Alan Garner Classic Collection. Alan Garner
into space; then Gaberlunzie gave his answer.
“I shall not bide. Listen to my say. Beyond Minith Bannawg there is trouble breeding greater than this – or so we fear. The lios-alfar of the north are not enough to act alone. So I have come to gather to their aid kinsmen and allies. I have wandered through Dyfed’s plundered land, along the shores of Talebolion, many a weary month to Sinadon. And I am needed in Prydein within the week.
“I stopped by Fundindelve to ask for help, but there was no answer, only the morthbrood. The storm caught me before I could reach Angharad Goldenhand, and when darkness came I heard the mara and sought this island without delay. It was a cold swim, and the sun rose before I dared to sleep.
“I must turn northwards this day: my duty lies there. But what help there is in me you shall have before I go. If I leave you at the forest by nightfall, will that serve you well?”
“That would almost end our labours,” said Fenodyree. “But alas, we dare not move openly: by day the skies are watchful, and by night the mara walk. We crawl on our bellies to our noble end!”
“But now you will ride!” laughed Gaberlunzie. “No, I do not trifle with you.”
“Look!” cried Susan, her voice hoarse with alarm.
So intent had they been that they had not noticed the wall of mist come creeping over the snow. Like a white smoke it curled among the trees, and eclipsed the far end of the lake even as Susan spoke.
“Grimnir!” said Durathror.
“Whist now!” said Gaberlunzie, who was the only one undisturbed. “Sit you all down again. It is nothing of the sort. It is what I have been expecting. Cloudless skies, snow, such frost as this, and darkness not two hours away – what more natural than a good, white mist to blind the morthbrood and speed us on our road? Now on to my horse, and away!”
The fog was about them, absolute.
“You hold on a minute!” said Gowther. “Before we try to fit six on one horse, I’d like to know how you think we’re going to find our way in this lot. It’s about as much as I can do to see my feet.”
“Do not worry, friend: my eyes are not your eyes, and my horse is not of earthly stock: we shall not stumble. But come! Are we to argue here until the day of doom? Mount!”
And they did mount. Durathror and Fenodyree bunched together in front of Gaberlunzie; behind him sat the children, and behind them Gowther, his arms on either side of Colin and Susan, holding Gaberlunzie’s cloak in his fists.
Gowther expected to come off within a minute of starting – that is, if the horse could start. But a flick of the rein, and they were away like the wind; no horse ever sped so smoothly. Fields, hedges, ditches, flowed under its hoofs. The snow muffled all noise of their passage as they plunged full tilt through the mist. The air whipped about them, and their hands grew black, and cold grasped their heads as if with pincers.
After a while they left hedges behind, the land became broken and uneven, but they did not falter. Wide trenches opened under them, one after another, dangerously deep; and ghostly, broken walls, gaping like the ruins of an ancient citadel, lowered on either side. It was as though they were rising out of their own time back to a barbaric age, yet they were running only by the peat stacks of Danes Moss, a great tract of bogland that lay at the foot of the hills.
Trench after trench they crossed, and each a check to the morthbrood, should they follow after; for Gaberlunzie was of a cunning race. And so they came into the hills, and down to a lonely road in a valley.
“We are in the forest now,” said Gaberlunzie.
He swung his horse off the road, and in one sailing leap they were among the trees. A broad path cut upwards through the close-set ranks, and here Gaberlunzie slowed to a walk.
“I shall not stop; you must leave as best you may, so that my trail will be unbroken. Do not stop to cover your own, but look for a place of shelter. Later you will see foxes: do not harm them.”
“But what of yourself?” said Fenodyree. “It will not do to be abroad after sunset.”
“The morthbrood are welcome to the chase! For I shall go by Shining Tor, and Cat’s Tor, and the Windgather Rocks, and the sun will rise for me out of the three peaks of Eildon. I do not think the morthbrood will be then so keen.”
Five minutes later they said their goodbyes, and tumbled into the snow.
“Do as I have said,” called Gaberlunzie, “and you will come to no harm here; and when you meet Cadellin, say I wish him well.”
Durathror was the last to leave, and as he picked himself up, the form of Gaberlunzie, one hand raised in farewell, blended into the mist, and passed out of his sight for ever.
“I don’t like the idea of leaving all these tracks,” said Colin.
“There is little else we can do,” said Fenodyree. “And I feel that Gaberlunzie knows what he is about. Our task is to hide, and this is the place. Take care lest you shake the snow from the branches!”
The trees grew only a few feet apart, and the sweeping branches came close to the ground, so close that even the dwarfs had to crawl, while Gowther had to pull himself along on his stomach.
They went downhill from the path a good way before Fenodyree stopped.
“Here will be as safe as anywhere. Even without the mist you can see no more than a few yards. Let us make ourselves as comfortable as we can, for we shall not stir again until we go to greet Cadellin.”
Down the path through the forest two dim shadows moved. Coming to the trampled snow, and the trail leading under the branches, they stopped, and sniffed. And then they began to roll and frolic all around: two foxes sporting on a winter hillside. When every trace of human feet was obliterated, they set off down the trail, throwing the snow into confusion as they fought.
The sound of their approach reached the dwarfs’ ears, and they waited, sword in hand, for whatever was drawing near. Then the foxes tumbled into sight, and landed on their haunches, side by side, flecked with snow, their red tongues lolling, and their sharp eyes narrowing, in a wicked, panting grin.
For a while they sat there, and Durathror was about to speak, but they flung up their tails, and streaked away downhill.
“Thank you,” said Fenodyree.
“Why?” said Colin. “What were they doing?”
“Covering our tracks rather well, I reckon,” said Gowther. “Now yon’s what I call clever.”
“And the scent of a fox is stronger than that of either men or dwarfs,” said Durathror, smiling.
He smiled again, alone to himself in the night while the others slept, when he heard the baying of hounds pass over the hill, and fade into the far distance.
No one slept much all through the second, and last, night in the forest. It had been a strain on the nerves to lie inactive, yet constantly alert, for a whole day. The cold was no longer a problem, and the food of Angharad was safeguard against hunger and thirst for many days, so there had been nothing to do but wait, and think.
It was as though the night would never end: yet they could find little to talk about, wrapped in their cloaks, five dim shapes against the lighter background of the snow.
And, because of the snow, it was never quite dark, even in the forest; and although they could not approach the dwarfs’ powers of sight the children found that, as the night wore on, they could see well enough to distinguish between individual trees and the hillside.
Tension