The ranger nodded his understanding, ordered the two chagrined soldiers to stand guard, then took the reins of everyone’s mounts, and picketed them. When he was done, he sat back against a tree. He didn’t like the idea of his fallen companion just laying there, dead over a horse’s back, but what could he do? The elf, and his exhausted friend, had seemed about to fall over when they were burying the big wolf. Now, they could barely move, much less ride.
Drick could go ahead, and dig the hole for his fellow forester, but poor, dead Arnell had a wife, and a father, who might not want him buried out here in the forest, even though it would be any ranger’s obvious choice of places to be laid to rest. He didn’t like the idea of burying his friend so close to that foul, half-rotted headless corpse they had dragged into the woods. If he could talk to Arnell’s father, maybe they could find a nice, peaceful glade somewhere. Absently pondering the matter further, he noticed that one of the armored soldiers was staring at the elf, and wondered what he was thinking.
Drick had seen an elf before, but it had been from a great distance. The wild yellow of Vaegon’s good eye, kept stealing the soldier’s attention from the big white wolf that had crawled up beside Hyden. [_
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It’s like one of those fargin old tales, he thought to himself. [_Demon beasts, wolf riding elves, and a Westlander with a magic sword. And right in the middle of a war no less. Ah the war!
_]
No one in all of Highwander, least of all Drick, could understand why Valleya and Seaward were attacking them. Queen Willa probably knew the reasons, but not he.
A hawkling came swooping down through an opening in the trees, and landed beside the young mountain boy. It had been among them during the battle with the Choska demon, and had even managed to get a raking claw across one of the demon’s cherry eyes. Its presence only added to the strange, surreal mood that Drick was feeling. At this point, it wouldn’t have surprised him if a herd of tiny finger-tall deer came swarming out of the forest and started talking to the mushrooms.
These folk will fit right into Queen Willa’s strange court, mused Drick. What, with her dwarven castellan, her bearded dwarfess confidant, and her little blue fairy counselor, a one-eyed elf, and a man who looked to be now having an intelligent conversation with a Great Wolf and a bird, would complete the mummers troop that Queen Willa surrounded herself with. Drick decided that he would be glad to deliver these folks to the castle so that he could be off. He would go back to his mundane forest patrol, and never complain of boredom again.
Of his own accord, Talon had followed Mikahl, the woman, and the wolves. He had tried to force is hawkling vision into Hyden’s head, but Hyden was too dazed to make sense of it. The impact with the oak tree, and what had happened after, had taken its toll on him. Talon watched the woman, and Mikahl’s limp body, as they raced away, and followed them until he was confident that the lady intended no trickery, and that Mikahl’s body wouldn’t fall off of Huffa’s back. These visions had helped Hyden get through the burial of Grrr without breaking down.
Vaegon lay down alongside Hyden, and placed Ironspike between them. As if the wolf understood the elf’s concern, Urp curled up into a furry ball at their feet. Talon alighted on the sword’s hilt and began preening himself.
Vaegon wasn’t feeling very safe around the Highwander soldiers, so he wasn’t taking any chances. It was men, just like these armored soldiers, that Hyden Hawk had seen loosing the arrow at him back at the Summer’s Day Festival. Vaegon wasn’t ready to trust them just yet.
As he drifted off to sleep, his thoughts and worries weren’t for himself though. It was Mikahl he was concerned about. Hopefully, the Xwardian healers were as good as the woman had said. They would have to be to save him.
When Hyden woke, it was nearly dark. It took him several long moments to figure out where he was, and what had happened to him. He had been dreaming, and the visions of his slumber clung to his waking mind like a bad smell.
He had dreamt of the dragon skull that lay in his village’s council chamber. In his vision, the White Goddess was calling out to him frantically from the dancing blue flames that filled the open brain cavity. Her voice had been thin, but insistent, and he was having a hard time shaking the image from his head. What was worse was that he couldn’t remember the span of time from when he was knocked into the oak tree, until they sent Mikahl off to Xwarda with that strange woman.