Loudin raised himself back up to his feet, and managed to do it without an audible groan this time.
“I’ll have a fire waiting,” he said, then made his way back toward the cavern.
Hyden chided himself for letting the hunter sneak up on him like that. That kind of carelessness would not do. He hadn’t told the others yet what Borg had said about there being more of those dark creatures about.
It wasn’t until he heard the story of Dahg Mahn again, that he began to truly believe that the power of Mikahl’s sword had something to do with the attack. If the sword truly made Mikahl the King of Westland, then more of them would surely come for it. Hyden wasn’t learned in the way of kings and kingdoms, and he knew even less about magical swords, but it was obvious that whoever was running Westland at the moment wouldn’t want Mikahl showing up and ruining his plans.
A warning shriek from Talon brought Hyden’s attention back to the ram. It was getting closer to him laterally, but working its way higher up the mountain. He sent Talon to swoop down the slope at it. He was as anxious to see if the bird could harry the ram where he wanted it to go, as he was about to kill one of its mates.
Vaegon woke to the first crackling sounds of Loudin’s fire. The pain in his empty socket had lessened considerably, but not the pain in his heart. The empty space there was like a raw, open sore. He felt like part of him, the part that made him elven, had been ripped away from him by that beast.
None of his companions could know the true extent of his loss. Only an elf would understand. The night vision, the ability to see the life force of living things, and the currents of magic flowing around and through the rest of the world, was so distorted now, that it was useless. For him, seeing was now like a human trying to hear with his nose, or smell with his tongue; like trying to wield a sword with a booted foot, or trying to run with only one leg. He felt empty and useless.
As much as he had been missing the Evermore Forest, he no longer found the idea of going back there very comforting. His people would be accepting and loving of course, but the whispers as he walked past the flower gardens, without being able to tell the shapes the scents made as the sunlight reflected through them, would be unbearable. They would laugh, as he missed the signs of the trail that the forest showed him to follow. They would be consoling, polite, and their good intentions would be a constant reminder of the myriad things he could no longer sense with his elven vision. It was sickening to think about. Even now, the flames that danced to life before his eyes were like a single cricket call, where before, they would’ve blazed forth in his vision, like the entire nocturnal symphony of the forest.
It had pained him dearly to give his longbow to Hyden Hawk, but he could have found no better owner for his longbow. Not in all of the races, including his own, would a person respect the gift more than Hyden Hawk did. The young human was special, as was Mikahl. In all of Vaegon’s seventy-three years of life, he had not met anyone, be they elf, giant, fairling, or dwarf, that had the power of life radiating from them like those two did. He couldn’t see it anymore, but he had seen it before he lost the gift of his elven sight.
A gift was all that his wonderful vision had been, he realized now. He shook his head, thinking how his kind took such things for granted. That thought humbled him even more than the actual loss did. In truth, his race was not much different than the humans; just a few more god-granted gifts. Take them away, and they were the same. He couldn’t believe that he used to think that he was better.
Vaegon knew that Hyden Hawk needed someone to help him come into his power. Mikahl’s Power came from the sword. That was something Vaegon wouldn’t even try to understand. The Westland boy had had a great deal of potential coursing around his aura when they had met outside of Hyden’s Village. The sword had had no part in that, he remembered. It had been strapped to the horse that day. Still, the Westland boy needed some guidance too. They both did.
Vaegon sighed. If it had not been for Hyden Hawk’s brilliant shot that destroyed the arrow the Witch Queen’s archer had aimed at him, then he wouldn’t be here at all. He still owed his life to Hyden. That simple fact gave him purpose, which in turn gave him a little hope. He needed that.