“Aye,” Loudin nodded.
He was already sure that the boy was more than a common thief, and he wasn’t so sure that he wanted to hear the story behind all this mess. He was a known poacher, and he had already helped Mikahl kill a Westland nobleman, he reminded himself. The halved man’s rank was as obvious as night or day. If he had a lick of sense to himself, he would just kill the boy, and ride away. Nobody could ever tie him into this treachery. He would have enough horses to carry his lizard skin to Summer’s Day too. The animals would blend in there and draw no ill attention at all. He could probably sell them for a bit of coin to a Valleyan breeder who would know how to cover the mark they bore.
He told himself all of this, but he knew he was just angry. The look in the boy’s eyes was something to behold. Mik was no ordinary castle born pup, and that sword was no stolen weapon, Loudin knew these things instinctually. What had happened though was magical to say the least, and Loudin knew that it was the good kind of magic, not the bad. He had felt as much in his very bones. So much for having a lick of sense, he told himself, as he decided to keep helping the boy.
“I’ll hear your story Mik, my friend, but there’s too much blood here. This is no place to be. I can listen while we ride. By the time we get re-situated, we’ll still have a good bit of daylight left to us.”
They made good time then. The skin was attached to the dead men’s horses, allowing Loudin and Mikahl to ride in a normal, comfortable position. Neither had had the stomach to eat, so they didn’t bother stopping to do so. They were both exhausted, but putting distance between themselves and the feast they had left for the forest creatures, was reason enough to stay awake and keep moving. Just before dark, they reached the river. They made a camp in the open area, between the bank and the forest’s edge where the spring thaw had flooded the banks, and washed away most of the vegetation.
It was good to see the sky again, Mikahl thought. He was glad to be out in the relative openness, and out of the claustrophobic confines of the forest. It was good to have the weight of his secret off of his chest as well. He felt as if he could breathe again after he had told Loudin.
Loudin was silent throughout the evening. He had listened to Mikahl’s story and decided that he believed the boy. No one could have made such a thing up. He also decided, but hadn’t told the boy yet, that he would lead him into the Giant Mountains to the giant named Borg. Borg would know exactly what to do, and how far into the giants’ lands Mik, or Mikahl, he had learned, would be allowed to go. Borg was the guardian of the giant king’s southern borders, and he and Loudin had traded before. Loudin doubted that Mik would ever see King Aldar, or the mysterious castle city called Afdeon, but Borg would relate Mikahl’s messages to the giant king, there was no doubt.
He hadn’t told Mik he was going to guide him, mainly because he didn’t want to commit himself until he had gotten them some good mountain clothes. He no longer wanted to sell the lizard skin at the Summer’s Day Festival. Borg would pay thrice what the human hagglers would for so large a single piece of the precious hide, and now they had horses to carry it. It was rare, and the giant could use it to make a cloak, without having to patchwork smaller pieces together. The humans would just cut it up and parcel it out.
It was a good twist of fate Loudin decided: do a good deed, and receive a just reward for the doing. The biggest problem, was that the Westlanders were surely looking for Mik at the Festival. There were probably kingdom men all over the realm, searching for the King’s Squire and his parcels. Loudin knew a place where the new King of Westland’s men would never think to look for them. It was a place where they could trade for devil deer hide coats, furred boots, and the rest of what they needed to travel into the treacherous heights of the Giant Mountains. Loudin had accidentally stumbled upon the place once. He was almost certain that he could find it again. At least he hoped he could, because the village of the Skyler Clan was far enough up into the vast foothills that they could possibly freeze to death while looking for it.
“I’ve healed the damage, but I cannot make the poison leave his blood,” Vaegon, the elven archer said to Hyden.