The Sword and the Dragon

by M. R. Mathias

  Vaegon was growing increasingly irritable. It had become obvious to Hyden and Mikahl that the elf’s missing eye was causing him a sort of pain that wasn’t physical. It was keeping Vaegon from seeing the subtle auras that he needed to see to find his people, and in turn was causing some deeper agony inside the elf. Vaegon’s temper grew short, and he was sharp with his responses and comments.

  Hyden tactfully broached the subject, and pointed out that they had no more time to waste. Vaegon finally admitted defeat. Two full days of travel, it turned out, was more than even he thought they could spare. He tried to explain to them about the powerful concealing magics, and the mobile nature of his people’s secret home.

  “Our city, if you could call it that, doesn’t actually exist at the location where you might find and enter it,” Vaegon said, with sadness and longing in his tired voice. “It moves as our people move. The Queen Mother is connected to the forest through the Heart Tree. If we were so inclined, we could be found in the Reyhall Forest in the west, or in the Gnarish Tree Wards, beyond the Giant Mountains. We have forests that we favor. The Evermore is one of these. We were visiting it when I was born, nearly a century ago, so to me, this is home. To get back to my people, to find my home though, has become impossible. To find the entry points in the powerful wards that conceal it, one must have a certain, and uniquely elven vision, and I have lost that.”

  His hand fiddled with the patch over his empty socket as he spoke. The sorrow, and agony he was feeling was plain in his voice. It was as if he had been utterly defeated.

  It wasn’t easy for the haughty and superior elven archer to admit his newfound weakness, or to accept the fact that he was blind to his homeland, but he swallowed his pride, and let reality set in. After he finished his explanation, he started off into the woods again. They agreed that he would look the rest of this day, and then they would move on. He would look again when they stopped, for the entrances were many and could be found throughout the great forest. He knew he had kept them there too long, but it was only because he hoped that the elves would have noticed him blundering about, and would send a party out to investigate. If any of the elves noticed him, they would surely tell his father, or brother, if not the Queen Mother herself. After all, he was well known amongst his people for a skill he no longer had.

  Neither Hyden, nor Mikahl, had realized how old Vaegon actually was. In terms of appearance, and in relation to the human aging process, he wasn’t that much older than they were, but in actual years, Vaegon was old enough to be one of their grandparents.

  Mikahl couldn’t conceive of the idea of Vaegon’s age very well, but he understood the elf’s inability to get home. He was haunted by the same feeling. Sure, he could find his way back to Westland, but according to Borg, it wouldn’t be his home that he found when he got there. His mind carried him back to a memory of youth then. A time long before duty and responsibility had swallowed up the promise of the future.

  Once, as a boy of seven or eight, when his most important duty in life was the nightly candle snuffing in all the great halls of Lakeside Castle, he and some of the other castle brats had pulled a prank. Had big old Lord Ellrich’s daughter, Zasha, not been involved, he and his conspirators might not have survived King Balton’s wrath.

  A feast was being held for some local event, a name day, a wedding, or such. Lord Ellrich from the south, and a few of the northern dukes, were the only attendees of note, other than the king.

  The main course was to be a huge glazed pig, complete with an apple in its mouth, and served on a bed of green lettuce on a silver tray.

  For hours, it had sat there in the kitchen, sprawled on the rolling cart it would be presented on. Mikahl remembered its pinkish-brown skin, all slick and shiny with honey glaze, as clearly as if he were looking at it now. The troop of castle brats, and the visiting Lady Zasha, who at that time was a long way yet from being a real lady, had hidden with their surprise behind the heavy curtains of the bard’s alcove in the dining hall. They fought the giggles, grunts, and the wiggles that always seem to plague children when mischief is about, while desperately trying to remain undiscovered. They peaked through the curtains, at the unsuspecting feasters, and waited patiently while the servers brought out the courses one at a time. Keeping their surprise quiet and still, was a chore, which caused many a snort, and a few squeals of worry and mirth.

  First, came the cold greens, and after those dishes were taken away, soup, and loaves of aromatic, freshly baked bread arrived. After that, a dish of sea crawlers were presented, and all the while, big Lord Ellrich listened intently as King Balton spoke enticingly of the great glazed ham that was yet to come. The King described the main course in such a way, that all of the attendees were salivating for it. He was just jesting with Lord Ellrich’s great hunger of course, but he made it sound as if it was the last pig left in the realm that they were about to eat. The whole room full of merchants, lesser nobles, and all of their wives went excitedly still in anticipation when the head cook rang the bell.

  Proudly, with his chest puffed out, the man said, “The main course, Your Majesty, sweet pork on the bone.”

  A half second before the cart came rolling in, the castle brats let go of their surprise. The big sow, that they had been struggling so hard to contain, was let loose through the curtains, into the dining hall. It charged out of the bard’s alcove, propelled into a fleeing squeal, as one of the children slapped it sharply on the rump.

  The stage they were hiding on was elevated, and the terrified pig soon found itself running through midair, as it raced off the end of the platform. It was only a two foot drop to the dining hall floor, but the fall frightened the sow so much, that her fearful shriek was nearly deafening.

  The ladies at the table squealed, and cried out as well. Chairs shot backwards, and swords were drawn. As soon as the men realized that they weren’t under attack, a few of them tried to chase the pig around the room. The event quickly turned into a study of chaotic disaster. Mikahl remembered that it had been riotously funny to the small group of perpetrators, until old Master Hinten had cornered them, and called for the King.

  Mikahl pictured clearly, the smile King Balton had been fighting back, as he paced back and forth in front of them, deliberating whether the dungeons, or the chopping block, would be their fate. In the end, the head cook got to handle most of them, a fate far worse than the dungeons might have been.

  Mikahl, until this very moment, had never understood why he had been spared the cook’s wrath. Zasha, of course, was to be punished by her father, because she was a noble born lady. To punish her openly wasn’t proper, but Mikahl was told that he was going to be sent away. He had cried his eyes out to his mother, thinking that he would never see her again, but King Balton had only wanted Lord Gregory to evaluate Mikahl over the summer.

  He spent his time at Lake Bottom Stronghold, in Lord Gregory’s stable, learning the proper care of horses, and how to ride. Looking back, Mikahl realized that King Balton had used the incident as a reason to get him out of the castle. Working for the Lord of Lake Bottom that summer was just another of the many subtle steps King Balton had taken to educate him over the years. He returned to his mother and Lakeside Castle in the fall, with a new job as the Royal Stable Master’s Assistant. No one thought twice about it when Lord Gregory took him on as a page a year later.

  Mikahl wondered what had become of the castle brats. Only one had become a soldier. Flint was his name. Had the Dragon Queen killed them? Peter was a scribe now, and Dotty went on to work in the kitchen with her mother, after her father died one winter. Maybe they were alive and well, maybe not. Mikahl hoped that they were just doing the same jobs they had done before, only for a different ruler.

  But what of Zasha? She was most certainly Lady Zasha now. The last time he had seen her, she had looked as beautiful as anything he could imagine. He hoped she was all right. The idea of soldiers having their way with her sickened him. Any joy that remained from his memory, fad
ed on that thought.

  He asked himself, then, where this so called Dragon Queen had gotten the men to take and hold Westland. Surely, the Dakaneese weren’t in this with her. A hope formed in his heart. Westland was huge. She would have to have spread thin a fairly large force to hold a kingdom that size.

  He put the thoughts of retaking his father’s kingdom aside a moment later, when he realized that no matter who occupied the place, to him, it would never be the same again. His mother, King Balton, and now Lord Gregory were dead. Glendar had most likely branded him a thief and a traitor. It all suddenly seemed so impossible to overcome, that even an attempt to do so, would be nothing more than a fool’s quest. His tone was far angrier, and far sharper than he intended it to be, when he spoke.

  “I’m fargin tired of this!”

  Mikahl hadn’t specifically meant that he was tired of the waiting in the forest, but that’s how Hyden took it. Vaegon’s sharp ears picked up the comment as well, but the possibility that the words were spoken about something other than his situation, never crossed his mind. The elf started angrily back to the camp to respond, to defend his unexpected lack of ability, but Mikahl’s next words stopped him.

  As Mikahl stood, and began pacing, Grrr eased up to Hyden’s side, and lay down close to him. Hyden sensed that the big wolf was as worried for his friends as he was. Feeling his concern and despair as well, Talon came fluttering down out of the trees, and perched on his shoulder.

  “I don’t even know who I am!” ranted Mikahl. His voice was tired and desperate. “I was raised and trained, as a commoner, by a King who always spoke to me, and treated me as a father might, but I was never his son. I never had a father. The kingdom I grew up in has now been taken over by some dragon riding wench. Everyone close to me seems to die because of this sword, and now I’m supposed to save the world from a fargin demon! This is insanity!”

  Mikahl was about to pull his own hair out of his head, in an act of sheer exasperation, when Vaegon strode back into the camp.

  “WAAAAAHHH!” the elf made the sound of a baby crying, and threw a wadded piece of cloth at Mikahl, as if it were a heavy stone. The mocking tone, and rude sarcasm in the gesture, caused Mikahl to look at the elf as if he had just burst into a shower of golden coins. Vaegon fought back a laugh.

  “Quit your crying Mik! Dry your tears! I’ve already cried enough of them for the both of us.”

  The last few words were spoken through a sincere grin. Mikahl’s tirade had reminded Vaegon of just how much he hadn’t lost. It forced him to see that he wasn’t the only one suffering.

  Mikahl’s angry expression softened when he realized that the elf was trying to cheer him up. Seeing his yellow-eyed friend come out from under the dark cloud, which had been smothering him for the past few days, went far towards lightening his own gloomy load.

  “I suppose you cried your eye out.” Mikahl tried valiantly, but couldn’t bite back his laughter.

  Hyden burst out as well, causing Grrr to sit up suddenly.

  Vaegon’s face went blank, as his mind registered exactly what Mikahl had just said, then, he too joined in the chuckling. For the first time in days, they were all smiling at the same time.

  Urp, Huffa, and Oof returned in the midst of the new found mirth. Huffa had a limp creature clutched in her jaws. She dropped it at Vaegon’s feet, and the elf wasted no time preparing it for the spit.

  “What is that?” Mikahl asked.

  “I have no idea,” Hyden responded, with a curiously crinkled nose. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

  The animal was the size of a spring fawn, but looked nothing like any deer or antelope that the boys had ever seen. Its head was small, and similar to that of a badger or an opossum, and sported two small forked antlers. Its fur was the same muted shade of green as most of the forest’s undergrowth, and its long bushy tail had darker rings around it, like a raccoon’s.

  “It’s a ring-tailed buck squirrel,” Vaegon told them with a satisfied smile on his face. “This is what we elves like to call one fine supper.”

  And it was. The meat was succulent and buttery, and seemed to melt in the mouth. The wolves liked it too. When he had finished with his portion, Vaegon gathered up the small bones and skin, and started off into the woods.

  “One last look around,” he said, meaning that he would be gone for a little while.

  Oof and Urp began to snarl and growl over the last piece of the meat. Heads lowered, hackles bristled, and it seemed for a long moment that they might actually fight over the scrap. When they began to circle each other, Grrr gave Huffa some silent command. The she-wolf strode calmly over between the two would-be combatants and snatched the morsel for herself. With a challenging posture, she strutted back to her place near Mikahl, and munched it down. Both of the younger males stood there, and watched her, stupidly. A short while later, while Talon picked the big bone clean of the meat the wolves had missed, Oof and Urp were nuzzling, and yapping at each other as if nothing had happened.

  Hyden watched all of this transpire with an attentive eye. He could tell the wolves’ moods clearly by the way they moved, and the positions of their tails and ears. The message Grrr had sent Huffa had been simple: “Your kill, your claim.”

  Oof and Urp’s lack of response when she had taken the meat had been more than just a look of shock and longing. There’d been embarrassment and regret in their postures as well. Not regret for taking the last scrap of meat, or fighting over it mind you, but regret for not making the kill themselves in the first place.

  It amazed Hyden, looking at the wolves through Talon’s eyes, when they were traveling. They radiated a soft, glowing aura, which Hyden had come to think of as their life force. All creatures had it to some degree, but the higher predators were bathed in it. Other birds of prey, the tree cats, and sly foxes that they had seen, even the few long, slithery snakes hiding in the trees, all glowed with it. In the rabbits, squirrels, and the flirty songbirds that called the forest home, the radiance was more of a timid and fleeting glimmer. Hyden longed to study the sensation, and the creatures he could define by it, as well.

  He had asked Vaegon and Mikahl both about books that held such information. Mikahl told him that they could be purchased in the more sizable kingdom cities. Vaegon said that he had some books at his home. They weren’t about animals or magic, but he could use them to help teach Hyden to read. That had excited Hyden no end, but now, it looked like Vaegon wasn’t going to be able to find his way home. Hyden would have to wait to get himself a book.

  Hyden didn’t dare voice his disappointment. His problems were insignificant compared to Vaegon’s and Mikahl’s. He could wait until they reached Highwander. A temple of his goddess, Whitten Loch, was in the city called Xwarda, and he had enough coin to purchase plenty of books when they got there. He wished he had had the foresight to buy a book or two while at Summer’s Day. He had seen them there, but had never once thought about them, or the wealth of knowledge that they might contain.

  Thinking about the festival made him think of his brother. He hoped that Gerard was all right. He was glad that it was nearing time to get back under way. Riding on Grrr’s back, with Talon winging through the trees beside them, was as exhilarating as it was exciting. He could free his mind, and like an animal, live only in the moment, forgetting all other concerns. It was the greatest feeling he had ever felt, save for soaring through the heavens with Talon. The joys of both were amazing.

  Grrr’s ears pricked up suddenly. Hyden sensed the alarm in him immediately. Oof and Huffa rose quickly, while Urp sniffed at the air. Without warning, Urp let out a low growl, and then darted off into the forest.

  Hyden nudged Mikahl awake.

  “What is it?” Mikahl asked sleepily. He had fallen asleep leaning against the tree.

  “SHHHH!”

  The urgency and warning in Hyden’s tone brought Mikahl fully awake. Silently, he took Ironspike’s sheath rig from his lap and looped it over his shoulder. Wh
en he had it buckled in place, he looked over and saw his chain mail shirt lying on his blanket. Too late now, he decided regretfully, as Urp’s distant bark caused Grrr and the other two wolves, to charge off towards the sound.

  “At first, I thought it might be Vaegon returning,” Hyden whispered. “It’s not. The wolves feel threatened. There’s something out there.”

  Mikahl looked up through a small break in the forest canopy. The sky was a deep, dusky blue. Not much daylight left above, even less down there under the trees.

  One of the wolves suddenly let out a long, angry series of snarling barks. Another wolf, Urp, thought Hyden, echoed the sentiment. The first had been Grrr. Something unknown was upon them. Something, that the wolf wasn’t sure he should attack or not. Grrr’s uncertainty was a good sign. If it had been some dark, evil thing, Hyden figured that they would already be attacking it. Talon was gliding into the trees, above the wolf pack now, and Hyden closed his eyes so that he could see.

  Mikahl saw Hyden close his eyes, and huffed out a frustrated breath. He didn’t wait for his friend’s explanation. Vaegon might need them. He charged off in the direction the wolves had gone. He drew Ironspike as he ran, and noticed that its magical glow was noticeably dimmer than it had been when he had used it to kill Duke Fairchild. The sound of its magical symphony was still in his head though, only it was as if it was coming from a great distance. Through his grip on the leather wrapped hilt, he could feel the power of the blade slowly fading away.

  “It’s all right!” Mikahl heard Hyden call out to him from back at the camp.

  He hoped that it was all right, because all he saw as he came crashing into the clearing was snarling great wolves, dozens of angry yellow eyes, and a whole bunch of razor-sharp arrow tips, trained on him and his four four-legged friends. It wasn’t until after he had blinked his eyes several times that he realized that all of those yellow eyes staring back at him belonged to elves.