The man before him was but a shadow of the mighty warrior he remembered. It seemed strange to Mikahl that the Lord of Lake Bottom would treat him so cordially. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but it had only been a few weeks since they had crossed paths outside King Balton’s chamber.
“No more milords from you, Mikahl,” Lord Gregory said firmly. “Never again. This isn’t the place to explain, but I promise I will.” As if he had just remembered something hugely important, Lord Gregory looked at Mikahl’s hip. Alarmed, he asked, “Where is it?”
“It’s safe,” Mikahl answered, taking a step backwards reflexively.
There was no doubt what the “It” was he was referring to. King Balton hadn’t said anything about giving Ironspike to Lord Gregory, and as much as Mikahl loved and respected the man before him, he wouldn’t let him have the sword.
“I don’t want it,” Lord Gregory nodded his understanding. “The sword is your charge. Now that we’re both free of Glendar and his dark hearted wizard, it’s you that I must keep safe. King Balton spoke to me just before he spoke to you. Do you remember?”
Mikahl relaxed a bit. He remembered.
“Aye, milord,” he acknowledged.
“I should be saying that to you,” the Lion Lord ruffled Mikahl’s hair like he had a thousand times before, after sword drills and grappling practice.
A memory from one of the summers when Mikahl had squired for the Lion Lord at Lake Bottom, caused him to smile. Looking back, Mikahl realized that Lord Gregory had personally groomed him to be the King’s Squire.
“Who is your companion?” Lord Gregory asked.
“I am Loudin Drake,” Loudin said. “And I know who you are, Lord Lion. I saw you take down the Valleyan Stallion a few years back. I never forget someone who makes me a profit.”
“If I’d only done as well this year –” Lord Gregory let his voice trail off.
He turned his horse tactfully, avoiding further explanation. It was obvious that these two men hadn’t attended, nor heard about, the massacre at Summer’s Day. If they had, he didn’t think a Seawardsman would be interacting so peacefully with a Westlander.
“I have some interesting friends waiting up ahead; warm food and a hot fire as well.” Lord Gregory let out a strange uneasy laugh. “One of them is among us now. Would you like to meet him?”
Mikahl and Loudin both looked around the area curiously. There was not even the hint of another person about.
“Yes, we would,” Loudin answered for the both of them.
Lord Gregory pointed toward the young hawkling that was perched in the nearby tree.
“That is Talon. A sort of friend of a friend, I should say.”
In response to his introduction Talon tried to shriek out a fierce cry. It came out sounding more like an angry caw. He leapt from the tree, and fluttered gracelessly down onto Lord Gregory’s head.
Mikahl burst out laughing at this. Loudin joined in the mirth, but his mind was wondering about the nature of the Lion Lord’s friends. In his experience, the type of men, if you could call them men, who kept the close company of animals, were the sort of men one should avoid. Friends aside, it was quite funny seeing the mighty Western Lord with a bird perched on his head.
“I have much to tell you both,” Lord Gregory said, after brushing Talon back into flight. “Grave news from the Festival, but I would rather you heard the tale from my companions, for they can tell it firsthand. I would like to hear the story, though, of how you came to be wearing the Coldfrost Butcher’s sword, Mikahl.”
He patted the boy on his back and climbed back into his saddle with a groan.
“The telling of it will kill the time between here and there, I hope.”
Mikahl told Lord Gregory the whole story while they rode. From his meeting with King Balton at his deathbed, all the way up until the present. He told of the two bandits he had been forced to kill after fleeing the castle; the terrifying ordeal with the barkskin lizard, and the grisly battle with Duke Fairchild and his henchmen. The only part left out, was how Ironspike had lit up with its wild magical glow when he had used it. He glared at Loudin when he was done to let the hunter know that part of the tale was to be kept between the two of them.
They were well met just after dark, when they rode into the camp. The smell of rabbit stew being cooked was pleasant, and the fire was blazing bright and warm. They made introductions and small talk while they ate.
Mikahl was awed, and mildly disturbed by Vaegon’s feral yellow eyes. Hyden’s strange friendship with Talon didn’t sit too well with him either.
In turn, Hyden was shocked by the enormity of the bark lizard skin. He had seen plenty of bark lizards in the Evermore Forest on his clan’s journeys to and from the Harvest Lodge, but nothing remotely close to the size of the one Loudin and Mikahl had killed. He readily agreed that Borg, or any other of the mountain giants who roamed the range, would pay handsomely for such a prize.