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Thirteen

Gwyn was the first to reach the Cave of the Hourglass, light-footed despite his limp, bobbing up and down as he kept time with the cadence of the verse. The others followed, equally charmed by the song's refrain, which Wilum had taken up again and again. Before long, many of them had begun to chant the words in unison with him.

They soon arrived at the broad mouth of the Cave, a hollow shell surrounded by the enormous bulk of the mountainside. With strong counsel to make haste, stay on the path, keep bow in hand, and to garner all vigilance of ear and eye lest the gathgour should choose to make more mischief, Wilum dispatched Galli back to the Holdsmen on guard at the Stairs. With the Hordanu's blessing, Galli took his leave.

The assembled Holdsfolk stood before the Cave, all eyes drawn to a squared column of rock that rose the height of five men and screened the entrance. Sculpted on it, separated by the stylized shapes of various heraldic animals, were a series of parallel friezes spread in bands across its face from its base to just below its helm-shaped top. Many of them showed scenes from the life of Ardiel, beginning with his early days in the remote reaches of the Calathros Peninsula and continuing on up the column with the memorable events in his struggle to overcome Tardroch.

Kal stepped toward the column and ran his fingers over the wind-polished stone relief. Here was Ardiel, the ploughboy, and his team. And here the white hind that led Ardiel deep into the Woods of Whorralsheaf, its forest of silver birch the abode of Whÿlas, the mysterious hermit from beyond the seas who became Ardiel's tutor, here with harp in hand instructing the young king to be. As for the scenes sculpted higher on the pillar, Kal found them hard to discern.

Over the lintel of the door of the Cave, Kal examined the sculpted figure of a splendid bird, its tail spread out in a wide fan. Next to the bird were depicted several creatures that appeared to be seals riding the crests of billowing ocean waves opposite a heavily wooded island. The island was grazed by two tiny sheep, and emerging from the island, as if plunged into it, was the relief of a broadsword. Looking more closely, he made out two parallel lines of small runic characters etched into the blade. Clearly, this sculpted piece was more ancient than those on the stone column, perhaps dating back to the Age of Echoes. It even had the appearance of having been executed by a different hand.

Chiselled into the lintel as an epigraph to this strange seascape were carved verses in Old Arvonian which Kal read to himself under his breath.

 
O Son of Prophecy, know surely that thy quest
Shall not be satisfied nor brought to end
When to the newfound place of Vali's final rest
Thyself shall come and wearily attend.
Ere gainest thou the covert of the Lyrebird,
Ere e'en thy toil a mote of easement yields,
Great woes by thine own kingly heart shall be endured,
Amidst the time-lost realms, far from the fields
Of 'pressed and joyless Arvon.
 

Kal stood fascinated by the puzzling beauty of the verse, struck at once by its gravity and its tenderness, its sense of the tears and restless striving that lay hidden in all man's mortal doings. The cleanly cut lines, moreover, the work of a master in stone, were inscribed so deep and sure that they seemed to set at naught the weathering winds and rain of countless centuries, as fresh and as immediate as the day the words were first framed.

Wilum placed a hand on Kal's shoulder, then left him staring at the stone and led the others into the Cave, where he found Gwyn gazing at the vivid murals which covered the circular wall in a riot of colour. It was plain to see why the Cave bore the name it did, for it was round and like an inverted bowl, with a large hole at its apex. The hole gave onto another chamber above. It too had an opening, through which they could just make out the purpling skies of the waning day. The fringe of the lower hole was darkly smudged, black from the smoke of many fires that had been lit in the very centre of the chamber, where a tripod for cooking hung suspended over a simple hearth of banked stones.

Wilum admonished the Holdsfolk not to venture beyond the main body of the Cave, its compass including the large chamber and two side chambers. To the huddled group, he pointed out that from the central chamber, as from the hub of a wheel, there branched out a labyrinthine maze of passageways that he himself had never explored. Nor had any other Hordanu down through the ages, since, from the beginning, it had been forbidden for even the High Bard to step past the main part of the Cave. The tangled web of passageways remained a veiled mystery linking the Cave of the Hourglass in some indefinable way with the subterranean roots of Mount Thyus.

Within the confines of the Cave of the Hourglass, they would remain quite safe, he assured them, leading them first to one and then to the other of the side chambers. In these, he had stored the peat he needed for his fires and other provisions for his sojourns in the Enclosure. Narasin and Manaton nodded to one another approvingly, for it was obvious that the old Hordanu, thinking ahead to the approaching feebleness of his declining years, had built up a stock of additional fuel and food. He told the men that in recent years, every time he came to the Cave, he would bring a little bit more than what he needed for his stay, building up a wealthy store of these necessities. One of the sidechambers enjoyed a constant stream of ice-cold mountain water that trickled down the wall into a little pool from which it could be scooped fresh and clear.

Thurfar had pulled out his tinder box and was fanning the sparks he had struck into curling tongues of flame. The women, meanwhile, having found Wilum's store of cured venison and his vegetables, were busy preparing a big cauldron of stew to hang from the tripod. Already, the aroma of herbs began to fill the Cave. Devved's son Chandaris was laid down on his stretcher near the bright warmth of the fire, while Wilum himself rummaged through his chest of simples.

"Ah, there we are, there's my groundsel and mouse-ear. And here's my whortleberry syrup. Let me see now, what else do I have here?" Wilum muttered to himself.

"Begging your pardon, Master Wilum, sir." Artun interrupted him. "But Garis and I have found more tracks. Right here in the Cave, on one of the dusty reed mats—"

"They're fresh ones too, with other tracks, more like a man's bare feet almost, but small and narrow. And there's blood," added Garis. Fear coloured the young man's voice.

"Here, put these over the lintel of the door and we'll be protected from them." Wilum handed Artun two sprays of dried rowan, the shrivelled berries still on the bough. "Then go and erase the tracks. We mustn't alarm anyone more than needs be."

"Yes, Master Wilum." The two departed, whispering to each other.

Wilum fell to pondering the strange trail of blood that had dogged them from the Pool of Retribution and through Owlpen Castle and Raven's Crag Island, even to here in the Cave. He thought about Frysan and his sentry detail. He shivered. A nagging sense of compunction crept over him. Now, after the vicious attack of the gathgours on himself and Kal, he realized with a start how bold and malevolent the creatures were. And there was no telling how many might be about. And Galli, he had sent Galli back with no more protection than a few idle words of caution! Oh, but he was tired . . . tired, sore pressed and growing careless—

"Wilum? Who's the Son of Prophecy?" Kal's voice nearby broke above the muted drone of voices echoing in the chamber and pulled Wilum, his brow furrowed, out of his thoughts.

"Wh-what? How's that, Kalaquinn? You startled me."

"The 'Son of Prophecy'? What does it mean?"

"Ah, you've read the verses on the lintel, I see. Good, good. I'm glad all those lessons in the Old Tongue have stood you in good stead."

"Who wrote those lines and cut all those other friezes on the big standing stone? Was it two different people?"

"I see I must commend you on your powers of observation too, Kal. It was Hedric who carved the stone pillar. He painted the murals here in the Cave as well. But nobody knows who sculpted the lintel. There's a legend, though, that says Whÿlas the Hermit, after he had sent Ardiel off to engage in his struggle against Tardroch, made his way to these parts and lived in this cave. Perhaps it was he who did it."

"And he had a knowledge of runes?"

"They say that he did, that he had been an echobard king from a far country beyond the sea before he became a hermit deep in the Woods of Whorralsheaf."

"Then, why didn't he share his knowledge of the runes?"

"I don't rightly know. Perhaps there's a reason for our ignorance of runes that will become clear one day. I must confess, though, that part of me rather hopes not. Where would the mystery be? Runes would not be runes somehow if shorn of their mystery. I'm of two minds about them, it has to be said."

Wilum returned to searching through his chest of herbs.

"Why did the gathgours make the attempt on us out on the ledge? A place outside the Enclosure really. There were better spots where they might have ambushed us. In the middle of some of those cramped twists and turns on the way up," Kal said.

"Because the ledge is, in truth, outside the Enclosure. Before that, while on the path to the Cave, we were still on safe ground. The creatures held back from their assault because an air of sacred inviolability still clings to the Enclosure itself. No doubt, they were loath to desecrate it with violence."

"But why were you as Hordanu not as inviolable as the ground of the Enclosure?" Kal queried once more.

Wilum paused again in his work and thought for a moment before he answered. "Because many things and places," he said at length, "though mutable, keep their identity more in time and space, whereas man is vested with a will, which, like a reed, may bend and even break with the winds of change. A will, vulnerable, caught in the shifting shroud of mortal clay, as fleeting as a morning dew on midsummer's day. A heart may despair." Wilum's mind wandered to the orrthon's Great Doxology, those piercing lines that Ardiel recited at the very climax of his "Lay of the Velinthian Bridge." His voice grew solemn as he continued, citing the age-old invocation:

"Thou, Wuldor, in the beginning hast laid the foundations of Ahn Norvys unto all its furthest marks. All within the compass of the rising and setting of the sun thou hast laid and even beyond these boundaries all is of thy founding might. When the sum of the ages shall be filled and century upon century shall lie in the procession of the years, these mighty works of thine shall march darkling into night, but thou shalt endure. All these shall wax old, like a garment, and, as a vesture, shalt thou change them, and they shall unto harmony be restored for the span of a Great Year, until chaos doth rise afresh from gloom-darkened fields. Though these works of thine wax old, thou art ever the same, and thy years shall not fail, from generation unto generation, though they be as countless as the leaves of spring."

Sighing, Wilum fell silent in thought again.

"How many years, do you think, make up the Great Year?" Kal broke the spell of Wilum's brooding reverie. The old Hordanu looked at him.

"Many Hordanus, and bards without number, have wondered how many years are destined to make up the Great Year—the length of an Age. Nobody knows." Wilum shrugged. "There have been all sorts of ingenious suggestions put forward by the learned and the humble alike, especially in recent years when the Great Harmony has seemed on almost every front to be suffering such tragic diminution. More than thirty centuries have passed since Ardiel sang his harmonizing lay. Are we now, at long last, approaching the endterm of the Great Year? I cannot tell you. The one thing I can say is that, in our day, truly, the darkness seems pervasive."

Kal frowned in puzzlement at these larger questions. Soon, however, his thoughts turned to his father and the other men on guard duty.

"If the gathgour treads wary on the sacred ground of the Enclosure, not daring to offer injury, why do we need worry that the Boar will ascend the Stairs to the Seven Springs and commit violence there?" he asked.

"Because Ferabek enjoys some deeper and more elemental power than the gathgour, some power that has risen anew in the sullen autumntide of Ardiel's Great Harmony. Witness the Boar's harrowing of the Great Glence and the extinction of the Sacred Fire.

"Even so, as outnumbered as we are, we must keep guard at the Stairs. It is the only way that we can maintain our food supply, once the provisions I have laid by have run out. There is a small peat bog, too, close to the Well of the Seven Springs, where we can cut our fuel."

"What about the long run? What can we do to escape this trap?"

Wilum sighed again. His voice grew low and doleful.

"Alas, I don't know, Kal. The pass to the other side of the Radolan Mountains is now destroyed and closed to us. The plans I laid so hopefully with you in the boat on Deepmere have gone awry, foiled almost at the outset." Wilum fell to staring absently at the flickering shadows on the wall, his words a low distracted mumble. "And what about Aelward? Where is he? What news does the man bear? But alas, no message has come from him yet. My pigeon cote is empty."

With a sudden start, old Cloudbeard returned his gaze to Kal, his attention restored.

"But what are we doing chattering away here? There'll be time for talk like this later. First, I must prepare some medicine for Chandaris, and for you and your knee. Here, let me see how bad it is." Wilum gestured for Kal to expose his wound. "Oh, it's hardly more than a scratch. If only all our hurts were so easily cured. He'll be none the worse for wear, will he, Gwyn?" The mute boy had trailed in behind Kal as silent as a cat. "You like those murals, don't you, lad? It's almost as if you were there, in the thronging ranks of battle, fighting at the Velinthian Bridge with Ardiel and Thrysvar, or in the Marshes of Atramar, with the Seven Champions of Ruah, witnessing a muster of the troops."

Gwyn smiled broadly.

"Aye, Gwyn has a quick imagination," Kal said. "For all that he can't speak, his eyes and ears drink everything in." He put an affectionate hand on Gwyn's shoulder, as Wilum passed by them into the main chamber, his hands full of herbal salves and preparations.

Kal decided to follow Gwyn's lead, feasting on the noble scenes that animated the walls with figures that were portrayed almost life-size. The murals were unlike any he had ever seen. Under the gathering cloak of evening, very little natural light came from the hole above. Besides the peat fire in the centre, the men had lit pine-pitch torches secured in brackets along the walls. A phantasmal play of light and tremulous shadows was cast on the murals. Kal stared at the images of Ardiel, stopping for a while in front of the scene showing the ancient king rapt in ecstasy while reciting "The Lay of the Velinthian Bridge" atop the Mountain of the Quivering Cromlech in the highland Keverang of Orm. There was no mistaking Ardiel's regal face and carriage, even in the scenes from his early hidden life as a ploughboy in the remote Keverang of Tanobar. Ardiel's long flaxen hair fell down over his shoulders, a cascade of gold to match the sunlit gold of the Talamadh, which he played with head uplifted, staring into the eye of heaven. He wore a tunic of deep blue, emblazoned with his heraldic device of a white stag rampant. Such nobility, such splendour! To think that all his majesty and power had come to this—a broken, ragged clutch of Holdsfolk, huddled in a mountain cave.

"Come, Kal! Enough woolgathering. We have your knee to attend to, now that Chandaris is taken care of. Look, already the boy's on the mend. You'll make sure, won't you, Devved, that he's given a posset of this whortleberry syrup? There's a good man. Speaking of which, I have to thank you again for saving my weary old life."

" 'Twas nothing, Master Wilum. You've repaid any small favour I've done you a hundredfold in bringing back my Chandaris from the shores of death," said Devved, his eyes glistening, as he beheld his son gaining awareness and stirring from unconsciousness. Wilum looked from father to son, then to father again, and, bowing his head, took his leave of the two.

"Come, Kal, follow me. We'll fix you up back at my infirmary, makeshift as it is."

Gwyn looked on while Wilum cleaned Kal's wound, ground hound's-tongue leaves with a small mortar and pestle, and applied a poultice to his knee.

"Ah! That stings!" yelped Kal to Gwyn's amusement.

"Give it a moment, and you'll feel it soothing your wound. Here, let me bind it up."

Wilum had just put everything away, when Marya came in. She glanced at Kal.

"Briacoil, Marya," he said, catching her eye. She blushed.

"Master Wilum, I'm sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to tell you that the food is ready."

"Thank you, Marya. It smells delicious," Wilum said.

She cast another glance at Kal with the hint of a smile and left the chamber.

"She's a lovely girl, Kal." The old man winked, as Kal reddened. "Come along, Gwyn, we'll put some meat on that thin frame of yours." Wilum rose and followed Marya into the main chamber.

The fragrance from the large cauldron filled the cavern. The others had already begun ladling out the stew, eating it with dumplings.

"You keep a well-stocked larder, Master Wilum," greeted Narasin with that air of contentment consequent to enjoying food and warmth after a period of cold and hunger.

"Not for much longer, not with a runaway group like this to feed, and all of them so hungry they could eat a horse behind the saddle!" Wilum said, as one of the women handed him a steaming bowl.

Kal joined his mother and his brother. Worry creased his mother's brow. Gwyn had gravitated to his own family. The children had been fed and most were well on the way to falling asleep. Somewhere on the firelight's fringe an infant suckled, grunting contentedly to itself, its mother humming a soft lullaby. Presently, the men, their stomachs full and pipes lit, drifted towards Wilum, eager to make plans and form strategies. Kal finished his meal and tried, in spite of his own misgivings, to reassure his mother. Then he and Brendith sought out Wilum as well.

"Master Wilum, is there any way for us to reach the other side of the mountains?" queried Thurfar Fletcher, glancing at his son, who had resumed his study of the murals surrounding them.

"You know as well as I do that the Radolan Mountains are impassable, particularly to a group with children and oldlings. That ledge, where Kal and I had our little adventure, was the only other way that I know of out of this valley except for the Wyrdlaugh Pass. No, Thurfar, there's now only one way in and one way out of the Holding. We'd have to be as stealthy as shadows to slip down from the Enclosure and get as far as just Wrenhaven, let alone to the Pass itself. And that will be held by the Boar's fiercest troops."

"Where does that leave us, then?" growled Narasin, removing the pipe from his mouth and knocking its ashes onto the ground with the heel of a callused hand. "Holed up here like cornered animals, 'til our food runs out, or 'til the Boar pokes his snout in the Enclosure? And him with the resources of a whole empire behind him."

"Resources, my dear Narasin, that run beyond abundance of men and arms and that would curdle your blood to learn of. The rumour is, as you may know, that he has unlocked certain powers that have lain dormant since the Age of Echoes and before. The gathgours, too, we don't know when they might get bold enough to attack us here in the Enclosure itself. They haven't lacked the opportunity, that's for certain. Which is why all those on sentry duty must wear a spray of rowan around their necks. My heart misgives me about Frysan and Diggory and Galli. I hadn't realized what strength the gathgour possesses, and what a threat it may be. And then there's the night drake on top of that . . ." Wilum's expression grew dark and brooding. "Kalaquinn," he said in a tone of resolve, "I want you to leave immediately and take rowan branch talismans to them. If your knee is healed enough?"

"I'm fine, Wilum. You said it yourself. Hardly more than a scratch. I'll go."

"Then get moving quickly now. And stay with them, 'til the next men arrive. That'll be two hours from now. Don't take a torch. The light of the rising moon should be enough for you to see by. We'll have further council later, when your father arrives. I have to take some time to think. Perhaps there's some way over these mountains . . . But with the children? No . . . Yet there are many nooks and crannies here in the Enclosure that remain a mystery to me. It may be that, with some ingenuity, we'll find a way out of this trap. And of course there's Aelward too . . ." he added, glancing to the empty wicker pigeon cote that swung on a rope attached to the wall. "In the meantime, let's try to keep our hopes up. Just remember that in the coldest flint there's hot fire."

Wilum took Kal to his medicine chest and gave him a sheepskin bag full of rowan branches for him to tie to his belt. Then he took a leather thong and tied a spray of rowan around the young man's neck.

"So you want to accompany your friend, do you?" Wilum turned to face Gwyn, who was trying to attract Wilum's attention, pointing to his own neck. His eyes alight with eagerness, Gwyn nodded so fiercely that Wilum thought for a moment he might suffer some hurt.

"No, boy. You're too young. I could never forgive myself if you came to any harm. No, it's for the best if you stay here with the rest of us, lad, although I admire your enthusiasm."

Gwyn's face clouded in the most piteous frown, quivering on the verge of tears. He slowly turned tail and shuffled out of the cavern.

"Perhaps I could take him along, Wilum. I don't think he'd be a hindrance, no, not at all. In fact, he might be a great help."

"Well, I don't know. That's all you need, to be caring for him when you're trying to survive yourself."

"But Wilum, it's clear you don't know Gwyn. You'd be absolutely amazed to see him draw a bow. There's scarcely a bow in his father's shop that he can't pull to full draw. For a lad of fifteen, he's already more than a fair archer. Aye, he's not a day under fifteen," reiterated Kal, to Wilum's look of amazement. "That lad's full of surprises, let me tell you. Why, there's more muscle in that young body than many a full-grown man. And wisdom too. I'm certain that if I talked to Thurfar and Fionna, they'd let him go. In fact, it would be reassuring if he kept me company. He'd probably end up looking after me, keeping me from harm."

"Well, Kalaquinn. It seems you admire him quite as much as he admires you. I didn't realize he's well-nigh a man already. Soon, alas, he'll needs be a warrior. Ah well, go on, fetch him before his face sinks down to his knees, and then bid his father to come see me here. We'd better ask goodman Fletcher if it's all right for his eldest son to tag along with you. As for the danger, it's probably no greater for you than what we face already, except I think that things may be more perilous for your father and his companions."

Kal's brow knit at remembrance of the horror-filled skies of the previous night.

"Thraganux, the night drake," Wilum said, knowing Kal's thought. "It has not been seen in Arvon for over thirty centuries. But enough. Now go, send Thurfar to me."

Having secured Thurfar's approval, Kal and Gwyn were ready to leave the Cave of the Hourglass, both of them wrapped in a cloak to ward off the coolness of the night. Gwyn's eyes gleamed with pride, for he had been outfitted with a keen-bladed shortsword and one of his father's own bows—Thurfar had managed to bring three of his finest longbows with him—with a quiver full of arrows.

Wilum provided for a solitary picket to be posted just inside the door of the Cave. The women would take on the task of keeping vigil at the entrance, to hear any warning blast of the horn that might shatter the night air. Fionna, in her anxiety about her son, volunteered to be the first sentry. There had been a bit of a contest between Gammer and Fionna as to who should have the first honours, since Gammer was every bit as worried about her man Diggory and her nephew Galli as Fionna was about Gwyn.

Outside, all was awash in the soft caress of moonbeams, which shed an eerie slanted light on the standing stone and left the lintel of the Cave's entrance in shadow.

"Come down, Dhu, wherever you are. You never know when we might need some reinforcement, eh Gwyn!" Even though he expected it, Kal started at the sudden flurry of wingbeats with which Dhu alighted beside them from the crag above, where he must have been taking his rest. The young Holdsmen stroked him a couple of times, and with a word from Kal the bird sprang into flight. Kal continued on, aware that it was not improbable that other eyes, more malicious, were watching them. Gwyn, on the other hand, assumed a carefree air, seemingly unconcerned about the dangers that might be lurking at every turn. Even the spot where Wilum and Kal had almost met disaster held no terrors for him. Their way was made clear by the brightness of the spring moon, even though it was but a slender sickle obscured every now and then by a drifting mist of cloud. But all the same, Kal felt uneasily confined by the closeness of the rocks on every side of them along the awkward twists and turns of the path.

Soon, they left the maze of jumbled rocks and found themselves on the level of the upland plain, no more than a mile from the Well. Kal felt relieved as they stepped out into the open space. Gwyn, however, looked around and hesitated, peering at length into the darkness towards Skell Force, the direction they were headed. In the distance, they could hear the soft roar of its waters. Gwyn was suddenly overcome and began shaking like a leaf, pointing like a madman with his hand towards the Stairs. Without a further gesture of explanation to his companion, the mute boy drew his sword and broke into an awkward loping run.

"Gwyn! Gwyn, what's the matter? Slow down!" Kal ran after him, but found that he could not keep pace. "Gwyn! Gwyn!" Soon, Kal gave up calling after him and tried instead to simply hold Gwyn in sight, as he rushed after him down the footpath towards the sentries stationed at the ramparts of stone.

Kal could now discern the Well of the Seven Springs outlined dimly in the moonlight. He heard a voice shouting. It sounded like Diggory Clout's. He could not make out the words, but the tone and inflections were frantic, desperate. Diggory's voice grew louder, drifting steadily off to the right, away from the loophole and the Stairs. Kal ran faster and drew near enough now to see that Diggory had been hoisted, helpless, like a wayward lamb onto the back of something bounding up the grade toward the jagged ridge that rose above the mountain sward. Dhu, screaming, swooped low over the creature, talons outstretched, narrowly missing the jostled Holdsman, and wheeled up and around, dropping again on the beast. Well ahead of Kal, and rapidly closing with the unwary creature, charged the unlikely figure of Gwyn. Frysan and Galli made chase from the stone wall, shouting to Diggory. The moon slipped from behind a scudding cloud, and in the pale light Kal could see the grotesque contours of the gathgour beneath its burden.

Gwyn, still brandishing his sword, had come to within four or five strides of the beast. Kal saw it start at the boldness of Gwyn's challenge. The gathgour dropped the wailing Holdsman and sprang up the ridge, where, dispossessed of its prize, it filled the air with a sharp growl and leaped away with sure-footed quickness. Frysan and Galli fumbled to nock arrows to their bowstrings, but the gathgour had jumped down from its exposed point of vantage and was soon lost to sight amid the darkened boulders.

"I'm mightily obliged to you, lad. I don't rightly know where I would've ended up without you," said the shaken Holdsman. "Re'm ena, he stole up on me so nice and quiet like. But come, let's get down and join the others. It'll take more than a gathgour to do in Diggory Clout," he continued, putting a brave face on his misadventure.

"Are you all right, Digg?" queried Frysan, trying hard to fight off a bemused smile at what would have been dismissed just short moments ago as a bizarre dream fancy—the idea of the stoutly built Diggory Clout as a squirming kidnap victim flung like a child's doll over someone's shoulders.

"I'm right down fit as a butcher's dog, never been better," replied Diggory, a bit weak in the knees, affecting to dust off his breeches in order to gain pause and smooth his ruffled dignity. "Re'm ena, now you both look like grinagog, the cat's uncle. Come, Galli, wipe that smile off your face. 'Tisn't funny at all. A selcouth creature like that there gathgour, why, he could've put my light out for good. What I need about now is to get my nose into a good stout pot of Gammer's ale."

"You'll have a fair bit of a wait before there's any of that, Digg," Frysan said. "You did a fine job of chasing there, Gwyn. You're a brave lad. If it weren't for you, the gathgours would be feasting on poor old Digg. And an ample feast it would be," he said, smiling at the thought.

"Briacoil. Is everything all right?" Kal asked as he approached, winded.

"Briacoil, son. Yes, everyone's safe and sound. Diggory's just a bit shaken, but none the worse for wear, thanks to Gwyn here. If it weren't for Gwyn, I was just saying, old Diggory would be roasting on a spit, making a banquet meal for the gathgours. I never would have thought the boy had it in him."

"Nor did I, Father. It looked like he'd grown wings on his feet, the way he sped along. We were far back there yet. I couldn't see a thing. But Gwyn perks up his ears and runs off straight and fast like a fox that's been smoked out of its den. The lad has some kind of special sense about things that others can't see, don't you, Gwyn?" The mute boy basked in the glow of the accolade.

"Aye, Kal. He's a brave fellow. Did you see him wielding that sword? It's a good thing that gathgour made a run for it. I wouldn't have wanted to fight the lad, the way he was going full tilt. Not on your life. And a good thing he came. Galli and I were staring down into the black gloom of the Stairs, lost in our own thoughts, while Digg kept watch at the loophole. Then, even before we can so much as turn our heads to see what's happening, we hear these terrible screams, and, lo, there's Diggory being carried off like a sack of oats—Here now, we'd better get back down to our post and talk there."

Once at the Stairs, Kal distributed the slender branches of mountain ash to his father, Diggory, and Galli, who tied them around their necks. Frysan plied his son with questions about the Cave of the Hourglass, suppressing a moan when told of the encounter which had almost sealed the doom of Kal and Wilum. Dhu swept in to touch down, hopping over the ground behind them and up onto the wall of the Well to slake his thirst. Walking to the loophole, Galli scanned the dimly lit features of the landscape down below, looking for signs of movement. The constant background din of the waters tumbling down Skell Force meant that most nighttime sounds were lost to them.

The wind rose. To ease his stiffness and fend off the chill air, Kal joined Galli at the embrasure. In the far-off distance, halfway along the shores of Deepmere, Galli pointed out the thin pinpricks of light—the campfires of Ferabek's soldiers. Farther on, at the northern neck of the lake, a broad swathe of incandescence marked the spot where the town of Wrenhaven had stood. From Broadmeadows, the fires had spread to Darran Wood.

Another head jostled Galli's and Kal's. It was Gwyn. Kal greeted him, laying an arm around his shoulders. From the loophole, Gwyn stared out onto the darkened valley, happy and carefree, unconcerned, it seemed, about the dangers that now crowded the lives of the Holdsfolk.

Kal turned as Dhu cried, winging back from the Well of the Seven Springs towards him. The back of Kal's neck prickled with fear as he caught sight of three figures moving slowly towards them from up the meadow.

"Those must be our replacements for sentry duty. I hadn't realized that we've been here so long already," Galli said. "All the same, let's keep sharp, 'til we actually see who they are."

Frysan waved to the young Holdsmen by the lookout, bidding them come, and left Diggory at the top of the Stairs to meet the three who had arrived from the Cave to relieve them. Narasin and his two sons, each duly protected by a sprig of rowan, waved a greeting.

"Briacoil, men," hailed Narasin. "Everything all right here?"

"Briacoil. Everything's about as good as can be expected, Nar, what with gathgours and who knows what else on the loose," answered Diggory.

"What? You've had trouble?"

"That we have," Frysan said. "We didn't have our rowan twigs, and it was all we could do to keep them from carrying off old Digg. But Gwyn here, he drove them off. The lad came just in time, saved it all he did."

"You mean there was more than one of them?" asked Artun, wide-eyed.

"No, there was just one that we could see."

"But where there's smoke there's fire, I tell you," Diggory said. "I'd wager my best team of horses that there was a whole lot of them hiding in the rocks yonder just waiting for their mate."

There was a nervous pause, interrupted by Frysan. "But there's no need to worry now," he said. "You've each got your talisman. The creatures will keep their distance. It's the Scorpions you'll need to keep an eye out for." Frysan turned to the breastwork and lifted the horn from where it hung on a knob of rock, handing it to Garis. "Just remember, if there's any trouble, two short, one long."

 

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Framed