Talon reared back his head, and let out what was intended to be a proud, fierce shriek. It sounded more like a long, thin squawk to Hyden, but he didn’t dare laugh.
“Is there no mercy left for me?” Lord Gregory wailed miserably from where he was squatting down in the grass.
“He needs a lot of water now,” Vaegon said. “Much more than we can carry.”
“One of the streams that flow into the main river isn’t too far,” Hyden told him. “My people will cross a lot farther upstream. When they do, they will leave the Redwolf soldiers they hired behind. If we go across now, we will be able to avoid crossing paths with that greedy captain you spoke of.” The last was directed at Lord Gregory.
Vaegon nodded his agreement.
“In the lore of my people, there are stories of men like you Hyden Hawk, men who bond with the creatures of the world. Those types of men grow to be very powerful, and their actions tend to have a great impact upon all of the lands.” The elf paused searching for the words he wanted. “Are you – No – Do you feel such a power brewing inside you?”
The question caught Hyden off guard. He thought briefly of the old fortune teller’s words and the words of his grandfather back at the harvest lodge.
“I feel Talon’s instincts in my mind sometimes, but nothing more.”
“I would rather you left me for dead,” Lord Gregory interrupted.
He was back on his feet, walking with his legs stiff, and making an obvious effort to keep them from rubbing too close together. His buttocks were raw and chafed, and one of his shoulders was swollen to twice the size of the other. He was so pale, that if he stood still long enough he could pass for a stone statue. All in all, he looked to be on the verge of death, which truthfully he was.
“Lead us to the river,” Vaegon said softly, then went to help the Lion Lord back into his saddle.
Hyden sensed the urgency in the elf’s voice. Talon must have felt or heard something too, for he fluttered down and landed on Hyden’s shoulder.
The foothill river was icy cold, fairly narrow, and flowing rapidly where they decided to cross. If it wasn’t for the numerous rocks that pocked the deeper main channel like a dam that had broken away, they never would’ve gotten Lord Gregory’s horse across. Vaegon’s soothing words, and sharp commands in the strange elven tongue, sent the beast leaping from boulder to boulder, like some huge malformed rabbit. They floated Lord Gregory across. The man was glad to get into the water. He savored it, as he let its bitter chill soothe and cleanse his tender backside.
They filled their skins then, after the Westland Lord had drained them. Then they filled them again. There was still enough daylight to travel by, so they tried to take full advantage of it. They didn’t make it very far before the squat weed forced the Lord to make for the bushes again. The river had formed a shallow pool nearby that had a small copse of trees growing at its side. They decided to camp there, since there was plenty of dead fall. Hyden made a rather large fire so that they could dry their clothes.
Lord Gregory sprawled out near the blaze, and began moaning softly, while Hyden laid all but their small clothes out to dry. Talon sat perched on a nearby tree limb, watching Vaegon curiously. The bird’s attention to what the elf was doing was so intense, that Hyden was forced to watch as well.
He was standing shin deep in the middle of the pool. His leather pants legs were pulled up and bunched at the knees. The elf’s head was down, and his arms were spread out wide, with his fingers hooked into claws. Hyden almost laughed at him. He was mimicking a bird of prey, but he looked more like one of the scarecrows the Westland farmers sold at the festival, the ones with glittery yarn for hair, and bodies made from straw, sticks and old clothes.
There was a flash of movement then, so fast that it startled both Talon and Hyden, forcing them to blink several times in wonder. Vaegon had snatched a fat, silver-bellied whisker trout right out of the water. It was wriggling crazily in his grasp as he charged through the pool towards them. He kicked up huge splashes as he raced for the shore. The fish squirmed, and curled its long, thick body, trying to twist and slip itself free. For a moment, it looked like it might succeed, but the elf was smart. Just before the struggling fish got loose, he tossed it towards the shore. The trout literally swam through the air, its tail searching for a purchase that wouldn’t come. Even before it smacked into the rocky bank, Talon was after it. As soon as the fish landed, the bird was on it, pecking at its eyes and doing his best to hold it in place with his little claws.
They ate well that night. Even Lord Gregory managed to hold a stomach full of the tender white meat down.
After the sun set, Vaegon worked his elven magic on the sick Westlander again. He healed the damage the poison had done throughout the day, but the poison was still in the man’s system. The squat weed had gone far to thin the toxic stuff flowing through the Lion Lord’s veins, but only time would tell if it had done enough. When Vaegon was finished, he covered the Westlander’s body and washed the man’s clothes again in the river. As he was lying them back out to dry, he spoke.
“Do you know the story of the wizard, Dahg Mahn, and how he and King Horst helped save the elves, the giants, and even the dwarves?”
The word “dwarves” was said with an expression that showed his distaste for the vanished race of little men.
“Have you heard how he brought them all together to rid the world of the soulless Abbadon?”
“Aye,” Hyden answered. It was Gerard’s favorite story. When they were boys, Gerard had often pretended to be the legendary wizard Dahg Mahn when they played. Berda had told them that tale far more times than she had ever wanted to, Hyden was sure of it. “I’ve heard the story many times.”
“Have you been told the tale of how Dahg Mahn became the King’s wizard? Of how he became Dahg Mahn?”
Vaegon had Hyden’s attention then. There was nothing Hyden loved more than a story, especially one he had never heard.
“No, but I’d love to hear it now.”
Vaegon finished laying out Lord Gregory’s clothes, and then took a seat across the fire from Hyden. After he was comfortable, he took a long pull from a water skin, glanced at Lord Gregory’s soundly sleeping body, and then began the story.
“Pratchert was a hunter, and the son of a woodsman. He grew up in a village, whose name has long been forgotten, but which stood very near where the town called Tip sits now.”
“Where is that?” Hyden asked, trying not to sound too ignorant.
“The Southron River forms the natural border between Seaward and Valleya, but in Pratchert’s time, it was all one kingdom. The Evermore Forest trails southward along the river’s banks into the plains, and where this extension of forest ends, sits the town called Tip. King Horst was young then, and ruled over all of those lands, and what is now the Kingdom of Highwander too. The world was relatively peaceful in those days. The Abbadon wasn’t yet strong enough to threaten the lands, but it soon would be.
“Pratchert’s father was commissioned by King Horst to travel to the frozen sea. A quest it was called, a quest to kill a great white bear, the fur of which the King wanted, for some reason or another. Pratchert, along with a large group of men led by his father, set out on this long and dangerous journey.
“They travelled across the continent and made it to the frozen sea in the west. They killed the mighty white bear, but the bear managed to kill more than half of the group in the battle. The survivors were strung out across the icy lands, along the bloody trail the dying bear made them follow. The great beast was hearty, and it led them for dozens and dozens of miles before it finally died.
“Young Pratchert was one of those who got lost along the way. A pair of men, who were too lazy to make a proper search, led his father to believe that his son had fallen into a chasm and frozen to death. Pratchert was left to survive on his own, in the vast frozen wilderness.
“Having been raised by a hunter and woodsman, Pratchert had learned many things about survival. He was both smart and resourceful. He used the sun to determine his direction, and began traveling south, away from the colder climate. As he went, he came along an injured wolf, which was in the process of giving birth. Only four pups came into the world, and two of them died that first night.
“Pratchert hunted for the injured mother wolf, with a bow and arrow he had made out of a fallen limb and some sun dried rabbit gut. He managed to keep her and himself fed long enough for the two pups to wean
