by GJ Kelly
She pocketed the map, draped her cloak around her shoulders, took a breath, and stepped forward, expecting gloom and the rank odour of a crypt. What she found was a bright and cavernous area sloping gently downwards beneath a vaulted stone ceiling lit by glowstones.
“This is the mustering area,” Dannis explained softly, and when she turned, Elayeen was slightly alarmed to see that the portal had closed silently behind the old man. “There are the greater doors, through which the horses would ride, or the villagers flock on foot in the event a besieging army crossed the line. Come, our path is this way.”
Their boots echoed on the flagstones, Dannis leading the way down the slope to a slightly darker archway at the end. There, it was a little gloomier, the arched passage broad enough and tall enough for a man to lead a horse, perhaps. Down and around, spiralling, Dannis pausing here and there to point to names scratched upon the walls over the centuries, names of people long dead who had come this way, and who had left their mark upon the rock wall of the passage.
Elayeen lost count of the number of times Dannis asked if she were well. It was cold, and though the air was fresh, she felt as though the weight of a mountain were bearing down upon her, compressing her, crushing her, squeezing her so small she would cease to be Elayeen, or anything else at all.
And then there was another archway, well-lit, and they stepped through it, and she gasped with astonishment at the wonders of Dun Meven.
“They say grass once grew here at the side of the basin,” Dannis sighed, waving a hand towards the broad and still waters before them. The water was black, and deep, the basin it filled perhaps thirty yards in diameter. “But alas, no more. We believe that sunlight once filtered down from above somehow, through vents perhaps, cut like chimneys to admit sunshine rather than to expel smoke. Certainly there are vents, we have lit cooking fires here, and the smoke disperses, we know not where. We had boys on the summit look for signs of the smoke, but they saw it not. Come, this way, lady Ranger.”
To the left, a great platform had been levelled in the rock, and alcoves cut into the wall behind it.
“In these tunnels the men might rest; crude beds of stone have been carved from the rock, it must’ve taken a very long time, or a great deal of a wizard’s power. The horses of course would find comfort by the pool. In these other tunnels, our stores. Clothing, weapons, food, blankets, the lists are long indeed of the supplies kept here, and it has fallen to the curators of Dun Meven to keep those lists, and these supplies, in order. Some of the jars at the furthest end have been there longer than Callodon has borne that name. I dread to think what might be in ‘em after all this time.”
Elayeen blinked, astounded. Lord Rak of Tarn had described to her the vaults of Crownmount, and she had seen pictures of it in his books, and here she was, inside the heart of the hill, and staring with astonishment at the vaults in miniature.
“There are other passages, over there, which go down deeper into the hill. There are chambers there too, but they are empty, and what their original purpose was, we can only speculate. But come, there is one room in particular I should like to show you…”
Dannis, smiling, led the way to the furthest alcove, opened a curtain, and ushered her in. A single desk and chair occupied a small room well-lit by glowstones, and on the table a large, iron- and leather-bound book, a pen, and an inkwell.
“This,” Dannis whispered, his voice tinged with reverence, “Is the Book of Dun Meven. It is ancient beyond that word’s ability to describe. In it, the names of those who took refuge here, or honoured guests. It is a kind of diary, describing the history of this place. Alas, alas for us all, the ink is so faded on the pages of the first quarter of the book, it cannot be read. Only this room, and this hill, and the walls about us, know whose was the first entry, whose the first name written there. Dun Meven would be honoured, your Majesty, if you would add your name to this mighty tome.”
With that, Dannis very carefully opened the book, and guided her to the chair. She sat, blinking in disbelief, eyeing the pages, and the writing in them. Most of the names she saw she didn’t recognise, of course, but nearer to the blank pages and in the more modern entries she saw Brock’s name, and the date, and the brief entry the King of Callodon had made years before:
I, Brock, King of Callodon, July 2nd, 4th year of my reign, did inspect Dun Meven in company with Serre Curator Dannis, and finding all in order, do thus append my name.
The latest entry was longer, and considerably more sombre in tone. It had been written by a Lieutenant Verdon, King’s Couriers, and described in detail the urgent removal from stores of serviceable weapons for the front in the coming battle against Morloch’s horde at or near Ferdan, by Brock’s order.
“How much history is here, Serre Dannis? How far back do you think these entries extend?”
“The earliest legible is more than eight hundred years old, lady Elayeen, and concerns the arrival of a force of riders bound for Juria, a punitive raid in reprisal for a border incursion in the west, near the village of Doosen. It makes for very sober reading. I had hoped, my lady, now that you are here, you might append your name?”
“Who shall read it, Serre Curator?”
Dannis smiled. “Posterity, my lady, and perhaps, the next Curator of Dun Meven.”
Elayeen’s hand trembled when she took the pen. Dannis opened the inkwell, and stepped respectfully back, out of the light. She paused, dipped the nib, and then paused again, and finally, nodding to herself, began writing.
Later, when the ink was dry, the inkwell capped and the pen cleaned and ready for its next use, Dannis continued the tour, taking great care to show Elayeen the plentiful supplies and preserves which had been set aside for use in wartime and continually replenished, and then the stores set aside by the villagers ‘for winter, and for just in case’. One thing was absolutely certain: the people of Dun Meven were in no danger of starvation.
Sitting on the edge of the platform after the tour and gazing out over the black, still waters of the basin, Elayeen frowned.
“And there is a lake even further below?” she asked, “How is it the hill does not collapse, as did the farak gorin?”
Dannis smiled, and shrugged. “I do not know. There may be a way down into the very depths, but if so, it has been lost in the passage of so much time. There are, we believe, at least three catchments similar to this one, one higher up which serves as the well for the village and one on the western side. Some say the first village of Dun Meven was there, facing west. Who knows?”
“We should return,” she sighed. “Lest we are needed above.”
“Yes. The siege is a pity. At night, when the sun sets and the glowstones fade a little, you can almost see, over there on the far wall and the vaults above, the faint outlines of some ancient artwork, immense though it must have been. Like the ink in the great book, though, it has faded with time, and can scarcely be glimpsed from the corner of one’s eye. In the daytime, and with the sun so bright, the glowstones shine too bright for us to see anything there. There are vents and channels everywhere, bringing air and water and light for the glowstones in, and taking out foul air and smoke. It is a wonder.”
“Yes,” Elayeen admitted, completely in awe of her surroundings.
“It makes one wonder, does it not,” Dannis sighed, heaving himself up off the step, “What else they might have possessed in elder days, which is lost to us all now. Most of all, though, it makes me wonder about all the other hills, hills as old as Aemon himself.”
oOo
45. Wotsay
The days that followed became a tedious round of routines both for the occupants of Dun Meven and the enemy at the foot of the hill. Below, scouts would return and others would be despatched, and a lookout on a lower hill to the south relieved. Above, villagers carried on with their lives, bored at the lack of farming which would normally occupy all the daylight hours available in this season.
Dannis explained that it was the villagers who fel
t the strain of the siege more than anyone else, since the terraces, and thus their work, had been denied to them, but they were an obdurate bunch and cheerful enough in spite of the frustration. The guardsmen, he said, were quite used to propping up the wall of the blockhouse and staring at an empty road.
For Elayeen, though, the worry and the frustration mounted daily. Worry for Meeya and Valin. Worry for the world beyond their hilltop fortress, no news of which had arrived since Brock’s single-word acknowledgement of their plea. The truth of it was, they had no idea what was happening beyond the extent of their vision, and it worried her tremendously. As much as Dannis had helped restore her self-confidence, he knew nothing of the reasons for her leaving Tarn, nor for her taking the guise of a simple Ranger. Meeya and Valin did, and they weren’t here.
Meeya and Valin also knew the object of Gawain’s quest. Dannis did not. So while Elayeen imagined all manner of dark terrors afflicting Callodon and Arrun, the Orb of Arristanas laying waste to the west and ships full of Meggen wreaking havoc in the east, she could not voice those fears. It simply made no sense to her that Toorsengard could lay siege to Dun Meven and go unnoticed and unchallenged so long after the bird had been sent to Brock, especially with men of the Callodon guard scarcely five days ride away in Harks Hearth.
Nor was any reassurance to be found from Bede or Finn. Their cheerful stoicism was even more irritating than not knowing what was happening in the world. For them, this was how Dun Meven always was, apart from the lack of industry on the terraces, and apart from the small enemy camped in the valley at the foot of the hill. They had complete confidence in their ability to prevent anyone from crossing the line, and were as obdurate as the hill itself.
It took time alone in the apartment at the command post for Elayeen finally to understand that this was precisely what Dun Meven was intended for, and that the village had existed here in isolation for its entire history. The siege was nothing to them, and lack of news from the outside world the norm. The simple truth was that no-one ever came here unless they had a very specific reason. The place was self-sufficient, hidden away in the hills, and always had been. The insight did nothing to relieve her fears and her frustration.
“Imagine how them lot must feel down there, Leeny,” Finn had said. “Must be driving ‘em to despair, us doing nothing but stand and watch ‘em. See, they think we’re up here, starving and getting desperate, winter stores all but gone, steps choked by the ‘weed and such. For all we know, they may even believe we need to draw water from the stream or the springs down there. And here we stand, just looking down on ‘em. Shame, isn’t it?”
“They have a wizard, Finn,” Elayeen had replied. “Let us hope they do not become too desperate, lest he realise he might possess the means to walk up here with a mystic shield raised against our bolts and arrows, and burn us out of Dun Meven.”
Finn had chuckled in disbelief, and then his expression changed to doubt, and then mild concern. “Nah, he couldn’t do that, could he? He’d have done it already, wouldn’t he?”
On the 24th of April, signs that the Toorsencreed might not be so certain of their position began to appear. Those at the blockhouse watched with interest a small group of elves talking amongst themselves, others in the party staying well clear. One of the group then strode purposefully to the wizard Oze, the medyen-Viell sitting alone in his now-customary position on the rock by the stream.
The solitary elf seemed to speak with urgency and great insistence, jabbing a finger up the hill, then pointing away to the west, and even pointing at the wizard himself, arms and hands animated. To the watchers, the exchange seemed heated, angry, and the small group who had dispatched their spokesman stood together watching, arms folded defiantly.
At length, after more short and apparently furious gesticulations, the ToorsenViell stood up, and the watchers saw the wizard raise his wand and jab it into the chest of the elf guardsman. At once, the fellow seemed to fly backwards as if struck by a Kraal-beast’s headlong charge, landing in the stream flat on his back, spread-eagled and face up.
“Ooh blimey,” Finn muttered, taken aback by the elfwizard’s obvious power.
Oze simply retook his seat upon the rock, and completely ignored the small group of elves who inched forward, then waded into the stream to retrieve their representative and carry him back to their camp. It was half an hour at least before the stricken elf guard was back on his feet, though he could be seen rubbing his chest and other bruises frequently for the rest of that day.
On the 26th of April, a rider of the Toorsengard began nudging his horse slowly up the cobbled road, carrying a large white flag hanging limp from a stave cut from woodland atop the hill to the east of Dun Meven. Bede, on duty at the time, sent a runner to fetch Finn, Dannis, and Ranger Leeny, and together they observed the elf’s painfully slow and deliberate progress up the zigzag path.
Bede yawned, and resumed his leaning on the wall, crossbow propped likewise by his feet. Finn ported his ‘bow over his shoulder, looking up at the signalman atop the cliff above the southern portals to the down-below. No flags, no signals at all. It wasn’t a ruse to divert attention from the other slopes, or those on watch on the summit would have raised the alarm.
“Is it the wizard?” Dannis asked no-one in particular.
“No,” Elayeen replied. “Oze of the ToorsenViell still sits alone by the stream, watching. I believe he is attempting to feign disinterest in events, though why, I cannot guess.”
“What’s that bloke carrying, on the left of his horse?” Finn shielded his eyes against the late morning sun.
“A crude shield, I think,” Elayeen muttered. “Made from wood taken from the trees yonder.”
“Not very trusting of ‘im.”
“They would have found the killing of their comrades here at the line two weeks ago shocking indeed,” Elayeen announced. “The Toorsengard are quite unused to resistance of any kind.”
“Their ignorance of our lands and our people will be their undoing,” Dannis sighed. “I can only imagine the kind of behaviour they adopt in their own forest realm which would lend such arrogance to their swaggering. How foolish to expect to carry it off in foreign lands where people know them not, nor fear them not a jot.”
“Well,” Bede sighed, “He’s about halfway up now, and I reckon that’s far enough for today, don’t you, Serre Curator?”
Dannis nodded, and Bede picked up his ‘bow, and the four of them moved to stand on the line. The rider below noted the movements, and brought his horse to a halt, turning sideways on so that he might employ his hastily-made wooden shield should the defenders of Dun Meven loose upon him.
“I bring word from Oze!” drifted up from below.
“Eh?” Finn shouted back, and chuckled happily when the inevitable reply came louder back up the hill:
“I bring word from Oze of the ToorsenViell!”
“What word?” Bede called back.
The rider fumbled inside his tunic, and produced a piece of paper, from which he read, haltingly, trying to keep his eye on the defenders at the same time.
“By now you have learned. The strength of our mettle. We shall not be denied. Give us the three elves. Oze stands by his word. The weed shall be cleared. Your people’s suffering shall end. There is still time to plant your crops. Give us the elves. Give us the elves and there shall be peace between us. They must answer for their crimes.”
The elf turned the page over, but clearly there was nothing else to say. He stuffed the paper back in his tunic, and waited.
Dannis glanced at Elayeen, who said nothing and gave a slight shake of her head. Dannis shrugged. Finn smiled, stepped forward, and shouted down to the elf.
“Eh?”
Bede laughed, quietly, trying to stifle it, but the sudden burst of an elvish giggle from Elayeen was too much for the senior guardsman and he laughed long and loud, and slapped Finn on the back.
The elf, bemused, hesitantly turned his horse, and began the descent
, keeping his eyes on the Eastlanders who laughed uncontrollably the whole of his journey back down the hill.
Elayeen wiped a tear from her eye, and was astonished not only by her own laughter in the face of the Toorsencreed, but at the profound nature of the relief she felt as a result of it. She giggled again, and that set Bede off once more. Finally, the giggling and laughter subsiding, she understood Gawain’s humour in the face of adversity so much more. Had he been here, he might have beaten Finn to the simple ‘eh?’ and prompted the laughter which had sent a message to the Toorsencreed more powerful than any pretty speech, bolt or arrow might have been.
More than that, the relief she now felt seemed to light her up from the inside, the tension of the siege evaporating in an instant.
“You’re a naughty boy, Finn,” Bede grinned. “But that was a good one.”
“Sorry,” Finn grinned, and chuckled again, “It just slipped out.”
“Tsk,” Dannis sighed. “Did your mother never tell you? Don’t say eh, say wotsay.”
Below, they saw the rider dismount and stride to the lone figure sitting on a rock on the banks of the stream. After a short pause, the rider turned and walked back to the long line of horses and elves, the latter sitting on their saddles on the ground. While the rider unsaddled his horse and took his place alongside his comrades, Oze of the ToorsenViell remained exactly where he was.
Dannis shivered. In spite of the laughter earlier, there was something distinctly sinister in the orderliness of the camp below, no sign at all of any further protest from within those silent ranks.
On the 28th of April, two days after the full moon and the nights drawing out, Elayeen walked with Dannis on his evening rounds of the village, finally coming to a halt at the blockhouse where Finn stood watch over the road.
“Is all quiet below?” Dannis asked softly.
“Aye, it is, Serre Curator, nothing’s moved. Same dull routine. You’d think they’d get bored of it and go home.”