Hyden had to explain to Mikahl how the elves felt about the humans, how human folly, over and over throughout time, had brought trouble to the lands, and how the elves had come to the rescue, again and again. He also tried to explain that unsheathed, Ironspike’s presence might bring more dark creatures down upon them at any moment.
Mikahl put the sword away, but he still fumed at the idea that they weren’t welcome in the elven forest city, or whatever it was. The fact that they were being detained out in the regular forest, while Vaegon gathered his things, appalled him.
“Here we are, going off to try and save the world from the likes of demons, and these fargin yellow-eyed bastards won’t even let us stop in for a visit!”
“Sounds like something my father would say,” Hyden said, more to himself than to Mikahl.
The wolves didn’t hunt that night, nor did Talon fly through the forest. They, and the companions, just waited there in the camp for Vaegon to return.
Hyden laid down, and stretched out to rest. The wolves, save for Grrr, did the same. Grrr sat close to Mikahl, who was sitting against his tree, with Ironspike lying sheathed across his lap. All around them, seen, and yet unseen, elves guarded their position. They didn’t do it in an obvious manner – they weren’t ringed around the group with drawn weapons – but they were there, and not trying to hide the fact completely. That glint of yellow eyes over there, a rustle of undergrowth, and a muffled whisper over here. They could have been utterly silent, Mikahl knew; he had observed the way the eased through the forest while they were leading him back to the camp earlier. He guessed that they had relaxed, and let their guard down, but didn’t understand why.
Hyden had caught up to Mikahl when he had come upon the distressed wolves and the armed elves, and just in the nick of time. Mikahl had been certain he was about to become an elven porcupine, and still his instinct had been to attack in order to defend the wolves. Hyden’s shout had been the only thing that had stopped him from it.
The elf called Deiter, who Mikahl later learned was Vaegon’s younger brother, explained the situation to Hyden, after they each had placed an open palm on the other’s chest, over the heart. After the gesture, bows lowered, and stances relaxed. Hyden spoke soothingly to the Great Wolves and calmed them enough for them to stay quiet. Reluctantly, Mikahl slid Ironspike back into its sheath, but unlike the elves, he didn’t relax his guard. Neither did Grrr.
There was no doubt that the elves didn’t want them there. It was plain in their expressions, and the way they narrowed those wild, yellow eyes. It was a look one might give after taking a big bite of a piece of rotten meat. Distaste.
Why was Vaegon so different? Mikahl asked himself. Maybe he’s not so different, maybe he just hides his feelings better. A glance down at the shoulder rig in his lap made him regret ever having that thought. Vaegon was different. The elf had been kind, thoughtful, and most helpful to him. Mikahl decided not to judge any of them yet. He didn’t have to like the way he was being treated, but he also didn’t have to blame the whole race of elves for this lack of hospitality.
He closed his eyes and used his breathing to clear the anger from his mind. He hadn’t gotten the chance that morning to go through his routine of exercises, something he had done relentlessly every day since Loudin had been killed. He needed that release of sweat and stress to balance his anger and fear. He knew that, if there was even a remote chance of beating the odds that were piling up against them, he would need total clarity to see it through.
How long he slept, he wasn’t sure, but he was startled awake by a nudge from Grrr’s cold wet nose, and the sound of Vaegon returning.
He must have slept for some time, because it was full night now. Vaegon had brought two other elves into the camp with him. One had silvery blue hair, which reflected in the camp fire’s light like icicles. The other’s hair was another shade of blue entirely. It was the color of a cloudless summer sky. This elf was ancient. He moved with a slight tremble, and his eyes were more amber than yellow, and had a depth to them that one might get lost in. He nodded at Hyden respectfully, and then looked directly at Mikahl. He spoke in the elven tongue, and Vaegon translated for him.
“It would be a great honor, friend, if you would allow me to look upon Pavreal’s sword with my own eyes.”
Mikahl looked at Hyden askance. Hyden nodded that it was all right.
Mikahl drew the sword. The soft, bluish glow was barely enough to light the radius of the camp, but it still caused a look of awe to form on the faces of the two older elves.
“Tell them, it’s no longer Pavreal’s sword,” Mikahl said sharply. “Ask him if it were Pavreal standing here, instead of me, this would have been a more courteous meeting. We’ve been traveling for weeks, and haven’t even been offered water.”
Mikahl’s words put a mortified look on Vaegon’s face, but a gentle urging from the older elf caused him to repeat them, word for word.
The old elf’s response was quick and hard.
“He said his grandfather helped to forge that blade, and that there is a cool, crisp stream only a stone’s throw from here.”
“Pavreal was my ancestor,” said Mikahl, who was still riled. “You all should be ashamed to be afraid to bring your grandfather’s work among your people, no matter what sort of trouble it might bring with it.”
The old elf listened to Vaegon’s translation, and then smiled sadly. After a moment, he spoke in a far softer tone. Again, Vaegon translated.
“He apologizes for the lack of hospitality and courtesy shown to you, to our group, to us. It was not his doing. He says that his wisdom is sometimes relied upon to make decisions, but he is not a true decider. The Queen Mother, after seeking the guidance of the forest, through the Heart Tree, made the decisions that offend you so much. He only wishes to lay his eyes upon the fruit of his grandfather’s labors. If it were up to him, the sword would be displayed at every gathering, and with pride and honor for its intent.”
Vaegon added his own words now.
“He is a respected man among my people, Mik, and one of the oldest of my kind. Please don’t be rude to Em Davow.”
Vaegon gestured at the forest full of glittering yellow eyes that surrounded them. “This is not his doing.”
“Then, I apologize for my rudeness,” Mikahl said, with a nod of his head. He took Ironspike by its glowing blade, and offered the hilt to Em Davow.
The instant he let go of the blade, the bluish glow vanished, leaving the insufficient dancing orange flames of the campfire to illuminate their faces.
The aged elf took the hilt, moved closer to the fire’s light, and studied the sword reverently. The fact that its magical inner radiance didn’t acknowledge him was a statement unto itself, and more than once Em Davow glanced up at Mikahl curiously.
The other elf and Hyden were having a quiet conversation. Mikahl saw the resemblances to Vaegon in Deiter and the older elf, and knew that he was their father. He took another long gaze at Em Davow then. If the ancient elf was related to Vaegon, it didn't show.
Mikahl hoped he hadn’t offended, or embarrassed Vaegon’s family. His intention had been to make the old elf aware that he disliked being guarded in the forest, when they might be bathing, eating a warm meal, or resting somewhere more comfortable. He also didn’t like the fact that the whole realm was currently threatened by some dark, and evil power, and the elves didn’t even seem to care.
“He says,” Vaegon started translating Em Davow’s words again. “He hopes that the evil we must face is swiftly defeated, and that after it is done, you might return. He hopes then that his tree can be open to you as it should be now.”
“Tell him,” Mikahl paused. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say.
Em Davow was probably full of ancient wisdom. It showed in his deep, amber eyes. Now that Mikahl’s anger wasn’t clouding his mind, he wished the meeting had started differently. He could have gleaned a thing or two from the ancient elf, if he had been a bit more diplomatic. Now, he felt too awkward to ask anything of him.
“Tell him, thank you,” was all he could think of, as he took Ironspike back and quickly inserted it into its sheath, before its glow became pronounced.
He felt more than a little ashamed at his inability to keep his anger from controlling his mouth. In a feeble attempt to reconcile his rudeness, he put his right hand out, stepped up to Em Davow, and placed his palm over the old elf’s heart. Em Davow returned the gesture, and then made a deep, respectful head bow, which surprised Vaegon. The fact that Mikahl was Pavreal’s sole heir, the rightful King of, not only Westland, but of the entire Seven Kingdoms, didn’t slip past the old elf.
“I think it’s time for us to be on our way,” said Hyden.
“Yes,” Vaegon agreed.
He was relieved, and as pleased as he was surprised, at the way Mikahl and Em Davow’s exchange had ended. He took a moment to introduce his father to Mikahl, while the camp was being broken. It was a short affair, with only names, and the human gesture of clasping hands taking place, which was fine with Vaegon.
Hyden paused his rigging of Urp’s pack harness only long enough to make the palm to heart gesture with Deiter, who had come out of the woods to escort his father and Em Davow back to the Elven Heart.
Before they left, Drent gave Vaegon a palm-sized leather pouch, and hugged his son fiercely. A few more goodbyes were spoken, and then the companions climbed onto the backs of the restless wolves and disappeared into the forest night.
Mikahl couldn’t help but reflect on the way Vaegon and his father had said farewell. It had seemed as if they both knew that they would never see each other again, or something equally as drastic. The idea of it left a hollow feeling in Mikahl’s gut that didn’t go away until long after the sun had filled the sky again.
They rode swiftly around the massive tree trunks of the deeper forest, over shrubs, and through silvery moonlit glades. Dawn broke quickly, but the wolves paid it no heed. They ran until well after midday, when the stored energy of the last few idle days started to wear off, and the heat started to get to them.
A mossy, pebble strewn creek ran through the forest where they stopped, and while the wolves lapped up bellies full of its cool water, Vaegon began making a ring of stones for a cook fire. He wasted no time gathering up some dead fall, and setting it to blazing. Then, he curiously took out a small tin pot from a pack he had taken from home, and began boiling water.
Huffa and Urp went off to hunt, and Hyden followed them for a while, from above, through Talon’s vision. Feeling the hawklings hunger, Hyden had the bird inspect the area around the camp. Once he was satisfied that there were no immediate dangers about, he let Talon go hunt for his own meal.
The hawkling had grown quite a bit, and was nearing full size. His appetite was amazing. Talon could eat most of a rabbit now in a single sitting, and be hungry again only a few hours later. It made sense though, Hyden thought. Talon’s outstretched wings were almost as wide as Hyden’s open arms, and if the hawkling were to stand on the ground beside him, its head would be just above his knees. The incredible amount of energy it took to sustain flight through the dense Evermore required a good bit of sustenance. There were no warm thermals to glide upon when racing through the trees with the Great Wolves.
“Here,” Vaegon offered Hyden a small tin cup of aromatic tea.
Mikahl was already sipping from his. The little leather pouch Drent had given his son, was lying open on a flat stone, and a smattering of dark leaves could be seen inside. The ingredients of this drink, Hyden could only guess. It was tart, but refreshing. It seemed to reach down into the nooks and crannies of Hyden’s body, and cleanse away the grit that had collected there over the years. After only a few sips, he found he was relaxed in a way he had never been before: not tired, yet soothed and content.
“I apologize to you all,” Vaegon said to them.
He was including the wolves in his apology, even though he wasn’t sure if they understood him, or cared to hear his words.
“You have to understand that my people are afraid. Their fierce pride causes them to recognize the emotion as anything but fear. The sword seems to draw the dark creatures to it, and if one of them were to find you in the Elven Heart, then this evil might learn where the Elven Heart truly exists. To allow the dark creatures to know that place, is to doom my people. The Heart Tree is rooted there, and without the heart tree, we cannot survive. Its location must forever remain secret to all but us. I hope you understand.”
Mikahl didn’t, but he held his tongue. Hyden, however, lived in a village that was built to remain hidden from the kingdom men and other dangerous things. He sort of understood, and nodded his understanding to his elven friend. Grrr yawned with a curling tongue, as if Vaegon’s words meant absolutely nothing to him.
Vaegon was about to continue, but was saved from the embarrassing subject, by a nod, and a tiny little screaming sound.
“That’s an odd sounding bird,” Mikahl said, with his ear cocked curiously to the sky.
“Was that cursing?” asked Hyden.
“Might have been,” Mikahl replied.
The little screaming voice was moving rapidly toward them, and coming from the level of the treetops. The sound was now obviously angry words, not some animal call, but the voice was little and childlike. The curses, however, could have been coming from a drunken seaman. The source of the voice suddenly became clear, and it was as astonishing as the sound itself.
Talon came swooping out of the trees from downstream, and was quickly approaching them. Clutched in his claws was the little creature that was causing the racket. It was a little man! A tiny little man!
Talon landed as softly as he could manage, then held the little guy pinned, shoulders under one claw, legs under the other. The bewildered companions stared, as the man grunted and huffed under Talon’s weight. The bird was forced to keep flapping his wings sporadically, as the little man squirmed, wiggled, grunted, and cursed.
Grrr rose quickly, and with a curious way about him, stuck his muzzle in close, and sniffed at Talon’s victim. His hackles rose, and he stepped back, snarling. The companions all had the same wide-eyed, open mouthed expression, but Hyden broke free of it and spoke to calm Grrr. He had to say a word or two of restraint to Oof, who was coming in close to investigate as well. The wolves’ reaction, Hyden could sense, was not from anger or a feeling of danger, but from a sense of uncertainty.
“Oh mighty mushrooms!” the little man chirped. “Let me be, let me be! I done naught to deserve to be a white-furred monster’s turd!”
Mikahl looked at Hyden and Vaegon in turn. Hyden was busy soothing the wolves, but Vaegon looked just as shocked as he felt. This only served to further Mikahl’s sense of disbelief at what he was seeing and hearing. This was the forest that Vaegon called home. Nothing in it should surprise him. But this did.
“Let him go!” Hyden ordered Talon aloud.
The hawkling obeyed, but only stepped back off of the little man. Talon kept behind him, ready to snatch him back up, should he try to make a run for it.
The little guy stood up, and dusted his britches off indignantly. They were a faded green color, as was his vest. The garments looked to be made from frog skin, or maybe leaf lizard hide. On his tiny feet, were leather sandals, and his hair and beard were gray and neatly trimmed.
“Who? What are you?” asked Hyden.
“I’m minding my own business, is who I am!” He chirped back angrily. “What’s a sorry lot like you bothering with peaceful folk out here anyway?”
“Sorry lot!” Mikahl shot, as he sat up and loomed in on the little man.
The little man pointed at Vaegon first.
“An elf, who can’t see straight, and a wizard, who can’t read.”
His finger had moved to Hyden. Then he pointed at Mikahl.
“And what’s this? A king with no kingdom!” the little man clutched at his belly and laughed with mock hysteria.
“Callin ya a sorry lot is being far too kind!”
“I ought to let the wolves eat – ” Mikahl started, but cut himself off abruptly when the little man’s eyes widened, and he pointed up and over Mikahl’s head. The tiny man’s mirth had vanished, and his jaw hung slack in a gasp of terror.
“A dragon!” he squeaked. “Mighty mushrooms, no!”
They all turned and looked right into the sun; even the wolves had followed the little man’s finger. The brightness of it put colorful, blooming patches in their eyes. By the time any of them had blinked the searing splotches away, the little man was darting into the leafy underbrush at the tree line with Talon hot on his heels.
Mikahl had to laugh at the clever trick the rude little guy had played on them. Vaegon, however, didn’t seem to think it was funny. Hyden was too busy seeking out Talon’s vision to react, but he was smiling like a boy with a piece of cake.
Hyden and Talon followed for a bit, but finally lost the little man in the underbrush. Grrr offered to follow the scent trail, but Hyden told the leader of the wolf pack to let the little man be.
They spent the evening talking about the event, as if it had been a hallucination brought about by Vaegon’s tart tea. The elf assured them that it wasn’t the drink.
“One of the fairy folk,” was his explanation.
He said that several races of the fabled little people lived in the Evermore Forest. Fairies, sprites, gnomes, and pixies had once lived all over these lands. But he had to admit that this was the first time he had ever seen one of them firsthand.
They rode again after sunset, and did the same the following few days as well. The wolves took turns hunting, and Vaegon had assumed the role of camp cook.
Hyden spent the down time trying to make sense of the letters Vaegon was teaching him. Mikahl, as was his daily ritual, woke and went through the grueling series of exercises each evening before they started off.
At the end of the fourth day’s run, around midmorning, they came upon what they thought was only a large clearing, or a break in the forest, but to their great surprise, the Evermore Forest had come to an end. Beyond the tree line, the landscape rolled away gently. A mild, emerald sea of low, rounded grassy hills, dotted here and there with small copses of poplars and oaks, spread out before them. A herd of some sort of brown and white domesticated beasts grazed on a fenced hillside to the south and to the west, and even further away, a cloud of gray smoke rose up from what looked to be a small city, or at least a large grouping of buildings. It was too far away to say for certain.
To their left, or eastward, the hills grew sharper, and up thrusts of grayish white stone could be seen among the larger clutches of trees. Farther away to the east, the Evermore wrapped its dense vitality around the base of a small range of mountains, the tops of which showed only the slightest bit of snow capping.
Being that the night’s traveling was already near to an end, they eased back into the forest a safe distance, and made camp.
Hyden, watched through Talon’s eyes, as the hawkling rose up into the heights over the edge of the forest. The prospect of seeing an actual city excited Hyden no end, and it was to the southwest, where they had seen the rising cloud of smoke, that he urged the hawkling to explore first.
As Talon gained altitude, Hyden saw that not too far to the south of their camp was what he decided was a road. It ran east to west, curving as it followed the valleys, and skirted the larger of the hills. It was wide, and looked well traveled. On the road, a good ways east, the dust cloud from a train of wagons moved away, but to Hyden, they looked to be the size of beetles crawling across a mossy creek bed.
As Talon neared the city, Hyden saw another group of wagons. These had riders on horseback darting around them, and they were coming out of a crude picket wall that was built around the heart of the place. Outside of the wall, a few dwellings could be seen, some with fields of crops around them in rows, others with large fenced in animal pens. Inside the wall there was a huddle of roofs, and smaller yards, some larger than others, but far more crowded together than Hyden had expected.
The road cut through the town and out the western side of the wall. It ran due east, into a finger of the Evermore Forest, which clung to the banks of a southward flowing river. The road split at the river, one path going across a small wooden wagon bridge that spanned the modest flow, the other going south following the river’s course. Both of those roads were empty of travelers as far as the hawkling’s eyes could see.
Talon swooped down lower, and circled over the town. It was nearly deserted, and several of the buildings within the walls were burning. A few were already charred and blackened husks. As Talon turned back towards the east, Hyden saw that the wagon train going out of the gates was surrounded by armed and armored soldiers. The banners they displayed were white with Highwander’s Blacksword emblem emblazoned on them. Hyden shuddered. These were Willa the Witch Queen’s men. Hyden noticed that the women and children, some riding in the wagons, some on horses of their own, didn’t appear to be afraid of the Blacksword Warriors though. It became clear that the soldiers were protecting these people’s passage. Protecting them from what? Hyden wondered. Talon circled up high again, riding the waves of heat from the buildings burning in the town. In moments, he was up in the clouds, soaring back towards camp, just a tiny speck in the sky above the road.
Hyden was disappointed. He had been looking forward to seeing how so many people, cramped inside the walls of a city, interacted with each other. All he had seen in the city was a few dozen men loading up a few wagons, and a few ducks and chickens running loose in the empty streets. He decided not to give up, but to follow the road eastward for a while, instead of going back to camp just yet. He was glad he did, because what he found was a sight that amazed him even more than the little fairy man had.
Nestled in a green valley, at the base of the eastern mountains, was a massive hub of buildings, and life. From Hyden’s great vantage point, the city looked almost like an archery target. The center was a mass of white stone buildings and towers with shiny sparkling rooftops. In front of the main structure sat a deep sapphire-blue lake, with a fountain spraying up out of its middle. Several walls ringed that center jewel. The innermost was wide enough to drive a wagon along the top of, and the taller outer wall was as wide, if not wider, than several of the roads that led up to the various gates. Between the walls were squares and rectangles of brown, red and gray split by narrow roads that were speckled with busy people. To Hyden, they looked like ants scurrying around a mound.
From the south, other roads, three of them, led into the ringed walls like the spokes of a wagon wheel. Hyden urged Talon to dive down into the city for a closer look, but something large and dark passed beneath them. It was big and bat like, easily twice the size of the hellcat they had faced in the mountains. Luckily, neither the dark beast, nor its horn-helmed rider, seemed to notice the tiny hawkling gliding above it.
The thing’s aura was hot, and repulsive. It exuded evil and malice freely. What was worse was that it was heading on a northwesterly course, directly towards the camp. From above, Mikahl followed it for a while just to be certain. When he was sure, he pulled himself out of the hawkling, and as a thick feeling of fear and dread threatened to overwhelm him, he warned the others. It was coming for Mikahl’s sword.
“Make ready to fight!” he said sharply, as he made his way to the pile of packs that Urp had been carrying. “Something huge, and evil, is winging its way towards us.”
He described the creature and its rider as he strung the elven longbow Vaegon had given him.
Grrr rose to his feet and started pacing anxiously. The other wolves watched him, awaiting his command with alert eyes, high pricked ears, and ready stances.
Vaegon took out a long skinny pouch, and made to dump the contents onto the ground in front of him. Three arm-length shafts of intricately carved wood, and a wicked looking curved and serrated blade fell out of it. In a matter of moments, he had threaded them together into a pike-like bladed staff, which was a head taller than he was. He made a few thrusts with it to check its balance.
“I’m ready!” he said when he was satisfied.
Mikahl reached over his shoulder, and grasped Ironspike’s hilt. He didn’t want to draw it, and have its magic give away their position. Feeling that it was there, was enough for now.
“Let it begin then,” he said harshly, remembering the brutal message he had sent when he had crippled the hellcat, instead of killing it.
He pictured King Balton, all sweaty and breathless, dying on his bed. Then, he pictured Lord Gregory, sprawled out on the ground, his bloody body so swollen and broken that it was almost unrecognizable as human. Then, the scalding image of Loudin of the Reyhall forced its way through. His friend’s guts hung in the trees, as he clung onto the sword, with the last tendrils of his life spilling away from him.
Mikahl seethed with rage and anticipation. He felt nothing resembling fear at the moment. He was eager to face whatever it was that was coming. Through teeth clenched as tightly as a closed vice, he repeated the words again
“Let it begin!”