over to the roll to examine it closer.
The horses whinnied as Mikahl, Vaegon, and Hyden were forced to cram against them in the now over crowded space. For a moment, Vaegon thought that the giant’s fur covered boots were going to end up in the fire, and Hyden had a flashback of watching Gerard riding his father’s back around the fire when he was a boy. If any of the group dared to climb on the giant’s back, it would have looked about the same.
Mikahl, with his hands protectively on Ironspike’s hilt, was still trying to get his breath. The giant was huge, and Mikahl kept comparing him to what he had expected him to be like. The breed giants at Coldfrost, had been eight to nine feet tall at best. Their faces were crude, with wet, slightly upturned noses, jutting jaws, and a single thick brow, that ran unbroken over both eyes and across the bridge of the nose. They were wild and primal, half man, half beast. Borg, even on all fours cooing like an excited farm wife at a cloth merchant’s lace display, was nothing like them at all. He was more like an excited child, an excited human child. Since the giant’s attention had shifted from Ironspike, Mikahl let himself relax, but only a little bit. He absently patted Windfoot’s flanks and watched as Loudin and Borg hogged most of the space the cavern offered, and argued about a price for the skin.
Borg wanted the thing, that was obvious. He said he would have to take a short journey to fetch the amount of gold, and other items that Loudin wanted in exchange for the roll. He explained to Mikahl that he would take the scrolls to King Aldar, and bring back the King’s responses. It might take him three days to return, but they could wait for him in the relative warmth of the valley beyond this ridge.
“What of the sword?” Mikahl asked dutifully, if a little reluctantly.
King Balton had told him to present it to the giant king, but in truth, Mikahl didn’t want to part with it now. He had grown attached to the strength and confidence it gave him. He wasn’t about to let Borg take it. If he had to hand it over, he would only hand it over to King Aldar himself.
“If my King requires it, he or I will return for it,” Borg said, with his eyes glued to the jeweled hilt. “It is far easier for my people to travel in these lands than it is for you.”
“Aye,” Mikahl agreed with a grateful bow. “I agree with you completely.”
He could spend the rest of his days happy if he never saw another snow-capped mountain peak in his life.
“If King Aldar does have to have the sword, I would only give it to him personally. I hope you understand.”
“So be it,” Borg replied flatly.
Hyden interrupted the exchange, and asked Borg if he knew the whereabouts of Berda, and a short private conversation between the two of them ensued. Eventually, Talon introduced himself by fluttering down and landing on Borg’s shoulder. The giant smiled broadly and commented on the healthy condition of the hawkling. Soon after, the giant bade them farewell.
Outside the cavern, a bitter wind howled through the darkness, but inside, it was warm and cozy. Hyden wished he had had the chance to make a kill. Fresh meat would have been a blessing, but dried meat and herbs would have to do this night. While Hyden helped Vaegon prepare the evening meal, Loudin joked with Mikahl.
“I would only give it to his grace!” the old Seawardsman said, in a mocking aristocratic tone, accompanied by a fancy bow.
“It’s formal courtesy,” Mikahl defended. “Manners and etiquette – things you’ll never understand.”
“It’s highfalutin nonsense,” the hunter laughed. “You should’ve just licked his boot.”
“Bah!” Mikahl waved him off. Then to the others at the fire, he said: “Did you see those skulls on his boots and belt? I wonder what sort of beast those are from.”
“Dread Wolves,” Hyden and Loudin answered in unison.
“When I was younger, they used to be as thick as the plague in these parts,” said Hyden. “They moved on, or died out after the bulk of them were killed off by the giant herdsmen.”
Mikahl suddenly remembered that some of the breed giants at Coldfrost had had big savage wolves for pets. One of them had torn Duke Silion, and two of his men, to shreds. Mikahl hadn’t seen it happen, but he had seen the aftermath. The bodies had still been warm and steaming in the crimson snow. A trail of silvery blue innards twisted away from the body of one man, who looked utterly shocked to be dead.
Mikahl had seen the wolf too. It had looked more like a huge porcupine, with all the arrows and crossbow bolts sticking up out of it. When the King’s guardsmen rolled it over, he saw the thing’s huge head and teeth. A man’s forearm was clamped in those jaws, the hand still gripping a nasty looking dagger hilt.
“I don’t think they died out,” he mumbled more to himself than the others.
“You don’t think that Pratchert’s wolf was a Dread Wolf do you?” Hyden asked the elf.
Mikahl looked at them as if their heads had just shrunken to the size of peaches.
“Not likely,” Vaegon answered. “Thanks to the giants, there are plenty of Dread Wolves roaming the Evermore Forest now. None of them seem to need to be shaved to survive the summer heat as Dahg Mahn’s wolf did. Pratchert’s wolf was most likely an Arctic Great Wolf, or one of its high range kindred.”
“Who in the Seven Kingdoms is Pratchert?” asked Mikahl.
Excitedly, Hyden goosed the elf.
“Go on, tell him the tale,” he urged. “I’d love to hear it again myself.”
“Yes Vaegon, tell us,” Loudin encouraged. “I’d be happy to get to listen for a change.”
“All right,” Vaegon conceded, “but after we’ve eaten.”
As Vaegon was telling the story, Mikahl often glanced at Hyden. He caught Hyden sneaking glances his way as well. Both of them were feeling a strange connection. Could Hyden be like the great wizard Dahg Mahn? Could Mikahl be the King who would someday need his aid to fight off the dark ones and unite the human kingdoms? On the surface, the idea of it was silly. There was no great evil loose upon the land for them to battle. King Glendar might be a horrible person, but Mikahl did not think he was a servant of evil. Likewise, Hyden couldn’t see himself leading an army of wild animals from the forest to save Mikahl and his kingdom men. Still, there was a bond forming and it couldn’t be denied.
Earlier, when they had pranked Loudin through Talon, it had been like they were reading each other’s minds. Everything Mikahl had intended, but didn’t say aloud, Hyden had understood clearly. Mikahl had known that Hyden would get the hint. It was strange, and even now as their eyes met, and each of them felt the odd connection gaining strength, they chose to say nothing about it.
By the time Vaegon had finished the story of Pratchert, Loudin was snoring softly by the fire. Not long after, the others were asleep as well.
Sometime in the early morning, the fire died out. The cavern was freezing when Loudin stirred awake. After he sat up, and bundled himself in his fur coat, he noticed that Hyden wasn’t in his bedroll. The hawkling and the man’s cold weather gear were gone as well, so he didn’t think much of it. He grunted his stiff, sore body into a standing position, and gave Mikahl’s sleeping form an angry scowl.
It was as if the boy’s constant joking about his age and condition was the reason he felt the pain and ache of every inch of his body. He liked the boy though, and was glad he hadn’t abandoned him back in the Reyhall Forest. Loudin found that he saw himself in the younger man. He wished he were still as young as these lads. He could tell that their future held many great adventures, but he didn’t know how much longer he would be traveling with them.
Once Borg paid him for the skin, and he gave Mikahl his share, he had a mind to build himself a little cabin and retire. He would clear a spot in the Reyhall; maybe just use that clearing by the pond where they had killed the big lizard. He would grow a garden and make a trip into Locar a few times a year to buy supplies. He could hunt for his meat. Maybe he would get lucky and find himself a woman that hadn’t had the dowry to get herself married off in her younger years. With his half of what Borg was bringing back, he would want for nothing. He might even get a place in one of the smaller towns, open a trading post, or something. He wouldn't need to turn a profit; it would just be something for him to do with his time. The possibilities were endless.
The only thing he knew for certain was that Mikahl was right. He was getting too old to traipse around the woods all the time, and he was forgetting little things here and there. How long would it be before he forgot something important, something that put him in harm’s way?
Something Loudin had heard while playing a high stakes game of Rune Discs on the Isle of Salazar, kept coming back to him. A Harthgarian Sail Master had just won half the markers at the table, and was counting it up to cash out. One of his mates asked him why he didn’t stay and try to win more. The man chuckled, and shook his
