The Sword and the Dragon

by M. R. Mathias

  He knew what it was the moment he felt the weight of it in his hands. The consequences of having it came flooding into his brain and he almost dropped it in fear. He had to search deeply in his heart for courage. It was Ironspike, King Balton’s notorious sword. He knew because he had polished it a thousand times as part of his duty as the king’s squire. He had seen firsthand the wealth of gold and jewels inlaid into the leather-wrapped hilt and cross guard. He had seen the covetous looks of those who longed to possess it, and he had seen the fear it could inspire. He had watched the magical blade glow red hot as it clipped Lord Clyle’s insolent head from his shoulders, and he remembered vividly seeing King Balton dispatch at least a dozen of the feral half-breed giants with it during the Battle of Coldfrost. Its actual weight was slight compared to his old iron sword, but holding it now made Mikahl want to crumble.

  Father Petri could tell that Mikahl knew what he had cradled in his arms. It was also obvious that the implications were not lost on the boy.

  “You are not to use it, unless it is to preserve your life, or to maintain possession of the blade.” The priest softened his serious look. “But always remember that your life is more important than the sword.”

  Mikahl looked at the priest with furrowed brows. This was the deadliest of burdens for him to carry and he knew it.

  “To use it would attract men to me like carrion to a carcass,” he said. “How am I to—?”

  “We!” Father Petri snapped, raising a hand to halt Mikahl’s protests. His voice was harsh and the man looked distressed to say the least.

  “We do not have to understand the tasks we are given, Squire.”

  The use of Mikahl’s meager title, and the reference it implied as to the origin of his orders, permeated the priest’s words.

  “We have to do as we are told, Mikahl, and do it the best we can.”

  Mikahl swallowed hard. He felt the need to be on his way. Prince Glendar, soon-to-be King Glendar, would most likely want Ironspike immediately. Once the sword was found to be missing, Glendar’s cronies, and his wizard, Pael, would be after it. Mikahl could see it now: a dozen lords and all of their men would be hunting him, a huge price on his head; bounty men and trackers, coming from all reaches of the realm to try to claim the reward that King Glendar would surely offer. Suddenly, the Giant Mountains seemed like the safest place for him to be, and with each passing moment, he found more and more reasons to reach them quickly.

  After a brief goodbye, Father Petri cranked open the great door and Mikahl eased out into the night. A glance up at Lakeside Castle put a twist in Mikahl’s guts and a lump in his throat. He had lived there most of his life. His mother had been a kitchen hand, and he himself had been in the service of the kingdom in one way or another since he could walk. At first, he had been a message runner and a candle-snuffer. Then, he was a stable hand and even a scribe’s aide for a while. As he grew older, he began training with the soldiers, and had excelled with his skills on the weapons yard to the point of notice. Lord Gregory had taken him on as a squire, and he had spent almost three years down at Lake Bottom Stronghold learning the proper ways to behave while in the service of royalty. Other than the not so distant traveling he’d done with the king as his squire, he had never been away from this place. Now, he was leaving his home, and he doubted that he would ever be able to return.

  Because his mother had died, he didn’t have any real family here, but both King Balton and Lord Gregory had become father figures to him. He had never known who his real father was, but he had never really been without guidance until now. Now, he was alone.

  Knowing that his possession of Ironspike was a secret known only to a dying king, and his loyal priest, Mikahl realized that he would soon be branded a thief of the highest order, or worse, a murderer. Ruddy, the stableman, would tell everyone about Mikahl’s late night preparations. Being the King’s squire meant that he would have had full access to the King’s private armory. Not only would he be blamed for poisoning the king, he would most likely be blamed for taking the sword as well. These things were forgotten, though, as he looked back at his home. He was on a journey to meet a giant he didn’t know, with an entire kingdom soon to be on his tail. He couldn’t imagine being any more alone than he felt at that moment. He took a deep breath and sighed at the sheer enormity of it all.

  The castle no longer looked inviting or homey. Its looming, massive gray bulk, with the half-dozen squat towers, and the few taller, narrower spires, suddenly seemed like a dark upthrust of teeth. Would he ever be able to come back? He took a few minutes to say goodbye silently to his mother, and then he wiped the tears from his cheeks. King Balton’s voice came to him gently and reassuringly. “Think, then act,” it said in his mind. It was one of the King’s favorite sayings. When indecision halted the progress of a situation, or things came to an impasse, he would say, “Think, then act.”

  Think, then act. Mikahl repeated the mantra to himself.

  Reluctantly, he spurred Windfoot away from the stinking discharge stream and went deeper into the Northwood. He rode like that for a while, until he was sure that Castleview, the city that grew from the base of Lakeside Castle’s outer wall, was far behind him. It was dark, and he was surrounded by the thick of the forest, but he thought he knew exactly where he was. Now, all he had to do was figure out a way to reach his destination, without being caught.

  The distant sound of horses’ hooves, pounding on a hard-packed road, caused a nearby owl to burst into flight. Mikahl froze, trying to discern over the pounding of his heart, just how close to him those hoof beats were. He realized that he was very close—far too close—to the Northroad. He was relieved to hear that the rider was racing toward the castle, not away from it. It was probably just a messenger from Portsmouth or Crossington, nothing out of the ordinary.

  He had a choice to make. He could chance the road, make time, and risk being seen, or he could continue through the Northwood, and arrive at the Midway Passage road somewhere beyond Crossington. One way he would be able to enter the Reyhall Forest without being seen, but the other way would take him there a full day sooner. He didn’t want to be seen in Crossington. It was a fairly large town, but the people were always alert to late night travelers. Many a bandit roamed those roads, searching for easy victims this time of year. The Summer’s Day travelers were about, and most of them were as careless as they come. If he went through the woods and bypassed the town, there was the chance that Glendar, or more likely his wizard, Pael, would have people looking for him on the Midway Passage before he even reached it.

  “Think, then act!” the words sounded audible this time. Before he knew it, he had spurred Windfoot toward the road. For the sake of the gods, you’re the king’s own squire and everybody knows it, he told himself. No one outside of the castle knew that the king had been poisoned yet. If anyone tried to stop him, he could talk his way out of it. No one would doubt him; his saddle had the royal seal embroidered into it, and Windfoot was a destrier of obvious castle stock. Once Windfoot, and the packhorse, were on the hard-packed road, he gradually worked both animals into a steady gallop. He doubted anyone would have the courage to question him.

  He made the right choice. By dawn, Crossington was a few miles behind him, and he didn’t think a single soul had noticed his early morning passing. The cutoff road that connected the Northroad to the Midway Passage avoided going through Crossington proper, and it had been deserted. Only a light scattering of cottages and farmhouses were on the eastern side of the crossroads town anyway. The Midway Passage, however, was normally a heavily traveled cross-country trade route, but even so, the whole of the sun was completely in the sky before he saw another person. An old shepherd, who was obviously driving his sheep to the shear-house in town, urged his animals out of Mikahl’s way with an apologetic wave. Once the man was out of sight, Mikahl decided to rest the horses.

  He let them graze at the roadside, while he enjoyed the cool freshness of the late spring morning. He had an
other choice to make soon, but he was too caught up in the peaceful morning to let it worry him. Over the course of the night, he had decided that he would take this one day at a time and try to enjoy what he could of it. Summer was ready to take over. Birds soared high overhead, and the hum of various insects filled the air. He watched them as they buzzed back and forth between the colorful patches of wildflowers that dotted the gentle, southward rolling hills. Eventually, the land in that direction flattened and became a patchwork of golden brown crop fields, but here, it served as grazing ground for the many herd animals on their way to market.

  Ahead and to the north, like a great green fog hovering heavy on the surface of the land, was the Reyhall Forest. It extended from the road as far north as the eye could see. Behind Mikahl, there was nothing but trouble, which kept him from looking that way. He knew that three days’ ride beyond Crossington was the sea and the busy city of Portsmouth. Those places had to be behind him for good. He doubted he would ever see them again.

  He rode as far as he could that day, but didn’t quite reach the town of Halter. He knew it was for the best that he didn’t make it that far. The temptation to sleep at an inn and eat a warm meal was stronger than he imagined it would be. The whole last part of the day, he had entertained thoughts of pushing on and doing just that. Good sense finally prevailed, however, and as the sun started to set, he led the horses a good way into the Reyhall Forest and hobbled them near a patch of lush green grass. He decided against a fire. He had plenty of dried, salted meat, and two whole wheels of cheese. He brushed and watered the horses, and then fed himself. Then he leaned back against a tree and stared up through the branches at the star-filled sky. It wasn’t long before exhaustion took hold of him, and he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

  Dawn’s light had just breached the world and turned the sky a pink, peachy color, when the sound of an unfamiliar horse snorting, and the rough, urgent whisper of a man awakened Mikahl with a start. When another nearby voice coldly asked, “Are we gonna kill him?” Mikahl knew that he was in serious trouble.

  Chapter 4

  Normally, when the council of Skyler clan Elders met, there was a great feast accompanied by much festivity and ceremony, but not on this occasion. The women of the clan were four days away in the foothills of the Giant Mountains, at the clan’s home village. There was no one here to decorate and prepare the elaborate meals that were usually served before such an event. The men didn’t forego tradition completely though. A group of boys were sent out to gather enough deadfall to build a bonfire, and another trio of older boys were sent out to hunt up some fresh meat. Others came to clear out the Eldest’s hut, which would be used as the meeting hall. Hyden and Gerard were forced to move themselves, and the hawkling, to their father’s smaller hut.

  After they had gotten settled, Hyden fed the bird again, and then he decided it needed a more permanent nest. He waited until the chick was sleeping, then he went out and gathered some sticks and straw. In the bottom of an empty bucket, he built a new nest for the hawkling. Later, when the hawkling woke up, he transferred it from his shirt to its new home. The tiny thing chirped and squawked and hissed its distaste for the bucket. Hyden mistook this display for hunger, and fed the chick until it couldn’t eat anymore. Still, the hawkling protested. Only after Hyden tore up the shirt he’d first carried the bird in, and put the pieces of it in with the little chick, did it finally quieten down. By then it was mid-afternoon and Hyden’s head was pounding. He cleaned his wounds again. Afterwards, he laid down next to the bucket nest and fell fast asleep.

  While Hyden was building the new nest, Gerard safely packed away Hyden’s five eggs with his own and their father’s. When that was done, Gerard went off to answer all the questions that his cousins were dying to know the answers to. He was the center of attention, and he enjoyed it. They asked him about his daring leap, and the extreme height of his climb, but mostly they asked about the hawkling chick, and Hyden. Gerard tried not to let that bother him. He was sort of glad because he didn’t want to tell anyone the real reason for the leap, or the extended climb. He told no one about the ring. It was put away in his belt pouch. Something odd had happened earlier, and he was certain that the ring had caused it. He hated to admit it to himself, but he was a little frightened over the matter.

  His uncle, Pylen, had asked him if he held any ill will towards Hyden, since the egg had hatched for him. “Of course not,” he had replied. Unfortunately, the questions kept coming along those lines, and they made Gerard uncomfortable. Finally, while Uncle Pylen was in mid-question, Gerard had screamed inside his head, “STOP IT UNCLE PYLEN! GO AWAY! LEAVE ME ALONE!”

  The words weren’t said aloud, but Pylen hadn’t finished the question he was asking. He simply stopped speaking, his eyes glazed over with confusion, and then he just up and walked away. The ring had heated on Gerard’s finger, and he had been filled with a tingling rush of energy. The energy from the ring had seemed to swirl up and wrap itself around Uncle Pylen like so much invisible smoke. Gerard had felt it, more than seen it, but there was no doubt that it was there. The ring was magic, and that scared him as much as it thrilled him.

  For a long while, Gerard had just stood there watching Uncle Pylen walk off as if they had never spoken. Finally, he removed the ring and put it away. He did his best to forget the event, but he couldn’t. He decided to tell Hyden what had happened, but Hyden had fallen asleep. He ended up carrying on with the younger boys long enough that the event had faded from his mind almost completely. Every now and then though, he could feel the heat of the ring tickle his finger, even though it was put away. It wasn’t until later, when he saw his father striding proudly across the lodge grounds, that he was able to let go of the memory completely. He raced to his father’s side with his chest swelled out, his head held high, and a beaming smile stretched across his face.

  “I got eight eggs, pap,” he bragged, in a voice far higher in pitch than he intended. “And six, no, well, five for Hyden.”

  “I know, son,” his father replied, with a smile as big as Gerard’s. “I asked the White Lady to show me a sign when I’d been forgiven for my wastefulness.” He stopped walking and spread his arms open wide to embrace his son. “And lo and behold, she gave me so much more than just a simple sign!”

  He gave Gerard a squeeze, and then ruffled his hair as they started walking again. “I’m proud of you son. You did well.”

  Gerard’s step took on a new cockiness, and if it was possible, his chest swelled out even further than before.

  “Where’s Hyden?”

  “Asleep in your hut,” Gerard answered. “He tripped over some rocks yesterday and split his melon.”

  “Hmmm,” his father sounded, with a curious expression on his face. “I’d best go check on him.”

  “Aye,” Gerard agreed, with mock seriousness in his voice. “You really should. After all, he’s a mother now!”

  Gerard wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard a grunt of laughter come from deep inside his father as he strode away.

  Hyden was awake and feeding the squawking chick when his father entered the hut. His father took the oil lamp from the hook by the open entryway and carried it closer. He had to hold it high over the bucket to be able to see the chick down in the bottom of it. He stood there a long while studying the baby bird. Hyden glanced up with a grin on his face. His father returned the smile, only it was the smile of an Elder, not the smile of his father that Hyden saw.

  “Much responsibility has been bestowed upon you son. Do not take it lightly. The rearing of this Godsend, and all the choices you make from this very moment, will determine whether your future will be terrible or grand.”

  Hyden wasn’t sure exactly what all that meant, but he nodded as if he understood. He felt his father’s demeanor change as he knelt beside him and peered into the bucket for a closer look. The seriousness of the Elder passed, and his father’s pride and wonder began to show through again.

  “It eats a
lot,” Hyden said excitedly. “I’ve already fed it more than I can remember.”

  “Its mother would be feeding it strips of fresh meat, bugs, mice, squirrels, rabbits and the like,” his father informed him. “I don’t think the dried salted meat is robust enough to fill its little belly.”

  It made sense. The jerky, Hyden mused, did little to fill him on the trail. It barely quelled his hunger pangs most of the time. He decided that when the chick was asleep again, he would go find some fresh meat. Someone in the camp surely had some.

  “The bucket was a clever idea,” his father said. “The hawkling can’t fall out, and you can carry it easily enough without disturbing it.”

  He shifted his gaze to Hyden, and then waited until his son met his eyes.

  “Is Gerard jealous? It was he who took the egg from the cliff, yes?”

  “Aye. He took the egg in my stead, but he found a treasure of his own on the cliff. I think it’s more to his liking than this little chick.”

  “Oh, he didn’t mention it earlier when we spoke.”

  “He offered it to me too since he found it on my climb.”

  Hyden didn’t say what it was. He felt he had already said too much. He didn’t want to betray Gerard’s trust. If Gerard wanted their father to know about the ring, then he would tell him himself.

  “I could see that he wanted to keep it, so I refused it without offending him. I hope.”

  “Aye,” came the grunted response. He could hear the reluctance in his son’s voice to speak on the matter, so he didn’t press the issue. He found he respected Hyden’s attempt not to speak his younger brother’s business. Gerard, he knew, would reveal his find when, and if, he decided he wanted to do so. It wasn’t Hyden’s place.