Mikahl could see that the hunter was older than he had first guessed. The lines that formed at the corners of the man’s eyes when he smiled were deep and worn in. His body was well muscled and darkened from the sun. Mikahl figured that he was far more than just a trapper. The tattoos were the strangest thing about him though. He was tiger striped horizontally, from his belt line, up his back, and onto his head. He had big stripes that wrapped around his arms and the tender flesh at his sides. The highest stripe wrapped around his neck, just under his ears, and came to crisp points along either side of his jaw. From between his eyebrows, a point gradually widened into a two finger wide stripe that ran back over his forehead and melded with the rest. The effect was such, that if you looked at him from the front, you could only see the hint of the mohawk tattoo on his head. But from behind, he looked quite animalistic.
Mikahl wanted to ask him about the tattoos but was afraid to offend the man. He knew from his studies, that warriors from Seaward, and some sailors from the Isle of Salazar marked themselves in such ways, but he wasn’t sure why.
Loudin gave him a piece of the tongue meat when it was done and put his own piece on the bread Mikahl had given him.
“That there piece of meat would fetch a whole piece of gold in some places I’ve been.” Loudin took a bite, and closed his eyes, savoring the rich flavor.
“My people say it’s bad fortune to eat meat from a scaled beast, but –” He took another bite.
The expression on his face left no need for him to finish the statement. The look was that of pure bliss.
Mikahl tried to sniff the meat before he took a bite, but his nose was clogged with blood. He finally braved a taste, and was rewarded with a thick, powerful flavor that was quite delicious.
Loudin grinned. After he swallowed his bite, he continued speaking.
“The giant folk will give a small fortune for such a delicacy. These bark-skinned lizards don’t live up in the frigid mountains. I know a giant that would have filled my fist full of gold for the piece of meat you’re eating now. I mean filled it!”
“Giant? Did you just say that you know some of the giants?” Mikahl asked the question, just to be sure he had heard correctly. He had.
Chapter 9
The black obsidian spike of Summer’s Day Spire thrust up out of the Northern Leif Greyn Valley and pointed toward the heavens. It was hundreds of feet tall, yet only twenty eight paces wide at each of the three faces formed by its base. What purpose it was supposed to serve, and who had built it, no one, be they human, giant, or elf could say. It had been standing before history was written. The giants called it the Monolith. The elves simply called it the Spire. Tens of thousands of years’ worth of stories and lore, from all the races of the realm, spoke of it. Religions had risen and fallen over it, but no one had even come close to guessing what it was about. Even the oldest of the elves, who had heard the tales of their forbearers firsthand, had no clue as to why the thing existed, or who might have put it there.
The towering, perfectly formed, structure was there though, and around its base, in the Valley of Life, the people of the realm were congregating, as they did every year around the first day of summer, in the spirit of peace, fellowship, mercantilism, and competition.
Three crowded lanes led away from the base of the Spire. One extended upriver, north towards the foothills. Another ran downstream, keeping parallel to the river almost all the way to Wildermont. The third road led eastward, away from the river altogether. Between the Spire and the river, was an area known simply as the Grounds. This was where the contests took place. Sections were marked off for archery lanes, fighting circles, muddy tug of war pits, and other similar competition areas. An open field, filled with quickly assembled wooden bleachers built around it, held the hammer throwers at the moment. Once, this event had been dominated by the dwarves, but a few hundred years ago, the little folk had gone underground and not returned. Only a few handfuls of dwarves could be found in the realm these days, and they would be in the kingdom of Highwander, in the city called Xwarda, where Willa the Witch Queen held rule over the people with her potent magic and her Blacksword Warriors.