his people that King Glendar had sent to Dakahn to be used as slaves. Just the chance that Queen Willa might aid him in rescuing them was enough for him to feel a spark of hope. He was glad for it, because that tiny spark was all he had.
Chapter 42
Grrr, the biggest of the four Great Wolves, the stern and serious pack-leader, carried Hyden Hawk. Oof, the fearless, carried Mikahl. Huffa, the fastest of the four, and the only female in the bunch, carried Vaegon, and Urp, with only his lighter burden of packs to carry, ran circles around them all.
Through the mountains and the foothills, the wolves had been able to keep a strong and steady pace, but as they went deeper into the Evermore Forest, and further out of the cooler, higher altitudes, the heat began to take its toll on them.
The companions wisely began making camp in the later part of the morning and sleeping away the heat of the day. This schedule went far towards helping the wolves cope with the climate, and they appreciated the men for their consideration. The wolves showed their thanks, by sharing the meat they hunted with them, and by keeping their keen eyes and ears open for possible dangers along the way. It had been a long time since any of the companions had eaten so well, and so often.
The wolves worked up a ferocious appetite carrying them, and they made off to hunt at every break, save for their regular midnight water stop. Now, it was late afternoon, and all of the wolves, except for Grrr, who attentively stood guard over the camp, were off to find a meal.
They had been camped in the same place for two days now, patiently waiting for the elf. The spot wasn’t quite a clearing – it was more of an opening in the dense forest, an area with just enough room between the tree trunks for them to stretch out and build a fire. Even during the heat of the day, they were shaded by the emerald canopy of oak, elm and poplar. Only a few rays of sunshine dared to penetrate through the leaves, and those were long gone now, as the unseen sun was getting lower in the sky.
Vaegon was growing increasingly irritable. It had become obvious to Hyden and Mikahl that the elf’s missing eye was causing him a sort of pain that wasn’t physical. It was keeping Vaegon from seeing the subtle auras that he needed to see to find his people, and in turn was causing some deeper agony inside the elf. Vaegon’s temper grew short, and he was sharp with his responses and comments.
Hyden tactfully broached the subject, and pointed out that they had no more time to waste. Vaegon finally admitted defeat. Two full days of travel, it turned out, was more than even he thought they could spare. He tried to explain to them about the powerful concealing magics, and the mobile nature of his people’s secret home.
“Our city, if you could call it that, doesn’t actually exist at the location where you might find and enter it,” Vaegon said, with sadness and longing in his tired voice. “It moves as our people move. The Queen Mother is connected to the forest through the Heart Tree. If we were so inclined, we could be found in the Reyhall Forest in the west, or in the Gnarish Tree Wards, beyond the Giant Mountains. We have forests that we favor. The Evermore is one of these. We were visiting it when I was born, nearly a century ago, so to me, this is home. To get back to my people, to find my home though, has become impossible. To find the entry points in the powerful wards that conceal it, one must have a certain, and uniquely elven vision, and I have lost that.”
His hand fiddled with the patch over his empty socket as he spoke. The sorrow, and agony he was feeling was plain in his voice. It was as if he had been utterly defeated.
It wasn’t easy for the haughty and superior elven archer to admit his newfound weakness, or to accept the fact that he was blind to his homeland, but he swallowed his pride, and let reality set in. After he finished his explanation, he started off into the woods again. They agreed that he would look the rest of this day, and then they would move on. He would look again when they stopped, for the entrances were many and could be found throughout the great forest. He knew he had kept them there too long, but it was only because he hoped that the elves would have noticed him blundering about, and would send a party out to investigate. If any of the elves noticed him, they would surely tell his father, or brother, if not the Queen Mother herself. After all, he was well known amongst his people for a skill he no longer had.
Neither Hyden, nor Mikahl, had realized how old Vaegon actually was. In terms of appearance, and in relation to the human aging process, he wasn’t that much older than they were, but in actual years, Vaegon was old enough to be one of their grandparents.
Mikahl couldn’t conceive of the idea of Vaegon’s age very well, but he understood the elf’s inability to get home. He was haunted by the same feeling. Sure, he could find his way back to Westland, but according to Borg, it wouldn’t be his home that he found when he got there. His mind carried him back to a memory of youth then. A time long before duty and responsibility had swallowed up the promise of the future.
Once, as a boy of seven or eight, when his most important duty in life was the nightly candle snuffing in all the great halls of Lakeside Castle, he and some of the other castle brats had pulled a prank. Had big old Lord Ellrich’s daughter, Zasha, not been involved, he and his conspirators might not have survived King Balton’s wrath.
A feast was being held for some local event, a name day, a wedding, or such. Lord Ellrich from the south, and a few of the northern dukes, were the only attendees of note, other than the king.
The main course was to be a huge glazed pig, complete with an apple in its mouth, and served on a bed of green lettuce on a silver tray.
For hours, it had sat there in the kitchen, sprawled on the rolling cart it would be presented on. Mikahl remembered its pinkish-brown skin, all slick and shiny with honey glaze, as clearly as if he were looking at it now. The troop of castle brats, and the visiting Lady Zasha, who at that time was a long way yet from being a real lady, had hidden with their surprise behind the heavy curtains of the bard’s alcove in the dining hall. They fought the giggles, grunts, and the wiggles that always seem to plague children when mischief is about, while desperately trying to remain undiscovered. They peaked through the curtains, at the unsuspecting feasters, and waited patiently while the servers brought out the courses one at a time. Keeping their surprise quiet and still, was a chore, which caused many a snort, and a few squeals of worry and mirth.
First, came the cold greens, and after those dishes were taken away, soup, and loaves of aromatic, freshly baked bread arrived. After that, a dish of sea crawlers were presented, and all the while, big Lord Ellrich listened intently as King Balton spoke enticingly of the great glazed ham that was yet to come. The King described the main course in such a way, that all of the attendees were salivating for it. He was just jesting with Lord Ellrich’s great hunger of course, but he made it sound as if it was the last pig left in the realm that they were about to eat. The whole room full of merchants, lesser nobles, and all of their wives went excitedly still in anticipation when the head cook rang the bell.
Proudly, with his chest puffed out, the man said, “The main course, Your Majesty, sweet pork on the bone.”
A half second before the cart came rolling in, the castle brats let go of their surprise. The big sow, that they had been struggling so hard to contain, was let loose through the curtains, into the dining hall. It charged out of the bard’s alcove, propelled into a fleeing squeal, as one of the children slapped it sharply on the rump.
The stage they were hiding on was elevated, and the terrified pig soon found itself running through midair, as it raced off the end of the platform. It was only a two foot drop to the dining hall floor, but the fall frightened the sow so much, that her fearful shriek was nearly deafening.
The ladies at the table squealed, and cried out as well. Chairs shot backwards, and swords were drawn. As soon as the men realized that they weren’t under attack, a few of them tried to chase the pig around the room. The event quickly turned into a study of chaotic disaster. Mikahl remembered that it had been riotously funny to the small group of perpetrators, until old Master Hinten had cornered them, and called for the King.
Mikahl pictured clearly, the smile King Balton had been fighting back, as he paced back and forth in front of them, deliberating whether the dungeons, or the chopping block, would be their fate. In the end, the head cook got to handle most of them, a fate far worse than the dungeons might have been.
Mikahl, until this very moment, had never understood why he had been spared the cook’s wrath. Zasha, of course, was to be punished by her father, because she was a noble born lady. To punish her openly wasn’t proper, but Mikahl was told that he was going to be sent away. He had cried his eyes out to his mother, thinking
