A Feather on the Breath of Ellulianaen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mynowelechw Shushah Cwig

  The Stone Bridge

  lla Gehel Æthuedem

  The day after they had arrived at the stone bridge, the gryphons had remained hidden amongst the rocks, coming to the river to drink only three or four times between dusk and dawn. They were hungry and tired, but they neither hunted nor slept, for they were fearful of scouts sent by the elf-mage, or the elf-mage himself, coming forth to the bridge and seeing them near the river, or in the sky.

  As the sun began to dip below the horizon and twilight cast her dim veil across the world, and the moon, a waxing half-moon now, already high in the eastern sky, cast a pale light across the tips of the rocks, the gryphons heard the sound of stone grinding upon stone coming from the bridge. They looked over to see a dwarf standing beneath the bridge, beckoning to others, whom they could see coming in the shadows beyond the open stone door. The gryphons glided over and clambered beneath the bridge to see that the dwarf was King Klaer. A small army of dwarves clambered out of the stone door.

  Then the dwarves set a watch upon the plains and marshes to the north and the rest of them joined the gryphons among the strange rocks and twisted trees to the southwest, and a few of them among some brambles near the river-bank. The dwarves and the two gryphons slept under the gently descending half-moon.

  Once Hwedolyn had had enough sleep, he went aloft, for it was past the third hour of the morning and the moon had set. From his vantage point high in the sky he saw the Nomoi battalion approaching some thirty leagues away and he descended and told the dwarf who was on watch. From the bridge the distant sound of marching could already be heard. Hwedolyn went aloft again.

  As the sky lightened in the east he alighted and told Gwendolyn and the dwarves, “The Nomoi have set up their camp upon the plain to the north, twenty leagues from here.”

  King Klaer said, “We must send spies to their encampment to see what they intend to do and find out everything that is happening.”

  So three dwarves set off across the plain, hiding behind rock and stone. By the time the sun had begun to rise they had reached the camp of the Nomoi and in the shadows of tents and trees and rocks and stones round about the camp they watched and listened as the sky darkened with thunderclouds, even as dawn approached.

  The first dwarf-spy returned to the stone bridge half an hour later.

  He said, “When we arrived the soldiers and knights were sharpening their weapons and preparing their armour. An elf-mage stood in the centre of the camp with hands raised toward the sky, and thunderclouds formed. A purple amethyst in the centre of his breastplate glowed eerily. Then the elf-mage began pointing at places in the sky and fuming with rage, for wherever he pointed a lightning bolt crackled, but each one fizzled to death too soon to leave the clouds. He said to his knights, ‘I must have my magic at the ready, for the farmers roundabouts say there are trolls at the bridge.’”

  “Obviously the purple amethyst is the elf-mage’s new talisman. That is what we will be trying to steal,” said King Klaer. “Sometimes old magic doesn’t work as well with a new talisman,” he explained to the gryphons.

  Then the dark clouds burst and it began to rain heavily. The gryphons and dwarves found what shelter they could from the driving rain under the straggly trees. King Klaer looked at the burgeoning river and said, “I fear lest the waterlevel rise higher than the stone door, then we shall not be able to leave when we want to.”

  The second dwarf returned. Seeing the state of the river, he looked around in great anxiety until he saw a dwarf waving at him from behind the rocks. He strode over.

  Sheltered beneath a straggly tree without leaves enough to provide much shelter, he told them what he had seen. The other dwarves and the two gryphons were gathered close to him, getting completely drenched, but they didn’t mind because they wanted to hear what he had to say. He had to speak very loudly to be heard above the sound of the driving rain.

  “The elf-mage did not mean to cause the rain. After he wyrded several of his footsoldiers and turned them into shrivelled corpses he cursed and swore in a great temper at the sky and Afazel, for great drops of water had begun to fall. He cast magic at the sky, but the rain only worsened. Then he commanded his footsoldiers and knights to take shelter in their tents and told them to be ready, for the army would march forth to attack as soon as the rain ceased.”

  Gwendolyn said, “We must find shelter ourselves. Come, there is a barn.” She pointed to a rickety barn that stood just on the other side of a farm fence, about half a league south of the bridge. The gryphons immediately flew over, broke the iron padlock and opened the barn door. It was relatively dry inside, though there was a hole in the roof that was letting a steady drip of water through near the southwestern wall. The dwarves ran over and joined them.

  They waited in the barn as the heavy rain continued. The dwarves had brought food with them, fried mushrooms, roast lamb, bread, and two barrels of mead, and they thanked Udvé and ate and shared it with the gryphons. There turned out to be more than enough food – they had half a barrel of mead left over, and baskets of bread and roast meat and mushrooms for their dinner.

  Though the moon was by now waxing gibbous it cast little more than a pale glow through the overcast clouds and still the rain continued. The barn became more dark and forbidding as the night went on and the rain continued to fall. Seeing that the weather was not going to abate, the dwarves and the two gryphons used the pause to plan their attack more carefully. They worked on their plan all through the night.

  When dawn came some of them slept, and with the rain still beating down upon the wooden roof of the barn, and the steady drip, drip, drip of the leaking roof, tempers began to fray. Small arguments broke out between some of the dwarves.

  Then Gwendolyn brought some stones out of her knapsack. “Hwedolyn – I have these firestones – I found them in the ruins. Do you want some?”

  Hwedolyn said, “Thankyou, Gwendolyn,” and began chewing on it.

  Gwendolyn was chewing the firestone as well and Hwedolyn suddenly regretted the fact that she was here. In his mind’s eye he imagined her fighting, breathing fire, and dying, and he did not wish for it to be so.

  “Gwendolyn,” said Hwedolyn, “You do not need to fight. You might get hurt.”

  Gwendolyn said, “Don’t be ridiculous, gryphon! I am able to fight, and I ought to fight. It annoys me, Hwedolyn, that you think me incapable of doing the same things as a male gryphon!” And she gathered the firestones and chomped on them herself, ignoring him completely for the next half an hour, though he tried to talk to her several times.

  It was nearly noon when the rain finally ceased. The clouds parted, and the sun was high, and the gryphons and dwarves left the barn feeling that no battle could possibly disturb such a glorious day. But they knew the Nomoi battalion would soon be there, so after drying their clothes and fur they quickly went back to their hiding places among the misshapen rocks and twisted trees and brambles.

  Then the third dwarf scout returned, and one of the dwarves shouted out loudly from the brambles, and he ran over.

  “They are setting forth now! They are marching for the bridge!” said the dwarf, gasping for breath. “The Mage tried once more to make lightning, but his magic still doesn’t work. After wyrding two more soldiers in a temper, he commanded them to set forth, saying they would have to fight the troll on their own!”

  And now they all could hear the marching Nomoi battalion far away, uniforms and armour clinking and clanking, and the distant sound of shouted commands and responses, but more clearly than before, coming closer, ever closer, and they went very quiet. The dwarves and the two gryphons listened intently from their hiding places, wondering how so few of them could possibly fight so many.

  Then suddenly, the battalion stopped. It was now less than half a league away.

  The footsoldiers were standing at ease, and the knights upon their horses were silent, and even the birds and frog
s had stopped singing.

  The elf-mage alone could be heard speaking; loudly cursing the weather and all manner of gods. Suddenly a purple flash came from his talisman, and clouds formed above the army, rumbling and crackling with lightning. They rolled across the sky quickly and strangely like black ink, covering the sun so that all of a sudden everything went very dark.

  The gryphons both went aloft with a single great flap of their wings, and so quickly that, had the dwarves not been looking at them right at that moment, they would have thought they were eagles, for in moments they had become infinitesimal dots on the black canopy of the clouds to the sight of anyone who was not himself a gryphon. None of the Nomoi soldiers or knights saw them and even very few of the dwarves, for all were looking at the clouds directly above them where lightning was crackling and buzzing.

  The gryphons hid among the billowing clouds and the dwarves stood at the ready.

  Finally the elf-mage gave the command and the Nomoi battalion began to move, making a terrible din. The knights came forth slowly in single file towards the bridge, and behind them, the footsoldiers. The elf-mage was at the rear, still attempting to make lightning, but it would begin in the clouds and then fizzle out. He was very angry, and loudly cursed Afazel and all the gods, and the footsoldiers looked grim and afraid, for his behaviour seemed like an ill omen to them.

  The first knight rode towards the bridge, trembling, for he thought that a troll lived beneath the bridge.

  And, as if to fulfil their fears, as he came to the bridge a hammer came flying through the air from the brambles, hitting him square in the centre of his skull. He fell off his horse, which ran away across the bridge in terror and was never seen again. The knight lay on the ground moaning and holding his head, and the footsoldiers and other knights watched in stunned silence. Suddenly another dwarf appeared from behind a stone and threw his hammer at the next knight in line, knocking him off his horse so that he fell to the ground, clutching his chest where the hammer had struck him, shaking in paroxysms of agony. Then he died, right in front of the horrified army! The elf-mage was still concentrating on the clouds, and the other commanders were too stunned to do anything, so an old Lancepesade suddenly cried out, “To your arms! Defend yourselves! We are under attack!”

  The two dwarves who had begun the fight had run out to retrieve their hammers, and though the knights had drawn their swords, they did not see them running along the ground, for they were looking for a tall troll. The Lancepesade, however, cried, “Look to the ground! Dwarves! Look not to the sky or to eye-level, look to the ground, men! There is no troll! We are under attack from dwarves!”

  Whilst those hiding among the rocks stayed hidden, the remaining dwarves attacked. Their war cry was fearsome! And they were quicker on their feet by far than any of their enemies could have expected. Because the knights were in single file ready to cross the bridge, it made them very vulnerable, and the first attack was so blood-curdlingly effective that seven knights were unhorsed by dwarves’ hammers within the first fifteen seconds, leaving just three knights still mounted upon their horses with their swords drawn. But all fought fiercely, those still on their horses, and those who had fallen, and they caused the dwarves much trouble, slashing with their swords and pikestaffs and injuring many.

  The footsoldiers, having little armour and unused to fighting dwarves, made easy targets for the dwarves’ hammers! Although the dwarves were fewer in number, they inflicted many casualties on the soldiers at first, but the soldiers were quicker to recover, for, ever are mere footsoldiers at the mercy of events, so that they must be ready for a change in their fortunes.

  The remaining footsoldiers and knights proved to be intractable opponents, and the dwarf army was driven back towards the strangely shaped stones.

  Meanwhile, Gwendolyn swooped from the sky and attacked three mounted knights, talons extended, unhorsing two of them and making a great gash in the armour of the third. They were completely taken by surprise, for they had been looking to the ground for their enemy. Meanwhile, two other knights found their horses again and clambered up onto them and joined the affray.

  Hwedolyn then went ahead of the dwarves who were being driven into the rocky outcrop. While breathing fire upon the troops, he fought two of the mounted knights simultaneously, grasping their sword arms with his foretalons, and slashing at them with his rear talons.

  The elf-mage, gnashing his teeth furiously, hardly even seemed to have noticed the battle, for he was still trying to make a lightning bolt come out of the sky. But then, unexpectedly, he swivelled his head and aimed his hand at Gwendolyn. Although lightning fizzled and sparked in the low-lying clouds above her, no lightning actually came out of the clouds, and she accounted it a lucky escape, for she had not thought he had seen her. Anticipating the next attack she swooped, at the very right moment. For he tried to wyrd her and wyrded a passing crow instead, and it shrivelled in mid-air and fell to the earth, and dissolved into grey dust. The elf-mage whipped his horse, and drove it over the bridge, where several dwarves appeared from the rocky outcrop and threw their hammers at him. Hwedolyn, still ensconced in battle with the two knights, glanced over at her. Gwendolyn flew at the elf-mage again and again, and Hwedolyn wondered how they could ever have managed without her, for she was a fierce fighter and a brave warrior.

  The dwarves were hard-pressed, and found themselves among the stones and rocks, with the knights and footsoldiers still forcing them back. They stumbled backwards, past the rocky outcrop and into the brambles. The footsoldiers and knights entered the rocky outcrop, giving a great bloodthirsty cry. But at that very moment the dwarves hidden amongst the rocks attacked, and the Nomoi suffered terrible losses in the ensuing skirmish. Only fourteen or fifteen footsoldiers escaped with their lives, and only one knight, who crawled away from the fighting on his belly, towards his horse who had bucked him earlier and run off to stand watching the battle at a distance.

  Gwendolyn was still attacking the elf-mage, swooping at him, striking him with her beak and talon, to prevent him from doing harm to anybody else.

  And while the attention of the elf-mage was on Gwendolyn, Hwedolyn made a leisurely spiral out of the clouds, behind him, down and down, and then he swooped, pushing his wings in to his sides as near as they would go, making himself into a swift and deadly arrow. He gave a great cry as he breathed fire at the elf-mage, from behind, even as the elf-mage unsuccessfully tried to fry Gwendolyn with lightning once again.

  The elf-mage turned to see Hwedolyn diving at him, flame pouring from his mouth, even as King Klaer ran towards him and jumped, grasping the top of the elf-mage’s breastplate and using a knife to prise out his talisman. It popped out quite easily and Gwendolyn swooped and picked up the dwarf with one talon. At the very same moment Hwedolyn attacked the elf-mage again, scratching at him. The elf-mage fell backwards, picked himself up and lifted his arm, ready to wyrd the gryphon, but even as he did so the clouds above him began blowing away and dispersing in the wind, letting the afternoon sun shine through. Then the elf-mage suddenly looked down at his breastplate and realised that his talisman was gone.

  He screamed with absolute rage, purple veins appearing in his cheeks, then ran away across the bridge to the north and into the desert with Hwedolyn swooping upon him, right behind him, blowing flames and biting at him even as he ran, loudly cursing Afazel and gryphons indiscriminately at the top of his voice. A limp suddenly took hold of the elf-mage and Hwedolyn wondered if Afazel himself was taking vengeance upon him. But elves are tricky creatures and in the strange shifting twilight of the border between the southern marshlands and the windswept dust of the desert wilderness the sharp-eyed gryphon lost sight of him, for the elf-mage still possessed simple magical powers – the power to hide from sight and the power to change his appearance – and his limp had perhaps been a ploy to take the gryphon off his guard, so that he would not watch too carefully, for hiding spells will only work when nobody is watching.

  The remaining
knight, who had clambered back onto his horse, despite having great talon-marks upon his armour, on seeing the elf-mage running away in so cowardly a fashion, immediately dropped his sword and took off his helmet and his gloves, and raised his hands in surrender.

  Then the few footsoldiers who had escaped death or serious injury dropped their pikestaffs and swords and surrendered as well. The dwarves surrounded them and told them in guttural tones to gather all their weapons and armour together in a pile. This they did, piling up also the weapons of the injured and dead. After Gwendolyn had tended to their wounded, the gryphons allowed them to leave in freedom, taking their injured with them. Hwedolyn told them, “Make sure you do not return to the army of the Nomoi – walk to the far north, to where the free men live, and live among them. They will surely welcome you, but whatever you do, do not go back to the authorities, for the Nomoi Empire does not take kindly to soldiers and knights who surrender or desert their post.”

  They were a sad and motley sight, walking into the distant forest, with their injured limping beside them or carried upon makeshift stretchers, their clothes all rags, their hair or limbs or sides caked with dried blood.

  The dwarves made a great pile of the dead Nomoi, and made a bonfire which burned high and made a stream of black smoke that went aloft in a great plume, high into the sky, as the late afternoon began to turn to twilight, even as Gwendolyn and a dwarf doctor attended to the wounded dwarves.

  Among the small army of the dwarves, though many were injured, none died from their injuries received in the battle on that day.

  King Klaer gave the talisman to Hwedolyn, who thanked him for stealing it for him.

  The flood in the river had subsided, so the dwarves made their way into the underground hall, but the doorway was too small for the gryphons to pass through. So, after a short talk among the elder dwarves, they decided to bring their victory feast up onto the bridge. It was a marvellous meal, and they shared all their mead and their sweetmeats and mushrooms and roots with the gryphons. The half-moon shone upon their feast for most of the night, casting a soft light upon their fellowship. The feast continued long into the night, through the setting of the moon at the fourth hour, and long past dawn.

  At about the eleventh hour of morning Hwedolyn and Gwendolyn said farewell to the dwarves, with an especial goodbye to King Klaer and his brother King Hrammir, and then went aloft to seek a lonely place to hide the elf-mage’s talisman.