Alan Garner Classic Collection. Alan Garner
a passage that wound into the roof.
“Quickly, now! They are coming by this way, too, and we must reach hiding before they meet us.”
The tunnel wall ended, and they were upon a wide platform: far beneath lay the cave. At the back of the ledge was a recess.
“In here! And show no light.”
Colin switched off the lamp, and felt the dwarfs press to him as they crowded as far away from the entrance as they could. Susan, crushed against the rear wall, could hardly breathe.
They were none too soon; for barely had they settled themselves when the svarts were upon them. They swept by the opening like a racing tide. For a full minute Colin and Susan listened to the slap of feet, and the hiss of breath. And then the unseen crowd was past, and the noise of its going blended into the general confusion of rustling, croaking, piping, and pulling, which grew steadily louder as svarts poured into the cave from every direction, and the air grew rank with their presence.
As though at a given signal, the hubbub died, and a tense quiet fell upon the assembled multitude. The svartmoot had begun.
“Do not move,” Fenodyree whispered. “Durathror and I go to watch the moot. We shall come back as soon as we know what they intend.”
The dwarfs went so quietly that even in that silence Colin and Susan heard nothing.
Below them, some minutes later, a voice began to speak in harsh, high tones. The language was unintelligible; it was full of guttural and nasal sounds, and the words hovered and slurred most jarringly. The speaker was working himself into a state of excitement, or anger, and the crowd was carried with him. It began with a muttering, soon building to a howl at every pause in the address.
Colin felt a hand on his arm.
“Come with me,” said Fenodyree. “Shortly you will see; but keep low.”
Colin groped his way on all fours till he reached Durathror, who was lying at the edge of the platform, and mumbling into his beard. Not long after, Susan joined them. The noise below was now continuous.
“They are cowards,” said Fenodyree, “and must be driven to a frenzy to meet our swords. But he does his work well.”
“Ha, I guessed it would be so! They are powerless before sudden light, therefore they are to prepare themselves with firedrake blood; and here is the Keeper!”
The hysterical voices diminished to a murmur of intense excitement. Then, for a second, the cave was hushed.
“Down!” whispered Fenodyree. “He is taking off the cover!”
A sheet of fire sprang upwards past the ledge, and boiled against the roof.
“Eeee – agh – hooo!” roared the svarts.
The flames sank to a column twenty feet in height, which lit the cave with a red glare. A similar light had burned in St Mary’s Clyffe earlier that day.
“You may look now,” said Fenodyree.
Colin and Susan raised their heads, and the memory of what they saw remained with them ever after.
The floor and walls of the cave were covered with svarts. They swarmed like bees. The first two layers of galleries were thick with them, and the children were glad Fenodyree had climbed so high. The lion’s head, and a small space beneath its jaws, formed an island in a turbulent sea. On top of the rock stood two svarts, one black, the other white, and they were man-size.
“There you see Arthog and Slinkveal, lords of the svartalfar. Slinkveal is cunning past the thoughts of men, but Arthog it is who speaks, and carries out his brother’s word; and his heart is blacker than his hide. See now the firedrake: the eyes of svarts can look on it without pain, and it makes them strong to face the purer light of day: henceforth your lamp will be no weapon.”
The flame was rising out of a stone cup, full of a seething liquid, that was held by a hideous, wizened svart who sat cross-legged on the sand beneath the lion’s jaws. He was obviously very old, and his sagging skin was piebald, white and black.
“It is time we were gone,” said Fenodyree. “We have a comfortless road ahead. Crawl to the tunnel, and do not show your light until I give you word.”
For a few yards only, the red glow lit their way. Behind them the tumult increased again.
“There is a corner ahead,” said Fenodyree, “and once round that you may use your lamp.”
He hurried them along at a relentless pace; and he seemed very despondent. Durathror, on the other hand, was in a much improved temper, and began to laugh to himself as he jogged along behind.
“Did I not say the journey would be merry? Ha! By the blood of Lodur, it is better than all I thought! So we are to be tracked down, are we? And we are to be met at the plankshaft, I hear; and if, all else fails, they wait for us at the gate. Let us hurry to the gate, cousin Squabnose, for I would have these rat-eaters remember the gate in after-time, what few there will be to sing of it when we have passed!”
Fenodyree sighed, and shook his head.
“You forget our charge, old Limbhewer. Firefrost is more to us than life, or death in glory: we must sink our pride, and run before these goblins. The gate is not for us.”
“Not for us? Then how, pray, shall we gain the upper world? There is no other road.”
“There is: just one. And, in its fashion, it bears more perils than the gate, though these cannot be mastered by the sword. At least, if we should perish on this road, Firefrost will lie hidden for untold centuries to come; for we are going where no svart will ever tread, nor any living thing, and only I, in all the world, can tell the way.”
“But Fenodyree,” cried Susan, “what do you mean? There are lots of entrances!”
“Not here. We are in West Mine, and from it there was one exit made. But so deep did men delve that they touched upon the secret places of the earth, known only to a few; and, of those, my father was the last. There were the first mines of our people dug, ages before Fundindelve; little remains now, save the upper paths, and they are places of dread, even for dwarfs. The way is hidden, but my father taught me well. Never have I trod the paths, save in evil dreams, and I had always hoped to be spared the trial; but now it has come to that.”
“Nay, speak this no more,” growled Durathror. “I like it not.”
They travelled on without rest, talking little, for Colin and Susan had not the energy, and Durathror was subdued by what he had heard.
“It is not far,” said Fenodyree, “to … ah!”
Ahead of them a light flickered on the wall: the source of the light was hidden round a bend in the tunnel, but the dwarfs did not have to guess what to expect.
“What say you now, cousin?” whispered Durathror eagerly. “Do we run like shadows before this light, or do we snuff it out?”
Fenodyree’s face was grim.
“We are too near: we must not turn back.”
“Good! This shall we do: let the men-children stand here. Go you forward to younder opening, and stay hidden, with drawn sword, till I call. I shall wait behind this boulder. Hold your ground, Stonemaiden; be not afraid. No svart will touch you, that I can promise!”
And he melted into the dark.
The light grew stronger, and cast shadows on the wall; spindly shadows, with broad heads and hands; and round the bend came the svarts.
There were ten of them, white