The Sword and the Dragon

by M. R. Mathias

  Pael laughed hysterically. His expression was that of a gleeful child. Oh, how he loved the power he had gained. The gods had been kind. Shaella’s lover had somehow ruined his intended binding spell and the result left Pael in full control of the demon essence that was trapped inside him. The demon’s power was at his fingertips. It didn’t matter to Pael that he could still hear Shokin’s protests echoing in his mind. He walled the lunatic ravings out. The threats were empty. Pael was in complete control. Shokin was part of him now.

  He laughed again, and sent the lightning streaking into another soldier near the gates, starting another deadly chain reaction. Then he focused his energy into creating another concussive blast. He almost quit the spell when the sudden presence of another magic tainted the air. He quickly detected that the other wizard was no threat to him, dismissed it, and continued building the huge magical sphere of destruction he had started. After he hurled it at the castle, and enjoyed watching it destroy hundreds, if not thousands of lives, he would deal with the remaining wizard.

  Targon was in a daze from his spell. The massive booms, and crumbling explosions around him, seemed like a distant disturbance in some faraway place. Before him, a swirling tunnel formed itself into being. Outside its roughly ten foot diameter, the battle raged on. Inside, it was like looking down a huge empty pipe that lead straight through the battling soldiers, right past the demon-wizard, over the litter of dead bodies and dying men around him, and ended directly in front of King Jarrek and his men.

  “Come! Now! Before it’s too late!” Targon screamed out to the King of Wildermont. He repeated the words as loud as he could manage.

  This time, King Jarrek heard him, but barely. The concussion of Pael’s arrival had left him and his men nearly deaf.

  King Jarrek looked down the strange telescopic tube at the Highwander wizard. He mouthed a question. Targon nodded in understanding. After calling out an order, King Jarrek spurred his horse down the shaft towards the Witch Queen’s Mage. Three, then another of the red armored honor guard followed.

  A bright, eye-searing flash from somewhere beyond the King and his men nearly caused Targon to falter and lose the spell, but he managed to hang onto it. Then, a fifth soldier came galloping down the magical tube. He was wearing the red enameled armor of Jarrek’s honor guard as well.

  Trembling with the effort, Targon held the spell as long as he could. It was already failing when Jarrek, and the first four men, shot out of the magical portal past him. Though it pained Targon greatly to do so, he had no choice but to let go of the spell, or get lost in its collapse. The fifth guard’s scream filled his head as the magical tube came crashing in on him. The sound of the man and his horse yelling in terror as they were crushed into oblivion echoed for long hours in Targon’s head as he, King Jarrek, and the four red-armored guardsmen fled northward as swiftly as their tired mounts could carry them.

  No one would ever know it, but the man who lost his life in Targon’s magical through-way didn’t die in vain. His sudden screaming appearance a few dozen yards directly in front of Pael saved the group from being marked for pursuit. Pael was so surprised by the man that he instantly blasted him and the horse into a cloud of bloody mist. The realization of what had actually happened there came to Pael later after the entire city of Castlemont and its castle was nothing but a dusty ruin and a litter of mangled bloody flesh.

  Later, while the carrion feasted, Pael used Shokin’s Power to summon some of the dark things that had escaped from the Seal before Shokin had been torn in two. A pair of nether born wyverns, all acid-mouthed and angry, answered the call. He ordered one of them to track down and kill the wizard who had defied him. The other he commanded to find and aid the hellcat that had once been his familiar, Inkling.

  The search for Pavreal’s sword took on a new sense of priority in Pael’s mind. The part of him that was Shokin feared it, and for good reason. Though Pael thought it very unlikely that a mere squire might find a way to thwart his plans, the boy was apparently King Balton’s son and therefore he was a threat. Actually he was the only threat. Ironspike’s magic was the only thing in the realm that could possibly stop him now. Once he had it, and the power of the Wardstone in Xwarda, the whole world would be forced to kneel before him.

  Pael couldn’t help but laugh out maniacally at the thought. Things had changed. He was in a far better position at this point than he had ever expected to be. New plans would have to be made. Pael couldn’t see any reason to wait until spring to attack Xwarda. With his newfound power he could conquer what was left of the mainland Kingdoms before the weather set in, and spend the winter months learning how to manipulate the Wardstone so that when spring did come he could tear through the elven forests on his way to take Afdeon from the giants.

  Of all the men who could hear the demon-wizard’s hysterical giggling glee, King Glendar was the only one who wasn’t unnerved by it. To him, the psychotic sound was akin to the cooing love words a young mother might speak as she kissed her child on the brow at bedtime.

  Chapter 36

  In the Giant Mountains, they found it hard to leave the sheltered cavern. Especially Mikahl. Even after the day-long descent into the warmer, almost spring-like forested valley below, he found he missed the place.

  He decided later, while they set up camp in a densely canopied area of the valley floor, that it was the moments of camaraderie and brotherly affection, more than the cavern itself that had marked it in his mind. If the death of his King, and Lord Gregory’s dismal fate hadn’t been lingering in the back of his mind, he would’ve considered the last few days good times.

  After the fire was blazing, and a haunch of the meat Hyden had hunted had been roasted, they all bundled down and listened as Vaegon told them the tale of King Speran.

  King Speran was the first of the great Kings of Men. Until he came along, many lesser Kings had ruled the divided lands, but Speran marched an army of magi across the lands south of the Giant Mountains and united all the humans under his banner. In his honor, they called the great unified kingdom, Speraland, but that was long ago.

  The elves, until then, had kept themselves hidden in the Evermore Forest.

  “Our magical cities were impossible for you humans to find,” Vaegon chuckled kindly, and added: “They still are.”

  Illvan, an influential elf in those days, feared that the might of all of the humans put together could prove to be a threat to his people. He decided to send forth emissaries, bearing gifts in hope that the two races might co-exist in harmony. A magical bow was one of those gifts.

  King Speran treated with the elves willingly, and a relationship began to form. Through the elves, the humans learned about the giants, the fair folk, and many other things as well. For an age, all was well. In that time, the human king slew a giant serpent, sailed the seas, and discovered the island that is now called Salazar, and the other smaller islands around it. The humans fought, but couldn’t kill, a mighty dragon, and later, with the help of the dwarves, found the Wardstone.

  As Vaegon told of these deeds, Hyden found himself thinking of the betrayal King Speran’s great grandson had made against the world.

  Berda had told of the sacrifice of the firstborn, and the “Awakening” of the dark ones, and all of the horrible times that followed.

  For the first time in his life, Hyden began to understand why the elves loathed the humans so much. There was a reason why all of the other races kept a wary eye on human happenings. The merry race of dwarves had been all but killed off in the many wars that followed the Awakening. The fair folk, who once sang and danced around the monolith without a care in the world, had supposedly hidden themselves away from the rest of the world. It made Hyden feel a little ashamed of his race, especially those kingdom born men whose lives seemed to only revolve around status, wealth and power.

  Hyden was glad Mikahl wasn’t like that. If it was true, what Lord Gregory had said, someday Mikahl might be the King of all those men. Hyden decided that it
would be a grand thing if Mikahl could reunite the kingdoms, and bring about an age where even the fair folk would feel safe enough to come out and dance again. What a time that would be.

  Hyden drifted off to sleep on those thoughts. He dreamt of a time, a distant world, where all was truly well. Then, he soared over a future just as wondrous, on the wings of his hawkling familiar.

  Mikahl woke early. He was determined not to be the butt of another jest.

  As frigid and chilly as the valley was this morning, he found he wasn’t freezing. His companions, his friends, he corrected himself, had meant well enough. They just didn’t understand the way a royal court worked. The idea that he might someday have to try to fill King Balton’s boots was daunting. The fact that he might have to face down King Glendar, and the creepy wizard Pael to earn that position, was unfathomable. He had no direction, no idea what to do, or where he should go to find allies. He was as lost as he could imagine a man could be. So what if the sword glowed when he used it. How did that make him a King? How was the strange symphony that filled his mind when he held Ironspike, supposed to help them?

  He was hoping beyond hope, that King Aldar, the Giant King, might lend him aid. With an army of giants behind him, removing Glendar from the throne wouldn’t be so hard. He didn’t really think that would happen though. He had no idea what to expect from the giants. Out of respect, and his sense of duty, he hadn’t broken the seal on King Balton’s letters, but he held hope that they might explain some of this madness.

  He decided that some hard labor might clear his head, or at least warm his blood. The sky was rosy, lit by the rising sun. No direct sunlight had found the deep valley shadow depths yet, but there was enough light to work by. He took the ax that Hyden’s uncle had given them and made his way out into the woods.

  He found an open clearing with a still standing, yet dead pine tree, at its edge. He decided that he was far enough away from the camp that the noise shouldn’t bother the others. After unbuckling Ironspike and laying it out of the way, he started to chop down the old tree.

  Mikahl’s steady, and repetitive chopping, brought Vaegon awake after a while. His elven vision might be ruined, but his other senses were the keener for it. The idea of having to actually chop a tree went against all his elven beliefs. He could tell by the sound the steel ax head made, as it thumped into the wood, that the tree had died a few winters ago. The horror the sound might have caused him was thankfully avoided.

  Curious as to why a castle born man might be chopping wood, especially when they had all agreed the night before to find a more suitable campsite to spend the next few nights, Vaegon bundled in his fur cloak, and trekked out after the sound.

  Just as he stepped into the clearing, the long, straight shaft of the dead pine started its slow, creaking arc down toward the open ground. The thick trunk slapped the ground hard, breaking off several of the branches that radiated out from it. It rolled slightly and finally settled.

  Vaegon saw Mikahl wince at the loud crash, and the crunching noise of the breaking wood. Did the boy actually think he could quietly fell a tree?

  Mikahl greeted him with a smile. Vaegon’s face must have shown his curiosity, because Mikahl answered his unasked question between chops, as he took the ax to the lower limbs that still remained.

  “Hard work is a sure cure for a troubled mind,” Mikahl repeated the mantra that the old Weapons Master of Lakeside Castle had drilled into his head after his mother had died.

  The ax fell again, and a piece of bark flew off to the side.

  “I apologize if I woke you, Sir Vaegon.” Another chop, and this time a thick, white triangular piece of wood went spinning away. “Did I wake the others?” Another chop, then Mikahl put the ax head in the dirt, leaned on the shaft, and looked at the elf through troubled eyes.

  “I don’t think so,” Vaegon replied with a dry smile. “It’s time to greet the day anyway.”

  He held up a hand to stall the next swing of the ax. He had been tempted to add “your Majesty” to the end of his comment, but thought better of it. Instead, he clarified his feelings on the matter of titles right then and there.

  “If you don’t want me to address you as your Highness, your majesty, or King Mikahl, then please quit calling me Sir Vaegon.” He chuckled, because he couldn’t help but end his little gripe with a bow and the sarcastic words, “If it pleases.”

  Mikahl shook his head slowly, and a wry grin started to curl the edges of his mouth, but the effect of his next swing of the ax wiped the mirth away. The blow was hard enough, that it cleaved through the remaining half of the branch he had been working on.

  “Point taken,” Mikahl huffed, and then let the ax fall to the ground.

  He was about to take a seat on the trunk of the fallen tree, when the sharp crack of a small stick being stepped on, came from the forest at the clearing’s edge.

  Instinctually, his hand went for Ironspike’s hilt. Panic raced through his body when he didn’t find it there. The sense of relief that came over him when Talon fluttered out of the woods where the sound had come from was overwhelming, because at the same moment he saw that it was the hawkling, he remembered where he had laid his father’s blade, and saw that it was still there.

  Hyden stepped out of the woods and yawned. He looked at Mikahl curiously, letting his eyes take in the felled tree from top to bottom. Then, he turned his gaze on Vaegon, and shrugged.

  “Kingdom folk,” he said, as if that explained everything.

  Vaegon bit back a laugh. He couldn’t figure out how he could’ve ever hated the sometimes clever and witty humans. The elves were always so stern and serious, save for when they were celebrating. In contrast, these humans were determined to laugh and make light of the problems that weighed them down. Vaegon could never remember laughing and smiling so much as he had the last few days. Even with pain, sorrow, and uncertainty threatening to swallow them whole, they found a way to make each other smile. Vaegon wasn’t sure, but he was almost certain, that all humans weren’t this much fun to be around. He decided that he would catalog some of his curiosities today when he took time to write in his journal.

  Hyden sat on the tree trunk; Talon swooped in, and landed on a branch beside him. Mikahl sat as well, and wiped the sweat from his brow. A light mist of steam radiated out from his skin up into the cool morning air.

  “Did I wake the old man too?” Mikahl asked.

  “He was sound asleep, and making more noise than you when I left him,” Hyden answered.

  Loudin’s snoring was a well known subject among them.

  “I’m going to miss him when he leaves us,” Hyden confided. “Without the terrible sound of his sleeping to scare away the creatures of the night, we’ll have to start posting watches.”

  “Aye,” Mikahl chuckled, but found no mirth in it. He had been wondering what Loudin would do after he collected the money for the bark lizard skin. “You think he’ll go then?” he asked the others.

  “I think he is still trying to decide,” said Vaegon.

  “I see him spending his gold in his mind when he talks of it,” Hyden said. “But I see his concern for you as well, Mik.”

  A sound came to Vaegon’s ears then – a high pitched wail. Talon heard it too, and with a glance of his raptor head towards Hyden, he leapt into flight.

  Hyden looked at Mikahl, and shrugged. Neither of them had heard the noise. The next time it came though, Hyden sensed it through his link with Talon. He could tell by Talon’s instinctual recognition, that it was a wounded animal, something in great pain, and full of fearful sorrow.

  Without another thought, he jumped up, and started after the hawkling. Vaegon made a frustrated grunt, and followed them, leaving Mikahl standing there full of curiosity, and more than a little excited. All the traveling he had done over the last few weeks had been monotonous for the most part. Whatever these two were chasing after, it had to be more interesting and distracting than chopping wood. It was no wonder he forgot all abo
ut Ironspike laying there in the dewy grass when he raced off after them to see what all the fuss was about.

  The sounds lead them beyond the clearing, through a dense section of the forest. It was no easy chore picking the way through the tangle of branches and undergrowth, but they managed it. Up a rough hillside, and down again, and across a tiny stream in a wide, rocky bed, they went. Hyden paused there. He clenched his eyes shut and sought out Talon’s vision.

  Using the hawkling’s ultra-keen senses, and using the bird’s-eye view, he followed the sound to its source. At the bottom of a ravine, a dusty, gray colored ridge wolf lay wounded and dying. At her belly, a couple of good sized pups, suckled for milk, with desperately futile effort.

  Hyden could tell that they had been weaned for a while, but hadn’t learned to hunt yet. The mother had probably stopped producing milk a few days ago, and had been trying to teach them. If she wasn’t helped, all three of them would starve, or be killed by scavengers.

  From the ravine, he guided Talon back to the stream bed, and marked the way in his mind. It wasn’t far, just downstream a bit, and then around a forested hillock. It took only a few minutes for him to get there.

  Hyden went over the edge of the ravine with urgent quickness. His climbing skills had been honed to near perfection over his lifetime, and he was at the bottom in seconds. He spoke softly to the wolf as he approached, but she growled at him anyway. Her instinct to protect her pups was strong. Only after Talon came swooping in, and landed on Hyden’s shoulder, did the wolf relax its toothy snarl, and let him get close.

  Had she fallen? No, Hyden decided, she would have been battered and broken, and her pups wouldn’t be at her side if she had taken a tumble into the ravine. After carefully, and cautiously inspecting her fur, while sending calming reassurances to her through his link with Talon, he found two rows of deep puncture wounds down her side. Bite marks. It was as if a huge predator had clamped its teeth down over her back. An icy chill ran down his spine. What could have done this?