Greyfax Grimwald

by Niel Hancock

  “And what speech of ours have you heard that makes you think we won’t rob you as quickly as the nest fellow?” Dwarf growled, drawing himself up a bit and laying his hand to his firearm. Hawknose stiffened and fell at Dwarf’s knees, still being almost as tall as the little man.

  “I beg you, spare me, good Master Dwarf,” he blubbered, clasping at Broco’s shoulders.

  “Come, come, old fellow, we mean you no harm. I only meant to scold you for having an ear where it ought not be. Come, I jest, we mean you no harm.”

  Hawknose rose, thanking the three men profusely. “I’ll sees to it your sacks are filled with victuals before you leaves, and throw in a few pieces of dried fruit or two.”

  “You’ll be amply rewarded, friend, for your trouble. Are Quickspur and Cinch up and ready?” asked Dwarf, palling his hat down firmly onto his head and adjusting his pack straps.

  Hawknose started. “I thought I told you,” he began, tugging at his chin whiskers. “They were up two hours ago, and gone with the company that passed through. An officer came to the inn and fetched them, but they left this message for you.” The host handed Dwarf a sealed parchment envelope, boldly addressed in a thin, high hand.

  To Sir Broco, Dwarf master:

  Good tidings to your travel. We have been called away on dire matters, and supplied with fresh mounts to go on. We ride as I write this, but the good inn master is to deliver this, and the horses which we leave you as a loan. You may deliver them up to the stable sergeant in the village you are bound for. Show him this letter, for he knows my hand. Perhaps he shall be able to give you fresh mounts to continue your quest.

  Health and good fortunes,

  Sergeant T. Quickspur,

  P.S.

  It is most important that you go quickly, for you must be out of these” perimeters by dawn. A battle is close joined even as I write, and you risk being caught up if you are not far out of reach.

  The letter was sealed at the bottom, with common tallow, impressed by the man’s signet ring.

  “The horses are below in the stables. I had my boy saddle them for you, sir,” said Hawknose, waiting until Dwarf had finished the letter before speaking.

  “You have done most excellent well by us, Master Hawknose. I would that we had more to pay you with than thanks.” Dwarf removed a small, finely wrought ring from his left hand. “Here, take this, old fellow, and may it keep you safe until the end of your days.”

  The innkeeper stared in wonder at the fine ring, but before he could thank Dwarf, the three of them had gone quickly downstairs and out into the courtyard.

  “Can you ride, Cranfallow?” asked Dwarf, hesitant at the thought of going about on the high perch of a horse.

  “Yes, I used to do it often as a boy,” replied Cranfallow.

  “I’m not much of a hand at it,” broke in Ned. “But then I guess I’ll risks it, seeing as how it’s saving my poor feet”

  “Good. I’ll ride behind you, Cranfallow, but mark me, if you so much as jog me, I’ll have you turned into worse than stable chaff,” threatened Dwarf, and Ned and Cranfallow helped Dwarf clumsily onto the saddle.

  Broco sat awkwardly, holding on rightly to the packstraps. Cranfallow mounted, then Ned, and the three companions moved slowly into the stable yards. The two men raised their hands in farewell to Hawknose, but Dwarf stubbornly clenched his teeth, and held Cranfallow fast about the waist.

  “You’re choking me,” he gasped, turning his head to Dwarf, who only slackened his grip a breath’s length.

  “Get on with it,” Dwarf bellowed, terrified, frightening the horse into a trot and the trio set out, Cranfallow first, Broco bouncing up and down behind him, promising a string of gloomy ends to everyone, and Thinvoice following, holding back his laughter at the sight of Dwarf, hat jammed down over his ears, short, stout legs flying. And in this order the two horses carried the friends out once more to the road toward the thin, smoke-gray mountains, far ahead.

  As they rode on, the ugly rattle of rifle fire erupted from somewhere across the fields behind them, and a gray haze rose up over the brilliant snow-covered farmlands.

  Upon hearing this, and reminded of Quickspur’s note, Dwarf huffed up all his last remaining courage and urged Cranfallow to hasten his pace.

  Interview

  With the

  General

  In the tent where General Greymouse lay, dim candles gave off their weak light. Otter searched the compartment carefully after his eyes readjusted to the shadows. A great many maps hung on three of the walls, and on the fourth, what appeared to Otter to be a star chart of some sort He had seen a few like it in the books Dwarf had taken from Tubal Hall, but this map was much larger, and looked very important covered with red and black and white pins with colored flags on the ends. A huge carven desk with golden-scroll-worked legs stood at one wall, before the star chart and what smelled to Otter of pine resin incense hung thickly in the air.

  “Stand still a moment that I may see you,” came a low voice from nowhere, “And speak your errand.”

  Otter, flustered and afraid, began speaking in his own tongue, his words tumbling out over one another, and he went on for a few moments like that until he realized what he had done.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” he blurted in common man tongue, “but...”

  “I understand you well enough, Olther, but you must slow down. It is long since I have heard that dialect.”

  As Otter stood before the desk, an outline of a figure cloaked in gray began to form, lighted at first at the edges by the flamelight of the candles, then glowing softly, circled by a pale white reflection. Otter bowed low.

  “Master,” he said, greeting the wizard in high speech.

  “You must quickly tell me of your travels, and all news you carry with you, but come, take a cup and drink first. Our time is not that hurried that we must forget manners.”

  Mithramuse poured Otter a shining cup of a shimmering liquid, the same he had had long ago before the wizard fire of Greyfax Grimwald. He drank, feeling the cool drink ease away the past weariness and memories of danger.

  “I understand little, sir, of such goings-on, but Froghorn Fairingay charged Bear and me to set out in search of you. Some dark power has captured Dwarf, and I left Bear behind, since there was no need of both of us leaving our homes. Froghorn went to seek the lady of the Mountains, and that’s about as much of the story as I know. I’ve lost Bear, and Dwarf is a prisoner somewhere, and I’ve been traveling about in this clumsy shape for more days than I care to remember.” He paused, indicating his man body, sighing wearily. ,

  “You have done well, Olther,” spoke Mithramuse. A sound outside the tent flap alerted the wizard. Quickly the soft glow about him passed, and in its place came General Greymouse, slouched and bandaged, in the large chair behind the desk. He motioned for Otter to see who was there, lifting a feeble hand in the direction of the sound. Otter opened the flap quickly, hoping to surprise their eavesdropper, but only the rapidly disappearing figure of the colonel was to be seen.

  “I think he’s gone, sir. It was the kind colonel who thought we were spies.”

  “Ah, yes. He’s a very ambitious man. Still, he has a part to play, as do all of us, for good or ill.” Greymouse paused, putting the cup to his lips again. “Even I can’t foresee the end of that,” he said. “But come nearer, Master Otter, and I shall try to fill in your story as best I can for you.”

  A tiny silver ring glowed faintly on the wizard’s hand, then its dark stone lightened, revealing a swirling haze that spun and whirled until Otter grew dizzy watching it; then the stone cleared, and there in that small frame, large figures grew. Otter could make out what appeared to be towers, but they were of odd shapes, turtles and swans, and he saw there too a tiny figure of a man standing alone, glancing around as if searching for something, then looking directly up at them from the ring’s depth.

  “Froghorn,” gasped Otter.

  “Yes, it is our friend Fairingay. He is in the
halls of Cypher.”

  “Is that far?” asked Otter, always bewildered and delighted at Wizard’s work.

  “Far?” mused Mithramuse, “Yes, you might say far, although in another sense, no more than what’s under your nose is far.”

  “He’s speaking, but I can’t hear him,” lamented Otter, leaning close and watching the lips of Fairingay move.

  “He bids you greetings, and congratulates you on your success.”

  “Does he know where Dwarf is then? Is he safe? And Bear, where is Bear? Has he left the valley?” shot Otter, a series of whistles and chirruping cluttering sounds.

  “One at a time, one at a time, I can’t answer you until you settle your wit a bit,” laughed the wizard, patting Otter’s arm.

  “Now,” he said, making a slight motion with his eyes, and the Stone darkened, then cleared again.

  A snowlit night slowly focused in the center of the stone, and Otter saw Cranfallow and Thinvoice, strange to him, yet somehow familiar, astride horses, moving rapidly along a winding ribbon of shadowed road.

  “What does this mean, sir?” questioned Otter.

  “Look closer, Olther.”

  And there, banging and bumping, and obviously in a battered huff, jostled Dwarf, hat covering his eyes, stout little legs flying with every movement of the horse.

  “Then he’s freed. But where is he, and how came he to escape? Did Greyfax or Froghorn save him?” Otter’s questions burst forth again, and he couldn’t contain himself in his excitement from picking up a paperweight from the wizard’s desk and rolling it back and forth between his hand-paws.

  “He is making his way here, old fellow,” said Mithramuse, removing the weight from Otter’s grasp and replacing it on top of a sheaf of documents. “He escaped on his own, quite without his knowing how, “I’m sure. His singing of the old song was what did it. It is quite a secret that, and very, very powerful. It is one of the Five, which Dwarf carries. He will be with you soon, barring no further misfortunes.”

  Another cloudy veil passed over the stone, and Bear, in his man form, appeared, curled into his cloak for warmth, asleep beneath the low roof of a small shrub tree in the foothills Otter and Flewingam had just crossed. There was something disturbingly familiar about the manform, but Otter could not decide what.

  “There is your friend, no more than a day’s march from us,” said Mithramuse, smiling at Otter.

  “Bear? Why that silly dear old ass, he came along after me anyhow.” Otter’s delight in knowing Bear was so near vanished. “Why in the name of Weir did he follow me? He could have been safely home looking after our valley. There’s no telling what mischief someone wandering in there could do, our holt and houses left unprotected, not to mention the damage those werebeasts might cause, not finding anyone about to protect it.” Otter’s eyes opened wide with the memory of the wraithwolves, and he smacked a hand to his forehead. “Aieee, I didn’t think about those beasts. They’ve probably been the cause Bear fled. They almost got me, but I escaped by the skin of my teeth. I didn’t suppose they would bother anyone as big as Bear.” Otter scolded himself silently as Mithramuse rose and walked around the desk.

  A dark shadow crossed the deep veil of the stone, and it seemed to make the wizard’s hand tremble as a vague image took shape, outlined at first in a dirty red, then greenish yellow light.

  In the middle of this flickering, vile glow stood a deeper shadow of the darkness surrounding it. And then there burst into view a terrible wraith of a shape, formless, yet oozing evil and terror as it devoured the light, and it seemed to Otter as if he were being sucked into the terrible maw of this monster.

  The stone whirled upon itself, and a brilliant flash of dazzling white sent Otter staggering backward, struggling to shield his eyes from the searing flames.

  When he’d recovered and looked again, he saw a lady, very still, gazing into his eyes. It seemed she was not a lady that he felt he would like to know, yet he could not take his eyes off hers, and once more, he felt he was being drawn into the stone of the wizard’s ring.

  A clap of light flared suddenly in the hidden depths of the shadows, and a small tail of smoke turned from blue to gray, then to a soft gold, and the ring quietened.

  As Otter stared, dazed and shaken, he heard the wizard’s voice reach him, as if he were listening from far away.

  “You have seen the faces of Doraki, and Dorini, and Cakgor, who took Dwarf to the Dark Queen. Those are the forces we are up against here. We are thrown against other creations of hers, these half-man, half-beast soldiers she has fashioned from numbing minds to all but the darkness. They were men once, but after a time, they become more like beasts. Worlughs and Gorgolacs alike, they were living beings once, with hearts and minds, and now they answer only to Dorini.”

  Greymouse patted Otter gently.

  “But for now your friends are upon their way here, so don’t worry needlessly about things past, or things of a discomforting nature. We have much left before us, and other, more urgent matters to occupy our thoughts now. You have told me your news, and I have passed on my little bits of interest, so let’s make our plans while we may. You and Flewingam may stay in the sleeping quarters next to mine, and later tonight I shall send for you both. At the moment, I’m expecting the surgeons to heal my wounds.” Mithramuse laughed lightly, and in the guise of the gravely wounded General Greymouse, led Otter to the door. Otter bowed low, thanked the wizard, and crossed quickly to where Flewingam sat, waiting.

  “What did he say? Did he believe you?” Flewingam’s questions increased until at last Otter raised his hand for silence.

  “One at a time, one at a time,” he scolded, then giggled at the phrase. “Come, let’s find a quiet place where we may sit down and talk, and I’ll tell you all.” Otter reflected to himself, wondering if he should reveal all that was done and said to his companion, then decided he would tell him all he had been told, but not in the manner he had learned it. The old cautiousness and hesitance about speaking of wizards and their doings warned him against revealing General Greymouse’s disguise.

  “As thick-headed and stubborn as men usually are,” Otter said aloud, “there’s little doubt in my mind anyone would listen anyhow.”

  listen to what?” asked Flewingam, eager to learn of Otter’s interview.

  “To a rude fellow always bursting with questions,” chided Otter, leading Flewingam into the sleeping tent Mithramuse had instructed him to use.

  Over the smoking lantern, Otter carefully related his discoveries.

  Bear Marches

  With the

  Worlughs

  Bear, in a wild dream that came to him, saw two figures, one in gray, softly lighted with a pale white glow, and the other was Otter. They had warned him, and seemed to be speaking to him, although he could not make out the words. Then came a disturbing vision of a great white tower that looked like a marble swan in flight, and Froghorn Fairingay smiled reassuringly down upon him, and after that faded, the chuckling sight of Dwarf riding about on a horse. Bear awakened suddenly, rubbing his stiff, cold limbs into life, and muttering at bumping his head against a low, hard branch of the shrub tree. He looked about dismally, finding himself once more awake, and still lost in the same thicket patch that ran up the side of the low hill, still alone, and a growing hunger rumbling, deep inside him, as it had when he laid down to take his nap.

  “I don’t know what in the crown of Bruinthor it means,” he grumbled, “except that hare I still sit without my supper, freezing my fool self to the bone in an ill-fitting suit of man skin.” He returned to his bear form hurriedly to warm up, having been too weary to remember to do so before he slept.

  “Here now, what’s this?” he growled, hearing the sound of many heavy steps thudding over the soft fresh blanket of snow somewhere near him. He raised a cautious bear muzzle, testing the wind. An ugly odor filled his mind with the scent of Worlugh soldiers. A large company of them were passing not a hundred paces from where he lay hidden. He
waited until the last of the troops had clumped heavily by, scarring and turning the fresh white snow a muddy brown with their passage, and crept quietly away in the early night shadow, pausing at the rim of a low hill to catch his breath and find his bearings.

  Below him, the enemy army moved, the pale trine moon glinting at times on dark helmet or rifle barrel, and Bear counted until he grew weary of numbers. This, however many there were, was no small raiding party. Their movement cut off the course he had chosen to take, and he now had either to skirt the foothills that led upward toward the open pass into the higher mountains, or follow along in their muddy wake, a choice he didn’t like, for fear of being overtaken from behind by more of their comrades. To leave the foothills and swing around far out of his way didn’t suit his fancy either, so he sat down heavily beneath an outcropping boulder, his paws to his muzzle.

  “Ummph,” he muttered, lamenting his unsettling dilemma.

  “Ummph urgh,” came the reply. Bear’s ears flattened, his hackles bristling.

  “No sneaking off, you dung tread,” growled a dimly outlined shape, towering menacingly above him. “Gets back to your march.” A heavy, coiling pain seared Bear’s back as the thick hide of the whip bit deeply.

  He leapt forward to quash this new enemy, but something turned in his mind, and he halted in mid paw blow.

  If I go as one of them,” he thought, “I won’t have to travel out of my way, and with any luck at all, I’ll give them the slip before first light, and be on my way again.”

  Bear gave out a low, snarling growl, turned, and caught up the trailing end of the long line of Worlughs. He saw in the pale, dim light that he appeared only another misshapen, huge shadow moving quickly along in the darkness. No challenge was offered, and only the panting grunts from the near running beast told him he was seen as he joined the galloping line.