wasn’t about to wait for him to prepare.
His problem wasn’t fear of the trial. He had faith that the White Goddess wouldn’t send him off to die in some ancient wizard’s trap. What troubled him, was what he would do with the crystal, if and when, he recovered it from the tower. It could take weeks to get it across the land to the marshes, where the Dragon Spire was located. By then, it would be too late. If it was small enough, then maybe Talon could carry it there. But even if it was small enough, how would Talon dissolve it into the carving of the Seal’s symbol?
He sighed, and tried to sort out all the questions forming in his mind. Then, he changed his train of thought altogether.
“Is there anything you can do for Mikahl?” Hyden asked, as he followed Targon away from Pratchert’s door.
Somehow, knowing Gerard’s fate had caused him to see that this was as much his war as it was Mikahl’s. His personal responsibility for his brother’s actions, and the burning feeling, a longing for vengeance that was growing inside him, seemed to give him strength and resolve. With or without Mikahl and Ironspike he would face the darkness ahead; but he would much rather face it with his friend by his side.
“There are possibilities, but none that would prepare him for the upcoming battle,” Targon answered honestly. “Queen Willa said he was -is a brave soul.”
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