The Sword and the Dragon (The Wardstone Trilogy Book One)

by M. R. Mathias

  Bludgeon stepped in, just like he had the first time, throwing that same looping right handed punch that had missed. This time, when Lord Gregory leaned back to slip the blow, the Monster took another step forward and kicked out hard. His heavy boot hit the Lion Lord square in the chest, with such force, that the Westlander’s hands slapped his boot tips in midair as he was launched backwards. A cheer and a sympathetic “Oooh!" swept through the mass of people simultaneously when Lord Gregory crashed into the ground in a heap. He tried to roll to his feet, but ended up clutching his chest and yelling out in anguish. Bludgeon saw his chance and dove in at him.

  Momentarily satisfied that his wager was safe, Gerard scanned the edges of the fighting circle for Shaella. If Bludgeon went on to win the fight, there would surely be a celebration. He wanted to be there to see her, to taste her lips again. He wanted to tell her that he was going to go with them to the Dragon’s Tooth Spire. In his mind’s eye, he had seen her betray him there, while the old crone had been telling him his future, but he knew in his heart that he could change that outcome. If he could make her love him, then there would be no betrayal. And if that didn’t work, he knew he could always use the ring to keep her from it. The other things he’d seen happen in that black rocky cavern were dark and grand, and far too tempting to resist. He pondered those vexing thoughts while he searched for Shaella. He looked at the faces, but didn’t see her again. He did, however, see a face that commanded his full attention.

  “There Hyden! There!” Gerard pointed down at a person standing between the farthest two Redwolf guards that formed the pike rail.

  “What are you pointing at?” Hyden was fully focused on the Brawl and glad that his brother seemed to be winning his bet. He saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  “The witch that bought our eggs!” Gerard yelled, as he shook his finger towards the fighters below. “That woman, over there, with the whistle! She’s the one that tricked father and I this morning!”

  Hyden looked around, and found her at the very edge of the pike rail. His focus zoomed in on her unexpectedly, causing his head to spin. Nothing like that had ever happened to him before. She looked close enough to touch now. The wild visual shift was unnerving, but he didn’t let it distract his mind. He wanted to know what this woman was about. It wasn’t a whistle she held to her mouth. Was it a flute? A strange kind of smoking pipe maybe? What was it?

  Suddenly, she paused, and looked up directly at the boys. It was as if she had sensed them staring at her across the great distance that separated them. Hyden swallowed hard when he saw her eyes. There were no whites at all, just jet black orbs that chilled his blood to the bone.

  “Charm me will ya?” he heard Gerard say. He knew, without even looking, what his brother was about to do.

  The witch jerked her head up a fraction and locked her eerie gaze on some other part of the crowd for a moment. Hyden realized what the tubular item in her hand was then. Her attention returned to the fight, and she put the thing to her mouth, and pointed it at the entangled combatants. Hyden watched on helplessly as she took in a deep breath and blew into the tube with a burst of force. A look of shock crossed her face then, and she twisted her black eyes up at Gerard, but Hyden didn’t see the gesture. He was looking at the tiny little needle dart protruding out of Lord Gregory’s shoulder. His attention was drawn from the dart when Gerard elbowed him excitedly, but not before he saw the Westland Lion swat the thing away into the trampled grass.

  A gasping sound, as the entire crowd drew in a breath at the exact same moment, resounded again when the little witch ducked under the pike rail and stepped into the fighting circle. One of the Redwolf guards snatched at her robe and spun her, but she screamed out with wide, terrible eyes, causing the guardsmen to take a step back. The whole crowd fell silent then. Even the brawlers stopped, as the witch started spinning in a blurring circle, howling out with rage in a voice that was far from human. When she stopped spinning, she was no longer a woman. Instead, a child-sized, red-scaled devil stood there. It hissed and snarled, its dead eyes looking at Gerard. Then, it leapt into the air and flew away on thumping leathery wings.

  Both fighters had staggered to their feet, and we’re looking up at the wild little creature, as it disappeared into the darkened sky. After few moments of bewildered silence, the battle slowly resumed.

  By the smug look of satisfaction on Gerard’s face, Hyden knew his brother had caused the witch to step into the circle and reveal herself. He wondered if Gerard knew that the witch had put a dart that was most likely poisoned into the Lion Lord. No, he reasoned, Gerard wouldn’t have brought attention to the witch had he known that she was doing something that would ensure Bludgeon a victory. The idea that Shaella had something to do with it crossed Hyden’s mind though. He scanned the crowd for her, and noticed that his eyes were still focusing extremely sharp for some strange reason. Shaella was nowhere to be seen. He dismissed her, as he noticed the Lion Lord faltering. The Westland fighter was stumbling to and fro, like a drunkard trying to keep his balance. He wasn’t giving up the fight though, even though the bigger man was having his way with him. The lion was battered and bloody now, and taking sledge hammer blows to the neck and to the side of his head. In the middle of one such flurry, he slumped forward, put his hands on his knees, and heaved for breath.

  The giant Seawardsman was breathing as hard as a forge bellows, but, he stood alert and ready to continue the pounding he was giving. He spoke a few words to Lord Gregory, asking him if he was ready to surrender yet, but no answer came. The Western Lord only swayed a little to one side, as if he were about to topple over. With a look of regret, tinged with sadness and frustration, the man known as the Seaward Monster took a quick step forward, and kicked up at the Lion Lord’s face with all he had. He was going to end it here.

  As quick as a flash of lightning, the Lion rose up, letting Bludgeon’s foot glance off of his pectoral muscles. He twisted his entire body in place, and came around from the spin, with sickening speed and force. The back of his clenched fist cracked into the Seawardsman’s temple with a crunch of breaking bones that was heard over the din of the crowd. The Monster was left stumbling and dazed, unconscious on his feet.

  Lord Gregory fell then, the poison had completely stolen his equilibrium. Face first, he went into the ground. The Seaward Monster stumbled as well, but, he caught himself. He reared back his head and let out a brutally primal roar. When the chilling sound subsided, the whole place was deathly quiet. Bludgeon bent over forward, and spat out a long, slimy string of thick, crimson muck. When he rose back up, his hands went reflexively to his grossly misshapen head, as if to feel if it was still there. Then, he too fell, face first towards the ground. It was nothing more than random chance that caused him to land right on top of the Western Lion’s poison saturated body.

  Chapter 12

  After the Brawl, the night’s excitement ended abruptly for Hyden. Gerard followed him back to the clan’s bonfire, which was relatively deserted at this late hour. A lot of other clansmen had attended the Brawl, but they were either still out among the crowds, or had already retired for the night.

  Hyden presented Gerard with the pair of expensive horsehide boots he bought for him earlier in the day. Gerard thanked him, and gave him a long hug of appreciation, and then begged off, saying that he needed to go collect his winnings. Hyden figured that he just didn’t want to face their father, or any of the Elders, with his decision to leave yet.

  Hyden didn’t mind Gerard’s departure. He was tired and his eyes ached. He still had to compete against that blasted elf in the morning, and he couldn’t get to bed until he cared for the hungry hawkling chick that he had neglected all evening.

  He took the nest bucket from his tent and carried it over to the dying bonfire. The chick ate greedily, and Hyden saw that its eyes had finally cleared.

  The memory of the old crone’s prophecy, and of his eyes zooming in on the tiny dart that the little witch-devil had shot into Lord Gre
gory’s shoulder came to him. His stomach knotted and churned, and he sat down hard in a cross-legged hunch.

  He finished feeding the bird, and scooped it out of the bucket gently. He put it in his lap and began stroking its new feathers with his finger.

  The feathers were brown, with traces of red and silver running through them. In the dim fire glow, they seemed to hold an illumination of their own. The bird’s beak and head had taken shape as well, but all in all, the little hawkling was still no bigger than Hyden’s hand.

  “Are you really a gift from the gods?” Hyden wondered aloud.

  As if in response, the young bird fluttered its wings and managed to fly a few feet. It didn’t land well. It toppled sideways on a half open wing and made a little shriek of pain, or maybe it was frustration, after righting itself. It turned around then, and leapt from the trampled ground. With a quick double flap of its wings, it flew back to Hyden, and landed almost gracefully on his knee. Hyden had to chuckle, for the bird seemed to be puffing out its chest, proud of the accomplishment.

  Hyden stroked the back of its head with one finger, and put the index finger of his other hand out before it. Somehow, the bird understood his intent and stepped onto the offered perch. Hyden marveled at how strong its tiny claws gripped him.

  “I suppose the gods didn’t name you yet, did they?” Hyden whispered. “Your tail feathers haven’t lengthened enough for me to tell if you’re male or female. We need a name that will suit you either way.”

  The hawkling cooed at him, then dug its claws into his finger deeply. Instinctively, Hyden yanked his hand away, and shook it. The bird flapped and fluttered back to the ground awkwardly.

  “Your talons are sharp!” Hyden growled, and then sucked a droplet of blood from his finger. The hawkling bobbed its head up and down, and then cooed again. Hyden froze.

  “Talon?” he asked the little bird, as if it could understand him. To his surprise, the hawkling bobbed its head again, and leapt back onto his knee. Again, Hyden chuckled in disbelief.

  “Talon it is then. We’ll call you Talon.”

  While Hyden slept, he dreamed the dream of flight again. Distant mountains loomed ahead and field mice scattered in the pastures below him. Around his wing tips, cottony clouds floated on warm, uplifting air. It was a night of glorious dives, wild swooping attacks, and long, slow spiraling climbs. He slept as well as he ever had, and when he was finally startled awake, he could still feel the wind flowing over his feathers.

  Several angry foreign accents, and his father’s voice barking out harshly from somewhere nearby jerked him from his dreams. He sat up and looked around, slowly forcing the confusion of waking from his mind. He’d fallen asleep outside by the fire pit. Already, the ways were crowded with people. He remembered that today was Summer’s Day, the day of his competition. A wave of nervous excitement washed over him. Talon was perched on the top edge of his nest bucket, with part of a grasshopper hanging from his beak. He had eaten most of it, and didn’t seem to know that he had missed the morsel. Hyden laughed, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. From behind him, a small voice spoke.

  “Hey Hyden.”

  It was Little Condlin. The boy had become distant and reclusive since his two brothers had fallen at the harvest. Hyden had seen him hovering around the women mostly since they’d been at the festival. No one could blame him for wanting to be close to his mother. It was probably a good thing for her and him both.

  “How are you?” Hyden asked, as the boy squatted down in front of Talon to look at the bird, eye to eye.

  “I’m alright, I guess,” Little Con replied, before going into a nonstop series of questions.

  “Does he have a name yet? Can I be your squire, or page, or whatever they call them, since Gerard has left us? What do you think it is? Is it a boy or a girl hawkling?”

  “Slow down Condlin. Slow down.” Hyden rose to his feet quickly. “What do you mean Gerard’s gone? How do you know?”

  “My father, sent me to fetch you,” the boy said, without looking away from Talon. “Gerard left a note last night saying that he was leaving. I didn’t know he could write.”

  “Here,” Hyden fumbled a silver coin out of his belt pouch, and tossed it to his cousin. “Go across the Way to the vendor and buy some raw meat. I’m not sure if the hawkling is a he or a she yet, but its name is Talon.”

  Hyden ruffled the boy’s hair. “Cut the meat into little strips and feed the bird. When I’m finished speaking to our fathers, we will discuss the possibility of you accompanying me to the tournament.”

  The boy was off before Hyden had even finished speaking. Hyden lingered with Talon, like a protective parent, until he saw Little Condlin returning with the bird’s food.

  Harrap wasn’t the angry, cursing man he had been the day before. Today, he was quiet and reserved, with eyes full of what might have been regret, and more than a little sadness.

  “Why wouldn’t he have claimed his winnings if he knew he was leaving?” he asked his oldest son.

  Hyden didn’t have a definite answer. It was a curious thing that Gerard had put all his winning blue tickets in with the note he had left their father, but Hyden didn’t see it as a cause for alarm.

  “Maybe he cashed a few of them in. Just what he thought he might need,” he suggested, even though it didn’t seem like something that Gerard would do. Gerard’s nature would’ve been to collect all of his gold and leave just a little bit behind, not the other way around.

  “He told me he was going to leave, but I didn’t think he would go so soon.”

  Hyden didn’t say that he had known of his brother’s plans since early yesterday evening, just after they left the fortune-teller’s tent. He kept what he told his father about Gerard’s destination, and traveling companions, as vague as he possibly could. He didn’t want to fill the Elder’s head full of unwarranted concern. With the ring at Gerard’s disposal, Hyden was sure that his brother could take care of himself, but he found it frustrating that he couldn’t share that bit of knowledge with his father without betraying Gerard’s confidence.

  After a long silence, Harrap sighed and then nodded, as if he was accepting some part of a reality that he had no control over. The subject of his concern changed then.

  “Are you ready for today son?” he asked with a forced smile.

  “The elf is terribly good, father,” Hyden said matter-of-factly. He made sure that it didn’t sound like he was making an excuse. “I will do the best that I can.”

  “Aye,” Harrap’s smile became genuine, and held a great deal of pride in its curve. “If you do your best and lose, there’s no shame in it. As men, we sometimes put too much value on trivial things. I wish… I wish that we, as a clan, hadn’t put so much pressure on you. It’s not fair. You cannot win back the losses of the past. All you can hope to do is compete with pride, honor, and dignity. If you manage to do that, then you’ve already won.”

  Harrap put his arm around his oldest son, and squeezed him lovingly.

  “Honor among men, it seems, has grown scarce these days,” he mumbled, to no one in particular.

  “Thank you father,” Hyden said.

  The weight of the load he’d been carrying on his shoulders seemed to have lightened a little bit, but not so much that he felt he could relax. The rest of the Elders, including his grandfather, still expected him to win. He didn’t want to think about the competition at all yet. It was still a few hours away and he had other things on his mind.

  “What were you and those men arguing about this morning?” he asked, trying to tactfully change the subject.

  “One of the men that fought in the Brawl last night, died. Now, some of the Dakaneese wager men are trying to dispute the Seaward Monster’s victory.”

  Hyden wasn’t surprised.

  “Lord Gregory looked to be dead when he fell.” Hyden didn’t say anything about the witch and the poison dart. “The Monster won, despite the Lion Lord’s final blow. What is there to dispute?”


  Harrap was shaking his head.

  “It wasn’t the Westlander that died. The Lion’s last blow shattered the Monster’s skull. The crowd saw the Lion fall first, so, by all rights, the Seawardsman won, even though he was probably dead before he landed on top of Lord Gregory. The wager men tried to balk on payment of Gerard’s tickets, until they saw how large and formidable our clan is. It wasn’t easy getting Gerard’s prize. I had to threaten to harm them while we had them surrounded. I also had to remind them that we are not part of the human kingdoms, but are from the Giant’s lands. Most of the folk who bet last night don’t have the numbers we do, and aren’t getting paid at all. The whole place has turned into a boiling pot. It wouldn’t surprise me if the kingdom folk start killing each other over it.”

  “But today is Summer’s Day,” Hyden said. “Today is the day all the people are supposed to celebrate peace and friendship.”

  “Aye it is,” Harrap returned. “But the people of the kingdoms have long forgotten the ways of old, and the sacred oaths their ancestors swore here. It is sad, but it is not our concern. We are the Skyler Clan, and we are free. Only the king of the giants can command us. And that’s only because we live in the mountains they call their own. King Aldar doesn’t even presume to rule over our people, even though he has that right. As I said before, the men of the kingdoms have long forgotten what honor is all about.”

  A short while later, Halden, the Eldest, patted his grandson’s back and wished him well. Hyden’s uncles, Condlin, Sharoo, Benald, and Pylen, all did the same. His grandfather’s brother,

  Harren, mussed his hair as if he were still a little boy. Then Uncle Mahr, the clan’s spirit leader, said a prayer to the White Lady, their patron goddess. All of the Elders, and most of the women, would be watching him compete later. What little bit of pressure his father had lifted earlier had now been replaced tenfold.