The Heirs Of Hammerfe

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

 

  tigue, every muscle shaking as if he had been in the saddle not for the scant few hours between midnight and dawn but for the two days and nights it should have taken him to ride so far normally. Jewel and the horse might be magically untiring, but he was not.

  He had no blankets and he was cold. He wrapped himself in his cloak, and beckoned Jewel to curl up close for warmth; she shook herself, scratched for a moment, then curled down into his arms. Under his body the dead leaves crackled and felt damp, but he was too tired to care. Just as it crossed his mind that he was too wound-up and uncomfortable to sleep, sleep took him and he fell stunned into exhaustion. He slept till the light slanting down through the trees wakened him. Then he ate a little more meat and bread, drank the last of the wine, and turned to Jewel, "It's your turn to guide now, old girl. From here on, I'll follow you."

  It was like a dream; although he did not really know where he was going, his moves seemed predetermined; he knew that whichever path he chose he would arrive at the appointed place. It seemed dangerous to abandon himself that way, but this was magic, and nothing he did could change the outcome of this fantastic journey, so he held back to let the dog take the lead.

  Before long, it began to rain hard. Alastair was forced to dismount, and while blundering in the rain, he all but stumbled into a great net which hung from the tops of the thick overhanging trees; Jewel was barking and sniffing at the bait; the stark body of a rabbit-horn, stripped of antlers and tusks. But what had it been baited for? Then Jewel began bark-

 

  ing, running about in little circles and whining. He raised his head to see a most astonishing creature. It was a little man-or so it seemed; not taller than four feet, face and body amply thatched by thick dark hair; gnarled and thick-bodied. He spoke in an ancient form of the mountain language.

  "Who be you? And what be that?" he demanded, staring at Jewel. "You have spoilt my trap; what amends will you make?"

  Alastair looked at the little creature, wondering if he were being confronted with some goblin out of legend. The little man seemed hardly aware of the heavy pouring rain. He was, however, wary of Jewel; he edged backward as she sniffed at his bare feet.

  Alastair was dumbfounded, but he had, after all, been brought up on tales of the strange creatures, not all human, who dwelt in the lands across the Kadarin. Well, they had certainly lost no time in making themselves known to him!

  "You are one of the Big Folk," said the little creature; perhaps you are harmless; but what is that?"

  He indicated Jewel, with a strange look of misgiving; Alastair said, "I am Alastair, Duke of Hammerfell; and this is my dog Jewel."

  "I do not know dog," said the little man, "Is she- what kind of being is dog? Why does she not speak?"

  "Because she cannot; it is not her nature," said Alastair. He did not suppose he would have much luck trying to explain pet; but something of the concept must have been clear to the little man, who said, "Oh, I see; she is like my tame cricket, and she thinks some danger threatens her master; tell her, if you can, that no danger threatens either of you."

  "It's all right, old girl," Alastair said, though he

 

  was not altogether sure of that. Jewel whined a little, but subsided. Alastair mustered his courage and asked, "Who are you?"

  The little man answered, "I am Adastor-Leskin, of the Nest of Shiroh; what is that?" With frank curiosity he pointed at Alastair's horse. Alastair could not be sure the little man did not mean to rob him, but he explained what a horse was as best he could, and the little man appeared delighted.

  "How many strange things I am seeing today! I will be the envy of all my clan! Still there is the matter of a trap between us; you have broken mine; what amends will you make?"

  Alastair had decided to abandon himself to whatever strange fate had brought this adventure to him.

  "I cannot mend your trap," he said, "I do not have the proper tools, and I do not understand the art of its making,"

  "I would not ask it," said the little man. "Do as I would ask of a traveler of my own kind who inadvertently trespassed; give me of your best riddle."

  "Are we to stand in the rain and tell riddles?"

  "Oh," said the stranger, "yes, I had heard that the cold and the rain even of a summer shower like this can inconvenience your kind. Come, then, and shelter in the Nest of my tribe."

  So saying, he put his feet on the lowest of a series of slats nailed-or somehow fastened-to the lower branches of a great tree;

  "Can you follow this road?" he asked.

  Alastair hesitated; his quest beckoned him, yet it would be impolite and impolitic not to make amends to this man and his kind. He climbed, not much liking the feel of the tree-ladder, or the sight of the

 

  forest floor increasingly far below him, but resolved not to reveal his fear to the little being, who climbed as if he had been born to it-which, reflected Alastair, he probably had.

  Up the equivalent of several stories they went, and then stepped off the ladder on to a rather wide, well-floored road, thickly planked, which ran through the tree. Here at last they entered a wide aperture which led into a dark room, quite spacious, roughly furnished with a couple of low cushions of loosely woven cloth. The little man sank down on one of these cushions, gestured Alastair to another rather like it. It felt soft, and rustled when he moved; it must have been stuffed with dried grass, for it gave off a sweet scent. Adastor leaned over and seizing a long, hardened stick, poked a fire into life, which gave off just enough light that Alastair could see around the room.

  "Now," he demanded, "some riddles; when we sit around the fire at night playing at riddles, I will have a new one for my people!"

  Alastair, his mind a complete blank, could only ask, "What kind of riddle would you have? I do not know which kind of riddles are suitable to your game."

  The wide eyes of the little man-Alastair decided they must be very strange eyes indeed if they could see much in this room-shone in the dark.

  "Why," he demanded, "do the birds fly south?"

  Alastair said, "If you were asking for information other than the obvious reasons of weather preference, I would say only that they do it for reasons no man outside their kind understands. What answer would you give?"

  Adastor giggled unmistakably. He said, "Because 'it's too far for them to walk."

 

  "Oh," Alastair groaned, "that kind of riddle. Well-" he searched his mind and could think only of one from his childhood; "Why does the ice-rabbit cross the-er-path?"

  "To get to the other side?" guessed the little man. Alastair shook his head and Adastor's face fell. "Wrong?" He sighed, "I should have known it could not be so simple! Meanwhile I have been remiss- you are my guest; let me offer you refreshment."

  "I thank you," said Alastair, though he could not keep back fears that he would be invited to dine on raw rabbit-horn; he was not sure that even for politeness' sake he could bring himself to do that. After all, this was what the little man used for bait in his trap.

  But what the little man brought him, after rummaging at the far end of the room, was a beautifully woven plate of reeds, done in several colors, which held a surprisingly beautiful arrangement of different colored berries. Alastair sampled them, thanking Adastor with real pleasure. The man demanded, "Tell me now the answer to your riddle; I am certain that as your people are bigger than mine, so your brains are bigger than ours, and your minds more subtle. Why does the ice-rabbit cross the path?"

  "Because it's too long to walk around," replied Alastair sheepishly.

  He was not prepared for Adastor's virtual collapse; he had heard the little man giggle, so he knew , he had a sense of humor-.which could have told him of the acceptability of his riddle-but Adastor fell over, evidently taken aback by the childish old joke.

  "Too far to walk around!" he guffawed, and col-

 

  lapsed again. "Too far-oh, that is very good, very good indee
d! Tell me another!"

  "I have no time," Alastair said with perfect truthfulness, "I must be on my way; I am sorry for your trap, but I have fulfilled my promise, and must be about my business."

  "The trap is of no consequence," replied the little man. "Adastor and the whole Nest of Shiroh is grateful to you, for you have enriched me with a riddle, and with new ideas, and new thoughts; I will guide you back to dog, and horse, and while you go on your way, 1 will contemplate my new ideas. Come."

  The return, with Alastair laboriously clambering down the tree trunk while Adastor scampered like a monkey, was definitely difficult. Alastair climbed slowly and carefully, with no small measure of fear, while Adastor, close behind him, and obviously at ease, snickered at intervals, "Too far to walk around!"

  It was with definite relief that Alastair set his feet on the ground, and felt Jewel clambering all over him and sniffing as she welcomed him. The horse, like a good mountain pony, had not strayed. He turned to take leave of the little man;

  "I am sorry I inadvertently broke your trap," he said, "Believe me, it was an accident."

  "That is all right; while I fix it, I shall contemplate my new riddle," said the little man, almost graciously, "I wish your friend, dog, could talk; now her riddles would no doubt be even more worth hearing. I bid you farewell, my big friend. You are always welcome with your riddles in the Nest of my people."

  So saying he moved away, seeming to melt into the trees, leaving Alastair to be slobbered over by Jewel

 

  and wondering if the whole little adventure had been a bizarre dream.

  "Well, old girl, I suppose we must be on our way," he said. "I wish if we had to meet someone-or something-it had been something that could guide us to Hammerfell. I guess it's up to you, then."

  She sniffed the ground, then raised her head almost challengingly to look back at him.

  He said aloud, feeling foolish, "Yes, old girl; take us to Hammerfell by the quickest way you know." He clambered into his saddle again, as Jewel put her muzzle to the ground and looked back at him with a faint questioning bark.

  "It's no good asking me, old girl; I haven't the faintest idea which way we ought to be going," he said. "You're going to have to take us to Hammerfell, if you can; Mother said you could guide me, and I've got to trust you to do it." Jewel lowered her muzzle again, and began running along the road; he clucked to the horse, who trotted easily after her, with the long stride that ate up the distance.

  Soon the way grew very steep, as they followed the road into the hills, and began to climb almost upright along a stream bed that dashed its way down from the heights. It was hardly a road at all, now, not much better than a goat track. Nevertheless, the mountain horse and the old dog went swiftly upward. Alastair began to look down into incredibly deep valleys filled with mist and the tops of trees far below, from which now and again wisps of smoke rose curling from little villages in the valleys.

  All the rest of the day he rode without encountering a single other rider. The sun reached its height and began to decline. He had no idea where he was

 

  now, letting the magic take him where it would; in the early twilight he paused to eat the last of the bread and share the meat from his saddlebag with Jewel, who ate her portion hungrily.

  He was so weary from the swift unyielding ride that his legs trembled and he felt that if he sat longer in the saddle he would fall; again he found a soft nest of long grasses and curled up in it, Jewel in his arms. He woke in the night and she was gone, but from somewhere came a soft hunting call and the sound of small animals in the woods; she came back after a time licking her jaws, and curled up again at his feet. In the dark he heard her chewing something and wondered what she had found to eat, then decided he didn't really want to know. He patted her rough hair and fell asleep again.

  Waking in the early morning light, he washed his face in a cold mountain spring and climbed again into the saddle. Was it only his fancy or did the horse move more slowly now? Any normal beast would have been exhausted-or dead-after this unsparing journey.

  The roads were even worse now, if possible, and there were times when Jewel had to find the way through thickets overgrown with briars and thorns. The horse breasted them uninjured, but in some places there was no road at all, and Alastair, scratched by thorns, though he wrapped himself in his cloak, wished he had accepted Conn's offer of suitable clothing for these hills. Fear and doubt gnawed at Alastair. He had no way of knowing where they were going, on the right or wrong road. And when they actually came to Hammerfell, if they ever did, would he even know? And what then? How would he find his way

 

  to Markos? And how would he know him when he found him? Could he rely on more of the magic which had borne him along so far? And it was once again growing dark; soon they would surely be unable to find their way.

  He was contemplating a search for a good place to spend a third night among the forests when they suddenly entered upon a well-surfaced road running almost parallel to the course they had been pursuing. It was not the first such road they had crossed, but always before Jewel had taken a different path; now she began to run along the road with abandon, and it was all his horse could do to keep up with her.

  Before long the road turned upward again and Alastair looked up at the heights. On the ridge against the skyline, like the broken teeth of an ancient skull, stood a blackened ruin. Jewel whined softly and ran a little way upward toward the ruin, then turned back, whimpering, toward Alastair; and abruptly he understood. He had ordered Jewel to take him to Hammerfell-but Hammerfell wasn't there any more* at least not the Hammerfell the old dog had known.

  Alastair got down off his horse and shakily walked through the posts that were all that was left of the ruined gates. A flash of unusually brilliant memory, unexpected-for he did not know how he remembered -showed him the castle of Hammerfell as once it had risen against the sky, gray and unbroken; and his mother and father, standing on a green lawn with flowers, and old Jewel, only a clumsy puppy then, frisking at his mother's feet.

  Well, there was nothing here; looking at the clumsy remnants of fallen stone which were all that remained of the bastion of his ancestors, he felt suddenly empty

 

  and sick. He had come all this way, with magical strength-for this'? Rationally, he knew that he must take up the quest again, find Markos somewhere- good sense told him the man could not be so far away that he could not be found. But emotionally he felt as shattered as the ruin around him. He felt weak, a bag of sawdust punctured and with all the sawdust running out, like his old stuffed toy in the nursery. He stood in the ruins of his ancestral home, and all he could think was, I should have let Conn come, he would have known what to do.

  What would he do? Alastair tried to clear his head and pull himself together-he should not have been surprised, he had known for a long time that the place was in ruins; in fact, my first memory is of its burning.

  He could not stand here in the ruins and feel sorry for himself; he must find Markos, so that he could at least begin to do what King Aidan had sent him to do ... to discover what army was here awaiting Hammerfell to retake his lands and castle. Although, he thought bitterly, there's not enough here of the castle to be worth retaking.

  There was an old saying in Thendara: the longest journey begins with a single step. And there was, he thought ruefully, one good thing about being disillusioned like this; anything he did would have to be a step in the right direction, since from where Hammerfell was now, things could only improve.

  He reached for the reins of his horse and climbed aboard; down below he could see a few lines of smoke which must surely be a village, and there he was likely to find someone-in the very shadow of the burned castle, they were likely to be Hammerfell

 

  tenants, those who owed, or once had owed, loyalty to Hammerfell.

  The downward path seemed steeper than the upper; he had to hold the horse to a slow pace,
and at the edge of the village-a cluster of small cottages built of the local pinkish stone-he paused, looking about for any sign of an inn or even a tavern. One building, a little larger than the others, displayed a sign with three leaves and a crown; he walked his horse toward it and tied up the creature at the rail. Conn's horse, under whatever magic had brought it here so quickly, probably would not wander; but there was no point in making it look like anything but an ordinary horse.

  Inside there was a small taproom, with the usual taproom smells, uninhabited at this hour of the day except by a couple of very old gaffers, dozing in the chimney corner, and a chunky woman behind the bar, in cap and apron.

  "M'lord," she said, raising her eyes pertly enough that for a moment Alastair wondered-she spoke as if she knew him. But, of course, it would be Conn she knew.

  "Can I get something to eat at this hour? And something for my dog-"

  "There's a roast haunch of mutton; not too tender- it was an old critter-but it'll serve-and some dog-bread," she said, looking puzzled. "Wine?"

  "For me; not for the dog, I think."

  "No," she said, "though once I knew a man train his dog to drink wine an' he went around laying wagers on it; but I'll give her a bowl of beer if you like; it's good for them, or so the dog breeders say, especially if she's a bitch nursing pups."

 

  "No pups," Alastair said, "but dog-bread and a bowl of beer for her, then. The roast'll do me well enough, or whatever you have." He could hardly expect to Find elegant fare at a place like this. He collected his plate and sat down in a corner. The wine was not very good; when Jewel's bowl of beer came, he called the woman to bring him some for himself. It was a good rich country brew, very filling and warming. He drank it off, ate the tough roasted meat hungrily and shared the well-roasted skin and the bones with the dog. As he was eating, he heard noises outside the door, and a group of women, clad in crimson tunics, each with a long golden hoop earring in her ear, came in.