wear.
And the blasted wind! The wind was driving him crazy. Even up in Coldfrost, where the sea freezes solid for most of the year, it hadn’t been this cold. The numerous valleys they had already traversed hadn’t been so bad, almost spring like. The ridge they were passing over at the moment, however, was caked in ice, and so bitter and frigid, so slick and narrow, that Mikahl thought that he might lose his digits to the bite, if he didn’t tumble off the side of the mountain first.
He had been forced to lead his horse, Windfoot, the last few days. How the others walked up and down the treacherous slopes was beyond him. His legs were sore, he was tired, and confused, but as he shivered again, he decided that the worst thing about all of it was that he was so blasted cold.
Loudin had been leading the two horses that carried his precious bark lizard skin. In the valleys, he had ridden the lead horse awkward style, just like they had back in the Reyhall Forest, but it was far too treacherous on this narrow pass for either of them to ride. More than once, the lizard skin had almost caused disaster. They had to untie the roll so that the horses could make a few tight turns, once around a washout, and again where the pass turned, hugging the mountain. The skin had grown stiff in the cold, and wouldn’t give at all. It was just like hauling a log.
Once, the front horse was startled by a chunk of falling ice. It tried to bolt forward, nearly yanking the rear horse off its hooves. This in turn, yanked the front horse backwards. Both horses, the bark lizard skin, along with Loudin as he grabbed after his prize, almost went over the edge.
After that, the bulky skin came off of the horses at even the slightest sign of trouble. Mikahl was certain that Loudin expected a small fortune for the skin. Only great wealth, or the prospect of it, would give a man like Loudin cause to make such a miserable and treacherous journey as this one was turning out to be.
The other two, Mikahl found, often left him shaking his head in wonder. They had been on foot the entire way, and had jogged for days alongside the horses in the lower passes and valleys. Not once had they slowed the group. Not once had they complained or asked for rest. Even though the elf’s wounded eye was obviously troubling him, he never voiced his discomfort to his companions. And Hyden Hawk, to Mikahl’s great surprise and respect, hadn’t even been winded after jogging uphill most of a day. Neither of them seemed affected by the sharp bite of the wind, or the slick icy terrain.
Hyden and Vaegon took turns leading the group. The elf led more often than not. When the wild looking, bone-thin creature wasn’t out front, he seemed troubled. It was more than just the loss of the eye, or getting used to the leather patch he now wore over the ugly hole. The elf seemed to be hurting on a deeper level.
Mikahl wasn’t exactly sure what Vaegon’s problem was, until one night when the golden haired elf ceremoniously gave Hyden his longbow at the campfire. He saw the problem a little more clearly then. Vaegon had lost his aiming eye, probably the worst injury an archer could sustain.
“Hyden Hawk,” Vaegon always called Hyden ‘Hyden Hawk,’ whether he was speaking to him or about him.
Hyden took the bow with a silent nod of understanding, and had since treated it with nothing less than reverence. This obviously pleased the elf, but not enough to shatter his bouts of depression.
Hyden Hawk, it seemed to Mikahl, was part animal, part wizard. He could see through the eyes of his hawkling friend, Talon, and he could hunt up a meal in the middle of an icy rain storm, as if it were a clear spring day. He spoke with his bird, as if it were just another traveler among them. He obviously had a lot on his mind, but he made for excellent company at the fire. He loved to laugh, and he loved to hear a tale, almost as much as Loudin loved to tell them.
Loudin, Mikahl learned, was more than just a trapper and hunter. He had once been a mariner of sorts, and he often spent the evening stretching a story about the strange and distant lands he had visited in his adventures. He had been to all of the seven kingdoms, including the Isle of Salazar. He had even been across the Great Western Sea to the land of Harthgar. He told them of the strange customs the people of the outer islands had, and of the great shipbuilding yards on the big island of Salazar. He told them of the slave-fighting pits in Dakahn, of the exotic women one could purchase there. He even told them all about the Seaward custom of skin marking. He hinted at the vast and powerful magics that the Witch Queen of Highwander had at her disposal, and the strange little men called dwarves, that were rumored to stay in the city of Xwarda at her magnificent palace.
Hyden asked many questions, and was disappointed to learn that these later tales were more from secondhand sources. Loudin had never been to Xwarda himself, but he had been to Highwander’s Port cities of Weir, Old Port, and New Port. Loudin had seen enough magic on those docks to know that a lot of what he had heard about Xwarda wasn’t exaggerated.
Mikahl listened intently, and wondered at it all. He had heard a lot of things while serving as King Balton’s Squire, but he chose to keep his knowledge and speculation to himself. He let Hyden do all the questioning, and gained even more respect for the mountain clansman. Not only was he in supreme physical condition, his mind was sharp and his queries were well chosen.
Thinking about chumming around a campfire, reminded Mikahl of just how cold he was at the moment. He was miserable, and felt that if he ever stopped shivering, he would freeze into a solid statue of ice. He hated the cold, and he was glad that this was the last high altitude pass they would have to traverse for awhile.
According to Hyden and the elf, a rich, warm valley lay on the other side of this ridge. They would hopefully be able to lay up there and wait for the giants to come to them. Both Loudin and Hyden Hawk agreed that it was a strange thing that Borg had not already found and questioned them. They said that no group of men ever made it this far into the Giant Mountains without the Southern Guardian greeting them.
It came as a welcome relief to all of them that they would be making camp soon. Hyden explained over the icy wind, that Talon had spied a cave, which looked big enough to hold all four of them, and the three horses as well. It was ideal, because from there, they could reach the protection of the valley early the next day. A good, warm fire, and a long needed rest, would benefit them all. Six days of rough up and down mountain traveling, had taken its toll on even the hardiest of them.
They reached the cavern with plenty of light left in the sky, so while Loudin tended to the horses, and Vaegon helped Mikahl scrounge up enough wood to start a fire, Hyden and Talon went off to hunt up some fresh meat. Mikahl ended up chattering, pacing, and rubbing his hands together, trying to thaw out enough to be of assistance, but by the time he had quit shivering, a fire was burning, and the horses were unsaddled, and eating oats from muzzle bags.
The cavern was featureless: rocky walls, a rocky ceiling, and an uneven rocky floor. Remnants of past travelers littered the place: most of a torn jerkin; a good length of poorly made braided rope; a single well-worn boot, among other things. Luckily, there were a few sticks of firewood. Someone had once used soot to draw a scene of stick men and horned creatures on one wall, but it was faded. There were also a few strange symbols, daubed in something more permanent, possibly blood, by the entryway. To Mikahl, it was just a cave; a cave that was getting warmer and more comfortable by the moment.
“You’d think that you were the one from way down south,” Loudin joked at Mikahl. “I know it snows and freezes around that castle you were raised in. I’ve been there. You act like you’ve never been cold before.”
“You’ve said the exact same thing three nights in a row now.” Mikahl shook his head. “Are you getting forgetful in your old age?”
Loudin laughed at this, and sat down by the blaze Vaegon had created.
“What about you elf? Does it get this cold in the Evermore Forest?”
Vaegon put down the small leather-bound journal, which he sometimes wrote in while the others carried on around the fire. He tilted his head thoughtfully, as if he were remembering something fond.
“Not so cold in the Evermore, no,” he answered. “But there are places that my people travel, places we visit that have a climate very similar to this one.”
He pointed at the old cavern’s roof. It had been blackened by hundreds upon hundreds of campfires.
“…places far less hospitable than this cozy cavern.” The last was said with a slight grin at Loudin.
“Bah!” Mikahl blurted. He finally felt warm enough to open up the front of his fur coat. He eventually stood and removed it. “I can’t imagine any place less hospitable than these mountains.” He plopped down on a rock near Loudin, with a long, loud groan.
“You dare call me old, boy?” Loudin laughed. “You’ll never make half my age if you’re in such bad shape now. That sounded awful.”
Mikahl gave him a severe stare, but couldn’t keep his mouth from curving upward at its corners.
