Mikahl wasn’t exactly sure what Vaegon’s problem was, until one night when the golden haired elf ceremoniously gave Hyden his longbow at the campfire. He saw the problem a little more clearly then. Vaegon had lost his aiming eye, probably the worst injury an archer could sustain.
“Hyden Hawk,” Vaegon always called Hyden ‘Hyden Hawk,’ whether he was speaking to him or about him.
Hyden took the bow with a silent nod of understanding, and had since treated it with nothing less than reverence. This obviously pleased the elf, but not enough to shatter his bouts of depression.
Hyden Hawk, it seemed to Mikahl, was part animal, part wizard. He could see through the eyes of his hawkling friend, Talon, and he could hunt up a meal in the middle of an icy rain storm, as if it were a clear spring day. He spoke with his bird, as if it were just another traveler among them. He obviously had a lot on his mind, but he made for excellent company at the fire. He loved to laugh, and he loved to hear a tale, almost as much as Loudin loved to tell them.
Loudin, Mikahl learned, was more than just a trapper and hunter. He had once been a mariner of sorts, and he often spent the evening stretching a story about the strange and distant lands he had visited in his adventures. He had been to all of the seven kingdoms, including the Isle of Salazar. He had even been across the Great Western Sea to the land of Harthgar. He told them of the strange customs the people of the outer islands had, and of the great shipbuilding yards on the big island of Salazar. He told them of the slave-fighting pits in Dakahn, of the exotic women one could purchase there. He even told them all about the Seaward custom of skin marking. He hinted at the vast and powerful magics that the Witch Queen of Highwander had at her disposal, and the strange little men called dwarves, that were rumored to stay in the city of Xwarda at her magnificent palace.
Hyden asked many questions, and was disappointed to learn that these later tales were more from secondhand sources. Loudin had never been to Xwarda himself, but he had been to Highwander’s Port cities of Weir, Old Port, and New Port. Loudin had seen enough magic on those docks to know that a lot of what he had heard about Xwarda wasn’t exaggerated.
Mikahl listened intently, and wondered at it all. He had heard a lot of things while serving as King Balton’s Squire, but he chose to keep his knowledge and speculation to himself. He let Hyden do all the questioning, and gained even more respect for the mountain clansman. Not only was he in supreme physical condition, his mind was sharp and his queries were well chosen.
Thinking about chumming around a campfire, reminded Mikahl of just how cold he was at the moment. He was miserable, and felt that if he ever stopped shivering, he would freeze into a solid statue of ice. He hated the cold, and he was glad that this was the last high altitude pass they would have to traverse for awhile.
According to Hyden and the elf, a rich, warm valley lay on the other side of this ridge. They would hopefully be able to lay up there and wait for the giants to come to them. Both Loudin and Hyden Hawk agreed that it was a strange thing that Borg had not already found and questioned them. They said that no group of men ever made it this far into the Giant Mountains without the Southern Guardian greeting them.
It came as a welcome relief to all of them that they would be making camp soon. Hyden explained over the icy wind, that Talon had spied a cave, which looked big enough to hold all four of them, and the three horses as well. It was ideal, because from there, they could reach the protection of the valley early the next day. A good, warm fire, and a long needed rest, would benefit them all. Six days of rough up and down mountain traveling, had taken its toll on even the hardiest of them.
They reached the cavern with plenty of light left in the sky, so while Loudin tended to the horses, and Vaegon helped Mikahl scrounge up enough wood to start a fire, Hyden and Talon went off to hunt up some fresh meat. Mikahl ended up chattering, pacing, and rubbing his hands together, trying to thaw out enough to be of assistance, but by the time he had quit shivering, a fire was burning, and the horses were unsaddled, and eating oats from muzzle bags.
The cavern was featureless: rocky walls, a rocky ceiling, and an uneven rocky floor. Remnants of past travelers littered the place: most of a torn jerkin; a good length of poorly made braided rope; a single well-worn boot, among other things. Luckily, there were a few sticks of firewood. Someone had once used soot to draw a scene of stick men and horned creatures on one wall, but it was faded. There were also a few strange symbols, daubed in something more permanent, possibly blood, by the entryway. To Mikahl, it was just a cave; a cave that was getting warmer and more comfortable by the moment.
“You’d think that you were the one from way down south,” Loudin joked at Mikahl. “I know it snows and freezes around that castle you were raised in. I’ve been there. You act like you’ve never been cold before.”