Hill held the rod quite easily at one end with a hand still enclosed in his sleeve, and pointed the other end at the stone wall to the right of their passage. There was no sound at all, but suddenly there was a circular hole about five feet across and ten feet deep. It seemed to have opened into a parallel passage, in which could be seen more of the creatures Hob had called Gnarlies, moving about.
These stopped, staring at Hill. Their arms fell to their sides and their faces went blank. Hill paid them no attention, but rode on a few more yards and once more pointed the rod at the stone wall beside him.
Once more the stone opened up. But this time Jim heard the boomp he had become familiar with in Malencontri. The passage revealed at the far end this time was visible as if seen through a grimy, but transparent, circular window. And the Gnarlies Jim saw moving beyond it this time paid no attention to Hill and kept moving as if proceeding on their everyday errands.
It was certainly a kind of window, in the second case with some thin layer of stone left that could be seen through, somehow, probably to find out what was beyond. He must have all the walls tapped where there had been boomps heard, when he got home.
Clearly he, Brian, and Dafydd had found their way to the right place.
He looked balefully at Hill's back. Luck, indeed!
Hill had opened his grip on the rod and let it fall, as if no longer interested in it—and the Natural that had given it to him, running forward, had just made a desperate diving catch before it had hit the stone floor.
"Hill, what—damn you, Gorp!" said Jim, forcing the warhorse forward until the two of them were all but level with Hill. "Isn't it a mining tool, then? What's the rod for if not for mining?"
"Fighting," answered Hill unexpectedly, still without turning his head to look at Jim.
"Fighting? Who would you fight?"
"Goblins," said Hill. He turned his head then and looked—not at Jim, but at Gorp. Gorp stopped in his tracks, and Jim sat there, unable to make him move until Brian caught up with him.
"A curious breeze above us there," said Brian unexpectedly. "Hark how it sings."
Jim had not previously noticed any breeze, but Brian was right. One was indeed blowing, seemingly from above them. And looking about, he saw that they had just now emerged into what seemed an ever-widening cavern, with walls lit more strongly by the light in the stone—or whatever it was—but its farther distance, beyond a hundred yards or so, still lost in darkness.
Lost in the darkness above them also was any ceiling to this larger cave. The stone-light climbed the walls about them high enough to throw a little gleam on what seemed to be the end of more stalactites hanging down from the ceiling—hanging down, and in a number of cases, pierced by holes.
The breeze blowing from somewhere behind them whistled through these holes, sounding notes of different pitch. The breeze itself varied, as he could feel on the back of his neck, resulting in something almost resembling music—music in which the sound of the feet on the stone floor behind them, steadily beating, was like a tympani accompaniment.
But, Jim asked himself, was he hearing this with his human ears, or through the enlarged range of hearing which enabled him to hear Hill? He turned to Brian.
"Brian," he asked, "can you hear Hill when he talks?"
"Never heard him say a word," answered Brian.
"He can, but I had to find a special way of hearing before I could hear him."
"I remember," said Brian. He looked closely at Jim. "Is something amiss, James? You speak oddly"
"I think," said Jim, "that even though I don't have any magic down here, I may still be able to feel when other magic is around me, even if I can't tell what it is, or do anything about it."
"That is some help, surely, however," said Brian. "It may be we'll need no more."
"Well, yes. It might turn out to be an advantage," said Jim. "If no one else realizes that I'm aware of whatever magic's here, maybe I can take advantage of that in some way to help us."
"May the Saints aid you to do so," said Brian. "Meanwhile, I've had enough of riding behind that small fellow, whatever he is. Let us pass him and take the lead ourselves."
With that, Brian rode ahead, and Jim felt obligated to go with him. Their horses came level with Hill and his mount; but then, neither Blanchard nor Gorp moved ahead.
"What ails the beasts!" said Brian, angrily, urging Blanchard forward both with reins and spurs.
Hill, meanwhile, had not even bothered to glance at them.
Before Jim could answer, Hill spoke, a single word that came out sharply and commandingly, in a tone that was the last thing Jim would have expected from Hill.
"He said 'Stop!' " Jim informed Brian and Dafydd.
But in fact they had already stopped—their horses having done the stopping for them. Hill dismounted.
"Blanchard, damn you!" said Brian angrily, but under his breath. Blanchard put back his ears, but did not move.
"We'd better get down, I think," said Jim, softly.
"If you say so," said Brian, equally softly, but through his teeth. "But it were my rede—James, I do not understand this!"
"Neither do I," said Jim, as they all dismounted. "But, look at the floor."
Before them began a sort of path across the stone floor marked out by glittering jewels of about two inches diameter, inset every six inches or so. Two lines of them led forward, laying out a trail whose far end could not be seen—whether because of distance or a mist, it was impossible to say. Hill evidently intended to walk it, for he was already starting down between the two lines.
"I think he wants us to go with him," Hob said timidly into Jim's ear, but loudly enough to be heard by the two other men. Jim looked at Brian and Dafydd.
"We might as well," said Jim. They both nodded.
Jim turned, and saw that the cave just behind them was solidly packed by the small miners who had been following them; and more were flooding in to spread right and left from the tunnel mouth, pressing into the mass already there. Brian and Dafydd had also seen this.
" 'Fore God," said Brian, "I think we have no choice."
They turned to walk forward, behind Hill, with the horses coming along on their own. The flood of small figures followed them closely.
Ahead, the murkiness that had obscured the farther reaches of the cavern seemed to roll back, but more slowly than their advance; so that now it was only about fifteen yards in front of them, but retreating steadily. Above, the wind had increased. The discordant music in Jim's head was louder, but oddly counterpointed by the sound of the naked feet of those who followed on the stone floor.
"I think there's someone who doesn't like Hill up ahead," said Hob in Jim's ear. His voice had become timid and uncertain. "M'Lord, would you like to tell Hill we're on his side?"
"What is his side, Hob?"
"I don't know," confessed Hob. "Maybe if you asked him…"
It was not the most unlikely suggestion. There was certainly no harm in trying.
"Hill," said Jim.
Hill turned his head briefly; and his eyes met Jim's. As usual, there was no expression in them, but he had plainly heard and understood what Jim and Hob had been saying. His own response came clearly to Jim.
" Ee'll see'm soon enough." There was a slight pause before the next few words. " 'Ee's my Uncle."
"Your uncle?" echoed Jim. "But why—"
He broke off, because Hill had looked away again and was obviously through talking. He walked on, and Jim, with Brian and Dafydd, walked after him—with the horses nodding and following, and the little miners crowding close behind.
But now, without warning and without sound, the darkness before them began to pull back faster. It did not have to roll far. In a moment they could see the farther end of the cave. Before it was a platform, with a chair like a throne on it, and a bulky figure in the chair, robed in flashing light.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The cave came to an end at a wall that reared above them l
ike a windowless, many-storied building. However, that wall was undercut at a height roughly comparable to two stories above the ground, the sheer vertical drop abruptly angling sharply inward. So that in effect the upper part projected outward like a massive awning above a tiny plaza.
In the large space underneath, at the very center, there was a raised stone platform, on which a throne literally glittered, as did the robe of its occupant. A ring of the same glittering gems that had outlined the path, marked an open space about and before the platform.
The back of the throne rose in an arched curve above the head of that occupant; and halfway down it sprouted ends that curved forward, flattened, and became ornately carved armrests, differently shaped at their forward ends, one like a pick, one like a hammer. The entire throne appeared to be of one piece, part of the living stone of the wall behind, but such was the effect of the bright jewels around it and the subdued light of the cave, that it seemed to float at head-height of those standing before it.
Jim looked more closely. By heaven, it was floating!
He forced his gaze from the throne to the one sitting in it. There, clad in a floor-length, glittering robe, was a Natural just like Hill, but half a head taller and proportionately bigger.
As he looked more closely, Jim saw that the face of the enthroned individual, while very like Hill's in its heavy-boned, primitive appearance, was unpleasantly different in expression. Its eyes also stared at Jim and his friends, but with nothing of the innocence Jim had thought he had seen in Hill and those behind him. Then, abruptly, even that changed. The stare focused on Hill; and the Natural's face became almost human with a smile that did ugly things to the formerly emotionless face.
"Well, Nevvy—" Jim heard him begin.
"Well, Uncle!" Hill interrupted sharply. "Here I be again!"
Jim looked quickly; and Hill's face had also changed. It, too, had taken on personality such as Hill had not shown before in Jim's experience of him. His was a young face still, but now the vacantly open mouth was closed, the lower jaw set. He, too, looked more human now—but in his case, it was for the better.
"Why, so I see, Nevvy, as I was about to tell 'ee. 'Ee dug thyself out, did 'ee? I never looked to see 'ee back here for another hundred year."
" Twas help I had," said Hill, "from a friend."
"A friend? Oh, thee has friends up-surface now, do 'ee? What friend of 'ee's could dig 'ee faster from under a mountain than eeself?"
" 'Ee was called a Sea Devil," retorted Hill. "Ye never saw the like. 'Ee was as tall as eight o' ourn, piled head to foot, and 'ee could crush 'ye in one hand like a piece o' sandstone, so 'ee could."
Uncle's grin suddenly broadened, although nothing else about him changed—giving him a mad look.
"No living creetur can crush the Gnarly King, the King o' th' Hill, of Overhill, Underhill and all the other Underearth! 'Ee should know that, being a Kings-son, Nevvy!"
"Thee be no True King, Uncle!" cried Hill.
"I be True King!" roared his uncle, half-rising from his chair. But he checked, and sank back onto the Throne. "… Or else thee just be stoopid. Thee was always stoopid. But I think, now thee's lying to me, as well. If thee's not, why bring here these Up-Earth Stoopids and beasts wi' thee, if not to back up thy story?"
Hill flung out one of his covered aims to point at Jim.
"Thee stole away his cheild!" he said. " 'Ee knows't'was thee did it."
"And if I did, what's that to me or thee, Nevvy?"
" 'Ee's my Luck!" cried Hill.
"Luck?" For a moment the King looked disturbed. But then he rocked with silent laughter. "Now I know thee's not only a liar but stoopid, Nevvy. A Stoopid from up-surface to be a Luck for a Gnarly?"
"My Luck beed the Sea Devil, who dug me out this fast," answered Hill. "Ask 'eeself, how could I be here so soon, otherhow? But the Sea Devil couldn't come to Overhill with me. So 'ee passed his Luck to thisun; and thisun's no simple Stoopid, neither. 'Ee's a Mage, 'ee is, full with magick. 'Ee was coming here for 'is cheild, anyhow!"
"Wants't'see it, does 'ee?" said the King. " 'Ee's magick don't be any good here. Here, it's I got the Robe and the Throne. So—"
He waved his hand toward a corner of the space in which his throne of flashing silver was centered; and suddenly, a few feet to the side, Robert Falon appeared, lying on a block of stone, his legs and arms waving. He was crying harder than Jim had ever seen him cry—but utterly without a sound. The fact that his crying was going unheard registered clearly in Jim's mind—and a moment later, he walked with considerable force into what felt like a wall of stone. With the impact came realization: the King had set up a ward about Robert.
The sudden understanding was like a door slammed in his face, just as he had tried to go through it.
"Look at 'ee standing there!" the King's voice rang behind him. "So stoopid 'ee thought I'd just let 'ee go take ee's cheild! 'Ayl Stoopid! Yon cheild's not 'ee's no more! I'll be given 'ee to a Stoopid Lady!"
The King laughed, like two blocks of stone grinding against each other.
"Look at 'ee!" he chortled, turning to Hill. "Fair mazed 'ee is! No wonder, neither. Five o' ourn I sent to steal the cheild; and 'ee all came back shaking after trying to dig out of rock into 'ee's cave—not so far from Stoopids 'eeselves—and there smelling Stoopids all around, crazy to kill poor Gnarlies. Twas 'un tried to steal the baybee from open surface in broad day's light and the cheild's watch-Stoopid sleeping under Sun beside the wee 'un, but came back 'feered of a wolf! Twas then I had to go meself!"
Jim, staring at Robert, had hardly heard any of this long speech. But abruptly, what the King had said just before that reechoed in his head.
"You said you'd give Robert to a Stoopid Lady!" he said to the King. "What Lady? A Lady named Agatha Falon?" His voice came out hard.
The King said nothing; but Jim now found himself being pushed backward by some invisible force, away from Robert. The King kept his attention on Hill, ignoring Jim.
Jim turned. He walked unsteadily back to stand beside Brian. This Gnarly King, he found himself thinking, was someone he could kill with an easy conscience.
"Were you struck by some magick, James?" Brian's voice whispered in his ear. He put an arm around Jim, who was literally unsteady on his feet.
Jim shook his head, as much to clear it as to answer Brian's question. With an effort, he put his fury from him, and found steadiness. Magic had nothing to do with his sudden weakness, but to explain emotional shock to Brian was impractical.
"No, Brian," he said, and his own voice sounded strange to him, unreasonably hollow. "I'm all right. What's going on?"—For Hill's voice and the King's were clashing again.
"They are now in fierce discussion," said Brian, in a voice that sounded more normal. "He who calls himself the Gnarly King is taunting young Hill. I had no great love for the little fellow, but—by Our Lady! I would aid him in this moment, if I knew how."
"You, too?" said Jim. "How long have you been hearing their talk?"
"Why, since they started to speak out, a moment past," answered Brian, releasing him. "I knew you could hear these creatures speak—magick, of course—but to me they were dumb as stones. Now, however, it appears these two, at least, can utter some words if they will. Enough, at least, to make plain that the King of these people, there, is about to send Hill back beneath some mountain, and wishes to see him beg for mercy. Yet Hill has been standing up to him, almost as well as a man might. Only hark, James. You can hear them yourself."
"But how could you—"Jim began, then interrupted himself. "They're speaking in the normal human range now. Wait a minute—no, they're not. I wonder… Brian, listen to me for a moment—"
Jim edged forward, moving inside the ring of gems that outlined the space on the floor. The King had turned to face Hill, and Hill was concentrating only on the monarch. Jim spoke to Brian.
"Gladiator Hill, amor Fortunae."
"Indeed, James, I am entirely of your opinion. But why did you wa
lk away like that to say so?"
Jim stepped back toward him out of the ring and repeated the Latin words.
"What?" said Brian.
"Sorry," said Jim, in his own form of English, which for some unknown reason fourteenth-century individuals seemed to find perfectly understandable. "Frog in my throat. I said that Hill was a fighter and Fortune loves him."
"That is what you also said, a moment gone," replied Brian. "Good fortune is never to be despised, of course, in any bicker. I agree. Still, they do seem to insist on a lot of talk before they get to blows, down here. Almost makes one doubt their willingness to do so. Never do to act like that in dispute with an Englishman."
There was nothing Jim could think of to say to that.
"Besides," Brian went on, "how else should they speak? True, they have a common, country way of talking, but it is clear enough."
And indeed, it was.
"—I say it again," Hill was almost shouting in a tenor voice. The faces of both of them were now showing emotions Jim would never have thought possible to them.
"Killed thy father?" retorted the King. "Never I did! The old pooker just keeled over."
"That be'en't true!"
"Na, na, watch thy words!" said the King.
"Weil, don't thee call my father a poker!" cried the Prince. "If any Gnarly here's a pooker, it's thee!"
"Oh, thee's be now like a fine little Stoopid Knight with manners, be'en't 'ee? Besides, 'ee was a pooker. I was 'ee's next youngest brother, and I should know!"
"Stop that! 'Ee shouldn't never talk that way of anyone who's gone Overhill-Underhill—and 'ee thy full-blood brother!"
"Thee be'en't here when it happened, remember," retorted the King. "It were me, not thee, saw 'im fall. 'Ee just beed a weak old pooker and 'ee died."
"I be 'is closer kin. I be 'is son!" cried the Prince. "I'll scatter 'ee for saying that!"
The King laughed.