~
A few days later the gryphons’ mead ran out. For all
all their intentions of waiting until the elf-mage had left their borough before flying again, their resolve had weakened after two or three nights of goat stew with no golden honey-brew to wash it down. “Halomlyn ought to take the goats on his own,” said Tiawéflyn, spreading her delicate wings in the narrow space of the cave as if to fly out with him. Milélyn was the one who usually flew with him, and he was stretching his sinewy limbs and his gaunt wings, getting ready to go, but Halomlyn agreed with Milélyn, half-spread his giant wings, squared his jaw, set his beak and said so, “I can fly faster, and one gryphon is less of a risk!”
Milélyn protested rather half-heartedly, but he knew Halomlyn was right. Halomlyn was larger, stronger and faster than he was. Thwyrlyn stayed quiet, happy that her husband was not going to risk himself, though she didn’t like to say so.
So, on the following Monday night, under the new moon, Halomlyn flew to the tavern on his own. He put the goats down at the prearranged place, the copse of pine-trees in the northwest corner of the town, where two barrels of mead were already waiting. Halomlyn was about to take the barrels when a human voice hissed from the shadows, “Gryphon! Fear not. I will not tell the elf-mage that you are here!” And Hinfane the tavern-keeper stepped out of the shadows.
The gryphon hissed and spat and lifted a mighty talon to strike her, for gryphons fear discovery by men or elves more than anything else, and to even speak to a human is against the gryphon-lore. Halomlyn’s wings were angled to swoop, though his talons were firmly rooted to the ground. He did not know why he hesitated. Hinfane stumbled backwards and fell, saying, “I swear by Udvé I have told no-one! I feared for you!”
“You are the taverner!” stated Halomlyn, eyeing her warily, half-folding his wings and scratching at the heather with a talon that looked sharp enough to disembowel her in a single slash.
“I am the taverner, Hinfane – ” she gasped, gabbling, “ – and I believe the elf-mage who wanders the northern wilds is staying in our town, pretending to be a man. I would not have broken our compact if I did not suspect him of carrying out his deceitful charade under my own very roof, in front of the all the townsfolk, but gryphons are said to be magical creatures and they say none can fight magic but he that does magic. Does he not bear a missing eye, this elf?”
Halomlyn stopped scratching at the heather, looked up at her and said, “Tell me more of this. I have seen this elf-mage in the northern wilds. He bears a strange talisman. Perhaps it is his missing eye. I have heard of such things before.”
The widow Hinfane’s words flooded out in a nervous torrent. “I was just as fooled by his wizardry as any of them, for he is most credible in his role. When he spoke of being tortured, always in the third person, he was most believable. But now I see that there was something stiff and unnatural about the way he spoke, as though parroting words and gestures without understanding the meaning, and his manner was twisted and tainted, but not by suffering as I thought, but by magic! Made abberant by that peculiar hypocrisy of his strange elven mind. I believe he had watched the real Kereth talking of the torments he had endured, and the elf learnt Kereth’s mannerisms and habits of speech, by rote, repeating them word for word to fool us. But this elf-mage gnashes his teeth at us mortals. But the miners are gullible fools. Not one of them sees it! The elf-mage resents us for possessing some gift or knowledge he is unable to share – I know not what – unless it be the brevity of our lives, a sore thing to envy, to say the least. He goes into the mountains and makes unseasonable storms. His manner might be as fair as the sun, but it is like a reflection in the ice, for it carries neither warmth nor life, and yet he fooled me with his charade until I saw his cloak.”
Halomlyn asked, “What? How can ye be sure that this man Kereth is the elf-mage?”
Hinfane replied, “I worked it out yesterday, though it was an incident that happened weeks ago. It was the fact that he returned from the storm with a dry cloak that flapped in the breeze, though driven sleet and hail and rain were battening the roof like I’ve never seen nor heard before – that was what gave him away! Nobody could remain dry in that storm. That was what made me realise Kereth must be the elf-mage.”
Halomlyn cried, “The storms he made in the mountains were powerful beyond any magic I have ever seen before, and he has wyrded even a mature snowdragon! You are right to fear him.”
Hinfane said, “Why he is here in the north, I cannot guess. What makes me terrified is the fact that his interest was greatly piqued when the conversation turned to mortality and the difference between humans and elves some weeks ago. An elf-mage intrigued by death? If he so maltreated Kereth what would he do to us? This is why I came here to talk to you, for the tales tell that gryphons, too, are mortal, and the dark lamp of his mind may well be turned towards you in time. I thought to find an ally in you – was that a folly?”
Halomlyn shook his head and said, “No. We will speak again on the next new moon, taverner, or earlier if the need arises. If there is trouble afoot or further news of the mage, wait here for us on dark nights, for then alone do gryphons fly above the dwellings of men. I will see you if you’re standing here, if I fly within twenty leagues, though you see naught but dark night and stars above you. And we ourselves shall be watching the ground constantly as we fly, to catch any sign of this elf-mage, even a footprint. Thankyou for warning us.”
The gryphon leapt into the sky bearing the two barrels in his talons, and Hinfane found herself breathless with awe, for he was mighty and golden of eye, and his wings were a good twentieth of a furlong in width, and his mane was glorious to behold as he went aloft into the night sky, like a wondrous vision, like one of the Mihalaetat of Ellulianaen.
Returning to the tavern with shining eyes, Hinfane nevertheless kept her own counsel, though she greatly wished to share her news. Wistfully she thought that if her husband was alive she could have told him. None of the patrons seemed to notice anything different about her manner as she served mead to them that night. Inwardly Hinfane was rejoicing, for she had seen a gryphon. Now she knew what Milélyn was, for certain - of course, she was unaware that there were two of them, or that the one who had been talking to her was Halomlyn not Milélyn.
But that night as she tried to sleep she began to doubt – perhaps even a gryphon could not fight an elf-mage. Perhaps her bravery would achieve nothing more than getting a magnificent creature killed. Perhaps she ought to tell the men as well, but which one of them would believe her now? A woman whose wits were addled by grief. She tossed and turned in bed and wished that Gothur was alive to tell her what to do, or simply to talk to. Gothur could always see the good in any situation. He would advise her.
A Feather on the Breath of Ellulianaen Page 10
