He must have slept for some time, because it was full night now. Vaegon had brought two other elves into the camp with him. One had silvery blue hair, which reflected in the camp fire’s light like icicles. The other’s hair was another shade of blue entirely. It was the color of a cloudless summer sky. This elf was ancient. He moved with a slight tremble, and his eyes were more amber than yellow, and had a depth to them that one might get lost in. He nodded at Hyden respectfully, and then looked directly at Mikahl. He spoke in the elven tongue, and Vaegon translated for him.
“It would be a great honor, friend, if you would allow me to look upon Pavreal’s sword with my own eyes.”
Mikahl looked at Hyden askance. Hyden nodded that it was all right.
Mikahl drew the sword. The soft, bluish glow was barely enough to light the radius of the camp, but it still caused a look of awe to form on the faces of the two older elves.
“Tell them, it’s no longer Pavreal’s sword,” Mikahl said sharply. “Ask him if it were Pavreal standing here, instead of me, this would have been a more courteous meeting. We’ve been traveling for weeks, and haven’t even been offered water.”
Mikahl’s words put a mortified look on Vaegon’s face, but a gentle urging from the older elf caused him to repeat them, word for word.
The old elf’s response was quick and hard.
“He said his grandfather helped to forge that blade, and that there is a cool, crisp stream only a stone’s throw from here.”
“Pavreal was my ancestor,” said Mikahl, who was still riled. “You all should be ashamed to be afraid to bring your grandfather’s work among your people, no matter what sort of trouble it might bring with it.”
The old elf listened to Vaegon’s translation, and then smiled sadly. After a moment, he spoke in a far softer tone. Again, Vaegon translated.
“He apologizes for the lack of hospitality and courtesy shown to you, to our group, to us. It was not his doing. He says that his wisdom is sometimes relied upon to make decisions, but he is not a true decider. The Queen Mother, after seeking the guidance of the forest, through the Heart Tree, made the decisions that offend you so much. He only wishes to lay his eyes upon the fruit of his grandfather’s labors. If it were up to him, the sword would be displayed at every gathering, and with pride and honor for its intent.”
Vaegon added his own words now.
“He is a respected man among my people, Mik, and one of the oldest of my kind. Please don’t be rude to Em Davow.”
Vaegon gestured at the forest full of glittering yellow eyes that surrounded them. “This is not his doing.”
“Then, I apologize for my rudeness,” Mikahl said, with a nod of his head. He took Ironspike by its glowing blade, and offered the hilt to Em Davow.
The instant he let go of the blade, the bluish glow vanished, leaving the insufficient dancing orange flames of the campfire to illuminate their faces.
The aged elf took the hilt, moved closer to the fire’s light, and studied the sword reverently. The fact that its magical inner radiance didn’t acknowledge him was a statement unto itself, and more than once Em Davow glanced up at Mikahl curiously.
The other elf and Hyden were having a quiet conversation. Mikahl saw the resemblances to Vaegon in Deiter and the older elf, and knew that he was their father. He took another long gaze at Em Davow then. If the ancient elf was related to Vaegon, it didn’t show.
Mikahl hoped he hadn’t offended, or embarrassed Vaegon’s family. His intention had been to make the old elf aware that he disliked being guarded in the forest, when they might be bathing, eating a warm meal, or resting somewhere more comfortable. He also didn’t like the fact that the whole realm was currently threatened by some dark, and evil power, and the elves didn’t even seem to care.
“He says,” Vaegon started translating Em Davow’s words again. “He hopes that the evil we must face is swiftly defeated, and that after it is done, you might return. He hopes then that his tree can be open to you as it should be now.”
“Tell him,” Mikahl paused. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say.
Em Davow was probably full of ancient wisdom. It showed in his deep, amber eyes. Now that Mikahl’s anger wasn’t clouding his mind, he wished the meeting had started differently. He could have gleaned a thing or two from the ancient elf, if he had been a bit more diplomatic. Now, he felt too awkward to ask anything of him.
“Tell him, thank you,” was all he could think of, as he took Ironspike back and quickly inserted it into its sheath, before its glow became pronounced.
He felt more than a little ashamed at his inability to keep his anger from controlling his mouth. In a feeble attempt to reconcile his rudeness, he put his right hand out, stepped up to Em Davow, and placed his palm over the old elf’s heart. Em Davow returned the gesture, and then made a deep, respectful head bow, which surprised Vaegon. The fact that Mikahl was Pavreal’s sole heir, the rightful King of, not only Westland, but of the entire Seven Kingdoms, didn’t slip past the old elf.
“I think it’s time for us to be on our way,” said Hyden.
“Yes,” Vaegon agreed.
He was relieved, and as pleased as he was surprised, at the way Mikahl and Em Davow’s exchange had ended. He took a moment to introduce his father to Mikahl, while the camp was being broken. It was a short affair, with only names, and the human gesture of clasping hands taking place, which was fine with Vaegon.
Hyden paused his rigging of Urp’s pack harness only long enough to make the palm to heart gesture with Deiter, who had come out of the woods to escort his father and Em Davow back to the Elven Heart.
Before they left, Drent gave Vaegon a palm-sized leather pouch, and hugged his son fiercely. A few more goodbyes were spoken, and then the companions climbed onto the backs of the restless wolves and disappeared into the forest night.
Mikahl couldn’t help but reflect on the way Vaegon and his father had said farewell. It had seemed as if they both knew that they would never see each other again, or something equally as drastic. The idea of it left a hollow feeling in Mikahl’s gut that didn’t go away until long after the sun had filled the sky again.
They rode swiftly around the massive tree trunks of the deeper forest, over shrubs, and through silvery moonlit glades. Dawn broke quickly, but the wolves paid it no heed. They ran until well after midday, when the stored energy of the last few idle days started to wear off, and the heat started to get to them.
A mossy, pebble strewn creek ran through the forest where they stopped, and while the wolves lapped up bellies full of its cool water, Vaegon began making a ring of stones for a cook fire. He wasted no time gathering up some dead fall, and setting it to blazing. Then, he curiously took out a small tin pot from a pack he had taken from home, and began boiling water.
Huffa and Urp went off to hunt, and Hyden followed them for a while, from above, through Talon’s vision. Feeling the hawklings hunger, Hyden had the bird inspect the area around the camp. Once he was satisfied that there were no immediate dangers about, he let Talon go hunt for his own meal.
The hawkling had grown quite a bit, and was nearing full size. His appetite was amazing. Talon could eat most of a rabbit now in a single sitting, and be hungry again only a few hours later. It made sense though, Hyden thought. Talon’s outstretched wings were almost as wide as Hyden’s open arms, and if the hawkling were to stand on the ground beside him, its head would be just above his knees. The incredible amount of energy it took to sustain flight through the dense Evermore required a good bit of sustenance. There were no warm thermals to glide upon when racing through the trees with the Great Wolves.
“Here,” Vaegon offered Hyden a small tin cup of aromatic tea.
Mikahl was already sipping from his. The little leather pouch Drent had given his son, was lying open on a flat stone, and a smattering of dark leaves could be seen inside. The ingredients of this drink, Hyden could only guess. It was tart, but refreshing. It seemed to reach down into the nooks and crannies of Hyden’s body, and cleanse away the grit that had collected there over the years. After only a few sips, he found he was relaxed in a way he had never been before: not tired, yet soothed and content.
“I apologize to you all,” Vaegon said to them.
He was including the wolves in his apology, even though he wasn’t sure if they understood him, or cared to hear his words.
“You have to understand that my people are afraid. Their fierce pride causes them to recognize the emotion as anything but fear. The sword seems to draw the dark creatures to it, and if one of them were to find you in the Elven Heart, then this evil might learn where the Elven Heart truly exists. To allow the dark creatures to know that place, is to doom my people. The Heart Tree is rooted there, and without the heart tree, we cannot survive. Its location must forever remain secret to all but us. I hope you understand.”
Mikahl didn’t, but he held his tongue. Hyden, however, lived in a village that was built to remain hidden from the kingdom men and other dangerous things. He sort of understood, and nodded his understanding to his elven friend. Grrr yawned with a curling tongue, as if Vaegon’s words meant absolutely nothing to him.
Vaegon was about to continue, but was saved from the embarrassing subject, by a nod, and a tiny little screaming sound.
“That’s an odd sounding bird,” Mikahl said, with his ear cocked curiously to the sky.
“Was that cursing?” asked Hyden.
“Might have been,” Mikahl replied.
The little screaming voice was moving rapidly toward them, and coming from the level of the treetops. The sound was now obviously angry words, not some animal call, but the voice was little and childlike. The curses, however, could have been coming from a drunken seaman. The source of the voice suddenly became clear, and it was as astonishing as the sound itself.
Talon came swooping out of the trees from downstream, and was quickly approaching them. Clutched in his claws was the little creature that was causing the racket. It was a little man! A tiny little man!
Talon landed as softly as he could manage, then held the little guy pinned, shoulders under one claw, legs under the other. The bewildered companions stared, as the man grunted and huffed under Talon’s weight. The bird was forced to keep flapping his wings sporadically, as the little man squirmed, wiggled, grunted, and cursed.
Grrr rose quickly, and with a curious way about him, stuck his muzzle in close, and sniffed at Talon’s victim. His hackles rose, and he stepped back, snarling. The companions all had the same wide-eyed, open mouthed expression, but Hyden broke free of it and spoke to calm Grrr. He had to say a word or two of restraint to Oof, who was coming in close to investigate as well. The wolves’ reaction, Hyden could sense, was not from anger or a feeling of danger, but from a sense of uncertainty.
“Oh mighty mushrooms!” the little man chirped. “Let me be, let me be! I done naught to deserve to be a white-furred monster’s turd!”
Mikahl looked at Hyden and Vaegon in turn. Hyden was busy soothing the wolves, but Vaegon looked just as shocked as he felt. This only served to further Mikahl’s sense of disbelief at what he was seeing and hearing. This was the forest that Vaegon called home. Nothing in it should surprise him. But this did.
“Let him go!” Hyden ordered Talon aloud.
The hawkling obeyed, but only stepped back off of the little man. Talon kept behind him, ready to snatch him back up, should he try to make a run for it.
The little guy stood up, and dusted his britches off indignantly. They were a faded green color, as was his vest. The garments looked to be made from frog skin, or maybe leaf lizard hide. On his tiny feet, were leather sandals, and his hair and beard were gray and neatly trimmed.
“Who? What are you?” asked Hyden.
“I’m minding my own business, is who I am!” He chirped back angrily. “What’s a sorry lot like you bothering with peaceful folk out here anyway?”
“Sorry lot!” Mikahl shot, as he sat up and loomed in on the little man.
The little man pointed at Vaegon first.
“An elf, who can’t see straight, and a wizard, who can’t read.”
His finger had moved to Hyden. Then he pointed at Mikahl.
“And what’s this? A king with no kingdom!” the little man clutched at his belly and laughed with mock hysteria.
“Callin ya a sorry lot is being far too kind!”
“I ought to let the wolves eat – ” Mikahl started, but cut himself off abruptly when the little man’s eyes widened, and he pointed up and over Mikahl’s head. The tiny man’s mirth had vanished, and his jaw hung slack in a gasp of terror.
“A dragon!” he squeaked. “Mighty mushrooms, no!”
They all turned and looked right into the sun; even the wolves had followed the little man’s finger. The brightness of it put colorful, blooming patches in their eyes. By the time any of them had blinked the searing splotches away, the little man was darting into the leafy underbrush at the tree line with Talon hot on his heels.
Mikahl had to laugh at the clever trick the rude little guy had played on them. Vaegon, however, didn’t seem to think it was funny. Hyden was too busy seeking out Talon’s vision to react, but he was smiling like a boy with a piece of cake.
Hyden and Talon followed for a bit, but finally lost the little man in the underbrush. Grrr offered to follow the scent trail, but Hyden told the leader of the wolf pack to let the little man be.
They spent the evening talking about the event, as if it had been a hallucination brought about by Vaegon’s tart tea. The elf assured them that it wasn’t the drink.
“One of the fairy folk,” was his explanation.
He said that several races of the fabled little people lived in the Evermore Forest. Fairies, sprites, gnomes, and pixies had once lived all over these lands. But he had to admit that this was the first time he had ever seen one of them firsthand.
They rode again after sunset, and did the same the following few days as well. The wolves took turns hunting, and Vaegon had assumed the role of camp cook.