“What are you seeing?” Vaegon asked excitedly. The idea that the human boy was really seeing through the eyes of the hawkling was thrilling, yet it made the elf feel more than a little jealous of Hyden.
Vaegon’s question seemed to shake Hyden’s concentration free of the vision, but only for an instant. With closed eyes, and from miles away, Hyden refocused on the approaching horses, and spoke softly.
“Two men, four horses – Hold on -.”
He squatted down, and put his elbows on his knees, as if perched. He heard Lord Gregory whispering softly to Vaegon. The western lord seemed as astonished by this as he was. The elf seemed to have expected it.
The tale of Pratchert came to Hyden’s mind then. Was he destined to be like Dahg Mahn? It was an incredible thought, one that would seem absurd, were he not watching these travelers come toward him through the eyes of a bird. It was as if he himself were sitting in the tree that Talon was now perched in. “Hawk Man.” He tried it on the tip of his tongue, and then dismissed it. He would have to try to remember to ask Vaegon what the word for hawkling was in the old tongue. He would also have to… Wait, what was that? Voices? He gasped loudly. Not only could he see these unsuspecting travelers, he could hear them as well. They were talking.
“What is it?” Lord Gregory asked.
“Shhh!” Hyden hissed.
Being a high Lord of the most powerful kingdom in the realm, Lord Gregory wasn’t used to being hushed. It offended him momentarily, but the idea that he was feeling well enough to get offended was enough to keep him from reacting rashly. Most likely, he would’ve died had it not been for Hyden and the elf. He owed them all the respect he could give. If he had to take being shushed by the village boy, then he would take it like a man.
Hyden was amazed, thrilled beyond words. He could hear the crickets in the distance; the scuttle of a varmint; the song of the jay bird telling its mate about the berry bush by the stream. He even registered the disgusted huff of a fox coming from the ridge behind him, after it had missed a meal that it had been hunting. The steady crunch and shuffle of the approaching horses, and the jingle of tack, then a voice, came to his ears from closer by. He almost shushed again, but he realized that it was one of the travelers speaking, not the Lion Lord.
“- you’re not lost?”
“Nay Mik,” a deeper voice responded. “The village is not far now, I think. I traded there with an old man named, Hardin, or Halden, maybe. I never forget a place where I made a profit.”
“You’re lost,” the first voice said flatly.
Hyden could see them clearly now that they were out of the trees and the gloom. The younger one, the one that was following the big tattoo covered Seawardsman, was the one speaking now.
“You keep telling me you’re not lost, but you’re just trying to convince yourself of it.”
“Aye Mik!” The Seawardsman laughed. “Maybe so, maybe so. Either way, I know we’re getting close.”
Hyden realized he recognized the bigger man. He had once wandered into the Skyler Clan’s village accidentally. Hyden had only been a boy then, but he would never forget the big tattoo covered trapper. He hadn’t traveled out of his village at that point in his life, and the sight of those tattoos, the slick bald head, and the bulging muscles, was etched into his mind forever. Hyden remembered that the man had saved himself by naming several of the giant folk that he had bartered with. Had he not done so, the Elders would have killed him. It had been one of the most exciting things that had happened in Hyden’s youth. He remembered the man telling several stories about the land of Seaward, where ships lined the shores, and a Queen ruled, instead of a King. He tried, but couldn’t seem to remember the man’s name.
Talon leapt into the darkening sky then, and Hyden’s vision went abruptly black. When he opened his eyes, he was glad he was squatted down. The world at hand hit him like a forge hammer. He rolled onto his back and covered his face with a loud grunt. The wealth of emotion that churned through him was unbelievable. He had heard the animals, what they were doing, what they were calling out, and what they were feeling. He wasn’t sure what you would call it. He wasn’t sure there were words to describe the sensation. He had been right there among them, seeing, hearing, and even smelling what was around Talon. He had watched them like a hawk! He burst into a joyous peal of laughter at the insanity of it all.
“Well it doesn’t look like trouble is coming,” Lord Gregory observed.
Seeing Hyden’s manic joy caused him to smile, despite himself. He looked at Vaegon, searching for some sort of explanation.
The elf was scowling at first, but his expression soon softened, and then broke. Hyden’s joy was contagious, and Vaegon eventually smiled down at him. His jealousy faded into the hills with the setting sun. Who was he to feel wronged by the decision of the gods to gift Hyden so wonderfully?
When Hyden finally regained his composure, he told them all of what he saw and heard. They decided to make camp right there, on the lee side of the hill, and wait for the travelers to catch up with them.
Lord Gregory thanked the heavens that Mikahl was alive and well. When Hyden had told him that the Seawardsman had called the other man “Mik” the Lion Lord had cried.
Hyden shared in detail, particularly with Vaegon, the wonders of the experience. The amount of innocent fervor that Hyden displayed, while expressing himself, made the elf feel more than a little ashamed for having let his selfish emotions get a hold of him. Hyden, Vaegon found, was as good and pure hearted as any man could be, which was most likely exactly why the gods had chosen to bless him so. With this realization, nearly all of Vaegon’s hidden contempt evaporated like water on a hot stone. He had to admit that he was still a bit jealous, but it wasn’t the dark sort of envy that brings about hatred. It was more of a healthy, competitive sort of feeling. He grinned ear to ear, and slapped Hyden on the back.
“Well, at least we now know how a mere human archer could come so close to beating an elf,” Vaegon jested. “With the eyes of a hawkling to aim with, how could you miss?”
Hyden couldn’t seem to find a response to that.
Loudin decided that he and Mik would camp in the valley by the tiny stream that trickled through it. They built a fire across the flow from an old oak tree and ate the last of Mikahl’s cheese. Loudin warmed a bit of the small, feral pig he had killed the day before on a stone by the blaze, and then split the meat with his companion. The meal and the cold stream water filled their stomachs to bursting. Only moments after they had stretched themselves out by the fire, they were asleep.
Mikahl’s sleep had been so thick and heavy for the few days that followed his killing of Duke Fairchild that Loudin had had to boot him awake in the mornings. That had all changed the previous night. Mikahl’s sleep had been fitful, fevered, and full of dark dreams of even darker creatures.
This night, the dreams were even worse, because the creatures seemed to recognize him. One of them in particular was after him, a black hulk of muscle and claw, driven by nothing less than pure hatred and evil intent. In his dream, it was searching for him so that it could destroy him. It wanted something from him, but Mikahl had no idea what it could be. He was only a squire he tried to tell the dream creatures as they chased him through his dark, empty dreamscape. The highest ranked squire in the realm, but a squire nonetheless.
“You’re a Squire no more! The King is dead,” they cackled and howled at him. “Everyone you know and love is out to get you now!”
Occasionally, the dream creatures would retreat, as something monstrous came near: something so much darker and more sinister than the rest of them; something that seemed to leech the life force from everything around it. This hulking, evil monstrosity radiated hatred and foulness, like a desert radiates heat. Evil shimmered from it in wavy sheets of blackness. When it would move off, the others came right back at him, snapping, growling, and cackling with their lustful desire to tear his flesh from his bones. There was always the one beast though, the one that had singled him out to hunt in the darkened dreamscape. That one had form and substance to it now, unrecognizable still, save for the glossy reflection of menace in its black eyes. It stood before him snarling and ready to pounce. Then it did.
Mikahl woke with a start. Thunder boomed, and then grumbled from not so far away. A peal of lightning streaked across the sky, silhouetting the jagged peaks of the mountains that loomed over them to the north. The air was frigid, and steam billowed from Mikahl’s lungs, as he fought to get his breath. The waning moon was still in the sky, its pale blue glow highlighting the tops of the clouds that were rolling over the mountaintops towards them. He shivered. The clouds were thick, black, and churning violently. It took only moments before they completely blotted out the moonlight. Suddenly, the whole world was engulfed in blackness, just as in his dream.
Mikahl’s hair suddenly stood on end. A massive crackle of thunder exploded, and a jagged streak of white
