The Skyler Clan hadn’t welcomed Corva and Dostin very well. The two were scolded severely by Hyden’s father.
“If people just followed you haughty elves around, your precious hidden forest city would be full of kingdom folk, beasts, and other unwanted intruders as well,” he told them. “Here you are, hungry and cold, and not dressed for the weather, and no less than trespassing in our village, and you have the gall to ask about things that are not even our concern. Be gone from here.”
The lecture had been so cold that, after they left, Dostin cried. The verbal lashing made him feel small and wrong for being there. Corva didn’t let it get to him, though; he led them around the village until he found the quest party’s trail. The tracks were fairly recent and this heartened Corva. After they put some distance between themselves and the angry Skyler Clan, Corva hunted while Dostin warmed himself by the fire. He killed a doe and they ate greedily. The elf showed the monk how to line his boots with scrap cloth from the extra clothes they carried. Multiple layers of britches and shirts under the monk’s robe went far to keeping him warm. Corva doubled up his clothing, but suffered the cold so that Dostin might stay warmer. They walked the horses often to keep their blood flowing. Ultimately, the two traveling alone made better time than the quest party.
One day, the frigid mountain air pummeled them for hours, and the poor monk’s fingers and ears turned black with the bite. The next day, when they pressed on into the deeper snow, Corva was losing his confidence. The previous night’s snowfall had all but erased the trail they were following.
Dostin didn’t complain, but Corva knew that they might soon have to turn back. After they skirted a cliff trail that the elf was sure the others had used, Dostin finally faltered.
Corva picked up the exhausted monk out of the snow and built a fire. He heated snow in a tin until it boiled. After it cooled, he made Dostin soak his purple fingers in it. One of the monk’s ears was already blackened at the edges. Two of his fingers looked like they would be lost. Corva had all but decided to give up. He paced to stay warm while Dostin lay bundled in all of their blankets by the fire. That night was a bitter one, but the next morning was clear and sunny. Miraculously, Corva smelled the smoke of a cook fire on the breeze.
Dostin was already awake. The monk was praying and rocking back and forth where he sat. After a time, he rose and told Corva that he was ready to travel. Corva looked at Dostin’s fingers. They looked better than the night before. The monk’s ear, though, was awful to behold. Corva decided that if he could smell the cook fire, it couldn’t be that far away; besides that, he wasn’t sure anymore if he could get them back out of the mountains.
There wasn’t much choice about it: either freeze to death trying to get out, or take a chance and hope that they found the others. It was with that grim thought that he continued leading them north.
They crossed a couple of rocky ridges and skirted the run of a valley when Corva saw a pile of frozen horse dung. The smell from the cook fire had disappeared for most of the day, but as dusk stole the light from the sky he picked it up again. He didn’t want to, but they camped. Fuel for burning was scarce, so their fire was small. The next morning, one of Dostin’s ears tore from his scalp like a scab. He whimpered in pain, but didn’t otherwise complain. Their perseverance was rewarded when they crossed the next ridge. Below them, waiting, as if they knew they were being followed, was the quest party. It was a shock when a pack of great wolves came bounding up to escort them into the camp. It was even more shocking when they finally gained the warmth of the bonfire and Princess Telgra looked at them as if they were strangers.
If he hadn’t been in shock, and on the verge of freezing to death, Dostin would have cried.
Chapter 32
The Queen Mother sat at the base of the Heart Tree in the throne formed by its tangle of roots. Behind her back, its trunk rose up hundreds of feet. It marked the center of the magical elven forest that was currently amid the trees of the Evermore. The dense woods were littered with piles of brown, russet, and gold. Most of the trees were bare, resembling grotesque bark-skinned beasts looming among the taller firs and pines that rose up proud and green like soldiers at attention. The elven court was gathered there in a long, narrow glade before the towering Father Tree. Word of Princess Telgra’s appearance in the Skyler Clan village was revealed to them. The Queen Mother was worried, frightened, and angry all at once. More mother than queen at the moment, her state of distress was a concern to the family heads gathered there.
The Elmkin were concerned for the princess’s safety, while the Oakhearts thought that the experience she was gaining exploring the realm would most likely help her in the future.
“Some of life's lessons are impossible to teach,” they said. “Life must be lived, experiences experienced.”
The Birchbloods and the smaller families, the Cherrylorns and Teakflows, all agreed with the Queen Mother, that a party must be sent to fetch Telgra at once. The Bramblers, as well as the soldiers and sentinels, held no opinion. As usual, they only stood at the ready, armed with ironwood blades and bows that could launch an arrow most of a mile. With a word, they would be off to retrieve their princess.
Some of the old and powerful members of the Hardwood Coalition voiced the idea that if Princess Telgra lost her memory, then it was clear that the humans and the new king were filling her head with nonsense. After all, it was this new High King who had personally killed a dozen innocent trees in a rage not too long ago.
Much had been whispered from ear to keen ear before the gathering. Positions were being declared, sides taken. Now, waiting for the Queen Mother to decide on what should be done, they all stood silent and waiting, save for one. One elf dared to step forward and speak; it was Dieter Willowbrow.
“Queen Mother,” said Dieter nervously as he rose from his bow. “I only ask that you take a moment to read my brother’s journal. Read the words Vaegon wrote about Hyden Skyler and Mikahl Collum. I ask this because Hyden Hawk is who they say the princess travels with, and Mikahl is the one they now call High King.” Dieter took a knee and extended Vaegon’s journal toward his queen. One of the sentinels strode forth and took the volume.
“This tome won’t keep the future of elven kind safe, young Dieter,” the Queen Mother said softly. “What is it you think these words will convey to me?”
Dieter swallowed hard. What he was about to say would go against the Hardwood Coalition theories. Friction with the Hardwoods was never a wise thing to cause. “It has been suggested that King Mikahl might use Princess Telgra’s loss of memory to the advantage of man. The person Vaegon describes in those pages is far too honorable for that.”
“Is that all?” the Queen Mother asked sharply.
“No, my queen.” Dieter’s voice gained a little surety as he spoke. “Once you’ve read what my brother had to say about Hyden Skyler, then I’m confident your heart will feel lighter for it. My princess travels with this man. She is not in as much danger as any of you fear.”
The Queen Mother nodded to the sentinel and accepted the journal from him. The court stood in respectful silence as she flipped through the pages, reading them one by one, taking in the words Vaegon had written throughout his strange journey with Hyden Hawk and young Mikahl. Several members of the Hardwood Coalition exchanged looks of concern. They represented the majority of the elven kind, at least the majority of the older elves living here in the Evermore forest.
When the Queen Mother was done reading, she handed the text back to the sentinel and gave Dieter a warm smile full of understanding and love.
Vaegon’s words eased her concern, if only slightly. Still, worry for Telgra was paramount, but there was no doubt in her heart that Hyden Skyler and the High King of men were not typical humans.
“Is there anyone else who would speak to me before I seek the solitude of the Arborhaven?” she asked.
One of the Hardwoods stepped forth. Dieter was receiving his brother’s journal back from the sentinel and the older elf casually shouldered him out from in front of the queen. Etiquette dictated that Dieter say nothing. The elder of the Redwoods had been alive more than four hundred years. Dieter was barely sixty. All he could do was hold his tongue, swallow his pride, and move away.
“Queen Mother,” Revan Redwood said, with only the slightest of bows. Due to his age he could get away with that sort of thing. “The king of men, however honorable he may be, has already murdered in the forest. He is cocky, hot tempered, and is only as powerful as the sword he carries.” The old elf frowned and shrugged. “Words written by an elf serving a life debt to a kingdom man are only words.”
“What would you have me do then, Revan?” the Queen Mother asked. “Should we go to war with the
