Chapter 22
When dawn broke, Lord Gregory mounted his horse, and started back towards Mikahl. He was feeling as well as he had since before the Brawl, despite the wet and gloomy weather.
If Loudin, or Mikahl, had seen him coming, then most likely they would have set a trap or an ambush for him, but they didn’t catch sight of him until he topped the ridge opposite the one they were on. They spotted the lone rider and knew without a doubt they had been seen. There was no need for trickery after that, only caution.
It was nearly midday then, and the rain that had been drizzling for hours, was starting to subside. Out, over the Leif Greyn Valley to the south, the clouds were letting go of their burden fully. A steel gray wall of natural fury could be seen inching its way over the sacred grounds. The lightning storm had been a brilliant display, and the continuous thunder had made sleep all but impossible. The day was cold, damp, and somewhat depressing. It was as if the storm had left a dismal stain, both in the sky, and in the tired minds of those who had witnessed its power.
“Should we keep going?” Mikahl asked from Windfoot’s saddle.
Loudin was sitting on his mount beside him. Both watched as the lone rider approached, with seemingly excited haste. Loudin was annoyed at being so exposed. What if it had been a dozen armed kingdom men across the way instead of only one? What if it had been an angry band of rock trolls? What if? What if? What if? Be happy he finally told himself. It’s just a single man. At least it’s not worse.
“He’s about to fall out of his saddle, for all that waving and hollering,” Loudin observed. “Could be a trap. There could be a handful of men waiting on the other side of that rise.” He didn’t sound convincing, not even to himself. Still the possibility was there.
Since Mikahl had killed the Westland nobleman, since that eerie magical blue glow had filled the forest around them, Loudin had let Mikahl have a say in things. He would put the facts and possibilities out there, and Mikahl would ask questions, and give his opinion on the situation. Loudin knew that there was something special about the boy. He also knew that the boy had no idea that he was special. Loudin was trying to help the lad see the complexity of the situation. Mikahl, most of the time, seemed oblivious.
“Nah, nah,” Mikahl finally said, more to himself than to his companion. He turned to Loudin. “Let’s go on down and see what he’s about. Maybe he isn’t lost.”
“Bah!” Loudin cursed through his tired grin. “I’m not lost, blast you!”
Lord Gregory, after seeing that they were going to continue coming his way, sat back into his saddle, and hurried his horse down the slope. He wasn’t satisfied to wait for them at the bottom of the valley. Their pace, hindered by the big, long object that their pack horses were carrying, was so slow that he couldn’t stand the wait. He met them a quarter of the way up the slope they were descending, in a semi open area, which was spattered with young pine trees, old oaks, elms and sycamores.
“Mikahl!” The Lion Lord shouted, in a voice that was thick with emotion. “Oh Mikahl!”
The sound of Lord Gregory’s voice was startling. He was the last person Mikahl would’ve expected to come across out here. He shook his head, and rubbed at his eyes, wondering if he was hearing and seeing things.
Loudin recognized the embroidered patch on the king’s-man’s saddle and drew his dagger with a muffled curse. Loudin’s bladed pike, his favorite weapon, had been shoved through the center of the lizard-skin roll to keep it from sagging in the middle.
Mikahl’s hand went to the hilt of Duke Fairchild’s sword at his hip, while his other hand felt behind him to make sure that Ironspike was still secure in its place on Windfoot’s saddle. Only when he was sure that it was safe, did he let his full attention fall on the familiar man reining up his horse before them.
It took half a minute for Mikahl to register that the pale, sickly man was really Lord Gregory, but when he did, the dam of emotion he had been holding back inside himself burst forth in a teary flood.
Both Westlanders dismounted and embraced each other fiercely. They held on for a good long moment, before Lord Gregory moved Mikahl back to arm’s length. The Lion Lord of Lake Bottom eyed him proudly.
A small hawkling alighted on a tree limb nearby, drawing Loudin’s attention away from the reunion. The young bird seemed unafraid of them, and that was a curious thing to the seasoned hunter.
“Are you well?” Gregory asked.
“I should ask you the same question, milord,” Mikahl returned.