“I don’t know how much you know about what’s going on,” King Aldar said after they had all eaten. “I think it would be best if I just tell you everything I can remember.”
The sun had long since left the sky. From behind a small bank of clouds, a half moon shone brightly, lining its edges in silver. Around that, hundreds upon hundreds of twinkling stars spread out as far as the eye could see. The air was chilly, but the fire was warm and blazing brightly.
Hyden used his bedroll to make a palette for Princess Greta, who insisted on sleeping near the horses. The horses didn’t mind the oversized girl so much as they minded the wolves, who were constantly watching over her. Mikahl and Hyden had done their best to soothe the animals, and for the moment, they seemed to be at relative ease.
“The blood recently shed on the sacred ground of the Leif Greyn Valley, around the Monolith, violated a pact that was made a very long time ago.”
The Giant King produced a pipe from a pocket inside his fur. He looked into its chamber, seemed satisfied with what he saw, and then lit it with a flaming twig from the fire. The chamber glowed as he puffed, and a billowy cloud escaped his mouth as he continued.
“Four, or maybe five, centuries ago, I forget exactly, but it’s not important. Way back then, a foolishly curious human wizard called forth a demon. This demon came to the earth unbound, and it quickly consumed that wizard’s soul. I forget the wizard’s name, but what’s important is that he was the High King’s Wizard.
“After tapping all of the wizard’s knowledge, the demon consumed the High King. His name I remember. King Steven he was called. He started war upon war, and by the blood of the dead, called forth more of his demon kind until he had an entire army of dark beings to command.
“It is also said that those human warriors, whose hearts and battlefield deeds were cruel enough, were sometimes granted a dark gift as well. When they were mortally wounded, they didn’t die. As undead, they fought on, and the Demon King’s army grew stronger and stronger, attacking us, the elves, and even the dwarves, when they could root them out of their holes.
“The Demon King was an abomination to all that is natural, and eventually even the dragons, who rarely meddled in human affairs, took offense at the dark power he had amassed. The elves lent their unique might, as did the dwarves, and of course the humans. Together, they battled the dark hordes, for what seemed like an age. Back and forth the battles turned, back and forth, until it began to seem like a hopeless fight.
“The demons were winning, even when they were being beaten on the fields. The very act of fighting them, of defending oneself, gave those dark things a feast of hatred and fear to feed upon.”
Hyden, excited and into the story, almost blurted out, “What happened then?” but he caught himself, remembering who it was that was speaking.
“Then one day,” the Giant King continued, “a human man came forth, a brave swordsman who was willing to give his life to right the wrong the human wizard had committed. He really just wanted vengeance for the death of his lover, but the bards, I think, like to leave that part out of it. He wasn’t afraid to die trying to exact his revenge though, so that gave him a sort of power over the demons.”
“Pavreal,” Hyden said aloud. He flushed darkly at the stern glances King Aldar, Mikahl, and Borg gave him for his interruption.
“Yes, Hyden Hawk, Pavreal,” King Aldar finally nodded.
Hyden blushed even harder hearing the King of Giants use his nickname. He glared daggers at Vaegon, who had a slight grin on his feral looking face.
“He was also known as a Marked One. ‘The Marked One’ really. As a child, he’d been a pit slave in one of the Demon King’s forge furnaces, and the soot and ash that that settled in the whiplashes that crossed his back healed, leaving him marked with stripes like some wild beast.”
Mikahl thought of Loudin and his tattoo striped-body. He didn’t think the Seawardsman had ever been a slave. Maybe it was a religious thing, or a rite of passage. He remembered something from his lessons about why those southern men marked themselves, though he couldn’t recall what it was at the moment; something to do with the sea, maybe? He chided himself for not paying better attention to his lesson master. Then, he chided himself for not paying better attention to King Aldar. He didn’t want to miss any of what the King was saying, so he shoved the abstract thoughts out of his mind for now, and listened.
“…such was Pavreal’s hatred of the Demon King.”
King Aldar paused, and puffed deeply on his pipe. He exhaled a fat, swirling ring of smoke, watched it waver and rise for a moment, and then blew it into a misshapen cloud. His eyes fell to rest on Ironspike.
The small section of exposed blade was glowing softly, bathing Mikahl’s side and upper thigh in pale, blue light. King Aldar’s brows narrowed, then he brought his gaze up and gave Mikahl a look that conveyed the importance of what he was about to say.
“A great gathering of the leaders of all the races was held, and a decision was made. A plan was formed. We giants supplied the purest of ores that these mountains hold: iron, titanium, and silver, among others. The dwarves forged the metal under dragon’s fire, and the elves weaved spell after spell into the weapons that were made that day. Then once the items had been dipped in the magical waters of Whitten Loch, the great human wizard, Killton Alx, put enchantments on them as well.
They were still far too hot for a man to handle though. They were placed on a block of Wardstone, in a secret cavern in the eastern range of mountains beyond Xwarda. After almost a year, they finally cooled, and then the War Hammer of Doon, the Arrows of Tayllah, and the Sword Errion Spightre were ready. The name Ironspike grew out of the old language’s strange pronunciation of ‘Errion Spightre,’ which means Demon Fighter, in the old tongue of lore.”
Hyden wanted badly to ask where the Hammer of Doon and the arrows were now, but was afraid to draw the wrath of the Giant King.
Mikahl looked down at the blade glowing at his hip, trying to imagine dragon’s fire bathing it while dwarves hammered it into shape. He couldn’t quite fathom such a thing.
“To get to the point of the matter,” King Aldar continued through another cloud of pipe smoke. “Pavreal somehow used the sword to draw the demon’s essence out of King Steven. Then he, and the wizard, Killton Alx, went to the place in the southern marshes we giants call the Black Tooth, and made a passageway back into the world of darkness. They put a lock on this passage that they called the Seal. The demon was banished from the blade through this Seal, back into the hellish Nethers where it came from.
Pavreal hunted demons with the sword his whole life. Each time he took one, he brought it to the Seal, and banished it back to the darkness. Pavreal had become the unquestioned leader of the campaign against the demon hordes, and soon all the humans eventually called him King. For an age, hope prevailed, while things were rebuilt and restored. Slowly, the dark things that lingered, were hunted down, and sent back into the hell from which they had come.
“Generations passed, and it was learned that the demon, while in King Steven’s body, had spawned several children. They had children, and the demon seed was passed on. Most of those demon-kin were only mildly evil in nature. They lived as slavers, tyrant lords, or dabblers in the dark arts. Nothing seriously dangerous to the world, but then came Shokin. Birthed from a half penny whore, and more demon than man, Shokin was obsessed with reopening the seal. Eventually, he found a way to do it. That was just two and a half centuries ago.
“Shokin was no fool. He bound the power of the greater demons to himself as he released them, and used their power as his own. Once he had gathered enough power, he stole their essences, and killed them. The things he did, the horrors he committed, the evils, the torments, and all the sinister connivery he brought to the world, earned the respect of the Abbadon. The Hell-god himself granted Shokin eternal life, by making him a fully fledged demon.
“He was eventually pulled onto Ironspike’s magical blade by your ancestor King William, but not before he had destroyed much of the land, and divided the kingdom into all its warring factions.
For years to come, the seeds of his subtle lies and deceit would keep sprouting. This time, when the demon essence was banished into the seal, a wizard summoned a dragon, and with King William, they made a blood pact. The dragon, not wanting to be trapped by the pact forever, made stipulations. For some reason that only dragons know, dragons have a deep regard for the Monolith in the Leif Greyn Valley, and since that dragon knew that the humans gathered there every year, and knew that sooner or later there would be a bloody battle, it chose that as the focal point of its conditional binding to guard the seal.
As long as the humans continued to meet every year in peace, and shed no innocent blood in the earth of the Sacred Valley, the dragon would guard the Seal so that no other could come along and open it as Shokin had. Recently, the pact was broken.”
King Aldar nodded questioningly at Borg. The Southern Guardian gave a short grim nod of agreement in return.
“The dragon no longer guards the Seal,” the Giant King continued. “I fear it has been opened. I fear that Shokin may be loose again. We all know firsthand that some of the lesser devils and dark creatures are about.”
“These things, these hellcats, wyverns, and hell boars, are only minions. They’re being sent and commanded by some far greater evil.”
The Giant King shifted positions, and gazed at Mikahl square in the face.
“What your father intended for me to tell you is meaningless now. He wanted me to help you take Glendar and Pael out of power, to help seat you on the throne of Westland, but the kingdom cannot be your concern anymore. The fate of all the kingdoms has been placed upon your shoulders.”
After another long pull on the pipe, followed by a heavy sigh, King Aldar finished what he was telling.
“In the place called Coldfrost, a few years back, your father used Ironspike’s power to create a boundary. This was done for the sake of my kingdom, as well as Westland, so I am indebted.
In the letter you carried to me, King Balton wrote that the act of creating that boundary drained the sword’s power almost completely. One of the things he wanted you to do, something that you still must do, now more than ever, is rejuvenate the blade.
You must take Ironspike to the secret chamber where its Wardstone cradle is hidden, and let it replenish its strength there. It will draw power from the cooling stone until it is saturated again. Only then, will you be able to use it to banish Shokin back into the Nethers.”
King Aldar turned to face Hyden. His expression was stern and grave. Hyden’s eyes were open wide and his jaw was slack. King Aldar had his full attention.
“As with any resident in my kingdom, Hyden Hawk of the Skyler Clan, you were born free, so I will not command you to do anything. But, I will ask that you accompany King Mikahl on his journey, and that you protect, and aide him as best as you can in my stead.”
“Yes, your majesty,” Hyden said.
He found he regretted ever teasing Mikahl about having courtly manners. He was glad at the moment that he had learned from Mikahl the simple response he had just given.
“How will I find the secret cavern?” asked Mikahl. “How will I fight a demon? Will you not help us?”
“I’m helping you now!” King Aldar snapped, a little more harshly than he intended.
He liked humans well enough, especially King Balton, Lord Gregory, and the great fat lord of the marshlands in the south, but for the most part, humans irritated him, badly.
Mikahl was special though, and for some reason, that irritated him even more. He softened his voice, and a smile that was only half forced, came to his lips.
“If the time comes when Errion Spightre cannot cleanse the land, then yes, we giants will go to war against demon kind. Until that time comes, I am bound by the ancient traditions of my people to stay out of human affairs. We gave the precious metals used to make the blade. That is all we could or can do, until we as a race are actually threatened by this dark force. I will repay our debt to your father, though, for his aid in imprisoning the foul Wedjakin Breed at Coldfrost.
“The cooling cavern is in the eastern range of mountains, in the Kingdom of Highwander. Its precise location is a secret, but the sword itself should lead you to the exact location. To even our debt with King Balton, I can help you get there in a handful of days, where it would take you more than a full cycle of the Moon or more, to get there on your own.”
“But what of Shokin?” Mikahl asked, with uncertainty and confusion showing plainly on his face. “How do we kill it, or trap it, or whatever?” He looked to Vaegon for help, but the elf only shrugged and nodded for Mikahl to pay attention.
“In the ancient city of Xwarda, the capital of Highwander, there’s a place called Whitten Loch.” said King Aldar. “It’s just a lake, but there’s a little known temple there as well. You might seek the wisdom of the White Goddess there. She will be able to tell you more. It is said that there is a prophecy pertaining to the breaking of the Dragon’s Pact. If there really is a prophecy, then she would know it.”
King Aldar’s expression showed that he wished he could help Mikahl further, but could not.
“I would advise you to seek her out,” he finally said, knowing that it was the best advice he could give.
“She said that the whole of prophecy has been fractured!” Hyden interrupted, with a voice full of concern. “The White Goddess said I was supposed to have the ring that my brother ran off with and -”
His voice trailed off as Gerard’s destination came to his recollection. The place King Aldar had called the Black Tooth had to be Dragon Tooth Spire. Hyden was suddenly overcome by dread.
“My brother went with a Dakaneese woman to the Dragon Spire to try and steal a dragon’s egg. She had to know that the pact you spoke of would soon be broken, because they left the day before the Highwander Blacksword soldiers started the blood flowing at the monolith.”
Borg, who had been sitting in the near darkness at the edge of the firelight, spoke for the first time since they had eaten.
“My spies tell me that a woman invaded Westland immediately after King Glendar rode his whole army across the Locar Bridge to attack Wildermont. They call her the Dragon Queen, because she rides on the back of a great red fire wyrm. Could this be the Dakaneese woman?”
Hyden tried to answer Borg at the same time that Mikahl tried to ask a question, but the Giant King’s deep voice cut over both of them.
“It’s clear then, that the White Goddess knows far more of this than I,” King Aldar huffed.
He tapped the dying embers out of his pipe on the rock at his feet, and put it back into his pocket, and then looked Hyden.
“If your little brother had any part in opening that Seal, then you will bring him before me for judgment when this is all done. Is that clear?”
Hyden felt like he was about to vomit and the harsh look on King Aldar’s face filled him with fear for his brother.
“I understand,” he said with a gulp, then quickly added “Your Majesty.”
“I am honor bound to accompany Hyden Hawk,” Vaegon said respectfully. “Since we must travel east anyway, would it be possible for us to stop in the Evermore? I would like to share with my people this dire news, and ask for their advice on these matters. It would only take a day, at the most, and I think what the slight delay will cost us in time, will be made up tenfold in the end of things.”
“It can be so,” the Giant King said, as he rose to his feet. “You must decide now, Mikahl.”
Looking down, he gave both Hyden and Mikahl, stern and imposing looks.
“Each moment it is loose, the demon grows stronger, and every time you’re forced to use that sword, the blade grows weaker. By my dragon-bone staff, you’ll leave with the speed of wolves on the morrow, if that is the path you choose. If you choose another way, then on the morrow we will bid you farewell.”
With that said, he found a relatively smooth stretch of earth under the trees, and lay down, leaving the companions alone in the fire’s light.
In the shadows, Borg rose, and took his leave as well. It was a long while before any of them dared to speak.
Hyden couldn’t stop worrying about Gerard. What had his little brother gotten himself into? The old soothsayer had said that he would find the power to lead legions in the depths of the Dragon Spire, but those depths were where all the demons and devils had been banished to. And the ring! How would he ever get it back from Gerard? The White Goddess said that it must be done. What if Gerard wouldn’t willingly give it to him?
It was too much to think about all at once. He knew he would do what must be done, but he chose not to think about how terrifying it might be, or how hard it would be to actually do it.
Oh Gerard, what have you done little brother? He asked the question in his head, over and over. He wondered if Shaella, the beautiful Dakaneese fighter that had recruited Gerard, was the dragon rider Borg had spoken of. He wondered if Gerard was alive, and at her side, or if he had chased his foolish dreams into the darkness of the Nethers.
He glanced at Mikahl across the fire. Had his own brother helped take Mikahl’s kingdom? He shook his head, hoping to clear some of the questions away. He knew what he had to do for now. The White Goddess had told him to follow his heart, so that’s what he was going to do. The choice was Mikahl’s to make.
“I’ll see it through with you, Mik,” he said softly. “To whatever end we come to.”
“And I as well,” Vaegon added.
“Then it’s decided.” Mikahl’s voice was firm. He had already sworn to avenge Loudin’s and Lord Gregory’s deaths, as well as King Balton’s. King Balton’s death, he figured, was on Glendar’s hands, but the others had been killed by demon kind. Still, he was certain that all three deaths were rooted in the same sort of evil. He hoped that the White Goddess would help them. He also hoped that the people of Westland were all right. It troubled him deeply, to think that King Balton’s good and loyal subjects were under the command of some dragon riding wench.
They didn’t post a watch that night, because they knew the Great Wolves were guarding them, but long after everyone was asleep, Vaegon was still awake and busy. First, with writing the day’s passage into his journal, then later, mending and remaking what he had retrieved for Mikahl earlier that day in the forest.
The next morning, Mikahl was up before dawn, going through his rigorous array of exercises with Ironspike. The pack of wolves found this curious, and had formed a ring around him. They watched the display of will and dexterity from their haunches intently. King Aldar sat up and watched as well. When Mikahl was finished, the King approached him, and spoke quietly.
“You’re going to replenish the sword then?” he asked the question, even though Mikahl had made the answer plainly clear with the intensity of his workout.
“Aye, King Aldar,” Mikahl spoke, as if speaking to an equal. “Is it not the only choice to make? Ironspike will do me little good without its power. What’s a plain old sword against a demon or a dragon? I’ll need all the help I can get.”
“That you will.” The Giant King gave Mikahl a fatherly pat on the back, his huge hand touching both shoulder-blades at the same time.
“I have something for you. It was going to be a gift for your father, a token of gratitude for walling back those half-breeds at Coldfrost.”
He produced a thick gold chain. On it, hung a medallion made of the same yellowed bone as his wolf’s head staff.
“This is dragon bone. It has some power of protection to it, a charm so to speak,” he said, as he leaned down and placed it over Mikahl’s head.
Mikahl took the piece of dragon bone in his hand, and examined it more closely. It was the size of his palm, and carved in the shape of a lion’s head. Its mane was worked with golden inlays, and the eyes were two sparkling emeralds. It was beautiful. Mikahl tucked it away into his shirt, and bowed in thanks to the towering giant. Already, he was trying to think of a way to protect the piece from the chain mail shirt he favored. It wouldn’t do to scratch and scar such a wonderful gift while in battle.
When Vaegon woke, Mikahl received another gift. The elf had gone out into the forest and found where the hellcat had dropped Ironspike’s original sheath. The belt was ruined, and the scabbard itself damaged, but Vaegon had taken part of Duke Fairchild’s sword belt and sheath, and made a shoulder rig for Mikahl to use. It fit awkwardly, placing Ironspike’s blade across his back diagonally, so that its hilt jutted up just over his right shoulder, but it worked. The whole of the blade fit perfectly into the familiar, hardened leather scabbard, and what’s more, the sword’s magic went dormant when it was seated, as it was supposed to do. Thus, the sword wasn’t slowly losing what little power it had left when it wasn’t being used.
Mikahl drew the blade several times, and figured that he would grow to like the accessibility that the shoulder rig gave him. With deep gratitude, he thanked Vaegon for the kind gesture.
They learned that they would be riding on the wolves’ backs, across the thousand miles that separated them from the eastern mountain range. It excited, but pained Mikahl, because he would have to say goodbye to Windfoot.
Borg promised to take the horses back to the Skyler Clan village, where he would personally enlarge the entry of one of the herd caverns, so that the horses could survive the bitter winter if they needed to. Still, it was a long and slightly tearful goodbye for Mikahl, one that brought tears to Princess Greta’s eyes, and Hyden’s as well. It was as if Mikahl was saying goodbye to everything he had ever known.
Neither Hyden, nor Vaegon, had ever ridden a horse, much less a Great Wolf. Straddling one of the huge husky creatures on their bare backs was strange to Mikahl as well. A fourth wolf was rigged up to carry the saddle bags and blankets. They ate what remained of the doe the wolves had killed the evening before. Then, King Aldar introduced each of the animals to the companions by name. After a brief exchange of goodbyes, including a girlish kiss on Talon’s beak from the princess, they were off.
They covered over a hundred miles that first day. It was amazing how swift and sure the Great Wolves ran, even with the weight of grown men on their backs. By the end of the third day, they came out of the foothills of the Giant Mountains, right into the legendary and mystical Evermore Forest. The thick, lush canopy came as a welcome relief, for it had started to rain that last day in the mountains. By the looks of the dark, cloudy sky, it wouldn’t stop for some time.
Even with the sad state of affairs, and the dreary weather, Vaegon found that he was excited. He was on familiar ground now. Even the myriad dangers the Evermore Forest harbored, seemed to welcome him. Home, the elf decided, was like that.