They didn’t post a watch that night, because they knew the Great Wolves were guarding them, but long after everyone was asleep, Vaegon was still awake and busy. First, with writing the day’s passage into his journal, then later, mending and remaking what he had retrieved for Mikahl earlier that day in the forest.
The next morning, Mikahl was up before dawn, going through his rigorous array of exercises with Ironspike. The pack of wolves found this curious, and had formed a ring around him. They watched the display of will and dexterity from their haunches intently. King Aldar sat up and watched as well. When Mikahl was finished, the King approached him, and spoke quietly.
“You’re going to replenish the sword then?” he asked the question, even though Mikahl had made the answer plainly clear with the intensity of his workout.
“Aye, King Aldar,” Mikahl spoke, as if speaking to an equal. “Is it not the only choice to make? Ironspike will do me little good without its power. What’s a plain old sword against a demon or a dragon? I’ll need all the help I can get.”
“That you will.” The Giant King gave Mikahl a fatherly pat on the back, his huge hand touching both shoulder-blades at the same time.
“I have something for you. It was going to be a gift for your father, a token of gratitude for walling back those half-breeds at Coldfrost.”
He produced a thick gold chain. On it, hung a medallion made of the same yellowed bone as his wolf’s head staff.
“This is dragon bone. It has some power of protection to it, a charm so to speak,” he said, as he leaned down and placed it over Mikahl’s head.
Mikahl took the piece of dragon bone in his hand, and examined it more closely. It was the size of his palm, and carved in the shape of a lion’s head. Its mane was worked with golden inlays, and the eyes were two sparkling emeralds. It was beautiful. Mikahl tucked it away into his shirt, and bowed in thanks to the towering giant. Already, he was trying to think of a way to protect the piece from the chain mail shirt he favored. It wouldn’t do to scratch and scar such a wonderful gift while in battle.
When Vaegon woke, Mikahl received another gift. The elf had gone out into the forest and found where the hellcat had dropped Ironspike’s original sheath. The belt was ruined, and the scabbard itself damaged, but Vaegon had taken part of Duke Fairchild’s sword belt and sheath, and made a shoulder rig for Mikahl to use. It fit awkwardly, placing Ironspike’s blade across his back diagonally, so that its hilt jutted up just over his right shoulder, but it worked. The whole of the blade fit perfectly into the familiar, hardened leather scabbard, and what’s more, the sword’s magic went dormant when it was seated, as it was supposed to do. Thus, the sword wasn’t slowly losing what little power it had left when it wasn’t being used.
Mikahl drew the blade several times, and figured that he would grow to like the accessibility that the shoulder rig gave him. With deep gratitude, he thanked Vaegon for the kind gesture.
They learned that they would be riding on the wolves’ backs, across the thousand miles that separated them from the eastern mountain range. It excited, but pained Mikahl, because he would have to say goodbye to Windfoot.
Borg promised to take the horses back to the Skyler Clan village, where he would personally enlarge the entry of one of the herd caverns, so that the horses could survive the bitter winter if they needed to. Still, it was a long and slightly tearful goodbye for Mikahl, one that brought tears to Princess Greta’s eyes, and Hyden’s as well. It was as if Mikahl was saying goodbye to everything he had ever known.
Neither Hyden, nor Vaegon, had ever ridden a horse, much less a Great Wolf. Straddling one of the huge husky creatures on their bare backs was strange to Mikahl as well. A fourth wolf was rigged up to carry the saddle bags and blankets. They ate what remained of the doe the wolves had killed the evening before. Then, King Aldar introduced each of the animals to the companions by name. After a brief exchange of goodbyes, including a girlish kiss on Talon’s beak from the princess, they were off.
They covered over a hundred miles that first day. It was amazing how swift and sure the Great Wolves ran, even with the weight of grown men on their backs. By the end of the third day, they came out of the foothills of the Giant Mountains, right into the legendary and mystical Evermore Forest. The thick, lush canopy came as a welcome relief, for it had started to rain that last day in the mountains. By the looks of the dark, cloudy sky, it wouldn’t stop for some time.
Even with the sad state of affairs, and the dreary weather, Vaegon found that he was excited. He was on familiar ground now. Even the myriad dangers the Evermore Forest harbored, seemed to welcome him. Home, the elf decided, was like that.
Chapter 40
Pael felt the sudden and terrible agony that the hellcat felt when Mikahl crippled it. If it had not been for the great power of Shokin flowing inside him, the debilitating surge might have done him permanent harm. That particular hellcat was still bound deeply to the wizard. It had been formed from Inkling’s substance, and the imp’s familiar link to Pael was apparently still potent.
Pael had never been one for trivial affections, but the imp had been his familiar since he was a young man. Long before Shaella had been born, before his toy prince had come along, and long before he had stolen the Spectral Orb from the Palladian wizard Ah-Rhal, Inkling had been there. The imp had helped Pael kill his mentor, Allagar, after the old Master Mage tried to punish him for stealing the Staff of Malice from the not-so-distant continent of Murga. Pael couldn’t fathom missing a lover or a friend, but he missed his devilish little companion greatly.
It was old Allagar who had inspired the imp’s name, Pael remembered, with a sinister chuckle. When Allagar would catch Pael dabbling in the darker things, he would snatch away the books or devices, and say: “You haven’t got an inkling boy! Do you know what damage you might cause with that?” or something like: “You haven’t an inkling of what the effects of that spell might be!” Pael hadn’t liked that. So what did he do? He went and summoned for himself, an “Inkling.” He and the imp ended up sacrificing old Allagar to the Abbadon, in exchange for the location of the Spectral Orb. It was one of the fondest memories, and greatest triumphs, of Pael’s younger life.
Pael wasn’t sentimental, but Inkling deserved better than to spend his life trapped in the form of the horribly crippled hellcat. After he recovered from the brunt of the sensation that Mikahl had caused him, he reached deeply into Shokin’s knowledge, and found a way to spare the imp that fate. Like all powerful spells of transforming, this one required a sacrifice – in this case, a living body to house Inkling’s soul and essence, after it was removed from the hellcat. Inkling would lose most of his powers in the process, but Pael figured that it was a small price to pay to keep his life. After all, Inkling had failed to bring Ironspike back to him.
It took Pael a while to decide whose body Inkling could best serve him in. When he finally made his choice, it came as a revelation of pure, ironic joy. Pael would make Inkling a king – King Glendar to be precise. Glendar had served his purpose by leading Westland’s army out of Westland. He was nothing but a figurehead now, an obnoxious, spoiled-rotten figurehead. Pael had Shokin’s power now. He didn’t have to hide behind a king. With much excitement and manic glee, the wizard went about making his preparations to return to Wildermont. He would enjoy very much putting King Balton’s horrible sniveling son in his proper place.
On Claret’s broad back, between two large triangular spinal-plates, Shaella rode comfortably through the cool, thin air of the higher altitudes. Far below her, King Glendar and his wagon trains were just leaving Wildermont’s southernmost city, and were heading steadily towards the Dakaneese border. She had waited patiently for this moment, and would now fly directly to Coldfrost to hear the answer the breed giants would give to her proposal. Of course they would agree. She had no doubt. They had no other option.
The days that had passed since she had made the offer, would have stirred their spirits. They would be greedy for freedom by now, she figured. Their mouths would be salivating for the feasts of vengeance she would allow them to reap across the northern half of her kingdom.
After years of imprisonment on that river formed island, bound behind the invisible magical walls King Balton had erected around them, they could not possibly refuse to take the deal. After all, to be allowed to ravage the lands and the families of the very men who had hunted them, the men who drove them onto the miserable island,
