Текст книги "Quest for the Faradawn"

Автор книги: Richard Ford

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Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

CHAPTER XXII

The walk back up the steps in that long, cold, damp tunnel seemed endless. Ahead of Nab walked the small band of elven warriors, their bodies glowing silver in the gloomy light. First had gone the archers, then those who would be using swords or spears and, ahead of them all, leading the column, went Malcoff, his gaily coloured chair carried expertly up the steps by four large elves. Behind the travellers, and bringing up the rearguard, came Morar’s players with their pipes and drums. Only their leader played now and the haunting strains of his pipe echoed all the way up the tunnel. It was the only sound apart from the soft padding of elven footsteps as they met the hard stone and an occasional metallic clink as a quiver banged against the wall.

The first sign that they were nearing the end of the long climb came when Nab felt the unmistakable fragrance of the cool night air on his face. He closed his eyes and breathed it in deeply but at the same time his heart sank for it meant that they were nearly at the surface and the moment of separation was approaching. The column moved more slowly now for, as they passed through the large square chamber at the head of the tunnel, all except the archers had to collect their swords and shields and spears. The bows were kept in the main cavern underground to protect them from the damp and the constant changes in temperature which they would have been subjected to near the surface but all the other weapons were kept here to save carrying them up and down the steps.

When the animals finally reached the chamber they found the walls bare and only Malcoff, Curbar and the chair carriers inside. Morar and the players filed past them in silence and followed the rest of the warriors out on to the Tor to take up their positions. The Elflord spoke quietly.

‘Here, Nab; take this casket. It contains the Faradawn of the Mountains and the High Places.’ Nab took the small silver-grey stone casket and, carefully opening the last of the three lockets on the Belt of Ammdar, he placed it inside and snapped the top shut. It felt wonderfully satisfying that the Belt was now full and he thought back to the time when he had first seen it in the Forest of Ellmondrill when Wychnor gave it to him and showed him how to work the lockets. It seemed a long time ago now. Then Malcoff continued, ‘We will watch the battle from a high vantage point behind one of the rocks and you will remain close by my side, ready to run when the time is right. I need not tell you how important it is that you are not seen. Come then; follow me.’

A strange and eerie sight met their anxious gaze when they emerged from the tunnel entrance and scrambled out on to the rocks of the Tor. The moon shone fitfully as it came out for short spells from behind the large black clouds that raced across the night sky and in these occasional flashes of silver light they could see the elven army drawn up in battle ranks in a circle all around the summit; those with swords in front followed by the spearthrowers and, lastly, the archers, who stood with their bows ready while the front ranks knelt. The pipers stood right on the summit on the rock where the animals had first seen Morar. At the very front of the army, one on each side of the Tor, stood the two battle-chiefs Morbann and Mendokk with their huge swords raised high above their heads ready to give the signal for battle to commence. The overwhelming impression was of a mass of shimmering, twinkling lights; silver from the elves’ bodies and reflected from their swords and spears, golds and reds and crimsons and greens from their helmets and shields.

Just down the summit, in another circle, stood the tents of the Urkku. Outside many of them the smouldering remains of last night’s camp fires flickered red in the darkness while inside their occupants slept. It was very still and quiet and the air was cold. A light breeze from the mountains made the heather rustle and wave gently. Behind the shelter of a large rock that seemed to have pushed itself straight up through the earth, the animals all stood in silence, hardly daring to breathe, with the sound of their hearts pounding furiously in their ears. From where they stood they could see all around them. Malcoff pointed out the great high peak of Mount Ivett where it stood in the middle distance just beyond the near range of hills, its jagged spire silhouetted by the moon. Morbann, Mendokk and Morar were all looking intently at the Lord Malcoff to give the signal for battle to commence. Their throats were dry with nervous anxiety; not since the days of Ammdar had the elves fought in open battle and, although they had constantly kept in readiness preparing for a moment such as this, they could not help being a little afraid.

Slowly, Malcoff raised his right hand and then suddenly brought it down. Immediately there was a massive skirl of pipes and the heavy beat of the drums began to reverberate over the hillside. Nab felt the blood start to race through his veins. He turned to Beth and took her hand tightly in his; it was shaking and as he looked in her eyes he saw that they were wide and glazed with fear. The pipes and drums rose in a great wall of sound and the Urkku were emerging from their tents, bleary-eyed and drugged with sleep, to see what the noise was. They stood looking out into the night, puzzled and bemused by the commotion, until Nab saw Malcoff raise his hand again in a signal at which the archers pulled back their bows and loosed their arrows. For a second or two the air was full of a whistling, rushing noise as they sped through the air, and then, as they found their targets, pandemonium broke loose. Amidst the groans and cries of those who had been hit came the guttural shouts of the leaders as they tried to organize the rest and the frantic yells of others as they stumbled about in the dark attempting to get back in their tents to find their weapons. Only the goblin leaders, in their guise as Urkku, knew what was happening, and they rushed around the camp shouting, cursing, cajoling and threatening the panicking mob in an attempt to get some kind of order into the fearful, bewildered Urkku who had no notion who could be firing arrows at them. No sooner had they been gathered into line than another hail of arrows would be released and once again chaos would take over. Finally, however, the goblins managed to assemble the remaining Urkku into a number of ranks and they began firing uphill at an enemy they could not see and whose identity they did not know. It was then that Malcoff gave the signal to charge and the sword and spear carriers raced off over the heather to the sound of a different, more urgent, rhythm from the pipes and drums which mingled with the sound of the elves as they each shouted their own individual battle cry. At the sight and sound of these ferocious, yelling creatures leaping and running towards them, the Urkku froze with astonishment and then fear. They were blinded by a whirling kaleidoscope of blood-curdling noise and flashing colour and many of them turned and tried to run, only to find, standing in their way, the squat fat ugly shape of a goblin – for many of the leaders had changed back into their natural state – slavering and twitching and bawling at them to turn round and fight if they did not want to be buried amidst the powers of hell. Then, abandoning themselves to the nightmare, the Urkku would face back up hill towards the elves and fire blindly.

The animals watched, their fears for the moment forgotten in the tension of the battle, as the elves ran through the shower of bullets, many of them being knocked down by the force of the blast but then, because the Urkku bullets could not kill them, picking themselves up and charging on until with a huge clash they met the enemy who, realizing that bullets were useless, had begun in desperation to use their guns as clubs and shields in an attempt to prevent the elves from cutting them to pieces with their swords. At first the battle seemed all one way as the elves swarmed over the Urkku forcing them back down the hill but then the goblins drew out their swords from under the ill-fitting Urkku garments now stretched tight over their natural bodies. In each of these had been welded a fragment of the Sword of Degg which Dréagg had forged from Amemeze, an evil metal mined from the Halls of Drāgorn which he obtained while he was banished there. The Sword had been so cast by Dréagg that it could halt the flow of time, destroying the elves’ immortality, and so each of these swords which the goblins now wielded was also imbued with that terrible power. Now the goblins swept forward to bolster up the tattered ranks of Urkku and the roar of battle swelled until the hills echoed. The elves were halted and their line began to waver as the magic of their weapons, woven with the light of Ashgaroth, met the evil force of Dréagg. The sun rose and streaked the sky with gashes of crimson and red and orange and the tumult of the fight rose in the chill morning air, shattering the stillness of the mountains with the clash of sword on shield and the dreadful cries of the wounded. When the elves fell, a cloud of silver lifted from their bodies as their remains vanished like a puff of smoke. Malcoff watched and his old eyes grew blurred with tears at the departure of those whom he had known and loved and their passing was like the dying of a flower.

The battle raged on as the pale sun climbed in the cold grey sky. First one way, then the other did it ebb and flow until by mid-morning the elves finally claimed the ascendancy and the air grew foul with the smell from the dead goblins whose black blood stained the heather. Slowly they pushed the hordes of Dréagg back until there was a clear gap in the fighting, and Beth, Perryfoot, Brock and Warrigal knew that their time had come. Malcoff turned to them.

‘You must go now,’ he said. ‘May Ashgaroth shelter you and guide you.’

Nab’s heart felt as if it would break under the torment of the thought of their leaving and his throat ached with the effort of holding back his tears. Quickly he embraced them all, the soft feathered body of Warrigal, the deep fur of Perryfoot and the familiar warm shape of Brock. Brock who had first found him and brought him up and shared everything with him and who was as much a part of him as his own eyes. Finally he held Beth tight as if he would never let her go and the din of battle matched the tumult in his brain so that when she gently pushed him away he was dazed with grief.

‘We must go,’ she said. ‘We’ll meet again soon; I know it,’ and she turned abruptly away and ran out from behind the shelter of the boulder after the dark brown shape of Warrigal as he flew across the heather towards the gap. Perryfoot followed and then Brock and as they ran a cry went up from the goblins and the Urkku. Slowly as the news that they had been spotted spread, the cry grew louder and the Urkku pressed against the line of elves, fighting to break through and follow but the line held firm.

Soon the animals were through the gap and racing away over the moors, yet still the elves held back the frantic yelling mass until finally, when they were just a speck in the distance, the line broke and the goblins and Urkku, with a massive triumphant shout, plunged through and thundered in pursuit of their quarry. Nab watched painfully as he saw his friends finally disappear around a small hill on the far horizon and then, some time after, their pursuers were lost to sight around the same hill. Now the last link with them was gone. He turned back to the battlefield where the remnants of the elven army were wearily walking back up the hillside. Many had fallen, but they had achieved what they had set out to achieve against that vast army and they were satisfied. Now they would rest, and in the evening they would begin the distasteful job of burying the dead goblins and Urkku. Of their own kind who had gone, nothing remained except a scattering of silver dust which would soon be blown away.

Then Malcoff spoke, and there was a tremor in his voice.

‘They have done well,’ he said, ‘though I am deeply sad to have lost so many. And now you must go, Nab. Take care; you now have the three Faradawn and are at your most vulnerable. Dearly would Dréagg like to take you at this time. You should be on Mount Ivett by nightfall. Farewell; perhaps we shall all meet again some day.’

Sadly Nab turned north and began to make his way towards the distant peak on the skyline, pausing before he was out of sight to turn round and take a last look at the Tor. There was only Malcoff sitting where Nab had left him with the great golden eagle perched on a rock to his right. The Elflord was looking towards him and, when he saw Nab turn, he raised his hand and waved slowly. The boy waved back before he rounded a hill and the Tor was lost from sight.

By the middle of the afternoon Nab was on the lower slopes of the great peak which towered high above. He was tired; his legs ached and his breath rasped as it came from his weary lungs. The sun had long been lost behind great dark banks of clouds that came rolling in from the north, and an icy wind blew down from the mountain. He sat down on a rock to have a rest and wondered again, as he had constantly since he left the Tor, how the others were getting on. He missed them terribly, hardly believing that they were not with him and feeling as though a part of him was gone. He had begun to imagine, a while back, that they actually were walking at his side and he had started to talk to them, making up conversations as he crossed the rough stony ground.

As he sat looking out over the bleak mountain side he slowly became aware of a thick damp mist descending from the slopes above. He watched it come down, fascinated by the steady pace at which it moved, covering everything in its path. One minute everything was clear and the next it had vanished behind this thick dark grey wall. He saw it rolling towards him and felt it envelop him with its wet clammy tentacles as it moved on down the hill. A cold chill went through his body, partly from the mist but also because he suddenly realized that he could see nothing in any direction except the few paces of ground in front of him; the peak was completely lost from view. He looked around desperately but there was no way in which he could tell the right direction to travel. ‘Still, if we make sure we’re always walking uphill, we can’t go far wrong,’ he said out loud, to an imaginary Brock. ‘Come on then,’ and he got up from the rock and began to move very slowly in what he hoped was an upwards path. He had thought that keeping his feet pointing uphill would be easy but he was surprised to find that after only a few steps it became extremely hard. The difficulty was caused by the little dips and hollows which kept occurring in the general upward slope. When he came to these and felt his feet going down he would turn around and go up a few paces only to find that he was going down again.

After this happened a number of times a growing sense of panic began to swell up in his stomach and he had to fight hard to control it. Terrible memories of the walk through the Marshes of Blore came back to him. At least then he had been with the others, now he was utterly on his own.

He tried again, putting one foot carefully in front of the other on the stones and scrub on the ground. This time he walked for a while and was just beginning to gain confidence again when he started to go downhill. ‘It’ll only be a small dip,’ he said to himself. ‘In a few steps we’ll start to go up again.’ But the slope went down and down so, thinking that he had been walking up the side of a hollow at first, he turned and re-traced his steps back up only to find that when he went down the side he had originally walked up it went on for ever. Now he was really frightened and suddenly, as if for the first time, the enormous weight of the responsibility he was under came to him. Before, there had always been the others to share it with, but now it was his and his alone. He could not let them down, all those who had given their lives to protect him and and those who were now playing their part so that he might succeed. He stopped, his heart beating violently at the crushing thought of failure. Failure! Pictures of Bruin and Rufus and Sam flashed into his mind so clearly they could almost have been there with him and an overwhelming shadow of misery closed around his mind with a grip like an iron vice. The mist seemed to be growing thicker all the time and his body was so damp and cold that he began to shiver uncontrollably. He sat down on the ground and, burying his face in his hands, allowed despair to take him over.

He stayed like that for a long time until he felt something indefinable penetrate his numbness and make him look up. Then he saw, through the mist, a warm welcoming golden glow. His heart leapt with joy – Ashgaroth! It could only be he. He got up and began to make his way towards the faint flicker of light which seemed to beckon him on. As he walked he became mesmerized by it and could see nothing else and feel nothing else except the warmth of that light. It drew him on so that his feet felt as if they were walking on the mist and his body floated through the moist atmosphere. He was no longer tired or miserable or afraid; he was suddenly invincible. He could have gone on for ever, such was the power and strength that surged through his body even to his fingertips. He seemed to grow so that when he looked down, the ground below him was very far away. He strode effortlessly over valleys and gorges, deep ravines and raging rivers and high mountains; they were all his playthings far below. Dimly, through this haze of euphoria, he could sense that the source of his energy was centred around his middle, where the Belt of Ammdar was securely buckled, and had he looked he would have seen the hasp glowing with that same golden light that beckoned to him in the distance and that now shone also in his mind. On, on he walked until there was nothing else but the joy of this effortless travel in his brain. Everything was forgotten; the Urkku, the Eldron, Ashgaroth, Dréagg, the Elves; even Beth and Brock, Warrigal and Perryfoot seemed dim remote figures from a faint shadowy past that had nothing to do with him now.

Suddenly he began to fall; down, down through a long narrow tunnel in the ground he tumbled, and as he fell the sides closed in over him, folding across his head as if the walls were made of soft mud that collapsed in. Once or twice as he fell he tried to catch on to the sides but when he did so and began to haul himself up they gave way and he felt himself sliding backwards again into the dark gaping vortex beneath. Further and further he dropped and around him all he could see was an inky swirling blackness which flashed in front of his eyes, and his mind whirled around so that he was unable to think or feel anything except an icy chill of fear. As he fell it seemed to get hotter so that now sweat was dripping off him and his whole body burned and tingled with a prickly fire that came from just under the skin. He felt himself shrinking as well and vaguely remembered that whereas when he began to fall he could almost touch the sides, now he could not even see them, so vast did the shaft seem.

Down and down he fell into the abyss, as if he would go on for ever, when he felt a sudden thump. He sat for a moment dazed and shocked, unable to control his thoughts and struggling to find something ordinary to tell him where he was. He looked down at the ground and saw a tuft of heather growing from amongst some stones. Gingerly he reached out and touched it to make sure it was real and his fingers closed around the soft feathery purple flowers. Slowly his mind stopped spinning and he looked up. He was still on the mountain where he remembered being before although it seemed a long time since he was there. And still all around was that thick damp mist, but now just ahead of him was the mouth of a huge cave at the base of a sheer rock cliff the top of which was lost in the mist. He looked inside the cave and saw, deep within, the familiar golden glow which once again started to draw him towards it. He got up and half-walked, half-stumbled across the few paces to the entrance, and then further in, deeper and deeper towards the light until it was just ahead of him. He stopped and stared at it, mesmerized by the little tongues of golden fire that leapt and danced against the cave wall. Then a voice came to him out of the light; a warm seductive voice, gentle and soothing, making him feel warm and safe. It called him by name and thanked him for all he had done; he had been chosen wisely it said, and he had justified all the faith and trust that had been placed in him. All manner of trials and hardships he had been through but now finally all that was over. This was the end; the journey was finished. Now he would always feel as he had felt when he strode like a giant over the mountains and the valleys; all-powerful and surging with strength. Look at the wall, the voice went on, and as Nab turned, the great high wall of the cave seemed to shiver with silver light until slowly it melted away and a picture took its place. So real was it that he felt a part of it; he could almost have walked in and touched what he saw. A great white coach was travelling slowly and steadily along a straight paved highway. Nab looked closely at the coach and saw that it was made of whalebone and ivory which shimmered in the silver light. On either side of the highway stood neatly clipped hedges and bushes and on the verge stood thousands of cheering Urkku, waving giant flags and shouting, ‘Hail, hail to the leader. Hail to the ruler.’ As far as the eye could see they stretched, and the coach moved through the middle of them with its two occupants staring straight ahead hardly noticing the crowds. Nab could only see them from the back and he watched as the coach carried them finally to a great palace with huge pillars and arches and a wide flight of steps leading up to a palisade on which courtiers and attendants waited in file. As the coach stopped and the couple alighted a band began to play and the music blended with the cheers to form a tumult of celebration. Up the steps they walked, and when they reached the top, two servants pulled open the mighty doors which opened into a massive hall. The floor was covered in rugs made from the skins of animals. Nab recognized some; sheepskin, deerskin, goat and badger but there were others he did not know from strange exotic animals who resided in the far north or west – reds and golds, blacks, oranges and whites, all mingled together to form a kaleidoscope of colour. Nab looked up to the walls. Arranged in rows on either side were the heads of numerous different animals, mounted on shields of wood. There hung the fox, the badger, the otter and deer and again a thousand others which he did not recognize, all with their mouths twisted in a half-snarl, half-sneer and their false eyes staring lifelessly at the scene below. Nab had still not seen the couple from the front but now he stared at their backs as they walked slowly over the rugs. They wore long cloaks of white fur which hung down to the floor and as they moved Nab could see their long leather boots trimmed with tufts of a different coloured fur. There was a familiar yet disturbing look about them as they made their way towards the two great thrones set on a raised dais at the end of the hall, and then, as they reached them and turned round, his heart stopped and his blood froze, for there, staring back at him from the picture was the exact double of himself. He looked fearfully at the other figure and saw that, as he had half-expected, it was Beth. On their heads they wore crowns of ivory and around their necks dangled necklaces of teeth and bone. Badger-hair bracelets adorned their wrists and two tortoiseshell combs held back the long flowing tresses of Beth’s golden hair. An awful doubt now began to nag at Nab’s befuddled mind. Was it really Ashgaroth who was showing him all this? He watched as the couple in the hall smiled at him and held up their arms as if beckoning. Then his double started to speak.

‘Yes,’ it said, but Nab did not recognize the voice. ‘Don’t look so in disbelief. I am you and you are me. All this could be yours, and more. You have seen the power of Dréagg and his glory. Follow him for this is what he offers you.’

The dreadful truth now began to penetrate. Dréagg was speaking to him; he was face to face with the Lord of Evil. Yet his brain was so numb that he was unable to move or even to think clearly. He stood rooted to the spot and, from a long way off, heard himself say,

‘What do you want of me? What must I do to follow?’

His double smiled again and put his arm around Beth, who also looked pleased and relieved. Never had Nab seen her looking so beautiful with her golden hair falling down over the sparkling white fur.

‘It is good,’ the double said. ‘You have chosen well for as Dréagg has shown you his glory so also has he given you a taste of his anger; an anger which had you rejected him would have followed you for ever.’

There was silence for a short spell; not a sound could be heard. Then a voice came once again from the golden glow in the corner of the cave.

‘You have the three Faradawn,’ it said, ‘locked in the Belt of Ammdar. Only you can unlock the Belt. Come then, take off the Belt and give it to me.’

The voice was gentle and seductive and much as Nab struggled with himself he found his hands going, almost of their own accord or as if someone else was guiding them, to the buckle on the Belt. He grasped one side in each hand and pulled quickly. The Belt came off and hung from his right hand.

‘Now come over to the corner and hand it to me.’

Nab started to walk mechanically across the floor of the cave, the Belt hanging limply from his grip. Deep inside himself a great clear voice was crying out ‘Stop’ but the force of Dréagg had so completely gripped his mind that he was powerless to resist. Then suddenly, as Nab was almost at the corner, something, some animal rushed into the cave and with an almighty leap fell upon the boy who stumbled and toppled over to the floor. Then Nab felt his face being licked and slowly as his mind began to clear he saw a wonderfully familiar sight.

‘Sam,’ he whispered to himself and then as the truth of the miracle made itself felt in his mind he shouted out joyously ‘Oh, Sam’ and flung his arms around the dog’s neck. A dreadful shriek pierced the air and they both looked in the corner. Gone was the golden glow and gone was the picture on the cave wall. All that was left was a great black shadow, twisting and writhing its sinewy way through a narrow crevice in the rock. For an instant they saw it and then it was gone, but the horror of that fleeting image remained with them for ever. As it went it cried out in a voice so full of venom and hatred that even the mountain shook and the boy and the dog huddled together in fear. In it was the threat of revenge and terror and a return so dreadful that it was beyond understanding.

‘Come on,’ said Sam, ‘we must get out of here quickly. ’

Nab’s legs felt shaky but he forced himself to stand. He picked up the Belt from where it had fallen on the floor and then they scrambled out of the cave which suddenly felt icy cold and damp and had begun to fill with foul yellow vapour that burned their throats and eyes. Nab could remember nothing about coming into the cave but Sam knew the way and he led the boy through narrow gaps where the walls came together and over heaps of fallen rock. The walls were running with water and mosses and lichens grew out of the cracks and ledges in the stone. Their eyes were now stinging terribly from the fumes and tears fell down their cheeks when finally, to their immense relief, the air became sweeter and they saw daylight. Faster they ran now and in his delight at being free Nab forgot about his bruised and battered legs and feet. Then they were out and into a golden autumn afternoon, running through the heather and gorse to get as far away from the cave as possible. As they ran they laughed and played with the joy of being together again and Nab kept looking at the fawn shape bounding along at his side, afraid it was all a dream and the dog would go away again as suddenly as he had come back. ‘Sam’s alive; Sam’s alive,’ he kept saying to himself, and every time he said it a new flood of pleasure swept through him washing his mind clean of all the black horrors he had been through.

Finally when they could run no more they flopped down on a thick clump of heather and lay there, out of breath and panting, looking up at the clear blue-grey sky and watching the little white puffs of cloud scudding across it. Then they talked. First Nab told Sam all that happened since they had seen him clubbed by the Urkku on Elgol and thrown into the boat. They had all thought he was dead, the boy said, and Sam replied that he had been unconscious for a long time. Then Nab told him about Jim and Ivy and the mountain elves and finally the plan for his escape which meant that he was now separated from the others and did not know where they were.

Sam then related how he had woken up in a shed and chewed his way out of it and then followed their trail, partly by intuition and partly by eavesdropping on Urkku conversations from which he had learnt not only their supposed whereabouts but also all about the plague and the state of the Urkku world. He had come across the burnt-out dwelling of the old couple back down the hills and guessed that they had given the animals shelter.

‘Did you know that one of the leaders of the Urkku is your old master?’ asked Nab and Sam replied that he had smelt his scent from the lowlands and that following it had helped him to find the trail of the animals up to Rengoll’s Tor.