A Feather on the Breath of Ellulianaen

  Chapter Four

  Mynowelechw Pedwr

  The Gryphon of Light

  lla Lhadwl Glaifymæ

  Hinfane’s dreams were troubled that night. A parade of the men from the tavern went past her, one after the other, and with each a voice was telling her why each one might be the elf-mage in disguise. “Huch always sticks up fot the elf-rulers. His cringing fear is just a pretence. Zhallad has the charm, the graceful personality of an elf. It must be him. Camhar is too much of a northerner to be genuine, and there are tales of elves who have magical tattoos.” And so on.

  In the morning, a thought was nagging at her. The gods seemed to be telling her she had missed something, and she could not shake the premonition of doom that clutched at her heart. She peered around the tavern. The elf-mage was one of them - one of the regulars at the tavern - how she knew this, she could not have said, for she had forgotten the dream, but she knew it with as much certainty as the fact that two plus two equals four.

  Finally she could stand it no longer. Taking a mead mug she banged it on the bar, shouting, “Silence!”

  All the men looked at her with mouths open in astonishment– she never disturbed their drinking. Their jaws dropped even further when she said, “Men! listen! That elf-mage is in these parts and you would all be wise to heed what I am going to tell you. He wanders in the snow and wyrds lost creatures, even nyashallyamaelyn, even beasts who are rational. So I am closing the tavern, right now. It is not safe here. Go home to your houses and lock your doors, and do not come out again until he has left this part of the world.”

  They were listening intently, but everything went awry with what she said next: “Beware him. He wears the form of,,, one of us. He is one of us. He is one of the regular tavern-goers at this very tavern. I tell you, it is true!”

  The men fell into an uproar, laughing, whooping, slapping their knees and hitting each other on the back. Hinfane tried to speak above the din, but even she could not make herself heard. Then Gwalt rose, his hooked nose high in the air, lifted his hand and motioned for silence and said, “A pint of mead to our glorious hostess, Hinfane, there aint no better hostess in a hundred kingdoms!” Zhallad smiled his charming smile and his eyes twinkled and he said, “Closing the tavern indeed! You are in a strange humour indeed tonight, Hinfane.”

  Hinfane wanted to give them a good serving of her tongue, and she would have, but she had such a soft spot for Zhallad’s handsome roguishness, and all the mens’ good will toward her was as palpable as it was undeniable, even though they thought she was mocking them. They drank a toast to her. She motioned for silence again and said, “No, I am certain of it. It is true! There is some clue, men, that is nagging at me, that I cannot bring to mind - but I am certain it is true!” But they all laughed at her. Huch was the only one who supported her, saying, “Many is the time people mock those with the seeing eye. Why, you all mock my wife, yet she sees clearly, disaster, disaster, and doom! Aye, that she does, sees it, she does!” And they all laughed even more heartily at that, and it did nothing for Hinfane’s credibility.

  Camhar, the hefty, pale, rune-tattooed Northerner, came with Zhallad and talked to her quietly, later, when the others were going off to their beds and the tavern was emptying.

  Camhar stroked his red beard, sat down and said, “You weren’t serious about that, were you, Hinfane? That business about the elf mage being among us?”

  Wiping the bar down, Hinfane said, “I was. I was, Camhar. Something is nagging at my mind. I am certain that he is one of the men who frequent the tavern regularly. This feeling, this impression, is strong enough that I am going to close the tavern, for I wish none of us to come to harm. Such a place as this is invites trouble from one such as the elf-mage, particularly with the sympathy you men evince for the partisans.”

  Camhar said, “It is hard to believe, Hinfane. I cannot believe it. There are no men among us that we do not know now, and few newcomers that I would count untrustworthy. I cannot think of one man among your regular taverners that I would not trust with my life.”