Merlin's Ring

by H. Warner Munn

  He was riding well forward when the trumpet sounded. Sir Periton was a little ahead, Sir Huon and Prince Auberon almost side by side with their guest. Gwalchmai had looked among the ladies, but neither the deceitful fay nor pretty little Cyrene was among them. He knew that the nixie could not stay long out of water, but he had hoped to see her again.

  He felt strangely attracted to her and wanted to learn a Btfle more about the occurrences after the banquet; he felt that his conscience might chide him less when he returned to Man’s World.

  Then the hunting horn sang out its silver notes; the boys cast loose the dogs; and, chiming, their answering voices belled.

  Out of a thicket sprang the unicorn. On his hind legs he pawed the air as though to give challenge and meet his foes.

  He saw their numbers. With a great leap he took the pool in stride, thrashing it into foam, and into it—following him, still giving tongue—the dogs raced, needing no sniff of that wonderful scent, for their quarry was full in sight.

  Coal black he was, superbly indignant at his harrying, tall, strong, and quick to take alarm. He ran easily. It would take long to wind him, for his chest was wide and ‘deep. His muscles bunched hi massive thighs and now and again he bounded high, looking back to catch a full view of his pursuers. They came, in a straggling line, lances at point, almost overrunning the dogs in their haste. “Hoy! Hoy! Hoy!”

  The hounds scattered before Sir Periton’s furious charge. He rode in at an angle, but misjudged his strike. The unicorn turned and spear and horn clashed, in short, fierce dueling, an engagement brief and harmless to each contestant

  A dog leaped for the gleaming ebony throat, his fangs clashing. The unicorn turned from Sir Periton and struck the hound down in its blood. He would have tossed the beast, but Gwalchmai and Sir Huon were upon him.

  His powerful haunches gathered under him for a mighty effort. He leaped with all his strength and flew into the air. Foam fell against Gwalchmai’s cheek. He saw the heaving belly of the unicorn and the flailing hoofs above him. He crouched in the saddle, but the unicorn was already passed over and gone, galloping away, stretched out like a cheetah, having diverged from his original course—heading straight for the Blasted Heath. Other gentlemen were now driving in hard from the side to the head him away from this dubious refuge.

  The splendid creature, head still high, mane tossing wildly, withers streaked with sweat, red nostrils flaring, his breath sounding like bugle notes, ran parallel to the perimeter of the blighted ground. Evidently he was no more eager to cross that menacing boundary than the elves and fays.

  He was being forced to a decision. Soon he must enter, fight, or be taken, for the pursuit was pinching him in upon one side and the edge of the gray desert formed the other angle.

  He saw his danger. He doubled back. The dogs slashed at him, howled and scattered. He tore madly into a thick copse of tangled vegetation and was lost to sight. He did not come out.

  Sir Periton was the nearest He rose in the stirrups and waved the hunters back. Gwalchmai and Sir Huon were coming in fast, for the second time.

  Sir Periton waved his lance at them joyously. “My trophy! My horn!” He couched his lance and rode laughing into the copse.

  There was a brief, fierce commotion; a crashing of heavy bodies; then the unicorn broke, staggering, from his covert. He ran a few steps and fell, carrying Sir Periton’s lance in his side.

  The dogs covered him—tugging, snarling, tearing. Sir Periton did not follow.

  One clear call rose out of the thicket as the others came pouring into the shrubbery in a mass—“Iron! Ware Iron!”—then no sound more.

  Sir Huon gave one dreadful, wordless cry. He urged his horse into the deepest tangle, widened the gap the others had made, and slid to the ground.

  Gwalchmai followed him. By virtue of Thor’s bright‘ liquor, still coursing in his bloodstream, sharpening his vi-sion to that of the denizens of Elveron, he saw the hideous metal as they beheld it. ,

  -Here, directly before him, lay Sir Periton in agony. His side lay against a piece of ice blue horror, ten times the size of an elvish knight. It sparkled and flamed coldly like a frozen fire and wherever he had touched it, there his flesh was withered, gray and dead.

  There was still life in his smoking body—life that suffered and lingered on—and there was consciousness and sanity, for he knew Sir Huon and tried to wave him back lest he too know pain.

  His frteftd rushed forward and tugged at him, but it was like approaching a furnace. Whatever iron radiated for elvish dooms, it crisped Sir Huon’s clothing and drew the skin tight upon his hands and face.

  Gwalchmai saw great blisters rising upon that exposed skin. He seized Sir Huon and swung him to one side. The tiny drop of Rowan wine, which made him briefly kin to the fay, made him also feel some of their torment now. He was not immune, though he was still man, but he was able to grasp Sir Periton and pull him away to a distance where Sir Huon could seize upon him too.

  He straightened the poor twisted limbs and Sir Periton tried to smile up at his comrade. “My horn?” he whispered.

  The Master of the Hounds had already cut it free. He brought it and stood it up upon its bloody base where Sir Periton could see it.

  His face was contorted, but it was still a happy smile.

  “The largest one I ever gained! Was any other hunter burned?” ‘

  Huon shook his head dumbly. He could not speak and there are no tears for elves, for they were never meant to weep.

  - Gwalchmai said, “There would have been many hurt had it not been for your warning, You have saved them by that cry, for the hunt was about to pour through behind you, Sir Knight. There has not been a more knightly deed in my knowing.”

  Prince Auberon came up then, his poniard drawn, but Sir Huon caught his eye and the prince remained where he was.

  Sir Periton tried to nod. It was only a tiny movement, but his friend understood.

  “Take mine.” It was a feebler whisper than before and there was torture in it “It was always sharper than yours! Quickly—and strike deep!”

  Sir Huon drew the maimed elf’s poniard from his belt. He laid his hand against the seared cheek in a loving caress. He covered the pain-filled eyes and closed them gently.

  “Flit to the mists, dear comrade!” And Huon drove the thorn deep into the fluttering heart.

  Gwalchmai was horrified. He was positive that such an action Would have been impossible for himself. He stood and stared at the cold fire of the iron rather than look upon Huon in his grief. Suddenly it took on a familiar shape.

  He had seen such a piece of metal before. Huge as it was, in his present size, it was only a rivet from a piece of armor, lost and forgotten, or cast aside carelessly—to bring blazing dolor to the bodies of the Folk of Peace.

  He turned away blindly, feeling some of man’s guilt. Whose world was it, in God’s eyes? Could man in his vanity and pride ride roughshod through space and time forever, forcing his will on all other living creatures, giving them life or death according to his sufferance? Must there not sometime be a- day of reckoning also for man—when he must make an accounting for his custodianship of his brothers, who likewise breathed his air and trod his soil and knew sorrow, joy, and love?

  He felt a soft arm about his bent shoulders. It was the Queen.

  “You must not grieve, Sir Hawk, or turn from Sir Huon. His friend wanted it so. He would have done the same for any of us. Now you see the danger we have everywhere and why we must go away.

  “Half an elves lifetime ago, the Romans fought the Druids here on Mona and much iron was left scattered after the battle. It still works harm where it lies lost to all but us.”

  “Let me go to Huon, my Lady Queen. I would remind him that all friends meet in Heaven. It may comfort him in his misery.”

  “It would add to it now. He knows they will never meet again. We have none of those inconveniences men call souls. We were given, instead, lives far longer than other living things,
even yours, so lengthened by Merlin’s magic. Yet those lives can come to an end, by accident or in bat-tie. We have had our wars and we have our enemies, as you know.

  “Who would wish to live those long lives crippled, maimed, or ugly? Better far to pass into the foam of the sea as the mer-people do, or into the rosy clouds of the dome - above where we find our peaceful forgetfulness.

  “We have no fear of the gods of men. We have seen them come in their arrogance and stay while men believed in them and offered sacrifices—and we have seen them perish as beggars, when that belief no longer nourished them. We fear little, except the touch of iron—and that we cannot withstand.

  “Now, Sir Hawk, it is time for you to leave us. You are close to your destination. Here, where you stand on the edge of the blight, if you look toward its center you will discern the sword you seek. You can see its metal blazing high if you look. Go to it bravely now. It will not harm you, for you are man—and man is master of the world, for yet a little while.”

  She kissed him and let him go and others came up, Lady Titania with her prince and many another lord and lady of Elveron, whose faces had even in this short while- grown familiar to their guest.

  Lastly came Huon, who gripped his hand tightly.

  “I will not say farewell, for although all leave for your Alatav I shall stay and it may be that we shall meet another day. I shall always remember the words of comfort and praise with which you smoothed my comrade’s passing. It may be, in some dark hour of yours, that I can be of service to you. If such there be, I shall surely Jtnow, and I will come to you wherever you may be, and stand at your side. A

  “Perchance there may be a time when we may dine and share a drink together and see pretty faces about us who’will find us good to look upon. That will be the hour in which to speak of the Elveron that has passed and so for a moment cause it to live again in glory—as I saw it burgeon and you have seen it in its fading. Remember ine, comrade, in those days of twilight that are to come.”

  “I shall not forget you. I have had friends in several places, but none I feel more drawn to than those I have made here in a single day and night.”

  Huon’s smile was quizzical, but he said nothing. He took off Ms green cap with its long scarlet feather and bowed with the same ironical languidness as he had shown when first they met.

  He waved Gwalchmai on his journey, with a long sweep of his arm.

  Gwalchmai took a step over the border, into the gray desolation. A chorus of voices followed him, bidding him farewell. He turned to wave.

  Now that he had come within the influence of the spell Excalibur cast over Elveron, by the blight of its steel, he had an eery sensation. It seemed that there was a wavering before his eyes as there had been a few times before, but this tune it was strong and growing stronger.

  The voices were thin and piping. He could understand the words, but the sounds were farther away. He waved and they waved back. They seemed in size no larger than children. The warhorses were like ponies to him.

  He shook his head to clear it and walked on. Now he could see the crisp, cold, blue outline of the sword ahead of him. At first it was a monstrous thing, fit for a Titan’s hand. This must have been a trick of perspective, he thought, for as he drew closer it dwindled, and although it was still huge, a veil of dimness lay cast upon it, crinkled and veined with seams and lines of dark shadow.

  Behind it he could see another dark line, the boundary of the amorphous blot that marked the country held by the dwergar.

  Above it hung the menacing black cloud that surrounded it like filthy smoke. For an instant only, it swirled and coalesced and hardened into a Shape. He thought he saw a sneering, malignant Face—a dark gaze of hatred bent upon him from burning eyes.

  It was gone—it was again a cloud—and under it in his direction, upon the ground, a horde was marching out toward him, or it might be toward the elven lands.

  This time the dwergar were attacking in force.

  As they came, the dome of light was dimming before the spread of the unclean cloud.

  He looked back. He could hardly see his friends they had grown so small. It came to him, then, that it was he who ‘ had grown iugely away from them. He was a man again and the stature of a man had come upon him as he neared the proximity of the sword. The steel had worked its magic up-on him as well, and this change in size had brought about a bitter parting.

  The earth beneath his feet was of normal color again. The forest of giant trees was once more grass and flowers, as it had always been to men. The castle he had ridden from so gaily to the hunt was gone, with all its pinnacles and stout walls, its spires and pennons so defiant in the wind.

  In its place was a cairn of rough fieldstone. Beyond it lay the barrow of Getain, the Sea-King, grass-grown and lonely, and desolately above it wheeled the mewing gulls. This is what eyes saw when they were not the eyes of the fay.

  He had come only a few short steps from the cairn, as man—yet in Elveron he had ridden many miles.

  He looked down and thought he saw a movement near his feet. He knelt carefully and scrutinized the ground.

  There a pack of red ants was worrying the dead body of a giant stag beetle. Near it, a spatter of cockroaches, black, spotted, and shiny brown, was scuttling into the grass and above them wheeled and merged a little cloud of midges, shifting and shimmering in the bright sun. The rosy dome had disappeared.

  Was that Sir Huon standing there alone, near the beetle— so tiny? No! Only a slender-legged leaf hopper—and yet, in its claw—what was it holding?

  A scrap of mugwort leaf, upon which it munched, or could it be a microscopic green cap that it waved up at him in Godspeed, as Gwalchmai grew huger in size and their paths of lif e diverged?

  He did not know, but—man, insect, or fay—he felt that it would be long before he would find again such a gay companion or so gallant a friend.

  9

  The Sword of ^Arthur

  He looked once more toward the threatening dwergar, which at last sight he had seen drawn up in a closely massed battle formation.

  The black blot in the sky had disappeared and the dark city was gone. He walked a few steps in that direction. Nothing lay in its place but a huge anthill swarming with insects.

  He should now be standing directly in front of the precious sword.

  Gwalchmai looked down, scanning the ground. Excalibur was no longer visible. In the exact spot where he had seen its alarming flame and its incandescent outline, there stood a large boulder.

  He revisualized the stratified ghost shape that had surrounded the sword. To an inhabitant of Elfdom, that veil of dimness would hide nothing. It might appear as solid stone to a human being. Somewhere in its interior, ensorceled, lay Excalibur!

  He felt the cold rock. He kicked.lt was hard to his moc-casined foot It lay there, grass-fringed, as thought it had so lain since the world was first created.

  The ant army was massed a short distance away from its nest Gwalchmai knew they could not see his hugeness —no ant has ever seen a man—but he also knew that they were aware of him.

  He felt other eyes upon hirp. He sensed a malevolence that was close, more wicked, more patient than the avid hunger of the ants. Their desire was only for his flesh.

  They were waiting now, no longer advancing. He knew what had halted them.

  The dwergar had been described to him as short, squat beings, almost blind from living in the night of their dark city. Thick-bodied they were said to be, with broad shoulders and gripping arms and stout talons to hold and tear—a danger to all living creatures.

  Thus they were to the fay. To men? If the dwergar were really ants—but Gwalchmai had given up speculating upon realities and illusions—why, then, no wonder that they permeated the earth as maggots do cheese!

  Ants dwell everywhere. To an ant, it must seem that in their numbers, it is they who own the world. The largest nation of humans is smaller than the ant population in a few acres of ground.

&nb
sp; Now he understood. If the dwergar were favored by Oduarpa, then it must have been the malicious Lord of the Dark Face who had inspired the plan Gwalchmai feared would now be put into operation against the fay.

  It could be that Thor was also involved, but he did not think so. It was true that he was in Thor’s bad graces. This was a personal matter. He did not believe that Elveron would be persecuted by the Thunder God, because it had sheltered him for a single night. But Oduarpa!

  From what Gwalchmai had been told of Merlin’s enemy —now his as well—it was not only the entire race of man that was despised and hated, but all else that was lovely, delicate, and free. This certainly meant the fay. They represented everything for which Oduarpa was the antithesis.

  Thor was an honest, blunt, straightforward hater. From him Elveron should expect no danger.

  The dreadful fact was that when Gwalchmai removed Excalibur from the stone—if he could, and he must—the curse of iron, which had blighted this broad section of the elven realm, would be lifted.

  In that moment, not needing tunnels or secrecy, if they could stand cloud-thinned sunlight for a little while, the dwergar hordes could pour across the Heath in their tens of thousands, overrunning all the land.

  It might even befall that the hunting party, unaware of its peril and now transformed into a funeral cortege traveling at a slow pace, might be cut off before it reached the castle.

  Yet Gwalchmai had to have the sword, even though it might expose them to that risk. Horrible as its aspect must still be to the fay and their enemy, the glaive was as invisible to him now as it had long been to other men.