| Chapter Three
THE EXPEDITION
The statue of the Eagle was moved with careful anxious labour, lifted up to a gantry above the height of the dome and at last fixed triumphantly in place. Its wings glittered in the light of the rising sun and all the people hailed it with delight. Eastward it faced, and Erum saw it looking after him as he rode from the City. All preparations having been accomplished, the host was now on the march: Lord Lefnui rode in the lead and his standard-bearer carried the blue banner of Thandor, with the many-branched silver tree that flashed and sparkled as it streamed in the wind. Beside Lefnui rode Melohtar, transformed from a retiring scholar and administrator into a shining tall-plumed knight; the sombre escutcheon of Ostendil was fastened to his saddle-bow, and all the men of the host cheered him when he cantered down the line. Behind the standard trotted the cavalry drawn from Lefnui’s household and the Palace Guard; behind them strode the men-at-arms; then followed the men of the Aulendili with Hrem as their captain, with a contingent of sturdy Dwarves. Behind them in turn, as the line climbed from the shores of Aduchel to take the East Road, the disordered ranks of the Foro settlers pressed onward, each of them with his own blue sash or cockade and each armed with shield and spear. There were eleven hundred of them; they chatted and joked with one another, and their faces were hopeful. Next, beyond the long teams of plodding horses, rolled the baggage trains, with the huge-wheeled waggons of the artificers, and the flat heavy drays upon which the burdens were covered with tight-lashed canvas, and which rode on metal wheels within the cunning loops of articulated tracks. The rearguard carried Lefnui’s own banner, black and yellow, for they too were of his household; among them rode the Bishop-elect of Daelum Province and his chaplain. Bishop Erumardil did not at all enjoy riding a horse, even after lessons from Lord Melohtar’s groom, and even though his mount, a pretty bay mare, was as patient as a horse could be. He bumped and jolted in his saddle despite the slow pace. He turned from gazing at the eagle-pinnacled dome to the shirred waters of the lake and the few late migrant birds, detained by the long summer, that were still flitting and wheeling by the shore. On impulse he raised his hand and gave a whistle-call. A swallow stooped down to alight on his finger, gripping it with sharp little claws. Erum blessed the bird and cast it back into the air, and the soldiers and the chaplain, Berven, saw it fly away at once to the South; and all of them grinned, for that was a good omen.
Two streams issue from the great northern lake: the Belechel, or Bleck, that has often been mentioned, and the Nibichel, or Nibble, the shorter, wilder stream that receives only one main tributary before emerging into Fairport Bay. At first wandering half-lost through its steep valley, it pours out from the eastern side of the Hills of Aduchel into long rapids and cataracts, passing swiftly below Thaliondas, Lefnui’s castle and demesne, and then winding down to its meeting with the Malog; from which the combined waters descend for another twenty leagues, becoming calmer and broader as the approach the firth. Here, in ages past, the Elves were wont to take ship from the harbour-town, of which only the common-language names, Elfkeys or Fairport, are now remembered; the old Elvish name, like the town itself, has been submerged. But the road that leads towards it from ancient Amruminas is still used. It rolls and winds among the hills, eschewing the difficult rocky course of the stream, its white parapet visible in the distance and appearing like a broken line of shavings, slim and curled. Wherever it happened to be broken or fallen away Lefnui’s engineers effected speedy repairs; but in general the paving-stones were still strong and well-set, with no more than a light covering of grass and weeds, so that even the heaviest wheels were able to roll forward smoothly.
The host had no apprehension of danger while still so near the City; but outlaws lurked in the hills, and there might be theft of horses, and Lefnui neglected no precaution, being resolved to train his little army to deal well with whatever perils might lie ahead. A screen of scouts and gallopers was kept constantly in advance of the column and along both flanks; and every night, at irregular hours, he himself would go to visit the watch and the outlying sentinels. Any who were found asleep when they should be alert were sure of a flogging next day. As the days passed the men came to respect him, and their mood continued to be cheerful. Progress was delayed by the slow waggons, but the miles wore on, and by the end of the fifth day the vanguard had reached the Malog, that here flowed southward in a deep gorge. The old bridge was sighted and crossed by scouts, and a bridgehead made secure; then the structure was carefully tested, and then the whole host crossed over without mishap. On the sixth day Lefnui and his commanders stood by the Nibichel itself. They must now build a bridge here, where the silver-grey waters were still narrow and firmly banked. For the rest of that day, and all the next, there was a mighty hewing and felling of trees. The bridge took shape as a gangway laid across a chained raft. The second crossing was achieved. The host had travelled eighty miles in a straight line, though perhaps half as much again along the winding road; and they had been on their way for a week. Next morning Erum conducted an open-air service, thanking Lord Dru for the fair weather and the peaceful journey.
Still, they had come only a quarter of the way. They now continued along the south bank of the Nibichel, going more slowly but in a straighter course. They saw tiny points, the heads of high mountains, pricking up from the horizon. A fresh breeze blew in the faces of the host, and the piled clouds of the sky seemed to widen and to rise up higher and higher. To the right, and also far away to the left, the mountains drew nearer. There was the sense of approaching a great gate. At dawn on the sixth day of this stage of their journey the host heard the voices of many seagulls; the River suddenly widened, and a white stone waymark was reared up at the beginning of a long embankment. This still protected the shallow bank from the encroachment of the marsh. The company marched along, and the river-tide flooded in, a sheet of light; sank down, retreated and began to flood again. At dusk they came to a place where the embankment swept off to the right, toward the South-East. Here, as Hrem and Melohtar reminded Lefnui, they must strike southward, away from the River, between the coastal mountain-range of the Ephel Nurn and the woods that lay to the East of Punchkinland. Melohtar made a request of Lord Lefnui: since all was going so well, the land being empty and no enemies with fifty miles, might not he and Erumardil – after the latter had conducted the morning service, of course – have leave to ride to the end of the embanked way, with the aim of seeing the ruins of the old port, if anything was to be seen?
Lefnui made a show of considering the request. ‘How far is it?’
‘A few miles, my lord,’ said Melohtar. ‘Not more than a dozen, there and back.’
‘Very well. Enjoy yourselves. Take Hrem with you, if he’d like to go.’
And so at mid-morning Melohtar, Erum and Hrem, with two attendant riders, galloped out of the peaceful camp. Erum’s riding had improved by now, so he was able to keep up with the others as they dashed down the long acres of flat, scrubby lawn – the surface, as it seemed, of another old road. The river-mouth opened wider and wider until the riders saw the whole expanse of the enclosed bay.
‘What are those mountains called?’ asked Erum.
‘Amon Thon and Amon Brethil!’ cried Melohtar in his exhilaration. ‘The Gates of Nibichel!’
Amon Thon rose up suddenly from the river-plain, its head white, its spurs and ridges clothed with woods of dark green. Beyond it the peaks of the Eastern range of the Black Mountains marched and melted away into the enormous blue. Closer at hand, the gentler majesty of Amon dominated its tree-covered foothills glowing with the pale golds and fawn-colours of autumn. That way ran the opposite range, lower and barer, of the Ephel Nurn. ‘And all this was once a continuous chain, was it not?’ shouted Erum, projecting his words through the freshening wind.
‘Yes! And there was a vast territory on the other side!’
‘But where are these Havens of yours?’ asked Hrem, reining in his steed. Alas, it was apparent that their journey was to lead to no destination. The horses’ hooves were leaving deeper prints. The scrubby grass was changing to thick-leaved sea-plants, ribbons of brown and emerald green, and piles of black, bladdered fronds. The edge of the embankment could no longer be discerned. The road had run straight into the marsh of the bay, which now shimmered in the clear light of noon. A few tree-covered island, lying half-dissolved in the mud and separate from the woods of the firmer shore, were dark, in deep shadow. Stirnelach sniffed at the mud nervously.
‘Well, well! Circhil has gone, and all his folk,’ said Melohtar with a touch of theatrical self-indulgence, ‘and all his works have perished.’
‘Yes, my lord,’ said Erum.
‘Tell me, Hrem, while we contemplate the domain of the Elves: did you see any of them on your travels? In Daelum, or beyond?’
‘I did not, my lord,’ was the blank answer. ‘Let’s go back. Tide’s turned, and it’ll come fast.’
They rode up the long incline. When the surface of the road was firm again, Melohtar said: ‘Come, speak. The King isn’t here now.’
‘Will you tell Lord Lefnui what I say, my lord?’
‘It’s by his command that I’m questioning you.’
‘Bildan! Olrog! Go on ahead of us, a hundred paces… I saw no elves, my lord, and I don’t think they inhabit the region, not Ninniachlo. But what my men saw, that’s another matter.’
‘What did they see?’
‘I don’t rightly know.’
‘Say more, if you please.’
‘But how can I, my lord?’ Hrem held his reins loosely in one hand, his head bent forward and nodding sullenly with the movement of his pacing horse. Melohtar and Erumardil exchanged a glance.
Erum began soothingly. ‘Well then, you had some very bad trouble; and you couldn’t interrogate your men. Why not? Are all of them dead?’
‘Dead or lost. Gone.’
‘You feel great grief, then. And shame? And anger?’
‘All of those, Your Reverence.’
‘For the men who died were under your command, while you yourself were spared.’
Hrem’s hand clenched into a tight fist and jerked back, sharply pulling at the horse’s mouth. The horse neighed in angry protest.
‘Did you see them die?’
‘Just one, Your Reverence. His name was – it was – ’
‘How did he die?’
‘Drowned himself in the quick-mud, Your Reverence. We couldn’t get to him. We couldn’t save him. There was only me and a few others left by then.’
‘How did he come to drown himself?’
‘I guess he was led.’ Hrem sighed deeply and began to tell the true story at last. ‘There’s lights, my lord. Swamp-fires. They walk over the black pools. They dance. It can be hard not to follow ’em. And sometimes they seem to take on shapes, like, shapes of women.’
‘So you really were bewitched?’ said Melohtar.
‘That’s about the long and the short of it, and that’s just what I couldn’t say to His Majesty. We was attacked. We was under continous attack, all the time we was there. But we never saw no elves nor no other enemies. It was all in our minds, or else it was invisible. Fifteen months, it must have been, but it hardly don’t seem like more than two. I remember arriving, and setting up camp on the edge of the swamp, and watching the fires on our first nightfall. And then it rained, and next morning when dawn came up the pools all shone like rainbow colours, and three men were gone. The first few that disappeared, I sent out search parties to look for ’em, till I found that didn’t do no good at all. Anyway we began test-drilling and located the principal wells. We were commanded to explore over them mountains as well, so I sent out parties, and I told them to look out for old Halken, though I knew by then that… Only one party came back. They’d done some good. They had the samples of foam and varnish to show, but they were half starved. They kept talking about the music they’d heard, and the elvish women.’
‘Real elvish women?’ asked Melohtar.
‘My lord, how can I tell? Does it matter? My men were just men. They were stuck in a filthy swamp. They’d been there for months. They were, as you might say, vulnerable to being tempted.’
‘But you were not?’ asked Erum mildly.
The mildness was an assumed pose. At that moment he felt very tense indeed. At once he was aware that his two companions both felt the same, and that both were aware of this tension in the other two. A sudden intimacy, unwelcome and frighteningly dangerous, glared between the three men. It lasted for a second or two, with the duration of forked lightning. The horses felt it, and their hooves faltered. Then the companions shook their reins and picked up the pace, but now, by common unspoken agreement, considerably further away from each other.
‘I was not, Your Reverence,’ said Hrem with a sneer. ‘It could be, that’s how I alone managed to escape.’
‘Did you send messengers to us?’ asked Melohtar.
‘Yes I did, at least three of ’em, and I reckon there was more, only it’s been wiped from me mind. But they was turned round. I remember one of ’em, Urnic, riding back into camp. He came over to headquarters, where I was, and looks me full in the face, and he says to me, straight out: “Dispatches from Hrem the Surveyor, Your Majesty.”’
‘What?’ said Erum.
‘I see,’ said Melohtar. ‘And it was your own dispatches he handed back to you. Rather like those guards who were sent after the Punchkins.’
‘Yes, my lord, and I’ve heard something about Lieutenant Sorquid at your own wedding too.’
Melohtar ignored the insolent allusion. ‘Did the man ever recover his wits?’
‘Who’s to say? Everyone’s wits was addled by that time.’
‘So that you felt no alarm? Is that why you did not cut short your assignment? Why did you not return sooner?’
‘We lost count of time, my lord. It ended with me waking up one morning in the camp. One summer morning. I came out of my cabin, and the sun had come up, and the reeds were waving in the wind, and the birds was all chirping, and I felt quite happy. And then it came over me like a damn bucketful of cold water, that I was all alone! I stood still in a cold sweat. My hair was stood up and my heart was thumping. I seemed to hear a flute playing in the distance, very faint. Then I knew I was the last man left, and that I must get me gone or they’d have me too. But I hope to meet them again some day, those Elves.’
‘You hope to meet them,’ commented Erum: ‘Do you harbour thoughts of revenge?’
‘Your Reverence, the enemies who attacked us seduced and stole my men away from me, men I’d known a long time, some of ’em, men who thought they had reason to trust me. And that burns my heart.’
‘Assuredly,’ Erum replied, ‘and my own deepest compassion has been moved by your tale. Yet I entreat you not to harbour thoughts of revenge, for that is something condemned by Dru. Going into such perilous deceits as you have described, we must place all our reliance on Him. And how shall He protect us if we break His law? Vengeance is for the heathen tribes, who see no other way to enforce their weak human codes of justice. But we must go armed with superior strength: a strength that is not our own.’
‘Well, Your Reverence,’ said Hrem, ‘if you can keep us clear of spells and bewitchments this time, I wish you the best of luck.’
‘No!’ said Erum with some vehemence. ‘Not I, but the One above. He will protect us!’
Talk ceased, and the three jogged onward, each busy with his thoughts. When they arrived at camp, Erum took leave of his two companions and rode away; but a nameless suspicion prompted him to glance back at them. Dismounted, still holding their horses, they were conferring with their heads together. The sight made him feel even more uneasy. The unease later turned out to be well justified. It was night-time. He had been sleeping lightly on his uncomfortable camp-bed, and was roused by the opening of the tent-flap and the entrance of a dark figure. For a moment, through the opening, he saw the stars shining in the sky. ‘What is it?’ he asked, and then the man jumped on him. He was big and heavy. His body was a crushing weight. Erum tried to struggle and shout, but hands, mercilessly strong, were at his throat, and a pad of rough harsh cloth was forced into his mouth. He was gagged. The blankets had gone; he found himself being roughly turned over and knew that he was going to be raped again. And so it proved. This time he did not shed tears, though the invasion was brutal. He pressed his face into the hard pillow, clenched his teeth on the gag and prayed and prayed for an end to the ordeal. At last the assailant departed. Erum was convinced, in his shock, that the man was either Melohtar or Hrem. Next day he found himself able to address them with a perfectly calm face. Yet the next day’s ride was prolonged torture, and in the evening his breeches were bloody. He made no complaint. A few nights later the assault was repeated. It was just as if Ar and Atan were with him on the journey, continuing to enforce his faithful submission.
Now the expedition moved steadily southward, through the Lowerath and into the land of Daelum. Amon Brethil was left far behind, and the gaunt peaks of the Nurns dwindled to rocky hills, and there were frequent traces, indeed the beginnings of a trail, left by the two smaller expeditions that had already passed the same way. October was fading into a soft grey November. Beyond the end of the hills the sea curved in again. There was a long sandy beach. The sands were grey or pale yellow, strewn with lumps of amber and great mysterious shells; the rocks were encrusted with shellfish, the coralline pools lively with shrimps and sea-anemones. The next Sunday allowed the men to roam freely and to plunder the beach like children. Lefnui gave the place the name of Coral Bay, and Melohtar conscientiously wrote it down on the new map he was making. The expedition followed the trail that now veered a little westward. Erum’s assailant came again; again Erum sat on fiery soreness as he rode; the words conquest – invasion – conquest – invasion repeated themselves mindlessly within his head, reiterated with every bounce and jolt and stab of pain. Berven was aware that something was terribly wrong; he was concerned and anxious, but Erum would give no word of explanation, would make no acknowledgement of the trouble beyond strictly forbidding Berven to say anything about it, either to him or to anyone else. The host faced dangers and obstacles, but none so serious as to cause much delay; another seven days passed, and the outriders came to the edge of Ninniachlo.
There were the abandoned workings, the empty huts, the rusting pipes and flasks, the wooden derricks leaning over as they sank into the mud. On the twenty-fifth day of the journey, the whole host arrived. Nothing daunted, Lefnui ordered the great standard to be raised. Then, to the sound of brazen trumpets, he reclaimed the land as a possession of the throne of Thandor.
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