The Sword and the Dragon Page 11

  Hyden tried to get around them again, but one of them moved to block his way a second time.

  “You want to pass?” The man snarled. His breath smelled worse than his clothes. “A pint will get you by.” The man chuckled and elbowed his companion.

  Hyden was just about to turn and run to his clan’s section of the Way, when a sharp boot tip came up between the man’s legs from behind. It caught him just under the cod-piece, and doubled him over with a grunt. The other Blacksword soldier drew his sword and whirled to face the attacker. He wasn’t fast enough. A Raven haired woman, who moved as fast as a mongoose, pushed the point of her dagger into the man’s throat.

  “Go find someone else to bully Barton!” She commanded. Then she pushed him away as if he were a child.

  The wide-eyed soldier grabbed his doubled over companion’s shoulder plate and hauled him to his feet. It was obvious that he recognized and feared the woman, and the two men took special care to avoid Hyden, as they eased into the crowd and disappeared.

  “Shaella,” Gerard spoke as he stepped out from behind her. “This is my brother Hyden. Hyden, Shaella Ga’shen from Dakahn.”

  “Thank you,” Hyden said stupidly. He was dumbfounded. He couldn’t imagine how Gerard had come upon this beautiful woman, much less how he had managed to gain her acquaintance.

  “You’re most welcome, Dar Hyden,” she replied in her heavily accented voice. She threw in a little head bow with her words that made Hyden feel even more out of place than he already did. But what she did next mystified him completely.

  Shaella turned and ran her finger lovingly down Gerard’s nose, and smiled brightly.

  “Think about my offer Gerard,” She told him. Then, in an almost girlish gesture, she tiptoed up to his lips and quickly kissed him before rushing away.

  After she had gone, Gerard grinned at his brother triumphantly.

  Hyden started to make a comment, but found that he couldn’t even manage to speak.

  Chapter 10

  The two brothers walked the Ways of the Festival together, taking in the vastness and diversity of the carnival like atmosphere. The sun had left the sky, but it wasn’t quite dark yet.

  As they weaved through the crowds, Gerard told Hyden about Shaella’s offer. Hyden found that it made him jealous. Both he and Gerard had dreamed of finding fame and fortune somewhere beyond the sheltered little world of their clan. Hyden was about to say something about his feelings to his brother, when a great gout of fire erupted up into the air before them. The sound of drums filled the area and a man whirled and jumped, then acrobatically turned a flip, before landing perfectly on his feet to blow more fire up out of his mouth.

  He was bald, and painted bright scarlet from head to toe, with wicked symbols painted in black on his arms and chest. He wore only a loincloth, made of some wild animal’s skin, and he held a fist sized skull of what looked to be a cougar, or a mountain cat, in each hand. Every so often, the captivating drumbeat would stop dramatically. The man would arch his back so that he was facing painfully skyward, then another streaking blast of flame would shoot forth from his mouth, causing the people around him to scream with terror and delight.

  “It’s no trick!” Hyden exclaimed. “There are no liquids and no torches. It must be magic – real magic, like your ring.”

  Gerard shot him a look that started out as anger, but ended up being more annoyed than anything. Instinctually, his left hand moved over the ring on his right protectively. Realizing that Hyden was just trying to make conversation, he kept himself from getting riled over the matter by studying the fire breather. After a few moments, the wonder of the wild man wore off and they moved on. They were nearly trampled, when a pair of towering stilt walkers, dressed like flamboyant knights, one chasing the other with a wooden sword, came stalking by. The crowd cheered the pursuer as he almost, but not quite, cornered his quarry.

  A short while later, the boys found themselves at the base of the monolithic Spire. They paced around its three sides until they found the names of the archery champions. They saw several names that they recognized from the tales of the Elders, but all the recent names were elven. Hyden tried to look upward to see the top of the towering thing, but couldn’t crane his neck back far enough. Even when he took a few steps back, the top disappeared into the darkening sky.

  The area was far too packed with people, and Gerard saw the pressure of the upcoming competition showing plainly on Hyden’s face. He knew that the Elders were putting a heavy load on his brother’s back. They didn’t just want him to win the archery tournament, they expected him to win. Gerard pulled Hyden away and dragged him back into the throng.

  Neither of them had been down the Way that let away from the river, so they started off eastward to see what they could find. There was still a good while left before the Brawl started, so Hyden felt they had plenty of time to investigate.

  It wasn’t much different from the rest of the festival: barrel makers, potters, leather-men, and jewelers, all yelling, bartering, and arguing with the passersby. The only thing noticeably different about this part of the gathering was the more frequent groups of armed and armored men moving about. Some were even on armored horses. These men wore polished steel plate mail armor, and had the horse-head shield of Valleya emblazoned over a field of yellow and red checks proudly displayed upon their shields. A few of them wore rich, blue cloaks as well. Hyden assumed that this was a sign of authority, for it was far too warm to wear something that heavy for any reason other than recognition.

  Other men moved about the crowds, wearing uniforms of studded leather vests, with matching gauntlets and hard boots. These soldiers had bald heads and wild designs inked into their skin. A few of them had breast patches showing the orange on blue rising sun of Seaward, but most wore only black. The most frequently seen standard among the armed and armored men though, was the Redwolf of Wildermont.

  The Leif Greyn Valley was considered sacred ground by all the kingdoms and races of the realm. No one ruled here. It was a place used only for this peaceful celebration. The rest of the year, only travelers venturing to or from the Giant Mountains, or people coming to see the Spire, passed through. Blood had rarely been shed here except in the spirit of competition. To kill on these hallowed grounds was a violation of some ancient oath that very few people even remembered. A few times, it had happened though; business arguments, cheating husbands, and drunken gamblers, always managed to leave a corpse or two behind when they gathered.

  The small Kingdom of Wildermont, was the closest to the Leif Greyn Valley, and they owned the crossing rights to all the bridges that had to be traversed to get there by road. Every year, they added a small tax to the regular tolls and used the money to police the event. No one seemed to mind, because the ruler of Wildermont, King Jarrek, was notoriously fair and honest, and his men kept a lot of situations from getting ugly,

  Wildermont was mainly a kingdom of miners and smiths. Being nestled in the ore rich Wilder Mountains, just south of the Leif Greyn Valley, they brought in their soldiers, and did the best they could to keep the unavoidable private quarrels from getting blown out of proportion.

  Being that the majority of the weapons and armor made in the realm came from Wildermont’s forges, and the iron fittings for most of the shipbuilding as well, no one argued with King Jarrek’s assumed Summer’s Day authority. Known as the Redwolf Warrior, King Jarrek was as shrewd and as honorable as he was intimidating. He had no problem raising the price of Wildermont exports to a kingdom who didn’t keep their own folk in line at the Summer’s Day Festival, and he personally made sure that the men he had policing the event were well trained and highly disciplined. It was a conceded fact that only a fool angered the Redwolves while at Summer’s Day.

  “Why aren’t there any elves about?” Gerard asked.

  Hyden had noticed this too. He didn’t really know the answer, but the big brother in him caused him to answer anyway.

  “I think they’re scared,”
he said matter-of-factly. “There never really have been any elves about, not any of the years I’ve been here.”

  Hyden saw an old, gray haired woman through the crowd. She was standing in the flap of a room sized tent, calling to them as if she had known them for years.

  “Look!” Hyden pointed her out to Gerard. Out of sheer curiosity, they started angling her way.

  “Those yellow-eyed devils hate us,” Hyden continued speaking about the elves. “They live in the forest like beasts. They don’t want, or need, the goods and services of the kingdom folk, or us clansmen for that matter. That Salazarkian archer that fouled out of the competition today said that the only reason they come out of the forest for Summer’s Day is to spite us all with their uncanny prowess with the bow.”

  Satisfied with the answer, Gerard changed the subject.

  “Father said that we were tricked today by a sorceress. She charmed me and him into selling her a dozen eggs for ill intent.”

  “If she was really a sorceress, why did she bother to leave the gold behind,” Hyden asked rhetorically. “She could’ve easily tricked the two of you out of that as well.”

  “Aye,” Gerard nodded, accepting Hyden’s reasoning as sound. “I don’t know why.”

  They had made it over to the old crone’s tent by then, and she was waiting for them with her palm held out for payment.

  “You weren’t tricked out o’ your gold so that you’d have enough left to spare me a bit o’ it.”

  Her voice was strong and full of authority, but her breath smelled of cheese, and her teeth were mostly blackened stumps.

  “For a bit o’ your gold, I’ll tell you your fortunes true.”

  Hyden made a face at Gerard that caused them both to giggle like boys half their age. The woman was obviously blind. Her milky white eyes had no pupils or irises at all. They were brightly bloodshot though, the glossy white orbs streaked with tiny crimson veins. But that’s not what caused them to laugh. The woman’s hair was somewhat normal on one side, but on the other, the hair stuck straight up and out, and was tangled with bits of straw and string.

  Gerard fumbled a coin out of his pouch, and with a roll of his eyes at Hyden, put it in the old woman’s bird-claw hand.

  “I said gold!” she barked, causing them both to hop back a step. She flipped the silver coin back at Gerard with a sneer.

  Hyden was amazed. Even if her eyes were good, she hadn’t so much as glanced at the coin before she’d snapped. She must have felt by its weight that the coin was made of silver.

  Gerard suddenly felt like they shouldn’t be here. The woman had scared him deeply. He couldn’t admit that to Hyden though. He would never be able to live down the japes if he chickened out now.

  She put out her open palm again, and narrowed her brows.

  “A bit o’ gold from him, and a bit o’ gold from you. Place it in my hand, and I’ll tell your fortunes true.”

  She chanted the rhyme, as if she’d said it a thousand times. After a heartbeat, she shook her wrinkled hand again for emphasis.

  Hyden was about to turn and walk away, but Gerard surprised him by dropping two golden lions into her hand. He turned and looked at his little brother. They shared a look of anticipation and giddy fear that both of them knew well. Many times, in the mountains, while climbing a risky ledge or back in the village waiting for the giantess Berda to tell them a tale, they had shared the same wide-eyed expression of coming excitement. Gerard’s unease was forced away by the anticipation that Hyden’s gaze instilled in him. It was as if that look alone left no doubt in either of them that something extraordinary was about to take place.

  “Come in, come in.” The old woman urged.

  She stepped to the side and held the tattered tent flap open for them. A single candle flame, wavering from a low table, provided just enough light to see by. Off to one side of the space there was a sleeping mat, and next to it a small iron pot full of various cooking utensils. Most of the ground was covered by an ancient carpet, making it appear like there was actually a floor. At the center of the carpet sat a plate with several unlit candles melted onto it. In the middle of the plate, was a shallow bowl, full of the bones of a small animal – a rabbit or possibly a squirrel. There was a sweet musty stench in the tent, the smell of meat, just as it’s beginning to spoil, mingled with the oniony smell of sweat.

  The light from the lanterns and torches outside disappeared when the woman closed the tent’s flap. The single candle struggled to illuminate the space. The old crone hurried around the boys and used the candle’s flame to light the wicks of those on the floor.

  “Sit. Sit.” She kindly persuaded.

  As they squatted down, and sat cross legged beside each other, Hyden realized that she couldn’t actually be blind to do all these things so proficiently. Could she? At the moment, she was lifting up her bedroll and pulling out a foot long roll of cloth. She brought it with her when she came and joined them around the plate full of candles. She squatted down across from them with the plate and bowl before her.

  Both boys were full of excitement, and more than a little trepidation, but they wiggled themselves comfortable. Hyden ended up at her right hand side, and Gerard, fidgety and grinning, was at her left.

  She unrolled the cloth onto the rug, revealing a long, sharp dagger, with a big yellow jewel mounted in its hilt. The candlelight reflected off the well kept steel and filled the precious gem with sparkling glimmers. Gerard took one look at the blade and grimaced at Hyden fearfully. The old crone hadn’t bothered to look up from her lap, but responded to his unease as if she could see his expression.

  “Only one drop of blood, little brother,” She chuckled. “That’s all it’ll take.”

  Gerard’s eyes widened. He didn’t think he looked any younger than Hyden. Besides that, she was supposed to be blind. Wasn’t she? To anyone who could see, it was obvious that they were brothers, but how could she tell which one was the oldest? And how could she see through those dead, bloodshot eyes? The thought was as unsettling to him as it was frightening.

  Hyden was no more comfortable than his younger sibling. Since they had been in the tent, he had felt the presence of a fourth person amongst them. He searched the little area with his eyes, and saw nothing that could validate his suspicions; nevertheless, he felt something there. His thoughts were yanked away as she grabbed his hand, squeezed it, and pricked his finger all in one smooth, powerful motion. He tried to pull away, but with an otherworldly strength, she held his arm fast, until several drops of his blood had dripped into the bowl. He looked at Gerard with alarm showing plainly on his face.

  Gerard grinned with delight at Hyden’s expression of absolute terror. It wasn’t often that he got to see his brother in such a state. Even though the sight ratcheted up his own fear a few dozen notches, he found himself pleased that they had come here.

  Hyden let out a sigh of relief when the old woman finally let go of his hand. He sat back with a look of grim satisfaction, and enjoyed Gerard’s terror when he felt the old crone’s unnaturally strong grip latch onto him. Hyden almost laughed out loud, but that strange feeling came over him again, and he darted his eyes around in search of its cause.

  The woman, after letting go of Gerard, hawked loudly, drawing both of the boys’ full attention to her. She spat a fat, yellow wad of phlegm into the bowl of bloody bones and then began to chant, as she stirred the mess with the dagger’s tip. The chant grew rhythmic and louder as she went on and on, and suddenly, in a shuddering fit, she tumbled the bowl’s contents onto the carpet before her. She threw herself forward and down, as if pressing her face to the ground to pray. She wheezed and rasped for breath, as she studied the throw of bones up close.

  Hyden almost shoved her up, as her nest of hair missed being set afire by the flickering candles on the plate by only a finger’s breath. He started to warn her, but she suddenly jerked back upright and stared out into empty space. This caused both boys to jump, but the look on the woman’s face cause
d the color to drain completely from them.

  She had eyes now, but they were like no eyes either of the boys had ever seen before. The pupils were deep crimson, with tiny white speckles across them, and the irises that surrounded them, were a ring of flickering yellow flame. The depth of the creases in her ancient face had lessened, and her hair now seemed to be flowing in place, and was as shiny as spun gold. It was as if she had aged backwards half a hundred years in an instant, and taken on the eyes of a demon.

  Hyden wanted to look at his brother, but was afraid to pull his eyes away from the woman. Gerard was transfixed as well. Both of them were truly terrified now, but curiosity’s grip wouldn’t release them. She started speaking in a voice that sounded like falling icicles shattering on rock.

  “First born,” her head turned slightly towards Hyden as the words came. “You will soar through the sky with your newfound friend. You will save the life of one that despises you, and then mourn his death. You will help a king find a king, and then you will triumph in a tower. Someday, you will watch helplessly as one you love dearly attempts to destroy what the one that sits beside you is to become.” She paused, and shook her head back and forth.

  “There is more there, so much more, but it is unclear. I see you struggling to survive in the nether regions of hell, your body, full of poison, and your heart, full of fear. But why or how, I cannot see.”