After everyone had partaken of the fresh meat, the Council of Elders convened inside Hyden’s grandfather’s hut. Hyden was told to wait in his father’s hut, and to be ready to bring himself and the hawkling chick before the council when called upon. He was also charged with taking care of Gerard. Thankfully, everyone attributed his brother’s sudden slumber to the fact that he had climbed the nesting cliff two days in a row. Hyden strengthened that idea by suggesting that Gerard’s exhaustion had finally caught up with him. He knew it was more than just fatigue that had caused his brother to suddenly collapse, but he didn’t let on to the others. The giantess Berda, who frequented the clan’s village in the mountains when her husband’s herd of devil goats was grazing nearby, had told the people of the Skyler Clan many stories. Hyden remembered one in which a wizard cast a spell on a horse to make it fly. The wizard had slept for several days after casting the spell, because magic took its toll on men. Berda told them that using the magic had sapped his strength. Hyden figured that it was something similar happening with Gerard. At least he hoped so.
As Hyden waited, he watched the dying cook fire from the open doorway of his father’s hut. The blaze had reduced itself to a pile of embers, visited occasionally by a flicker of flame that danced around fleetingly before it wisped away in a curling stream of smoke. He wished the Elders would hurry and call him. He also wished he had taken a lot more of the stag meat before it had gone on the spit. Already, the hawkling chick was up and squawking, begging for more food. As he fed it the last bit of uncooked meat, his father stepped through the doorway.
“The Elders would like to see the hawkling chick now,” he said in his loving, fatherly tone. “We have decided that we must consult the White Lady, through the dragon skull, back at the gathering chamber before we can give you advice with any measure of confidence.”
The aging man walked over to where his younger son lay asleep. He knelt beside him and ran his hand through the boy’s hair.
“We all agree that yours and Gerard’s destinies are intertwined in some strange way. I only hope that it isn’t in a bad way. We hope the White Lady will help us guide you true, but consulting her will have to wait until we are home, when the Summer’s Day Festival and the archery competition are behind us.”
Hyden wasn’t sure how he knew it, but he was certain that his father was correct. Gerard’s strength and love had brought the hawkling chick to him. On the same token, Gerard wouldn’t have been up there to find the ring he seemed to be so fond of if he hadn’t climbed in Hyden’s stead. A strange revelation suddenly unfolded in Hyden’s mind, and he realized that all the little events of now would someday come to influence greater ones. He had a feeling that some would be grand, and others terrible. It all seemed very strange to him. All he could do was what his father had asked of him: try to make good decisions and do what he could to raise the hawkling, which at the moment was squawking loudly for more food.
In his grandfather’s crowded hut, the Elders only had a moment to gawk in awe and wonder at the hungry little hawkling chick. Hyden kept the bucket in his hands protectively as he showed it around the room. A commotion from outside seemed to be intruding on the gathering, drawing everyone’s attention away from the bird. Then someone outside gasped loudly. Another voice shouted out something that sounded urgent. A moment later, Little Condlin burst into the Eldest’s hut. All eyes shot toward the sweat covered, wide eyed boy.
“Wendlin has fallen from the cliff!” He choked as the tears started to pour from his eyes. The room started to erupt with questions and concern, but the boy held his hand up to stall them.
“That’s not all of it,” he sobbed. “Jeryn is stuck above the Lip in the darkness.”
Chapter 5
“It’s just a boy,” a rough male voice whispered. “It’s easy pickings.”
Mikahl cracked an eyelid and could just make out the booted ankle of a man standing a few feet from his head.
“He’s got himself an ample load, Jerup,” a different voice said from somewhere near the horses.
Mikahl could see by the poor condition of the boot, that the man nearest him wasn’t from the King’s Guard. These were probably bandits. He silently cursed himself for not being more prepared. His sword was tied to Windfoot’s saddle and his bow was still in its case on the pack horse’s rig. He did have a utility dagger at his hip, but, the way he was laying, made getting to it without notice next to impossible.
“Waxed cheese, hard bread,” the man by the horses called out quietly. “Ah, what’s this? A silver flask. Bah! It’s empty, but it’s real silver.”
Mikahl could tell that it was the pack horse’s saddle the man was pilfering. It wouldn’t be long though till he found the King’s sword. It was tied to Windfoot’s saddle.
Think, then act, Mikahl recited the mantra in his head. He yawned and rolled over sleepily being careful to keep his eyes closed as he did so. He ended up in a near fetal position, with his head facing the horses, and his hand on his hip next to his dagger.
“This one’s a heavy sleeper, Donniel,” Jerup, the man standing over Mikahl said. “Go on and take your time, see what else we got there.”
“Must have emptied the flask ’fore nodding off,” Donniel said a little louder. The bandit apparently relaxed his guard, because he began grunting and chuckling as he continued rummaging through the pack saddle.
Mikahl hated giving his back to the man standing near him, but he had to make a move soon, while he could still surprise them. One against two wasn’t very good odds, but he found that he wasn’t afraid at all.
“A fancy longbow, Jerup,” Donniel nearly shouted. “Worth its weight in gold I’d bet.”