Varlarsaga Volume 2 - Recovery

Chapter - 42 To the Iron Hermitage

‘Well, Silval Birdwing, this is a marvel,’ exclaimed Corin, clasping both the elf's hands. ‘But how came you to this desolate place? How did you find us? Why, it is half a world from the coast.’

‘And many days and nights, as men count them,’ laughed the elf, whilst Menkeepir and his company drew nigh. ‘Swiftly now shall I tell you, for the others await us.’

‘Others?’ Corin echoed. ‘Do you mean Elvra and Dalen Tree-heart?’

‘Yes, of course. Yet before we go to them, I must prepare you and your friends.’

‘Prepare us in what manner?’ Corin asked, puzzled.

‘Well,’ Silval replied, eyeing the ogre with some small surprise as he lumbered up, ‘we came hither by dragon; flying.’

Corin's face lit with understanding. ‘That noise, a sound like ship's sails billowing in the wind. We heard it earlier this evening...’

The elf nodded. ‘Yes, that was us. We saw your company from high above. The blue roans of Indlebloom; Lord Mendor told us to look out for them.’

‘Did I hear rightly?’ enquired Menkeepir, dismounting. ‘Does this young fellow say that a dragon brought him here?’ Then, catching sight of Silval's ears and shining eyes, he said, ‘Ahh, forgive me. Now I see that you are an elf. That explains much. But tell us, you spoke of Mendor our Brother,’ he indicated Mysingir, still astride his mount. ‘Is Mendor well?’

‘Yes, be at ease,’ replied Silval, ‘though he and his folk have lived through much danger.’

‘In truth?’ said Mysingir. ‘What then befell them?’

‘If you will follow me away from this rude path to the place where my companions await, I shall tell you all,’ replied the elf.

‘Indeed we shall,’ Menkeepir replied. ‘But will it be safe with this dragon?’

Silval smiled. ‘My friends and I have travelled far upon Sgnarli's back; all the way from Mendoth, over mountains and deserts and green hills, and mountains again, more mighty than I have ever seen before. Yet in that time, not once did our fiery steed baulk or bite. Pitrag the ymp has him at beck and call.’

‘Enough said,’ Corin answered. ‘Lead on, and we will follow.’ Then, as an afterthought, he took the ogre's great paw in his hand. ‘Now Brôga, we are off to meet some new folk; some, seeming evil and frightful. But you are not to raise your club against them.’

Brôga looked almost deflated, then insulted. ‘Brôga-not-stupid-!’ he roared, in his quietest roar. Then, as they started off, he added, ‘They-have-blood-wine ?’

‘Brrroga not stupid,’ Bim purred, curling about Silval's neck.

Not too far further, the elf led them on to a grassy knoll, bordered by dim walls of stone. There, they beheld the twinkle of a tiny fire and within its circle, sat and stood three figures, and beyond them was the outline of a creature; crouching it appeared, with the size of a long-tailed, long-necked horse.

Silval signalled Corin and the others to wait, as he went forward, hailing those by the flames in a low, clear voice, ‘Telvi, ano! Es-tartay, e'arndor, Avarhli, melare daciandi.' He uttered the elvish words in a smooth flow and immediately a fourth figure appeared, detaching from the shadows, as if a shadow itself.

At once, Corin knew the slender form, the taut-drawn bow, the delicate face thrown back to catch flickers of fire-light on her hair. Of course it was Elvra, the Huntress.

Bim, mewing with joy, bounded across the space between them in an eyeblink and with a sweep of her free hand, the elvess lifted the cat to her heart. ‘Come forth,’ she said softly. ‘Tether the horses away there though, so as not to provoke yon creature.’ She indicated the looming bulk beyond, and there issued from it a sound; almost a derisive snort. In the firelight, Pitrag the imp shook himself and scuttled into the dark to tend his charge. Meantime, the two remaining folk stepped forward to flank Elvra. The first was Falnir the elf, the other, the pixie Dalen.

Hesitant, the men dismounted. Another tiny fire was kindled, the horses led off, tethered and fed with packed groats and left where stubble-grazing availed.

By the glow of the flames, the rest gathered; in deference to the elves, the men chose to sit, easing their greaves and bindings and resting, if somewhat apprehensively.

Corin, himself, sat cross legged upon the black cloak, garbed in the gifts of Queen Goldal and her daughter Alluin. Dalen, nursing Bimmelbrother, was with him, whilst the three elves stood; loftily it seemed, yet shyly, at a little distance. Pitrag loitered between Sgnarli, who appeared to be snoozing with open eyelids, and the conversation. And Brôga moped in the background, sniffing vaguely in the direction of the dragon.

Introductions were made, and fasting broken; though scant wine was there, much to Brôga's disappointment. Then, the two parties related their tales. First, Corin and Menkeepir's story of adventure, and thence, the elves.

‘We knew, as none other there could,’ said Falnir, ‘that the dragon circling Mendoth citadel was Sgnarli, the same that Pitrag, the rascal ymp, had saved and borne with us from the egg. He who now lurks here, amongst the shadows of our fires.’

‘How came they to Indlebloom?’ asked Mysingir.

‘Only by chance, we guess,’ said Falnir. ‘Lest the smoke of war drew them to us. It surely would be too much to expect a ymp's loyalty to elves, I suppose. Still, they flew above the city, out of reach of spear and shaft, until we came upon the walls and Pitrag sighted us. Then, Mendor bravely accompanied us to them, where they had alighted on Mendoth's sister hill. He alone dared the venture, and his parting words were thus given, "Go you by means of this grim and noisome beastie, if you will have it so, fair-folk," he told us. "I shall follow in force, the best way men can and, albeit take a time, we will pass the broken roads of Colle-Oba. The Lorda Minca has pledged herself and her followers in this quest, and vowed no rest until complete. If we need singe the mountain roots, so shall we blaze a new road."’

‘Then Mendor and Minca are on their way,’ mused Menkeepir. ‘That is news indeed. But the dangers are great. I am troubled and glad together. What say you, my Brother?’ he asked of Mysingir.

But Mysingir did not reply. For, ever since the first mention of Minca's name, he had fallen into a kind of maudlin reverie and his face had taken on a wistful, distant smile; a love-unattainable expression.

Menkeepir observed this, and choosing to ignore it, went on, ‘Was it then that you folk took your leave?’

‘Ay, it was,’ said Silval. ‘The dragon bided us, for elves, compared to men, are uncommonly light.’

‘But what made you ride him at all?’ asked Corin.

Elvra laughed, for the first time at ease with that company. ‘It was a presage, an omen if you will. You, dear Avarhli, were far away, even for elves to travel. And there, by fate or fortune or unguided hap, was our carriage; dark-bred though he be.’

‘Sgnarli breathes no evil now,’ chirped Dalen, almost defensively. ‘Well at least, very little.’

‘He,’ went on Silval, ‘Pitrag's har-tân, Sgnarli by name, dragon borne of monsters unknown, wing-flapper, wind-rider, carried us hence; mastered by the lowly ymp and guided by our eyes. First we swept to the Colle-Oba, as men name it, and thence back to the winding columns of folk headed by Mendor, crossing Icknaldir, out of Indlebloom. We came to them there and spake for the last time with Lord Mendor. He took heed and heart at our advice of what lay in store for him, replying that no stone would stay undivided, no barrier unbroached, until they reached Kutha-Kesh. Even after he was told of the impassable, he ordered up timber and wine...’

‘Wine?’ said Menkeepir, puzzled, whilst the ogre pricked up his ears.

‘Yes,’ replied the elf. ‘Water, wine, fire, hammers. Those and enduring force, not even stone might resist, he said. Your Brother means to break his way through the closed passes with mallet, heat and liquid. An arduous task, a slow and torturous one. But he is coming as he said he would. Given time and hard labour he will ride out into the land of Orsokon.’

Silval paused and Menkeepir asked, ‘Have you then been there, to Kurigaldur, the city of the Wanax Orsokon?’

‘We have been to many places in search of your company,’ answered Elvra. ‘One such was Kurigaldur, where in daylight we set down upon the yellow plain not too far distant from that mighty building, and leaving Falnir in charge of the ymp and dragon, dared we others seek entrance.’

‘But surely Orsokon and his peoples were alarmed at the sight of such a horrible creature?’ ventured Mysingir, breaking out of his far-away preoccupation, and then peering sheepishly toward Sgnarli, as if the dragon might take some offence.

‘Of that we had no way of guessing,’ answered Silval, ‘though we were wary also, for we knew not who or what might prowl within those ancient halls.’

‘Much as it was when your company arrived, by what you tell us Avarhli,’ smiled Elvra.

‘Yes, but instead of a dragon, you brought yon great hulk,’ Dalen chirped, and then it was his turn to be abashed.

‘What-you-great-bulk!?’ exclaimed Brôga from the shadows.

‘The one behind you, Ogrre,’ mewed Bim, licking at a paw.

Brôga swept about full circle, brandishing his stone club.

‘Nothing-there!’ he growled, turning back to the amused faces before him. ‘Furry-thing-get-tail-twisted-for-tricking-Brôga-not-fool-he-knows-who-is-great-sulk!’

The others laughed openly at this, and Brôga good-naturedly laughed too, dropping the club upon his big toe without so much as noticing. ‘Ogre-has-last-laugh!’ he fairly boomed, then quieter; ‘Shush-now-horses-get-scared-go-on-with-story-Brôga-listening!’

‘Well,’ continued Silval light-heartedly, ‘before we reached the great doors they were opened and we were fairly greeted by Orsokon and his peoples.’

‘Another sign that the Wanax views strangers more favourably than in the past,’ said Menkeepir thoughtfully.

‘All due to your passing, Lord of Indlebloom,’ answered Elvra, ‘since we were told of events as far as the battle with the Dog-face and the fearsome Sand Worm. ’

‘Good-fight-Brôga-have-fun!’ interrupted the ogre.

‘Brôga nearly get ssquashed,’ suggested Bim, purring away.

‘Brôga-lose-skin-teeth-worm-lose-everything!’ retaliated the ogre defensively.

‘There were times we despaired of ever finding you Avarhli,’ said Elvra seriously. ‘The dragon needed spelling often; for even such as he, so young, requires rest. Yet eventually we came to the green lands down south, and leaving Falnir, ymp and dragon behind, we again ventured forth in the hope of welcome. So it was that by late noon we harked the voices of sheep herds and the baying of their dogs and were met by the Lady Qwilla. From she were we informed of your company's arrival and stay, and of your departure into these high mounts this very morning gone. In peace we left them and their peaceful land, taking to the sky once more, whilst the big and little folk of Rî-mer-ri watched in wonder and awe.’

‘And here, at long last, as eve drew across these wild paths, we sighted your winding way!’ Dalen exclaimed.

‘But why did you not meet with us at once?’ Menkeepir asked.

Falnir laughed. ‘Ho! And have you hurtling into the ravines below on fear-crazed mounts? Nay, it seemed wiser to find a place to alight, and settle the dragon first.’

‘Aye,’ agreed Silval, ‘we chose here, since you must needs pass this way. Then it was, at dusk, that I came down to greet you.’

‘Very well,’ said Corin, as if in deep thought, ‘this news changes much.’ Turning to Menkeepir and Mysingir, he went on, ‘At dawn, my Lords of Indlebloom, we must part company. You and your men to return to Rî-mer-ri, and thence on to rejoin Mendor. I, to take wing with these dear elves, onward where the far mounts grow, and wherein lies this iron bastion that Qwilla said the mage Catoowig spoke of. There will be his hermitage; of that I am certain.’

‘But what of your safety? What shall you face there? Surely you will have need of us,’ protested Menkeepir.

Corin patted his friend's shoulder reassuringly, ‘Do not fret yourselves unnecessarily. This is a part of the tale, meant to happen, I deem. Each of us can do little more until I have seen this part through. The search for knowledge borne by those higher and wiser than I, is now my quest. Away in the distant peaks lies their domain, and I need come there as soon as ever I may. Here, the dragon is the swiftest means at hand. For now, your task is over. Return home in haste. Your own land has been threatened, and may so be again, whilst now no Brother-Lord stands upon the walls of Mendoth. It is plain to me that here we must say farewell. When I have found this hidden refuge, the elves will leave me, if I am accepted within, and return to you; there to guide you to Mendor and his followers. Sgnarli will enable them to fly between both parties, and in no time, you will all be reunited.’

‘And Minca will be amongst them,’ mused Mysingir, with a hint of longing in his voice.

Menkeepir rose to his feet and gripped Corin's hands. ‘And what if you find no one there to take you in?’ He smiled, though his tone was grave.

‘Then I shall go on searching,’ replied Corin simply. ‘That is my quest, after all.’

‘Then you would have us abandon you once again,’ said Silval, sorrow ringing in his words.

‘Alas, my dearest friends,’ said Corin, turning his gentle gaze to the elves, ‘If I do find entry into that place, you, I guess, will not; or will not want to. And if that turns out to be so, then there will be ought more that you can do but return to your own people. They will be eager for the news of your journeying, and I will be ever grateful if you will accompany these folk of men back to their loved ones.’

‘Yet there are still the ymp and the dragon to consider,’ added Falnir. ‘They cannot stay with you, that is certain, though with us...’

‘I know,’ Corin replied, concerned. ‘Perhaps it is a truth that only in our company as wanderers can they ever be fit. But I appeal to the Elloræ; after such service to us all, do they not deserve a chance? Can you not find it in your hearts to bide them awhile longer? After all, they are both alone, estranged from the path fate might have walked them, but for our intervention. Whilst they remain in your charge, they still can be useful to themselves as much as to you. Give them that chance, since in the wilds now I deem that they may well perish.’

‘And without them how will we ever swiftly reach you again?’ wondered the pixie, wringing his hands together.

Silval seemed uncertain at this, but Elvra said, ‘Have no distress, Corin Avarhli. We shall see you to journey end this time, and thence these brave men. After that, will be time enough to decide what to do with those two; for sooner or later, no matter what, that would have to be done.’

‘What-about-Brôga!’ boomed the ogre out of the darkness.

The dragon stirred and snorted, a wing-tip flapped momentarily, then folded.

The blue roans started at this, then resumed their wary grass cropping as the cautious men stroked and calmed them.

Menkeepir said, ‘Ogre, if you still lay claim to more red wine, and have a mind to take it, then you are welcome. Come with us back to Malthace Forest, from whence we first laid eyes upon you, and I pledge you shall be paid well for your bravery and loyalty.’

Brôga gave a sly grin. ‘You-not-leave-Brôga-up-woodland-path-he-goes-all-way-to-wine!’

The wind was whistling plaintively over the slopes in dawn's first light as the folk mustered to break camp and say their goodbyes. Sgnarli and Pitrag, who was crouched in the lee of the dragon's bulk, waited a distance away, the winged creature poised on the edge of a sheer drop, as if ready to take flight. Menkeepir and Mysingir sat, mounted at the head of their followers. Brôga, his club discarded for once upon the grass, stood forlornly stroking Bim with massive fingers.

Dalen and the elves grouped about Corin, once more garbed in his black, hooded cape. He ran his hand over the mane of the blue roan who had carried him so faithfully, so far. ‘This then is farewell, oh Lords of Indlebloom’ he said. ‘Only, let us hope that we shall meet again, each one of us; and in that meeting, new knowledge and wisdom will we share. Events of mighty import, I suspect, are nigh. And we, in some way, are a part of the key to them. That, is mine to find, and to bring back to you.’

Menkeepir nodded, his eyes sadly fixed upon Corin's. Then he turned his steed's head away, and began to lead his men down out of the mountains, toward distant Rî-mer-ri. But once, did Menkeepir and his people turn to gaze up at the slopes they had ridden in the grey, morning light.

A sound, like that of the wind increasing its intensity and volume, made them halt, and looking round, they saw the dragon Sgnarli, green-scaled wings beating, tail lashing, launch himself from the heights. Down plummeted the creature. Then up in a slow spiral, as Sgnarli's wings caught the air and filled like sails.

Upon his neck and ridged back there clung six distinct figures: the imp Pitrag at the head, then Dalen and the three elves and lastly Corin, with Bimmelbrother tucked safely beneath the folds of his black cape, where it billowed out, flowing back toward the root of the dragon's tail. Within a few moments, Sgnarli soared away, beating higher into the northern sky.

‘Cat-thing-gone-now,’ growled Brôga, with something like a sad shake of his shaggy head. ‘Brôga-like-furry-thing-maybe-should-have-gone-with-them!’

At the thought of the ogre astride Sgnarli's back, Mysingir and those men nearest burst into laughter.

‘It would take a mighty beast to carry you into the sky,’ cried one of them.

The ogre shouldered his stone club, trudged off a pace or two, then turning he boomed, ‘That-be-right-Brôga-is-made-to-walk-run-not-be-lazy-fly!’ He guffawed, revealing his triangular fangs, then set off.

Menkeepir rubbed at the thick growth upon his face. ‘I wonder if we shall ever see them again?’ he questioned aloud. ‘I wonder too, what it is that Master Corin would find, and what is to come of such. It is all still a mystery to me. One thing though, I do believe, I yet have a part in it, and when the time comes, I shall not falter.’ He glanced sideways at his brother, but Mysingir had lapsed again into thoughts of other matters.

‘A winter's night in Dorthillion, a winter's night, a winter's night.

The birds were in flight in Dorthillion…

In faraway Dorthallonæ...’

So he sang to himself, bumping and swaying in the saddle, as they rode on.

It was perilous looking down from the heights that the dragon ascended.

Mostly, Sgnarli beat his huge-spanned, membranous wings; flapping higher into the clouds. He was not formed as are birds; had not pinions, down or quill feathers, or flights as such. His eyes were close-set, and not opposed, as are some birds; so therefore he saw straight ahead, as do animals. He could, however, glide and soar like an eagle, though much less gainly was he. But it is to be remembered that he was still a young dragon; green, not only in colour, but also in experience, and he had not mastered the use of his tail as propellent and rudder, rather as a fish does. Then too, his rigid dorsal fins allowed less flexibility and, along with the added, though slight to him, weight of his passengers, he was inclined to wobble, or even to positively roll if he did not maintain a steady and exact wing-beat. Pitrag steered him with knees and claws alone, tugging at an ear or digging with his knobby bones into Sgnarli's plate-hardening neck, whilst the elves directed by means of signs.

Now and then the dragon would forget himself and snort, and from his flared nostrils hissed a belch of steam; something akin to a horse, but with a hint of smoke that blew by the riders and was gone, as the clouds were rushed aside.

Once, out of mischief maybe, or for the sheer joy of it, Sgnarli spouted up into the blue sky, through a white bank of cloud and out to the sunshine above. Then, arching his neck in a curve, he rolled over, looping down, as those aboard clung frantically to his spinal fins and anything else that would stay their fall. But, in truth, the roll was so swift that none could fall. It was as if a pail of water had been whirled by hand, without spilling a drop.

Still, amidst Pitrag's wide-eyed scolding, Dalen cried out in a thin, reedy voice, ‘Do not fear Avarhli, the dragon is known to do this at times!’

Corin, breathless, could only peer at the grey and black masses below as the creature spiralled down. Beneath his cloak Bim, never at ease in the air, wailed incessantly.

After a time, during which day and night dallied, merged, resolved and divorced, the elves steered a course that found them north of north by star and dawn, with the moon still risen in the void above.

Then and there it was, whilst beams of the sun streaked a curved western horizon, that they found an alpine pasture; remote and deep within all the mountain snow-coats. In that white-ice vastness, they set down to rest and fodder-find. A highland valley was this oasis and in places the snow, in frozen rivulets, lay rose-pink; an echo of the flowering spring that waited beneath.

Several times they made such stops, finding scant foods, but enough for elves at least. Sgnarli and Pitrag, however, struggled. It does not bear retelling of their foraging together, save to mention the small herds of goat that, at intervals, were encountered.

Failing wings drifted-through the nights, whilst icy screes and fells whirled by.

On, they flew over sombre grey and white; mountain peaks lifted to meet them, and these were naked and empty and endless.

Sgnarli began to falter. Hunger weakened the dragon and icicles formed on his wings and snout. The creature seemed near exhaustion in such clime.

Then, at cold drab of dawn-greying, they spied the iron grey of something less than mountain, though like enough. It reared out of the rawness of a lone peak; to one side, and below the summit.

A diminutive line, like a winding ribbon, reached it from beneath; a mere footpath cut into the stone. All was empty, remote, frozen. Nought moved anywhere in that desolate terrain. And yet, to Corin at least, within that coldness there seemed a palpable pulse.

The dragon landed them safely, a goodly walk from the iron fastness that protruded as a living shoulder of the mountain.

To each upon the dragon, Corin gazed, and in his gaze, gave thanks. Into Elvra's keeping, he gave Bim. To Silval, he gave his sword; the ancient blade of Bel-Thalion. To the others, a hand-grasp, a hug, a deep look that said goodbye. To Sgnarli, a rasping rub along his tough, scaled neck. To Pitrag, a gentle cuff over the imp's bony head that set the creature's fangs to bare, though not in anger, but something else; rather as if he too sensed the parting.

‘Come for me, when you are able. If I live, I shall be waiting, or at least leave a sign for you to follow, should I depart. But if we do not see each other again, let those who survive cherish the memories that are left.’

And so there, whilst Sgnarli's breath spumed, melting snow to slush, the elves watched bright-eyed, as the black-garmented figure that was Corin toiled, alone now, up the slopes toward a blank door, half piled with drifts of white. They harked his patterned knock upon that portal, sounding dully in the thin air. They heard the shock of sound roll away down the mighty alps and valleys between. And then they saw, with their keen elf-sight, the door slowly open and Corin enter, to be swallowed up within the darkness beyond.

The elves and their companions saw all this and were suddenly, eerily, alone...

Chapter 43 [next]