by GJ Kelly
“Slow!” she shouted again, gently heaving on the reins then transferring her right hand to the bowstring.
The three horses slowed even more, and Elayeen’s hopes bore fruit. The Graken-rider completely misjudged their relative speeds, and when it became obvious that he was going to overfly his target in front of their path and with no time to alter his course, he leaned back in his saddle and heaved on the reins to climb away to the west.
But not before the three elves, following the Graken’s progress and being well able and well trained, presented the bows, drew, and loosed on the run. One arrow burst through the Graken’s leathery right wing and flashed in front of the rider’s face, startling him, two struck the hard and scaly skin of the beast’s chest below the right wing root. The creature screamed, more in shock than at the sharp stabbing pains, and flapped frantically, powering around and away to the south.
“Keep on for the woodland!” Elayeen shouted, and upped the pace.
To the south, they saw the Graken drop low, presumably landing so that the rider could examine the creature’s wounds. By the time he had done so, the elves would be in the woods, and relatively safe in the cover of the trees.
oOo
36. Dun Meven
“We can’t stay here forever, Leeny,” Meeya said softly, gazing with eldeneyes in the direction they’d seen the Graken go to earth.
“We shall wait until Valin comes back and tells us what lies to the west of these woods. We may need to travel at night to avoid the Graken-rider. We have the Sight, it does not.”
“The grasses are long, we’d need to travel slowly at night for the safety of the horses.”
“It is our safety I am more concerned with. The Graken-rider knows now we are here. Have you seen it yet?”
“No, I think we are too far now. The land is hilly; it could have flown away below the hills and beyond our range.”
“Valin returns, he’ll be here soon.”
“Hopefully bearing the good news that this is an uncharted forest which stretches all the way to Dun Meven.”
“I think such a forest would not go uncharted for long, Meemee.”
“My hopes are like ripe grapes, Leeny, crushed beneath the heel of your boot.”
“That would explain all the whining.”
Meeya giggled at the pun. “Hot spiced wine would be most welcome now. And a plate of those buttercakes, with jam on top and cinnamon.”
Elayeen sighed, and Valin stepped into the glade.
“Alas, miThalin, the copse is small, and the land beyond it? Much like that before it.”
“There has been no sign of the Graken-rider since you left to scout the west.”
Valin nodded, and cast his gaze out towards southeast.
“Did you note the fireballs he loosed?” Elayeen said softly, joining Meeya and Valin, gazing south.
“Yes,” Valin nodded again, “They were more grey than black.”
“As was the rider, the rod he carried, and the Dwarfspit Graken itself. This time, Leeny, he had the full attention of my eldeneyes.”
“Mine too. Yet he wore the iron mask of a Goth,” Elayeen frowned. “Something was missing though, but I cannot think what it was.”
“Missing?”
“Yes, there was something about the rider which I think ought to have been there, but was not.”
“That Jardember thing? The one at Tarn carried the device, and dropped it. The others at Far-gor had them too. Those large black wooden balls shine bright to our eldeneyes.”
“No, not a Jardember, but you have reminded me what it was. The rider wore no Eye of Morloch about his neck. The others I have seen, from Salaman Goth at Raheen, the Graken-rider on the Jarn Road, to all those in the north and the one at Tarn, all wore the Eye of Morloch on a heavy black chain around their necks. Even the Goth-lord we pursued all the way from Fallowmead had one about his neck. This one did not.”
“Is it significant, miThalin?”
“I do not know. Alas, I am not G’wain. He would understand the importance of these things in an instant, I am sure. The Goth-lord we pursued was black as night. The Graken-rider is not. Such information may be important to others who can see its significance better than we. We need to pass this knowledge to Brock of Callodon.”
“Dun Meven is closest, miThalin,” Valin suggested, his voice all professional deadpan . “Even if there are no men of Callodon there, we can ride southwest to Harks Hearth from there, perhaps with provisions. I have but twelve arrows remaining.”
“I have ten,” Meeya announced, after counting them. “And one of those struck a stone in the ground when we loosed upon the Goth-lord and is not entirely to be trusted.”
“I have a dozen, also,” Elayeen sighed. “We lost too many burnt at Fallowmead and at Croptop.”
“We were not expecting such combat as we have seen, miThalin.”
“True. You’re right, Valin, with a Graken in the air it would seem to make sense to ride for the closest of our allies…”
“There!” Meeya gasped, and pointed, and sure enough, they saw the distant speck rising, and moving away to the southeast. “Dwarfspit, I’d hoped we’d wounded it enough to keep it on the ground.”
“So passes another grape,” Elayeen muttered. “Come, while it’s heading back to its lair we have a chance to put ourselves even closer to Dun Meven.”
So they rode, as quickly as was sensible, casting frequent gazes all around, looking for the Graken’s return, and doing their best to leave their horses with a reserve of energy should another sprint for safety be necessary.
And there was safety, of a kind, dotted here and there. Trees clung to slopes and the peaks of the hills which slowly rose higher around them as they fled west. The valleys though were deep, and they didn’t like to loiter there where streams flowed and boggier ground was to be found; the hills behind them obscured their Sight and thus would hide the approach of any low-flying threat.
They camped that evening in a copse on a hill, and tolerated frak, not daring to light a cooking-fire and thus send up a marker which would be visible to a creature on the wing. They did see the Graken again, too, far in the distance, patrolling a line to the south of them, a line which ran due east. The south, as Valin had said earlier, was denied to them.
They next saw the Graken on the morning of the 27th, again flying along some invisible path in the sky running east-west to the south of them. They rode at once for the nearest cover, and for a moment, thought they had been spotted by the wizard mounted on the winged beast. It turned in their direction, flew to within perhaps half a mile south of them, then arced lazily away to the north and out of their range.
Three more times they saw it that day, and always it was on their left flank, in the south, between them and Lake Arrunmere. On each occasion, too, it seemed to them they had been seen, the Graken angling closer towards them before passing harmlessly and looping away.
Meeya was convinced that the rider had learned its lesson, and sought to stay well out of range of their bows. Neither Valin nor Elayeen shared her convictions. Their journey was made in urgent bursts, from cover to cover, and travelling later into the night to compensate for the periods spent sheltering in trees or the tall shrubs that seemed to proliferate on the peaks the further west they travelled.
Finally, in the late afternoon of the first day of April and standing on the summit of a crooked and windswept hill, they saw Dun Meven. It was unmistakeable, a large, almost flat-topped hill towering above all others, its south-eastern slopes neatly terraced into a series of giant steps near the summit, the tops of the terraces standing fallow or simply dug over, waiting for spring to explode into life. It lay to the north of them, and the route to it was a winding one in the valleys of lesser slopes. Behind them in the east, the Graken swung its familiar lazy arc, never closer than half a mile away, and this time they all saw the sun glinting dully from the rider’s mask, its face turned towards them.
Elayeen shuddered, in spit
e of the welcome warmth they’d enjoyed all day. It might have been coincidence, but she could not help but think the Graken-rider knew precisely where the three elves were, and their destination…
There was a single route up the steep slopes of Dun Meven and it was to be found on the south-eastern side of the immense hill. To their surprise, it was cobbled, and though not as sharply terraced as the farm near the summit, the road zigzagged its way up to the village nestled near the peak. Viewed from west, or from points north, Dun Meven would appear to be a hill like any other, its slopes steep, its peak crowned with trees.
But from the southeast the village stood in plain sight, and its subtle fortifications could clearly be noted by a trained eye. A good portion of land near the summit had been levelled for the buildings, as though a small wedge had been cut from the top of the hill and the village deposited on the table of flat land created there. A path at the southern end of the village was cut into the vertical cliff that formed the wall of the wedge and led into the trees on the summit, and thence to a look-out post overlooking the plains of Juria to the north and the plains of Callodon to the west and south.
Their progress up the cobbled road was observed from a hut at the top, which from below looked like a simple wooden shed, but closer to was found to be a blockhouse of stone disguised with crude planking, and two brawny-looking fellows armed with crossbows stepped out of it to greet them.
“Good afternoon to you Serres,” one of the men called. “Nice day for stepping down from the saddle and introducing yerselves.”
“Good afternoon to you,” Valin called back. “We are Rangers of the Kindred, and comfortable sitting as we are. It is a nice day for men of Dun Meven to introduce themselves, though.”
“Kindred Rangers!” the slightly shorter of the pair gaped, agog, “Bugger me, that was quick! Only sent Devun out on the old black mare three days ago!”
“Step down, Rangers, and welcome to Dun Meven,” the other man smiled, taking the bolt from his crossbow. “I’m Bede, this is Finn, both of the Black and Gold, in spite of our cheapcloth garb.”
The elves dismounted and advanced.
“I am Ranger Leeny, this is Meemee and Valdo. We have grave news, which must be carried to Brock of Callodon.”
“Oh… sorry about earlier, ladies, took you all for blokes and all from a distance… then you’re not here in answer to the new we sent out with Devun?”
“We are not,” Elayeen replied. “What news did you send, and where was it sent?”
“To Harks Hearth in the south, concerning the winged lizard we seen lurking in the east, and occasionally flying past out to the plains of Callodon in the west. You must’ve seen it?”
“We have,” Elayeen sighed. “It has dogged us for more than ten days now, since it snatched a dark wizard from the brink of death. We wounded the Goth-lord, and the dark wizard upon the Graken has seeded the land east and south of here with evil and deadly plants.”
“Plants?”
“Yes.”
“We know nothing of plants, Ranger Leeny. Only the winged lizard and the bastard on its back. Finn and me reckoned it was one of them Graken things we heard about from some o’ the lads coming back from the war last year. Heard about you Rangers too, and met one o’ you, on his way to the Hearth. What was his name, Finn?”
“Kevyn? Kerryn?”
“No, Kern. Kern was his name. Nice bloke.”
Elayeen eyed the two men of Callodon. They were well into middle age, late forties or early fifties, it was hard to tell with the beards they wore covering the bottom half of their faces. The hair was neatly trimmed though, and more grey than black. They had not been at Far-gor, and had likely spent the war here, in Dun Meven.
“Can word be sent to Harks Hearth, is there another rider here who can bear it south? We have duties, not the least of which is tracking that Graken and destroying it, once we are rested and our provisions replenished.”
The two men winced, and eyed each other before Bede apologised. “Sorry, Rangers, Devun took the old black mare. It’s the only horse in Dun Meven. Not much need for horses here, as you can see. Villagers grow all they need on the steps there, turn the soil by hand. We had three horses, afore the war, but two went north with the escort and the arms that were sent from the stores. Sorry.”
“Then we must carry it ourselves,” Elayeen lilted, casting a gaze to the east. There was no sign of the Graken there.
“Well, you’re more than welcome to rest up here, Rangers. We got plenty of food, good wine and beer, too. Dunno about arrers for your bows, we can get Dannis to have a mooch in the, er, museum, for you.” Bede smiled and shrugged, “He’s the curator, you might say. Finn, if you’ll stay here at the post and watch for that Graken thing, I’ll take the Rangers up to Dannis?”
“Will do, Bede. You’ll have to speak up a bit to the curator though, Rangers, he’s a bit cloth-eared.”
“Aye, but a nice old boy, been here forever,” Bede added. “Mind you, we been here a long time too, come to that. Come on, Rangers, let’s take you to Dannis and get you inside in the warm and something warm inside you.”
“Are there any more of Brock’s men here, Serre Bede?” Valin asked as they led their horses down a cobblestone path towards the cluster of houses and buildings that made up the village of Dun Meven.
“Nope, friend Ranger. Just the three of us here now, Dannis, me and Finn. Devun would make a fourth but he’s not here, as you know. You know much about this place?”
“We know it is far more than a ‘museum’,” Elayeen announced, “And we were all extremely grateful for the supplies which Dun Meven’s stores furnished at the Battle of Far-gor.”
“Aye, well. We were always supposed to be just a small hill-top village, you see? So there weren’t many of the Black and Gold ever stationed here unless there was trouble brewing in Juria. Then, the curator, as he’s called, would open up the down-below, and there the lads would be settled just in case. We got room below for a hundred blokes to kip down comfortable. Used to have loads of stuff in the museum for ‘em too, but a lot went north and none of it that did came back again.”
“And in the event of an attack?”
“Heh,” Bede chuckled, “From where? Two blokes could hold the path you rode up. North side of the hill is steep and nothing gets up there can’t be seen from the look-out post in the trees there. We got our defences. See them big sheds, yonder, at the foot of the terraces? Well, they ain’t sheds exactly. Filled with great big rocks, logs and fireballs ready at the pull of a rope or two to be loosed down ‘ill onto any what might be coming up it. That’s just one of the obstacles we have at our disposal. Yonder’s where Dannis lives, in what we laughingly call our command post. Come on, he can tell you more. Oh, he likes to be called ‘Serre Curator’, on account of that’s what letters from Castletown call him. Just thought you ought to know.”
The ‘command post’ was a large cottage, almost three knocked into one, with a tiled roof and shuttered windows, and the elves attracted a deal of attention from Dun Meven’s residents as they passed along the road lined by dwellings. There seemed to be far more buildings than there were people out and about, but given the approach of evening, Elayeen decided it was likely because most were indoors preparing the evening meal.
At the cottage, Bede banged hard on the door, twice, and quietly repeated Finn’s earlier warning about Dannis being hard of hearing, and then opened the door.
The interior of the command post was professionally laid out, well furnished, and well appointed. At the end to their left as they entered was a large desk before a wall on which a great map of Callodon, Arrun, and Juria was pinned.
“That’s where Dannis sits,” Bede pointed to the desk, “And beyond that wall is his private apartments. At the other end,” Bede pointed to the right, “Are the ablutions, and quarters set aside for officers. Only, there aren’t any officers. Only me, Finn, and Devun, and we live in the village with our families. Hold on, I’ll b
ang on his door, see if he’s in. If he’s in the down-below, we’ll have to wait for him to come back up.”
The door to the curator’s apartment duly banged, and three times at that, it opened, and an elderly man with a dusting of snow-white hair emerged from within, holding a book in one hand and a slender, long-handled reading-glass in the other.
“Oh my word!” he exclaimed on seeing the elves, “Visitors!”
“Rangers of the Kindred, Serre Curator,” Bede said loudly. “Leeny, Meeya, and Valdo.”
“My word, Rangers? So soon?”
“No, Serre Curator, they come in from the east, not in answer to Devun’s call.”
“From where?”
“The east.”
“The east? Oh my word. Come, come Rangers, be seated. Bede, nip to the tavern, fetch good hot wine, and have Parissa fetch some good hot food, with plenty of steaming vegetables and fresh bread. I’ll wager it has been some time since our guests ate well.”
“Right away, Serre Curator,” and, smiling, flicked a touch to his heart in salute and promptly left, closing the behind him with a wink for the elves.
“Now come,” Dannis announced, indicating the round table in the middle of the room, “Please, sit, and while we wait for the food and wine, tell me what brings you to Dun Meven?”
Once they were seated, bows propped against the wall, Elayeen began, speaking loudly. “Serre Curator, we have urgent news which must be carried…”
“Tsk tsk,” Dannis held up his hand, smiling. “I’m really not so hard of hearing as some might have you believe! I play along with their mistaken assumptions concerning my advanced years because it amuses me, and while it may be true that my left ear is weaker than my right, I’m nowhere near as cloth-eared as some would like to think. I find it is often to my advantage to allow them to keep thinking otherwise, though. You must, however, humour me, I am an old man after all. Now. This urgent news?”
