The pecking order of the three entities, which inhabited Glendar’s skeletal host, was quickly established. Glendar, ever weak-willed, and foolish, was pushed to the side, while Pael and his familiar, wrestled for control of the skeleton’s motor functions. Ironically, Inkling won the battle, and once the sea floor scavengers were shaken off, he started off in the direction that he hoped was north.
He wasn’t concerned that he might be going the wrong way, with all of eternity to walk the ocean floor. He knew that, as long as they moved in the same direction, sooner or later, they would wander up out of the depths, back into the light of day.
He would use all that time to ponder what he would do when he got there. In the meanwhile, Pael feebly plotted on how he could take back control of Glendar’s will from Inkling. Neither of them seemed to notice the strung out parade of other skeletons that were following them through the sea.
Lazing in the afternoon sun, with his feet dangling out over the open air of the marshlands, Hyden sat in the mouth of the Dragon Tooth Spire’s wormhole.
Not three feet away from him, lay the old snapper bone his little brother had used to keep his rope off of the abrasive floor while he lowered out one of the dragon’s eggs.
The dragon was telling him a story, a long and exciting tale, about a great blue drake, and a silver skull, that might be able to help him go into the Nethers to retrieve the ring Gerard had worn when he had escaped the dark wizard, and fled there.
The dragon in the story had breath that was more like liquid lightning than fire, and was so big, that it had been able to snatch the ship of an infamous pirate, named Barnacle Bones, right up out of the water. Hyden was captivated by the dragon’s words. He loved a good story, and Claret was by far the best storyteller he had ever come across. The dragon was even better than Berda, the giantess, though he would never tell Berda that.
In his hand, he toyed with a crystallized, tear-shaped jewel that had fallen from the dragon’s huge eye, when she had spoken of the hopes she had held for all three of her un-hatched babies. The thumb sized crystal had started out like any other tear, but by the time it hit the floor, it had hardened into a diamond-like substance. Claret had told him that he could call her through the jewel, if he ever had need of her, and that it would act as a charm of protection, if he kept it with him throughout his travels.
He told her that he would make a medallion out of it, and wear it always, not as a form of protection, but as reminder of the friendship that the two of them had formed. Claret loved the notion, and had let out a deep affectionate rumble, that was far more potent than, yet strangely similar to, a kitten’s purr.
Hyden told her about his brother and the old crone from the Summer’s Day Festival. She listened on, as he continued to explain the White Goddess of his people, and how she had told him that he would have to eventually go down into the depths of the Nethers, to retrieve the ring his brother had taken there. Claret had told him then, that fortunes and prophecy were not always set in stone, no matter how much we all wanted to believe them. And the ones that do come to pass never do so in the manner expected.
“For instance,” she hissed softly. “I once foretold a prophecy about the sword, called Errion Spightre, and Pavreal’s bloodline. I made it so that sooner or later, the folly of man would set into motion a chain of events that would undo the Pact that I had been forced to swear to. I only had my un-hatched eggs in mind when I did this.”
She paused, and yawned out a soft roiling cloud around her curled tongue.
“Here I am, set free,” she continued. “But what I prophesied hasn’t come to pass. The youngest son of Pavreal’s line, didn’t take up the blade in place of the true king, to save the land from the legions of dark.”
She turned a huge yellow eye on Hyden, and studied him closely.
“I believe that your goddess is correct, Hyden Hawk. That strange ring is on the finger of the wrong man. Only when it is in the right place, will the nature of prophecy be restored, so that what must come to pass can happen. I’m sorry that you are caught up in all of this. Thus, the nature of prophecy is proven to be faulty. For if you retrieve the ring, then what I portended, might come to pass. A greater evil than the demon-wizard Pael might come. And worse, one who I consider to be a friend will be forced to battle that evil. All I ever wanted was to keep my hatchlings from being mastered. Now, only one of them is left.”
“My father once told me to be careful of what I wish for, because I just might get it,” Hyden spoke kindly.
“Jussst so,” Claret agreed, with a nod of her big horned head.
She then started back into the story about the huge blue dragon, named Cobalt, and the pirate who had stolen his hoard. The reason she told that particular story wasn’t lost on Hyden. The silver skull, which the pirate had stashed in the hold of his ship, could be used to cross between the earthly plane and darker places, like the Nethers.
Hyden listened intently, and the troubles of his heart, and mind, were soon lost to the excitement of the clever pirate’s many ways of eluding the dragon and the kingdom ships that were endlessly after him, and of the dragon’s dogged persistence in retrieving his treasures.
When the telling was done, Hyden grew excited and sad in equal measure. He couldn’t wait to get back to tell Vaegon and Mikahl about Claret. And the bond between him, and the hawkling was stretched so thin that it almost hurt. He was sad though, because he would miss Claret. The dragon was a powerful force to be close to. Next to her, he felt safe, and indestructible. He would miss her, there was no doubt.
There was still the great flight back to Xwarda though, and since there wasn’t any hurry, Hyden hoped that he could get another story or two out of her. He knew that she would leave this part of the world, and go far away to hatch her remaining egg. He didn’t blame her for it. He was starting to see how even the most civilized of humans were barbaric in nature. If he were her, he would get as far away from mankind as the limits of the world would allow. She had promised to come if he called her. That would have to be enough.
The sky was cloudy, and a light chilly drizzle was falling on Xwarda, when the terrified cries of “Dragon! Dragon in the sky!” rang through the streets.
Word spread through the castle, like a plague, and Mikahl wasted no time joining Queen Willa and King Jarrek on the long climb up the spiral stairs to the top of the Royal Tower.
Mikahl hadn’t taken the time to grab up Ironspike, and was the worse for it by the time he reached the top.
Dugak was watching over the blade for him. Mikahl’s injuries were far from healed, and without the sword to fortify him, his breath came in ragged, noisy gasps, and his muscles burned, and ached. His spirit was lifted above his pain though, by the prospect of seeing Hyden Hawk again.
By the time Mikahl reached the rooftop, Claret had gone, but Hyden Hawk was there to greet him, with an overwhelmingly fierce hug.
As they embraced, Talon fluttered around them excitedly. When they stepped apart, Hyden noticed that the elf wasn’t there. He took Mikahl by the shoulders, and was crushed by the sadness he saw in his friend’s eyes.
“What of Vaegon?” Hyden Hawk’s words came out in a fog of breath.
The icy rain had slackened, but there was no summer sun left in the sky to burn away the clouds, or to warm the chill air. Fall was beginning to set in, and winter was close on its heels.
“He died fighting alongside the men on the wall.” Queen Willa spoke softly from her huddle of cloaks, saving Mikahl from having to speak the words.
“His body is in a casket in the Preserver’s Hall,” added Mikahl, with a sniffle. “I want us to take him home together.”
“Aye.” Hyden brushed away his own tears, and extended a wrist, so that Talon could land. “What of the demon-wizard? Did you take him?”
“Aye,” Mikahl answered. He sniffled again, and this time, he didn’t bother to wipe away the tears that were streaming down his cheeks. “His head is rotting in its very own dungeon cell. His body is in a separate one. What of the wench who invaded my father’s kingdom?”
It was a hard thing to do what Hyden Hawk did then, but his friend deserved nothing less than the truth of the matter. He explained what he did, and why he did it as well. Mikahl didn’t like it, but he tried to understand Hyden’s perspective. It made him think about his own brother.
