| Chapter Four
NEWS AND AN INVITATION
Next morning brought a sharp cold wind with squalls of rain. After breakfast Melohtar announced that he would himself carry the letter to the post-house and hire a special messenger to take it. ‘That way we should have the men and everything else inside a week. And then I must see about a cage. Mr. Gough, who are the best blacksmith and wheelwright in the town?’
As Melohtar took up the sealed letter and went out, Mr. Gough said to Swin: ‘You gentlemen asked me a certain question last night, more than once, and I’ll allow as I didn’t take you seriously. I thought you was joining in the joke. But in the night it came over me, so to speak, that you might really not know... As I understand it, you’ll be staying a week at least? Then there’s something – if I could come up for a private word, after I’ve seen off the other guests –’
‘Of course,’ said Swin.
Swin and Erum went back to their room. They looked through the leaded window-panes at the lashing rain, the muddy puddles and the spouting gargoyles below the eaves of the houses. ‘What is that game?’ Swin asked. ‘Will you teach it to me? It seems like something I ought to get to know.’
Obligingly Erum set out the chess-pieces and began to talk about them. Half an hour later the Landlord knocked on the door. He came in and sat down.
‘It’s like this,’ he said. ‘I’m a busy man; and I’m a business-man. I keep myself to myself and I don’t meddle in the private matters of my guests. So long as they pays their bill, it’s no concern of mine where they go after they leave my house, nor what they’ve been doing afore they comes here. And I daresay I was hard on you last time, Mr. Gumasson, but I had to be; so I do hope you’ll consider me now as meaning well, nor trying to cause trouble betwixt you and your friends.’
‘No,’ said Swin, all at sea.
‘You seem a little anxious, maybe embarrassed?’ said Erum kindly. ‘We’ll promise not to take it amiss, whatever you have to say.’
‘Well, sir, it is embarrassing, you being a priest of the Temple and all. What I have to say is for Mr. Gumasson’s ears, really.’
‘Have you heard something from Garholt?’ asked Swin.
‘Garholt, sir? You mean, down the Road? No, not at all. It’s to do with something that’s transpired in the City, from when you was there last spring.’
‘My friend knows all about that,’ said Swin. ‘And he’s promised not to take offence at anything you might have to say, so...?’
Mr. Gough went red in the face. ‘Very well, sir,’ he said. ‘Now what I realised, all of a sudden, in the middle of the night, was that you might – you might well be genuinely ignorant, in good faith like, if you hadn’t been back to Vinyards since, say, end of last summer. Maybe you won’t have heard any of the gossip since then. On my word of honour, sir, I wouldn’t be so impertinent as to raise such a private matter if I didn’t think – and if Mrs. Gough didn’t agree – that it really, properly belonged to you, to be told of it.’
‘To be told of what?’ demanded Swin.
‘Why, what the folks are all laughing at! What you was asking last night. All the news gets to Tregg: there was gossip about this a month ago. And then last fortnight a letter came.’
‘A letter for me?’ asked Swin.
‘No, Mr. Gumasson, for me. From my brother Bentley who keeps The Dragon’s Head in Ruminas. We write to each other regular. We exchange the news.’
‘What then?’ asked Swin. ‘I must say, Mr. Gough, you’re driving me out of my mind!’
‘Yes sir,’ was the unhappy answer. And then: ‘It’s no good, I don’t dare tell it. I’ll show you Bentley’s letter. You can read it for yourselves.’ He took a couple of folded written sheets from his breast pocket and handed them to Swin, who at once passed them to Erum.
‘I can’t read. Show him where it’s written.’
Erum unfolded the letter curiously. Then, directed to the relevant passage by Mr. Gough’s shaking forefinger, he read aloud:
...But that’s enough doom and gloom for one letter. Have you heard of the great joke that’s going round the City now? I suppose it’s hardly been a joke for the husbands, and least of all for poor Sisilas. On the other hand it’s certainly put a smile on everyone’s face, and even now I still do hear myself sniggering as I write.
Well, my Lady Arloth being with child, unexpected as it was, was at least an open scandal, and thanks to her wealth and rank she is able to brave the consequences. Of course there is no husband in her case. Lady Daeranna’s pregnancy was known to Lord Lefnui before he went away. He is expected back in the City shortly. Some say she trusts to his forgiveness. Others say as he’d given his blessing in advance and is quite prepared to accept the child as his own. My Lady Vornis has had twins, boy and girl, but Engwe our Lord High Nincompoop is known to be ruled by her, so we need look for no trouble in that quarter. But Lady Sisilas and her child have disappeared. Rumour says that Lord Megiluin has had them imprisoned or made away with. His own wife is a pattern of virtue. It seems that he cannot bear unfaithfulness even in a mistress. Lady Ilyirme is now confined to her father’s house. She also had twins, two boys. Alas, she’s no longer the toast of the Guards. We hear that Captain Crabanir and Lieutenant Sorquid fought a duel over her – but now the children are born and the scandal’s out, they have made friends again and both renounced her for ever. Finally, the sisters Miriel and Alquessiel have left the City together. But in their case, which is like Lady Arloth’s, nobody suspects any foul play.
So there we have seven ladies, and nine little babies – six boys and three girls. Strange, this outburst of wicked behaviour among the females of our nobility. Odd, this little narrow teeming patch in the sad barren ground of our City. Strange, odd, yet not so incredible as the main truth of the business –
Every child has red hair and blue eyes.
I myself have seen only one of them, Arloth’s son. She gave a feast to celebrate the birth. I hope that my efforts helped to raise it above all the embarrassment. The child was brought in at the end, just as I was returning the silverware to the kitchen. He is a bonny little lad. He reminded me of someone, and I daresay a great many other people in other houses have been thinking of the same person. Since poor Queen Culuriel died, there has only ever once been seen such a flame-red head of hair in the City, and it belonged to the poor young fellow, Lord Melohtar’s friend from Doroech, who was here just ten months ago, and then went and got himself cut to bits by the Worm. Maybe we need a few more barbarians like him in this town. But it’s probably just as well, all things considered, that he is dead now and out of the way.
Erum turned a page. His voice had become less expressive, more level and cold, during the course of his reading. In a colourless tone he asked:
‘There’s no more on this subject, is there, Mr. Gough?’
‘No, Your Reverence,’ said the Landlord anxiously. Erum returned the letter to him and he put it back in his pocket.
Swin had got up and was standing at the window. His back was turned, but his hands were clasped behind it and the tension in them was plain to be seen.
‘Well, sirs, that’s it,’ said the Landlord. ‘Like I said, I only hope you’ll give me due credit.’
‘Yes.’ Swin turned back and faced him with a strained smile. ‘You did the right thing and I’m grateful. Thank you.’
Mr. Gough at once retreated. Swin turned away again. Erum stood looking at him.
There was a very long pause.
‘Dryhten-Sweald,’ said Swin at last.
‘Yes,’ agreed Erum. ‘God have mercy upon us.’
Silence.
‘Poor little bastards,’ said Swin.
‘Don’t you dare call them that! The shame’s none of theirs!’
‘What on earth d’you mean?’
‘I mean that it deeply offends against the justice of Almighty Dru, that innocent little children who are born into this world illegitimately, should suffer obloquy for what is none of their own fault! Shame on the parents, rather, for their irresponsible lust and misbehaviour!’
Swin made no effort to defend himself against the angry rebuke, instead remarking: ‘Where I come from a maid who bears a child out of wedlock is beaten for it. And then she and the child are expelled from the tribe.’
‘No doubt. But we of Thandor are a little more civilised.’
Outside the sky was darkening. A new volley of raindrops came spattering against the window. Swin saw the covers and awnings of the market stalls flapping wildly. The townsfolk put up their umbrellas or hastened into shelter. Then the window-pane became blurred.
He felt Erum’s hand on his shoulder.
They sat down together at the table.
A little while later Swin became aware, through the blur, of an umbrella with an old woman underneath it. She was coming down the road at an awkward waddling run, her boots splashing in the puddles. Little else could be seen of her, save her basket and her soaked skirts. She halted below the inn-sign.
‘Well, say something,’ said Swin.
‘What else is there to say?’
‘Would your God forgive me for this?’
‘Surely!’
But really it seemed, for the moment, despite the staggering news they had just received, that there was nothing more to be said. Swin let go of Erum’s hand. He dried his tears with his handkerchief (a useful novelty). Then there was a knock on the door, and Hal Hardedge entered.
‘Lady to see Mr. Gumasson,’ he announced. ‘Says it’s very important. Begs the favour of an ’mediate audience.’
‘Oh,’ said Swin. ‘Oh well, let her come up.’
There came the sound of boots clumping up the stairs, with heavy panting, so that for a fleeting moment Swin was reminded of the subterranean approach of the Goddess in his dream. However, the woman who came in at the door had no such frightening aspect. Or did she? As Fuindis, whom the Punchkins had seen in the vaults of Erynvorn, she had been terrifying; but it was as Calendis, familiarly known as Berma, that Swin and Erum now beheld her: an old woman of confused appearance, red-faced and breathless, her white bun of hair insecurely fixed and falling apart beneath her lop-sided bonnet, her brown skirts dripping water. She seemed to have left her umbrella downstairs, but – well, with Berma it’s always a matter of seeming.
Erum knew her by sight, and of course he well remembered her intervention at Melohtar’s and Gauriel’s wedding. ‘Good morning, Madam,’ he said, rising with the coldest of courtesy. ‘Pray be seated. I regret that Lord Melohtar is not present, for it cannot but be that he would welcome the pleasure of your company; but I expect he’ll be joining us quite soon.’
‘It wasn’t him I wanted to see,’ she replied, dropping into a chair with a sigh of relief, ‘it was this lad here. Let’s have a look at you. Hello! Been crying, have you? I take it you’ve heard the news, then?’
‘You’re very brash,’ said Swin, doing his best to copy Erum’s manner: trying to sound politely scornful. ‘Who are you, anyway? I mean, may I request the favour of your name?’
‘Call me Berma,’ she answered. She took off her bonnet. ‘Excuse me for just putting up my hair, a moment, will you? I’m in an awful muddle. Folk call me the Untidy Witch of the North.’ She unpinned her hair, so that the white locks tumbled down on the grey shawl covering her shoulders; combed them out briskly with a black comb, braided the hair with remarkable swiftness and then pinned it all up again a little more securely.
‘So the Witch of the South, she’s the tidy one?’ said Erum.
‘Oh no, young sir, Your Reverence, she’s far worse than me! You don’t want to mess with her, no you don’t! She’s quite cross enough with you already!’
‘Indeed? Why?’
‘Don’t ask when you know perfectly well. Anyway it’s this lad I’m after, not you. I believe I’m addressing of Eofor, Guma’s son, nicknamed Swin. May I shake you by the hand?’
She rose and advanced towards him. A little surprised, Swin reciprocated. They shook hands. Her grip was strong and perfectly dry, with a kind of pleasant tingle or sizzle.
‘At last we meet,’ he said, and wondered what the words meant.
‘True! Well said, young man!’ she cried. They let go of hands. ‘Now, can we be private together?’
Erum sat stubbornly with folded arms. ‘I’ll leave the room, Swin, only at your express request,’ he said. ‘I’m at a loss to imagine what this person might have to say to you, that’s unfit for my ears. Did you not, just now, desire the forgiveness of Dru?’
Swin nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You may speak freely before my friend, Mistress Berma.’
‘Oh dear,’ she sighed. ‘Oh deary deary dear. It’s going wrong already. I knew it would. There’s a fate in it. Well, we must just do the best we can. How much do you remember of your meeting with those seven ladies?’
‘Nothing.’
‘It’s time you heard the real story, at least, my side of the story, from the beginning.’
‘Gladly!’
She closed her eyes in the grey light, recollecting herself, weighing her words. The rain rattled against the window. ‘Let me start by saying you’re wanted, Swin. You’re a special man. I’ve been on the lookout for you, as it were, for many, many a long year now, since long afore you were born. And now you are here, it’s easy to say I made mistakes, I did this or that thing wrong; but I can’t be everywhere. I’ve other fish to fry. Hah, yes, that was how it began, for me: with fried fish. A friend of mine met you, quite by chance, when you was on your way to Vinyards last year with the little Punchkins. You made a good impression on her, what with killing those nasty men and then treating her decent. It so happened that I was in the same neighbourhood – not that night, but the next. I took her home with me and I was very very interested in what she had to tell. So I just wiped out the memory of her, and her fried fish, from your head, and from your friends’ heads. I wanted to keep things clear. And that never did no hurt.
‘Now it had just so happened, that very same day, that two ladies of the town had come out to consult me. Lady Arloth and Lady Daeranna. Poor things, they had the same grief that all the women in that town have. There’s not much I can do for ’em generally. But it was brave and humble-like for those fine ladies to come begging for help to an old witch in her smelly tumbledown cottage. And another thing: there was five more of ’em. They was a group of seven friends. Seven bad men dead, and seven women all with a need: it was a sign. So I went back to see Arloth, and I told her about you, and I gave her a little potion to help you along with, and then when you got to the City you got yourself put in prison, thanks to that crazy hoity-toity bitch of a princess – Chief Magistrate, indeed! My arse! But Arloth was able to get you out again, so that was all right, and then you – What shall I say, young man? You certainly rose to the challenge, didn’t you! From my point of view that was a second test that you’d passed; but I’ll own as I didn’t think of looking forward far enough – I never do look forward much, I ain’t good at it – and I’ll admit that those ladies got more than they bargained for. Still, most of the women’ll be envying them. And I’m glad to see that you’ve got some heart for them too, especially for that poor Sisilas.
‘And then there was the last thing: to make sure of your quality. I sent my friend, Bryd, to meet you by the lake. There are qualities – I won’t name ’em – that are nothing to do with me or She whom I serve. She don’t care about them at all. But I do recognise them and I see that they matter. You had to be tested in another way. It was the third test, and you passed it too, so all that was left was for you and me to have a little quiet word, and... But that’s all gone by for now. It was me that ruined my own plan, I suppose. If I’d kept my temper with that young wench... But I still don’t know. You were minded to visit me, weren’t you? But then you went and swore that dreadful Oath, and a fine lot of trouble that’s caused us. Oh dear oh dear,’ she continued in a tremulous tone, ‘I’ve done me best all along, no-one can’t reproach me for not trying.’ She pulled the ball of a grubby handkerchief from her sleeve, dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose. ‘Maybe I was too proud in the way I did it,’ she mumbled. ‘Maybe I should have come straight out and begged you – like I’m begging now. But I don’t rightly know even if...’
Her voice tailed away. By this time Swin was feeling rather sorry for her. But he was at a loss for words. It was Erum who spoke next, in a voice as cold and hard as a steel ruler:
‘Tell me one thing, old woman! Who is this She whom you serve?’
She winced and hunched herself into her chair, glaring at him furiously from lowered eyes.
‘None of your scorn, young sir! You’ll be sorry, truly you will! But you, Swin, if you’re wanting to ask the same question, I can’t answer it, not now, not before this lad! Here I come all defenceless, leaving me bag at home ’cause I’m sick of magic and trying to order things at a distance: here I come to beg of you, on bended knees like: and here I find you with this priest, who’s got a little power of his own, as I can see, and he’s able to hurt me badly if I open myself up any more!’
‘Indeed, she fears the light of the truth,’ said Erum with a self-satisfied smirk.
‘Right. You’ve had it, my lad!’ She shook her fist at him. ‘Just you wait!’
‘I fear not your curses, beldame!’
‘Hold on, please,’ said Swin. ‘Mistress Berma, you will not answer my friend’s question, but there must be still something else that you want to say to me...?’
But she had collapsed into helpless sobs.
‘Erum,’ Swin said, ‘at my express request, could you go downstairs and ask them to send up a pot of tea, and a few little cakes? Then come back up to us. What about a cup of tea?’ he appealed to her: ‘Wouldn’t that be nice?’
‘Thank you, dear,’ she said between sobs, ‘that would be lovely.’
With a sardonic look Erum left the room. Swin at once came over to her and knelt down before her. ‘Now, quickly,’ he said, ‘who is she?’
‘She’s the Goddess. She’s Yabeth. Please do come, Swin.’ She clutched his hands. ‘You’re a dear young man and I hate to think of the noose you’re putting your head into.’
‘What noose? Come where?’
‘Don’t ask, just come!’
‘But you know very well, if all you say is true, that I’m just as much in the power of my Oath as I was before! I can’t turn out of my way!’
‘But you did, you young fool! You were following the wolf, as you ought to do, and then you did turn out of your way! Now if you’ll only listen to me, and send this priest friend packing, and come after the wolf again, and the other friend too, I mean her husband, it’ll go well for you both!’
‘I don’t like being called a fool,’ said Swin with his first slow anger. ‘She called me a fool too.’
‘When did she?’
‘In a dream.’
‘Herself she came to you in a dream?’ Berma cried eagerly, squeezing his hands hard. ‘What did she say?’
‘Many things,’ said Swin, irritated. Erum then returned. Swin went back to his chair. The three of them sat in uncomfortable self-contained silence until the tea arrived. Erum poured out, and Swin handed round the cakes.
‘To my mind,’ Berma said presently, brushing crumbs from her knees as she resumed the conversation, ‘there’s one thing that stands out a mile. There’s a fate in this. Or Fate’s in this. In here, in this room with us right now. You’ve a name for him, haven’t you?’ The question was addressed to Erum.
‘Fate?’ he answered, his eyebrows raised, his teacup held primly just below his mouth. ‘Yes. He’s Marbaug the Lord of Doom and the Lord of the Dead. His judgements are inexorable, but he pronounces them only at the behest of Mindir, and Mindir’s laws are wholly in accord with the justice of Dru. Some say that Marbaug sees all things in the future as clearly as he sees all things past: the only moment he is blind to is the present moment. This moment is our freedom within the prisons of past and future eternity.’
Berma nodded heavily, but Swin was a little disturbed by this. ‘If the future is a prison,’ he asked, ‘why should it matter which way we choose?’
‘Yes, well, now you’re touching on one of our more difficult doctrines,’ answered Erum. ‘There’s Serna the spouse of Marbaug, and she’s an even grimmer figure. She’s both a spinner and a weaver. She spins time into a single strong black yarn, which she then uses as the warp for her weaving. She weaves the record of everything that happens, everybody’s entire life; and some say that she also weaves what is going to happen, so that the record is indeed already fixed.’
‘Already?’ asked Swin, indignant and incredulous. ‘Like – as if someone’s writing in a book, writing down the story of the rest of my life before I’ve lived it? Do you believe that?’
‘Think of the stories you know,’ Erum answered. ‘Think of the lore of your own people. The best-loved tales are told over and over again. That you know how the story will end does not diminish the pleasure and the interest and the beauty of the telling.’
‘Which interest and beauty,’ said Swin, ‘are to be found in the present moment? That being where we’re free?’
‘Precisely. You understand it very well.’
‘I’m not sure he does,’ said Berma. ‘Is there any more tea in the pot?’
‘Yes,’ said Swin. ‘I agree with you. I don’t feel free even in this present moment. I’m in the power of the Oath, as I said. Or as if Metod’s an enemy, our adversary – as if he’s playing against me at that game, chess. Even though he’s blind, he’s the best player in the world: he can’t help but win.’
‘No, Swin!’ said Erum with kindly gravity. ‘You of all men should be free – should be and will be. Even though Marbaug, or Metod as you call him, holds the souls of all men for eternity, you were released! By the providence of Dru you have been allowed back. You will be free, and you will triumph!’
‘Yes, I was allowed back, for some reason,’ said Swin. ‘Do you know why, Mistress Berma?’
‘Oh, I know the why of it,’ she answered. ‘Obvious, ain’t it? You’re a special man. You’re going to be wanted for the City. But I haven’t an inkling of the how.’
‘Well, Fate,’ said Swin. ‘What’s your version?’
‘To me he’s an enemy, like you said,’ she answered. ‘It’s something I never expected, never even began to imagine,’ she went on wearily. ‘All the long years of waiting, of walking, of searching, of seeking, and now here you are at last, the very man, beyond any doubt, and at once, bang! It’s like a slap in me face.’ ‘Indeed,’ murmured Erum. ‘He’s fighting against me a-purpose. He’s taken special care to plant this Priest of ill-will towards me, right in this room, to grab a-hold of you and keep you back just when I invite you!’
‘Yes?’ said Swin.
‘Please come, lad. Come to the cottage, like you should have come before. Let me explain it all better. You’ll have time to spare, I know you will. You’ll be in the town for a good few days yet. Come out. Pay me a visit.’
Swin said nothing.
‘Or, there is another road you could take. And this is the last thing I’ll say. When the wolf came back to you, she came because she’d been sent. You know that. But did you ever wonder who sent her?’
‘Fate,’ said Swin.
‘No!’ she replied angrily. ‘Not a bit of it! Her, not Him! He don’t cherish the wild beasts! It’s She who feeds ’em from her hand, and Her law they all act obedient to, Her law of life what She made in the beginning! The foxes are hers, and the wolves, and the white birds! We found we couldn’t do naught against that dreadful Oath you swore, but we found a way to use it, with the she-wolf as a guide and messenger, to bring you where you need to come. So you could try obeying your Oath, like I said, now while there’s still time! Don’t you try to master her! Don’t you go a-hunting her!’
She had stood up and was wagging her finger at Swin while berating him and gathering her shawl about her shoulders. Tears streamed down her cheeks. With a last venomous look at Erum she turned and marched out of the room. The door slammed. Her boots went down the stairs.
‘Phew!’ breathed Erum – a long whistling exhalation. ‘An ugly customer. Well done, my friend. You stood your ground.’
‘Yes,’ said Swin vaguely.
‘Cheer up! And let’s acknowledge that she gave us a helpful clue. Your destiny lies in the City. This you know yourself. We could call it fate, but I’d rather call it the plan and the wisdom of Dru.’
‘Yes.’
‘Dru laughs at the plots and the plans of all dark witches and demons and powers of chaos. The light shineth in darkness, and the darkness comprehendeth it not! So we may laugh with Him.’
‘Yes,’ said Swin. ‘It’s coming out now,’
The clouds had parted and bright sunlight was pouring into the room. The drops glittered on the windows. Outside, the wet roofs and road and pavements were all aflame.
‘It is indeed!’ cried Erum. ‘Dru be praised who has given us this victory!’
‘I suppose I’ll say amen to that,’ said Swin. ‘But, you know, you’ve made an enemy there.’
Erum shook his head, smiling in unconcern. Over lunch they told Melohtar about the news of the letter and the stormy meeting; or rather Erum did, for Swin was preoccupied and allowed him to do most of the talking. The result must have been that Melohtar gained a rather biased understanding of what had happened. His response, however, was to ask an obvious question, one that had been overlooked by both the others.
‘What about the restoration?’ he said. ‘When we’ve caught the wolf? Didn’t you ask Berma about turning Gauriel back again?’
Erum pursed his lips. Swin sighed.
‘Well, time enough for that when we’ve caught her,’ said Melohtar. ‘I suppose. Yet maybe that’s not true. Maybe time’s running out. We’ve been away from the City for too long. I must write to my father and the King.’
‘All this writing!’ said Swin.
‘I’m putting your concerns first, my friend,’ said Melohtar. ‘You should be aware of that.’
Your concerns?
Your concerns?
‘Sorry,’ said Swin lightly, ‘what do you mean by “your concerns”?’
‘Oh, goodness me,’ said Melohtar, briskly cutting a loaf, ‘the whole reason for your journey! This tremendous task of catching poor old Gauriel! The fulfilment of the Quest! But it has absolute priority with me, Swin: of that you can be assured.’
‘Oh, great,’ said Swin, still thinking: my concerns? My concerns? Here was a fresh new cause of dismay. Were his Oath, and his guilt, and all the heartbreak he had caused, and all his zeal for Melohtar’s honour, and all his commitment to Gauriel being restored – were these merely his concerns? Why not our concerns, or Gauriel’s concerns? As with a clap of thunder, the perception smote him: Melohtar does not really want to recover Gauriel at all.
The oath still drives him, as it drives me.
But he does not desire her.
He doesn’t want her back, and he probably never did.
The meat he was chewing had become tasteless in his mouth. He put his knife down on the table, swallowed, and could eat no more.
In the days that followed – this is jumping ahead to contemplate an image that came to Swin later, but it may as well be offered now – in the days that followed, he asked his two friends to teach him the game of chess. He learned quickly and played every day, and surprised both Erum and Melohtar, before the week was out, by beating them at the game. And in that moment, as he put down the knife, he felt himself conquered as if by being fixed in checkmate. Hopeless to attempt to unlock the intricate position, to resolve the interplay of forces among Pawn, Bishop, Knight, Queen and Castles. Impossible (Aldred believes) at this distance to disentangle the motives, the known desires and fears, the unknown desires and fears, between him and Erum and Melohtar and the other principal pieces. The position was fixed, the struggle had come to an end, Fate had won and Swin’s mind was made up. He would not take up either of the alternatives that Berma had proposed. He would join the hunt. The huntsmen would blow their horns, the hounds would be unleashed, and sooner or later, even if they had to pursue the she-wolf through the length and breadth of old Athenor, Gauriel would be captured.
Meanwhile there were many preparations to be made. The whole of Tregg was in a fever of excitement. Wheelwright, blacksmith and carpenters worked hard on the cage and the wagon. Dozens of would-be huntsmen and followers, young and old, recommended themselves to Melohtar’s service. Every day he roved around the town and the outlying farms, talking to farmers, buying forage and provisions, improving his own knowledge of the land; and always Swin went with him. In six days they had assembled a retinue – men, horses, dogs and carts – to add to the half-dozen of Melohtar’s own family retainers who had been summoned. At last, on a cool clear evening, the sound of distant horncalls echoed from the gaunt flanks of Tregg-hill; and before nightfall the glittering huntsmen had ridden into the market square. The next day, the ninth of March, would see the hunting of the white wolf.
This is the end of Part Three. Continue to the Third Extract from the Book of the Acts of Kemendil, or alternatively, to go straight on with the main story, go to Part Four, Chapter One.
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