Michael Mathias - The Sword and the Dragon

“Much responsibility has been bestowed upon you son. Do not take it lightly. The rearing of this Godsend, and all the choices you make from this very moment, will determine whether your future will be terrible or grand.”

Hyden wasn’t sure exactly what all that meant, but he nodded as if he understood. He felt his father’s demeanor change as he knelt beside him and peered into the bucket for a closer look. The seriousness of the Elder passed, and his father’s pride and wonder began to show through again.

“It eats a lot,” Hyden said excitedly. “I’ve already fed it more than I can remember.”

“Its mother would be feeding it strips of fresh meat, bugs, mice, squirrels, rabbits and the like,” his father informed him. “I don’t think the dried salted meat is robust enough to fill its little belly.”

It made sense. The jerky, Hyden mused, did little to fill him on the trail. It barely quelled his hunger pangs most of the time. He decided that when the chick was asleep again, he would go find some fresh meat. Someone in the camp surely had some.

“The bucket was a clever idea,” his father said. “The hawkling can’t fall out, and you can carry it easily enough without disturbing it.”

He shifted his gaze to Hyden, and then waited until his son met his eyes.

“Is Gerard jealous? It was he who took the egg from the cliff, yes?”

“Aye. He took the egg in my stead, but he found a treasure of his own on the cliff. I think it’s more to his liking than this little chick.”

“Oh, he didn’t mention it earlier when we spoke.”

“He offered it to me too since he found it on my climb.”

Hyden didn’t say what it was. He felt he had already said too much. He didn’t want to betray Gerard’s trust. If Gerard wanted their father to know about the ring, then he would tell him himself.

“I could see that he wanted to keep it, so I refused it without offending him. I hope.”

“Aye,” came the grunted response. He could hear the reluctance in his son’s voice to speak on the matter, so he didn’t press the issue. He found he respected Hyden’s attempt not to speak his younger brother’s business. Gerard, he knew, would reveal his find when, and if, he decided he wanted to do so. It wasn’t Hyden’s place.

“They will be putting the doe that Orvin and his brothers killed on the fire soon.” He used Hyden’s shoulder as a handhold to help himself get back to his feet and groaned with the effort. “You should try to get a big piece of the liver. It’s lean and full of good stuff. Get either that or the loin. Cut thin little strips the size of earth worms.”

“Aye,” Hyden nodded, trying not to show that he had felt how much age was affecting his father these days. “Thank you for the advice.”

“Has the wound on your head affected your aim? Have you been practicing?” his father asked, as he returned the lantern to its hook by the doorway.

“I don’t think it has,” Hyden answered.

The truth was, he had forgotten the archery competition entirely. He was reminded suddenly of how important the upcoming event was to his father and the other Elders.

“I’ll resume practice in the morn.”

His father smiled, and gave an approving nod.

“That is the first of many wise decisions I hope you make son.”

Hyden understood the desire the Elders of his Clan had to win the archery competition, at least in theory. The seriousness, and vigor with which they pursued victory year after year, though, was beyond him. For generations, the Skyler Clan’s hunters had been the greatest archers in the realm. The Elders spoke of those times often, but, it had been before Hyden was born. The elves, who hadn’t been heard from for almost a hundred years, returned to the Evermore Forest the same year Hyden was conceived. Where they had disappeared to, or why they had come back, no one really knew, but since their return, they had dominated the Summer’s Day archery competition. Even stranger, was the fact that it was the only competition they had ever entered.

The elves insisted, in their haughty way, that the title had always been theirs. They said that the only reason the Skyler Clan had ever won, was because they had been tending to a different forest, and hadn’t been competing. The Eldest remembered it differently. He spoke of years long ago, when even the elven archers had been bested by the Skyler Clan’s hunters.

The Clan respected the elves as a people. In ancient times, they had even fought together side by side with the giants and the kingdom men against evil. They just couldn’t stand the fact that the elves hadn’t been beaten in such a long time, that only a few of the Elders could remember a Skyler Clan victory.

It was said that the annual contest had been around longer than the human race. From the time that man had begun to record history with parchment, quill, and ink, on the first day of Summer every year, in the sacred Leif Greyn Valley, under the shadow of the great, black monolith, called simply the Spire, the people of the realm had come together in peace to celebrate the spirit of life and competition. There were sword fighting and jousting competitions, as well as the three stone throw and the great tree pull. Over the last few decades, the biggest event had become the Bare Fisted Brawl. The Brawl drew a crowd as big as any that had ever been gathered. Like the elves though, the Skyler Clan had only one competitive interest: the archery competition.

Traders of all sorts came to the Summer’s Day Festival and set up wagon stores or pavilion tents to sell and display their wares. Horses and cattle were judged and marketed. Storytellers, bards, and puppeteers, as well as fortune-tellers, magi, and charlatans ran rampant. It was a festive gathering, in a mostly wholesome atmosphere, and it was the highlight of the Skyler Clan’s year.

Hyden knew he had to do well. He was sure that anything short of a win would disappoint his people. They had been trading at Summer's Day since the beginnings, since the time they say it all began. The Summer’s Day Festival was where the harvested hawkling eggs were always sold, and where the goods and supplies that the mountains didn’t provide the Clan were purchased, but the archery tournament was all that really mattered. The event had become the Elder’s passion, and over the last few years; winning it had become an obsession.

The winners of each event, each year, not only won a small fortune in gold, they also had their name carved in the base of the spire for all to see. Hyden remembered standing at the base last year while his grandfather read the list of names. He had pointed out the Clan members as he came to them. For quite a few years in a row, it had been only his ancestors who had won the archery competition, and his grandfather was one of them. Then, for the last eighteen years straight, there were only elven names; Vagion, Droitter, Pattoom, and Ghanderion, all of them strange sounding and hard to pronounce. Hyden wanted badly to win this year, not for himself, but for his people. He had to admit though, he wouldn’t mind having his name etched and immortalized into the spire for all of eternity.

“Don’t take all the liver!” an angry, youthful voice barked out at him.

Hyden was jolted from his trance by the words. He had been thinking about what it might be like if he could actually win this year.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

He was unintentionally hoarding the good meat of a kill that wasn’t his own. With an apologetic grin, he took a few of the dark strips of liver meat he had cut and added them to the bright red strips of loin in his hand. He then made his way back to his father’s hut. Hyden’s head was still hurting and he felt a little dizzy. He wondered if the daydream that he had slipped off into was brought about by his head wound. He felt odd. It was a feeling he couldn’t quite describe even to himself. A moment later, he found himself staring down at the strips of meat in his hands. How had cutting so little of the stuff gotten his hands so bloody?