The Shadow of Malabron

by Thomas Wharton

  In the afternoon they halted at a branching where a slender track angled away north-west from the main road. Without hesitation Shade chose the narrower road. This led them for a while between fields of green barley and corn that in places rose over their heads. Then the countryside grew more rolling, and the road wound down through a pastureland dotted with clumps of trees, where cows grazed. Here and there steep hillocks with sides of naked rock jutted out of the softly rolling landscape.

  As evening was falling they came out of the pastures. The road climbed between two steep hillsides and then levelled off. Ahead of them in the distance Will could see a few lights twinkling in the gloom.

  “That would be the village of Hare’s Hill,” Finn said. “One of our riders passed this way yesterday, and reported all was quiet. There is an inn where we could sleep, and the folk are trustworthy.”

  “But Lord Caliburn was right, we make a strange company,” Pendrake said, eyeing the wolf. “The news of our stopping there would be told to anyone else who came this way.”

  “I know a place where we can shelter,” Shade said. “It’s not far.”

  The others consented and the wolf led them away from the road, through a grove of stunted, thorny trees. The ground rose steadily and soon they found themselves at the foot of a grassy hillock. Shade led them round to the far side, and there they came to a small hollow ringed by three huge jagged stones that leaned together as though they were holding a secret conference.

  “This will make a fine campsite,” said Finn, looking around approvingly. “It’s out of the wind, and gives some concealment. I think we can risk a fire.”

  Rowen and her grandfather had been gathering dry sticks as they travelled, and now they set about making a fire, while Finn went off to scout the surrounding area.

  As soon as he stopped walking and sat down heavily, Will’s feet began to throb and ache even worse than they had all day. He tugged off his boots, certain that he had never walked so much in a single day. Rowen looked tired, too, and even Shade was content to sit quietly near them. The toymaker wandered off a short distance, and seemed to be studying one of the stones.

  Will rubbed his sore feet.

  “I don’t think I’ll be able to walk again,” he groaned.

  “Today wasn’t too bad,” Rowen replied. “Once we leave the Bourne there won’t be any nice smooth roads like this.”

  Will gaped at her.

  “If we don’t know where we’re going,” he said, “why are we hurrying?”

  “We weren’t hurrying. I suppose people don’t walk much where you come from.”

  Will said nothing. He had to admit it was true. At home, he rarely walked anywhere if he could avoid it.

  “Have you met others like me?” he asked finally. “People that your grandfather has helped?”

  “The last I know of was my father. He came here when he was a young man, from Elsewhere. He was determined to find his own way home. Until he met my mother.” Rowen smiled. “Grandfather says he was a lot like me.”

  Will remembered the tapestry he had seen in Rowen’s bedroom, the man dressed in the clothing of his own world.

  “Have you ever been there? To where your father came from, I mean.”

  Rowen shook her head.

  “I’d like to see the Untold. At least I think I would. But it’s not easy. And Grandfather says that once you’ve gone there, it’s even harder to find your way back.”

  An owl hooted near by, an eerie sound that made Will aware of the unknown countryside surrounding them. He thought of the warmth and comfort of Pendrake’s house.

  “What happened to them?” he asked. “Your mother and father.”

  At first Rowen did not answer. She fed a handful of dry twigs into the fire, and then at last she spoke.

  “When I was very young, we lived in the Brades, north of Fable. Our farm was called Blue Hill. One winter a large band of mordog came out of the north, looting and burning. Such a thing had not happened for many years.”

  “What are mordog?”

  “A breed of Nightbane. Wicked storyfolk bred by Malabron to serve him. There are many kinds. Goblins. Creech. Yagsha, that suck your blood. Then there’s hogmen. They walk like men but they have pigs’ faces. They eat people, but luckily they aren’t very clever. Mordog are the worst. They come without warning, take what they want by force, and vanish.”

  “That’s what happened to you?”

  Rowen nodded.

  “A raiding party attacked our farm one evening. We had no warning. My grandfather came the next day with riders of the Errantry, but it was too late for my mother and father. Moth and Morrigan found me hiding in the woods and brought me to Grandfather. I don’t remember anything from before that day. I don’t remember what my parents looked like, or the sound of their voices.”

  “I’m sorry,” Will said. He thought about his mother. He wanted to tell Rowen about her, but he held back. He wasn’t ready to speak about it to this girl he hardly knew.

  Rowen snapped a larger stick in two and tossed it on the flames.

  “I wasn’t the only one who lost their family,” she said stiffly. “Many farms were burned. Finn’s older brother Corr set out with a band of riders in pursuit of the mordog, but neither he nor any of his companions ever returned. No one knows what happened to them.”

  “Do you think that’ll happen to us?” Will said dejectedly.

  “No, I don’t,” Rowen said with quiet intensity. “We’re with Grandfather, and Finn. And Shade, too. Something is beginning. Something scary, but exciting, too. Can’t you feel it? Grandfather calls the Bourne a place where stories are told, not lived. We’re leaving it now. We’re entering the true Realm. This is a real story we’re in.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Will said, still unconvinced. “Where I come from, life isn’t like stories. Things happen that don’t make any sense. Nothing turns out the way it should.”

  “Sometimes it’s like that in stories, too,” Rowen said. “The people in them don’t know the ending. If everything always turned out the way you expected, none of it would matter.”

  Before Will could reply, Finn returned. The toymaker joined him at the lip of the hollow and they stood together, talking in low voices. Will wondered if what Rowen had told him about the young man was the reason for his aloofness.

  “Has he … Finn, I mean … been in a lot of battles?” Will asked Rowen.

  “A few, maybe,” she said. “I don’t really know. The Guild knights don’t boast about what they do. It’s part of the code. But in Fable stories get around, of course. They say Finn fought a giant unthunk in the Screaming Wastes and killed it single-handed.”

  Will remembered the somewhat different story Finn had told Lord Caliburn. He didn’t know what a giant unthunk was, and at the moment he didn’t care to find out. As long as the Screaming Wastes were far away, that was fine with him.

  Pendrake finally sat down near the fire, and after a while Finn joined them. As the firelight illuminated the faces of the three towering stones, Will looked at them more closely. He stood and examined the stone nearest to him. There were faint curving lines carved upon the stone’s surface, worn almost invisible by age.

  “What are these markings?” he asked Pendrake.

  “Words,” the toymaker said. “In an ancient language. They tell the story of a boy named Conn the Clever, the hero of the Riverfolk. They lived in this land long before there was a country called the Bourne. The carvings tell how he outwitted an ogre and how the stones got here.”

  “Tell us the story, Grandfather,” Rowen said eagerly.

  It happened once that a groog took up residence in the forest near the home of the Riverfolk. Now a groog is a large, nasty kind of ogre with metal fangs of varying size and jaggedness, and huge arms that hang down to its scaly feet. A groog is always hungry, and moves surprisingly fast for something that looks like a mountain with teeth. This particular groog began to make off with sheep and chickens from the R
iverfolk, and even a few dogs went missing. Ogres were known to steal children, too, preferably plump ones.

  Conn the Clever decided he had to deal with this matter before sheep-stealing led to something worse. So he set off one morning in search of the groog. He had to admit to himself that he was a little bit afraid, but as he walked through the forest he told himself a story about one of his own adventures, a story of peril and last-minute escape, and that cheered him up somewhat, since the story was mostly true.

  Conn had little trouble finding the groog’s lair. The biggest clue was the stench. It led him to a cave in a hillside, comfortably furnished with armchairs and lamps and bookshelves and a bearskin rug (no, on second glance it was a whole bear, squashed flat), and also less tastefully strewn with bones and maggot-ridden animal carcasses. The smell of blood and rot was so overpowering that Conn didn’t notice the groog sneaking up on him from behind. Before the boy could escape, the evil creature seized him in his claws.

  “Lucky day,” the groog chortled, his breath almost enough to finish the boy off right then and there. “Caught Conn of Riverfolk I have. Eat him I will. Yum yum.”

  “Of course you’ve caught me,” Conn said, thinking quickly. “I came here on purpose, looking for you. I told everyone in the village that you and I would simply have to battle it out. For I have heard that you are the strongest ogre in the whole world. Or am I wrong?”

  The startled monster hurried to affirm that he was the one that Conn sought. There was, he could personally attest, no ogre stronger. Upon hearing this Conn feigned great pleasure, and presented the groog with a proposal: that the pair of them engage in mortal combat to prove who was the better of the two. “For I am without doubt the cleverest boy in the world and, as I’m sure you know, when you’re the best at something it’s difficult finding opponents worth your time and effort. So why don’t we find out whether my wits are any match for your might.”

  Ogres generally cannot resist challenges of this kind, as Conn well knew, and fortunately this groog was no exception. He quickly agreed, a hungry grin spreading across his hideous face.

  “And the one who does not win,” he chortled, drool oozing down his chin, “will be yummy-yum din-din.”

  “That’s fine,” Conn told him, “but first you will have to prove that you’re as powerful as everyone claims. Otherwise I’m just wasting my time challenging you.”

  They went outside and the groog picked up a huge fallen log and lifted it over his head as if it were a twig.

  “I’ve seen my grandmother fling bigger sticks than that out of her path,” Conn said. The groog growled and hurtled the log into the air. Conn stifled a gulp when he heard the distant crash as the log fell in the forest far away. It occurred to him that this groog might really be the strongest in the world. In which case he was in serious trouble.

  “I also heard you were the swiftest creature on two legs, though looking at you I find that hard to believe,” Conn said. “Show me how fast you can run to where that stick landed, and back.”

  “Big dumbskull Conn thinks me,” the groog sneered. “If to fallen log I run, gone he’ll be when back I come.”

  The boy praised the groog’s talent for near-rhyme and swore that no such trickery was in his mind, but nevertheless the groog picked him up and tucked him under one arm. He then set off at a truly astonishing pace for such a huge, lumbering creature, almost leaping as he bounded through the woods to the log and back to the cave in almost no time at all.

  “Not bad,” Conn said as the groog set him down, and he swallowed hard, for it was clear to him now that if his plan failed, he was surely doomed. “However, the last groog I met could pull up the biggest stone in the forest by the roots,” he went on. “Now I know that’s asking a lot…”

  Brushing Conn aside, the groog, still huffing and puffing from his run, wrapped his arms round a huge chunk of rock that had stood near by, embedded in the earth, since the very first tale was spun. He heaved and grunted and grew purple in the face, and at last the stone came up out of the ground, dangling thick clods of earth.

  “Excellent,” Conn said. “But don’t set it down just yet, not if you really want to impress me. I’ve seen my baby brother twirl a pebble like that on the tip of his finger.”

  The groog’s limbs began to shake and his breath started coming in gasps. At last with a groan he tossed the stone aside. It fell with an earthshaking thud, and the groog nearly toppled over with it.

  Conn shrugged and said, “Very well. If that’s your best, it will have to do. Let’s not waste any more time. Prepare for battle.”

  The groog, wheezing and panting from his exertions, hoped to buy some time to catch his breath, and so he gasped out that first it was Conn’s turn to prove that he was indeed the cleverest boy in the world.

  Conn laughed.

  “I just did,” he said, and took to his heels.

  The exhausted groog was too worn out to chase after him. And he knew that the tale of his stupidity would soon be general knowledge. He would be the laughing-stock of the entire ogre brotherhood. At their yearly gatherings his story would be tossed around like a juicy bone for everyone to gnaw at. In his shame and rage he butted his head against the stone and it cracked into three pieces. Then he packed up his belongings and moved far away to another land, where he hoped no one would ever hear of his defeat at the wits of Conn the Clever.

  “What happened to the Riverfolk?” Will asked when Pendrake had finished. “Do they still live around here?”

  “When Wayfarers first came to the Bourne, they found no folk living here. Only these ancient, faded writings on stone.”

  He fell silent and wrapped his cloak round himself.

  “I will take the first watch,” Finn said, and he rose from the fire and climbed to the rim of the hollow.

  After the others had bedded down for the night, Will lay awake for a long while, looking up at the stones, black against the powdery light of the stars. Pendrake’s tale had reminded him of the stories he used to tell Jess. She and Dad seemed further away with every step he took. He was thinking also of what Rowen had told him about her parents, and he wished he could’ve thought of something comforting to say to her. He felt he understood her better now, and he was glad she had come with them on this journey. If she was hopeful about what lay ahead, then maybe he could be, too.

  Eldark, the forest of:

  Easy day hikes in, 394

  Getting out of, 395–428

  — Redquill’s Atlas and Gazetteer of the Perilous Realm, Index

  FINN WAS UP LONG BEFORE DAWN and had the fire going again and water boiling before Will had even opened his eyes. He crawled out from under his blanket, groggy and shivering, wondering if he had ever risen this early before. A faint trace of his dreams remained with him: once again he had glimpsed the clearing of the cloven tree through falling snow. And once again the tall white-haired man in the red robe appeared, and opened his mouth to speak, but the dream ended before Will could hear any words.

  The dream was quickly forgotten when he sat down to breakfast. Finn had fried up a kind of flatbread he called bannog. When Will had eaten his fill, he licked his lips and said it was delicious.

  “That’s good to hear, since we’ll likely be eating a lot of it,” Finn said, scraping out the pan. “And by the way, it wasn’t a giant unthunk. Just an ordinary-sized one.”

  Will reddened. He tore off a hunk of the bread to give to Shade, and then realized that the wolf was not with them.

  “Have you seen Shade?” Will asked Rowen. She shook her head.

  “He went off on his own, just before dawn,” Pendrake said, appearing at the rim of the hollow. “I could tell by the way he was pacing that he wished to leave, so I told him I would watch over you until he returned.”

  “Should we allow him to come and go like that?” Finn asked as he packed away his gear. “After all, we don’t really know much about him.”

  “And he doesn’t know much about us,” Pen
drake said.

  As they were packing their things, Will glimpsed a moving shape above them and looked up eagerly, expecting to see Shade. A man in ragged, patched leather stood at the lip of the hollow. A moment later two other men joined him. All three carried bulging canvas sacks and had hats pulled down low over their brows. Will whispered a warning and everyone looked up.

  “Morning,” said the first man. “Fine camping spot.”

  “It is,” the toymaker said. “We’re just leaving now, so you’re welcome to it.”

  “Indeed we are, since it’s ours.”

  “We weren’t aware of that. Our apologies.”

  The first man set down his bundle and the others did likewise. From his belt he drew a long knife with a jagged blade. The other two slid thick wooden cudgels from their coats. All three began to descend slowly into the hollow.

  “Apology accepted, old man,” the man with the knife said. “However, you’ve inconvenienced us and we’ll take some recompense. Kindly hand over all your belongings, then you can be on your way.”

  Finn stepped forward. His sword, Will saw with alarm, was lying beside his other gear, out of reach. Will looked at Rowen and the toymaker, who made a gesture with his hand that told Will not to move. His heart began to pound and he wished that Shade would come back.

  “We’re happy to share our breakfast with you,” Finn said, “but we won’t give you our things.”

  “And how are you going to stop us, boy?” the man with the knife laughed. “Maybe you should get the old fellow to do your fighting for you. Or the girl.”

  Without warning the three men lunged at Finn. What happened next was over so quickly that Will barely had time to cry out in surprise. Finn dodged the attack of the man with the knife and with a darting thrust of his leg sent him tumbling head over heels. Close behind came the men with the cudgels. Finn had the weapon out of one man’s hand an instant later and brought it down with a crack upon the knuckles of the other, who howled and dropped his own cudgel. Three more lightning-fast blows and all three attackers lay in the grass, groaning.