The Sword and the Dragon Page 8

  Gerard, Hyden, and Little Condlin, had ranged ahead of the rest of the clan to hunt. They weren’t really short on meat, Hyden just wanted to keep sharp with his bow. The boys hadn’t even been quiet. It shocked them all when the deer bound out of the woods into their path. As soon as it saw them, the doe started to bolt away, but Gerard cried out, “Stop! Wait!” and amazingly, the creature stayed rooted there. Gerard had been about to call the deer to him, when Hyden’s arrow pierced its heart with a “Thrump!” The Doe just stood there, with its eyes locked on Gerard’s, until its front legs crumpled underneath it. As soon as the animal fell onto its side, Gerard felt the tingling, burning rush of the ring’s magic fill his blood. It was a grand feeling, and it was all the proof he needed to know that the ring had caused the deer to freeze in place. What else the ring might have caused, he was left to wonder about.

  Gerard didn’t tell anyone of his part in it. He left Hyden, and Little Condlin, to guess whether or not his voice had anything to do with stopping the deer in its tracks. He let them tell of the strange encounter at the fire that night, and was glad that Hyden didn’t mention the ring at all. The Elders attributed the weird happenings to Hyden’s hawkling. Gerard held the truth inside, and some odd voice from within told him that that was the best way.

  As the clan walked in a northwesterly direction, under the spacious canopy of bird filled oaks and maples, Gerard couldn’t help but try to manipulate every creature he saw. A squirrel had his attention at the moment.

  “Are you well?” Hyden asked.

  Gerard didn’t answer. Hyden wondered if he had even been heard by Gerard. Being the older brother, he took the liberty of slugging Gerard on the shoulder. Gerard stumbled to the side, but didn’t lose a step.

  “Blast you Hyden!” he cursed. “I was thinking.”

  “Aye!” Hyden laughed at the stupid expression on his brother’s face. “No doubt thinking of how easy it’ll be to get into all the girls’ small clothes now that you’ve got your ring!”

  That idea hadn’t crossed Gerard’s mind as of yet, and he wasn’t mad at Hyden for the suggestion, but he tried to act that way. It wasn’t easy. He had to try hard to suppress the smile it brought to his face.

  “You’re looking up into the trees like that bewitched Miller from that story Berda told us.”

  “Aye Hyden,” Gerard laughed. “But it’s no golden acorn I’m seeking.”

  “Well, watch your step or you’ll end up with knots on your head like me.” When Gerard didn’t offer any explanation, Hyden asked. “What are you looking for up there?”

  Gerard glanced at Hyden. He didn’t want to answer. He didn’t really want to do what he did either, but even though he knew it was a mistake, he did it anyway.

  In his mind, he told Hyden to leave him alone and just walk away. Instantly, he felt the tingle of the ring’s magic burn into his blood. For a long moment, he stared at his brother, waiting for him to comply.

  Hyden felt the command come into his mind, a subtle suggestion that made him want to move away from where he was and walk alone for a while. He didn’t do it. Just as suddenly as the idea had formed, it had drifted away, and just as suddenly, the tiny hawkling nestled in the bucket he was carrying screeched out. Hyden didn’t take his eyes off Gerard’s. He watched his little brother’s eyes widen with panic as he realized that Hyden knew what he had just attempted. Gerard sighed and slumped his shoulders. Hyden wasn’t sure if it was a slump of disappointment, or a slump of shame. He decided he was so angry at being commanded like that, it didn’t matter.

  “Don’t you ever use your magic on me!” Hyden said, through clenched teeth. “Ever!” Then he stormed off and busied himself feeding the ever hungry hawkling chick.

  Gerard was left speechless. He was at a loss. He knew by the way that the magic had dissipated away from him, instead of gathering around Hyden that his brother wasn’t going to obey his mental suggestion. It put a strange feeling in his guts. He began to wonder if the ring had actually been meant for him. For a fleeting moment he was certain that it had been meant for Hyden to find. It was his now though, and he wasn’t about to let Hyden have it. No one would get it from him. Reflexively, he covered the ring with his hand and made for the other side of the procession.

  Just after midday, the forest began to thin. There were still trees about, in small clumps of twos and threes, with the occasional copse here and there, but they were no longer in what you could call a forest. Soon, they would angle northward and start down into the gradually sloping valley that the giants called the Leif Greyn. Berda had told them it meant “Life Giver.” Hyden had always wondered if Leif Greyn was the name of the huge river that flowed out of the Giant Mountains, or the name of the lush valley that embraced it. He wanted to ask the giantess, Berda, that very question, but he could never remember to ask it when she was in the clan village visiting.

  Berda was the wife of a herdsman, and the very best of storytellers. She loved to tell tales that showed the young clans folk the ways of nature and life. She was old and wise, as well as huge, and Hyden loved her dearly. Hyden couldn’t wait to show her the hawkling. She would have a tale for the occasion, he knew. She knew everything, and she had a way of teaching through her stories that was very effective. Those who listened learned much as she narrated her captivating tales. Most of the people in the kingdom lands thought of the giants, and the mountain clansmen, as barbaric and primitive savages, but they were wrong. In many cases, the mountain folk were far more intelligent. She had told him this repeatedly, and he smiled outwardly wondering what wisdom she would have to offer about his little bird.

  The mood of the rest of the clan began to lighten as they made camp for the night. The morrow would bring many smiles, and a few tears, when the group were reunited with their wives and children under the towering black monolith that marked the festival grounds. The actual festival wouldn’t officially begin for a few days yet, but for the Skyler Clan, it would start as soon as the men met up with their families under the Spire.

  Hyden sat by himself with the nest bucket in his lap. He had just finished feeding the chick and was using the last of the daylight to look at how much it had grown in the last few days. Its feathers were coming in now, and its beak was turning from a soft, gray triangle, into a longer, sharper thing. Its eyes were still filmed over, but Hyden could tell that very soon they would clear, and the little hawkling would be able to see the world around it. It was walking around the nest now without wobbling or stumbling, and every now and then it would unfold its wings. The wings would shiver as the hawkling stretched out the tiny muscles that it would eventually use to fly.

  “Someday, your wings will open as wide as my outstretched arms,” Hyden said gently. “You’ll be able to soar through the heavens, and hunt rabbits and snakes.” The little bird made a warm, cooing sound, as if in reply to Hyden’s words. Hyden stroked its head with a finger until it fell asleep.

  A murmur of commotion among the Elders caught both Hyden and Gerard’s separate attention. The sun was setting, bathing the world in lavender and gold. Neither brother saw the other as they eased to the edge of the camp to investigate. As they drew nearer to each other though, Gerard, who had stayed away from Hyden all day long, gave his brother an almost apologetic look. Hyden noticed, and halfheartedly sneered, letting Gerard know that he might be forgiven, but the look in his eyes left no room for doubt that the intrusion into his mind would not be forgotten.

  “What is it?” Hyden asked his father.

  “Campfires down in the valley by the river’s swell,” Harrap replied. “Probably a group of traders coming up through the lower Evermore Forest, or maybe an envoy of competitors from one of the Eastern Kingdoms.”

  “A lot of fires for an envoy,” Condlin said.

  The man was not only tired from carrying his injured son all day long, he was exhausted from a deeper sort of wariness, the kind of fatigue that no amount of sleep could relieve.

  Hyden wondered what
his Uncle Condlin was going to say to his wife. He wondered what his own father would say to his mother if it was he or Gerard who had fallen. He glanced at his Uncle, who was looking right back at him, and a pang of sadness twisted in his guts. Condlin seemed as if he were about to speak, then suddenly, his expression went vacant, and he turned and stalked away. Hyden looked sharply at Gerard, wondering if his brother had just used the ring to send their Uncle to bed. He started to berate him, but caught himself when he realized that bed was exactly where uncle Condlin needed to be. It turned out that Gerard hadn't even been paying attention to Hyden and their Uncle. Gerard’s eyes were captivated by the tiny orange constellation of the fires down in the valley bottom.

  “How far are they from us?” Gerard asked their grandfather.

  “Most of a day’s walk, I’d guess,” the Elder replied. “We might do well to stay up and away from the river as we travel.” He turned to one of his older nephews. “At least until we know who they are.”

  Gerard wanted to ask why, but didn’t. Still the question formed in his mind. Without even intending to do so, he used the ring to send out the question, and immediately he felt the warm comforting tingle of magic rushing through his blood.

  “I have an ill feeling about that lot,” the Eldest said quietly. Then, the old man suddenly glanced at Gerard. His thick eyebrows narrowed for a moment. With a quizzical, contemplative look on his face, he walked over to the fire and received a bowl of food.

  It felt so good having the magic flowing through his body, that Gerard nearly forgot the fear he had felt the moment his grandfather had peered into his eyes. The old man’s gaze had been intense and penetrating, and Gerard’s heart hammered through his chest. It wasn’t the fear that his grandfather might know what he had done. It was the fear that if his grandfather found out about the ring, he might use his power as the Eldest to confiscate it. The idea that the old man was up to just that came flooding through Gerard in a tidal wave of paranoia. The curious look he saw on Hyden’s face at that moment made him think that his brother was in on it as well.

  A short while later, when the rush of power had subsided, Gerard moved away from them all. He found a place outside the firelight where he could watch the rest of the clan. He stayed there with his mind racing, watching over every movement his people made, until finally, late in the night, sleep crept up and snatched him away.

  He ended up dreaming of dark suspicious places, full of crude teeth and wings. Conspiracies hid in every shadow like hungry wolves waiting to chase him tirelessly through his fitful slumber.

  Hyden dreamed that night as well. Beneath him, vast stretches of sparkling blue ocean, and endless expanses of wavering, emerald grass all blurred together as he soared over them. He circled slowly, rising upward on drafts of sun warmed air, until he could touch the clouds with his wing tips, and the world below was merely a collage of multicolored smears. Then, he pulled his wings back and dove toward it all. The wind rushed through his long, black hair. His wings folded in even more with the speed of his descent. His eyes focused on a darting hare, as if he were right above it. He tilted and slowed on a banking turn to gain position on his prey, then dove again to attack in earnest. The unsuspecting rabbit grew in his eyes as he drew nearer. It sprang forward just as he opened his wings to stall his dive. It was a futile attempt to flee, Hyden’s claws were already gripping its wriggling body. As he lumbered away with the struggling weight of his dream kill, Hyden had to use all of his strength. He had to force his wings downward to keep himself aloft. Each wing beat was fought for as the weight of the carcass threatened to pull him down.

  Hyden woke to the hawkling's screeching call for food. The sun had not yet risen, but the sky was already painted in a copperish, pre-dawn glow.

  As he fed the chick the last of the fresh meat from the doe he’d killed, he wondered if the bird had dreamed the same dream he had. Strangely, the idea that he had just been allowed into one of the hawkling’s dreams came to him. Where the thought had come from he didn’t know, but he didn’t doubt the notion.

  One of his uncles, Corum, seemingly materialized out of nowhere before him. The man was winded and glazed with sweat, but still managed a smile. Hyden knew where Corum had been, so he positioned himself to eavesdrop, as the man told the Eldest what he had seen down by the river swell.

  “It’s an armed and armored party,” Corum said, with concern in his voice.

  “How many?” asked the Eldest.

  Hyden’s father, Harrap, and a few of the other Elders, were coming awake now.

  “What banner do they fly?” One of them asked, before Corum could answer the Eldest’s question.

  “I counted forty men, and half again as many horses.” Corum took a few deep breaths, and then continued. “By the looks of their gear, they are seasoned fighters, and they fly the Blacksword banner of Highwander.”

  The Eldest sighed audibly. “I wonder what Willa the Witch Queen, and her Blacksword soldiers are up to.”

  “Maybe they’re just here to compete at the festival?” Harrap suggested.

  “Aye,” Uncle Condlin grumbled. “And maybe all my sons will be there as well.”

  There was nothing any one could say to that.

  Chapter 8

  Mikahl heard a shout over the thrashing and splashing sounds the giant lizard-like creature was making in the pond. The sound might have come from the forest beyond the water, but it was hard to tell. Mikahl couldn’t be sure if it was a human voice, or just a strange bellow from the beast. “Hold!” it seemed to say, but if it was a person trying to halt Mikahl’s mad charge, they were far too late.

  The pack horse was just strong enough, or maybe just about heavy enough, to keep from being pulled back into the creature’s huge mouth by the long forked tongue that had wrapped around it. The struggling steed was going to break a leg, or worse, try to get away, so Mikahl didn’t even think about veering off of his present course. In fact, with his old sword raised high, he spurred Windfoot on faster.

  Another shout erupted from the far side of the clearing. This time, the voice was unmistakably that of an angry man. What he was trying to say though, Mikahl couldn’t understand. The words were drowned out by the beast’s slobbery, open mouthed attempt to roar.

  A grunting hiss filled the clearing as the creature lowered its upper half flat to the ground. The rest of it still trailed off into the water, thrashing for traction on the pond’s muddy bottom. It dug its fore claws into the ground with such a force that they sank into the soft earth and formed mounds as it pushed itself back towards the pond with all its might. Its long tongue constricted around the pack horse, and wet ropey strands of saliva dangled from the massive reptile’s open mouth. The monster’s intended prey was beginning to flounder.

  Mikahl was nearly to the pack horse now. He figured that if he could cut the lizard’s tongue completely through with one swing of his blade, then maybe the terrified horse could get away on its own. For whatever reason, the lizard beast was tethered to the limb stripped tree trunk, and couldn’t move further out into the clearing to give chase. It was straining mightily and shaking its head violently back and forth, trying to topple the pack horse. The problem, Mikahl realized, with his hastily planned attack, was that the lizard’s tongue was stretched across his path like a clothes-line. If he didn’t get his blade all the way through it on the first try, he would undoubtedly be unhorsed. He was only strides away now. It was too late to balk, and Windfoot was too close and charging too swiftly, to turn away. The many lessons of swordsmanship Mikahl had taken, under Master Aravan and Lord Gregory, flooded into his mind. All those days of hacking, slashing, and building his strength gave him confidence. He was sure he could make the swing he had to make. At least until the pack horse fell over, turning the lizard’s tongue from a clothes-line into a tripwire. Mikahl had made a terrible mistake. The creature had finally won its tug of war with the pack animal. The fallen horse slid right into Windfoot’s path and Mikahl didn’t kn
ow what to do. Being a well trained fighting horse, Windfoot leapt high and hard into the air. Mikahl wasn’t expecting the leap from the horse, and went sailing out of the saddle. Only his quick thinking got his feet out of the stirrups. The world spun around him, in a swirl of green, then blue, then green again. He saw the ground rushing up at him, and let his sword go so that he might use his hands to break his fall. The soft, grassy earth and the strength of his arms did little to cushion his impact though. Like a cliff diver going into the sea, he hit the ground coming straight down. The earth didn’t part for him as the water would for a diver though. Mikahl’s last sensation, before blackness engulfed him, was the back of his own hand crunching into his face. After that, there was nothing.

  “…yer pack! Get up man!” An insistent voice pierced through the throbbing blackness. “Come on man! Get up…Blast it all to the hells!”

  Mikahl tried to swallow and found that his mouth was full of dirt, grass, and blood. He nearly choked on it, and he could barely breathe. His eyes flew open, his body heaved to force the clod out of his airway. The world came back to him like a blow from a war hammer. He rose up onto his hands and knees, and heaved again. This time, the mess in his throat came spewing forth in a spray of stinking, crimson vomit.