Текст книги "Quest for the Faradawn"

Автор книги: Richard Ford

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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

CHAPTER XXI

By dusk that day the animals found themselves standing at the foot of the mound on top of which the strange rocks of Rengoll’s Tor loomed large and mysterious; casting strange shadows on the ground around them as the sun, yellow, weak and watery in a cold autumn sky, started to go down behind the mountains. The earth and the heather all around them smelt damp and mist hung in the air so that the sounds of barking which had been behind them all day now seemed muffled and remote. Nab and Beth had thought of the old couple as they jogged steadily along the track towards the Tor which Jim had described, and a terrible sense of foreboding had come upon them once or twice as they travelled but it had quickly been pushed aside; the thought of anything happening to them had been too awful to contemplate. Once, as the path took them on to the top of a small ridge, Beth had even believed that she could smell smoke on the wind but she immediately put it down to imagination or the fires in the distant lowlands.

They had no idea how far behind them the Urkku were. Soon after dawn they had seen them coming through the little valley between the two hills at the top of the slope but they had not seen them since; nor had they been seen for the cover was good and the path had run for much of the way alongside a little mountain brook which cut its way deep into the earth leaving banks of rich dark peat on either side through which the tangled roots of the heather stuck out and in which cotton grass grew.

They had stopped for a very short break around Sun-High and eaten Ivy’s packed lunch, which had tasted delicious and made them feel as if they could go on running for ever. Now, however, Beth felt tired again; she had not really recovered fully from her exhausted state, and the fact that she was soaked to the skin again because of the damp mist made her feel worse. At her side Brock suddenly gave a frantic shake in an attempt to get rid of the large droplets of water which the mist had deposited all over his coat. They were staring at the huge rocks and wondering, now they were here, how they would go about finding the mountain-elves when suddenly they heard a sound from way above them. It was a high plaintive tune, the notes of which floated down to them on the wind almost as if it was being played by the breeze itself.

‘Look,’ said Perryfoot, and they all saw on top of one of the rocks a little elven figure sitting cross-legged and playing a reed pipe.

‘Jim was right,’ said Beth. When the elf saw that they had seen him he stopped playing, stood up and waved at them, beckoning them towards him up the mound. Quickly they clambered up the slope and met the elf at the base of one of the rocks which towered over them, completely blotting out the sun.

‘I am Morar,’ said the elf. ‘There is no time to lose; follow me,’ and he began to climb back up over the rocks, leaping nimbly from boulder to boulder, while the others did their best to follow, groping for footholds and grabbing on to pieces of lichen and moss as they made their way up these enormous pieces of granite which leant against one another as if they had been thrown down by some giant and so precariously that the animals felt they were liable to collapse at any moment and did not dare to look down.

Suddenly they were at the top, bathed in a pale yellow light as the sun tried to shine through the mist, and Morar was urging them to descend down into a dark gaping opening in the rocks. Beth climbed in first and helped Brock and Perryfoot down. Warrigal and Nab were about to follow when the mist suddenly cleared for an instant and to their horror they heard a chorus of shouts from behind them which rose swiftly in a crescendo of triumph. Looking round they saw the column of Urkku not far from the base of the mound, pointing at them and yelling excitedly at one another.

‘There they are. We’ve got them. They’ll not get away this time.’ Nab felt his stomach turn to ice. He had a vision of a sea of howling faces, mean, pinched and dirty with empty narrow eyes and slavering mouths which dripped hatred like blood, and then he felt Morar push him and he half-slid and half-clambered down into the dark space under the rocks where the others were waiting. It was blessedly quiet in here and he felt his heart thumping.

‘They’re here,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Just outside.’

The others looked at him, their eyes wide with fear until Morar spoke.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Follow me. They don’t know exactly where we are and they’ll never find us where we’re going.’

Their eyes were now growing accustomed to the gloom and they could dimly make out ahead of them a small rectangular entrance formed by two columns of stone at either side with a stone lintel on the top. In the centre of the lintel a large rune had been expertly carved by the hand of some elven stonemason. The mountain elves were renowned for their stonecraft and as they passed under it the animals marvelled at the delicacy of the work and Warrigal whispered that it was their symbol; a new crescent moon, a single blade of grass and a craggy mountain peak. In those few simple lines the artist had captured the very essence of the mountains and the moors so that all who saw it felt their hearts stir.

They found themselves now in a large low-ceilinged chamber, roughly square in shape but completely empty except for rows of swords and shields which hung on the walls. Each was different; the handles had all been carved to represent a different mountain creature and the blades were all embossed with a different runic symbol.

‘We each have our own hereditary sword,’ said Morar. ‘Rarely used, but cleaned and sharpened every day.’ The points gleamed silver in the dark and the colours on the shields seemed to flicker and move as what little light there was caught them.

They crossed the chamber and went through another smaller doorway at the far end and now they began to descend some stone steps which ran down a narrow tunnel. They were small and there was a dip in the centre of each one where it had been worn away by endless centuries of use. A type of bannister had been carved into the stone on either side of the passageway but this was not much help to Perryfoot and Brock, who kept slipping and had to be guided by Nab and Beth. As they went further and further down it grew very cold and damp and their teeth began to chatter loudly in the intense quiet. It felt to the animals as if they were descending into the very heart of the mountains; their footsteps echoed loudly in the stillness and they could hear the steady dripping of water all around them.

They seemed to have been going down for ages when the tunnel gradually began to grow much wider and lighter. The walls were now streaked with different coloured minerals; bright blues and golds and crimsons and even at times an intense snowy white which bathed the tunnel in silver. The path was almost level now and frequently they would come across little caverns and grottoes at the side which were filled with stalagmites and stalactites of strange shapes and sizes; either very tall and thin or else rounded like a thick mushroom; some hanging down while others grew out of the dazzling multicoloured rock gardens. They kept stopping to wonder at these magical sights and Morar explained about each one; its name and history and the legends surrounding it. Many of them were believed to contain the spirits of ancient, long-dead, elven heroes so that there was the Peak of Eynort, the Sword of Braewire or the Spike of Ardvasar. The elves each had their own special one which looked after and guided them and which they in turn repaid by caring for and guarding and making sure, above all, that they were not touched for they were so delicate that they were easily broken and the dead elves’ spirits would then be released to wander, homeless for ever.

So involved were the animals in these fantastic surroundings that they forgot all about the danger that lurked behind them up on the surface and even where they were and what they were doing, so that it came as quite a shock when Morar called them to a halt and they found themselves standing in front of a large stone door on which were many carvings portraying the old histories and sagas. Morar pulled his reed pipe out of his belt and began to play a strange lilting air. When he had finished he waited a short while and then played the same tune again. This time, when he stopped, the great door very slowly started; to swing inwards. They walked through the doorway, whereupon Morar played a different tune, again twice, and the door silently closed behind them.

Now they were standing in a high vaulted cavern roughly oval in shape with huge stone pillars round the walls that formed archways through which were many different anterooms and chambers. Some of these had doors while others were open, and in them the animals could see the elves going about their work. It reminded Beth of a medieval cathedral, particularly as the stone floor had been inlaid with hundreds of different coloured minerals to form patterns. It was from these that most of the light came and, as they followed Morar along a central aisle in the cavern with gold and blue and silver light shining up under their chins lighting their faces from below, they had the eerie feeling that they were walking upside down. High above them, an occasional streak of silver showed up massive natural rock columns which supported the roof.

Soon they were at the far end of the cavern, standing in front of a door set into the rock face. Morar lifted the stone latch and the door swung open easily at his touch to reveal a small room with a figure sitting on a seat at the far end which had been hewn out of the rock. Morar bowed.

‘My Lord Malcoff,’ he said. ‘I present the travellers from Silver Wood.’

The animals all followed Morar’s example and inclined their heads. When they looked up again Malcoff was smiling. Nab’s first impression of him was of immense age; his skin was of a deep dark brown and it was covered with hundreds of little lines and wrinkles like a piece of old bark. The hands which clutched the carved armrests in the rock were very long and thin and bony. Long grey hair the colour of granite hung down his back and there was a band around his forehead with a shimmering blood-red stone in the centre. The single ring on the index finger of his left hand was carved

with the same rune as that on the lintel outside the cavern and around his neck he wore a great oval-shaped amulet made of the precious blue stone from the mines of Thurgo in the far west. His deep-set grey eyes peered out from under two thick bushy eyebrows and his thin gently hooked nose gave his face an expression of sternness and gravity. Perched on one of the arms of the seat was a large golden eagle which stared at the newcomers with curiosity. When Malcoff spoke, it was with all the craggy dignity of the mountains themselves.

‘I bid you welcome,’ he said slowly and gravely. ‘You will forgive me, I hope, if I do not stand to greet you. My legs will not permit it. They have grown old before their master and will no longer obey him. But I have Curbar,’ he looked up fondly at the eagle, ‘and I have my chairs.’ He pointed to what looked to Beth like a sedan chair which lay on the floor at his side.

‘Come closer, so that I may see you,’ he went on. ‘We have heard a lot about you; you would perhaps be surprised at your fame. You have done well to get here, there have been occasions when we have thought you lost. But I fear there is little space for pleasantries; our time runs short and the Urkku know you are here. You will be aware of course, of the rumours that pursue you?’ he asked, and Beth replied that the old couple down the hill who had protected and sheltered them for the night had told them. At the mention of Jim and Ivy the Elflord’s eyes grew cloudy.

‘It was indeed fortunate that you passed their way; perhaps Ashgaroth guided you. We have always known them as of the Eldron; they would come often to Rengoll’s Tor and we would try to speak with them. Yet I have grave news for you.’ He looked down at the floor and the friends’ hearts turned over with the grim certainty of what they knew he was about to say.

‘No!’ Beth cried. ‘Oh no.’

Malcoff continued. ‘They did not die in vain. They gave you time and without that you would not be here now. So do not weep or grieve for them; they would not wish it. They loved you and they died for you and they died contented. They are with Ashgaroth, watching you. Come and sit.’

He gestured towards a stone bench in the wall and Nab, with his arm round Beth’s sobbing shoulders, led her across to it. They both felt sick with grief and remorse. If only Jim and Ivy had come with them or, better still, if they had never met, then the old couple would still be alive. Malcoff’s assurance that they died for the travellers only made their gnawing feelings of guilt worse. Yet Nab somehow found a strength and put his heart into trying to comfort Beth who was weeping uncontrollably.

Malcoff spoke again. ‘You must be tired and in need of rest. Nab, do your best to soothe her. I will see you later. Morar; show them their chamber.’

They went back through the door and into the great cavern, where Morar led them off into a little square stone room with a huge blazing fire at one end. Food and drink had been laid out for them on the floor.

‘I will come for you later,’ said Morar, and he went out.

They walked over to the fire which was warm and welcoming and Nab sat Beth down next to him on a stone bench which he pulled across from one of the walls and put in front of it. None of them had much appetite and they picked disconsolately at the food and ate in silence.

‘Come on, Beth. Try and drink this. It’ll make you feel better,’ said Nab gently and he handed her a stone goblet full of a dark golden liquid which he’d picked up from the floor. She took a sip and felt stronger and thought of Malcoff’s words. Now that the initial shock had worn off, they did seem to bring some comfort. With a supreme effort she forced herself to take hold of her emotions and, looking up at Nab, she forced a smile. She was rewarded by the look of relief that came into Nab’s eyes.

‘I’ll be all right,’ she said. ‘Why did they do it, Nab?’

‘That’s what we’re fighting, ’ he replied. ‘That’s why we’re here and why we’ve come through everything.’

‘I wonder what’s going to happen now,’ said Perryfoot, moving a bit further back from the fire where he was getting too hot.

‘The Lord Malcoff will tell us soon,’ Warrigal muttered to himself. ‘We shall know soon enough.’

Brock looked up at his old friend where he was perched on the stone bench next to Beth.

‘You look tired,’ he said with some surprise. He and Perryfoot had been in an exhausted daze ever since they had arrived at the cottage of the Eldron but Warrigal had always seemed to be on top of himself, always clear-thinking and in control. Now he also seemed worn out. His feathers looked dull and scruffy and his eyes had lost their usual fire and sparkle.

‘I am,’ said the owl. ‘We all are. We could go no further. I want to go home; back to Silver Wood to sit on the Great Beech and look out over the fields towards the pond. I want to roost in the rhododendrons and go to the quarterly Council Meetings to gossip and chat about small unimportant things. I want to stay in one place and watch the seasons as they come and go. Yes; I’m tired of travelling.’

They looked at Warrigal and were grateful to him for expressing what they all felt. No one spoke for they became lost in thoughts of home; for Beth a home that she was now certain she would never see again and for the other animals a home that was no more. The elves had laid out some dry brown bracken in one corner of the room and Brock suggested that they lie down and try and get some sleep. It crackled as they settled down in it and a little cloud of dust rose into the room and made Perryfoot and Beth sneeze. The familiar, fragrant, almost scented smell of the bracken was comforting but, despite the fact that they were all very tired, it took them all a long time to get to sleep, and when finally they did, it was a restless, fitful sleep full of strange confused dreams in which pictures of the past mingled with those of the present. In all their minds was the thought that tomorrow would see the end of their mission, the culmination of everything, and the blood was racing through their veins far too quickly to leave them in peace.

It was Moon-High outside when Nab suddenly woke up to see Morar standing by the door.

‘The Lord Malcoff sent me to ask you to come to him again. There is much to discuss before the sun rises.’

Nab looked at Beth tossing beside him and gently laid a hand on her shoulder. She woke immediately and seeing Morar guessed that it was time for their talk with Malcoff. The others had woken up at the sound of the elf’s voice and now they followed him out into the main cavern and back to the Elflord’s room, pleased to have escaped from the dark unsettling world of their dreams. There was a lot of activity in all the various chambers and anterooms round the walls; elves were bustling to and fro, there was much hammering and banging, and music was everywhere; an intensely rhythmical music with a heavy beat and many pipes playing together to form a stirring wave of sound.

Malcoff welcomed them as they entered.

‘I trust the noise of our preparations did not disturb you,’ he said, ‘but there is a lot to be done. Please sit while we talk. Now,’ he continued, leaning forward and with an urgency in his voice, ‘our scouts have been up to the surface to see what the situation is and they report that the Urkku have completely surrounded the Tor and have erected huts and tents with an obvious intention of remaining for a long time. They know you are here somewhere and will stay until you come out. They have plenty of supplies and will bring in replacements if needed during the winter. Many of their leaders are goblins who have assumed the appearance of Urkku and their powers are such that they can persuade the rest to do their bidding. They could of course bombard the Tor with their weapons; they have them here, in the hope of destroying you, but they will not for they want you alive and in any case you would be safe under here and Dréagg knows that. This is his last chance of finding you and he wants you alive so that he may discover the intentions of Ashgaroth.’

Here Nab interrupted, for there was something that was puzzling him. ‘But I do not know what I am to do next,’ he said.

‘Have patience,’ replied Malcoff. ‘Morar. Play your pipes; play us an air that is gentle and soothing.’ He turned back to Nab and went on. ‘We must all have patience.’ He smiled. ‘What you are to do is not known to any except Ashgaroth. The ending of the legend is unknown. All that I know, for he has spoken to me, is that you must travel from here to the sacred high peak known as Ivett which is but a half-day’s journey from here and it is there that he will speak with you.’

‘But we are surrounded by the Urkku,’ said Nab, who was depressed and angry at the realization that his travelling was not yet over.

The peaceful sound of Morar’s pipes floated around Malcoff’s chamber and contrasted strangely with the muffled sounds of activity outside. Curbar, the Eagle, looked intently at each of the animals in turn as if he were able to see through their eyes and right inside their minds. Beth felt a nervous twinge of apprehension in the bottom of her stomach as Curbar stared at her with his sharp, hooded eyes.

‘We have a plan,’ said Malcoff. The battle-chiefs and myself have talked it over and it seemed to us the best, if not the only way. Our army is far too small to hope to defeat them in battle. The scouts have reported that they have a numerous host; their tents resemble a field of mushrooms stretching as far as the eye can see. But the plan involves your separation for a time and it would mean great danger for you, Beth and the animals. The strategy we have devised is as follows. Our small army of elven warriors would engage the Urkku in battle so that the whole of their attention is taken up with fighting. Then, when the time is judged right, Perryfoot, Brock, Warrigal and Beth, who would have changed into your clothing, Nab, so as to appear as much like you as possible, will come out of the entrance on the Tor and then, making sure that they are seen, will escape west through a gap in the battle-lines that the elves will have organized. The Urkku, believing that you have all got out, will attempt to give pursuit. The elves will hold them back until Beth and the others are almost out of sight and then their fighting will deliberately weaken so as to allow the Urkku to chase after them. It is then, Nab, that you, who have been hiding in the entrance, will make your exit heading north towards the Peak of Ivett, I hope unnoticed, while the Urkku are in hot pursuit of the others. Then, when and if they can evade their pursuers, Beth and the animals will make their way towards Ivett to rejoin you.’ He paused, then, seeing the reluctance in their eyes, he added, ‘I know that separation is a lot to ask of you, particularly after all you have been through together, but there is no other, better way. And I trust it will not be for long.’

‘Could Beth not come with me?’ said Nab. ‘She is tired. The others are faster but she is not used to living as we do. I am worried for her safety if she has to go with them.’

‘We have thought of all that you have just said but unfortunately she plays the most important part of the plan. The Urkku must believe that she is you. As it is, they will only see one where there should be two but we will have to hope that in the heat of battle they will not notice.’

Beth interrupted. ‘Don’t argue about me,’ she said. ‘I will go. I can see that it is the best way and I know that we shall all meet again. I have come this far; it is not much further that you are asking me to go.’

Nab looked at her and took her hand. Malcoff smiled.

‘You are very brave,’ he said. ‘Ashgaroth indeed chose well.’

'When do we go?’ asked Brock.

‘In the last dark hour before the sun rises. You will have heard the sounds of preparation outside; the sharpening of arrows, spears and swords and the final treatment of shields. I understand from Morbann and Mendokk, the two battle-chiefs, that they are almost ready and Morar tells me that his players have rehearsed their battle songs until they would bring the very rocks themselves to life. In the meantime we shall talk. You will tell me of the early days and of your journey here, and give me news of Wychnor and Saurélon for it is quite some seasons since I saw them. And I will tell you of my home in the far west where the mountains scrape the sky, and from the top of which one can see the whole world; where it is so cold that breath forms icicles as it comes from your mouth and your eyelids would freeze together if you did not wear a helmet. Come then; Morar will play for us and we will talk and drink of the golden elven-brew made from the heather and the gorse and we will be happy until the time arrives, for these hours before a battle are the dangerous hours. It is then that the battle is won or lost and we must not let ourselves brood on the uncertainties of what tomorrow may bring.’