Then, to the horror of all there, Kuthy sauntered up to the beast and reached out to stroke its flank.
‘WHAT THE— GET BACK FROM THERE, YOU IDIOT!’ Nibulus cried out as all the company leapt away. But the Wyvern did not seem at all aggressive – more curious. That long, tapering, eagle-like head drew back on its serpentine neck, squinted at the human inquisitively, then sniffed him carefully. Satisfied, it recommenced its study of the others cowering inside the cave.
‘I’m getting my armour on,’ the Peladane said. ‘Just stand still here, and don’t make any sudden—’
‘Oh, grow up!’ Kuthy sighed, patting the Wyvern on the flank as one might do a cow. ‘By the time you’re all strapped up it’ll be sundown.’
There was no denying it, Kuthy was a cool one. What had at first appeared incredible stupidity and bravado now just seemed incredible. Was there nothing that worried this man? Could anything in the entire world hold any surprise for him?
The tenterhooks on which they had been now having blunted a little, the others eased off their guard and studied the creature, though none would venture any closer. It was a formidable beast, to be sure. Powerful reptilian legs that ended in cruel talons gave it the look of a bird of prey, as did the sharply hooked, yellow beak. But those twitching forelegs with their raptorial claws were held before it in the manner of a preying mantis. Its hide was as hard as a lizard’s, but without the scales; in a certain light it appeared very dark brown, almost black, but when the light caught it, broad stripes of electric blue and chromatic violet could be discerned. A tail far too long flicked menacingly about from side to side like a cat’s, and ended in a bulbous yellow sac of poison adorned with a vicious barb. Those vast wings definitely possessed a bat-like quality, vibrating oddly, but the creature looked far too heavy and muscular to be capable of flight.
At that moment nobody had any idea what it was doing here, how it came to be in company with Bolldhe’s horse and, more importantly, why it seemed now to be talking with Kuthy. A low murmur was vibrating down from its head; not quite words but the thought of words or vague impressions of meaning could be understood. It used no audible language, but deep within those sonic vibrations there was definitely communication. For a few moments the Wyvern and the adventurer exchanged greetings, and then, without warning, Kuthy called out, not to the creature, but behind it.
‘Hello, Elfswith.’ The tone was conversational.
Who he was greeting they could not see, for his glance was fixed on a point well beyond their view. But a moment later his words were answered by a tinny, scraping little voice: ‘All right, Kuthy. How’s it going?’
A little man appeared. His long hair was dark and ragged, and fell about a pale yet comely fine-boned face. His eyes, a piercing yellow, flicked cursorily over the company before settling back on Kuthy.
‘You took your time,’ he observed.
‘Got held up,’ Kuthy replied, still stroking the Wyvern’s neck.
‘It happens,’ the newcomer acknowledged, then nodded towards the others in the cave. ‘Who’re the citizens?’
‘Hireli— er, highly appreciated travelling companions.’ Kuthy caught himself just in time and smiled wryly at his diminutive friend.
‘What about that one?’ the newcomer asked, seeing Bolldhe with his scabby face for the first time. ‘Nothing catching, I hope?’
Kuthy smirked semi-apologetically at Bolldhe, who merely turned away.
In a way, this little man was almost as surprising as the Wyvern itself. While one might have expected a fabulous beast to inhabit a place like the Giant Mountains, his companion – basically of human stock – looked more like the type of lowlife one might expect to encounter in a sleazy opium den. He wore a huge baggy coat of many pockets that reached down to the ground, but despite the freezing cold only an unbuttoned shirt and light trousers underneath and absolutely nothing on his feet. He had the artful air of a dodger, with the casual nonchalance and cocky swagger of a backstreet bawd, and no doubt considered himself equally at home wherever he might be – even here, up in the Giant Mountains, wandering about in the early dawn with a Wyvern for company.
‘Mr Tivor,’ Nibulus called out with mock politeness, ‘sorry to bother you, but do you think you might explain?’
The adventurer winked at the ragged little man, then took a deep breath and re-entered the cave, leading his two friends inside with him.
They had all seen Wyverns before, of course. At least once in a lifetime most inhabitants of the north would witness the mass migration of these great creatures, their distant silhouettes sailing gracefully across a yellowy sky beneath the low mass of dark clouds on a blustery early autumn evening. But to stand so close to one – to be actually sharing a cave with one – was an experience new to all of them but Kuthy. It was a bit like having a great white bear step into one’s house and curl up in front of the hearth. They could not begin to guess what thoughts or intentions lay behind those glittering mazarine eyes; it looked, all at the same time, wild, calm, vicious, wise, or as Nibulus commented, ‘permanently pissed off’.
But evidently this particular Wyvern – a female answering to the name Ceawlin – was here along with Elfswith for some reason that would possibly be disclosed to them, if and when it suited him.
While Elfswith made himself comfortable, Appa leant closer to Bolldhe and asked, ‘What is he, then? Human?’
Bolldhe knew what Appa meant. ‘I reckon he’s closer to human than any other race I’ve ever seen,’ Bolldhe answered. ‘Maybe he’s got a little of the Hauger in him.’
‘I’ve never yet seen any Hauger with yellow eyes,’ Finwald commented doubtfully. He himself was not at all happy: this was getting completely out of hand. Ever since they had fallen in with Kuthy, nothing seemed to be under his control. Lowering his voice, he added, ‘And what’s that papuliferous marking on his chest supposed to be, eh?’
They peered closer. What at first had appeared to be some sort of necklace they now realized was a blemish on his skin, just visible where the shirt buttons were unfastened. It could have been a line of scabs, possibly the residue of some kind of disease; then again maybe it was something more permanent.
‘Just a birthmark,’ the little man announced without looking up at his observers, before fastening the buttons against their prying eyes. He then reached into one of his many huge pockets and felt about inside. There came from within a surprising series of sounds, the sort one might expect to hear when rooting through a kitchen drawer or an old trunk. Eventually he pulled out a packet of tobacco, made a roll-up and flicked it into his mouth. Then he started rummaging around for a light. After checking further in several pockets he succeeded in drawing out not matches but a blackened and battered old coffee pot. He was about to put this back, but thought better of it and handed it to Nibulus.
‘Make yourself useful, son,’ he said, and returned to his rummaging.
The Peladane stared at him and handed the pot on to Kuthy. Ceawlin, meanwhile, padded around in a circle, then settled down comfortably, Kuthy moving to her side.
Soon Elfswith, searching other pockets, had found a large packet of very strongly tar-smelling coffee and a sealed earthenware jar of strange appearance. While the others watched, totally absorbed, he twisted the jar until it clicked open into two halves, revealing a kind of glass container within. From this container a soft red glow emanated, and they could just about make out the flicker of flame. Elfswith first lit his roll-up, then handed this ‘stove’ to Kuthy, who, evidently familiar with the equipment, busied himself with preparing the coffee.
From yet another pocket Elfswith managed to extricate a mandolin. He shook his head and thrust it back. Yet more rummaging produced a bone whistle. ‘Nearly there.’ He smiled and began to fumble about again in yet another pocket. From this one he pulled out his mandolin again, despite having put it back in a different one.
‘Really need to get these pockets organized,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Spend half my
bloody life searching for things . . .’
A moment later he grinned as his groping hand alighted upon what he was seeking. He tugged hard and hauled out a long, tightly rolled bedroll that immediately fluffed up into a deep soft mattress. He wasted no time in making himself comfortable – looking as at home in this dark mountain cave as he would in any palace.
The others gaped at him with equal measures of perplexity and intrigue. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got a bathtub in there too, have you?’ Finwald finally enquired.
‘Did have once,’ Elfswith replied, ‘but I think it must’ve slipped through a rip in the lining.’
They could not be absolutely certain if he was joking or not.
‘That’s quite a remarkable . . . garment you have there,’ Appa ventured conversationally.
Elfswith regarded the elderly priest as a prince might look at a footman who has just proffered an unsolicited opinion. ‘Why, thank you,’ he condescended, and left it at that.
‘What’s it made of?’ Wodeman asked more bluntly. ‘I reckoned it was ermine when you were standing outside in the snow, but here in the dark it looks more like mink. Seems to be composed of many creatures and colours all at once.’
Elfswith settled back and plugged his roll-up into the end of his whistle. He began to play a beautiful, haunting melody while simultaneously blowing smoke rings that emerged a different colour depending on which note he produced.
‘Yes, it is,’ he eventually replied, still without looking at Wodeman. ‘Ermine, mink, ocelot, hyrax, flamingo, narwhal, green mamba, dragonfly – a hundred different pelts for a hundred different situations – or moods.’
He settled further back into his bedroll, and the coat’s colour shifted into the luxuriant warmth of fox red.
Kuthy handed the coffee round. The first cup he presented to the Peladane.
‘So,’ Nibulus began, ‘how long has this little reunion of yours been planned?’
Kuthy drained his cup in one go, closed his eyes in rapture and exhaled loudly. ‘Listen, I can tell you’re a bit suspicious of me—’
‘You could say that,’ Nibulus replied flatly.
‘And a bit angry, I’d guess.’ Kuthy grinned a mock-sheepish smile that fooled nobody. ‘Well, maybe I could have been a bit more candid with you. But you’re not really expecting me to say sorry, surely? Look at us now; we’re all here safe, well fed and loaded with fresh supplies, and you are weeks ahead of your schedule. Let’s be honest: I’ve saved you a huge distance and a lot of danger; you should be thanking me.’
‘What?’ Bolldhe cut in, leaning forward sharply. ‘More danger than two-hundred-foot-tall giants? You want us to thank you for that? We were nearly killed back there!’
Kuthy met the glare of Bolldhe’s increasingly bulging and bloodshot eyes with a look of cold disdain, such as a parent might give to a mewling child. ‘You could’ve been killed in Fron-Wudu,’ he pointed out, ‘while the only threat in Eotunlandt was the giants, and they can be seen miles off and easily avoided. Especially by sensible travellers who don’t go lighting fires on hilltops at night, or prancing about in a daze looking at all the pretty flowers.’
There was a splutter of coffee from Elfswith’s direction. ‘They didn’t, did they?’ he sniggered.
Kuthy nodded. ‘Believe one who knows,’ he went on. ‘There are far more dangers lurking in the forest; and I don’t just mean the Afanc, which I drove off, I might add. If it hadn’t been for me, you’d still be wandering around in those woods with a long, long way to go.’
That was not the right way to talk to Bolldhe. It only made him worse. Which was probably exactly why Kuthy did so in the first place.
‘You used us,’ Bolldhe said coolly. ‘The only reason you joined us and led us through Eotunlandt was so you could have your own personal bodyguard on your way to meet your friend here.’
The only thing Bolldhe still admired about Kuthy now was his fluency in Aescalandian; he would have loved to rant nineteen to the dozen at the old trickster in front of the Aescals, but his anger was making it more difficult to speak in this tongue, not less so. In the end he just had to revert to his native Pendonian: ‘You deliberately played down the dangers of Eotunlandt. We almost got thief-slain and giant-squashed there. And by the time we realized we were being set upon, you’d already scarpered! Not so much as a word of warning! Just abandoned us to it, to save your own hide, you lying, twisted little shit!’
Bolldhe’s voice was rising, and the more it shrilled, the more he rose from his sitting position and the closer his face got to Kuthy’s. The old soldier, though, did not move at all, just sat there regarding the younger man with unconcern. By the end of the rant they were only inches apart, and might even have touched noses had the Wyvern’s nostrils not let out a soft whistling like a steaming kettle.
‘Take a seat, Bolldhe,’ Kuthy replied in Bolldhe’s native tongue. ‘Ceawlin gets upset by the sound of raised voices.’
Bolldhe’s gaze swivelled towards the curled-up Wyvern and caught the glint of watchfulness behind her eyelids. He did as he was told.
‘We travelled together for mutual protection.’ Kuthy reverted to Aescalandian. ‘We helped each other. Where’s the harm in that?’
‘Just leave it, Bolldhe,’ Finwald interrupted, wondering why his travelling companion was getting so worked up. ‘No one forced us to go with him. Remember, it was agreed on the assurance of myself and Appa that there was no evil in this man.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ Paulus snapped. ‘I never agreed to having him along.’
The Nahovian was still seething at the thought of how Kuthy had goaded him on with the false promise of huldre-meat. No one else, however, seemed particularly interested in taking him up on this point.
‘I’ve given you a short cut here, and I’m not asking for anything in return,’ Kuthy continued magnanimously. ‘I have my own purposes, as do you, and I believe both have been served to satisfaction by our brief journey together. Look, I know I’ve kept a few things from you, but it all worked out well in the end, didn’t it? I thought a bunch of – how shall we put it? – inexperienced, wet-behind-the-ears tyros like you lot (and I mean that in the nicest possible way) would’ve bolted if I’d told you in advance about the giants. And that stuff about me going to Myst-Hakel and all . . . Well, the fact is I was never intending to go there in the first place. I just said that because I didn’t know you well enough to trust you then—’
‘You, trust us?’ snorted Paulus.
‘Elfswith and I have unfinished business here, matters of a somewhat confidential nature.’
‘What, here?’ exclaimed Nibulus. ‘In these damn mountains?’
‘This is my home, fatty,’ Elfswith cautioned, flipping his cup up to the cave roof and then letting it fall straight into his pocket, ‘so just you watch that lip.’
‘What is this business of yours, then?’ Nibulus demanded of Kuthy, ignoring the little man’s impudence.
‘Our affairs are private,’ Elfswith stated. ‘They’ve got nothing to do with you.’ There was menace in his voice that carried weight, for none of the company knew anything of this little creature in the baggy coat, and, if that were not enough, there was also the matter of his gigantic raptorial friend.
Kuthy gave up on diplomacy. Let them get hacked off, for all the good it’ll do them. ‘Listen, when I first met you in the woods, I just took advantage of a fortuitous situation, that’s all. But if you’re worried about your strings being pulled, then don’t be. We’ve travelled our course together, we’ve helped each other; now we can go our separate ways. Bolldhe, rest assured I won’t have the chance to manipulate you any more. Myself and Elfswith are going on to Wrythe. If you want to join us, you’re more than welcome . . . but as you wish. If not, I’ve brought you almost to the Jagt Straits; from there you can carry on to Melhus on your own.’
At the mention of that name, Elfswith’s long ears pricked up. It was not often that mere ‘citizens’ interested him,
but for once they did.
‘Melhus?’ he said. ‘So you’re going to the Maw? Rather you than me.’
‘If that’s some kind of warning about the dearth of pickings to be found there,’ Nibulus said, desperate to recover some pride, ‘then it may surprise you to learn that we’re actually not a bunch of grubby little tomb raiders.’
Both Kuthy and Elfswith inwardly raised eyebrows at the Peladane’s willingness to reveal even this amount about his private business. What an idiot!
‘I could tell that just by looking at you,’ Elfswith responded. ‘Tomb raiders are much more professional – not that I could give a damn what you’re up to. No, I was merely referring to the Dead.’
‘What?’
‘The Dead,’ Elfswith repeated. ‘You know, the Dead-that-walk. They’ve been getting a tad frisky of late, wandering about on Melhus Island and all. Oh I’m sorry, didn’t you realize even that?’
‘How do you know?’
‘Like I said, these mountains are my home, and the lands all about are well known to me. The air’s clear, and Ceawlin’s wing is swift. We see a lot from up there. I tell you, the Dead are abroad, and that means something’s up. Nowt to do with your business, I suppose?’
There was a stunned silence. The Dead were abroad! Just as reports had claimed, the reports of those few of the Melhus expeditionaries who had actually returned. Nothing the Aescals had not heard about before, of course, but to learn it from a local . . .
‘Sweet Pel above!’ Nibulus breathed, his face turning chalk white. ‘It’s true after all.’
‘Of course it’s true!’ Appa snapped irritably. ‘What do you think we came all the way here for? Young idiot!’
’I know,’ Nibulus stammered, ‘but . . .’ He trailed off and knocked back the gritty remainder of his coffee, swallowing hard. He began toying with the buckles on his left vambrace.
Bolldhe studied him intently, questioningly. ‘Mr Wintus,’ he enquired, ‘exactly what is going on here? This is your intended quest, isn’t it? We did come here to destroy Drauglir, didn’t we?’
A Fire in the North Page 5