Michael Mathias - The Sword and the Dragon

Just after midday, the forest began to thin. There were still trees about, in small clumps of twos and threes, with the occasional copse here and there, but they were no longer in what you could call a forest. Soon, they would angle northward and start down into the gradually sloping valley that the giants called the Leif Greyn. Berda had told them it meant “Life Giver.” Hyden had always wondered if Leif Greyn was the name of the huge river that flowed out of the Giant Mountains, or the name of the lush valley that embraced it. He wanted to ask the giantess, Berda, that very question, but he could never remember to ask it when she was in the clan village visiting.

Berda was the wife of a herdsman, and the very best of storytellers. She loved to tell tales that showed the young clans folk the ways of nature and life. She was old and wise, as well as huge, and Hyden loved her dearly. Hyden couldn’t wait to show her the hawkling. She would have a tale for the occasion, he knew. She knew everything, and she had a way of teaching through her stories that was very effective. Those who listened learned much as she narrated her captivating tales. Most of the people in the kingdom lands thought of the giants, and the mountain clansmen, as barbaric and primitive savages, but they were wrong. In many cases, the mountain folk were far more intelligent. She had told him this repeatedly, and he smiled outwardly wondering what wisdom she would have to offer about his little bird.

The mood of the rest of the clan began to lighten as they made camp for the night. The morrow would bring many smiles, and a few tears, when the group were reunited with their wives and children under the towering black monolith that marked the festival grounds. The actual festival wouldn’t officially begin for a few days yet, but for the Skyler Clan, it would start as soon as the men met up with their families under the Spire.

Hyden sat by himself with the nest bucket in his lap. He had just finished feeding the chick and was using the last of the daylight to look at how much it had grown in the last few days. Its feathers were coming in now, and its beak was turning from a soft, gray triangle, into a longer, sharper thing. Its eyes were still filmed over, but Hyden could tell that very soon they would clear, and the little hawkling would be able to see the world around it. It was walking around the nest now without wobbling or stumbling, and every now and then it would unfold its wings. The wings would shiver as the hawkling stretched out the tiny muscles that it would eventually use to fly.

“Someday, your wings will open as wide as my outstretched arms,” Hyden said gently. “You’ll be able to soar through the heavens, and hunt rabbits and snakes.” The little bird made a warm, cooing sound, as if in reply to Hyden’s words. Hyden stroked its head with a finger until it fell asleep.

A murmur of commotion among the Elders caught both Hyden and Gerard’s separate attention. The sun was setting, bathing the world in lavender and gold. Neither brother saw the other as they eased to the edge of the camp to investigate. As they drew nearer to each other though, Gerard, who had stayed away from Hyden all day long, gave his brother an almost apologetic look. Hyden noticed, and halfheartedly sneered, letting Gerard know that he might be forgiven, but the look in his eyes left no room for doubt that the intrusion into his mind would not be forgotten.

“What is it?” Hyden asked his father.

“Campfires down in the valley by the river’s swell,” Harrap replied. “Probably a group of traders coming up through the lower Evermore Forest, or maybe an envoy of competitors from one of the Eastern Kingdoms.”

“A lot of fires for an envoy,” Condlin said.

The man was not only tired from carrying his injured son all day long, he was exhausted from a deeper sort of wariness, the kind of fatigue that no amount of sleep could relieve.

Hyden wondered what his Uncle Condlin was going to say to his wife. He wondered what his own father would say to his mother if it was he or Gerard who had fallen. He glanced at his Uncle, who was looking right back at him, and a pang of sadness twisted in his guts. Condlin seemed as if he were about to speak, then suddenly, his expression went vacant, and he turned and stalked away. Hyden looked sharply at Gerard, wondering if his brother had just used the ring to send their Uncle to bed. He started to berate him, but caught himself when he realized that bed was exactly where uncle Condlin needed to be. It turned out that Gerard hadn't even been paying attention to Hyden and their Uncle. Gerard’s eyes were captivated by the tiny orange constellation of the fires down in the valley bottom.

“How far are they from us?” Gerard asked their grandfather.

“Most of a day’s walk, I’d guess,” the Elder replied. “We might do well to stay up and away from the river as we travel.” He turned to one of his older nephews. “At least until we know who they are.”

Gerard wanted to ask why, but didn’t. Still the question formed in his mind. Without even intending to do so, he used the ring to send out the question, and immediately he felt the warm comforting tingle of magic rushing through his blood.

“I have an ill feeling about that lot,” the Eldest said quietly. Then, the old man suddenly glanced at Gerard. His thick eyebrows narrowed for a moment. With a quizzical, contemplative look on his face, he walked over to the fire and received a bowl of food.

It felt so good having the magic flowing through his body, that Gerard nearly forgot the fear he had felt the moment his grandfather had peered into his eyes. The old man’s gaze had been intense and penetrating, and Gerard’s heart hammered through his chest. It wasn’t the fear that his grandfather might know what he had done. It was the fear that if his grandfather found out about the ring, he might use his power as the Eldest to confiscate it. The idea that the old man was up to just that came flooding through Gerard in a tidal wave of paranoia. The curious look he saw on Hyden’s face at that moment made him think that his brother was in on it as well.

A short while later, when the rush of power had subsided, Gerard moved away from them all. He found a place outside the firelight where he could watch the rest of the clan. He stayed there with his mind racing, watching over every movement his people made, until finally, late in the night, sleep crept up and snatched him away.

He ended up dreaming of dark suspicious places, full of crude teeth and wings. Conspiracies hid in every shadow like hungry wolves waiting to chase him tirelessly through his fitful slumber.

Hyden dreamed that night as well. Beneath him, vast stretches of sparkling blue ocean, and endless expanses of wavering, emerald grass all blurred together as he soared over them. He circled slowly, rising upward on drafts of sun warmed air, until he could touch the clouds with his wing tips, and the world below was merely a collage of multicolored smears. Then, he pulled his wings back and dove toward it all. The wind rushed through his long, black hair. His wings folded in even more with the speed of his descent. His eyes focused on a darting hare, as if he were right above it. He tilted and slowed on a banking turn to gain position on his prey, then dove again to attack in earnest. The unsuspecting rabbit grew in his eyes as he drew nearer. It sprang forward just as he opened his wings to stall his dive. It was a futile attempt to flee, Hyden’s claws were already gripping its wriggling body. As he lumbered away with the struggling weight of his dream kill, Hyden had to use all of his strength. He had to force his wings downward to keep himself aloft. Each wing beat was fought for as the weight of the carcass threatened to pull him down.