Varlarsaga Volume 3 - Consolation

Chapter - 50 Lirra Menaltë

If it could be compared, the towering wall that came as a massed force of water, pouring toward the Valdë fleet, was like the eddies that are formed by some frolicsome dog splashing about a village pond; bubbling and foaming, the water flows toward the still autumn leaves, hovering at the pool's edges. Surging on, the tiny waves heave beneath them, but the leaves are not dashed nor sunk. No; as riders of those heady ripples they buffet and spin, tossing and turning, yet buoyed by the very stuff that seemed certain to drown them. So, as leaves slip effortlessly over such ripples and the heaving energy fades and dies away, thus did Aneurin Foamhair's craft ride out the ocean's onslaught.

When, in night's latter course, the worst had passed and the water lay calming, Aneurin proclaimed, ‘Sea-elven skill: steer-elf, oar-elf, helm and hand, sail and rudder, the Valdë are still masters of the seas.’

‘Sing hail to the morn!’ cried some, standing nearest. ’For, by bright sun risen, we go to see the work wrought of the Wizard's Powers!’

And Cinco, laughing after such trial, rejoined, ‘Who can say of that which our sight may now gaze upon!’

But as the morning came, with the sun spearing out of the west, the turbulent sea churned up grim harvest; dead creatures of dark waters floated, and manifold were they.

‘This chills me,’ lamented Aneurin, ‘like it will you, Master Corin; as ever death does. Yet bide me, I am in mind of that time of our sailing from Elfame when all the vast ocean seemed laid waste; when the Beast named Nardred, was said to stir. What say you?’

Corin could only nod, his face a wretched mask, as if some sickness had overtaken him. At last he managed, ‘I do not know to what shall we come, but let this journey be over swiftly and our apprehensions with it. Hurry on Seamaster, hurry! For now do I not only see here sightless, lifeless fish, but also the empty eye-pits and socket hollows of countless others, folk fallen in battle and violence. I see them as they were, and what is worse, I see them as they are. A sense of dread and urgency compels me forward, whilst revulsion repels me all the while. Haste Foamhair, haste! Perhaps we are already too late. Perhaps comes the World Serpent for Its time of fulfilment. Have I not been already consumed by portentous dread; all are drawn, gathering, clustering. I begin to feel that the very sky, the earth and sea, are a-flight and a-crawl and a-slide with the multitudes. It is as if Earth Mouth beckons, and every entity, Good and Evil, is sucked relentlessly toward that place, in some unseen whirlpool; a vortex that will engulf us all. The wild winds of the world are behind, howling with horrors; and before, lie things I dare not dwell long upon!’

They hurried on, the ships flecking the grey ocean, oars flashing and glinting with light.

Late noon saw their landfall and there, through the cliffs of the coast-line they descried a great rent, like a jagged scar that bolted lightning might have caused, or earthquake wrought. Everywhere, stone; tumbled and cracked, lay in heaps, or jutted forth, gleaming wet from the ocean. Water still gushed and guttered, spurting from the ruin, and here or there, mighty rocks loosened from their hold and plunged into the sea; whilst in their wake, immense jets spouted as fountains, spraying far out over the ocean. Thus was released the massed catchment of the Tjärnwash.

And what of the wizard's fate?

They found him from the air: Corin, Farinmail, Pitrag and Falnir, all astride the dragon, searching the cliffs and the gorge of the watercourse that flowed, bustling along its new route to the sea. Falnir it was who first spied him, a seeming dot upon the shattered stone that had, until recently, formed the southmost margin of the lake. Now the Tjärnwash swirled past on all sides, so that He´Remon waited, a prisoner to the receding waters. When he caught sight of them, he slowly clambered to his feet; bearing up on his staff, wherefrom still issued dark wisps of smoke, and raised a weary arm. There was barely room for Sgnarli to land, but after two attempts the dragon put down safely enough on the tiny outcrop.

‘I was beginning to wonder where you had gotten to,’ remarked the wizard, in less than his usual strident tones.

As they reached him, they saw that he appeared exhausted almost beyond endurance; his face was spattered with mud and ash, the eyes red and inflamed, and his beard drooped dismally. He sank to his knees once again saying, ‘Well, for better or worse, I have done the deed. On a time, we will see what we will see. Still, in the meanwhile, we must leave this stone.’

‘But what has become of the nugobluk?’ asked the dwarf, staring about. ‘I can glean no sign of them anywhere.’

‘Would you have tarried by these shores, if a sudden commotion, the likes of which I have just completed, had begun?’ He´Remon muttered, aroused. ‘Nay! And neither the goblins. Some indeed, in their panic, were washed away. Others, in fear, slew those about them, that they might escape. They are gone, though not far enough, I think, and not for good. Now it is up to dwarves and elves. Combined, you must establish yourselves; set boundaries and lay claim to this place, for at least a little while.’

‘Aye,’ nodded Farinmail, ‘my brethren Zwerge must be coaxed from our halls to behold this feat, if they yet...’

‘Wait a moment!’ It was Corin who spoke. ‘Look there, yonder to the lake!’

The others turned their eyes to whence he pointed, and beheld a sombre and awesome sight. From the lowering waters, there began the emergence of skeletal things that had once been a vast forest. Though now, the stunted, long dead boles resembled more closely a grey, vanished and forgotten army.

‘Lirra Menaltë... The Lonely Forest,’ murmured Corin.

Some short time later, Sgnarli and his riders alighted on a ledge high in the Ramabad Mountains.

‘Here hidden are the north-facing Watch Doors of Onderbor, said Farinmail, as he, Corin and the Wizard crossed a narrow space to where tall, blank cliffs reared before them. ‘Beyond these walls lies Dwarf-Home, Zwerge-Drysfa. That is, if still my people dwell here.’

‘Do you have cause to doubt that?’ Corin asked.

‘I have been gone over-long,’ shrugged the dwarf. ‘Who knows as to what might have happened? The nugobluk are as earth-maggots; delvers and usurpers of the tunnels of others. It may be that they have already captured the lower levels. Thus have I deemed it wiser to seek entry up here. Of course,’ he followed in doubt, gesturing toward Sgnarli, where the dragon perched upon the lip of stone, ‘my race may deny us within, because of yonder beast. I can but try, yet be prepared for the unexpected.’

The dwarf strode closer to the walls and stared at the stone, then fished deep within his mail-coat and drew forth a round, flat object that glowed silver and rose-hued, queer markings etched into its surface.

Then, in a low voice, he said, ‘Swetzcar Oondo katzimal. Swetzcar imluek ushayet. Xalyin taztay!’

‘That is a conduct token,’ puffed the wizard, still appearing short of breath at Corin's side. ‘They are prized and precious, so that dwarf-life itself is not worth such rings by comparison. Those Zwerge granted them would fight to the death, endure any torture, before giving one up. Even I would find it difficult to gain entry here, without that pass-sign. Now stand well back. If we are to be admitted, soon the way will be shown.’

The words of the wizard were swift borne out; the naked wall of stone began to groan as Farinmail held the ring against its surface and a line, at first invisible to the eye, appeared. Running like molten metal, the line streamed up, across and down, so that a door was marked and a grumbling arose. Then a great slab, low and broad, tilted slowly forth, jutting outward, to disclose a lantern-lit interior. Within stood a figure, stooped and ancient, hands and face like marbled cream that had clotted, over many lives of men.

‘Katchat yatza, Zulfikar,’ said its hollowed voice. And then, in Renish, ‘I, Zulfikar, welcome your peoples.’ The venerable dwarf took a slow step forward, so that his once flourishing beard swayed against the green of his jacket. Old, old, were his movements; his nodding head, his blinking eyes. And with the assuredness that comes only after long, long life, and the certainty of death, he advanced to meet them.

Turning to the others, Farinmail said, ‘This is an Honoured One of our clans, Old Windhorn is his worldly name. Before many kings were so-called, he lived. He knows much; has seen much, as he will tell.’

Zulfikar's face creased into a broad smile at this compliment and he answered, ‘Dalfin Farinmail may have tramped far in search of friends, yet his tongue has lost none of its silver on the way. Enter here all, with the exception of that yonder black creature and the beast of dragon-spawn. Neither are privileged to cross into Zwerge domain.’

‘Then best we send them back to Aneurin with word of what has been achieved,’ muttered He´Remon. ‘And one of us, at least, must accompany them.’

‘It is fair that I go, for you Avarhli need stay with the good wizard,’ answered Falnir, still astride Sgnarli's back.

‘Again we part, for a time,’ sighed Corin, raising his hand in farewell. ‘Pray tell the Foamhair to come swift up from the sea, that on the morrow we meet; Elloræ and Zwerge, to seal alliance and seek answers where now drains the Tjärnwash.’

He turned to follow the others, but the imp, sensing or knowing, cried out, ‘Pithrug zud chanta drav, leetle kinga!’ His scrawny arm reached forth, whilst Falnir restrained him, as Corin, He´Remon and the dwarves descended into the mountain and the door closed silently behind them.

Inside, spread a flight of steps lit by lamps. A vestibule, cut into the stone, revealed the place where Zulfikar resided during the time of his duty as watch-warden of the high north doors. Yet it was before them, where they emerged, cramped and stooping from the dwarf tunnel, that Corin first glimpsed the magnitude of dwarf design. Overhead, light sprang forth so that distances above and beyond opened like sun-flooded fields. The realm of the Zwerge spread before him: flagged footwork, risen beams, polished columns and sculptured ceilings; and staggered by that vision, Corin gulped. ‘Never could I guess the breadth, the austere grandeur of your halls. I am come from only a small isle where all of that King's court of Penda would fit into a corner of this incredible place.’

‘I am pleased that you are impressed,’ said their guide, in ringing tones that echoed into the vastness. ‘Perhaps we will tarry here, until King Elbegast is informed of your arrival, and I shall tell you a little of these northern rooms.’

‘You have sent word to him?’ queried Farinmail.

‘Of course,’ replied Old Windhorn. ‘As soon as we knew of your presence outside, I dispatched young Thekk, fast as his legs would carry him.’

At that moment, somewhere in the distance, there winded the sound of a deep horn that blared long and loud through unseen corridors, to be taken up by further horns, higher and lower pitched, above and below the level where now they stood.

‘Ah’ sighed Zulfikar, ‘once I could blow those notes till the very foundations rang with them. Humphh. But now I need young legs and lungs to do the work for me. Still, Thekk is eager. When I am given back to the rock from whence I sprang, it will be all his task.’ He laughed a hearty dwarf-laugh. ‘Come, follow me, and I, Master Stranger, will speak of these mansions as we walk.’

He beckoned and stepping out, began talking as if many times before he had done. ‘This level is the seventh in Onderbor, counted from the base. Thus it is named Seven-up. Those beneath the mountains begin from One-down. Upward there are nine floors altogether. Downward, there are twenty-seven; the twenty-eighth is in progress, and there are some soundings beneath that. This floor,’ he waved his stubby arm idly,’ is barrel-vaulted. The one above is ribbed, and therein open the windows to the sky. Higher again is the Belfry and Narthex. Now, below us lies level Six, cloisters for meditation and relaxation. Level Five-up is the Gallery floor, where high celebration is held in honour of the Mistress Shubbilulu; Shining-Bright-Feather-Lady-of-Birds, our Deity Patroness of all winged creatures.’

‘Even those of dragon-kind?’ Corin offered, glancing sideways at the wizard, where he strode along, hands clasped, sharp profile bent forward; though the flicker of a smile seemed to cross his face.

Unheeding, Old Windhorn resumed, ‘Well, beneath that is the Hypostyle Hall, all the weight of those above supported on pylons...’ On he droned as they strolled, contented with the sound of his own repeated ritual learned, no doubt, by heart for such occasions. ‘Level Sixteen-down is the West Porch. A shafted passage leads up to the surface through the Colonnades, wherein are Zwerge effigies of our lineage, until the Portals are encountered. Level Seventeen-down is the Tomb-room. There the sarcophagi and the byrgen of our dead ancestors stand; reminder that we all drag tombward at the last...’ At that, Zulfikar was halted in his discourse. A burst of trumpeting heralded the approach of many dwarves, some little way off.

‘Is it any wonder that he is named Old Windhorn?’ Corin whispered, whilst they awaited the oncoming folk.

For answer the wizard laughed, ‘Heh-he. You must have patience with the Zwerge. They name stone their well-spring, and are proud of it. "Slow as stone, and sure," is their watchword. Yet be not biased by that. Hard as stone, resistant, unbreakable, slow-worn-down, are they. Servant to your wont, or crusher of your back, are they also. Smite them as you will, and smite to despair. Even in death, they break not, or decompose. Interred they lie, to become again part of the bones of Varlar. But hist! Elbegast their King arrives!’

As the wizard spoke this last, so approached a body of dwarves; at their front, a hefty sledge drawn by stout, thickset fellows.

On halting this vehicle, Elbegast stood, a daunting figure for all his short stature. He was clothed head to foot in iron ring-mail: chained about his crown and shoulders, down over chest, back and arms to loins, thighs and burly calves. Only his face was bare of metal, and even that was festooned with wiry, grey hair from eyebrows, nose and beard; which hung like grey rope to the stone he bestrode.

‘Arkha, arkh!’ he bellowed, scratching through his rippling coins of mail and stepping closer, taking care not to stand upon his dangling whiskers. ‘Farinmail it is, come back after long time, and with Master Mage and one unknown to me. The evil hordes flee. The Tjärnwash empties. Some of your doing, Wizard? What can this mean?’

‘It means much,’ said He´Remon, matching the stare of the Zwerge ruler. ‘For one thing, King Elbegast, aid will shortly be at your doorstep below. Trusty Farinmail and I have sought and found some, willing to be your allies.’

The dwarf-king's eyes glinted suspiciously. ‘And who might they be? Is this Black-Shrouded one of their kind?’

‘Yes and no,’ returned He´Remon. ‘He too was seeking them, when I came upon him. They, whom I speak of, are the Elloræ, elves. And my companion is not exactly an elf.’

‘My name is Corin, by them called Ellormel, that is elf-friend. I am told that I am part Fane, part Ellor-high, and part of men.’

‘Part this, part that,’ spluttered the dwarf-king. ‘Never mind. Where are these elves? And why do they aid us?’

At this, Farinmail hastily intervened, ‘Estarki, vulmul. They come to keep a promise made; their strength, for our strength. Oh great Elbegast, such a tale there is to tell. Yet would it not be swifter, if told as we descended to the lower levels; that all be done and clear by time of our arrival at One?’

‘Done and clear!’ grumbled Elbegast, ordering his open car about and signing the others to join him. ‘Indeed, much seems murky these days. After all, what has befallen us, I ask you? Here we are, locked up in our own apartments; huddling from that cannibal foe who would shuck us of our gotten gains and possess our mountains, sending the Zwerge back to granite. That, or roast us, and bare our bones with their fangs, if they could. And you, Dalfin, babble of doing and clearing!’ He clanged when he spoke, as metal bits of him kept striking together, or hitting the sides of the sledge when they moved off.

Eventually, the car was brought to a flight of steps that led downward and there lifted on long poles, litterwise, by dwarves especially chosen, it seemed; tallest at the front and shorter at the rear. It was cramped within, even though Zulfikar had been left behind to do his door-watch work. Still, the two dwarfs, the wizard and Corin were crammed together, whilst their carriers puffed and huffed in relays.

Floor by floor they descended, talking all the while of events since Corin had first encountered He´Remon and Farinmail. Occasionally, Elbegast bade a sip of this, or a sup of that, and a stone bottle, or loaf, or cheese would be heaved in; and thereto he and Farinmail set at with a will, whilst still listening and handing round food and drink.

Eventually, they reached level one, up and down. The ground floor. And there stepped from their confined carriage.

‘This is First-Hall: delved, built, carved and capitaled, all afore any other raised column, colonnette or pillar,’ said Elbegast, rattling in his linked mail and tossing his beard across one shoulder, so that it trailed the floor behind him.

Corin could only stare, speechless, as they walked; his eyes and mind filled by the awesome works of the Zwerge. The floor they crossed was of polished black stone, like a dark mirror that reflected the great, vaulted ceiling of night-blue, deep and mysterious and scattered with thousands of lights that winked, as a host of stars. The walls, near and far, ran with liquid colours, changing, moving; waterfalls of light and tenuous substances that appeared to billow, lofty hewn and immense, into the ever-widening distances.

‘Are you not stricken with the beauty of our ancient home?’ asked Farinmail, directly to Corin, who nodded, overcome and mute.

‘And so should he be,’ added Elbegast, his face beaming in a hairy grin of pleasure. ‘This is Zwerge wonder, designed by our fore-folk, They who first came hither. We are proud of our heritage, treasure it, and take joy at showing such to the few who have ever passed our Doors. Know yourself as one set apart, Corin half-and-half; the magnitude of Dwarf-home surrounds us. Here in Onderbor, in First-Hall, Zwerge seat of the Ramabad, lies the heart of my Kingdom. Go up, down, north, south, or other; this is the midst, the beginning of our realm.’

‘I am nigh overwhelmed at these achievements,’ Corin replied graciously, since in truth, he was quite astounded. ‘Not even the sights and tranquillity of lost Elfame dulls these works of splendour and delight. Now I know why the dwarves are so eager to keep what is theirs.’

‘An answer worthy and true, in all respects, and couched with wit and wile,’ chuckled Elbegast, as if he had expected no less. ‘Well, well now,’ he began to rattle as he strutted onward, ‘let the doors of the eastern way be thrown open and if it be as you have told, there should be much to see, and to await!’

They reached a broad, pillared portal, stone-hewn and wrought about with strange signs and markings of the Zwerge, and there watched whilst dwarves, ordered to the task, pushed forth twin doors that swang soundlessly outward to reveal the deep bowl of the emptying Tjärnwash, lying in the shadow of late night. And yet, even as their gaze took in the starry sky and the gloomy waters sluggishly flowing below, they beheld a further sight; the blues of elf-fire, coming up from the sea.

‘Falnir was swift in his return to the ships, and Aneurin Foamhair too,’ said Corin, turning to where the dwarf-king stood, frowning and plucking at his beard. ‘The Elloræ have landed and are come. By morning, your allies will be here arrayed, King Elbegast. Then, united, we shall look a first time at what was once the forest of Lirra Menaltë!’

True. By dawn's light they were all met.

Aneurin Seamaster led his folk, and Cinco with him, bringing Darkelfari, black and shining in the day-rise. At their backs, followed a host of elves captained by Ælroth, Oloris, Lorica and Ælmar, a youthful fellow who had once roamed Silval's deep-treed Elvermore. Sgnarli too, soared above, bearing Falnir and Pitrag; thereafter landing upon a knoll, a little north and east, guiding the elvish scouts and outer patrols.

‘Hail and well met, oh Zwerge of this mountain-shadowed realm,’ called Aneurin, reaching the circled steps before those above, waiting at the doors. Boldly up them he strode, a noble figure of Fane lineage, and one who deemed himself fit in any company.

The introductions were given, he to Elbegast; and of the dwarf's silent insistence, over long moments each held the other's gaze and neither would give way.

But finally the king of dwarves laughed and said, ‘I am satisfied. The Zwerge could not wish for stronger friends. Oh mighty Elf-mariner, we must speak at length. For now it seems that between us, we two hold these lands and seas together.’

Aneurin, who had not taken advantage of the dwarf-king's height by standing on the topmost step, remaining four below, met him eye to eye instead, answering, ‘It is right and proper that we, leaders and allies, should do so. Yet with your leave, King of all Ramabad Zwerge, may I broach urgent matters at hand, since time is against us ?’

With Elbegast's consent, the Foamhair continued, ‘I trust that Corin Avarhli and this wise Wizard have told of past events, likewise your courageous Captain Farinmail ?’

The dwarf-king nodded, whilst signing those about him to distribute refreshments amongst the throng at his doorstep.

‘Be that so,’ went on Aneurin, sipping clear water from a stone beaker, ‘the sun is already begun to journey this day. The waters of your Tjärnwash have near eked away. It is now that we should make haste to see what may be. Mayhap Master Corin's visions of what lies there will be proven.’

The assembly spent no further ado, but made away to the banks of the diminished lake, for there was the foreboding that soon enough the nugobluk would return in force. Already, the furthest elf scouts were reporting distant movements, indications that the goblins were indeed amassing once again.

‘Well, Master Corin half-and-half, our lake of the sun and stars lies now, no more than a sludgen puddle filled with the dead sticks of trees. Where are these doors or gates or fiddle-faddle as should greet us?’ Elbegast demanded, his voice rising a pitch, whilst below them dwarves and elves struggled amongst the mire and runnels of water, some dangerously deep-wading.

Here and there, fish flopped helplessly, to be caught up and basketed by the ever industrious Zwerge. Elsewhere the thick mud and tangled weed of the bottom oozed together, rank and slowly solidifying in the warming sun.

Corin refrained from answering the king's question, instead anxiously searching the slew for any sign that might reveal the site of Earth-Mouth. But He´Remon said, ‘Have patience if you will, oh mighty Elbegast; for are your kind not gifted with such in abundance?’

A sign, however, did not appear, though they waited past noon, whilst the reports came ever more frequently of increasing goblin activity.

It was not until the dragon returned from his distant outpost, that a strange thing happened. Sgnarli landed by the empty lake's shore and Falnir alighting, at once hurried toward those waiting without reward.

Meanwhile, Pitrag slid from the dragon's scaled neck, and in some agitation, began sniffing about, turning one way and then another. Corin alone noticed this, for those with him were intent on Falnir's approach, or else watched the north-east passages wherefrom it was likeliest the enemy might converge.

When Falnir arrived, those gathered bent their attention to him. ‘They come, the nugobluk, in vast numbers. We have seen them, dragon, ymp and I. Soon, very soon, they will enter this hollow, tramping from east and north, for we flew those ways and around across the southern waters.’

‘And what of the ocean?’ Aneurin queried, staring hard toward the sea.

At this Falnir laid a reassuring hand upon the Foamhair's arm. ‘There, thus far, the flood from the lake abates and the sea calms about our Valdë fleet.’

Whilst they earnestly continued this conversation, Corin followed the progression of the imp, who had floundered out into the muddy margins, making snail-headway between shrivelled roots, now exposed by the pulsing slime. At times, his gnarled feet must have touched firmer ground, for it seemed that he gained momentum. At others, Pitrag splashed and struggled between elves and dwarves, who warily raised axe or sword, only to be shouted halt by those of the Elloræ who knew the creature on sight. Then, whilst those within the emptied lake ceased their searching to watch in wonder at the antics of the imp, Pitrag gave a sudden, shrill cry and began clawing amongst the mire. After a few moments a huge bubble, fetid and stale, blurted out of the morass; the odour so strong that it reached Corin's companions and caused them to turn about in disgust to where he stared in expectant silence.

The imp had vanished within a deep hole that trickled seepage, growing steadily wider, like an obscene mouth puckering into a large, circular yawn. The grey and blackened deadness of trunks reached their skeletal limbs both sky-wise, and accusingly down toward that place; as if those twisted and bent caricatures of trees marked the way to something once hidden beneath their earth-delving roots. A hush endured, in which nothing moved or altered.

Then, a shrilling out of imp-throat arose; strident and filled with fear, 'Arrgh...arrh!’ On the instant, Pitrag appeared, clawing through the slush, his body entangled with muddied weed; he, white-eyed as if the horrors of Varlar gnawed at his tail. Soon, the imp was sliding and skidding over the encrusting mud-flats to where Sgnarli curled in the sun, breathing puffs of smoke.

‘Come!’ shouted Aneurin, leaping down the shallow banks, ‘little time have we left to see this mystery. Follow those who dare!’

And those who dared did follow. Down through the grasping ribbons of weed and the obnoxious stench of uncovered bog they waded until reaching the sunken place Aneurin, alone, slipped over the lip and found footing within. ‘Ah! Amidst this mire I touch stone,’ he cried, as they heard him pulling away gobbets of mud and compacted rubbish. ‘Yes, there is something here! Beneath my fingers there is a smoothness: hard and cold and...’

For a breath he was silent, then, ‘and that which struck fear into the ymp. Quickly, help me clear this away!’ Aneurin's searching finger-nails screeled across some kind of glassy surface, as the others slid down amongst the running, sucking slush.

Before them, back turned, stooped the Foamhair, wiping the hem of his sea-cloak over an ever widening area, at first besmirched and misted, yet slowly revealing its secret, age-hidden horror. For there, entombed within, grimaced a motionless crowd of heads, suspended in the blackness that engulfed them. There were goblins, bare fanged, tongues thrusting, eyes goggling: evil-looking bird and animal forms, twisted, snarling, frozen; monstrous serpents, worms and spidery creatures unnameable, more hideous than could be imagined and half obscured in the depths beyond, the shadowy outlines of bloated beings deformed unto madness.

‘I see now why any who reached this barrier would flee in utter terror, even to that loathsome ymp Pitrag,’ whispered Farinmail, supporting his king as they lifted their boots out of the creeping mire.

‘But the ymp is of this kind,’ spluttered Elbegast, ‘these foul...’ he choked, revolted.

‘Is Pitrag so much of their kind now?’ said Corin, overcoming his own retching fear. ‘I wonder?’

‘There is no time left to wonder,’ answered Aneurin, stepping clear of the sheer obstacle confronting him, ‘this wall, or window is warning and bar enough to confound any, and time dwindles whilst the enemy draws near...’

‘Wall, window, or portal,’ muttered the wizard, advancing to stare closely at the smooth, dark surface. ‘Surely it is plain enough that Master Corin is correct! We are standing at the threshold of Croh-Yah, Earth-Mouth!’

‘Yes,’ Corin nodded, with certainty, ‘this is the Mouth of Varlar, stilled and closed over long ages, beneath Aileen, The Plain, where once flourished the forest of Lirra Menaltë. Though mark well this much, we now gaze upon the wroughtings of the Drotnar Valandir, since this must be so, after water's disguise exposes it, thanks to He´Remon. But so, how can we broach this? The World Lord set a barrier here, and I have no way or means to pass.’

Corin turned to the others, one after another and each shook their head in bewilderment, so that he went on, ‘Beyond this grim taw-bar, wherein mock the long dead keepers, lies Stone-Bone, the road through all the innermost regions, down to Klud-er-Yah; Earth-Spine, where are the Adamantine Doors. And thence into the Nether Realms. But what matter that, if we cannot penetrate further?’

‘Ah, yet now there may be others who can,’ said the wizard, ’ since we have shown the way.’

‘True maybe,’ Corin sighed, his shoulders sagging under some felt, but unseen weight. ‘Almost I think that I am being used without my consent, even duped; still what am I, are we, to do?’

‘There is your vision, Master Avarhli,’ Aneurin prompted, heedful of his sea-kin standing above, where they watched and reported the distant approach of the enemy.

‘I know,’ Corin answered. ‘The jackdaw flying far into the north, to Ice-realm, there to seek Varlar-Eye and the key of Valandir, the key of the World-Lord's making. Though even as the daw so succeeded thus did he wreak havoc for the world; the Doors were opened and Evil was set free that It might rise again to surge forth, upward to the lands above.’ He halted, pondering. ‘But the Witches of Aplotha advised me, "Remember, within Varlar's bosom lies World's hope, and that will be with you always. Your torment is to attain the impossible. Your quest is to find some way. Your salvation is to release the enthralled, Loriandir amongst them. Your riddle, to be first. For there are others, working already to open the Doors and allow the Powers within to rush out and engulf Varlar. They, are waiting. Beyond the barriers, They are waiting."’ He sighed in the ensuing silence. Only He´Remon was heard to move, swirling a little in the mud at his back, until Corin went on, ‘Everything is confusion. Truth, lies, riddles; who can tell the which?’

‘Only you, it seems Avarhli, can rede the mystery of it, though not here and not now,’ returned Aneurin in some urgency, ‘for we must make away from this bleak place. The wild hordes of our bitter foe are coming in numbers against Elloræ on the furthest marches!’

‘Indeed go,’ murmured He´Remon, his attention still upon that confronting him. ‘I will bide a few moments longer, to test myself against this thing that is bare of hinge or lock. Perhaps it is not so formidable as it looks.’

And so they scrambled from the pit, aided by marline thrown to them from above. Behind, rumbled sounds caused by the wizard, and showers of coloured sparks flew like swarming bees. Still, after a short interval, He´Remon emerged, wheezing and grumbling, his beard dragging in the mire. ‘It is no use,’ he panted, as they began their struggle to the firmer ground of the shore. ‘Opening spells I tried, and force. Nothing so much as trembled it. And I am far too spent from my earlier work to go at it the harder, even if time allowed.’

‘Mayhap it could be tunnelled below the obstruction?’ This was Farinmail's suggestion, as he puffed along aiding his king.

‘That would not avail,’ answered Corin. ‘It is certain that the road therein lies Adamant bound, wall, roof and floor. Nothing could pass such way. There is only one entrance, Earth-Mouth. And only one, that I know of in all Varlar to unbar the way, Valandir the Drotnar.’

They waded on, whilst elves and dwarves roused their warnings. The nugobluk were seen to be approaching in great numbers down the northern slopes and over the eastern foothills.

‘They come, they come! Nigh is the foul foe, with troll and dragon-squib, they come! ‘cried those falling back in the rear of the outer lines.

Meanwhile, Corin's band reached the steps of the Zwerge halls, and there held a hurried conference. It was decided that the dwarves should withdraw into their delvings, safe behind their walls of stone, and that the Elloræ would put far out to sea where the waters acted as shield against landward attack.

‘Might it be that those loathsome muck-dwellers have some secret knowledge of access that we lack?’ ventured king Elbegast, scowling toward the black army hurrying forward at the margins of the emptied lake. He took a step up, lifting his arm in signal to his dwarf warriors, and stood fair upon his dangling beard so that his face jerked downward, reddened and enraged.

‘If they do,’ said He´Remon, ignoring the comical sight, and catching up his own flowing whiskers, ‘there is nought to be done about it. They are ponderous many, too many for dwarves and elves here combined. To meet them in open battle would avail nothing. Lives should be lost and the result the same. For the time being it is best that we conserve our forces, in the hope that the nugobluk can do no more than occupy these open spaces, and at most lay siege to the Ramabad.’

‘But what of the dragon?’ Falnir asked in earnest. ‘Where are he and that ymp to go?’

‘Why, you need fly with them both, out to the ships of Foamhair,' said Corin, watching Sgnarli and Pitrag where they waited, the dragon perched bird-like on an outcrop of rock at some little distance from the foot of the steps. ‘Thence,’ he continued, ‘I beg you, take yourselves to Sarnyanora, to the Lady Goldal and King Galidor, and call all hither; for here on this ancient site, where stood, of old, Lirra Menaltë, I deem the Evils of Varlar are herding. Thus, our mustered forces of Good need number against them. Bid haste, and entreat any others that can be reached, the same; since this now is the concern of every free creature, Men included. Goblin-kind may take the field, yet all is not lost, nor ended.’

‘And what of you?’ Aneurin enquired. ‘Wither shall you go, Master Avarhli?’

‘I...’ answered Corin, ‘I must leave all behind. And together with dear horse Darkelfari below, find a path beyond the clutches of the enemy. I will travel north, forsaking events of the war that is surely to come, though cowardly that seems. I will seek the great alps, those realms of the Mighty Fear, and somehow pass through to the world of the Jutunn, the Ice-Giants. I will come to Shanilar, like the jackdaw of my vision; to Varlar crown... To Earth-Eye. And if it should be the way, and Darkelfari and I live through the ordeal, we shall return bearing with us Varlar's salvation... or doom.’

Chapter 51 [next]