by Niel Hancock
Bear fell silent, a slightly concerned look creeping across his broad muzzle, and he repeated the last words.
“And all of a sudden here I am.”
“It goes deeper than that, I’m sure,” encouraged Creddin, refilling the tea mugs all around.
“Not really,” went on Otter. “I only know that I spent quite some time in the Meadows of the Sun. I know I have a mother and father somewhere, or many of them, but that was all long ago, and I barely recall them.”
“Crossing the River often does that, according to Greyfax,” put in Dwarf, then hastily corrected himself. “At least that’s what it says in any of the lore I ever read.”
“I guess it must,” Bear grunted. “I can’t for the life of me tell you about anything except the time I spent across the River. But those things I saw in the fire, about all those things, they made me feel all funny inside, like I was watching things happen to me in a dream.”
“That’s what I felt, Bear. Like it was me, but me a long way away,” chittered Otter.
“And you, dear Coz? These are terrible times to be out upon these roads.”
Creddin refilled their mugs as he spoke, and his old eyes glistened in the cheerful firelight.
“I’m not sure, yet I do feel as if there is a reason. It’s like trying to remember something that’s right on the tip of your tongue. It’s all right there, but it’s as far away as last spring’s pancakes.” Dwarf was feeling ill at ease as he spoke.
“Well, enough for now. Let’s have a cheery note to go on. Master Bear, how was it in the Meadows, or wherever it is you say you hail from?”
Creddin’s old hand shook nervously as he lit a blackened stump of a pipe from a blazing coal he had taken from the fire with a pair of tongs.
Bear knitted his brow, and sought to recall the place the old dwarf asked of.
“It seems I’ve forgotten much of it,” began Bear, “although it hasn’t been even a full day since we crossed.”
“Then you’ve only just crossed?” asked Creddin quickly.
“Well, so to speak. Yes and no. I mean it’s all confused.”
“It feels that way, doesn’t it, Bear?” chittered Otter, rolling his empty mug about on his smooth gray stomach. “I can hardly recall how those berries we had for breakfast tasted. But I remember perfectly well how the travel tuck tasted.”
“Travel tuck?” queried Creddin suspiciously.
“Some we’d baked for the journey,” put in Broco. “But come, tell us of how you’ve come along these past years.”
“It’s a sad lot, that tale,” croaked Creddin, “and one that hardly bears the telling.”
“Were they slain in battle?” chirruped Otter, holding his mug out to be refilled again by Bear.
“No in one case and aye in another, Master Otter. Cousin Bani was killed by the Dragon Hordes at Last Battle. Cousin Tubal lived on for a great many years, prospering in many ways, and building up a great commerce with all kind in these realms. There was lumber to be traded with Mankind, and ores to swap for the fine jewelry and cloaks from the elfin hosts who dwelled in these parts.”
Creddin’s old eyes sparkled as he spoke, and his voice grew stronger as he told of the years of plenty.
“But then began our fall,” he snapped, and the light went out in his eyes. “Dealing with men and elves soon led to trouble, and one after another, wars broke out on our boundaries. Small at first, but leading to longer sieges.”
The old dwarf banged his mug on the arm of his chair.
“And that’s what led to this,” he said in a wheezing voice, throwing his other arm wide to indicate what was left of the ruined hall. “When the darkness began to move, the end wasn’t far beyond.”
“The darkness?” echoed Bear, his heart frozen, remembering for some reason the vision in the wizard’s fire, the icy emptiness he had felt. Yet as soon as he’d thought it, the other vision of the dazzling white flame drove out the chilling memory of that vast white frozen abyss.
Creddin closed his story abruptly, and amply said he now stayed on in hopes of better days. He made no mention of how he had come to be spared while the rest perished, nor said anything of who it was he had been expecting when he first called out to them in the darkness of the courtyard.
When at last they went to the beds Creddin had prepared, Bear decided that he would pass the night on watch, although he said nothing to the others. Something, he could not say exactly what, kept making his hackles tingle, and if there was no clear, definite scent of danger, there was another, deep and disturbing, as formless as the terror they had seen in the wizard’s fire.
The night passed, and nothing happened, but toward the first gray streak of dawn, Bear thought he heard voices far off in the hall somewhere, but when he’d cleared his ears of drowsiness, all was a deep, foreboding quiet. As the sun rose, red and dim through the window of sky above him, he fell after a time into a troubled sleep, resting more easily when he at last heard Otter snort-snuffle and begin stirring about, and Dwarf clearing his throat on his way out from under his covers. When they asked if he weren’t ready for a bit of breakfast, he replied he would rather get a little more sleep, which struck them as odd, but they left him there, beginning to snore, sliding off again into the unknown dangers of his dreams.
The Master
of
Tubal Hall
Below the great hall of Tubal, deep in shafts that wound away, reaching out for die roots of darkness; walked Creddin. His gnarled old body moved with amazing speed, stooped and shuttling, not with the speed of sturdy dwarf legs, but with spider agility. His old joints creaked as he moved farther and farther into the mines of old, where once gold ore glittered like fingers of light run through dark, deep, unstirring thought. Creddin’s dim lamp smoked and cast long shadows on the grim walls, Darren now of all save the tombs of its masters of old. At intervals, the tunnel branched into other chambers, soundless rooms filled with the dread of those long dead, treasure troves and burial vaults together, now plundered and broken by invading soldiers, themselves long since perished.
His old, bleary eyes caught sight of bones, stark white in the surrounding blackness, a man skeleton, face down in a crosspath of shafts, lost in death as in life, perished in the unknown depths in greed and horror. Creddin chuckled sourly, muttering, “Dwarf gold, eh, a glittery seal of doom for the likes of you.” So saying, he went down along the tunnel from which the man long ago had crawled up, hopelessly lost in the dark labyrinths of the mines, starved to death, his eyes filled with the sight of immeasurable wealth that could never be squandered.
Coming to the end of this tunnel, Creddin raised his stooped frame, reached out a bony hand, spoke two words in ancient Dwarfish, and touched a spot on the higher part of the wall The huge rock that stood before him rolled back slowly on the stone hinges wrought in forgotten ages, and the shadowed light of his small lamp leapt into dazzling brightness, spun and whirled in that chamber in a dull, golden explosion. The chamber was immense, rising to a height that devoured the light, leaving the tops of the carved pillars that ran in twos down the center in dark shadow, and the walls, at the farther edges, darker than if no light had wakened their slumbering gray-black forms. He lit three torches that stood on the near wall, and turned, eyes glittering with the fire of aging madness. Before him stood row on row of casks filled with gold bar and coin, diamonds set and unset, in platinum or silver, or other precious metals. Each was wrought as thin and fine as a gauzed web, sparkling stones set to enhance their brilliant beauty. There were arms and scepters brought from ancient kings and forefathers, the treasures outlasting their owners. At long last, die might and fortune of forgotten kings and halls belonged to him, Creddin the Old, Creddin the Wise, Master Creddin of Tubal Hall, wielder of such wealth as no man had ever beheld before, and few dwarfs; Creddin, who all had laughed at or pitied, scorned or shunned, he who was waited upon to die. Now he alone remained, outliving the lot of them.
“This pleases you, C
reddin, this pile of trinkets?” A thin, cold voice echoed through the chamber, dimming the light.
Creddin turned. A heavily cloaked dark form stood against the door, a shadow upon the deeper blackness behind.
“You seem to have forgotten our appointed hour,”
Creddin’s eyes fell from the unseen gaze, and he trembled before this awful presence.
“No, Master, I did not forget. Unlooked-for company held me past the hour. I thought it was you when they came.”
“I’ve seen your guests, and can think of no useful purpose they might serve. Still, even I don’t know all, so I shall have to report their presence here. Whence came they, and where bound?”
“From the River. I know no more. They seem to have close tongues. I couldn’t get them to speak their errand.”
“I have ways,” came the voice, like an icy wind and Creddin’s face paled, and his old limbs trembled. “But then you well remember, don’t you, miserable shaft rat.” Harsh laughter rang through the chamber. “If your bedraggled guests are no more sport than you, it wouldn’t be worth our time questioning them. The Queen may be bored, and wish them for games.” Piercing, mirthless laughter stabbed cruelly into Creddin’s heart “Now, about the other two strangers. What have you learned?”
“I was not able to gather, Master, except that they were lords of some nature. They only watered their horses, and came not to my house. There was no chance to slip them the potion you have given me.” Creddin withdrew a step, trembling.
“Imbecile. Miserable wretch. They were from the cursed Circle.”
A long, curled whip lashed out from beneath the dark cloak, whining and cracking across Creddin’s bent form. He cried out, cringing. The lash devoured him again.
“No, Master, no. It was not Creddin’s fault I thought they were magicians and the potion would have done naught save deliver their anger upon me.”
“Now mine is upon you, wretched filth of a dwarf. I shall punish you no more at the moment, but my wrath is upon you if these worms upstairs are of no worth to Her Darkness. Now off with you. No more of your trinkets tonight. Begone.”
The ebony finger of the whip cut deeply into Creddin’s legs as he fled the chamber. In his pain and haste he left the entrance open, and heard, as he hurried from that coil of searing heat, dark laughter echoing across the mounds of glittering, precious gold and casks of jewels. He turned, filled with desire to return, to fill his eyes once again with the treasure’s beauty, to run the heavy golden shapes through his fingers. But the great stone rumbled and darkness fell upon the chamber, darker than no light, deeper than stillness, and the laughter rang cold upon the still gray-black walls. Shadows from his flickering lantern played about him in the shapes of winged beasts, filling him with renewed terrors. He scuttled down the long tunnels, over the stark white bones of the lost plunderer, up the long flight of stone stairs, and into the upper hall, lighted with a pale orange glow from the eastern windows. Sunrise once more, and he had much to do.
He quickly closed and locked the tall ironbound doors to the tunnels below, crossed the huge chamber, dusty and unused, and safely back in his own bedroom, he locked the outer door. Creeping to the only piece of furniture in the room other than his bed, he took from it a flask, black and foul-smelling. As his bony hands clutched it to him, his eyes filled with a wild despair. His sight dimmed for a moment, and his mind retraced the long, bitter loneliness of his years. He heard laughter from the outer room, where Dwarf and Otter were searching for him, calling his name as he had not heard it since before he’d discovered the treasure chamber, before his heart had turned in him and he’d desired its consuming beauty. He had paid dearly for it, kin and friend alike, and the dark shadow that dwelt upon his soul lifted at hearing Dwarf calling gaily and good-humoredly from the galley.
“Creddin, Creddin, where are you, old fellow? You’ve got two unquenchable appetites to deal with here. Come along now like a good chap.”
Otter’s long lilt of laughter followed, and his words were lost in the confines of the kitchen.
Another voice filled Creddin with trembling and fear again.
“Give it to them, stench of Dwarfdom, give it to them.”
A struggle took him, and at last, hand trembling and eyes closed, Creddin replaced the flask in its hiding place. He would find out what he could by his own skill, but that was as far as he would go, no matter what. More than that, he would try to warn Dwarf of his danger without exposing himself. He knew he would be watched, but not so closely in the sunlight. He must at least try, or the pleasure of the hall below would be useless. His conscience, which he had buried long ago, demanded this token of remembrance, and until he satisfied this small kindness, it would be dark indeed, and not even the sight of the vast treasure would ease him. They had promised him wealth and long life when they first came, and the sight of all Tubal’s hoard had consoled him for his treachery. Again when Bani was taken, gold filled his heart with a hard, remorseless light, and all the others seemed only leaves at the end of a long summer. One by one they passed, in wars and famines, until he alone was left, untroubled and content to find friendship deep in the old mines, where golden eyes lulled him to a waking sleep and silver hands touched his brow at night, turning away all thoughts but of their beauty. At times, when Doraki, the dark lieutenant of the Queen, came, his existence was miserable and he was taunted with the memory of his friends and his treachery, and filled with a grief almost more than he could bear. But then they increased the treasure store with some bauble or other, taken from other men or elves, or dwarfs, or other kinds, and left him once more helpless. But their promise of long life was failing, and day by day he watched his limbs wither, and he knew then that long life meant only the mind, for his body was aging. Soon all that would be left would be his unsleeping mind, tortured in that poisoned darkness, unable to move, or die, and he would be kept forever like that. He must save at least something against that time, dwarf or animals, so that the darkness would not be quite complete.
“Coming, coming,” he answered their calls, and leaving, shut the door resolutely on the dark, frightening voice.
Escape
Under a bright field of stars, Greyfax and Froghorn made their supper beside the green lawn that ran down into the mists that covered Calix Stay, Their horses, enchanted bearers from the great roll ing lands of far Windameir, had carried them Ac two long miles since their parting with the three comrades. Against the dark mirror of night, a dim luminous glow covered the vale, and dew began to decorate the turf and low scarletberry bushes that covered the sides of the hills. As midnight ap proached, the stars seemed farther away, and began to dim. Over the distant mountains, a thin wisp of t trine moon began to rise, shimmering in thick mists of whitish silver guaze, looking like a half-draws scimitar hung suspended over the lands.
“I don’t like the looks of her tonight,” said Froghorn, looking away toward the mountains. “Her beauty wanes most as our need greatens.”
Greyfax studied the moon in silence. A nightcaw spoke in hushed flutterings somewhere off in the thickets. Another answered, far away, barely a swish ing wind over the dark silence, Greyfax looked quickly from the mountains into the near darkness, and held up his hand for silence as Froghorn began to speak again. The pale glow that had illuminated the ground around the two stilled and disappeared, and all fell into a tense silence, a quietness choked with some presence that Greyfax now detected. It was still far off, but searching, and he did not like the sound of the birds’ cry. There was something about it that struck him as harsh, more menacing than a lover calling to his dark mate somewhere in the deep folds of thickets. It came again, and the answer was closer now, and a distant, faint murmur of padded footsteps could be heard by his keen ears. An’yim, Greyfax’s steed, started, raising his head, snorting and pawing the grass with his powerful forehoofs. Soon Pe’lon neighed softly and drew closer to his master, Froghorn. The stars had gone, and the only light came from the splinter of moon, a dea
dly gray glow that seemed to darken even more all the shadows as they waited breathlessly, listening, in the clearing. Hastily Greyfax drew Froghorn .near him, and spoke so sofdy into his ear Froghorn was not sure he had heard turn.
“We must fly now, quickly. Our ways part here for a time. We must not be snared like rabbits. Away. I shall find you next where I can. Fly, old fellow, and use all speed.”
Even as he spoke, Greyfax was astride An’yim, and lightly the two, horse and rider, moved away into the darkness without so much as a blade of grass disturbed to mark their fleet passing. Pe’lon trembled eagerly to be gone, and had barely given Froghorn time to mount before he, too, had climbed the wind and bore away his master with an ease of speed that brushed the treetops silently into a faint tremor of leaves. The only evidence that they had been discov ered was a last, long, angry cry of. the night bird’s voice, its wail of defeat echoing emptily above the vale, and something else joined, not bird nor beast, a scream that turned Froghorn’s heart cold, and Pe’lon, at hearing it, lowered his great head.
“Snared like rabbits in a trap, indeed,” Froghom thought, then remembered a time, beyond all years or measurement, when Greyfax and he had been exactly that, snared rabbits in an evil web of the spider-cold heart of the grim Queen. They had grown strong again over the ages of time, but even now could not withstand her forces alone. With a word he turned Pe’lon toward the south, where lay the house of Lorini, sister of the Dark Queen, whose halls were al ways golden. Lorini, holder of the Sacred Fire, wisest of all save Melodias, now second master of the Circle, would perhaps have news that would aid him in these dark times. And Greyfax, too, might at the very moment be making his way to her halls. There was much he had not asked, and much he desired to know, and the closeness of the elder of Grimwald irked him into touching Pelon’s neck, urging yet more speed.