| Chapter Five
PRIESTCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Erum now became much happier. He took part in several explorations. It was a soft winter, at times strangely mild; towards the end of December the birds were seen flying north again, and green shoots poked out of the mud-banks. Though the higher mountain-peaks were sprinkled with snow, the lower passes all remained open. Pleased with this good fortune, Melohtar set about his surveying and mapping with a will, and always Erum’s vigilance was in the midst of the band, protecting his comrades with prayers and incantations, warding off all the enchantments. His health and strength were improved by the constant vigorous exercise. He began to taste the joys of companionship. In the old days, among his colleagues of the Temple, the friendships he had formed had been intellectual and shallow. Now, riding beside Melohtar, he knew himself to be needed, respected and, at long last, liked. When a rare snowfall did come, so that the explorers had to take refuge in a cave and were snowbound for three days, he competed with Melohtar as a teller of tales and legends; and it was to Erum that the listeners awarded the wreath of victory. Hrem was among them, for he also was indispensable. His face healed and the bruises faded away; he and Erum spoke little to each other. Strangely, however, the harsh feelings that had at first thickened the air between them faded also, into their own mild grey winter, so that in the end it was as if those abominable usages had never happened, or had been mere nightmares.
‘The hills of the Rediath,’ said Melohtar one day, ‘rise towards a butt-end formed by a cluster of steep pinnacles. Beyond them, continuing westward, is this broad band of forest that’s not shown at all on the old maps. All the woods have spread and encroached since Kedrahil was here, but that wood appears to have grown up from nothing over four centuries. To me it looks like forestry, deliberate planting. I think that someone had the idea of extending the defensive border westward to the Bleck, which is somewhere over there, not much more than a hundred miles away.’
Lord Lefnui glanced at the faded parchment of the old maps, and then at Melohtar’s new one, beautifully drawn and coloured. ‘That’s where the Wainroad will have to come, in the end,’ he observed.
‘Yes, sir. And it’s here, just below Neverglades, as the Punchkins call it, that Master Hrem believes the best wells of rock’s blood will be found. If it’s true, and if we can confirm it, you’ll be able to make a very satisfactory report to His Majesty.’
‘And how long will the journey take? And how does the Bishop feel about going so far?’
‘Lord Melohtar says three weeks,’ answered Erum, ‘and I support him. I think it’s time for boldness.’
‘Very well,’ said Lord Lefnui.
And so Melohtar’s band set off on its last expedition.
For the first three days they travelled through magnificent solitudes by paths that were now tolerably well-known. On the fourth day they urged their horses into the foothills of the Odorais, the seven pinnacles that Melohtar had named in the old language. On the fifth day they came to the beginning of Neverglades. It did not look like a forest of recent growth. The trees loomed up gnarled and thickset, dark and threatening as any forest of legend; but there was no archway of moss-covered boughs, no path leading in. Melohtar’s plan was to try to find the slopes of the west end of the Rediath, to climb above the forest and to find a way, if possible, between it and the Seven Teeth.
A way there was, a dark ravine that wound between tall rock-faces.
‘This ought to be full of water,’ said Erum as the horses’ hooves clattered on the wet stones of the river-bed.
‘Fortunate for us, Bishop, wouldn’t you say?’ said Melohtar.
‘Helpful intervention of the Gods!’ answered Erum cheerfully.
The gorge sloped ahead, twisted from side to side, narrowed and widened again. Streams came splashing down into it from the split faces of the stained and mossy crags. Late in the morning, where two deep-sunk streams flowed together below a profusion of king-cups and tall green ferns – some of the king-cups were open – there was a choice of upward ways.
‘What’s wrong with Sedro?’ asked Melohtar.
The black dog had moved to the front. He was smelling and listening with raised head. He barked fiercely: the barks boomed and echoed and re-echoed up and down the long narrow passages. Despite this there was nothing alarming to be seen. Melohtar led his band up the right-hand path. The riders came to a place where a waterfall sprayed and splashed down in glittering, wavering bead-arrangements; but the ghyll continued like a mossy green lane. The uneven clip-clopping of hooves was now quieter, the noise of trickling and splashing louder – now full in the riders’ ears, now distant, now full again.
‘Did you hear a voice? Someone talking?’ asked Erum.
No-one answered him. The lane twisted and turned round a great jagged outcrop; then the left-hand wall disappeared. The explorers were still going the right way, it seemed, but the way was now a winding mountain-ledge. Far down below them another stream boiled and surged fiercely over black rocks and shattered boulders. The sun was at its height in a filmy blue sky.
‘This place is a labyrinth,’ said Melohtar. ‘Listen!’
All listened as hard as they could.
‘There’s someone behind us,’ said Hrem.
‘Or up ahead,’ added Erum.
'Battle order,’ commanded Melohtar, raising his black and grey shield from the saddle-bow and putting it on. Erum fell back to ride in the midst of the company. Two of the six troopers dismounted, leaving Erum to lead their horses, and moved ahead with stealthy speed and bows at the ready. Then the varying breeze brought another change in the texture of the echoes, so that the whole company heard a voice, though not the words it was saying. It went on talking for several seconds in a measured, even tone.
‘We’re fine, I think,’ said Erum. ‘This doesn’t feel like an attack.’
‘Like an attack – doesn’t feel like an attack – an attack, an attack,’ commented the echoes. ‘The meaning of the Eagle is justice,’ they added. ‘Justice, law, justice.’ The nearest of the Teeth now rose up almost overhead; its rocky wall was close at hand. ‘The City prides itself on its justice, and this pride is expressed in its devotion to Mindir,’ someone was explaining. ‘Doubtless Mindir still reigns among the Powers,’ said someone else in a deeper voice. The ledge was widening out, becoming a grass-covered slope, while the other side of the chasm, dark, threatening and many-fissured, drew close once again. Little brown cliff-rabbits ran for their burrows as the horses quietly walked up the turf. The two scouts had crept round a shoulder-blade of rock. Beyond this, as the riders soon saw, lay another upward slope, longer and strewn with boulders, but less steep. Three Punchkins were coming down in company with an old Man. The Man wore a brown cloak and a brown hat and carried a staff. The three Punchkins were Aldred, Hodgekin and Waltrot on their way home from Caras Gulwen. They had heard the horsemen in plenty of time to avoid them, and Hodgekin would have preferred to do this, but Aldred was in favour of gathering news; and the Wizard had assured the Punchkins that his magic would be able to protect them. The riders stared down at them in great surprise. The scouts relaxed their bows. The old Wizard clutched his staff with both hands and hunched forward with head upturned, scrutinising the riders like a suspicious peasant. The noise of cataracts came up from the river-bed far below; and a gust of fresh, sweet, pine-scented wind blew among the travellers, tugging at their clothes and ruffling the horses’ manes.
Aldred extended his hand, palm upward. ‘Greetings,’ he said clearly.
‘Hail and well met,’ added the old Man in his deep voice.
‘Oh, yes, er, hi,’ said Melohtar with an unusual loss of self-possession. He swung a leg over the saddle and jumped down; the impact of his tall boots seemed to jar the ground. ‘Mr. Aldred Sherling, I do believe?’
‘What a very unexpected pleasure,’ said Aldred, shaking his hand cordially. ‘Mr. Dyer, Mr. Brown: my lord Melohtar of Emynos. And this is Walt Hardedge.’
The introductions went poorly. Hrem and the riders were bemused by the encounter, and Erum struck the Punchkins as reserved and chilly. On their own side, Waltrot was wary and impassive, Hodgekin downright surly, and Mr. Brown’s responses were indecipherable. The only two who were at all pleased to have met one another were Aldred and Melohtar. ‘And your hand,’ said the latter – ‘I’m so glad to see that’s better.’ For so it was.
‘Yes, my lord,’ said Aldred. ‘Did you receive the copy of my book?’
‘I did. Thank you so much. I enjoyed it very much indeed. A masterly narrative. And the Bishop here has read it too.’
‘Beg pardon, Mr., er, sir, Bishop, Lord, sir,’ said Waltrot: ‘don’t I recognise you? Ain’t you the priest with the lantern?’
Erum gave him a flabby smile. ‘Yes, it was I who had the privilege of helping you. Well, I can see we’ve a lot to talk about.’ He got off his mare. ‘Which of you, may I ask, was expounding the Olosturian doctrine so ably?’
It was all very awkward: revealingly awkward, as Hodgekin said later. It seemed after all that neither party had anything to say to the other. Melohtar felt this too. He made an effort.
‘Come, come, friends and gentle Punchkins! You are decent folk of our king’s Demesne, and we of Thandor have not yet lost all pretensions to civility. Shall we not sit down together and talk? Are not such chance-meetings rare blooms of the wild, to be noticed and savoured? And the hour of noon is past – we are away from camp and our fare is simple, but won’t you partake of lunch with us? Olrog, the wine, please. Now tell me, Aldred – what news from the South?’
The place where they were was pleasant, with a fragrance of herbs, and grass for the horses, and low rocks to sit on. The riders dismounted and set up pickets. The Punchkins opened their own packs. But they were not inclined to be over-trustful, and they kept a sharp eye on the tall Men who now surrounded them. They noticed Hrem murmuring a word into Melohtar’s ear, and saw Melohtar’s small tight nod. When everyone had sat down and the victuals were being opened and shared, Melohtar encouraged the Punchkins to eat and was assiduous in filling and refilling their cups. They for their part were careful to eat nothing separate, nothing beyond what was being partaken of in common. With a show of polite friendly interest Melohtar asked if anything had come of Berma’s advice and the vision of the fox in the sieve. Aldred and Hodgekin gave guarded answers, having no intention of explaining where they had been, or what they had done; at least not immediately. Aldred turned the conversation back and asked Melohtar what the purpose of his own journey was. Mr. Brown the Wizard sat with his back to the rock-faces, eating slowly and dominating the talk with his silence.
‘No, my lord,’ said Aldred after a while. ‘I remember my stay in your house with the deepest gratitude, and I too hoped that we might savour this chance-meeting, as you said, and exchange the news. But let us be frank. We do not meet as friends. I bring you no news of the South, while you will say naught of your own purposes. What remains, then, but to bid each other farewell; sharing at least the hope of meeting once again in a happier hour?’
Melohtar frowned at this. While he was still thinking how to answer, Erum came in with: ‘Quite right, Mr. Sherling: but there is an underlying pattern in the chances, and a deeper purpose that we would all do well to discern, if we may. Will you please show me your hand?’
A little surprised, Aldred offered the hand that had been crippled. Erum took it in both of his own hands, examined it and pressed it gently with his thumbs. ‘As good as new, though scarred,’ he said. ‘I bound it up for you, I remember.’
‘Yes,’ said Aldred: ‘you did your very best to help me, and all of us.’
‘Then tell me one thing, as payment for my poor efforts. I’m interested – say, medically curious. How did this splendid healing come about?’
Aldred considered the request. He recognised its fairness. ‘We travelled into Enaderth,’ he said. ‘That, in case you do not know, is the name of the land south of these mountains. We stayed in a certain house in the wood of Erynvorn. One night, while we were there, I had a dream. I dreamt that an old woman came to sit by my bedside. She carried a candle and a work-basket. She told me to give her my hand, just as you did. I reached it out in the ordinary way, and she took it as if she was going to put a bandage on it. She straightened my fingers in her lap. I felt no pain. Then she took out a needle and a reel of scarlet thread. The needle glinted in the candle-light. She began to mend my hand, stitching at it like a glove. We chatted while she worked, but that was the end of the dream. When I woke up next morning I couldn’t remember anything of what was said, but my hand was as good as new. In fact, much better. The grip’s got stronger –’
‘Ow, yes indeed!’ said Erum, pulling his own hand away and shaking out the wrung fingers. ‘Thank you! Plainly you intend to say no more, so I’ll not question you. Thanks for sharing that with me. In return I’d like to offer you a piece of advice.’
‘Feel free,’ invited Hodgekin.
‘But before I offer the advice I must first offer an apology.’
‘Yes?’ said Aldred with a smile.
‘I said a thing – to you, Mr. Sherling, and to your comrades: Mr. Fortinbras Dyer, and your Tim, and Waltrot here. How are they, by the way?’
‘They’re fine, sir,’ said Waltrot.
‘It was ill-advised, what I said, and I’m very sorry now that I said it. I ought to correct the false impression that I must have made.’
‘Yes?’ said Aldred again.
‘When we were up in the Chamber of Sanctuary, on that sadly unforgettable day – my lord Melohtar will excuse the painful reference. The Second Highest very kindly came up to see you, as you’ll remember. He offered to see you safe out of the City, on one condition. The condition was that you should be instructed in the rudiments of our faith, and then promise to disseminate them amongst your own folk. And I – I – alas, so foolishly undermined that reasonable requirement! I believe I told you that you were quite right to conceal any reluctance – any disinclination that you might, as a matter of argument, have then been feeling – from him. Thus I effectively annulled his condition, did I not? And for that, I beg your pardon.’
‘You appear to have changed your mind about it,’ said Aldred.
‘To be sure! We priests – even we priests – especially we priests – have our own lapses of understanding, our own deeper conversions and renewals! Now, I make no inquiry, but it would not at all surprise me if – purely as a result of my own deeply ill-advised words – you had neglected that condition. That you had omitted to make any attempt to bring the Message of Dru to your folk. That you had failed to do as you promised.’
‘It was a stupid promise, if they made it,’ put in Hodgekin. ‘Punchkins aren’t religious.’
‘Well, now we come to the advice I want to give you. Which is, in a nutshell, that you’d damn well better start to be. And you’d better make sure it’s the right religion. The very interesting story you’ve told, Mr. Sherling, does rather chime with the little we already know about the ways of Enaderth: but it’s a cracked bell, an ugly noise. The gospel of Dru shall soon resound throughout all the Southern lands – you’d better believe it! And although the Demesne is protected by the Shield, that protection won’t extend to blasphemy, nor to witchcraft, nor to filthy goddess-worship.’
‘We don’t blaspheme against anybody,’ said Aldred calmly, ‘and we certainly don’t worship any Goddess.’
‘Excellent!’
‘And I thank you for your advice, although it sounds more like a threat. Some of us have already ceased to trust in the Decree, so I suppose this is a timely warning.’
‘Good,’ said Erum with a rather ghastly smile.
‘And may I offer you a word of advice in return – a real word of counsel, I mean? We’re not in a position to threaten anything. I speak to you now, my lord Melohtar, as a friend.’
‘Yes, Aldred?’
‘We’ve had word that you’re here – I mean, what you’re doing on the other side of the mountains. The feeling in the City is that it’s understandable, after all, and fair enough in its way. It’s not your fault that you’re infested with a worm. But…’
‘I beg your pardon,’ said Melohtar as Aldred paused, ‘but what city is this?’
‘The city of Ost-en-Aderthad.’
‘Indeed. I had never heard of it.’
‘It’s the chief town of the Kingdom of Enaderth, which includes all the land below these mountains.’
‘The Kingdom,’ said Melohtar: ‘then who is the King?’
‘King Athelstan of Men and Elves and Dwarves, husband of Maewiel the Elvenqueen,’ answered Aldred, his gaze locked on Melohtar’s.
‘Please, please, go on! This is news! Have you met this King?’
‘No: only his servants. They are not far away. He knows what you seek, and that Thandor purposes the ruination of his land. Through me, as I believe I may now fairly say, he advises you: go no further. Be content with what you have.’
‘What have we?’
‘Ninniachlo! The Elves would very much rather that you weren’t there, but as you’ve organised and defended yourselves more wisely than the last lot, and as you have got some sort of vague entitlement to the place, and as it’s not at all part of Enaderth, your presence there is tolerated – for now. You’ve found rock-blood. It will suffice.’
‘I do not understand. As you know so much, you must know that is not true. It will suffice for eighteen months, perhaps.’
‘Yes. That is sufficient.’
‘And what then?’
‘Wait and see! Above all, make no attempt to invade the Kingdom. Stay on your own side of the mountains. Otherwise death may find you speedily.’
‘But that is a threat,’ interposed Erum. ‘You are presumptuous, Mr. Sherling, and you have given yourself away. The Demesne, then, has turned traitor? Allied itself with this Kingdom of the South?’
Aldred sighed. He brushed some crumbs off his lap, knocked out his pipe on the rock and blew the ashes away. ‘There’s no point in going on talking at cross-purposes,’ he said. ‘I’ve already said more than I intended, more than perhaps was wise. It has been a pleasure to meet you again, my lord, but I think the time has come for us to say Goodbye and good luck.’
‘By no means,’ replied Melohtar. ‘Come, Aldred, you yourself mentioned frankness. Surely you realise that we can’t possibly let you go! You are indispensable sources of information, as Master Hrem reminded me. You must now proceed to our camp, with three riders to escort you, and stay there as guests of Lord Lefnui, and answer all his questions. You must do this either voluntarily or else, I’m afraid, as prisoners.’
He stood up, laying hand on sword-hilt. The Men tensed, readying themselves in case the Punchkins should attempt suddenly to escape. But Aldred, Hodgekin and Waltrot were quite at their ease. ‘Ooh dear,’ said Waltrot with a comical look of apprehension. Hodgekin, who was sitting apart from the others, took his pipe out of his mouth, chuckled offensively and spat. ‘Not so, my lord,’ returned Aldred, as unassumingly and modestly as he possibly could. ‘You’ll see, or you ought to see, that we have our own protection now.’
At this moment it seemed to the Men of Thandor that something disregarded or unnoticed, something very large, had been obtruded into their field of vision. Even Sedro got up, thrust his head forward and gave a growl. There he was still, Mr. Brown the Wizard, wrapped up in a dark cloak and hat that were not so very close, in colour and texture, to the appearance of a large rock.
‘Where did he come from?’ demanded Melohtar. ‘Erum, what happened? What tricks are these Punchkins playing on us?’
‘Nothing! Our minds are not being attacked!’
‘So you would have known, sir Priest, if your mind had been attacked?’ asked the Wizard in a deep and placid tone.
‘Most certainly!’
‘But what do you know of Wizardry?’
‘And what do you know of Priestcraft?’
‘Aha!’ There was a gleam of amusement in the dark eyes. ‘What about a challenge, then, ere we part?’
Erum stared at him with eyes like bright spear-points. ‘I think, old man,’ he said slowly, ‘that you are very much stronger than I. Nonetheless I would like to make trial of your strength. Let us…play, then, rather than fight; if you’re willing.’
The Wizard laughed. ‘Cunningly answered! Do you know any good games, my lad?’
‘Bird-charming is popular among us,’ answered the Priest. He stood up. He flexed and stretched his arms. ‘Agreed?’
The Wizard nodded.
The whole company was silent. Their attention was fixed on Erum. He pursed his lips. He gave one long low whistle, then two higher ones. Nothing happened, but the notes seemed to carry a long way through the whispering stillness. Then, from around a jutting angle, a white dove came flying. It glided down, fluttered and folded its wings and alighted on Erum’s outstretched finger. It looked round at the company, scared and meek, its head jerking up and down. And Sedro growled.
Mr. Brown whistled once, briefly. At once the bird left Erum and perched on the Wizard’s hand.
Erum whistled a few tentative notes. They had no effect. He scrutinised the old Man and the white bird, bending his mind on them like one who attempts to turn the wards of an intricate lock. Then he gave a trilling whistle. The dove looked up, as if surprised, and flew back to him.
Sedro growled again, more ominously than before. The Wizard admitted afterwards that he himself ought to have heard the warning note, and would have done, had not his attention been given to the game. He raised his shaggy eyebrows and whistled, and the bird crossed the little open space a third time.
It now seemed unlikely that the Priest could outplay the Wizard. Nevertheless, after a long half-minute had gone by, he produced a long, complicated call that the bird responded to. This time, instead of returning to him, it flew up, then back and forth over the Wizard’s head. A light greyish blob appeared on his broad-brimmed hat. All the Punchkins and some of the Men burst out laughing. Walt and Hodgekin clapped their hands. The dove flew away.
Unperturbed, the Wizard stood up. He looked round, raised his hand and gave his third reply. This time a shrill echo was faintly heard. As it died away there appeared not one, not two, not five, not a dozen, but at least twenty doves, wheeling down, flapping and whirling over the heads of the astonished company like enormous beautiful snowflakes. They gathered themselves into a loose flock, gliding back and forth inside a space that was limited like a large globe in the air. And the midpoint of that globe was above Erum’s uncovered head.
‘Yield me the game, puny mortal,’ declaimed the Wizard, ‘ere doom worse than death overtake thee!’
‘Spare me, mighty one!’ implored Erum. ‘The game’s yours! I surrender!’
At that moment, just when everyone was laughing and all the strain of the meeting seemed to have been happily eased, Sedro bounded forward. His eyes were red and furious, his muzzle wrinkled, his fangs wide open as he leaped – not at Mr. Brown, but at Erum. The laughter died out of Erum’s face and he turned white with terror. But before the terrible jaws had closed on Erum’s throat, Mr. Brown raised his staff, which he had been holding all this time, and issued a sharp command: talto! Instantly a dark blur or flare stretched out from the head of the staff, striking Sedro’s jaw, and the whole side of his head and shoulder, with the force of a heavy club. The onlookers heard the dull sound of the blow, saw the blood spurt from the bitten tongue and the dislodged or broken teeth that flew through the air. The evil dog was smitten to the ground, but not directly down: the blow knocked him seven or eight feet away, so that he came down near the edge of the chasm. He landed, coughed and writhed, struggling round blindly, now right on the edge – over the edge – and gone. The whole company sat still, stunned and horrified. The sound of the splash came up from below.
Cautiously they moved to the edge. Standing in a line, they peered over. A black shape was being carried away in the stream, tugged at by the water, held and rebuffed by the stones.
‘Sedro!’
Melohtar’s cry was full of grief. For a moment it seemed as if he would dive to the rescue. The Men on either side of him, Olrog and Dirketh, seized his arms and drew him back.
Mr. Brown the Wizard remained where he had been standing. Melohtar reeled round and then dashed forward, drawing back his fist as if to smite the Wizard’s face. Mr. Brown made not the least move. Melohtar halted in front of him, met his steady gaze and recovered at least a sense of propriety. ‘Damn you, damn you, Wizard!’ he exclaimed: ‘That was not necessary!’
‘No indeed,’ said Mr. Brown placidly.
‘Then why?’
‘Ask your friend. He is interested in purposes and chances. I myself would call it a lucky accident.’
Melohtar turned on his heel. ‘Come on,’ he addressed his own Company. ‘Grab those three little jokers and bind them. We’re off.’
The Punchkins clustered behind the Wizard as the big Men came to lay hands on them; but for a while the Men held off, in some awe of Mr. Brown’s unknown but evident power. Meanwhile Erum lingered to address him, paying no attention to Melohtar’s last order.
‘Mr. Brown,’ he said respectfully, ‘I have to thank you for saving me from a mauling, perhaps from death.’
The Wizard bowed his head.
‘Here, let me clean that off. No, really I do insist.’ The Wizard took off his hat and Erum scrubbed at the stain with his handkerchief. ‘We may meet again as enemies, yet I believe that we share some kind of understanding, do we not? Why do you think the beast attacked me instead of you?’
‘Have you no inkling, my friend?’
‘None!’
‘There is a bad spirit of malice in him: a manlike spirit. It saw and hated your craft.’
‘Yes: so much is clear.’
‘Where did he come from? Where was he bred?’
‘From the house of Atan, I believe. Our Second Highest Priest keeps many dogs in kennels, as a pastime. He breeds them. He bestows the puppies on his friends.’
Melohtar had approached again. He now stood behind Erum, halted, arrested, listening with the others.
‘Can we imagine, then,’ Mr. Brown calmly pursued the thought, ‘that your Second Highest Priest has been able, by some craft of his own, to breed that wicked spirit into the beast? And more: since I came to know these good Punchkins, they have instructed me daily and taught me much about the ways of this Age of the world. I hear that there is in your City a powerful body of men, formerly devoted to smithcraft and Lord Auland, but now enamoured of every kind of subtle artifice and inquiry. Have they not attempted to probe the secrets of life and generation?’
‘No doubt,’ said Erum. ‘What’s your thought?’
‘I wonder if your Second Highest Priest is himself the sire of that accursed hound.’
‘What?’
‘I mean that he probably pupped the bitch himself. Farewell!’
The Wizard shouldered his pack and strode off, closely followed by the three Punchkins. Erum and Melohtar stood as still as if they had been turned to stone. And indeed a spell was on them, not magical but purely human, a fit of sheer appalled astonishment. Hrem and three riders trotted up to them, waiting for orders.
‘Lord Melohtar?’ said Hrem. ‘Lord Bishop?’
Melohtar came to. His face flushed dark red, and in a great voice he cried: ‘Seize them! Bind them! Don’t let them escape!’
But the Wizard and the Punchkins had already vanished.
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