Varlarsaga Volume 2 - Recovery

Chapter - 33 Lang Shan

They rode across the sandy wastes of the Kisir-Oba through the night and on for two more days of sun-scorch and moon-chill. Above the dunes, rose jagged ridges and cones of brown stone that leapt to enormous heights, forming weird shapes that gave Corin the creeping feeling that they were more than mute rock.

He was reminded of the Stanegnamen and their uncanny likeness to the stone from which they claimed their birthright. ‘And yet,’ he mused, ‘if these great outcrops ever burst into life, the very world itself would tremble.’

In truth, his thoughts were not so far from the mark, for the slag dunes and scoria heaps had once, long in the distant past, been part of a living, volcanic chain that had since been eroded and broken down by wind and rain and the shifting sands.

That is not to say that the Kisir-Oba was totally devoid of life: hardy tufts of dry grass, the flat, blade-like edges of which were sharp enough to slash the skin, grew in sparse clumps that knitted the knolls together. And there were occasional, stunted date-palms whose withered finger-like leaves hung down, clutching at the few precious fruits of sun-bleached labour.

Tentatively, the company sampled these unknown fruits and found them suitable to eat. Though when they came to a hollow depression, at first hidden by crumbling hills of sandstone, and discovered a pool of black, still liquid, the ogre, first there, gagged upon the putrid taste and spat it out, exclaiming, ‘That-not-like-wine!’

But Corin said ‘I wonder if that stuff might have been more to Pitrag's liking.’

At midday, they rested beneath a natural arch of wind-eroded rock, taking some relief from the sun and the glare that the yellow dunes reflected.

It was there that Menkeepir, drawing Corin aside, said ‘We must come to water ere long. Our supply runs perilously low.’

‘I understand,’ replied Corin, his eyes screwed up beneath the brim of his elven-cloak's hood, as he gazed eastward across the nightmare landscape. ‘Will you then, turn back?’ he asked, whilst Bim wriggled and uncurled, jumping down to stretch at his feet.

Menkeepir wiped the sweat from his brow with a grimy hand. ‘No, I shall go on, though I will speak again with the men. Any who wish, have my leave to depart, for they have been faithful through much hardship already.’

He went away to gather his followers about him, and after a time returned to find Corin staring ahead, a far-away look in his eyes. ‘The brave ones,’ said the lord of Indlebloom, ‘they will not leave me.’ His face creased into a wan smile. ‘Come,’ he said, ‘it is time for us to mount, and ride east.’

The days passed.

Now the company, doffed of armour, walked by their parched mount's sides, resting them often.

Water and wine had waned to a trickle for all, and food, even supplemented by the scant supply of dates, was near exhausted. The land that they plodded through now, lay beyond what might have passed as the Kisir-Oba, and to them was but a nameless expanse of rubble and rock: dipping and rising, like frozen, ocean waves, through which sifted tiny rivulets of ever moving sand, turned grey like that of the Colle-Oba; the Cindered Mountains far, far to the north west.

Corin turned to the men, where they trudged behind; two had fallen, and the ogre drew them under his brawny arms and now carried them. The others stumbled on, grim-eyed and desperate, leading the flagging roans, whose sides heaved and flanks shivered with the witless fear of pressing death.

Doubts tugged at Corin's heart, whilst the slow, cruel sun rode its path before them. ‘Am I taking these people to their doom?’ he wondered over and again. And there were no Voices to answer, to bear him up or urge him forward. Gradually, he felt as if he drained of all strength, and hot tears sprang to his eyes, and he wiped them away with dusty fingers, lest the others should see.

Then he recalled his vision of long ago: the sea shore and the bleak cliffs, the vast, empty ocean. The shack upon that desolate strand. The fearsome creatures that awaited him there. His heart began to hammer as he remembered; and yet somehow, somehow a renewed conviction swept over him. ‘They are there. I know they are,’ he muttered. ‘We must live through these trials. We cannot perish in the wilderness.’

He halted in his tracks, waiting whilst the others caught him up. ‘Listen to me,’ he croaked through cracked lips. ‘Good Lords of Mendoth and your loyal followers, and yes, you too wild ogre,’ he paused for breath. ‘Is it death that you now fear? Be at ease then. We will find deliverance, of that I am certain. Believe me. I do not taunt you. Have hope. Lift your hearts and heads!’

‘Those are shallow words, easy enough to say,’ sobbed one man, before Mysingir could silence him.

‘Aye,’ cried another; a stalwart fellow, wasted from the ordeal. ‘We will go on. There is nought else left to do. Too late to turn back. We will go on until we eat the horses, or that monster eats us!’ He gestured at Brôga. ‘We will bleach our bones in this accursed, gut-shrivelling land. Is it any wonder that nothing, not even a fly or flea, dwells here.’ The man gasped, and began to trudge forward until he stood before Corin. ‘My Lords, I would follow anywhere. And if they choose to follow you, I so will; though it be our end. Yet as a free man, I would rather see all of us set back with wife and child in cherished Indlebloom. And you Sir, and your talking cat, I wish I had never laid eyes to!’

At these heated words Corin gazed deeply into the man's sunken face, and reaching out, took up his hand. For long moments they looked at each other, until the man cast down his eyes saying, ‘That was wrong of me to speak such way. I am sorry for what I said, Master.’

Corin knelt at the man's feet, still holding his hand, and gazed up at him. ‘You have every right to speak your mind, you and the others so unswerving to duty. You have seen your comrades fall on this venture, and now all is against us. It is no wonder that your hearts ebb lowly.’

The man looked down at Corin. There was something...to do, or say. Yet, staring at Corin, he did not know what.

Then the cat spoke, gazing with sniffing, bobbing head, off into the distance. ‘A faint wind blows, and on its brreath rride tidings: wind of the east, and with it, waterr. I smell waterr. Merrowww. Life lies beyond the grrey rridges thitherrward!’

In the afternoon they struggled to the top of a low rise and there saw a sight unbelievable, below them lay a scattering of water holes, deserted but for a stand of date trees and a rough garden of wild berries and plums. To those of the far journey, it appeared as a rich oasis, the like of which they had not dreamt existed in all that vast, wild waste.

‘Steady now,’ commanded Menkeepir, as the folk of Mendoth crowded forward. ‘Let the horses and our weakest go first, whilst we keep watch. Whoever dwells here may not be far off. Most likely they are Hiung-Nu, Dog-Faces. We must replenish our supplies and away ere their return.’

The others did as was bid, with the exception of Brôga who strode down unheeding, a man still clutched under each brawny arm. These he set down, rather roughly, by the nearest water and thence began himself to drink, taking great slurps as if he meant to drain the well at one sitting.

As quickly as they could, the company refreshed themselves and stocked their saddlebags with plucked fruit. The blue roans having quaffed their fill and nibbled at the stray patches of stringy grass, seemed renewed of vigour; tossing their grey manes, snorting and stamping at the rocky ground as if eager to be on the move.

Even Bim, who held no great love of water, lapped at the muddy pool with relish saying, ‘Poorrr farre purrhaps, and a cat need be thirrsty to drrink. Still, thiss time it is welcome enough.’

Soon they were prepared. The sentries had sighted no one. The late noon air had stilled and the sky was clear, save for some puffy cloud southward when they began to move off through the gaunt trees.

The oasis fell behind as they trotted, clattering over the hard stone of the grey landscape, whilst the ogre grumbled, ‘No-blood-wine-only-juice-of-ground!’

As night drew on, the barren hills rose about the riders, and it was decided to find a resting place. They halted just as the sun sank in the east and the sky reddened towards darkness.

The moon loomed above, shedding silver over the far-off steppes and escarpments, and by its light they hobbled the horses and settled down.

‘The stars here seem different,’ remarked Corin as he strolled at Menkeepir's side.

A short way off, amongst the roans, Mysingir was crooning softly.

‘Perhaps they are not as strange as the land about us,’ mused the Lord of Mendoth, seating himself on a broken outcrop. His armoured thighs scraped against the stone as he leaned forward. ‘Where in the wide world are we, I wonder?’

Corin smiled ruefully, saying, ‘We are in a part of a tale, perhaps a story to be told one day.’

‘Or to be forgotten,’ pondered Menkeepir, sighing.

‘Not yet. At least not yet,’ declared Corin. ‘Let Mysingir put this much to song. He has a taste for it and perhaps our adventure is worth the rendering. He might call such, The Song of Menkeepir.’

Menkeepir smiled in return. ‘I want no lays composed for me. I desire only the answers. And the fulfilment of the prophesies of yestertime.’

‘For the glory of Menkeepir?’

‘For the renown of men,’ said the lord. ‘If I am to be a saviour of men, there must be some great danger or fearful test for all to face. I seek the knowledge that would help me aid others.’

‘We both seek.’ Corin replied, ‘and neither of us yet know to what end or conclusion.’ It was his turn to sigh. ‘Only by going on will we find out.’

There was a silence between them that was not uncomfortable, as if a pact or bargain had been struck. Then, breaking through their silent bond, a long, lone cry pierced the solitude. ‘Yip-yip, ya-hooo!’

The men about sprang to their feet, from bed-roll and sleep.

Upon the distant skyline in the west, dark forms, picked out in moon-silver, arose and grew. They resolved into a handful, no more, of tarpan-mounted riders skeltering over the petrified waves and contours toward the company of Indlebloom. Hurriedly, Mysingir and Menkeepir ordered their folk so that they were prepared for fight or flight as circumstances depended.

The riders however drew up at a distance and came no further, instead they sat their ponies quietly until one of their number raised himself and cried out, ‘Wha-rooo, Menner! Lang Shan!’ The rider gestured with a stabbing motion into the east.

‘Hrof! Hroff!’ barked the others, almost as if they jeered.

The foremost lowered his arm until it pointed to his mount's feet. ‘Edinu!’ he shouted. ‘Edinu!’ And lifting his arm to the east again, ‘Lang Shan. Harr! Lang Shan!’

As if, by that signal, many unseen ears and eyes, poised listening and watching, were conjured forth, the horizon behind arose into a line of many; a host of the Hiung-Nu that ran from north to south. Such were their silent, menacing numbers that all of the company of Indlebloom were rooted to the spot in horror.

All, except the ogre who, holding Bim in one huge, encircling paw, picked up his stone club and began to stride forward.

‘Merroww!’ mewled the cat, ‘bewarre, oh Serpent's Bane, many arre the Dog-Faces!’

‘Humph-Snash-Snash!’ growled the ogre vehemently, shoving Bim onto his shoulder, where the cat took shelter amongst his long hair. Drawing closer to the vanguard of Hiung-Nu, he bellowed, ‘More-blood-soon-Huf!’ And in the still night his voice boomed, so that even some of the multitude before him were seen to waver. The nearest backed away a little; their leader beating his chest, crying, ‘Etzela, Marut! Etzela, Marut!’ He turned his tarpan, and all about him began to follow suit. But even in the short time it took for them to ride beyond sight, the Dog-Face continued howling, ‘Lang-Shan, harrr! Lang-Shan!’ ‘Marut. Hrof, hroff. Lang-Shan. How-wooo!’

Then there was nothing left of them upon all that moon-struck horizon.

‘What do you think they meant?’ pondered Mysingir, as they cantered towards the dawn. Around them the darkness seemed to pulse; the moon was now a dim smudge, masked by engulfing cloud. The company followed a dull, lifeless verge that appeared bounded by the night and what it hid.

‘It almost was as if the Hiung-Nu mocked us on our way,’ answered Corin, illuminated in the soft glow of his elvan cloak. ‘Perhaps they were glad to be free of us.’

Mysingir grinned in the darkness. ‘Free of him, more likely,’ he added, as the blustering hulk of the ogre lumbered by.

‘That maybe,’ said Menkeepir pensively. ‘Or it maybe otherwise. I felt that they bade us a glee-filled farewell, knowing we were riding to our doom...’

They trailed onward until the red-gold dawn swept out of the west and the sun sent shadows stretching over the cold, blue earth where stony fingers of rock jutted, needle-like.

‘There!’ cried Corin, at once startling the others as he gestured forward. ‘Look, high up!’ And as he indicated, they saw a movement; a distant life that was both a symbol and the reality of a bird first on the wing for morn. And the sooty blackness and compact form marked it as a jackdaw, beating into the east.

The company spurred on, ill content to dally on the threshold of day, until Corin called them to a halt.

‘What is it?’ Mysingir asked, lifting in the stirrups and staring forward.

‘This place,’ answered Corin. ‘The far cliffs where now plays the sun. I know them. I know those ragged ways. I have seen this land in a vision.’

‘And what do you expect to find here?’ muttered Mysingir, doubtfully.

‘If the vision mirrored truly, there lies a great expanse of water beyond those dark cliffs; and too, a deserted shore bordered by walls of stone. Somewhere there, I believe is Aplotha, Ap-Peloth, the land where dwell the terrible creatures of the Kurigaldan legends; the Four Witches of your nursery rhyme, Mysingir.’

Mysingir pursed his lips, whistling softly. ‘And you believe that these creatures still abide there? One the same as she who came to our Father in the guise of a Seeress, before our birth?’

Corin bent his eyes to his folded hands. ‘That, I can but be guided by what has come to me, and by guess. Yet why, I ask myself, does a jackdaw fly this barren land, and where does he betake himself?’

They found a rough path, broken and overgrown from long disuse, that wound, twisting up into the bleak heights. This, the company held to, though the way grew narrow and the walls crowded in so that they were forced to ride in single file. Above, the gap was often spanned by columns that had collapsed, forming natural bridges and at times it was more like being inside a tunnel than a deep ravine. A silence pervaded that seemed ominous. Some of the men began to mutter, as a slow fear crept over them. The roans tossed their white-maned heads; terror in their rolling eyes. Only Brôga seemed unconcerned, barging along as if he were out on some errand, rather than passing deeper into the unknown.

The way climbed higher, until finally the riders came to a dark opening in the stone before them. No sign of light or life showed within: no sound of wind, of creature, even of pebble falling.

Night descended as the company fired torches and filed slowly inside. At once the walls darted with the shadows of these invaders, and the horses shied, until the comforting hands of their riders settled them into an uneasy plod that took the company further into the twisting passageway. Apart from the meagre glow of their brands, Corin's elven cloak was the only other source of light. Here Bim was of considerable aid, his wide eyes peering into the murk; yet even he could not perceive what lay within the blackest depths.

How long they journeyed thus was impossible to tell. The passage bent this way and that, rose and fell, levelled out and rose again.

Corin found himself almost drifting into torpor, feeling the rhythm of the animal beneath him and listening to the continuous, dulled clatter of hooves on rock. His head nodded and he jerked it upright. He heard, or thought he had heard, a far-off sound. Before him, Mysingir and the ogre had halted.

‘That sound,’ said Menkeepir at Corin's ear, ‘it came from somewhere ahead.’

‘What was it?’ whispered Corin.

Bim, all alert, mewled, ‘A moan, or a howwl !’

Brôga grunted, brandishing his club and sniffing the air. Some of the men drew their swords.

After a time of silence, they heard the sound again.

Cautiously, the company moved forward, and as they travelled the noise grew louder; it seemed like the breathing of some monstrous creature: sonorous, moaning, thrumming. Rounding a sharp bend, the riders emerged into a wide space. The light of day poured through many wind eroded rents and gaping holes above.

Not too far distant, a great slanting breach in the walls indicated the way. The wind howled through the maze of openings like some phantom wolf-pack, at times screaming and whistling with such piercing blasts that the horses would have bolted if not for their riders.

Corin urged his mount forward, crossing the terrifying chamber and passing into the breach beyond.

When the others joined him in the daylight, they found Corin sitting motionless, gazing in profound wonder at what lay before them.

There, spread a rolling sheet of water; open to the horizon, but for the north-east where stretched a narrow strand, above which ran a line of shadowed cliffs.

‘Is it as you foresaw in your vision?’ said Menkeepir, coming to Corin's side.

‘It seems somehow less real than my waking dreams. Do you think that is because we have spent so long in the wilderness?’

‘Perhaps,’ sighed the Lord of Mendoth. ‘It is so lonely, like nothing I have ever seen before. Is that the sea?’

‘I suppose so,’ answered Corin, but he said no more, for his thoughts were within his heart and mind and he trembled with excitement and doubt.

They came down from the fastness of the cliffs without mishap and soon reached the stony shore where the horses went splashing along in the cold water.

‘There is your answer Lord Menkeepir,’ said Corin, thoughtfully tasting the spray thrown over his face. ‘This water is fresh enough to drink, though it does have a brackish flavour; yet surely not as the salty sea.’

‘Is it all a lake then?’ asked Mysingir incredulously.

But Corin was not listening. He had spied that which he had been searching for since first setting eyes on this strange, new land. Drawing closer to Menkeepir, he pointed to the shadowy cliffs saying, ‘Yonder is the way up. See that faint line overgrown by marram. I am going to climb there.’

‘You will not ride a horse up that, it is too steep!’ exclaimed Mysingir.

Corin smiled briefly, as if he had expected the others to understand. ‘I know. I mean to climb on foot, alone.’

‘But you cannot do that,’ Menkeepir objected at once. ‘We are together in this quest.’

Corin slowed his mount and clambered off. ‘I must go alone,’ he said earnestly, passing Bim into Brôga's wide paw. ‘That is a part of the vision, and so it must be, to whatever outcome. For I will take none, not even my dear companion Bimmelbrother, into this last danger. I will fulfil my fate as I saw it, without provision, or weapon, or garment other than this simple shirt.’ Here he cast off his apparel, sword and shoes, and donned a rough tunic that he carried beneath his cloak.

When he was thus prepared, he drew himself upright, arms straight by his sides, and gazed at the mounted lords and fellows of the company.

‘If I do not return to you, you must decide what course to follow. I know no more than you, my Lords, so pray that I find some truths and come again amongst you. Farewell.’ He raised his hand and turned away.

They watched him trudge over the pebbles until he reached the steep way and began to climb through the wind-blown grasses. It took some time for him to reach the top, and when at last he hauled himself over the edge and poised there catching his breath, those below were relieved.

They had not moved: not man, nor cat, nor ogre, and they did not, for their eyes were on him until he had passed away out of sight and they were left with nought but the slap of water upon the slob.

Chapter 34 [next]