Erum announced:
‘I have an idea.’
The three friends were riding back to Tregg. They were riding slowly and keeping alongside the cage which contained the captured wolf. The cage was not mounted on wheels, the rough ground forbidding any such assistance, but on two poles, one along each side. Three bearers were assigned to each pole-end, making up a team of twelve, and a relay of twelve additional men were strolling along with the dogs, some way upwind. The sun was now setting in a golden sky, and the shadows were long; behind the bars the form of the beast was grey and shadowy, slumped and motionless apart from the continual shaking and juddering of the cage. The pale muzzle was stretched out on the floor. Occasionally there was a red-green flash from the eyes, as a blink reflected a sunbeam.
‘Tell us,’ said Swin.
It was the fifth day since their riding from Tregg. The hunt, as the reader has already been informed [by Walt, in
Chapter 4.1], had gone well. To the hunters it felt like the most splendid success. There had been enough rain and mud to give the party a salutary sense of discomfort, enough difficulty, danger and tedium to make a substantial demand on their courage and perseverance, and an exciting conclusion in which every member of the party had played a necessary part. That had been yesterday. The Quest of the Wolf was over. The glow of achievement and good-fellowship was now being shared by every man; and the evening sky was full of glory.
‘Well,’ Erum said, ‘you know we’ve hardly talked at all about what we’d do with her if we ever did catch her.’
Swin gave a grunt of amusement and Melohtar nodded with a smile, swaying and adapting his movements easily, as he rode along, to the pacing of his tired horse. ‘You’re quite right,’ he said. ‘What have you in mind?’
‘I’ll tell you, my lord, but – may I first modestly inquire: supposing I had first asked counsel of you, on this matter: what advice would you have given?’
‘My goodness, Erum, I don’t know.’ The level sunbeams, glancing through the trees, played on the side of Melohtar’s face as he spoke. ‘Let’s see now. We swore to bring her back to the Temple, but that’s a long journey to make... I did have the notion, at one stage, that Berma might be persuaded – you know, mollified? sweetened? if we made her a sufficiently humble apology? – to carry out the disenchantment. Or if she couldn’t do it, or wouldn’t, she might still advise us on what to do next. She does give advice. She was in Tregg shortly before we left – of course, you both talked to her. So there’s a chance that she’s there still... I’d recommend us to swallow our pride and seek her out at once.’
‘Very good, my lord,’ said Erum.
‘Seems unlikely to me,’ said Swin, ‘considering she’s given me very clear advice already and I decided not to take it. She advised us to follow the wolf and not to catch her.’
‘Well, Erum,’ said Melohtar, ‘let’s hear your thoughts.’
Erum looked down shyly. He leaned forward and patted the neck of his steed, a pretty white mare. Then he turned and hailed the cage-bearers: ‘How goes it, friends?’
‘Very good, Your Reverence!’
‘Actually I agree with Swin,’ he said abruptly to Melohtar. ‘It does seem unlikely after that scene we had with her. Anyway, try, by all means, if you can get her. If not...’
‘Well?’ said Melohtar patiently.
Erum mumbled something. Swin and Melohtar shared a whimsical look. Then Swin pulled his horse to the left, so that he was riding closely alongside Erum. He laid his hand on his shoulder. ‘We’re agog to hear,’ he said.
Erum raised his head. His cheeks were pink. ‘Let me do it,’ he said.
‘What?’ they asked.
‘Let me do it!’
‘What?’
‘Let me do it! Have a go at disenchanting her!’
‘
What?’ asked Melohtar incredulously, and ‘How?’ asked Swin at the same moment.
‘I think I could! I truly might! I mean, not me of course, it’s almost nothing to do with me, not I but the power of Dru that worketh through me.’ In his agitation he unwittingly adopted the idiom of the Temple liturgy. ‘Hath it not been seen that divers miracles and mighty acts of power are wrought by faithful servants who attend upon his will? Give me leave to attempt this disenchantment! Let me try: please do!’
‘You seem very confident,’ said Swin. ‘What put this idea into your head?’
‘The date,’ Erum answered. ‘It’s the Springmorrow, the equinox, in just a week’s time. The anniversary of your affliction, my lord. Anniversaries are significant in our Craft, for conditions and powers are then recreated: Dru oft-times useth them as the occasions for His signs and wonders.’
‘What craft is this?’ asked Swin.
‘Forgive me, dear friend: it is the priestly Craft, and it is a secret that is hardly spoken of even in the shadow of the Temple. Think of it as a kind of godly wizardry. I have felt the hand of Dru press very heavily upon me in these last twelve months. I have been changed. I was uplifted by His power even as we spoke with the witch. And now I hear a voice that whispereth in my ear, saying unto me
Haply thou canst do this work: yet not thou, but Dru that worketh within thee.’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Swin.
‘Sure that I can? Why, no. Sure that I desire the attempt? Yes!’
Melohtar kept up his silence, leaving Swin to ask: ‘Then how would you go about it?’
‘Let me explain. We can’t doubt that a genuine miracle was performed by the witch – we all saw – I mean, deplorable though it was, this miracle was wrought within the Temple; and therefore must have come ultimately from Dru Himself, or at the very least by His permission. Let’s consider the witch, then, as a mere instrument of His will; and, pursuing that thought, consider what might have provoked Dru’s anger, and how we might best propitiate Him. And we see immediately that it was Gauriel’s insolence and pride that provoked the old woman – who, let’s again allow it, was acting out of disinterested goodwill. Say then that Dru was the author of this punishment, and that He punished Gauriel for her sin of pride. What will He require in expiation? What should the antidote be? Why, shame. And what is most shameful? There are secret shames, as who knows better than I? But the most powerful shames of all are public shames. To cut the matter short, I propose that to show her to the eyes of the Temple congregation, in her cage and in her present form, as an act of public humiliation, on the same day of the year as the day of her punishment: to do this will be to create favourable conditions for an enhanced laying-on-of-hands, and a strong intercession to Dru.’
‘I wonder if she can hear all this,’ murmured Swin.
The three of them looked across at the cage and its occupant.
‘One snag I can see,’ continued Swin as Melohtar still kept silent, ‘is, we’ve only got a few days left until Springmorrow and the City’s miles and miles away, isn’t it? Could we get her there in time?’
Melohtar shook his head. ‘Probably not,’ agreed Erum. ‘But the town of Dunbury is only two-thirds of the distance, and that also has a large public church. And folk are more God-fearing there. I expect that the spring festival will be well attended.
’ Melohtar’s expression brightened. ‘It may be that you have just persuaded me,’ he said. He paused, sighed and then went on: ‘My letters will have reached the City, so they’ll know I’m alive; my father will be missing me, and my Department too. They may or may not understand that I could not forbear from the Quest that I had sworn to achieve. They certainly won’t understand why I should dilly-dally when I’m urgently needed. Now I think of it, I believe that I risk offending the King himself if I don’t return at once. As for what you’ve been saying, Erum, it sounds to me like pure drivel. You’re aware of that, aren’t you?’
‘I am, my lord.’
‘And talking of shame – have you thought how foolish you’ll look? When your god fails to grant your intercession and you’re left standing there in front of everyone, with a wild animal sniffing at your trousers?’
‘You may make fun of me, my lord, if you like. It really doesn’t matter how much I make a fool of myself.’
‘But I’ll look like a complete fool too, won’t I? Again?’ Suddenly he looked up at them both and grinned. The austere self-possession of the nobleman, the high official, had yielded to boyish simplicity. ‘But that’s what I probably am going to do, and you know why? For Emynos, and for you two. I want to show it to you both, before we go back. It’s the loveliest place in the world.’
An hour later they rode into Tregg. That same night Melohtar gave a great feast, as good as the town could provide, for his huntsmen and companions; and all save Erum were carousing far into the night. But he did not forget his original intention. At dawn, without having been to bed, he set off to find the witch.
‘No luck?’ said Erum when he returned.
‘None at all.’
‘What went wrong?’
‘More bewitchment, or else some kind of infernal pointless hoax,’ he answered, intensely irritated. ‘They all say she lives in a cottage by a stream, a few miles up the City Road. And that damned little buffoon, Hob Halfwit or whatever he’s called – if I wasn’t so fed up of the whole business I’d clap him in irons and send him straight to the King. I really ought to anyway. But I’m sick, sick, sick to death of it all. They took me to a derelict cottage that nobody’s lived in for years.’
‘How strange!’
‘Wipe that smile off your face, damn you! ...Forgive me... No, I’m sorry, but my head’s splitting. Where’s Swin, the lazy beggar?’
They found him in the back yard of the inn. He was stooping in front of Gauriel’s cage, carefully pouring water from an ewer into a dish on the floor of the cage. She was lapping up the water eagerly. A small crowd of guests, ostlers, inn-servants and two sons of Mr. Gough stood looking on with interest.
‘Poor thing, she’s terribly thirsty,’ said Swin remorsefully. ‘We forgot about that.’
‘So we did,’ agreed Melohtar, taking in his first clear steady view of the transformed Princess. The coat was long, a light yellowish-grey; the shaggy mane that covered the stocky shoulders was almost pure white. She gulped at the water noisily, and the tongue flickered, and the black jaw with the strong sharp fangs was visible. For a moment she looked up at Melohtar; she wrinkled her muzzle and uttered a low growl. There was some intelligence in those dark greenish-brown eyes, but scant sign of recognition. The left eye looked more bleary than the right one. ‘She looks quite well, though.’
‘Yes,’ said Swin. ‘Wolves can keep going for days without food.’
‘Oh, do you think she’s hungry?’
Swin’s dry glance was a rebuke. Melohtar commanded meat to be brought. One of the servants fetched a joint from last night’s dinner. Gauriel snapped at it and then took it to the back of her cage.
‘So,’ said Swin: ‘what’s the plan?’
‘Dunbury! Let’s go, boys!’
An hour later they went. ‘I do hope she’ll soon be set to rights,’ said the smiling Innkeeper. ‘Best of luck to Your Lordship, Your Reverence, Mr. Gumasson!’ The chief huntsman blew a blast on his horn; the leaders cantered under the archway and the inn-sign; after them rumbled Gauriel’s cage, now fastened to a wagon drawn by two strong horses; and the three friends rode forth. Market Square was full of townsfolk and villagers who had come to see their departure. Loud were the cheers and halloos, with much throwing-up of hats and waving of scarves and kerchiefs. Erum noticed again how the acclamations of the crowd brought forth Melohtar’s kindliest, lordliest manner. Smiling, waving, upright on his horse, he threw handfuls of largesse, small silver coins which the children scrambled to pick up. ‘Many thanks to all Tregg!’ he called. ‘Thank you, my good friends!’ There could be no doubt that Tregg loved its young lord more than ever.
The ride to Dunbury took five days, but it was a merry journey, with cold wind and clear sun. No bandits would attack such a large, well-armed party and the wagon made fair progress despite the mire and ruts of the road. On the third evening the company came to
The Post-horn, the good inn where Swin had passed a night with Mr. Proudfoot’s party. Though he remembered nothing of that occasion, the inn gave him an itchy sort of feeling at the back of his mind. From there it was two easier days’ ride to Dunbury. On the second of these the weather turned greyer, the mood quieter and more pensive. The Road wound this way and that, rolling up and down as it climbed into the hills, the outriders of the North Downs. Each hilltop gave a view of half-a-dozen higher hills that loomed ever more sombrely into the distance. The travellers spoke little. However, in the afternoon a conversation took place that should be recorded.
‘One thing I’ve never quite understood,’ said Swin as they followed the wagon, now pulled by four horses, up a steep slope, ‘is, where you actually come from. Your ancestral home’s in Vinyards, isn’t it? But you always talk about Dunbury with such feeling.’
‘The home of my ancestors is in the town we’re heading to now,’ replied Melohtar. ‘Under the old kings, they were the lords of all this region, even as far as Tregg; and Tregg remembers us kindly, as you saw. I was born here, and I spent my childhood here, and here, I think, my heart will always dwell. That is why I am so much looking forward to sharing it with you, if only for a couple of days.’
‘I’m looking forward to it too,’ said Erum.
‘So you don’t really like having to reside at Vinyards, in the King’s service?’ suggested Swin.
‘I honour His Majesty,’ answered Melohtar gravely. ‘Though he is base-born, the son of a usurper, he rules cunningly and he labours for the good of his realm. The evils that threaten us are none of his fault. He deals with them as best he may. Who can say that in the King’s place he should succeed half as well? But you are right: our residence in Vinyards is an exile to me and a kind of painful captivity for my father.’
Swin probed further: ‘That’s because your father is of the old line? The King keeps him under his hand because he doesn’t trust him?’
‘On the contrary, he trusts him fully.’
Erum spoke up: ‘Since you don’t seem to mind these questions, my lord, I’ll add one of my own: what is the mystery about your father? Everyone knows he’s important: he’s called the Lord Chief Steward, and the justice of the City is now known as Lord Ostendil’s Department, yet Ostendil is neither a lawyer nor a magistrate. He – forgive me – his lands are small, but he’s ranked as the second baron of the kingdom. What’s the full truth of the matter?’
Melohtar hesitated, looking from the one to the other of them. ‘Continually I hear myself blurting out important state secrets to you two; but no harm seems to have come of my doing so. And things are going to change. I guess that we will need a few friends who know what’s what. You may have heard rumours about the King’s illness... The secret is the Orb of Vigilance.’
‘What is that, my lord?’ Erum enquired.
‘Oh, you know! An ancient ball of crystal. A
Tirissar of old Amruminas.’
An awed look came over Erum’s round face. ‘You’re not jesting, my lord?’
‘No. I am not.’
‘But the
Tirissari were all lost!’
‘The two great Orbs of the East were mislaid long ago, that is true,’ said Melohtar drily. ‘But any schoolboy can tell you that the Orb of the South is still kept in King Araxor’s hoard, kept in honour, as one of the most precious relics of the First Kingdom. But nobody can use it, for the gift of sight, by which distant objects can be seen in the Orb, belongs only to the line of the old kings, which is now extinct in Turmal.’ Prompted, now and then, by further questions from his friends, he continued: ‘The origins of the Orbs is disputed. Some say that they were a gift from the gods, perhaps made by Auland during the Long Age of the World, before the fall of Atalantis. Others say that they were made in Atalantis itself: others, that Morithron, the first of the Wizards, who arose before the Age of Wizards began, taught the Dwarves of Midyard how to make them. The explanation that I myself prefer is less colourful but no less interesting: that they are a rare but natural growth of the rocks, like the stone icicles and humps and pillars of the caves, or else like the precious gems that blossom slowly amid the deep fires of the earth. The orbs are crystals of the grey glass rock that is found in the Eastern Mountains beyond Pelduin, in the region where the Elves used to dwell. It is said with some plausibility that the Elves themselves found them, and discerned their magical nature, and clarified them; however, the story of how they passed into the keeping of the Kings of Athenor is not known. The Long Age ended with the great convulsion of Atalantis. Not only was that land drowned for ever, but the whole of Eastern Midyard was lifted, tilted and split. The South-East was raised up, and so were created the great cliffs and fiords that run for hundreds of miles along the coasts; and the North-East was drowned, leaving only the Pel-Eredwaith as its remainder; and the Northern lands were also shaken, and a great part of the city of Amruminas slid down into the lake which we now call Aduchel. The Orbs were among the many things lost in that disorder.
‘But when the Smiths, our own latter-day wizards, as indeed they are, became powerful among us and took on the Regency, one of their inventions was an underwater vessel – a diving-bell, or, as it was also known, a crab, cast in bronze, with lanterns in its eyes to shoot out rays of light, and steel tongs like claws to grab at things under the water, and a hollow chamber within, where men might breathe and live. So the Aulendili proposed this design to the Dwarves of Lhygost, and the Dragon helped the Dwarves with his fire, and they made a number of the things. They tested them in the sea, and I don’t know how many poor Foro peasants were sacrificed as divers and operators of the machines, but at last the Aulendili perfected a model that would work. It was let down into the Aduchel from a strong raft, and it crawled over the bed of the lake, and it dug through the mud and silt of the drowned pavements; and it found the palace, and broke through the timbers of the doors, and forced its way into the orb-chamber, and picked the Tirissari out of the ooze. There were two, we know: two were retrieved, although there’s only one now. What happened to the other one is unknown. I’m not being discreet here: I genuinely don’t know, and I won’t weary you with any more conjectures. But one of the Orbs of old Amruminas was brought back to the new City, and it’s been there ever since.
‘The origin of our family connexion with it is this: we go all the way back to Atanindur, younger brother of the two kings Keldur Alcarin and Olostur the First. Olostur, who had no children, was followed by Kedral the Third, grandson of Keldur, and so the line of the firstborn was continued; but our branch also has the gifts that go with the blood royal. Among which gifts is the ability to command the Orbs. When the two of them were found, Kedrahil Leucamel had died of the dragon-sickness and his son was still a boy, and the Regents were in charge. They acted faithfully. Having brought the Orb into the City, having looked into it and discerned only faint images, they invited all the lords of the realm to come and look for themselves; and of those who looked, it was Meldarion, my grandsire, who proved himself the most able to use the Orb. And so it was entrusted to him, and he looked into it, and used it for the good of the realm, and reported to the Regents all that he saw.
‘Then, when the son of Kedrahil was crowned as Olostur the Second, Meldarion surrendered the Orb faithfully to him as was right. But Olostur would not accept it: he bade him keep it and continue to use it for the common weal. For Olostur constantly journeyed on pilgrimages throughout Athenor, and beyond, in search of the Elves, who as he believed would reveal to him some great salvation for the Kingdom. Meldarion acted as the Steward of the realm while the King was away. And when Meldarion died my father became the keeper of the Orb.
‘But Asuldo the Usurper, having slain Olostur and Culuriel his Queen, and their three sons, went on to slaughter most of the old nobility, and their lands were divided up among the lesser lords, the barons who had supported him in his quest for power. Yet he spared my father: for Ostendil showed him the Orb, and revealed his knowledge of things far off, and Asuldo, who had some shrewdness, saw the value of such a servant. But he alienated my father from his domain, while my mother and I remained in Dunbury as hostages. My father was allowed to visit us twice a year. How I looked forward to the times of his coming! Then Asuldo died, and his son Oresgal became King; and we found that he was milder, but far craftier, and hardly less dangerous to disobey. What would you? I had sometimes dreamed of rebelling against him and claiming the throne in my own right; but our family has no very great following, while the barons Megiluin and Hriveor and Lefnui are far too mighty to oppose. Megiluin himself has an eye on the throne. And we may as well serve the crowned King as another usurper.’
‘Now I understand our shield,’ said Swin, commenting on the device of the eye within a grey disc. Melohtar’s shield was coloured only in black, white and grey.
‘Yes,’ agreed Erum, ‘and those ornamental globes on your gate-pillars. And yet, pardon me: did you not call this matter a state secret? Something of a giveaway, aren’t they, these devices displayed to the world?’
Lord Melohtar raised an eyebrow. ‘No doubt,’ he answered, bleak and aloof. ‘Yet even a degraded house still has its pride. My father serves the King as Steward of the City. He would gladly serve as a soldier, if occasion offered, but there are no more wars to be fought these days. Meanwhile he displays his escutcheon as Atanindur did, who commanded Keldur’s armies in many battles.’
The conversation petered out. The road led up past outcrops like steep, flat, frowning faces, with flattish scalps of green hair. The travellers passed round a tight narrow corner and beheld the town that was their destination. It seemed small and precious, huddled in the green valley between this and the next of the enormous downs. Its many houses, all built of the same grey stone, were snugly disposed amid the curving lower ridges, or marched in orderly lines along well-planned streets. Through the valley meandered a little river, the Breglin.
‘What’s that larger building with the point?’ asked Swin.
‘My dear friend, how can you ask?’ said Melohtar. ‘That’s the little Erumar of course, the church! Where our friend hopes to perform his wonderful disenchantment.’
‘Have you no hope in it?’ asked Erum.
‘None whatsoever.’
‘Come, cheer up!’ said Erum. ‘Thank you for telling us the true tale of the Orb. And may the fortunes of your house soon rise again!’
‘But what
is that point?’ asked Swin, still gazing down at the townscape, from which a few, very faint lights were beginning to twinkle through the dusk.
‘The spire,’ said Erum. ‘The steeple,’ said Melohtar.
‘I see. But there’s no tree on top.’
‘What on earth are you talking about?’ asked Melohtar.
‘The song! The tree on the spire! Haven’t you ever heard the Ballad of Dunbury Down?’
‘Sing it to him,’ suggested Erum.
Swin was nothing loth; he had been keen to turn the conversation away from the disturbing subjects of the kingship and the ancient line. His lively voice echoed from the rocky walls as the riders clip-clopped down the Road, with the cage creaking in its cart. Slowly they passed on, down and down into the shadowy valley, under a heavy starless sky.