Another event was being planned, besides the elven birth ceremony. King Jarrek and Queen Willa were to be married, just before Summer’s Day at the new Palace of Oktin. The wedding was to be the first of many grand events to be held in the fabulous architectural marvel the dwarves were finishing.
Not long after the Summer’s Day Festival, Lady Trella’s baby would be due. With his new post as the High Lord of Westland, Lord Gregory had been enjoying the free time his position gave him with his wife. He was more than happy to turn over Lake Bottom Stronghold to Zasha and her husband Wyndall. Their son would enjoy the title and benefits Lord Gregory previously held. In this new age of hope and peace, it was a grand title to have.
Mikahl Collum, the High King of the realm, sat atop his old horse Windfoot in the saddle his father had once given him. The jarring and swaying of the royal carriage aggravated his wounds. Besides that, his grunting, groaning, and complaining kept the baby from sleep.
For the most part his body was healed, but the pain of the wounds never left him. He could never forget. It was a small price to pay to be alive. He decided, when he’d opened his eyes to find a great wolf, a hawkling, a lyna cat, and the beautiful, teary eyes of his wife all staring down at him expectantly, that life was the most precious thing. He would gladly suffer the pain for the joy Rosa and Prince Vaegon gave him.
Mikahl was anxious to see Hyden Hawk and Phen, and especially Talon. After hearing the story of the brave bird’s dangerous flight back to the Leif Repline, Mikahl declared that the Unified Kingdom’s banner would be a green-bordered field of gold with the silhouette of a swooping hawkling centered on it. The bird had Ironspike clutched in its claws. Lord Gregory would always be the Lion of the West. He had earned the right to call that banner his own.
When Mikahl looked up at the new banner, it was flapping proudly in the wind. He remembered Hyden standing in the fountain pool wet and dripping, looking more like a wizard of old than the carefree man Mikahl knew. He was holding Ironspike high over his head like a trophy and was smiling broadly as he came wading across Whitten Loch toward them.
Mikahl had been lying in the bloody snow then, feeling the Leif Repline’s power slowly rejuvenating his lightning-blasted body. Talon had lifted from his chest and flown to Hyden’s shoulder, and in that moment of triumph the image of the new banner had taken in Mikahl’s heart.
Hope and glory.
They had banded together: men, elves, giants and dwarves. Even dragons had joined with them, and they had beaten back impossible odds. Mikahl knew this feeling of unity wouldn’t last forever, but it was his hope that it would last an age. Hopefully his son Vaegon could use Ironspike to rule men in peace, instead of having to constantly defend the realm with the blade. Mikahl glanced at the carriage carrying his wife and child. He shook away all those concerns and smiled broadly. He couldn’t wait to see Hyden Hawk and Phen.
Hyden was growing accustomed to feeling older. He decided to look the role of a great wizard and kept the long beard. He started wearing fancy, high-collared cloaks too. He didn’t feel all that great. Seeing Oarly die, and knowing that Gerard was gone, left him hollow. Then the process of moving Claret’s huge body to a cavern hidden in the hills north of Jenkata took its toll on him and the rest of Xwarda’s wizards. Claret had a ruined wing, and both her foreclaws were swollen to twice their normal size. She’d extended them to cushion her crash, but only managed to break her own bones. Queen Willa assigned a whole brigade of rangers to hunt food for the dragon. At least the old red wyrm was able to mother over Alizarin when the growing young dragon was at the lair.
Seeing Dostin cry like a babe when they buried Corva near Vaegon’s Glade hadn’t been easy, either. Now Dostin and Alizarin were Hyden’s charges and the only interesting conversations he found were with Claret, or Talon.
Phen was a man grown, and as capable as they come, but he was in the Evermore more often than not, these days. Hyden couldn’t believe the boy had fathered a child with the Queen Mother, and even though a lot had transpired, leaving the elves in a new, weaker situation, he couldn’t believe they were getting along with the kingdom folk.
A great expedition into the Wedjak was looming, but Hyden worried little about it. They would hunt demons on the way. Dieter helped prepare, as did Durge, and a trio of young dwarves strived daily to live up to the drunken legend Oarly had become.
Jicks eventually became known as the Hunter. His enchanted sword, the sparkling blue wyrm he rode, and the ice dragon that did its bidding, took seriously the chore of ridding the world of hellspawn.
Hyden’s body was older, and his mind was expanded so greatly that he was sometimes on the verge of getting lost in his own head. He was also struggling with the fact that all that magic passing through his body had changed him in other ways. It was likely that he wouldn’t age anymore. That bothered him, too, but not because he looked older. He’d lived only twenty-one summers, but looked like he was twice that. He just didn’t like the idea of living longer than a man should.
He found that the long beard, with its few gray hairs, lent to his credibility among the Xwardian wizards and scholars. There was a group of them studying, notating, and cataloguing everything they could find about the side effects of channeling so much raw, arcane power. Several times over the course of recorded history, a wizard had misspelled, or gotten a potion wrong, and ended up bathed in power. The ones who’d survived their mishap lived far beyond their expected time. Hyden had taken in and then released more than a thousand times as much as any three of the wizards they were reading about.
The births of Prince Vaegon and Princess Tamaerra were welcome distractions. Hyden was proud and happy for Mik and Phen, but on the whole he wasn’t feeling anything more than content. Not even planning for the upcoming journey could pull him out of his melancholic mood. He’d been to the Wedjak already and had since learned from Claret that it wasn’t much different than anywhere else men dwell.
There was something missing in his life. He thought about it often, but couldn’t pin down the issue. It itched at his curiosity like one’s nose does when it can’t be scratched because one’s hands are full. No matter how hard he pondered, he couldn’t figure out what it was. Then one day he was going through some of the texts in Dahg Mahn’s private study and everything changed.
He came across a volume titled: “Harthgar — Observations”
After reading only the first page, where he learned that Dahg Mahn had once visited the fabled city and had taken these notes himself, he began to feel a tingle of anticipation. After reading about some of the strange creatures and locals who waited there, he had half a mind to climb on Alizarin’s back and go.
Maybe he did.
