merlins godson 1 & 2

by H. Warner Munn

  And Myrdhinn, the old gray fox, had seen and remembered as he remembered everything!

  It was true, of course. All that he had said was true. These Mias were not demons, not inhuman—at least not more than other men—they knew loyalty and courage. I had met them in war and I knew that. Their women were beautiful and lovable in the eyes of their own men, and their children were beloved by both. We had smashed the system; must we exterminate the race as well?

  A hard lump seemed to melt in my breast. I no longer hated anybody and I wanted to weep, but did not know how—I had forgotten long ago.

  “Go and speak to the men. Aztlan and Tolteca, too. If you can win them over, we will let the people go.”

  Gladness came into Myrdhinn’s eyes. He gazed at me fondly and went out.

  I did not follow, but sat there alone. I wanted to think upon my little son so far away. That is why I did not hear what Myrdhinn had to say to the army, but a great clamor and shouting brought me to my feet and with sword in hand I ran out to defend his life from the men he had roused to fury. I stood there with open mouth and must have looked like a fool. They were cheering him!

  Cheering! Aye, the men from Adriutha and Caranay, side by side with my warriors of Azdan! Even the red-haired killers from Nor-um-Bega and the savage Chichamecan barbarians! All were cheering.

  And that, I think, was Myrdhinn’s greatest triumph!

  By midday, Miapan was evacuated, and on the plain the people, mostly women and children, but still a great host, stood between our armed ranks and received my orders.

  “March fifteen days’ journey straight westward,” I commanded, “then directly south to the Hot Lands of Atala, whence you came. Laggards or deserters will be killed.” And I detailed ten companies of moormen to follow a day’s journey behind, for that purpose.

  One man in each hundred was allowed to keep his arms for hunting, otherwise all weapons were burned at the time of their exodus.

  These instructions, I estimated, would take them into the open uninhabited grasslands, where the hairy cattle would feed them and they would meet no enemies, and looking upon them as they marched away without lamentations or backward looks, still proud in defeat, I could not but feel that after all this was the better way and Marcus, somewhere, would be pleased.

  That day ended organized Mian resistance. The Eagle had conquered the Snake.

  Although on widely separated hilltops throughout the broken Empire a few thousands of refugees still held out, I knew that their forts, however well built, were doomed to fall, for without exception they were watered only by dewponds and occasional rainfall, and being constructed only as temporary refuge for people living close at hand, they could not stand a siege. Indeed, they had never faced a prolonged siege before our coming, for that was not a Chichamecan habit. We felt that we could safely leave these islands of Tlapallan to be overswept by the sea of Chicha-mecans around them.

  Accordingly, in five coracles, all that remained of our fleet, I, Myrdhinn, my tribunes of Aztlan, and other doughty men, totaling over a hundred, set out toward our river fort, which by now must be in danger from those still unsubdued and merciless men who had stolen our fleet. Short shrift could our women expect from them!

  Following along- the shores pounded the Aztlan legion and behind them the unruly hordes of Tolteca, now burning to wipe out their shame.

  Hayonwatha came with us, but his people invested Miapan, to wait for Myrdhinn’s return, and the Nor-um-Begans, fewer in number, set off for their far city, laden with loot.

  Down the little river we went, entered the larger stream, finding evidences of those who fled before us, and days later came to the junction of the two waterways where lay our fort—and none too soon.

  It was attacked by the Mias, but not taken. On the walls, from our distant view, we could see the short wicked arms of ballistae, and catapults, jerking stones and javelins into the mass of coracles below, while clouds of arrows, darts and slingstones were flying from both sides. We raised a mighty yell, plunged our paddles deep and almost flew down the broad Ohion.

  As we came near them, we were seen from the fort and greeted loudly. Tumbling into their flimsy craft, the land force fell back and were coming up to meet us when our following legion burst out into sight.

  Dismayed at the sight of this pursuing force and greatly outnumbered, the Mias swung their prows about and made off downstream.

  Our coracles shot into pursuit, hailed wildly as we passed the fort. I made out the dear form of Gold Flower of Day, waving a fluttering scarf. I swung my paddle in response and was seen.

  Before we had left the fort far behind, we began to overhaul the last of the coracles, which now turned about to meet and destroy us. I stood up and fitted an arrow to my bow, well dressed with gray goose-feathers, but before I shot I made out from my greater height above the water an almost impossible sight.

  Up the river was coming toward us, slowly against the current, a craft which I had never again expected to see. It was a Saxon dragon-ship!

  Without an oar out to give it headway, it forged toward us with a bone in its teeth, swiftly coming nearer as we flew, pursuers and pursued, down the stream toward it.

  Now it was seen and recognized as a new menace by the fugitive Mias. A trumpet recalled those who had fallen back to meet us, and the whole mass of coracles drew compactly together, bristling with armed men, ready for whatever might occur.

  As we drew almost together, an armored man sprang into view on the ship’s tiny deck. He steadied himself with a hand on the dragon’s neck, while above him its movable red tongue waggled viciously as though it were hissing at all of us. He shaded his eyes and peered at us as we rushed toward each other.

  All at once I recognized him.

  Guthlac! Guthlac, last of the Saxons! Guthlac, whom we had thought slain by the fish-people of the swamps!

  I raised a long hail across the narrowing waters.

  “Turn, Guthlac, turn! These are enemies!”

  He knew me and swung his ax wildly to signify that he had heard.

  “Well met, Wealas!” he shouted, then seized a shell trumpet that hung there and blew an echoing blast.

  At once we saw what had towed the ship so strongly up the stream, for breaking through the surface in a shower of spray came dozens of the hideous and scaly Piasa, who cast off their towing-collars and ropes and hurled themselves into the vanguard of the Mias.

  Frantically they backwatered and tried to turn aside, but the Piasa tore wide holes in their bark craft and they sank in the rushing waters.

  We withdrew, guessing that these creatures could distinguish little between friend and foe among the various races of man, and contented ourselves with maintaining an arrow fire into the confused mass of struggling enemies.

  Now more Piasa tumbled over the sides of the dragon-ship and with exulting croaks took to the water, while from downstream came churning up a frothy shoal of others.

  It was soon over. Not a coracle floated on the stream, and from the bank where our little flotilla had taken refuge we saw the waters of the Ohion slipping redly toward the sea, while the monstrous man-like creatures, glutted, rolled playfully in the greasy ripples, supping up the floating scraps that bobbed about in the eddies.

  At a series of notes from Guthlac’s trumpet, some of these caught upon the trailing ropes and drew the dragon-ship upon our shore, just as our panting followers came hurrying up, to recoil in horror at the frightful beasts that stood up in the shallows and strode grimly toward them.

  Guthlac leapt nimbly down and came laughing forward among his horde, forcing them back with rough cuffs which they did not resent, but fawned upon him like hounds upon the master. Then he came up and seized my hand, shaking it stoutly.

  “A good killing, Wealas. Woden loves such tribute. Long since, I thought you in Hela’s halls.”

  “And I you, Guthlac. How is it that you have made yourself king among the Piasa?”

  “The Piasa?” He looked blank
, then laughed. “Oh, you mean my fish-folk. That may be how they are named by the red men, but they call themselves Gronks.”

  “Then they have a language men may learn?”

  “Oh yes! A good language, mostly grunts, croaks and hisses, but they do not talk to men very often— usually they prefer to act.”

  Looking at the sinister refuse floating in the river, I could well believe him.

  At Guthlac’s command they took themselves out of the way, to a narrow strip of sandy shore, where with their long talons they scooped out shallow holes to accommodate their short unbending tails.

  Presently they squatted above these holes and gazed at us coldly and, I thought, with appetite.

  “After you deserted me to the tender mercies of the swamp denizens,” Guthlac began ironically, “I considered myself a dead man. They hustled me off over quaking morasses to an odd dank huddle of cluster hovels deep inland. Here they thrust me into a moss-grown hut of wet and rotting logs and brought me raw fish to eat.

  “There I remained for a long time in dread of death, until I plucked up courage and ventured out. I was greeted with every sign of simple worship, and it was not long before I realized that they were in awe of me. When I made them understand that I wanted my ax, it was immediately brought to me, and my seaxe as well. Obviously, then, I was not to be killed. I have been treated very well by them.

  “It was almost two years before I finally learned enough of their speech to understand why I was preserved and all my companions torn to pieces.

  “As you can see, they are on the way toward becoming men. That is their ambition. They imitate men, and they believe that by eating the flesh of people they will sooner become men. Some time ago, one of their eldest announced that from the sea would appear a divine being, partly man, partly fish, who would become their ruler and teach them how to become human.

  “When they saw my armor of fish-hide and found that their claws slid off it harmlessly, they took me for this deity, and I have profited by it.

  “I have taught them a good deal, given them simple weapons, tried to give them fire, but they would have none of it. Fire makes them vastly afraid; so I have learned to prefer my own food raw in consideration of their feelings.

  “I was another year building the ship, doing it mostly alone, though they carried the timbers for me and set them in place according to my orders. When it was done, I sailed along the coast, thinking to follow you, for in that direction you were sailing when we parted.

  “We came to open sea, still following southerly, and arrived at a land of little brown people, who call their country Chivim. I taught them the worship of Woden, but could not be happy among them.

  “After I had abode there a long time, hearing no word of you, I realized that I was searching in the wrong direction and that you must have rounded the cape I left behind me, and instead of going again to sea, you had probably turned north, following the sea-coast. So, the next spring, my subjects towed me away from Chivim.

  “There was never any lack of food. The Gronks can follow a fish under the water, doubling and darting till it is caught. We lived well, both at sea and searching along the coast.

  “We went far north. You would scarcely dream how vastly far this land must stretch. We came to a point where the water numbed my subjects, and ice mountains floated in the sea. We turned back without any news of you, and that was another year.

  “Back along the seacoast we went, sometimes capturing a fisherman too scared to tell us anything, until one day we saw wreckage in a cove and I knew it to be thePrydwen. We had passed close by on the northward voyage, but high tide must have covered it, for only a few timbers projected even then among the waves.

  “So I landed there. We spied upon the outpost and took it, the Gronks feeding upon the garrison but before all were dead, I learned what had befallen you, that there was war in the ulterior and that my friends” (he stressed the word in a sardonic way, I thought) “were fighting a powerful people. So, as my subjects cannot live long away from water, we hastened back to that river mouth and, searching up the stream of the Misconzebe, found the right tributary at length and came hither as you see, and almost too late to join you in the fighting.”

  “But not too late to join us in peace,” said Myrdhinn enthusiastically. “Give up your savage subjects and dwell with men once more. We are kings among the heathen now.”

  Guthlac shook his head.

  “I also am a king, and my subjects are no less faithful than yours. My place is with them. Yet I will bide with you a time, for I have work that must be done.”

  He grunted an order, and all of his followers, except a dozen to pull the ship, splashed back into the river and made off downstream.

  Myrdhinn and I were carried back to the ship by two stout Piasa, and when Guthlac resumed his place in the prow, we were towed upriver to the fort, convoyed by our five coracles and followed by the warriors on the shore.

  Royal was our welcome, as loving arms enfolded us, and though many of the women were lorn and hus-bandless because of the fighting, there was no keening for the dead.

  Happy faces met us and tears were reserved for the privacy of the weik-waums.

  At night I observed Myrdhinn glumly eying the stars. I clapped him on the shoulder.

  “How now for your prophecies of disaster? You said the stars portended doom for you, but the war is over and all is well. Come! Admit that even you can sometimes be wrong!”

  “Often I have been wrong, Ventidius, but never the stars. There is a destiny yet to be completed.”

  And he would say nothing more that night.

  In the morning a festive day was declared. During our absence the women had pounded flat a broad surface of hard ground to be used as a ball court. The Azteca are very fond of this game, sometimes wagering everything they possess nipon the sport. It is played with a bouncing ball which must pass through a stone hoop, set perpendicularly in the wall of the court, to score a point.

  As the opening is but little larger than the ball itself and because a large number of players are striving to secure the ball for their own side, goals are difficult to make and people have been known to wager even their clothing against the possibility of one, which, being made, drives them naked from the spectators amid laughter.

  Guthlac, seeing several bet upon points which were not made and leave thus in shame and nudity, declared roundly that the trick was impossible. I laughed at him.

  “I can do it easily,” I said. “Even Myrdhinn, aged as he is, finds no difficulty in it.”

  “Do it, then, and I will believe you. I have a jar of wine on board my ship that says the feat cannot be done.”

  Myrdhinn smiled. “That wine I shall earn, Ventidius.”

  Pressing back, he strode into the ball court.

  A herald shouted:

  “Make way! Make way for the Tecutli Quetzalcoatl!”

  And the people bowed low before him as he took the ball.

  He tucked up his long robes, ran, bounded, and in midair (as it must be done) threw the ball through the hoop without touching the sides, scoring a perfect point. How the people shouted!

  He returned to his seat near me, and the game was resumed while Guthlac sent one of the Piasa down to the river after the wine.

  Myrdhinn took it, sniffed the aroma with appreciation and laughed. I handed him my drinking-horn.

  “You must pay me a drink for the use of that!” I cried.

  Guthlac said nothing, but smiled a strange smile. Whether it was the sudden ·gleam of ferocity in his eyes, quickly masked, or perchance only a wild suspicion, I know not, but all at once I distrusted the Saxon.

  “Hold, Myrdhinn!” I shouted.

  Too late! He had drained the cup to the dregs. Hig face went pale and haggard and he looked ancient beyond the power of words to tell. He struggled to speak, choked, then said thickly, “So this is the dark destiny the stars withheld!” and sank into the arms of Cronach Hen, the last remaining of his nine
faithful bards.

  Before we could gather our wits, Cronach Hen let his harp fall, laid Myrdhinn gently down and spitting curses like a cat, he dashed at Guthlac.

  One of the Piasa was quicker than any of us. He caught up the bard, sinking his long curved talons deep through the flesh, hooking them among the ribs. Then easily he tore him asunder as a man might rend a roasted pigeon.

  Women screamed in the crowd, and Guthlac croaked a command to his monstrous following as he backed warily among them.

  “Now I have satisfied the souls of my brother and my men! Now I have avenged myself upon the murderer who led us here, who sacrificed us all in a mad search for a worthless land. Come, Wealas, take me if you can!”

  The Piasa sprang at us, long scaly arms spreading wide to grapple, talons hooked to tear.

  Though the sight of these horrors chilled the hearts of my men, none refused the battle, but would not at first close in, hurling hatchets and spears from a little distance, which they kept easily, for these creatures were agile only in the water.

  So, during our first surprise, his group won almost through us to the river gate. With twenty Valiants about me, hastily rearmored, we fell upon him there.

  “Stand back, Wealas,” he bellowed at me, as he retreated deeper among his Piasa, swinging his short ax to fend off spear strokes from three Hodenosaunee who were pressing him close.

  “Stand back, lest I cleave ye to the teeth!”

  The three red men rushed recklessly in, shouting their war-cry, “Sassakway! Sassakway!” The Piasa seized them. I heard bones crack and crunch and three brave souls were fled without a groan or whimper of pain.

  I felt immortal. I ran at them.

  Guthlac’s eyes lit with savage joy. He snapped an order to his creatures. They gave way and opened a lane, through which he strode, buckler to the fore, ax whistling in a glistening circle.

  “Take it, Wealas,” he roared, and flung it at my head.

  It flew harmlessly by. I hurled my pilum.