could tell that very soon they would clear, and the little hawkling would be able to see the world around it. It was walking around the nest now without wobbling or stumbling, and every now and then it would unfold its wings. The wings would shiver as the hawkling stretched out the tiny muscles that it would eventually use to fly.
“Someday, your wings will open as wide as my outstretched arms,” Hyden said gently. “You’ll be able to soar through the heavens, and hunt rabbits and snakes.” The little bird made a warm, cooing sound, as if in reply to Hyden’s words. Hyden stroked its head with a finger until it fell asleep.
A murmur of commotion among the Elders caught both Hyden and Gerard’s separate attention. The sun was setting, bathing the world in lavender and gold. Neither brother saw the other as they eased to the edge of the camp to investigate. As they drew nearer to each other though, Gerard, who had stayed away from Hyden all day long, gave his brother an almost apologetic look. Hyden noticed, and halfheartedly sneered, letting Gerard know that he might be forgiven, but the look in his eyes left no room for doubt that the intrusion into his mind would not be forgotten.
“What is it?” Hyden asked his father.
“Campfires down in the valley by the river’s swell,” Harrap replied. “Probably a group of traders coming up through the lower Evermore Forest, or maybe an envoy of competitors from one of the Eastern Kingdoms.”
“A lot of fires for an envoy,” Condlin said.
The man was not only tired from carrying his injured son all day long, he was exhausted from a deeper sort of wariness, the kind of fatigue that no amount of sleep could relieve.
Hyden wondered what his Uncle Condlin was going to say to his wife. He wondered what his own father would say to his mother if it was he or Gerard who had fallen. He glanced at his Uncle, who was looking right back at him, and a pang of sadness twisted in his guts. Condlin seemed as if he were about to speak, then suddenly, his expression went vacant, and he turned and stalked away. Hyden looked sharply at Gerard, wondering if his brother had just used the ring to send their Uncle to bed. He started to berate him, but caught himself when he realized that bed was exactly where uncle Condlin needed to be. It turned out that Gerard hadn't even been paying attention to Hyden and their Uncle. Gerard’s eyes were captivated by the tiny orange constellation of the fires down in the valley bottom.
“How far are they from us?” Gerard asked their grandfather.
“Most of a day’s walk, I’d guess,” the Elder replied. “We might do well to stay up and away from the river as we travel.” He turned to one of his older nephews. “At least until we know who they are.”
Gerard wanted to ask why, but didn’t. Still the question formed in his mind. Without even intending to do so, he used the ring to send out the question, and immediately he felt the warm comforting tingle of magic rushing through his blood.
“I have an ill feeling about that lot,” the Eldest said quietly. Then, the old man suddenly glanced at Gerard. His thick eyebrows narrowed for a moment. With a quizzical, contemplative look on his face, he walked over to the fire and received a bowl of food.
It felt so good having the magic flowing through his body, that Gerard nearly forgot the fear he had felt the moment his grandfather had peered into his eyes. The old man’s gaze had been intense and penetrating, and Gerard’s heart hammered through his chest. It wasn’t the fear that his grandfather might know what he had done. It was the fear that if his grandfather found out about the ring, he might use his power as the Eldest to confiscate it. The idea that the old man was up to just that came flooding through Gerard in a tidal wave of paranoia. The curious look he saw on Hyden’s face at that moment made him think that his brother was in on it as well.
A short while later, when the rush of power had subsided, Gerard moved away from them all. He found a place outside the firelight where he could watch the rest of the clan. He stayed there with his mind racing, watching over every movement his people made, until finally, late in the night, sleep crept up and snatched him away.
He ended up dreaming of dark suspicious places, full of crude teeth and wings. Conspiracies hid in every shadow like hungry wolves waiting to chase him tirelessly through his fitful slumber.
Hyden dreamed that night as well. Beneath him, vast stretches of sparkling blue ocean, and endless expanses of wavering, emerald grass all blurred together as he soared over them. He circled slowly, rising upward on drafts of sun warmed air, until he could touch the clouds with his wing tips, and the world below was merely a collage of multicolored smears. Then, he pulled his wings back and dove toward it all. The wind rushed through his long, black hair. His wings folded in even more with the speed of his descent. His eyes focused on a darting hare, as if he were right above it. He tilted and slowed on a banking turn to gain position on his prey, then dove again to attack in earnest. The unsuspecting rabbit grew in his eyes as he drew nearer. It sprang forward just as he opened his wings to stall his dive. It was a futile attempt to flee, Hyden’s claws were already gripping its wriggling body. As he lumbered away with the struggling weight of his dream kill, Hyden had to use all of his strength. He had to force his wings downward to keep himself aloft. Each wing beat was fought for as the weight of the carcass threatened to pull him down.
Hyden woke to the hawkling's screeching call for food. The sun had not yet risen, but the sky was already painted in a copperish, pre-dawn glow.
As he fed the chick the last of the fresh meat from the doe he’d killed, he wondered if the bird had dreamed the same dream he had. Strangely, the idea that he had just been allowed into one of the hawkling’s dreams came to him. Where the thought had come from he didn’t know, but he didn’t doubt the notion.
One of his uncles, Corum, seemingly materialized out of nowhere before him. The man was winded and glazed with sweat, but still managed a smile. Hyden knew where Corum had been, so he positioned himself to eavesdrop, as the man told the Eldest what he had seen down by the river swell.
“It’s an armed and armored party,” Corum said, with concern in his voice.
“How many?” asked the Eldest.
Hyden’s father, Harrap, and a few of the other Elders, were coming awake now.
“What banner do they fly?” One of them asked, before Corum could answer the Eldest’s question.
“I counted forty men, and half again as many horses.” Corum took a few deep breaths, and then continued. “By the looks of their gear, they are seasoned fighters, and they fly the Blacksword banner of Highwander.”
The Eldest sighed audibly. “I wonder what Willa the Witch Queen, and her Blacksword soldiers are up to.”
“Maybe they’re just here to compete at the festival?” Harrap suggested.
“Aye,” Uncle Condlin grumbled. “And maybe all my sons will be there as well.”
There was nothing any one could say to that.
Chapter 8
Mikahl heard a shout over the thrashing and splashing sounds the giant lizard-like creature was making in the pond. The sound might have come from the forest beyond the water, but it was hard to tell. Mikahl couldn’t be sure if it was a human voice, or just a strange bellow from the beast. “Hold!” it seemed to say, but if it was a person trying to halt Mikahl’s mad charge, they were far too late.
The pack horse was just strong enough, or maybe just about heavy enough, to keep from being pulled back into the creature’s huge mouth by the long forked tongue that had wrapped around it. The struggling steed was going to break a leg, or worse, try to get away, so Mikahl didn’t even think about veering off of his present course. In fact, with his old sword raised high, he spurred Windfoot on faster.
Another shout erupted from the far side of the clearing. This time, the voice was unmistakably that of an angry man. What he was trying to say though, Mikahl couldn’t understand. The words were drowned out by the beast’s slobbery, open mouthed attempt to roar.
A grunting hiss filled the clearing as the creature lowered its upper half flat to the ground. The rest of it still trailed off into the water, thrashing for traction on the pond’s muddy bottom. It dug its fore claws into the ground with such a force that they sank into the soft earth and formed mounds as it pushed itself back towards the pond with all its might. Its long tongue constricted around the pack horse, and wet ropey strands of saliva dangled from the massive reptile’s open mouth. The monster’s intended prey was beginning to flounder.
Mikahl was nearly to the pack horse now. He figured that if he could cut the lizard’s tongue completely
