nicked his shoulder. It seemed hopeless to continue fleeing, but neither they, nor the horses, were ready to give up. It wouldn’t matter, he decided. They had little chance of getting away now.
“Look,” Lord Gregory shouted. He was pointing up ahead.
In the distance, a small encampment of men looked to be stirring to see what the mad approach of hooves and claws was about. The lookout was standing and pointing back at them while calling out to his companions. The look of bewilderment on his face turned to drop-jawed shock as Lord Gregory and Grommen raced right past him. Lord Gregory recognized the man, but was so astounded that he didn’t stop until a radiant blue glow lit the morning like a beacon. By the time they reined their horses to a stop, the sound of battle coming from behind was clear.
Maxrell Tyne had gotten the horses and some supplies from the merchant who was unfortunate enough to still honor Dreg’s company some credit. From what the innkeeper had said, the merchant Grommen was escorting was named Ellrich Alvin and he had enquired about the state of affairs at Lake Bottom far too many times for his interest to be just curiosity. It amused Tyne that the sarzard had become so lax in their duty that their queen’s greatest enemies could pass under their slimy noses like they were just sell-swords and merchants.
The group rode out of Southport toward Midway. They could have forced their pace and found an inn at the little town that stood halfway between Southport and Lake Bottom, but they decided to camp along the way instead.
Mikahl chose the last watch of the night because he liked to go through his ritual series of exercises with his sword in the predawn light. Out on the road, away from civilization, he wasn’t afraid to draw Ironspike and work through his positions and repetitions. This was a time of clarity and peace of mind that he couldn’t seem to find elsewhere. That first morning, going through his routine on Westland soil, had been fulfilling. Just knowing that he could get this close gave him hope. Thoughts of how to take his homeland back from the zard began to form. It could be done, he finally decided. And with that certainty came confidence.
They rode through Midway that afternoon and made camp just before dark. Watching the sunset on the Western Sea again, after so long, filled Mikahl with resolve. It was the very same sunset he had seen a million times from the wall of Lake Bottom stronghold, and from the tops of the many towers at Lakeside Castle where he had grown up.
The next morning, after his routine, he’d just finished washing the sweat from his skin when the approach of galloping horses caught his ear. He was glad Ironspike was in its scabbard now, and half thought that maybe its glow had attracted whoever it was that was riding down on them. That wasn’t the case, he learned, when he saw the two men being chased toward the camp by several armed and angry zard-men riding their huge lizards. When he recognized one of the men as Lord Gregory, he decided to end the chase on the spot. Without hesitation, he drew Ironspike and poised to attack.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The island was far bigger than Hyden imagined it would be. He had envisioned this part of the quest as being the easiest. He figured he would have Talon fly over the whole landmass. He would look through the hawkling’s sharp eyes and locate the decaying ship. Then they would retrieve the Silver Skull and be on their way. After seeing what the lay of the land was, he knew it wasn’t going to be that simple. But he found that, after the monotony of the long voyage, he wasn’t disappointed.
While Brady and Oarly supervised the transfer of supplies from ship to shore, Phen explored the beach. Through Talon’s vision, Hyden surveyed the island from overhead. It was nothing more than a roughly circular crown of jagged rocky hills that jutted up out of the ocean around a bowl-shaped valley. The density of the foliage in the valley made it nearly impossible for Talon to see what was below the canopy. Nothing resembling a decaying ship revealed itself in the hills around the shoreline, so Hyden assumed that what they were after lay somewhere in the jungle of the island’s interior. Seeing that it might take weeks to search the area on foot, Hyden tried a different approach. With his eyes open he sought out Talon’s vision and made several passes over the valley. He was pleased to find a faint aura of magical power radiating from an area not far from the jungle’s edge, at the base of the steep section of the surrounding hills. What he saw was an oblong glow with a crude trail that tapered from it like a teardrop in the jungle floor.
Hyden had to close his eyes to see the terrain through his familiar more clearly. The shared vision was not necessary anymore. Talon worked his way down, fluttering from limb to branch to vine under the canopy. With the hawkling’s large wingspan, sustained flight under the trees was nearly impossible-there were just too many obstacles in the way. From a perch just over where Hyden had seen the larger portion of the aura, he was now looking at a great oval mound of overgrown earth. The trail that tapered away from the mound ended at the gaping mouth of a dark cavern right where the forest met the surrounding up-thrusts of rock.
Hyden judged the location to be a little more than a day’s hike from their landing point. He was glad they’d anchored where they had. Captain Trant had chosen the spot because of the shelter provided by the shoreline.
Out on the sandy beach it was only slightly breezy. Hyden decided that they would camp on the island for the night and start out in the morning. Seeing that it was already getting late in the day, he asked Oarly and Phen to seek out some firewood while he and Brady finished the task of unpacking the supplies.
Several of the Seawander’s crew came ashore to stretch their legs. Deck Master Biggs was ordered to take three of his men and accompany Hyden’s party on their journey. Biggs brought with him a bottle of brandy, and after the rest of Seawander’s crew had returned to the ship, he passed it around the fire. Neither Hyden nor Phen drank, but Brady took a sip, and Oarly and the four seamen proceeded to get good and drunk. While Brady sharpened first his sword, then a machete, Phen told them what he had learned from the elf’s journal over the last few days.
“The ring was for King Chago,” he said. “From what I remember from Master Lunkle’s history lessons, King Chago was a tyrant. I can’t figure out why the elves would have wanted to give a gift to one of the worst rulers the realm had ever known.”
“Maybe they sent the gift before he became that way,” Brady suggested.
“No.” Phen shook his head. “I thought that a possibility at first, but Loak, that’s what I call the elf, Leafy Oak Heart, wrote about some of Chago’s horrible deeds, like when he had his men ride down and kill all the people from the village of Ultura, or when he had half the people at Summer’s Day put to the sword.”
“I thought Summer’s Day was considered sacred ground?” commented Brady.
“Not then, only after Pavreal trapped Shokin in the Seal with Ironspike.” Phen spoke matter-of-factly. “The pact that made the Leif Greyn Valley sacred ground was the pact Pavreal made with Claret to guard the Seal.”
“That’s true,” Hyden agreed. The great red dragon, Claret, had told him as much.
“But the Spire has stood there longer than man can remember. That makes the Leif Greyn Valley a special place. That’s why no kingdom has ever laid claim to it.”
“Aye,” both Hyden and Phen agreed at the same time, as they often did, resulting in a laugh.
“It doesn’t say why the elves were giving the ring to the tyrant?” Hyden asked.
“It may, but I haven’t gotten that far yet. Loak details each day meticulously. I’m a quarter of the way through the journal and they’ve only been at sea a week.”
“Just skip through it,” Brady suggested as he studied by the firelight the edge he’d honed on the machete. On the other side of the bonfire Oarly and the seamen all burst into laughter at some joke one of them had told. From beyond them came the sound of the waves rolling in and the faint creak of the Seawander ’s rigging.
“Would you skip through your training drills?” Phen asked Brady. Then to Hyden he added, “He probably does. I haven’t seen him practice once this whole trip. No wonder he can barely last five minutes with High King Mikahl.”
“Anyone who can last a full minute with Mikahl is either extraordinary with a blade, or just plain graced,” said Hyden reverently. “I’ve seen Mikahl dance with a demon and send it skulking away like a scolded cur.”
Brady gave Phen a satisfied grin that turned into a silly smirk.
