by B. J. Beach
Corlin stared, not wanting to believe what he had just heard. His jaw tight, he almost snarled at Crang. “Planned! This quest wasn’t planned! It was forced on me by an evil-minded lord. It’s the only way I can free my brother from slavery!”
The Grollart chieftain touched Corlin’s arm. “Calm yourself. The day was bound to come when it was necessary for someone to try and retrieve the object of your quest. It could have been anybody, for any reason. It just so happens, it was you. Now, do you have the proof?”
Deflated and not wholly convinced, Corlin fumbled about in the deep inside pocket of his coat. He drew out the token Browd had given him and placed it in Crang’s open palm. The Grollart studied it for a long moment before dropping it into a leather pouch at his belt.
He turned and nodded to Frain, who handed him a similar pouch which he immediately passed to Corlin. “You may need this, but bear in mind that it only works when the sun is shining. Now, after you have refreshed yourself, you and your hound are free to go. Otty Stockman will remain here as our guest until such time as we hear of the success, or otherwise, of your quest.”
Relieved that he was to be allowed to continue, and alone, Corlin’s mouth gave a wry twist as he slipped the gift into his inside pocket. “He won’t like that.”
Crang gave a snort of derision. “Too bad. We’ll knock him on the head if we have to, but he will remain as our guest.”
Corlin frowned. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary; but tell me something. Why is everybody trying to keep us apart, when he’s been tasked with staying with me?”
Crang leaned back, folded his hands across his chest and held Corlin’s gaze. His deep voice flowed into the minstrel’s brain, but the only movement of his lips was a secretive smile. Taken aback by this weird experience, Corlin gripped his staff with both hands as he concentrated on the words and images which the Grollart chieftain was pouring into his mind. His head suddenly felt hollow, and he knew that Crang had finished. He also knew that the Grollart’s assessment of the situation, and of those involved, made perfect sense. Even so, there were still some gaping holes which Corlin suspected would not be mended until his quest was fulfilled.
Something nudged his good leg, and he looked down to see Dog gazing up at him, his tongue lolling and tail waving in his eagerness to be off. Corlin knew then, that the interview was over. He turned, looked at Otty, and raised a hand in a farewell gesture before making the sign for good luck. Otty tried to struggle out of the firm grip of the two Grollarts holding him by his forearms, desperation contorting his chubby face as he yelled at Corlin. “Whatever he told you, it’s all lies! You have to take me with you! It’s not what you think!”
He continued to struggle, and surged forward, dragging the two Grollarts with him. True to his word, at a signal from Crang, Otty received a swift blow to the back of his neck and slumped to his knees. Corlin’s indignation flared. His teeth clenched, he watched, trying desperately to hide the mixed emotions flooding through him for his friend and companion, as Otty was dragged out of sight.
He glared at Frain as she stepped forward and took his arm. “What happens to him now?”
The Grollart princess gave him a thin smile, as though the answer was obvious. “He is staying with us, so he will work with us.”
Horrified, Corlin stared down at her. “In other words, he’s a slave.”
Frain shook her head. “Not at all; but the harder he works, the greater his reward.” She seemed to find Corlin’s concern amusing, and gave a little chuckle. “Don’t worry; he will be well treated and will probably end up the better for it.”
Before he could make any further comment, she tugged his sleeve. “Come with me. Shortly, I will show you a secret way through the mountain to the other side. There you will find the trail that will take you up through the mountains to the Fellgate.”
Corlin looked around, peering into the shadows. “Where have you taken Megan; and what about the snowstorm?”
Frain steered him towards the arch at the side of the cavern, Dog padding along behind them. “Your horse is just through here, enjoying a well-earned meal. When you have rested your leg and have also had something to eat, I will return for you. As for the storm; the far side of the mountain will be clear, and when the weather is good, you will travel much of the way in sunshine.”
She stopped, turned towards him and looked up into his face. Corlin thought he could see fear in her blue eyes as her fingers brushed his hand. “The way is a long one, and it will not be easy. To that end, we have provided you with food, water, and a few other things which you may find useful. Many have tried to reach the Fellgate. Few have succeeded.”
Corlin wanted to ask how few, but Frain had turned away and was opening a portal in the wall. She beckoned him through and gave him a smile that was almost coy. “I will return in half an hour. Enjoy your meal.”
An earthenware bowl of rabbit stew, half a loaf of coarse brownish bread, some apples, nuts and a beaker of a dark brown liquid with steam rising from it, were laid out on a low wooden table, along with a spoon made from what looked like cow’s horn, and a very sharp obsidian-bladed knife. A large cushion made of soft leather stuffed, Corlin guessed, with feathers and horsehair, lay on the floor. Sitting on the table, with his foot resting on the cushion, and Dog drooling beside him, Corlin proceeded, with some canine assistance, to demolish the small feast.
When Frain returned, Corlin voiced the question that had been niggling at him since Crang had said he was free to leave. “Am I going to have to sleep in the saddle tonight?”
She looked at him as if he were a dim-wit. “Of course not. Even though we can’t take the risk of letting you overnight here, there are a number of caves along the route where you’ll be able to make yourself comfortable. Are you ready?”
Corlin was not ready. Since the day he had begun this quest, even from the moment Lord Treevers had made his demands, Corlin had seethed inwardly at every delay. He had been nudged into the path of a number of advantages designed to help him towards his goal, but now he was being left to tackle this next and crucial stage alone. Within striking distance of retrieving the vital mechanism, his eagerness to push forward had faded away like morning fog, and his confidence was tiptoeing away to lurk in some darkened corner of his character. Frain sensed his misgivings.
Pushing aside empty dishes, she sat beside him on the table. “There have doubtless been times when you had the opportunity to turn away from your quest. This is not one of those times.” Her next words evoked a distant echo of something Browd had said. “From here on, your success will depend on you.”
Her closeness, and the deep conviction in her words, seemed to transfer some kind of inner strength, bolstering his sagging resolve. Even so, he was still aware of this new monster which had waited until now to make its presence felt; the fear of the unknown. He reached for his staff, pulled himself to his feet and smiled down at her.
With a show of enthusiasm he doubted would convince anyone, he flipped his hat onto his head and gave the brim a tug. “You’d best lead on then, princess.”
40 - From Mountain to Valley
His knowledge of magic was limited to what he had experienced during the course of his journey, but even so, Corlin was convinced that Grollart magic was something unusual and extraordinarily powerful. With Megan plodding patiently along behind and Dog bounding ahead and dashing back again, it seemed little more than an hour before Frain led them into a side tunnel, stopped at what appeared to be a dead end and placed her hand against the wall that barred their way. The dark grey rock quivered and seemed to melt into the ground. Daylight streamed in, and Corlin blinked, shielding his eyes with his hand.
Frain turned and gave him a tight smile. “The way to the Fellgate is long, and not without its difficulties. No-one has been there in my lifetime, so it may be better now, it may be worse.”
The scene that Frain’s opening of the rock had revealed made him realise the true enormity of his qu
est and left him gasping for breath. Unable to utter anything more coherent than “Ohhh! Gods!” he took a stumbling step forward, leaned on his staff, and stared. Frain moved to stand beside him and together they gazed in awe at the colossal snow-capped mountain. Majestic and terrifying, its huge bulk loomed in front of them, a single jagged peak thrusting into the ice-blue sky, the clear air making it appear close enough to touch. The mountain’s very presence bore down on Corlin like a massive weight. The dark and craggy face glowered, challenging him to test his puny human strength and twisted foot on the barely visible tortuous trail snaking up the mountain’s rocky flanks and over its gargantuan shoulders.
Frain nudged his elbow. “Up there is the entrance to Fellgate.”
He followed the line of her pointing finger, to a barely discernible crag just below the snow-line. His brain went numb. Unable to think of anything to say, he stepped forward onto the narrow rocky plateau which fronted the tunnel, and looked down. Far below, a two-mile-wide field of jumbled scree and ancient weathered moraine sloped upwards to form an arid and inhospitable blanket tucked close round the foot of a smaller peak of scarred black rock. Crouched at the base of the mountain, and dwarfed by its immensity, the southern slopes of this lesser sentinel stood guard over the clearly visible first few miles of the trail which curled around its feet before disappearing amongst a maze of crags and crevices.
Corlin looked along the plateau in both directions. To his left it promised a sheer drop a hundred yards along. To his right, the broad shelf clung to the face of the mountain he had just come through, until it was lost to sight behind a colossal buttress of dark grey rock.
He jerked his thumb towards it. “Is that the only way down?”
Frain smiled and nodded. “It is, but it will be an easy ride, if a long one. You can’t see it from here, but at the bottom there is a high-plain valley with a stream running through it. The valley is not large, but on the far side you will find a number of caves, any one of which will give you shelter for the night.”
His mouth set in a tight line, Corlin nodded but said nothing as he guided Megan out onto the broad rock shelf. He hitched on his staff and climbed into the saddle before noticing that the hound was standing perilously close to the edge of the plateau, looking down.
He called out “C’mon Dog; time to go.”
Dog bounded back and sat beside Megan, his tongue lolling in anticipation as he looked up at Corlin.
Frain fondled the dog’s floppy ears. “He does have a name, you know.”
Corlin wanted to be off, and failed to hide his impatience. “Really? What would that be, then?”
Frain gave him a tolerant smile. “His true name is Luma.”
Corlin raised a cynical eyebrow. “Does he know?”
The Grollart princess gave the hound one final pat, but said nothing. Making the sign for good luck, she stepped back into the tunnel. With both hands held out, palms upwards, she slowly raised her arms. In seconds the tunnel entrance was obscured by a sheer rock-face, indistinguishable from the rest of the mountain.
Corlin looked down. “You ready...Luma?”
The hound sprang to his feet, tail wagging and tongue lolling in eager expectation of a new adventure. The sound of Megan’s hooves sent a ringing echo bouncing off the crags and sheer rock faces towering above the plateau. Luma trotted on ahead, sniffing and investigating, but looking back every so often to make sure that Corlin was still following. Even with the company of his horse and his dog, the minstrel found it hard to remember a time when he had felt so utterly alone. Even the colossal mountain which harboured the Fellgate seemed to have dismissed him as being of little concern.
His spirit lightened a little as he made his way down from the broad ledge, and caught the glint of water down in the little valley, and to Corlin’s relief the gravel-bedded stream was shallow and easy to cross. The tree-tops, still winter-bare, reached for the last rays of sunlight before the pale golden disc slipped behind the Grollart’s mountain. In the fading light, Corlin guided Megan through the grass and shrubs which carpeted the valley floor, finally pushing through to the wide entrance of a deep high-ceilinged cave. Luma had bounded off into the undergrowth, surprisingly silent as he sought out some hapless and unsuspecting prey.
With Megan unsaddled, Corlin rummaged amongst the items that the Grollarts had added to his saddlebags and found, amongst various small packages, a tinderbox, a bundle of tallow candles, and some strips of dried meat stuffed end-on into a horn beaker. A quick search beyond the cave entrance produced a good armful of dead wood and kindling, and he soon had a couple of candles lit and a small fire going. His foray unsuccessful, Luma returned to the cave where, with slobbering enthusiasm, he enjoyed a share of the strips of dried meat which Corlin had decided to have for supper. Darkness enfolded the valley, and through the entrance of the cave the minstrel glimpsed thousands of stars, seeming brighter than he had ever seen them. As the fire died, man and dog curled up against Megan’s saddle, and settled down for the night. Unheard by man or beast, Corlin’s gimalin hummed softly to itself.
41 - The Trail to the Fellgate
Hemmed in by looming mountains, but blessed with near perfect weather, Corlin spent the best part of the next three days negotiating the twists and turns of the lower part of the trail. The ground was hard, uneven and scattered with chunks of broken rock and trail-wide ridges of small stones. Every so often, in response to the feeling that he was being watched, he would turn and look up in the direction of the Grollarts’ mountain. Only once did he see something glinting near the plateau, but decided it was merely a seam of quartz catching the sunlight. At mid-afternoon of the fourth day he began following the trail round the back of the small black peak. Funnelled through the quarter-mile wide gap between it and the mountain which accommodated the Fellgate, what had been a cool and gentle breeze suddenly metamorphosed into a howling bone-chilling fiend intent on tearing the skin from his face and the clothes from his body.
Eyes streaming and teeth chattering he pulled up his coat collar and hunched over the saddle. Urging Megan on, he prayed they would find shelter at the base of the mountain, which seemed to have finally acknowledged his presence and made its opening move in its endeavours to prevent him reaching his goal. Squinting up from beneath the broad brim of his hat, his tear-filled eyes caught sight of a shadowed overhang, a few yards back from the trail, and which promised to be in the lee of the wind. Sheltered by Megan’s body, Luma trotted alongside as, blasted and buffeted, man and horse battled to keep a safe distance between themselves and the edge of the trail. The wind’s frenetic shrieks eased to a low and steady moan as Corlin steered Megan along the base of the mountain and into the shelter of the overhang.
He dismounted, hugged Megan’s neck and twisted his fingers into her mane. “Well done, lovely girl. I reckon there’ll be more of that to come though.”
The grey mare’s withers trembled and Corlin gave her a reassuring pat, looking round for Luma at the same time. He spotted the hound about fifty yards further on. Neck stretched forward, one forepaw raised, he held a motionless stance, his gaze fixed on a dark crevice running from top to bottom of a house-sized rock.
Guessing that the dog had cornered a small rodent, Corlin called “Luma! Here boy!”
The tip of his tail twitched in acknowledgment, but the rest of Luma remained as still as the rock in front of him. Corlin unhitched his staff, gave Megan another pat, and walked across the broad rock platform to stand beside Luma, in the hope of discovering what the dog had cornered.
He bent forward and peered, trying to see into the crevice. “What you got in there then, eh boy?”
The hound’s tail wagged and his tongue lolled as he looked up at Corlin then back at the crevice. Seeing something glint in the darkness, Corlin took a step closer. In a scrabbling rush the occupant of the crevice was out and standing less than a yard away. Two feet of hissing fury, its mouth full of backward facing curved needle teeth open wide, the creatur
e’s throat pulsed as it spat gobbets of foul-smelling yellow slime at Corlin’s feet.
Luma bounded away to a safe distance as Corlin dodged backwards, his top lip curling with revulsion. The only thing he could think of was ‘lizard’, but standing upright on heavy-thighed, broad-footed legs, this was like no lizard he had ever come across. Its upper limbs were small, armed with three long curved claws, and held up in front of its short scale-covered body, while it balanced on a thick tapering tail.
Corlin took another step back, and the creature followed, its slit-irised yellow eyed gaze fixed on his face. A fleshy red crest slowly unfolded from the greyish green skin of its long tapering head, and Corlin realised it was about to strike. Wielding his staff like a sword, he lunged at the creature. To his horror, it grasped the staff, ran halfway up it, and leapt onto his upper arm. An ear-splitting scream echoed round the surrounding mountains as a sudden roaring gust of wind knocked Corlin sideways. A broad dark shadow blocked the sunlight and, with the snarling spitting creature clinging to the thick sleeve of his coat, he was knocked to the ground. He felt the creature being plucked from his arm, and turned his head just in time to see it tumbling from the sky, scrabbling at the air as it fell shrieking towards the jagged rocks below.
Shocked into a long moment of immobility, Corlin was roused by Luma whimpering softly and nudging at his shoulder. From the corner of his eye he could see his staff only a few inches away. On hands and knees he crawled over, grabbed it and pushed himself to his feet, just as a soft whispering shuffle from the vicinity of the overhang reached his ears. His knuckles white as he clung to his staff, he took a deep breath and turned round as slowly as his un-nerved body would permit.
Near the far side of the overhang, and way beyond the furthest stretch of his imagination, stood a terrifyingly enormous bird. Talons as long as his arm made sharp tapping noises on the rocky ground as the huge bird stepped towards him on powerfully muscled golden-feathered legs. Above a cruelly hooked beak, fierce rose-hued eyes peered into his stricken face. Corlin was frozen to the spot. The bird shook its brown and gold plumage, blue-black feathers across its shoulders glinting in the late afternoon sunlight.