His father smiled, and gave an approving nod.
“That is the first of many wise decisions I hope you make son.”
Hyden understood the desire the Elders of his Clan had to win the archery competition, at least in theory. The seriousness, and vigor with which they pursued victory year after year, though, was beyond him. For generations, the Skyler Clan’s hunters had been the greatest archers in the realm. The Elders spoke of those times often, but, it had been before Hyden was born. The elves, who hadn’t been heard from for almost a hundred years, returned to the Evermore Forest the same year Hyden was conceived. Where they had disappeared to, or why they had come back, no one really knew, but since their return, they had dominated the Summer’s Day archery competition. Even stranger, was the fact that it was the only competition they had ever entered.
The elves insisted, in their haughty way, that the title had always been theirs. They said that the only reason the Skyler Clan had ever won, was because they had been tending to a different forest, and hadn’t been competing. The Eldest remembered it differently. He spoke of years long ago, when even the elven archers had been bested by the Skyler Clan’s hunters.
The Clan respected the elves as a people. In ancient times, they had even fought together side by side with the giants and the kingdom men against evil. They just couldn’t stand the fact that the elves hadn’t been beaten in such a long time, that only a few of the Elders could remember a Skyler Clan victory.
It was said that the annual contest had been around longer than the human race. From the time that man had begun to record history with parchment, quill, and ink, on the first day of Summer every year, in the sacred Leif Greyn Valley, under the shadow of the great, black monolith, called simply the Spire, the people of the realm had come together in peace to celebrate the spirit of life and competition. There were sword fighting and jousting competitions, as well as the three stone throw and the great tree pull. Over the last few decades, the biggest event had become the Bare Fisted Brawl. The Brawl drew a crowd as big as any that had ever been gathered. Like the elves though, the Skyler Clan had only one competitive interest: the archery competition.
Traders of all sorts came to the Summer’s Day Festival and set up wagon stores or pavilion tents to sell and display their wares. Horses and cattle were judged and marketed. Storytellers, bards, and puppeteers, as well as fortune-tellers, magi, and charlatans ran rampant. It was a festive gathering, in a mostly wholesome atmosphere, and it was the highlight of the Skyler Clan’s year.
Hyden knew he had to do well. He was sure that anything short of a win would disappoint his people. They had been trading at Summer's Day since the beginnings, since the time they say it all began. The Summer’s Day Festival was where the harvested hawkling eggs were always sold, and where the goods and supplies that the mountains didn’t provide the Clan were purchased, but the archery tournament was all that really mattered. The event had become the Elder’s passion, and over the last few years; winning it had become an obsession.
The winners of each event, each year, not only won a small fortune in gold, they also had their name carved in the base of the spire for all to see. Hyden remembered standing at the base last year while his grandfather read the list of names. He had pointed out the Clan members as he came to them. For quite a few years in a row, it had been only his ancestors who had won the archery competition, and his grandfather was one of them. Then, for the last eighteen years straight, there were only elven names; Vagion, Droitter, Pattoom, and Ghanderion, all of them strange sounding and hard to pronounce. Hyden wanted badly to win this year, not for himself, but for his people. He had to admit though, he wouldn’t mind having his name etched and immortalized into the spire for all of eternity.
“Don’t take all the liver!” an angry, youthful voice barked out at him.
Hyden was jolted from his trance by the words. He had been thinking about what it might be like if he could actually win this year.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
He was unintentionally hoarding the good meat of a kill that wasn’t his own. With an apologetic grin, he took a few of the dark strips of liver meat he had cut and added them to the bright red strips of loin in his hand. He then made his way back to his father’s hut. Hyden’s head was still hurting and he felt a little dizzy. He wondered if the daydream that he had slipped off into was brought about by his head wound. He felt odd. It was a feeling he couldn’t quite describe even to himself. A moment later, he found himself staring down at the strips of meat in his hands. How had cutting so little of the stuff gotten his hands so bloody?
Gerard was waiting for him back at the hut. By the way his little brother was fidgeting and squirming in the chair, Hyden could tell something was amiss. He intentionally ignored Gerard for the moment and went about draping the strips of meat over the top edge of the bucket. The little bird woke with a screech, began stretching its neck and reaching up towards the meal. A recognition of instinct washed over Hyden, but he couldn’t quite grasp how he understood the feeling. It was like a fond memory of a favorite food. Only this longing was for a taste that he was sure he had never savored before. He wanted to eat the raw liver himself. Strange.
“Hyden!” Gerard half yelled, half whispered. “Come here, listen to me.”
After making sure that the hawkling could get at all of the strips by itself, he took a seat at the table and gave Gerard his full attention.
Gerard told Hyden, with a voice full of equal parts of excitement and fear, how he had sent Uncle Pylen off with the magical ring and a thought. He went on to tell him how the same sort of thing had worked on their father only a moment ago by the cook fire. Gerard said that their father had eased up to him and asked him if there was anything that he wanted to talk about, and said that if there was, that he would be willing to listen. Gerard had just mustered enough courage to put the ring back on, and after the incident with Pylen, he didn’t want to talk to his father about it yet.
“I told him in my mind to go ask Sharoo the same question,” Gerard said with huge eyes and waving hands. “He did! He just up and walked over to Sharoo and started talking to him. I felt the ring tingle through me Hyden. I felt it make it happen. I swear it.”
“Bah,” Hyden was doubtful. He could usually tell when Gerard was lying or exaggerating, but strangely enough, his brother seemed to be telling the truth.
“I’ll believe you if,” he paused for a moment, thinking, and a devilish grin slowly crept across his face. “Come on. Prove it to me.”
They both hurried outside. Hyden searched the groups of men and boys milling about for someone in particular. Gerard followed nervously, with one hand covering the ring. Hyden led them to the far side of the lodging grounds.
“There, over by the well,” he pointed. “Do you see Tevar, and his brother, Darry?”
“Yeah, I see them,” Gerard answered, wondering what his brother was up to.
“Make Tevar go tell Sharoo what he did with Sharoo’s sister the night before we left the village.”
A wide grin spread across Gerard’s face. This would be great.
“Call them over here.”
Hyden did. When they were all standing close, Hyden struck up a conversation.
“So how was your harvest Tevar? Darry?”
“I got four eggs,” Tevar said proudly.
“Three for me. I could’ve had two more, if I would’ve started earlier,” Darry added.
“I heard you’re going to be leaving us, since Gerard got you that hawkling chick,” Tevar said. “Where are you going to go first?”
Hyden didn’t register the significance of the question at first, and by the time he did, it was too late. When he made to ask Tevar what he meant, the boy was already heading towards the cook fire, blindly obeying Gerard’s silent command.
“What’s gotten into him?” Darry asked. “Hey, Tev, where are you going?”
“Leave him be,” Gerard said through a yawn. He was suddenly very ti
red. “You got three eggs huh? That’s pretty good.” Gerard put his arm around Darry’s shoulder, and then suddenly slumped to his knees.
Just then, a commotion broke out at the big fire. There were shouts and gasps, and then a primal battle cry. Several men burst out in laughter. Tevar then went racing past Hyden and Gerard with a terrified look on his young face. The older, and much bigger, Sharoo was right on his heels, brandishing a flaming chunk of wood as if it were a club. A few of Sharoo’s brothers trotted along behind them, making a half-hearted show of trying to stop, their enraged older brother.
Laughing, Hyden turned to tell his little brother that he believed him about the ring now, but Gerard was curled up at Darry’s feet, sound asleep and snoring. With Darry’s help, Hyden got his brother back to their father’s hut and into the bed.
After everyone had partaken of the fresh meat, the Council of Elders convened inside Hyden’s grandfather’s hut. Hyden was told to wait in his father’s hut, and to be ready to bring himself and the hawkling chick before the council when called upon. He was also charged with taking care of Gerard. Thankfully, everyone attributed his brother’s sudden slumber to the fact that he had climbed the nesting cliff two days in a row. Hyden strengthened that idea by suggesting that Gerard’s exhaustion had finally caught up with him. He knew it was more than just fatigue that had caused his brother to suddenly collapse, but he didn’t let on to the others. The giantess Berda, who frequented the clan’s village in the mountains when her husband’s herd of devil goats was grazing nearby, had told the people of the Skyler Clan many stories. Hyden remembered one in which a wizard cast a spell on a horse to make it fly. The wizard had slept for several days after casting the spell, because magic took its toll on men. Berda told them that using the magic had sapped his strength. Hyden figured that it was something similar happening with Gerard. At least he hoped so.
As Hyden waited, he watched the dying cook fire from the open doorway of his father’s hut. The blaze had reduced itself to a pile of embers, visited occasionally by a flicker of flame that danced around fleetingly before it wisped away in a curling stream of smoke. He wished the Elders would hurry and call him. He also wished he had taken a lot more of the stag meat before it had gone on the spit. Already, the hawkling chick was up and squawking, begging for more food. As he fed it the last bit of uncooked meat, his father stepped through the doorway.
“The Elders would like to see the hawkling chick now,” he said in his loving, fatherly tone. “We have decided that we must consult the White Lady, through the dragon skull, back at the gathering chamber before we can give you advice with any measure of confidence.”
The aging man walked over to where his younger son lay asleep. He knelt beside him and ran his hand through the boy’s hair.
“We all agree that yours and Gerard’s destinies are intertwined in some strange way. I only hope that it isn’t in a bad way. We hope the White Lady will help us guide you true, but consulting her will have to wait until we are home, when the Summer’s Day Festival and the archery competition are behind us.”
Hyden wasn’t sure how he knew it, but he was certain that his father was correct. Gerard’s strength and love had brought the hawkling chick to him. On the same token, Gerard wouldn’t have been up there to find the ring he seemed to be so fond of if he hadn’t climbed in Hyden’s stead. A strange revelation suddenly unfolded in Hyden’s mind, and he realized that all the little events of now would someday come to influence greater ones. He had a feeling that some would be grand, and others terrible. It all seemed very strange to him. All he could do was what his father had asked of him: try to make good decisions and do what he could to raise the hawkling, which at the moment was squawking loudly for more food.
In his grandfather’s crowded hut, the Elders only had a moment to gawk in awe and wonder at the hungry little hawkling chick. Hyden kept the bucket in his hands protectively as he showed it around the room. A commotion from outside seemed to be intruding on the gathering, drawing everyone’s attention away from the bird. Then someone outside gasped loudly. Another voice shouted out something that sounded urgent. A moment later, Little Condlin burst into the Eldest’s hut. All eyes shot toward the sweat covered, wide eyed boy.
“Wendlin has fallen from the cliff!” He choked as the tears started to pour from his eyes. The room started to erupt with questions and concern, but the boy held his hand up to stall them.
“That’s not all of it,” he sobbed. “Jeryn is stuck above the Lip in the darkness.”
Chapter 5
“It’s just a boy,” a rough male voice whispered. “It’s easy pickings.”
Mikahl cracked an eyelid and could just make out the booted ankle of a man standing a few feet from his head.
“He’s got himself an ample load, Jerup,” a different voice said from somewhere near the horses.
Mikahl could see by the poor condition of the boot, that the man nearest him wasn’t from the King’s Guard. These were probably bandits. He silently cursed himself for not being more prepared. His sword was tied to Windfoot’s saddle and his bow was still in its case on the pack horse’s rig. He did have a utility dagger at his hip, but, the way he was laying, made getting to it without notice next to impossible.
“Waxed cheese, hard bread,” the man by the horses called out quietly. “Ah, what’s this? A silver flask. Bah! It’s empty, but it’s real silver.”
Mikahl could tell that it was the pack horse’s saddle the man was pilfering. It wouldn’t be long though till he found the King’s sword. It was tied to Windfoot’s saddle.
Think, then act, Mikahl recited the mantra in his head. He yawned and rolled over sleepily being careful to keep his eyes closed as he did so. He ended up in a near fetal position, with his head facing the horses, and his hand on his hip next to his dagger.
“This one’s a heavy sleeper, Donniel,” Jerup, the man standing over Mikahl said. “Go on and take your time, see what else we got there.”
“Must have emptied the flask ’fore nodding off,” Donniel said a little louder. The bandit apparently relaxed his guard, because he began grunting and chuckling as he continued rummaging through the pack saddle.
Mikahl hated giving his back to the man standing near him, but he had to make a move soon, while he could still surprise them. One against two wasn’t very good odds, but he found that he wasn’t afraid at all.
“A fancy longbow, Jerup,” Donniel nearly shouted. “Worth its weight in gold I’d bet.”
The sun was starting to give color to the world now, and in the new light Donniel eyed the golden lion emblem embroidered on Windfoot’s saddle.
“He’s the Kings man Jerup!” His voice was suddenly edged with fear. “We should just leave him be.”
“Nah. We can just kill him,” Jerup said coldly, as he stepped one leg over Mikahl’s body so that he was straddling him.
Mikahl saw that Jerup’s boot was pointing toward Donniel and the packhorse’s saddlebags. He chanced a peak up at the man, and the instant he saw that Jerup’s attention was set on his partner, Mikahl attacked.
The utility dagger found Jerup’s crotch, and sank deeply into his inner thigh. Hot blood spurted when the blade came out, and Jerup crumbled on top of Mikahl. The crossbow Jerup had been carrying fell to the ground, and the impact caused it to loose its bolt. In an explosion of bark, the razor sharp projectile ricocheted off of a tree and sliced right through Windfoot’s tether. As if slapped on the rump by some unseen hand, the startled horse tore away from Donniel and headed at full speed into the deep woods.
“Oh…Oh no! Donnie come and help me!” Jerup pleaded through clenched teeth. “Hurry before he gets-”
Mikahl’s bloody dagger found Jerup’s chin then. He quickly forced the man to roll off of him, and Jerup howled as the sudden movement affected his wound.
Donniel was at a loss. He had no idea what to do. Part of his mind screamed for him to run. Another part of his mind told him to stay and help Jerup. He s
tarted towards Mikahl, but when the boy rolled to his feet, he saw the golden lion on the breast of Mikahl’s tunic, and he froze. It would be the dungeons for sure if they were caught. Jerup would have to fend for himself. There was so much of Jerup’s blood on the boy’s chest that Donniel figured his friend was done for anyway.
“Donnie!” Jerup’s voice was weak and full of terror. “Come… Come help me man!”
Mikahl started towards Donniel, and Donniel started to untie the reins to the pack horse’s bridle. He wasn’t fast enough.
With a hard overhand throw, Mikahl’s dagger went spinning across the distance between them. It missed the bandit and buried itself in the tree limb where the leather lines were wrapped. With a yelp, Donniel started to run away, but he was suddenly yanked to a halt. To Mikahl’s surprise, the dagger had pinned Donniel’s sleeve to the tree. The man’s panicked face was full of urgent fear as Mikahl closed in on him, but oddly, his expression calmed when they were finally face to face. He could see over Mikahl’s shoulder that Jerup was now on his belly reloading the crossbow, with nothing less than dire determination on his steadily paling face.
“We…uh…I didn’t do na… nothing t’ you man!” Donniel stammered, trying to buy Jerup some time. “We…uh… Didn’t get away with anything. So… no harm right?”
Mikahl untied the pack horse’s reins with a blank doubtful expression on his face. He didn’t care about these two fools. He just wanted to find Windfoot and be on his way.
Donniel took the blank look for hard and uncaring, as if icy cold water flowed through Mikahl’s veins.
Jerup struggled to aim the crossbow, right at the base of Mikahl’s skull. By the time he managed to pull the trigger, the blood covered boy was turning to lead his packhorse off into the forest. The bolt he’d just fired wasn’t wasted though, it found Donniel’s neck. The bladed tip nicked both his windpipe and his juggler vein. For most of the morning, while Jerup tried desperately to stop the flow of blood from his inner thigh, Donniel’s life leaked from his neck, in a gurgling, pleading hiss.
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