every movement his people made, until finally, late in the night, sleep crept up and snatched him away.
He ended up dreaming of dark suspicious places, full of crude teeth and wings. Conspiracies hid in every shadow like hungry wolves waiting to chase him tirelessly through his fitful slumber.
Hyden dreamed that night as well. Beneath him, vast stretches of sparkling blue ocean, and endless expanses of wavering, emerald grass all blurred together as he soared over them. He circled slowly, rising upward on drafts of sun warmed air, until he could touch the clouds with his wing tips, and the world below was merely a collage of multicolored smears. Then, he pulled his wings back and dove toward it all. The wind rushed through his long, black hair. His wings folded in even more with the speed of his descent. His eyes focused on a darting hare, as if he were right above it. He tilted and slowed on a banking turn to gain position on his prey, then dove again to attack in earnest. The unsuspecting rabbit grew in his eyes as he drew nearer. It sprang forward just as he opened his wings to stall his dive. It was a futile attempt to flee, Hyden’s claws were already gripping its wriggling body. As he lumbered away with the struggling weight of his dream kill, Hyden had to use all of his strength. He had to force his wings downward to keep himself aloft. Each wing beat was fought for as the weight of the carcass threatened to pull him down.
Hyden woke to the hawkling’s screeching call for food. The sun had not yet risen, but the sky was already painted in a copperish, pre-dawn glow.
As he fed the chick the last of the fresh meat from the doe he’d killed, he wondered if the bird had dreamed the same dream he had. Strangely, the idea that he had just been allowed into one of the hawkling’s dreams came to him. Where the thought had come from he didn’t know, but he didn’t doubt the notion.
One of his uncles, Corum, seemingly materialized out of nowhere before him. The man was winded and glazed with sweat, but still managed a smile. Hyden knew where Corum had been, so he positioned himself to eavesdrop, as the man told the Eldest what he had seen down by the river swell.
“It’s an armed and armored party,” Corum said, with concern in his voice.
“How many?” asked the Eldest.
Hyden’s father, Harrap, and a few of the other Elders, were coming awake now.
“What banner do they fly?” One of them asked, before Corum could answer the Eldest’s question.
“I counted forty men, and half again as many horses.” Corum took a few deep breaths, and then continued. “By the looks of their gear, they are seasoned fighters, and they fly the Blacksword banner of Highwander.”
The Eldest sighed audibly. “I wonder what Willa the Witch Queen, and her Blacksword soldiers are up to.”
“Maybe they’re just here to compete at the festival?” Harrap suggested.
“Aye,” Uncle Condlin grumbled. “And maybe all my sons will be there as well.”
There was nothing any one could say to that.
Chapter 8
Mikahl heard a shout over the thrashing and splashing sounds the giant lizard-like creature was making in the pond. The sound might have come from the forest beyond the water, but it was hard to tell. Mikahl couldn’t be sure if it was a human voice, or just a strange bellow from the beast. “Hold!” it seemed to say, but if it was a person trying to halt Mikahl’s mad charge, they were far too late.
The pack horse was just strong enough, or maybe just about heavy enough, to keep from being pulled back into the creature’s huge mouth by the long forked tongue that had wrapped around it. The struggling steed was going to break a leg, or worse, try to get away, so Mikahl didn’t even think about veering off of his present course. In fact, with his old sword raised high, he spurred Windfoot on faster.
Another shout erupted from the far side of the clearing. This time, the voice was unmistakably that of an angry
He ended up dreaming of dark suspicious places, full of crude teeth and wings. Conspiracies hid in every shadow like hungry wolves waiting to chase him tirelessly through his fitful slumber.
Hyden dreamed that night as well. Beneath him, vast stretches of sparkling blue ocean, and endless expanses of wavering, emerald grass all blurred together as he soared over them. He circled slowly, rising upward on drafts of sun warmed air, until he could touch the clouds with his wing tips, and the world below was merely a collage of multicolored smears. Then, he pulled his wings back and dove toward it all. The wind rushed through his long, black hair. His wings folded in even more with the speed of his descent. His eyes focused on a darting hare, as if he were right above it. He tilted and slowed on a banking turn to gain position on his prey, then dove again to attack in earnest. The unsuspecting rabbit grew in his eyes as he drew nearer. It sprang forward just as he opened his wings to stall his dive. It was a futile attempt to flee, Hyden’s claws were already gripping its wriggling body. As he lumbered away with the struggling weight of his dream kill, Hyden had to use all of his strength. He had to force his wings downward to keep himself aloft. Each wing beat was fought for as the weight of the carcass threatened to pull him down.
Hyden woke to the hawkling’s screeching call for food. The sun had not yet risen, but the sky was already painted in a copperish, pre-dawn glow.
As he fed the chick the last of the fresh meat from the doe he’d killed, he wondered if the bird had dreamed the same dream he had. Strangely, the idea that he had just been allowed into one of the hawkling’s dreams came to him. Where the thought had come from he didn’t know, but he didn’t doubt the notion.
One of his uncles, Corum, seemingly materialized out of nowhere before him. The man was winded and glazed with sweat, but still managed a smile. Hyden knew where Corum had been, so he positioned himself to eavesdrop, as the man told the Eldest what he had seen down by the river swell.
“It’s an armed and armored party,” Corum said, with concern in his voice.
“How many?” asked the Eldest.
Hyden’s father, Harrap, and a few of the other Elders, were coming awake now.
“What banner do they fly?” One of them asked, before Corum could answer the Eldest’s question.
“I counted forty men, and half again as many horses.” Corum took a few deep breaths, and then continued. “By the looks of their gear, they are seasoned fighters, and they fly the Blacksword banner of Highwander.”
The Eldest sighed audibly. “I wonder what Willa the Witch Queen, and her Blacksword soldiers are up to.”
“Maybe they’re just here to compete at the festival?” Harrap suggested.
“Aye,” Uncle Condlin grumbled. “And maybe all my sons will be there as well.”
There was nothing any one could say to that.
Chapter 8
Mikahl heard a shout over the thrashing and splashing sounds the giant lizard-like creature was making in the pond. The sound might have come from the forest beyond the water, but it was hard to tell. Mikahl couldn’t be sure if it was a human voice, or just a strange bellow from the beast. “Hold!” it seemed to say, but if it was a person trying to halt Mikahl’s mad charge, they were far too late.
The pack horse was just strong enough, or maybe just about heavy enough, to keep from being pulled back into the creature’s huge mouth by the long forked tongue that had wrapped around it. The struggling steed was going to break a leg, or worse, try to get away, so Mikahl didn’t even think about veering off of his present course. In fact, with his old sword raised high, he spurred Windfoot on faster.
Another shout erupted from the far side of the clearing. This time, the voice was unmistakably that of an angry
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