A Feather on the Breath of Ellulianaen

by Robert Denethon

  Chapter Two

  Mynowelechw Sonhayu

  The Midnight Sun

  iolla Æilycha Had

  In the mountains to the north of the tavern a mighty golden-winged creature with a tawny coat, a feathered mane, four iron talons and a beak with the power to grip like a mighty portcullis, could have been seen gliding above the cliffs of Aritha on the updraft like a feather drifting lazily on the warm air above the hearth-fire of an eyrie, if anyone had been watching. From the distance, any human or elf would have thought the creature was merely an eagle. But this was no eagle. It was the beast that is the king of all the birds that fly in the sky and the master of all the animals that crawl on the ground, a mighty gryphon, and even among gryphons this one was more strong-taloned, square-beaked, wide-winged and barrel-chested than most. His name was Halomlyn son of T’kshamuae, and he was flying to his sister Thwyrlyn’s eyrie, high up in the Mountains of Danudain.

  Following about half a league behind him were Halomlyn’s mate Tiawéflyn, a slighter, more delicate gryphon, more golden of hue, with more subtle, gently decorative wing markings, undeniably beautiful, and their cub Hwedolyn, a bundle of golden and tawny fur and feathers and talons, with large golden eyes. Halomlyn was loath to leave Tiawéflyn and Hwedolyn at the eyrie to fend for themselves, considering the trouble that might be upon them, but he had asked them to follow a good distance behind, for if there was any trouble he would rather face it on his own and let Tiawéflyn get the cub away quickly.

  Their flight-path took them into the shadows of nameless cliffs and through the mists and vapours that linger round the craggy mountain peaks of the distant north, as hidden as any flight-path could be considering that the sun was up.

  If it had not been an urgent matter Halomlyn would not have gone, for gryphons do not like to travel when the sun shows his face - ordinarily they leave their excursions for the darkest of all nights, the night of the new moon - but the importance of Halomlyn’s message far outweighed the risks of making a daylight flight.

  Immediately upon their arrival the adult gryphons told the two cubs, Hwedolyn and his young cousin, Atdaholyn, to go hunting in the rugged vertical mountains a league northeast, where even the hardiest two-leg would come to grief on the perpendicular cliffs, craggy pikes and jagged, sharp-pointed menhir-like rocks in the valley below that encircled and protected the mountain like the spears and man-traps in the ditch around a castle.

  While the two cubs went off and hunted, the adult gryphons gathered around the hearth-fire of the eyrie and folded their wings.

  Halomlyn spoke first.

  “We have come to visit, brother-in-law, sister, because we must share counsel as to whether we stay in this borough. The last time that I saw you I told you I had seen the signs of a mage – wyrded animal remains, the stench of magic - and so I knew you would be even more cautious than usual. But yesterday, something happened: and that is why I come to you now...” He paused for a moment as the other gryphons gathered closer and then continued, whispering, “I saw the mage himself!”

  The other gryphons’ ears pricked up and their tails swished.

  “Here is how it happened: I was out hunting to the northwest of our eyrie, on the rugged side of Mount Alcanhilith when I found a cave that might be good for an eyrie – of course, Tiawéflyn and I already have an eyrie, but I am always keen to find another cave or cliff somewhere nearby, lest we must leave our present eyrie because it has been discovered by men or elves, or a dragon is troubling us, or for any other reason, and so I had found this cave. Farther down that side of the mountain, as you know, there are many corpses of men and dwarves and elves who have tried the pass to the south, and for that reason I did not think to encounter any elves or sons of men there. I flew into the cave to see if it was large enough to be an eyrie, and when I did, fear clutched at my heart, for in it there were many bones of bears and wolves and other mountain beasts, and so I knew it must be the lair of the snowdragon.”

  The other three gryphons held their breath as Halomlyn told his tale; this was the same snowdragon that Halomlyn and Milélyn had fought eight years before, forcing it away from the borough of their eyries. Now it haunted the northern borders of their habitation like a white will-o’-th’-wisp, flitting through the sky, lurking in the clouds at the edge of their territory and emerging to taunt them from time to time.

  Halomlyn said, “I flew back out, but as I emerged from the cave I saw the mage himself, striding up the mountainside in great footsteps, so I stayed hidden where I was, at the cave mouth. He wore Nomoi armour with a cloak of indigo about his shoulders and a hood covering his face, so I could not tell if he was elf, man or dwarf. I guessed, however, that this mage was an elf, and not one of the human Nomoi mages - of course there’s not many of them, anyway - and I was proven correct.

  “Then I saw a flash, in the sky! I looked up and saw the snowdragon drifting through the clouds, sinuous as mist, like a salmon swimming in the coastal currents of the sea.

  “The snowdragon descended, its torso twisting in mid-flight, as snowdragons’ snake-like bodies do. It stopped above the mage, hovering, flapping its silvery wings like a demented hummingbird.

  “Its bright white scales glinted and flashed in the sunlight. In a puff, it snorted out a cloud of snow and steam. The two-legs looked up at it.

  “The snowdragon said, ‘Elfynn-Mage!’, thus proving my guess correct that the two-legs was an elf, for the snowdragon was close enough to see his elven ears, the translucence of his skin, and those distinctive pointed eyebrows. ‘Elfynn-Mage,’ repeated the snowdragon, ‘Your magic causes the whole land to stink like the stench of the sewers of the city of Aros! Why come ye here to the north, where your kind is not welcome? How do you come to be where you do not belong?’ The snowdragon’s tone was insolent. It twisted in mid-air so that it faced the elf-mage, whilst still slowly gliding backwards.

  “The elf-mage appeared unimpressed by this aerial trick; his voice took on a sneering, contemptuous tone, ‘You are indeed an ill-mannered variety of snowdragon! Alone I have walked from the Great Southern City through the mountains of Nilhaeoi and the forests and farmlands of the northern kingdoms until I reached the desert of Hilhaglil–Gludza. I walked on beneath the harsh sun with no water for many days, ever northwards through the wilderness! But I sustained myself by wyrding desert creatures, and I warn you, snowdragon! – that included two inquisitive desert dragons who ignored the stench of magic which you say hangs about me like sewerage.’

  “ ‘Ha! You jest, elf, or boast foolishly,’ said the snowdragon, wavering slightly in his hover, ‘Few mages have the power to wyrd even a small dragon, let alone one of the desert dwellers, and if one could, he would be a chancellor at the head of the Emperor’s army, not a wandering elf lost in the wastelands.’

  “ ‘Am I not then a chancellor?’ The elf peered at him with a fey gaze.

  “ ‘Another jest,’ the snowdragon replied bravely, but his voice betrayed a tremor of uncertainty, for he must have known what is generally known amongst dragons and men, that is, that elves seldom lie, or cannot. The snowdragon then withdrew to glide at what he must have thought was a safe distance.

  “ The elf sneered again, his lip revealing his teeth. ‘Jest? Do ever elves jest? Do elves ever say aught but the truth? But I shall overlook your impertinence, snowdragon, if you only tell me if the people of the town of Hathon-Kathuiolké are partisans, or loyal to the Emperor.’

  “ ‘Somewhat loyal, mage. Are any loyal to the Emperor, except the elves themselves? I know the humans of this town, mage. In return for shiny baubles and trinkets I fly above and find them veins of quartz and gold; of course, if I came upon a miner on his own then I would eat him, for humans are treacherous, greedy creatures and richly deserve such a fate. They mine for quartz, platinum and palladium, especially platinum. There are traders farther down the mountain who are always glad to pay a goodly price for what they call the ‘elf-gold’. I think they be partisans though; but tell
me, which human is not? You will be going into their town?’ he asked.

  “ ‘Why should I tell you my comings and goings, dragon of the snow? There are partisans from the south who’ve come to these wastelands to escape the Nomoi rule, and who knows that my purpose in being here might not be to bring them to the Emperor’s justice? Or perhaps I am here today to wyrd a snowdragon,’ said the elf-mage, and he wore no grin upon his face as he said it.

  “The snowdragon’s words came out like rocks in an avalanche tumbling down a mountain: ‘If ye be looking for partisans, an old widow she is, who be taverner of the tavern that gives all the travellers shelter, and the necessities, too, to the townsfolk – meat, vegetables, bread, milk and mead – any partisans would certainly stay there at her tavern, if they were actually fleeing the Emperor’s mighty battalions! Though I doubt whether they would accept an elf as a guest! Anyhow, elf, I must be leav– ’

  “ ‘I have been to many human taverns and alehouses. They do not perceive that I am an elf, snowdragon. They think that I am human.’

  “The snowdragon blinked with double eyelids, and though I could not see the face of the elf-mage through the hood of his cloak, I assume he did a magic spell that made his face look human, for the snowdragon twitched in surprise and said, ‘Truly, elf, it is an excellent trick, but there be more to being a man than looking the man. None has the gift in Hathion-Kathuiolké of smelling magic, but the widow perhaps has the fey eye, and might be able to intuit your little deception. An elf-mage travelling in disguise! We are indeed living through strange times.’ He flapped his wings – rather urgently it seemed, to leave - but at that very moment the elf-mage lifted something aloft that glinted in the light, a shining object, perhaps, a jewel of some kind; I could not see what it was, for the elf-mage’s hand was obscuring my view of the thing. The snowdragon turned about in mid-air.

  “ The elf-mage said, ‘Living through…? Heh! Perhaps not! Look at my little trinket, snowdragon. Look into it. Look into the eye of Afazel.’ I cannot guess what the trinket was, but the snowdragon stared into it.”

  Tiawéflyn asked, “Why did he stare into it? Could he not realise it was a trap?” For Tiawéflyn had not studied the gryphon-lore as deeply as Halomlyn had.

  Halomlyn replied, “Snowdragons are deeply enamoured with trinkets and all manner of jewels! He could not stop himself – anything that glints or sparkles or shines is an object of great fascination to them. He looked into it, stared into it, he could not help staring into it. What he saw in that talisman I do not know, but as he was mesmerised he suffered an almighty spasm in mid-flight and began frantically flapping his wings, he threw his head up and howled in a high, soprano voice, almost like a beautiful singing elf’s voice, yet tormented, then dashed his body against the rocks, gasping aloud, his limbs thrusting forth erratically, his wings thrashing and tail lashing to and fro like a mountain horseman’s whip. He came to rest on the pale, bright snow with his wings unnaturally bent and broken beneath his shattered body, his nostrils spewing out ice and fire alternately. Finally the light left his eyes and his scales crumpled inwards, but his tail remained twitching like a beheaded snake on the glinting, icy ground, until it too finally came to rest.

  “The elf-mage returned the trinket to his cloak and continued on his way as though nothing untoward had occurred. I waited for several hours before I even dared to venture out of the cavern-mouth to fly home.”

  The other gryphons breathed again, stretched their limbs and their wings, then gathered crouching again around the fire.

  Tiawéflyn said, “An unsettling tale, Halomlyn.”

  Milélyn, a leaner, smaller, wirier gryphon than Halomlyn, sporting a narrow face and beak and bright, sparkling eyes, leapt into the conversation, saying, “Indeed, brother-in-law, a powerful mage, an elf-mage, as you say: this can be no common or ordinary Wizard who has visited our climes! He is sure to be a high-ranking Nomoi of great power, perhaps even a chancellor as he implied. To wyrd species that are unrelated and elements that have little to do with one another is the mark of a great power in the world of magic. We must keep our eyes to the ground constantly. But leave our eyries? I think not. Halomlyn, your sister and I have spent much time and effort in making this eyrie habitable, and I for one have no wish to be at the mercy of a different taverner, for the risk of discovery is always there whenever we go out to barter for mead or hunt in the mountains.”

  Halomlyn’s sister Thwyrlyn, a larger, less delicate female gryphon than Tiawéflyn, opened her wings for a moment, revealing attractive, unsubtle wing markings of brown and black, folded them again, leant forward and said, “Speaking of mead, our summer stores of mead will soon be at an end. The nights will begin to darken again in less than two weeks. How long should we wait before we fly again to the tavern for mead?”

  Milélyn said, “The taverner will leave the mead out for us, once the nights are dark again. She knows that we might not collect the barrel until the second or third new moon.”

  Thwyrlyn said, “If this threat was not present we would fly in two months and seven days – on the new moon after next according to my reckoning - but our supplies will hardly hold out until then. How do we know when it is safe to fly again above the human towns and the southern parts of our territory?”

  Halomlyn replied, “When there are no more corpses of wyrded animals, no more unnatural storms, and every unclean sign of tainted, blasphemous magic is gone!” Thwyrlyn snorted.

  Milélyn leant forward a little, folding his wings tighter, and said, almost conspiratorially, “In any case, we could always use the mead from that cave on the Hathion River.”

  Tiawéflyn adjusted her wings and said, “Hmmph! I would not be surprised if a man or dwarf has discovered it and stolen our barrels – it is very close to town, and the only thing between our mead and a thief, is the waterfall.”

  Halomlyn commented, “Out of sight, out of mind. If the humans have no idea it is there, they will not steal it, and the two-legs’ cannot see behind the waterfall unless one of them should go in there. Surely it is still there.”

  Tiawéflyn shook her head and said, “The waterfall is too close to the town! The copse of trees where you leave the goats and take the taverner’s mead is farther from the centre of the town. Even elves prefer to sleep in a feather-bed once in a blue moon, and I would warrant that the Nomoi elf-mage will visit the tavern, and that waterfall is certainly closer to the tavern than the copse of trees.”

  Halomlyn replied: “Indeed. Few of the epics or odes tell of such a powerful mage, elf or man. We must be wary! Milélyn thinks we should stay. But I wonder whether we ought not leave this place and build new eyries far from this danger. Caution is ever the most important part of the gryphon-lore.”

  Tiawéflyn spoke her mind. “Perhaps you are right, gryphon-mate! But we have endured threats before, and even been hunted, although not by a powerful elf-mage.”

  Thwyrlyn’s tail flicked and she shook her wings and said, “But there are dangers too in finding another eyrie, are there not, sister-in-law? Dangers that our fears may bring to pass.” But then she paused for a moment, folded her wings again and sighed and said, “Even so, we should not tell the cubs. Why should we burden Atdaholyn and Hwedolyn with this problem? Tell them to avoid the town and the plain where you found the wyrded rabbit; they are good cubs, they will do what we ask.”

  The others agreed.

  Halomlyn said, “And warn them also to stay away from Mount Alcanhilith where I saw the elf-mage wyrd the snowdragon – there is no need to tell them why. Mind you, unfortunately Hwedolyn has an inkling already, for he was with me when I discovered the rabbit. Thank goodness he didn’t see the elf-mage kill the snowdragon. Ah, it is hard, the cubs are still of tender years – we must not worry them unduly, not until their thirty-third birthdays, at least.”

  Thwyrlyn flicked her tail and said in a tone of voice that indicated the discussion was over, “Indeed. Until a gryphon is thirty-three, he or she should fly unfett
ered by worry or care, and should not have to carry the burdens of gryphonkind. Nay, on the balance of things, it is surely better to stay where we are.”

  Milélyn nodded his agreement and said, “You are right, eyrie-mate. Great are the risks of moving our eyries and small the chance of finding a taverner as taciturn as the woman who is taverner of Hathion-Kathuiolké.”

  Had they known the tragedy that was coming they would have decided differently.