A Feather on the Breath of Ellulianaen

  ~

  Many, many leagues to the northwest, Halomlyn was stalking a reindeer bull with Milélyn his brother-in-law in the wild wastelands, hunting for dinner for their cubs. Suddenly Milélyn swooped up and hovered on sinewy wings, narrowed his eyes and opened his narrow beak and called out, “Halomlyn, there is a gryphon in the distance. Behold. The moonlight catches its wings. Look how it shines so, like a bright star in the night.” Halomlyn stretched out his giant wings and hovered beside him, staring into the distance.

  But Halomlyn could not see it. “There is nothing there,” he said, “you are imagining things.”

  Milélyn cried, “It is there. Can you not see it? I tell you, it is a bright, glowing gryphon. Can you not see it, brother? It shines so.”

  And Halomlyn thought that his brother-in-law’s senses were addled, for there really was no bright gryphon there that he could see. Resolving to follow Milélyn to ensure that he did not do anything foolish or endanger himself, Halomlyn decided to humour his insanity, so he said, “Your eyesight must be much better than mine, brother-in-law. Follow the bright gryphon, and I will follow you.” And so he pursued Milélyn, who was following the bright gryphon that only he could see.

  “How does the moon catch its wings so?” wondered Milélyn, “ – when the moon tonight is but a thin crescent, and shines so wanly?”

  The bright gryphon flew above a great mountain range, over the mountain pass, and into the copse of trees near the town of Hathon-Kathuiolké, or so Milélyn thought. Yet Halomlyn did not see anything. They flew down into the copse of trees where they always found the mead and left the goat for Hinfane, but Milélyn could no longer see the gryphon now. He said, “Where is it? Where has it gone?”

  Halomlyn said, “Perhaps the gryphon is hiding amongst the trees,” still not believing that there was one, and thinking to convince his brother-in-law to alight on the earth so that he might talk to him and find out if he was exhibiting any of the other twelve signs and symptoms of madness, so they flew down into the copse.

  The widow Hinfane looked at them with wonder as they alighted on the earth, for this was the very thing she had been asking Ellulianaen for.

  Milélyn said, “Where is the other gryphon? It flew into this copse of fir trees!” not fearing that Hinfane might see him, for Halomlyn had told him earlier that Hinfane could be trusted.

  Hinfane cried out, “I saw no other gryphons than the two of you. But you must help me. In the name of Ellulianaen, please help us! The elf-mage is a lunatic! He is destroying my tavern and will kill all the men – he will kill every last one of us – please, you have to stop him! How can I ply you with mead, gryphons, and get goats for travellers’ needs if my tavern be destroyed, and all my regular patrons be killed? He holds aloft his talisman, an eyeball. He has killed one of the men, already, who has a young wife, and he has almost killed another, Zhallad – a man I am very fond of. I beg of you...”

  Milélyn’s voice was filled with coldness, harshness, as he replied, “We can do nothing about this. It has ever been our rule not to get involved in the affairs of men and elves, and what can two gryphons do against a wizard, a mighty elf-mage?” He turned away and Hinfane gave a heart-rending sob.

  But Halomlyn turned and spoke quietly to his brother-in-law, “Perhaps we ought to help this widow, for she took the trouble to warn us of the elf-mage. Her heart is good. She has been kind to us and has not betrayed us or spoken of us to anyone, I am certain. And her mead is good. Does not the gryphon-lore say that we ought to treat others as we would like to be treated – and that is how she has treated us! Brother, did you think that perhaps the glowing gryphon that you saw, the vision led us here, was a messenger of the King of the Gryphons?”

  Milélyn, trying to justify himself, said shamefacedly, “We can do nothing, brother. Gryphons have no magic that can defeat an elf-mage.”

  Halomlyn replied, “Brother. My grandfather fought elf-mages, many years past, in the War of the Jewel of Ellethanien, and I will never forget the stories that he told Thwyrlyn and I – he told us all about the wars, and the tricks that they used to get up to.”

  “You really think that we might have a chance against such a mighty enemy?” said Milélyn, quite unsure of it himself, and Halomlyn nodded.

  Hinfane lifted her eyes to the skies and clenched her hands together as if in prayer and said, “Thank Udvé. Thank Ellulianaen.”

  And Halomlyn the gryphon lifted his tongue against his upper beak and made a high-pitched whistling sound, so high that no human could hear it. Milélyn, understanding his intention immediately, began to whistle too, and they both went aloft, gliding, swooping slowly down toward the tavern, still making that whistling sound.

  Close to the tavern, Halomlyn hovered for a moment and whispered to Milélyn, “Stay more than twenty yards from him, or else he will be able to wyrd you. Do not stay in one place for too long, or you will become a target for his magic. Look for the talisman, or charm. Mages place their power in an object outside of themselves, an enchanted amulet or a ring, or even their own heart or another bodily organ in order to strengthen and focus it – if Hinfane is right it may well be this eyeball that he holds aloft. If we destroy this embodiment of his power, we will not destroy him, but we will prevent him from using magic for two to three months at least, until he forms a new talisman. Yes, I believe it is likely to be the eyeball, unless he is merely using it to see...” Then they began making the high-pitched whistling sound again.

  In the tavern, the elf-mage stopped suddenly in the midst of a tirade and cried out, “What is that sound? From whence does it come? What could it be?”

  The miners heard nothing, so they said nothing, fearing their lives were already forfeit. Then the door opened of its own accord and the elf-mage strode out. His magical eye searched the sky but he saw nothing, for the moon was behind a cloud.

  And the clouds parted and Halomlyn dived, breathing fire. A great deluge of flame split the air in two, hurtling from the gryphon’s beak towards the elf-mage. Halomlyn swooped over him as the elf-mage’s cloak and clothes burst into flame. The elf-mage clenched his teeth in rage and lifted his eye aloft and cast a sizzling lightning bolt at the gryphon, but Halomlyn, forthtelling his intention, flitted aside and avoided the bright, sizzling harbinger of death as it crackled to the ground and turned a snowdrift into a plume of steam.

  Seeing that the lightning bolt proceeded from the eye that he held aloft, Halomlyn cried, “I was right! That eyeball he holds is his talisman!”

  Milélyn attacked from the rear, spewing fire, aiming for the eye-talisman, but though the elf-mage’s hair and eyebrows and sleeve caught alight, his spare eye was safe. He held it clenched tightly in his fist as the gryphon’s fire singed the rest of his naked body. Then he opened the fingers of his fist once more, a mere crack, to cast lightning at the evasive lion-eagles, as they swooped and flitted to and fro.

  The deadly dance continued for what seemed like a long, long time, the gryphons spewing flame and twisting away from lightning bolts that crackled past their ears, the elf-mage casting lightning at them. The two gryphons swooped down again and again at the elf-mage, one after the other, breathing great swathes of flame at him. His clothes were burned to shreds and his hair was aflame, his skin blackened and charred, yet he did not cease his assault upon the gryphons. One lightning bolt hit its mark and singed Halomlyn’s ears and another went through Milélyn’s wing, making a black patch upon it that he bears to this day. And they withdrew into the clouds to plan their next attack, and the elf-mage crouched, breathing heavily, wyrding the very winds and gusts of the mountains to replenish his strength, and the breeze gave forth a strange cry as it the elf stole it.

  At that very moment two more gryphons swooped out of the sky. Halomlyn cried out, seeing that it was his cub Hwedolyn and Milélyn’s cub, Atdaholyn, flying into the midst of terrible danger. “Don’t!” he cried. “Watch out! Go away! It isn’t safe!”

  But Hwedolyn did not see the e
lf-mage, who was crouching on his haunches, behind the tavern. Hwedolyn flew down and said, “I think the whistling sound came from somewhere around here.” Atdaholyn flew down beside him.

  Milélyn swooped down and shouted, “Beware the elf-mage, my son!” Atdaholyn turned his head upwards to look at his father and was almost obliterated by a crackling lightning bolt that seared the very feathers of his mane.

  The elf-mage stood upon the snow with a sizzling ball of lightning hovering in the air above his spare eye and a fey, wicked grin upon his visage. He thrust another lightning bolt through the air at Atdaholyn, who dodged it nimbly, launching himself into the air, but the third bolt of lightning came much too close, searing his flight feathers and the tips of his wings. Atdaholyn stumbled through the air, half-flying and half-tumbling backwards. He was in the open air directly above the town square, there was nowhere to hide, and the elf-mage was gathering his strength from the bonds of the very stones of the earth below him to throw another lightning bolt.

  Hwedolyn’s ire rose suddenly, and he became enraged at seeing his cousin thus endangered.

  Thrusting himself aloft like a firecracker rocket, Hwedolyn sliced through the air then twisted and swooped straight at the elf-mage with wrath wrinkling his brow, and began clawing at the elf’s face with his mighty talons. The elf-mage stepped back, but Hwedolyn flew at him like an enraged eagle, scratching again, causing a rift in the elf’s face, and purple blood began to flow, but another scar began forming on the wound, for as fast as Hwedolyn slit the elf’s skin the fresh wound healed itself by magic. But the gryphon did not stop, he kept clawing and slicing, and such was the surprise of the elf-mage at this foolhardy attack that he fell back and dropped his spare eye. It bounced several times on the icy road and lodged itself in a pile of slush among the snow.

  Without the protection of his talisman the elf could not heal himself, and Hwedolyn’s talon scratched out the elf’s other eye. Scrambling in the dirty snow, the elf reached forth this way and that way, but he could not see to find his eye-talisman. A great gaping gash opened on his face where Hwedolyn’s talon had slashed him and purple blood began splashing onto the ground.

  The elf-mage panicked. Scrabbling and digging ever more frenetically in the slush and snow for his spare eye, he was unable to find it. He cursed Afazel and Ellulianaen and gryphons indiscriminately, whilst digging frantically, casting slush and ice into the air behind him. But try as he might he couldn’t find his talisman.

  Hwedolyn attacked again, and slashed him, again and again! Soon, the elf-mage’s strength was depleted, and he could neither use the power of his talisman, nor see in order to wyrd any animals or gryphons that happened to be nearby. The other gryphons watched nearby, ready to launch their own attack, but fearing to hurt Hwedolyn or get in the way of his talons if they did. Hwedolyn knocked the elf-mage over and he fell, exhausted, into the snow, and did not rise this time.

  At that moment a barking dog tied to a post in front of one of the houses, broke its rope and ran out into the street, yelping at the elf-mage and the gryphons. The dog stopped, looked at the ground, and sniffed at a tasty treat, half-hidden in the grey snow. It dug in the snow, throwing slush and ice up, and found the treat, a strange, soft, squishy sort of thing, half-frozen, but it looked good to eat.

  The dog gobbled up the elf’s eye at once then ran into the tavern looking for its master, and I should warrant that the dog thought this tasty treat more than made up for the noisy thunderstorm that had been troubling him, and the terribly loud whistling sound that had been hurting his ears some minutes before, and the awful, frightening din, flames and lightnings of the battle. Indeed, I should think the dog was very happy, for it was wagging its tail in pleasure when it found its master, and was as pleased as any dog that has just found a tasty treat to eat.

  Halomlyn saw the dog eat the talisman, and cried out to the others, “The talisman is gone!” While they looked around, the elf-mage leapt up and ran off into the shadows. Though greatly weakened and blind, he could still cast a simple spell to find his way to the edge of human habitation, so off he slipped into the dark shadows at the border of the town, cursing Afazel the bat-winged god and all gryphons and their human minions in rancourous, snarkling, sarcastic whispers.

  The four gryphons alighted and the miners and merchants came out of the tavern and thanked them for saving them, and later I believe they also bought them a barrel of mead, to show their gratitude.

  Meanwhile Hinfane had brought Zhallad out into the tavern and sat him before the fire, and had given him some hot soup, for he had awakened. He was dazed, and had burns on his chest where the elf-mage’s lightning had hit him, but other than that seemed unharmed by the ordeal. Hinfane kept bandages, ointments, and medicinal herbs behind the counter in case she was ever called on the bind up the participants of a barfight. She got out bandages and tended to Zhallad’s wounds tenderly, gently putting ointment on them and giving him a tincture of opium for pain. She asked him questions to test his wits, and he answered them all correctly, which was a relief, for she had known of men who lost their memories and their wits after lightning strikes or blows to the head.

  And afterward, the men wept for Huch – for, whilst he cared not for partisans and lived his life in fear and dour prognostication, he was a stout fellow, well loved by his friends - and he had showed himself not to be the coward they had thought him to be, at the last. They removed his body from the tavern to make the funeral pyre at the edge of the town. His wife Ondfuth followed the funeral procession, weeping and wailing, and it is said that she never spoke another word in defence of the Nomoi Empire ever again, though none could say she did not complain quite frequently that her husband was gone.

  After drinking another barrel of mead provided gratis by Hinfane, the gryphons took the barrels the miners had provided and flew off into the night.