Gwalchmai had not heard anyone enter. He looked up, startled.
A slender youth, clad all in green from pointed toes to his peaked cap set off with a long scarlet feather, stood opposite him against the far wall. He leaned there negligently, his shapely legs, in their long hose, crossed casually and one hand upon his hip. He wore a jerkin, slashed and purfled, through which a fine cambric shirt showed its folds, having been teased through these slits, and across his broad chest a leather strap supported the cithern slung upon his back.
At his side hung a poniard, seemingly not of metal, but of some hard wood.
He straightened his limbs and made a leg at Gwalchmai, bowing low and sweeping the floor with his cap.
“You may call me Huon, Sir Gwalchmai. I am to guide you to my Queen, in Elveron. Are you ready to come with me now?”
“You know who lam?”
Huon had a musical laugh. “Surely all in Elfdom know by now of the famed Sir Gwalchmai, Hawk of Battle, and his mission. We have been advised of your coming long ago and an entertainment has been arranged for you. Will you follow me?”
“Where are you taking me?” Gwalchmai was suspicious of this delicate-looking, languid fellow, for he had been warned against tricks and mischief. Not all ogres and woodwooses appeared, at first sight, in their proper form. Kobolds, gnomes, and trolls lived underground, but he had thought to find the fay in an airier, lighter place.
“Oh, wherever you wish to go.” Huon waved a casual hand as though he had all the world at his fingertips. “Elveron. Aphallin. Lyonese. Kilstalpheen. Kir-Is. All districts of the same realm. Avalon, maybe—later. But Elveron first, surely. Is not that where you have been first ordered?”
Gwalchmai became angry at that. “Ordered? No one orders me!”
“I have heard differently. With all your magic, you have not so many days to waste as I have. No matter how long life is, it is too short to quarrel You should live those days peacefully.”
“Small chance of that—the way I have begun!”
“Ah, yes. You have been most active indeed. It is no lit-tie feat to fight monsters, make an enemy of a friend, wed a spirit, antagonize a god, disturb an enchanter at his pursuits—and now plan to aid an ever-sleeping King! You should feel proud. Come now, pay your fee to old Getain and he will let you enter Elveron.”
“My fee?”
“The torque you stole from the Sailor’s Guide. You knew it never really belonged to Thor, didn’t you? Of course, it was not Getain’s either. He stole it from Bran Mak Morn, who got it from Siegfried, who had it out of Fafnir’s bed, but nobody is going to give it back to the dragon now. He has probably forgotten all about it long ago anyway.
“I’d say it belongs to Getain as much as anybody, unless you count the three who came in here and got it, but they came to a bad end and couldn’t get any fun out of having it now. Getain wants it, so just slip it on his arm and we will be on our way.”
Gwalchmai, bemused, unwound the torque from his arm and wound it carefully around the upper right humerus of the detached skeleton in the kist, so as not to damage it further, but he need not have bothered.
At the instant the gold was tightly fastened, a great clicking and clattering began. The bones came rushing together, each into its proper place. Finger joints raced around like mice; teeth snapped back into their sockets; tiny scraps and splinters, which Gwalchmai had overlooked, drifted about the room like snow. They swept up and into the kist.
When all was assembled, the skeleton sat up and turned its hollow gaze upon the pair.
“Who is this?” it said, its jaws clacking. “Who would bring iron into Elveron without the Queen’s warrant?”
“He wants your sword.” Huon nudged Gwalchmai. “You must leave it here until you come back.”
“My father’s sword? The sword he carried in a hundred battles? The sword of the Sixth Legion? Never! I will go from here!”
“And leave King Arthur’s sword for someone to steal, after Elfdom no longer encircles it to hold it secure? Is that a knightly deed? Is Excalibur valued less now in Man’s World than your little piece of cold iron? Just lay it in the kist beside our juiceless friend and let him hold it in trust. Ill venture that any visitor who enters to tak& it will get a surprise, now that Getain has his toy back and is as whole as he is ever apt to be!”
Gwalchmai looked glum. It seemed as though there was nothing else to do. He reluctantly unbuckled the scabbard from his belt and placed it in the skeleton’s fleshless hand. It lay back and crossed its dry arms over the sword, which it had tucked within the ribcage.
“How contented the old fellow is! It takes so little to satisfy him nowadays and yet he was a person of strange wants and savage desires. You would scarcely believe what a plague he was to himself and others. See how he smiles!”
“He does? I cannot see any difference.” Gwalchmai turned, with a slight shiver, away from that hard-featured grin.
“Ah! That is because you have not known him as long as I have. Believe me, he is very happy. Let us leave him and be on our way.”
“How about my ax?”
“Oh, keep that,” Huon said, indifferently. “The Folk of Peace have never had any quarrel with the People of the Flint. See! The portal has opened! You are welcome now to Elveron.”
Against the wall where Gwalchmai had first seen Huon, a little speck of light, no larger than the pupil of a mouse’s eye, gleamed like a bright fallen star where the wall met the floor.
“Follow me, Sir Hawk, and you shall see marvels!”
They began to walk across the chamber. As they did so, it appeared to Gwalchmai that the room grew larger and the portal higher. It was certainly much farther to the ceiling than before. He had a feeling that the surface of the floor was rushing away from him in all directions. Deep, wide cracks opened before them that Gwalchmai had not noticed earlier.
They ran and leaped across these, but before they reached the wall itself, the last fissure had widened and deepened into a chasm.
Huon looked disturbed for the first time.
“Quickly! Quickly now! Get a good start and jump as hard as you can!”
They ran back a few steps and then fairly flew toward the dangerous rift in the rock. Huon skimmed over it easily, but Gwalchmai landed upon his chest at the farther edge, his legs dangling into the abyss.
Huon braced his feet and grabbed Gwalchmai’s arm, but found himself being pulled down by the other’s weight. Suddenly there was a rush of light feet and a crowd was about them, jostling, laughing, seizing them both, dragging them up across the stone lip and into a bursting splendor of radiance as they passed through the portal.
“Welcome to Elveron, Sir Knightl” a sweet voice said, and dainty Queen Crede, the ever-beautiful, came forward to meet him, proffering both hands for him to kiss, and behind him, smiling also, came Prince Auberon to bring him safely in to view the wonders of Elfdom.
Gwalchmai found himself in a long tunnel leading gently upward, but it was not the same as the one he had used to enter the barrow. This one gleamed with the cold glow of foxfire, casting no shadows. Walls, roof, and floor all shone with a running, spangled light that came as much from below as above and cast an added glory upon the richly costumed assemblage.
They pressed upon him—men in armor like ebony-lacquered leather, clapping him upon the shoulders, laughing, shaking his hands; ladies in gauzy gowns, seemingly too lovely and frail to be real, touching his embroidered jacket, exclaiming on his narrow escape, patting him affectionately with a total lack of reserve.
All the time that they were vivaciously chattering they were gently urging him on, up the tunnel, away from the dark, dangerous entrance. It was plain that they had a dread of it, though they seemed so gay and carefree, for they kept looking backward as though they expected their visitor and his guide might have been followed.
The light in the tunnel did not now seem quite so bright to Gwalchmaik eyes. It was not that he had become accustomed to the shining
walls. He noticed that the people kept glancing at them too, as though estimating the length of time the effulgence might endure.
There was an intangible air of relief when they finally came to a long line of tethered beasts. Gwalchmai had seen pictures of horses in Merlin’s books and in Bishop Malachi’s little library, but he had never before seen a living one. To him they seemed almost mythical animals.
Most of them were brown, but a few were jet black. All looked spirited and sleek. Their coats shone and were glossy with good health. Gwalchmai had not remembered that horses had more than four legs, but he noticed‘ that these had six. They stood, already saddled and bridled, each attended by a young page who relinquished the reins as the lords and ladies mounted, beginning with the Queen.
When all were ready they set off up the tunnel at a canter. Gwalchmai found the gait surprisingly easy and in a few moments was quite accustomed to it. Before long he was able to allow his steed to pick its way with no attention from him and was no longer worried about falling off.
By now the shining walls were perceptibly duller.
The floor of the tunnel was strewn with small stones, but traveling was easy and swift. The pages who ran beside the horses, holding to a stirrup, had no difficulty in keeping up and seemed tireless. After about three miles, the cavalcade came out into the open air and, without pausing, entered a thick forest.
Even in Alata, Gwalchmai had never seen trees such as these. He had not thought to see anything like them on Mona. Some shot straight up without a branch for a hundred feet and then splayed out into a broad palmate top. Others were shorter and more diffuse. Many bore huge blossoms from which perfume poured down upon the travelers when they brushed against the trunks in passing.
Sometimes a gentle rain of pollen sifted down upon the ground, which seemed covered more by moss than grass. The horses moved silently across the sward, without any jingling sounds, for no metal was to be seen anywhere upon their accoutrements.
The bits, stirrups, and ornaments were all of carved wood. The saddles seemed molded to the horses’ backs and contoured to the comfort of the rider without the use of tools —at least Gwalchmai could detect no such marks upon his.
Once in the forest, the gay chatting and repartee came to an end. The people seemed to be more alert as they rode along, not with an expectancy of something to fear, but more as though it was with a sense of wariness and a being ready for anything unusual. Gwalchmai felt that this troop was fully able to cope with whatever might occur, but when he saw several hi the vanguard unslinging the long bows they wore slanting across their bodies, he loosened his ax in his belt
Others took out short, heavy javelins from the boot attached to the right side of their saddles and rode with them held loosely in their hands, points down, as though ready for a pig-sticking.
Only once they heard a crashing hi the undergrowth from some heavy creature disturbed by the oncoming column. Those nearest bunched up and faced the danger, but whatever it was turned and hastened away.
Gwalchmai raised a questioning eyebrow.
“Probably a mantichore or a baby dragon.” Huon answered the unspoken query. After a moment, the line moved on.
As the black of lava had been the predominant color of the country in Iceland, wherever the ground was visible, here in Elveron a verdant green met the eye everywhere, in all its various hues. In among the giant trees, they followed the track—a dark river of life pouring along between the smooth green boles, over the mossy turf.
There was much life in the forest. A chorus of bellowing voices was constantly around them, A strident shrieking or whistling sound was the only one that caused the crowd any dismay. They had resumed tkeir conversations, but these cries caused them to fall silent for an instant; the croaking or booming roars they ignored. They also paid little attention to the distant shapes Gwalchmai could not identify. When he saw them directly, however, they appeared to be some form of life with which he was familiar. And suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed another that he recognized from Merlin’s book of heraldry, a wyvern as it flapped heavily overhead. After it had passed over and high above, he caught a fleeting sidelong glimpse of it again and thought it was a raven. He looked behind him quickly, but it was gone.
He had never been with such a restless group of people. They were always falling back or riding forward to talk with some friend, whenever there was room to do so. When the narrow track did not permit this, they maintained their places fairly well, but if it broadened into wide natural clearings and park-like meadows, as it often did, then there was a great shifting around.
It reminded Gwalchmai of nothing so much as a shim-mering swarm of midges or mayflies, which always keeps a rough group shape, inside of which each individual is always aimlessly hi motion.
There were a few exceptions. Huon rode on Gwalchmai’s left side, and on his right an armored cavalier kept place. Huon introduced this rider to Gwalchmai as Sir Periton, his best friend, and whispered behind his hand that he was enamored of the widowed Queen, but she would have none of his attentions.
Gwalchmai learned considerable Elfland gossip on this ride. From Sir Periton, in his turn, when Huon was momentarily absent paying court to a bright-eyed damsel who rode back to tease him, Gwalchmai found that his first acquaintance had quite a reputation as a gallant. He flitted casually from one to another, but remained heart whole always, forming transitory liaisons for a short time until he was supplanted by another, more serious-minded, elf.
Withal, he was so well liked, Sir Periton said, that no father, brother, or husband ever took offense, but rather took it as a compliment that this gay frivolous fellow admired and amused their ladies as a group and would not be cppimitted to any one of them.
Huon was constantly plaguing his friend for his faithfulness to the Queen and both remarked upon the obvious adoration which Prince Auberon had for one of the loveliest ladies of the court.
These two never separated, but rode close together at all times, and there was no doubt in Gwalchmai’s mind that when Auberon became King, Lady Titania would become the new Queen.
Huon had unslung his cithern and to its accompaniment was favoring the troop with roguish couplets and rhymes of his own composition.
They now moved on as though danger was behind them. Laughing, sportive, the merry crew showed their light-hearted appreciation of his verses, even when one or another of them was pierced by the rapier of the debonair minstrel’s wit.
“What were you afraid of, back there hi the tunnel?” Gwalchmai asked.
Huon shrugged. “Nothing very dangerous for us. It might have been more so for you. We wanted to get you away from the dwergar as soon as we could.”
“What are the dwergar?”
‘They are elves who abhor light as we love it. They run their tunnels through the earth as maggots move through cheese in your world. They have been strangely roused lately. We think it is because they had news of your coming from one who bears you malice.
“It was one of then- tunnels we used. Getain’s howe is one of their favorite haunts. In fact, it has been Oduarpa’s only actual point of entry into Elveron, although above ground —at least in the past—he has not disturbed us overly much.”
Huon’s face became overcast He shrugged, forcing a lighter note into his voice. “Well-a-day! Times change for everyone. We lined the tunnel with glow, directly we knew you were entering, but you delayed longer than we expected. Our protection had already begun to fade.”
“It seemed most brilliant to me.”
“Ah, yes! To you, of Man’s World, it would appear bright and to the dwergar, daunting and dangerous, but it was diminishing. One crack from Thor’s hammer would have put it dark entirely, if he had decided to help your enemy. Then we would have had to fight the dwergar underground, to bring you in to Elveron. Thor doesn’t have much affection for you, remember?”
“I must bear it in mind. Does he have power in your country as he does among the Norse?�
�
“Not as much. He can drive over it in his goat-drawn chariot It shakes the earth with its rumbling, but we have places deep down that are safe from him and the dwergar. We are friends with the fir trees and are never bothered under their sheltering roots. I do not know if you would be safe. I hear that you must beware of your enemy most, whenever you are underground.”
The cavalcade spread its formless grouping into a broad meadow. The trees were low and Gwalchmai saw a turreted castle ahead, magnificent with fluttering pennons and showy flags, emblazoned with the fantastic emblems of Elfdom’s knighthood, and ramping unicorn of Queen Crede’s lineage high above all.
From the bailey, under the raised portcullis, and over the lowered drawbridge, a stately procession of armored riders came out with caroling bugle-horns to meet and escort them within.
Before the two columns could meld and while they were still some distance apart, the ground between them suddenly heaved upward, casting huge clots of earth in all directions, down the sides of which heavy boulders rolled toward the riders.
The steeds reared and fought their bridles in fear. The knights and ladies first reined them in tightly, then gave them their heads and they raced away with a smooth speed that Gwalchmai had not dreamed possible. These Elveron horses were faster than any creatures he had ever seen before and they had need of all their swiftness.
Up from the torn turf, which sent out broad cracks with a harsh ripping sound, out of the mound of dirt it had punched before it, an immense tapered head thrust into the upper air.
It was pink and blind and it reared, swaying hi menace, questing in circular sweeps fifty feet or more above the scattering of elves and fays—as though smelling them out.
Its annular rings stretched and contracted and the forepart of its. ponderous body fell heavily on the ground as the monster continued to pour out ‘of its hole. When it was entirely free, it came looping across the meadow in Gwalch-mai’s direction.
. Although nothing else came out of the hole, all could hear an exultant guttural laughter that sounded somehow glutinous and heavy as it reverberated from deep within the ground.
Merlin's Ring Page 10
