The Letterseeker: Chapter Five

Crow (krō), n. [<ME. crow, craw, crowe, crawe, <AS. crāwe = MLG. krā, krāge = G. krähe, a crow, a raven; Scot. corby, a crow, L. corvus; comp. E. corb, basket <L. curvus, bent, curved, crooked.] 1. A bird of the genus Corvus and the family Corvidæ; Larger crows are called ravens, e.g. the carrion-crow, Corvus corone. The plumage is jet-black, with a purplish and violet gloss or sheen, especially on the back, wings, and tail; the bill and feet are ebony-black; the eyes are bright and intelligent, of a hazel-brown color. The feet are stout, with strong curved claws and scaly toes.

They gave Gretta back her clothing and the blanket, but they snapped a chain to her ankle and locked the chamber door. The food improved. She rightly guessed they did not want her to lose her health. Ransom, she thought; but what was the price? She knew her father well. Never would he bargain away the Narrow Lands.

Her mind was not harmed by Namon's attack. She was young, but she had lost her virginity long before, through near-rape at the hands of a young southern princeling who had taken advantage of a child's game and forced her. Contact with Namon's foulness could not touch Gretta's pride, any more than his seed could grow within her. Always, after reaching womanhood, she had found ways to defeat the purposes of men—for the most part through skill rather than guile. And she had been snared not by a man, but a woman!

She was left in darkness, but she guessed the hours by the meals. How long would they keep her here? Not much longer—her father would come in force against the caves. Then they would bring her out to bargain. The darkness grew oppressive. She longed for action.

Then, midway between one meal and another, she stirred awake to a tiny sound. At first she thought it was the creak of the door; or perhaps she had moved in sleep and drawn the chain across the stone. But it came again: squeek. squeeksqueek.

Mice, or rats! No, a mouse—she could tell the difference. She understood the sounds of many animals, including the speech of the Black Doves of the Falling Mountains, used by the hunters to carry messages. Beneath the surface of the mouse-noise she sensed the articulation that signified awareness. But she could not see the mouse.

The sound faded and Gretta dozed again until the guards came. Three served her now, all carrying torches and weapons. They left the plate of food and turned to go.

“Won't you leave the light?” she begged. “It is so cold and tedious here in the dark. I shall catch a chill or go insane, and then what use will I be to your mistress?”

“Beware,” said one of the guards to the others. “This is a sorceress. We have been warned.”

“Child's tales,” said another. “She is a warrior-woman only, no sorceress. Tralm's mistake was getting too close, that's all. We were told only to keep our distance.”

“Leave the fire,” said the third. “She can't reach the torch. No one ordered her to remain in darkness.”

The first speaker spat upon the floor at Gretta's feet. “Hah! Well, there's but minutes of oil left in this one. I'll put it here.” He thrust the brand he carried into a crevice in the wall out of Gretta's reach.

Then they left, locking the door behind them, and Gretta wondered if she should be grateful for the light or wish it gone, for it shone upon the dirty spittle that had missed her plate only by inches. With a sour grimace she took up the food, scraping dirt from the floor over the spittle to hide it. The plate held the usual hard loaf. But before she ate, she broke off a quarter of it and deliberately scattered its crumbs on the floor by her mattress.

Stoneglow opened his eyes. Droplets coated the cave roof. The cobwebs drooped beneath the dew-weight, ghostly grey in the thin morning light. The early nip made a delicate fog of his exhalation. Then a shadow darkened the filigree, and there came a rough, rustling sound as of a large animal moving outside the grotto.

He sat up, looking about. The wizard was not in the cave. Warily, he stood, feeling at his belt for the small knife. As he moved there came another sound, a squash like a paw pressing into wet turf; then a muffled scraping noise.

He slipped the knife from its sheath and stepped to the opening. To his right he saw nothing but grass and low rocks. Then he turned to the left and drew back, startled. There were animals there—two of them. They were small cows, standing together about thirty feet away.

These cows were lean. They looked swift and muscular compared to those he had known. But they shared one thing with those others: They were munching steadily on grass, unconcerned about his arrival on the scene.

Stoneglow breathed a sigh of relief, sheathed the knife, and walked outside. The sky was overcast and a light, cold breeze carried a lingering smell of rain. He heard a faint chuckle from the left, beyond the rocky outcrop. The two cows raised their heads at the sound, shook them slowly, then ambled past him in that direction. Stoneglow followed them. He came to the edge of the high bay and looked down upon the grass-covered slope.

There were more cows there: about thirty, a half-dozen calves, and two bulls. They crowded in a rough circle. From the center of the circle came the chuckling—which, as he could now tell, merely accented a continuous murmur of soft speech. He could not see the speaker, but a silver speartip at the end of a long ashen staff projected above the heads of the cows nearest the center. It was Garufel's.

Quietly Stoneglow pressed forward, avoiding the bulls. The wizard was facing away from Stoneglow, seated upon a small round stone and holding his spear upright like a shepherd's staff. The nearest cows had their heads lowered close to the level of his face. He was stroking the ears of one of them, and as Stoneglow approached he turned his head and looked up.

His face was radiant. There was a merry smile upon his lips and his eyes were twinkling. Mist had settled all over his hair and beard. He seemed for the moment to be a tiny old man—a wise one of the hilltops.

“Aha! Well-met!” he said, still stroking the cow's ears. “It's a dark dawn but a fresh one. What do you think of our visitors?”

“Good morning, Garufel!” Stoneglow replied. “To tell the truth, these `visitors' alarmed me at first. When I woke, I heard them and thought they were bears.”

“Ho, ho! These are old friends of mine—a tardy bit of the herds that roam here in summer. Most of their sisters are far south of here now. Maukyn, the hunters call them; but not the ancient white kyn of Berainn! No, these are all earth-brown, as you can see.”

Several of the massive heads rose idly to look at Stoneglow, their jaws rotating as green tufts disappeared inside.

“We're a couple of poor hitch-hikers today,” said Garufel, “and these Maukyn are going in our direction. We'll have the honor of a ride for a few miles.”

“If you know how to ask them. I've just been asking these, and we have been made welcome.”

The wizard stood, shaking his head, casting a spray of dew from his hair and beard. The transformation was startling. He seemed no longer a wizened ancient but a great warrior, armed, tall, and powerful. But he placed a gentle hand on the flank of the cow whose ears he had just been stroking.

“These are not domesticated animals,” he said. “They are innocent creatures of the woods and hills. They have an unspoiled intelligence that flows, like water, always in the direction that most needs filling. It is a good sign to find them here—but perhaps you will appreciate that more when you see another of the gifts they have brought us, besides their broad backs.”

Garufel turned, reaching down to his feet beside the rock. His hand came up holding a cup. He handed the cup to Stoneglow. It was warm on the outside, and a faint wisp of steam came from within. It was full of fresh warm milk, topped by a layer of yellow cream.

“Ho, ho! Cows give milk, you know,” said the wizard at Stoneglow's surprised expression. “I gathered this just a moment ago. It is a special present to you from Moon-eyes, here—and she's promised more as we want it.” He stroked the brown flank again.

Stoneglow saw now that she was older than the other cows, who appeared to treat her with respect. She turned her head toward the wizard as he laughed, looking up at him as if he were the sun in the sky. Then she let out a long, groaning mmmmm—mmaaauuuu! Mmmaaauuu!

They rode on the bulls: Garufel on the larger, Stoneglow on the one with the longer horns. After Stoneglow returned to the cave to fetch their packs, the two beasts came to them with an air of proud docility. The long-horn actually knelt for Stoneglow to mount.

Garufel, however, sprang lightly to the back of his bull. Then they were carried down the path they had come up the previous day. The Letterseeker quickly learned to keep his balance, motivated largely by the steep drop to their right.

Garufel was second in line after Moon-eyes with Stoneglow behind him; then the calves in a row, followed by the remainder of the herd. At the lower saddle of the ridge Moon-eyes led the strange safari northeast off the path down open countryside, while Garufel sang, chanted, and spoke to his bull in an exotic mixture of sounds which might have been a language, but which sounded more like rolling rocks, bubbling springs, and rain on the grass. Moon-eyes and the bulls shook their heads now and then as if in response.

They entered the upper reaches of a long, winding coomb. Here they stopped for a while in a dell overgrown with grass. The animals took a second breakfast while Stoneglow and the wizard washed in a spring that issued from beneath a cairn of stones. Remounting, they followed the coomb to a level floor, long and narrow, that curved out of sight southeasterly. Down the center ran a stream banked by alder thickets and occasional willows.

The pace was steady. Garufel said it was the slower of the two traveling gaits of the Maukyn. Stoneglow was glad they had not chosen the faster. Though he was sure to end up with a few blisters at the day's end, he was not uncomfortable and the easy rhythm soon became a habit.

The valley widened. The stream hissed as it spread over a fan of gravel and small boulders. The water was quite shallow here. Ahead the slopes gave way to rocky cliffs that crowded near the water, but on the left across the stream there was a clear area. The Maukyn turned east across the water, quickening the pace.

The sun broke through the clouds and the wind failed; the air became still and warm. Garufel and Stoneglow removed their cloaks, draping them over the shoulders of the bulls. But after a while the valley narrowed sharply and the shadows of the cliffs fell over them. Above the cliffs, six large black birds circled in an updraft that could not be felt below. Soon the valley was so narrow that the Maukyn were crowded to the very edge of the stream.

Stoneglow was riding to Garufel's right, close to the water, when the wizard laughed and leaned toward him.

“Oh!” Stoneglow breathed a sigh of relief. “I thought you meant something was about to happen.”

“Well, it is, isn't it?” said Garufel with a grin. “Something is always about to happen! But you took verge differently than I intended it.”

“The brink of a sudden change,” said Stoneglow, “And you meant the water's edge. You don't often hear the word used that way.”

The wizard's eyes were bright as they searched Stoneglow's face. “There is always more than one way to use a word,” he said.

Three of the birds that had been circling above were swooping down. The birds cocked their heads as they flew over, looking at the bulls and their two riders. Garufel reacted at once.

Two of the birds veered sharply, dropping in a flash, one to each of the wizard's wrists. The third swung out in a long, graceful arc over the alder thickets, then back again, landing with a sharp snap of its wings atop the wizard's head.

They were crows. Immediately, the one on Garufel's left wrist hopped to his shoulder. Caw! it cried, eyeing his earlobe.

Garufel laughed gaily. Taking a piece of hardtack from a pocket with his free hand, he crushed it in his fist and fed the bits to the greedy visitors, speaking to them as they ate. Then there was another ruckus. The remaining crows, seeing the fortunate situation of their fellows, decided to join them. The Letterseeker stiffened in surprise: Two of the crows landed on his head, struggling for position. In a moment one of them gave way and dropped to his left shoulder, the sixth bird coming to his right.

“You'll have to give them something,” said Garufel. “Here.” He handed Stoneglow some of the bread. Stoneglow held it out, and in a few moments it was gone. As suddenly as they had come, all six birds rose into the air again and returned to the clifftop.

“Oh, perhaps, perhaps...or their relatives. I have many friends among the animals of this land. These crows have brought me information. Armed men have passed north of us, heading for Grimdale, not pausing at night. That will be Mindilfir and his army—what he has hastily gathered. If they are taking that route, they will arrive at the Valley of Caves before we do.”

“Not in as many words; but then the crows are not as articulate as some. Yet they are aware, awake in a special way of their own, as are many beasts of the Narrow Lands.”

Moon-eyes called out loudly then and the Maukyn shifted to single file. Stoneglow's bull moved back behind the wizard's. Garufel called back over his shoulder:

First the path disappeared completely, compelling the Maukyn to walk in midstream. Then the cliffs drew closer. They rode this narrow defile for an hour as the stream quickened. Water bubbled and foamed about the legs of their mounts.

The downward angle increased until the Maukyn held back, carefully negotiating each step. A rushing sound filled the air of the canyon and a fresh breeze sprang up ahead. Threescar and Garufel took their cloaks from the shoulders of the bulls and put them on again.

Soon they had to lean well back in order to keep their seats. The cliffs were close enough to touch, wet and dripping, covered with moss and tufts of long reddish grass. There were insects, too, grey flies that drifted downwind from one clump of grass to another.

Stoneglow admired the confidence of the Maukyn. They were enjoying the steep walk—intensely occupied with the challenge of it, but elated also. These were no ordinary cows—they were bovine, but wild and wary; contented, but lusty and strong. Soon Stoneglow was caught up in their excitement. The stream had become a narrow torrent, snagging his heels, wetting his trousers to the knees.

Then the cleft turned and the gorge was aligned with the westering sun. A brilliant shaft of light sprang from behind and lit the cliffs ahead of them. Moss and grass flamed greenish- gold. The little flies turned into bright blue sparks. And there was a roaring.

Squinting because of the glare on the rocks, Threescar peered ahead. The cliffs leaned until they met, forming a solid wall broken only by a high wedge-shaped arch: It was a tunnel. Through it came the roaring and the wind, and through it they went, Moon-eyes tossing her head and snorting, the calves mewing, the wizard laughing, chanting! The walls echoed his call:

Deep in the narrow passage the Letterseeker was assailed by spray and cries. The current and the echoes became a stream together, blending verge and curve, crow and alder, until the very day behind them vaulted into song.

They came out into the shadow of the eastern face of the cliff. Barallas was straight ahead, its wooded slopes bathed in afternoon light. And at their feet—Stoneglow drew back. Not twenty paces ahead the water careened over a ledge. Here was the source of the roar: a waterfall! Moon-eyes avoided the precipice by scrambling up a short bank to the left. The sure-footed Maukyn followed without mishap. The path was very steep from there to the base of the fall, then it dropped more easily out into a widening canyon.

In a level place Moon-eyes called a halt. To the right across the stream the valley walls became low hills. To the left was a rocky ridge that continued from the cliff by the waterfall. Stoneglow glanced back at the long silvery thread of dropping foam and thought of the shining wet mirrors of Gladheel. It was as if a second door had been closed behind him.

Garufel guessed his thought. “In deep winter the path is closed. The water rises in the gorge until the tunnel is filled. You should see it then! The water shoots out in a great spout of foam.”

“They do not travel here in winter. Moon-eyes leads a tardy group, as I said before. They will return though, by this path and others, in early spring—following the flowers and the clover.”

Maukyn drank and grazed in the gathering dusk. While the wizard struck sparks to tinder, Threescar collected wood from the northern cliffs where brush and small trees grew among the stones.

Starting back with his last armload of twigs and fallen branches, he paused to take in the scene. Ahead, almost hidden now by a cluster of cows, was the spark of Garufel's newly kindled fire. To the right, a grey ribbon marked the waterfall. And to the left rose majestic Barallas. Briefly Gretta's face came before him. She was separated from him by the mountain's bulk; yet she seemed close enough, at times, for him to reach out and touch her. It was not Gretta, though, but Moon-eyes of the Maukyn who met him with her great brown stare as he brought his load of firewood to the camp. And it was Garufel the Golden Wizard who offered him milk and stew.

The Maukyn gathered about them as they ate, firelight ruddying their broad faces. They were an effective shield, better in a way than a ring of trees, for nothing could approach without disturbing them.

“The Maukyn will leave us tomorrow,” said Garufel. “They go south through a gap in the hills, about six hours from here. We will climb the western ridge of Barallas. On the other side is Grimdale.”

“Tell me then, Garufel, before we come to Grimdale—more about the alder stick.”

“I spoke of a verge back there, do you remember? The Bodla is a verge. A verge is not just an edge or a brink, it is many things: a curve, a bend, a crown—and in particular it is a rod, carried as an emblem of office.”

“It is a token of Berainn's power and of powers beyond that. Under the right conditions, it can connect its bearer with that power. But this seldom happens. Ordinarily, its effect is less obvious, but just as important. You see how it has added new curves to your life.”

“So it is a verge that causes a verge—a rod with the power to bend lives?”

“In language, yes. But as for reality—I'm sorry, but it still seems a stick to me, and not something to balance against a woman's life.”

“Oh, well, a stick is a stick, you know,” said Garufel unperturbed. “—And when you need a stick, the nearest one will do!” Then he peered closely at Stoneglow. “Perhaps the lore of our Land is not real enough for you—yet. And the Bodla is in your charge and not mine to govern. Yet I think, Letterseeker, that you will know what to do with it well enough when the time comes.”

Gretta could kill a mountain cat with a spear, or a falcon with an arrow; yet she could be gentle enough, when she wished, to beguile a mouse. Two meals passed before she finally saw it, a lean brown cave mūr with sharp black eyes. It moved cautiously in the torchlight, darting an inch or two at a time toward the scattered crumbs.

Gretta lay on the mattress, her head close to the crumbs, breathing quietly. At last the mouse was only inches from her face. It seized a fragment of bread and sat on its haunches to eat.

At the sound the mouse skittered a foot away, then stopped and tilted its head inquiringly.

Was it stupid after all? If so, her plan—desperate as it was— could never succeed. But the rodent, done with its bread, ventured slowly back to the line of crumbs. This time it stayed quite near Gretta's lips as she spoke.

“Caryofyllo, Caryofyllo,” she intoned now in the old tongue. “Gilliafla dudu drrmet hrrtha nolemi valat...”

There was a sputter. The torch was exhausted. It went out, sending a foul smoke into the room. In the brief afterglow Gretta saw the startled mūr dart back to the crack from which it had come. It will be back, she thought. The next time, she would pitch her voice differently. Her heart beat with excitement. The creature was aware—she felt sure of that now. Given time, she could communicate with it. She had to convey only a single word.

Even if the mouse was not listening now, the name had a power to ease her dark captivity. And it brought back pleasant memories, so that as she fell into a fitful sleep she dreamed of the past; of herself as a freckled youngling seated on the knees of the Golden Wizard in the starlight.

The mountain stood before them, a dark-cloaked, hooded giant. Here the valley spread into a plain at the mountain's foot. To the south it gave way entirely. A broad gap in the hills marked the road of the Maukyn.

They had ridden all morning to reach this point. The Maukyn came to the center of the field, where the stream of the valley joined another stream whose white waters stemmed from Barallas- ridge. At the confluence the Maukyn took their leave, crossing the water swiftly. After the herd reached the far side of the stream, half-swimming, heaving up the bank, Stoneglow gazed in wonder as they broke into a loping run.

Swifter than horses were the Maukyn; he saw now that they had been holding back before, to accommodate their riders. Soon they were far away: dark specks vanishing through the gap to the south.

The wizard turned to him. “I had a talk with Moon-eyes last night. She has named you a friend of the Maukyn. That is a fine gift, an advantage in this land.”

“I'm grateful,” said Stoneglow. “And sorry to see them leave. I hope they have a safe journey.”

“They're not the ones to worry about. Look what's ahead!” Garufel turned to the wooded slopes behind. “A long and difficult climb for pampered cow-riders.”

They ate a brief lunch, then shouldered their packs and set out up the mountain's flank. After a time they came out of the trees to a stretch of bare rock that extended all the way to the top of a stony ridge. There they were met by seven of Mindilfir's sentries, led by a handsome greencloaked archer named Flarann.

Flarann informed the wizard that the Hunterchief had entered the valley by its northwest entrance some hours before. Now he was making camp. He had given orders that Garufel and his companion, upon their arrival, should attend him at his great-tent.

They were escorted to a high place above a narrow wooded valley. “There,” said Garufel, pointing, “—the Valley of Caves.”

Near the head of the valley Stoneglow saw barren cliffs and sharp crags. The cliffs were pocked by caves—dozens of them, perhaps hundreds. Some were mere depressions in the rock; others were gaping holes that spoke of deep caverns beneath.

Stoneglow heard it—a faint weeping howl, like a crowd of mourners in the distance. It was irregular, rising and falling, fading entirely at times.

“The wind, passing the caves,” said Garufel. “It is gentle now. Before a storm when the blast sweeps down from Barallas-top, there is a great chorus as it strikes the openings. Then you can hear it for miles. And look there—men, and a flash of steel!”

There were figures of men at the base of the two largest caves. The men were clad in black and were difficult to see at this distance, but now and again the sun caught the metal of armor and speartip.

“The mercenaries of the accursed Maiden—thieves and kidnappers,” said Flarann angrily. His eyes showed that same wolfish light Stoneglow had observed among the men of Erek.

“Do not underestimate them, Flarann,” said Garufel. “They may not all be common hirelings. Maegeth has not mounted a casual raid this time.”

“Pah! We chased some from the woods as we arrived. They fled to their holes. We do not fear them, though our numbers are small. But come—Mindilfir awaits.”