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

  “Lead us to the river,” Vaegon said softly, then went to help the Lion Lord back into his saddle.

  Hyden sensed the urgency in the elf’s voice. Talon must have felt or heard something too, for he fluttered down and landed on Hyden’s shoulder.

  The foothill river was icy cold, fairly narrow, and flowing rapidly where they decided to cross. If it wasn’t for the numerous rocks that pocked the deeper main channel like a dam that had broken away, they never would’ve gotten Lord Gregory’s horse across. Vaegon’s soothing words, and sharp commands in the strange elven tongue, sent the beast leaping from boulder to boulder, like some huge malformed rabbit. They floated Lord Gregory across. The man was glad to get into the water. He savored it, as he let its bitter chill soothe and cleanse his tender backside.

  They filled their skins then, after the Westland Lord had drained them. Then they filled them again. There was still enough daylight to travel by, so they tried to take full advantage of it. They didn’t make it very far before the squat weed forced the Lord to make for the bushes again. The river had formed a shallow pool nearby that had a small copse of trees growing at its side. They decided to camp there, since there was plenty of dead fall. Hyden made a rather large fire so that they could dry their clothes.

  Lord Gregory sprawled out near the blaze, and began moaning softly, while Hyden laid all but their small clothes out to dry. Talon sat perched on a nearby tree limb, watching Vaegon curiously. The bird’s attention to what the elf was doing was so intense, that Hyden was forced to watch as well.

  He was standing shin deep in the middle of the pool. His leather pants legs were pulled up and bunched at the knees. The elf’s head was down, and his arms were spread out wide, with his fingers hooked into claws. Hyden almost laughed at him. He was mimicking a bird of prey, but he looked more like one of the scarecrows the Westland farmers sold at the festival, the ones with glittery yarn for hair, and bodies made from straw, sticks and old clothes.

  There was a flash of movement then, so fast that it startled both Talon and Hyden, forcing them to blink several times in wonder. Vaegon had snatched a fat, silver-bellied whisker trout right out of the water. It was wriggling crazily in his grasp as he charged through the pool towards them. He kicked up huge splashes as he raced for the shore. The fish squirmed, and curled its long, thick body, trying to twist and slip itself free. For a moment, it looked like it might succeed, but the elf was smart. Just before the struggling fish got loose, he tossed it towards the shore. The trout literally swam through the air, its tail searching for a purchase that wouldn’t come. Even before it smacked into the rocky bank, Talon was after it. As soon as the fish landed, the bird was on it, pecking at its eyes and doing his best to hold it in place with his little claws.

  They ate well that night. Even Lord Gregory managed to hold a stomach full of the tender white meat down.

  After the sun set, Vaegon worked his elven magic on the sick Westlander again. He healed the damage the poison had done throughout the day, but the poison was still in the man’s system. The squat weed had gone far to thin the toxic stuff flowing through the Lion Lord’s veins, but only time would tell if it had done enough. When Vaegon was finished, he covered the Westlander’s body and washed the man’s clothes again in the river. As he was lying them back out to dry, he spoke.

  “Do you know the story of the wizard, Dahg Mahn, and how he and King Horst helped save the elves, the giants, and even the dwarves?”

  The word “dwarves” was said with an expression that showed his distaste for the vanished race of little men.

  “Have you heard how he brought them all together to rid the world of the soulless Abbadon?”

  “Aye,” Hyden answered. It was Gerard’s favorite story. When they were boys, Gerard had often pretended to be the legendary wizard Dahg Mahn when they played. Berda had told them that tale far more times than she had ever wanted to, Hyden was sure of it. “I’ve heard the story many times.”

  “Have you been told the tale of how Dahg Mahn became the King’s wizard? Of how he became Dahg Mahn?”

  Vaegon had Hyden’s attention then. There was nothing Hyden loved more than a story, especially one he had never heard.

  “No, but I’d love to hear it now.”

  Vaegon finished laying out Lord Gregory’s clothes, and then took a seat across the fire from Hyden. After he was comfortable, he took a long pull from a water skin, glanced at Lord Gregory’s soundly sleeping body, and then began the story.

  “Pratchert was a hunter, and the son of a woodsman. He grew up in a village, whose name has long been forgotten, but which stood very near where the town called Tip sits now.”

  “Where is that?” Hyden asked, trying not to sound too ignorant.

  “The Southron River forms the natural border between Seaward and Valleya, but in Pratchert’s time, it was all one kingdom. The Evermore Forest trails southward along the river’s banks into the plains, and where this extension of forest ends, sits the town called Tip. King Horst was young then, and ruled over all of those lands, and what is now the Kingdom of Highwander too. The world was relatively peaceful in those days. The Abbadon wasn’t yet strong enough to threaten the lands, but it soon would be.

  “Pratchert’s father was commissioned by King Horst to travel to the frozen sea. A quest it was called, a quest to kill a great white bear, the fur of which the King wanted, for some reason or another. Pratchert, along with a large group of men led by his father, set out on this long and dangerous journey.

  “They travelled across the continent and made it to the frozen sea in the west. They killed the mighty white bear, but the bear managed to kill more than half of the group in the battle. The survivors were strung out across the icy lands, along the bloody trail the dying bear made them follow. The great beast was hearty, and it led them for dozens and dozens of miles before it finally died.

  “Young Pratchert was one of those who got lost along the way. A pair of men, who were too lazy to make a proper search, led his father to believe that his son had fallen into a chasm and frozen to death. Pratchert was left to survive on his own, in the vast frozen wilderness.

  “Having been raised by a hunter and woodsman, Pratchert had learned many things about survival. He was both smart and resourceful. He used the sun to determine his direction, and began traveling south, away from the colder climate. As he went, he came along an injured wolf, which was in the process of giving birth. Only four pups came into the world, and two of them died that first night.

  “Pratchert hunted for the injured mother wolf, with a bow and arrow he had made out of a fallen limb and some sun dried rabbit gut. He managed to keep her and himself fed long enough for the two pups to wean themselves from the teat, but she died soon after that when a harsh, late winter storm hung over them for a few long days.

  “When the weather finally relented, Pratchert found that one of the pups had disappeared. Knowing that he did all he could for the wolves, he started south again with the last of the pups right on his heels.”

  Vaegon shifted on his rocky seat, leaned forward, and prodded the dying fire back to life with a stick.

  “Somehow, he and the wolf ended up cutting east through the forest your people call the Reyhall.”

  “Not my people,” Hyden corrected. He couldn’t help but stare at Vaegon’s wild yellow eyes. They were like cat’s eyes, or an owl’s. “My people aren’t kingdom folk.”

  “Yes, yes,” the elf nodded. “I forget that all of you humans are not sworn to a king. Anyway, Pratchert took his time. He and the wolf wandered the forest for a few years. No one really knows why.”

  Hyden almost stopped Vaegon to tell him that though he wasn’t sworn to a human king, his people did reside in the Giant Mountains, and were more or less sworn to obey the laws of King Aldar. He let it go though, because he had never actually seen the giant king, or the fabled city of Afdeon, where he ruled from; much less had he ever sworn any sort of oath of fealty.

  “…
finally crossed the Leif Greyn River, and made it to the Spire.” Vaegon was saying. “There, our lore says that Pratchert was visited by a great, blue dragon. The two of them supposedly spoke for many days.

  “After the dragon flew away, Pratchert and his wolf came through the Evermore Forest. He was traveling toward his childhood home, but before they could get that far south, they encountered a problem. His wolf familiar’s thick, white fur was making the animal sick in the warmer climate. Even after it had shed its winter coat, the wolf was suffering in the warm southern air. After much deliberation, Pratchert and his wolf decided to stay together. He used his dagger to trim the fur from the wolf’s hide so that it could stand the heat. It was for the best they both learned. When they came into Pratchert’s village, the people were afraid of the wolf, even though he looked more like a mangy dog now, than the ferocious creature he could be. If he hadn’t been half shaved, he would’ve terrified the simple folk to drastic measures.

  “Pratchert learned that his father had died of a lung sickness the year after he had returned with the king’s prize bear skin. His mother had died the year after that. Naturally, he was saddened by the news, and he returned with his wolf and his grief to the Evermore Forest. He planned on going north so that he and the wolf could range and explore in comfort, but before they could get away, they were stopped by a pair of frightened squirrels.

  “The squirrels communicated with him through the link he had formed with his wolf. They told him that men were destroying the forest in the east, and they practically begged him to help them make it stop.

  “He took them seriously. It was no small matter that would cause a pair of squirrels to grow brave enough to approach a wolf and a man. Other animals heard the squirrels’ pleadings, and since the wolf hadn’t tried to eat them, they cautiously approached as well. Soon, a crowd of birds, deer, a fox, a rabbit, even a bright green tree snake and a wild hog had gathered around them. They convinced Pratchert to at least go and see what might be done about the matter.”

  Vaegon sipped from the water skin and then continued.

  “Pratchert and the wolf were sickened by what they found there. An entire valley had been cleared of foliage. It looked as if an angry god had hacked away the trees with a giant scythe like they were so much wheat.

  “Pratchert rounded up all of the strongest forest creatures, the ones with teeth and claws, and the ones with venom and size. One day, while the men were starting to chop and saw at the trees, Pratchert led his army of animals out of the forest. They took a position and held firm, directly in the men’s way. The terrified men sent for their foreman, who in turn, sent for the Captain of the King’s Guard. Days passed, and eventually King Horst had to come to see this spectacle for himself.

  “For days, hissed and growled insults, and the foul worded threats of men were hurled back and forth. Luckily, King Horst saw that they were getting nowhere. His need of these timbers was as great as that of the animals, so he agreed to talk to Pratchert.

  “The king explained that an army of demons and devils, led by the Abbadon himself, was marching towards them as they spoke. They were coming for the Wardstone. He told him of the need for catapults, spears, ships and all the other devices the men of the world might need to fight such an enemy. He spoke of how this foe had burned everything in its path: homes, crops, and even the forest. King Horst ended his speech by suggesting that it would be better to take a few of the trees, than to let all of the forest be burned to ash by this evil foe.

  “Pratchert went back to the animals and explained the situation. They agreed that losing some of the forest was better than losing all of it. Reluctantly, the animal army disbanded, and the creatures began to migrate from that part of the Evermore so that the men could continue.

  “King Horst was so astonished and impressed with the man who could speak to animals, that he asked him to come and be his wizard. Pratchert felt bound to help fight the Abbadon and the terrible legions it commanded. When he found out that King Horst’s castle was located in the city of Xwarda, up in the Wander Mountains where the weather was cool and crisp, he had to accept the offer. You know the rest, I think,” Vaegon finished.

  “Aye,” Hyden nodded. “When the soulless one came, Dahg Mahn called forth the animals from the forest. The animals brought the giants, elves, and dwarves with them. In Berda’s tale – she’s a giant, a goat herder’s wife who comes to my clan’s village and tells us stories every so often. In her tales of Dahg Mahn, the animals turn the tide of the battle and save the races of men from the Abbadon.”

  Hyden yawned and scratched his head curiously.

  “If his name is really Pratchert, why is he always remembered as Dahg Mahn?”

  Vaegon laughed deeply.

  “I should make you wait and ask your giant friend Berda, but I’m starting to like you, so I’ll tell you, Hyden Hawk. It’s really simple, and I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out yet. The wolf looked like a mangy dog,” Vaegon said, as he moved to lay down by the fire. “And Dahg Mahn means “dog man” in the old tongue.”

  “Ah,” Hyden nodded, as he too found a place to lie down for the night.

  Chapter 20

  The coronation of young King Glendar went smoothly enough. The sadness of the past week was replaced by the hope for a greater future. The good people of Westland, for a few days at least, were led to believe that the days to come still held promise. The ladies and wives of the noble born and common folk alike were busy with their gossip. It appeared that Lady Zasha had caught the young King’s eye, and they all had a comment to make about the development.

  “She’s such a beautiful girl.”

  “What a wonderful queen she will make.”

  “With fat Lord Ellrich as her father, what will the heir look like?”

  “The daughter of the marsh lord has done well to draw his eye.”

  Then there was Glendar himself. The whole of the nobility watched him, as he grimaced and clutched at his face and then finally broke into tears when his father’s crown was placed upon his head. The outcome pleased Pael immensely. The stupid boy had grinned as the crown was presented. Pael had had to act quickly. He sent an invisible, but sizzling hot particle of dust, into Glendar’s eye, which wiped the smile from his face, and caused all the flinching, and the grimacing, and then the tears. Yes, Pael mused, it had all gone extremely well. So well, in fact, that no one noticed that Ironspike was missing.

  Even better, was the news Pael had received from Shaella. Summer’s Day had turned into a battlefield. The sacred Leif Greyn Valley had been thoroughly bloodied. He had intended to put the kingdoms against each other with his covert and indirect aggression, but a full scale battle was even better. In fact, it was perfect. And who would’ve thought that Lord Gregory would’ve been so inadvertently helpful, before he crawled off and died from Inkling’s poison dart.

  Pael’s plans had gone so well that King Glendar’s present foolishness didn’t bother him at all. It didn’t matter how many heads the boy piked in the court yard, or whose heads they were. As a matter of fact, Pael welcomed any distraction that kept the new King’s mind off of his father’s sword.

  Now that the news of the massacre at Summer’s Day was finally getting back to the Westland people, Lord Brach’s forceful recruitment of young, able bodied men didn’t seem so alarming to the common folk. The whole of Westland would soon be chomping at the bit to avenge to death of the well loved Lion Lord.

  The latest rumors pinned the blame on Seaward and the Valleyans. The noble trading houses, and major land holders were already sending their extra men to join in the upcoming campaign. It wouldn’t be long before Pael could send the whole of the Westlander army, King Glendar included, off to war with the east.

  The only piece he needed to complete his puzzle was Ironspike. He didn’t want the blade for Glendar to wield on his fool’s quest to conquer the eastern kingdoms though. Pael needed the sword for other reasons. One of which, was that its presence woul
d solidify the claim of the one who would soon replace Glendar, as the ruler of the west. Another reason was that Ironspike’s great power was the only possible thing that could stop his plans from playing out.

  Upon hearing the news of Lord Gregory’s death, Lady Zasha had pleaded with King Glendar to let her and her father, Lord Ellrich, be dismissed from court so that they might escort Lord Gregory’s wife, Lady Trella, back to her home at Lake Bottom Stronghold. Zasha wanted to help her through her troubled time of grief.

  Lady Trella had come to Lakeside Castle for the King’s coronation, and to help Zasha woo the new King. The excitement of the times had flared like a bonfire inside of her. Little Zasha’s mother had died while birthing her, and Trella had always acted as a matronly figure for the girl. The fact that Trella had no children of her own, only made the bond stronger.

  Lake Bottom Stronghold was only a few days’ carriage ride from Settsted Stronghold, where Lord Ellrich and Lady Zasha resided. Being that the two families were the most powerful in all of Southern Westland, they visited each other often. That Zasha would ask for Trella’s advice, and confide in her so much, was heartening. Lake Bottom Stronghold was the most boring of places when Lord Gregory and his men were away. It wasn’t much better when they were there. Lady Trella had reveled in the giddy excitement that women share when love is blossoming, and she had been proud when Zasha had asked her to act as her matron during the courtship. Trella’s blaze had been extinguished rather abruptly though. Like an entire keg full of water being dumped over a single candle flame, the news of her husband’s death snuffed all of her cheer instantly and sent her tumbling into darkness.

  Lady Zasha could not, and would not, let the closest thing to a mother she had ever known go home, feeling so miserable and alone. The Stronghold at Lakebottom was a great and mighty place, but it was a lonely place. For each of its breathtaking balcony views, and high arched windows, there was an empty unused room, full of dust and gloom. It was not a place for grieving, Zasha knew. She had to do something that would help Trella cope with her loss. What that something was, she had no idea, but leaving the woman to mourn alone was out of the question.