Greyfax Grimwald

by Niel Hancock

  “A bear witch?” Dwarf tumbled quickly from the man’s shoulders, landing lightly. “What sort of fellow was he?”

  “Well, sir, he comes up in the night, the first one, and has a bite to eat, and fills our heads with all sorts of strange goings-on, like I never heard before. Then he ups and hexes us all to sleep, and we wakes up the next morning to the commander bringing us another one. I brought food to him right in this very room, and he told me things that stood my hair up straight on end, he did, and while I was standing here, right here, he ups and turns his bloody self into a living, breathing bear.”

  Dwarf had approached Cranfallow, and took the man’s sleeve lightly.

  “You mean a real bear, friend? Or were you full of malt?” Dwarf’s mind raced. He’d found word of Otter and Bear, he knew, but he couldn’t understand the strange tale this man told of their being of man forms. He had no way of knowing of their meeting with Froghorn, or the secret he had given them that enabled them to change their forms at will, but he knew this man was too frightened to lie or try to deceive him, and he knew, too, that from what the man remembered so vividly of the bear witch, it could be none other than his old friend.

  “Clever Bear, dear old ass,” he laughed as Cranfallow finished his tale of Bear’s escape. “I never would have thought it of him.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought it about him neither, if I hadn’t seen it with my own two good peepers. I didn’t get these stripes of mine by going about spreading kegtales. I has my drop of malt, I’ll grant, but not so’s you’d be able to tell it on me.” Cranfallow sat down on the hard bed. “But who is you, and you all full of those powers too.”

  “I’m a friend of the fellows you just told me of. I have been held prisoner for quite some space of time by the Dark Queen, but am escaped now, in search of my friends. You’re both welcome to come along with me, if you have a mind. If it is as you say, there won’t be much to stay in this town for.”

  “We’d have no more brains than the droppings of swine if we was not to travel on with you. But we ain’t out of the woods yet, leastways not to my way of thinking. For one thing, we can’t gets out of here,” concluded Thinvoice wisely.

  “How do you mean to spring us, sir, if it’s not too much trouble my asking?” Cranfallow looked down at his feet, ashamed for having fallen in with the lot of a dwarf witch, but more afraid of falling into a chafing pot.

  “Keep your eyes and ears unplugged,’ and you’ll see,” said Dwarf. “The fun should be about to begin, if my timing’s not all off. Lift me up again, good Cranfallow, and I’ll see.”

  Cranfallow stooped low, and Broco slipped onto his shoulders once more. Outside, a loud, ugly rumor of a fight broke the stillness.

  “I’ll has your head for that, wormslime,” came a low, snarling voice. A firearm went off, followed by a grunt and the sound of a heavy body falling.

  “Now that’s done it, Amogth. What’s gotten into your head? He meant no harm.” Another guttural snarl.

  “He’s the one what flung his dagger at me. I didn’t start this.”

  “You has finished it, though, fool. Now we has to answer to Burlag.”

  “A curse take him and his high speech. I got no use for his likes.”

  “He commands here, scumbreath, don’t forget. And you knows how he treats those what crosses him.”

  The voices faded, the two Gorgolac soldiers moving away, out of hearing of Dwarf or his companions.

  “Good, good,” gloated Dwarf. “They’ve begun. Now they won’t be thinking so much of their precious supper.”

  “One killing ain’t going to hold them up long, sir,” corrected Cranfallow. “They don’t think nothing at all of killing or fighting. As like as not, they’ll have him up for supper, too.”

  “No doubt they will,” agreed Dwarf, “but the excitement has only begun. You’d see some real fireworks if only I had my dragon stone.” Dwarf bitterly regretted the loss of that precious heirloom, for he’d carried it long, like all his father’s fathers before him. It was of mighty powers of old, although not as powerful as the magical powers of the wizards, but on occasion, and performed right, the spells of the dragon stone could dazzle the eye with a bursting, brilliant display to stand any but the wizards themselves in stupefied, wondering amazement.

  Many roaring and dreadful-sounding voices raised themselves at the gates of the town, calling loudly their promise of death to the Gorgolac soldiers there.

  Their captors rushed back and forth about the compound, shouting and shrieking oaths in their own tongue, and firing their weapons into the air.

  Dwarf allowed himself a quick giggle.

  “What’s happening out there. Cranny?” Thinvoice strained to see over Cranfallow’s figure at the window, where Dwarf perched atop his shoulder still.

  “It sounds like an army at the gates. A whole bloody army out of nowhere,” answered Cranfallow, trying to see more of what was happening beyond the gates. At the other end of town, a brilliant, flaming shadow had begun to move from that direction toward them.

  “Have you done all this, sir?” asked Thinvoice respectfully.

  “Some of it, although most of it is merely illusions my two friends have conjured up. But our jolly fellows outside there don’t know that.”

  The crash and din of weapons going off grew to a deafening roar. Shouts and cries rose, and as the plunderers of the city set about defending their front, the blazing, molten red-gold flames leapt high and besieged their rear flanks. The fray was shortly over; those that yet lived fled away over the mountains, to be eaten or maimed by the wild dogs there. No enemy had in truth attacked them, but their fear at what they thought was an opposing army had driven them mad with rage and terror, and those who were slain were felled by their comrades in their blind fits. Soon the noise and screams died away, leaving the sudden silence behind heavy and complete.

  “Well,” said Cranfallow at last. “We’s done the bloody lot of them, or they’ve fled, but here we sits locked up as right as doomsday, and here we’ll sits till then, I wager.” He looked reproachfully at Dwarf, who had gotten down and walked to the great, massive steel door.

  Dwarf made the sign of the sacred alder, touched the lock, and the door swung loose on its hinges.

  “My kin are masters at doors and their secrets,” he explained. “And it’s a rare door that has runes I can’t undo, or at least not upon this world.”

  Cranfallow and Thinvoice gratefully followed after Dwarf, who was poking about the area, trying to find his gear. Unable to find his own sword, he took a firearm from one of the slain beast soldiers, and began searching for food and a drink of water. Working his dwarf spells always parched his throat, and his lips and tongue felt dry and cracked. Cranfallow guided him to the storeroom and well house, and soon the three sat down to a meager meal of potatoes and cabbage, but to the hungry company it was a feast, and before the meal was through, their three plates had been polished clean, and the supper washed down with cold, pure water.

  Cranfallow lowered his water bowl and looked steadily at Dwarf.

  “What path draws your feet now, sir? Would you minds if Ned and I tags along? Or at least until we can get back to our army?”

  “I’d welcome your company, friends,” said Dwarf courteously. “Three together might keep us from harm from the likes of those.” He indicated the fallen body of one of the Gorgolacs.

  “With magical powers like yours, sir, what use would two fellows like us be?” asked Ned.

  Dwarf frowned, “You must never mention my spells to a soul, friend. And your use is that you have a strong back and two good feet, and we’ll most likely have need of both before we go too much farther.”

  “And how far mights that be, sir?” Cranfallow asked.

  Dwarf told him he had come upon his home and lands in ruin, and how he had set forth to try to find his old comrades. Beyond finding them again, he had no notion as to what he should do, or which way to steer, except in their footsteps. Now
that he knew they had passed this way, he was eager to set out immediately, but his weariness held him until he would be fresh again, and after setting Ned to watch, Dwarf and Cranfallow took their turns at sleep.

  With daybreak barely more than a pale band of golden light across the low sky, the three companions set out from the deserted, ravished town, guiding their steps toward the next settlement, a day’s march ahead, if they hurried, and Dwarf was anxious to reach there to inquire after his friends, so the pace, was set at a rapid walk, and the three strode on all that morning, took an hour’s break at noon, and as the sun went down over Atlanton Earth, crossed the bridged river, answered the sentry’s challenge, and entered a walled stronghold that Cranfallow knew. The friends found an inn shortly, and tired and hungry, went in to their supper and beds.

  The innkeeper, a hawk-nosed man of great age, looked on and marveled at the two strange men, gaunt-looking enough for all that, and their strange traveling companion, Dwarf.

  “Whatever is this world coming to?” the man muttered, setting out their plates, shaking his head. As if it wasn’t enough a war going on, men taking up with the likes of dwarfs and such.

  “Things just isn’t right in that order,” he grumbled aloud, then stopped just inside the galley door, trying to hear the words of the three strangers, who were talking in low, earnest voices, about something or other he didn’t quite catch. He moved closer, bent low, and placed his ear against the door.

  Dwarf Has

  a Riding

  Lesson

  “What we needs is more arms,” argued Ned Thinvoice, flushed from the glasses of thick, dark ale. “If we has more men and weapons, we won’t have no trouble.”

  “I speak against that, Master Ned,” said Broco, one pointed-toed shoe resting near the warmth of the open fire, “for where there are many, there is no speed. I have need of great haste now, and have no time to wait upon more feet than my own.”

  “You can’t gets off by yourself, sir. Your safety lies in speed, but also enough strength to turn away an attack. From the way I sees it, these Gorgolac troops are strong enough in these parts. Any what can take a forted village is strong enough to settle a dwarf, sir, no offense, and I knows you has those wonderful powers and all.” Cranfallow halted, remembering Dwarf’s warning. “Anyhow, you’ll needs the two of us for a bit longer.”

  “I don’t doubt but that’s true enough, good Cranfallow, and I thank you for your service. But I don’t know exactly what it is I am about now, except that I must find my old comrades, and that road is as dark a mystery as any I’ve laid eyes on. I know they’re somewhere, but I don’t know to what destination or purpose, and yet that’s where I must follow.”

  “Maybe they’ve gone seeking aid, dunking you’re still held by that Dark Queen, or whoever, you was speaking of. There is still those about who stands up for the true and honest folks, what few there is left in these troubled times. I’s heard of a great leader that’s away in the mountains, but I can’t say for sure whether that’s just soldiers’ talk or no. There must be some that knows, though, if we was to ask about.”

  “He goes by the name of Greymouse,” offered Ned, feeling important and knowledgeable.

  “That’s him, General Greymouse. Folks say he’s a mighty powerful man,” said Cranfallow. Then, lowering his voice to a whisper, he added, “They say he’s got the powers, too.”

  Dwarf couldn’t recall ever having heard of the man they named but the two seemed struck with wonder when they spoke of him. If that were not his real name, he might indeed be one of the kings of the Circle, disguised as a common man, and too, if that were so, he might have word of the whereabouts of Greyfax or Froghorn, or possibly even Otter and Bear. It wasn’t much of a promising plan, he admitted, but it was all he had to keep his hopes up, so he decided then he would set his course for the mountains, and seek this great leader with the odd-sounding name.

  “Very well, I shall go in search of this man,” said Dwarf. “And if you wish, you may come. I know not what dangers there are awaiting us, and I can’t ask you to follow me, but if you will, you’re welcome and I thank you. If not, we part friends, and good health and long life.” Dwarf drained his coffee mug and called for the innkeeper to fetch them up a refill.

  “Well, turn my old bones to salt if I’ve ever heard the likes,” muttered the hawk-nosed proprietor, bursting back through the door where he’d been listening to the three comrades. He took the tankards and withdrew mumbling under his breath.

  “I thinks our good host has been at the keyhole,” laughed Thinvoice.

  “Then I hopes his head is full,” replied Cranfallow.

  Dwarf looked after the receding figure of the host. ‘I hope he’s up to no mischief. Our way is dark enough without meddling old fools interfering with us.”

  “He’s nosy, but harmless enough,” put in Cranfallow. I’s been in his house often enough in the past. Whatever else he is, he’s not one to harm anyone purposely.”

  “An unpurposeful hurt can be as painful as any,” said Dwarf, pacing to and fro restlessly before the fire.

  Cranfallow fell silent.

  Hawknose returned with the ale and coffee, followed by two more men, soldiers with dirty greatcoats and muddy boots. Their gear was that of horsemen, and the pungent smell of horseflesh was heavy upon them. One man carried a leather pouch over his shoulder, and was obviously a dispatch rider of some sort, and as he sat wearily down, he glanced over the companions, eyes finally coming to rest on Dwarf, still pacing before the fire.

  “Hail, and well met, strangers. I see by your markings you’re in the 3rd Battalion,” spoke the first man to Cranfallow and Thinvoice.

  “We was, but no more. Our outfit was butchered, and we’re the last, escaped from under their noses, with the help of Master Dwarf here,” said Cranfallow, moving away from the fire so the newcomers could warm themselves.

  The man’s eyes widened as he studied Dwarf. “Be you of the Old Square, sir?” he asked politely of Broco.

  “Nay, friend, I’m of no army. I come from the western land in search of my comrades, and have only been traveling with these two good fellows for a short time. We escaped together from an enemy-held garrison yestereve, and are trying to decide ourselves what’s best to be done.”

  “We came through the checkpoint late this afternoon. All was deserted and in rains, and we saw many of the enemy slain. Were you only three that cast that number down?” the second rider, who called himself Cinch, spoke.

  “Only three, and luck,” said Dwarf. “They fell to fighting among themselves and we escaped in the fray.”

  The first soldier shook his head in wonder. “I’ve seen strange things in my time, but this is the first dwarf warrior I’ve come on. You speak well for yourself, sir. My name is Quickspur, and I serve in the legions of Wentworth.”

  “Then well met, friend. My good Cranfallow there and Thinvoice and myself are at your service.”

  Hawknose brought in two mugs of ale for his guests.

  “Thank you, kind keep. My bones are frozen to the quick. This will go down quite well,” he said, lifting his mug in salute, and the others followed after, with many “good healths” and “long lifes” spoken over cup tops.

  After a supper of hot soup and wheat bread, the guests sat once more before the fire, mulling ale and exchanging news.

  Quickspur and Cinch, it was learned, were upon the road with urgent messages for a commander that camped in the hills bordering General Greymouse’s rear area, and the two men offered to carry the three with them that far.

  “Our steeds are strong enough to carry double, if we go carefully, and I doubt your weight to be more than my horse can carry, Master Broco, even with another fellow behind. You may ride before me, and you, Thinvoice, on my cantle.” Cinch rose as he spoke, and wiping the flecks of foam from his mustache, yawned and stretched. “And now I shall find my rest. I’m full of the journey, and the ale has made me quite drowsy.”

  The other
s rose, and as Quickspur crossed the door, he motioned Dwarf aside.

  “We’ll be away before full light, sir, so if you would meet us here to breakfast, we’ll be on our way the sooner.”

  “I’ll have our host awaken us, then,” said Dwarf, thanking the man. “Your offer is kind, and it’ll make our journey much easier, for the time. My feet could use the rest of riding awhile, although I dare say I haven’t been much about horses.”

  Quickspur laughed. “Perhaps we can find you mounts at our next camp, to carry you where you will. Going about on foot is a weary and dangerous business these days.”

  “You speak truth there, friend,” said Dwarf, making for the stairs that led to their sleeping quarters.

  “Until the morrow, good rest.” Quickspur turned away to follow after Cinch, already disappearing into a bedroom.

  Dwarf blew out the lamp, listening to his two companions already snoring, and went to the shuttered window. He opened a slat, peering out over the cold snowlight that dimly lit the sleeping village, his eyes following the dark road into the distance, trying to see the invisible outlines of the mountains.

  “We shall make up some tine tomorrow,” he mused aloud, quietly shutting the window slat again, and lying down on the stiffly starched sheets of the bed. Its comfort overcame him, and he fell asleep quickly, warm and snug for the moment, and at last with a clear plan in mind.

  At dawn, Hawknose wakened the sleeping trio with the news that a large company had passed through in the night and the threat of a large battle loomed near at hand, and the innkeeper told them of the Gorgolacs and Worlughs who were reported seen no more than ten leagues distant. Their host was shaken by the news, and wrung his hands as he related his unsettling tale.

  “I’ll sleep easier knowing you three were about to help defend my inn, I would, or those other two who came last night. Your speech shows you to be of a good sort, and not the usual ragtaggle that’s been my ruin since these wars began.”