The Snare of the Corrie

They quickly left the cold damp stones above the Gelbeth, and climbed along a long ledge that steadily took them from the constant deafening roar of the great falls. By the afternoon of the first day from the falls they had met the river again, leaving the heights behind. The road wound northwards at a quickened gait now, steadily rising with the river Failgetha: here and there it rose up steep slopes, strounding among ancient boulders and mist-wound trees, or narrowed to a craggy ledge high above the cascades of the river: but for the greater part it now ran alongside the river, just above the banks, or in the river itself. The road alongside the river, as it wound through holt and holm, was oft muddy, for in times of high water the river rose over its banks and filled the deeply cut roadbed with water, and in its wake left long, deep pools and holes. Fords lay frequently in their path, but the travelers tholed them as best they could, though the waters were chill and swift. Angus lost a cloak at a deep ford on the second day, but otherwise no harm was done by the river, save cold and pained feet and legs.

They held to their road for three days with little rest and little incident. The stony walls of the great gorge went crawling by, though they were often veiled in wood or mist. On the night of the third leaguer from the Gelbeth they rested in a deep hemlock-spruce wood some furlongs above the river. A small stream cascaded down at the nothern end, many great boulders about it. Angus dropped down upon the soft moist moulds beneath the great trees, and began to pull from his untrussed pack the supplies for their evening meal. Finaeth stood quietly nearby, peering up into the woods. He suddenly walked away from the camp, but returned quickly, as Angus was lighting a fire.

“Do not stray far from our resting-place, my friend- there is a fell place near. Aye, I have heard tales of this place but never before have I seen it. I did not venture in, but only looked from a safe spot,” said Finaeth.

“See yon crags above us? And the dark recess- there through the trees? You must not go there! Inside the corrie, below the encircling walls of rock, are five barrows, low and moss-grown, and some are broken by fallen rock. But it is not the barrows that lend this place its evil, for barrows and ancient stones and monuments are many under the shadow of this land’s stone. No, there is a strange mist about this corrie. You may step foot within it all you wish, and no harm will occur: but ere you once speak, then your doom, perchance, is made. An echo returns, so glorious to its speaker, that he cannot but help to speak again, for the pleasure of his voice. And so it said men have come there, and never left, ensnared by their own voice. A queer thing, to be sure, and I cannot tell you how or why it is- but it perilous to go there and speak! I have heard but a little in our halls, from folk who have taken this road, but enough to give good warning: do not go there!”

“Sounds quite nasty- but surely a single listen would do no harm, if one were to make off quickly?” replied Angus, his eyes now turned up towards the threatening bulk of stone.

“No! It is too perilous.”

“Well, if you say so- though I wonder whether precaution spoils good sometimes. But no matter. I’d really rather not wander around in dark spots with old barrows- though-well, you don’t suppose there’s some sort of old hoard hidden about? Perhaps if we were quiet, and kept our mouths clamped.”

Finaeth scowled and replied, “I doubt whether anything worth the danger is there. I think it best to bridle your curiosity and not test your fortune. We shall have peril soon enough, and you shall get many glimpses of old hoards and gold and ruined stoneworks, though you shall likely find them not greatly to your liking.”

Angus was quiet for a time, stirring a simple soup of roots and herbs they had gathered along the way. This they ate, along with a cup of blaeberries and a few pieces of bacon, which was near its consumtion. Angus still wondered about the odd corrie, but he spoke no more of it to Finaeth, their talk turning to other things. Angus desired to know more of the folk who had once dwelt in the mountains, but Finaeth could tell little.

“Even my father knows little of those days, I am afraid. You know, perhaps, as much as he. We have heard that the folk of these lands in the far-off days were prone to war, and little loved good, though perhaps that is not entirely true. A few tales we have heard, and I have walked upon many grass-grown barrows and climbed many ruined walls deep in the wilds. I once found a golden torque, not unlike those made by the Eothlaic along the great grass-meads and low-wealds about the Three Rivers, in a broken barrow deep in the hills west of the Great Glen. A thing of masterful beauty it was, graven with the image of a horse and rider, and strange shapes and symbols. I think that perhaps the Eothlaic folk bear some distant kinship with the ruin-folk, though whether it is in blood or trade I cannot say, and neither can they. For there part their bards tell that they have long dwelt in that land. Of their deeper past none now remember.”

“A strange thing, the past,” spoke Agnus slowly after a short time of silence. “We live and walk on itand in it, and yet give it little heed. But, I suppose, men have for more spans of years than I can reckon walked and lived in my own land, and we seldom think of them, though they left old standing stones and queer carvings that we see often. But that is all we think of them for: their strangeness. But I suppose they had wives, and children, and farmed, and wondered at the stars, as we do. There is the ruin of an ancient house, or croft perhap, at the edge of my own house, and I have oft sat there and wondered, ‘What were the names of the folk who lived here? What stirred their hearts? Whom did they love, whom did they fear? What broke their walls, and where did their folk go?’ Do the Elves ever think such things?”

“Yes, but we must carry the past with us in wakening thought, and much of it, though we were in it, we do not love, and even now do not understand. And old hatreds and desires still stir many to woe and evil. Words spoken in long ages past in evil and haste still haunt us, and ill deeds still sting. For the past is beyond our changing, and for that reason, many fear it and revile it more than the present or future.”

“My folk know only some of our history. But then we must rely on our bards and lore-men and their memory, and it is not the memory of the Elves.”

The sun had by now set, and the fire crackled warmly, even as the moon shone forth from alonger her perch above the stoney heights. Angus, though not entirely full from his meal, soon retired to his blanket, and lay down, his back against the deep crook of a hemlock. Finaeth also laid his head to his pillow, and was soon asleep. But Angus, to his surprise, found he could not obtain sleep, for his thought was upon the corrie. He could see it yawning, and he wondered strongly what secrets it held. He tried to still his mind and think of other things, recalling his friend’s strong warning. But the more he struggled the more it pressed upon his mind.

“Perhaps this place is dangerous to Elves, but I’m not an Elf- mayhaps there would be no danger at all. Elves can be rather odd about these sorts of things- but no, Finaeth would not forbid me go if it were no truly perilous. But he might not want me finding gold and deciding to return- no! that’s foolishness. Ah, I should only want a quick look, and then leave. No, no, you fool, you are wiser than that!” And so his thoughts went as he lay silently, but very much awake.

At last he could stand it no longer. Against his better judgment he stood and drew his cloak about him. He made certain that Finaeth was soundly asleep, then stole away from the fire and crept to the little rill, its white froth glowing dimly in the clouded moon. Behind him Finaeth slept soundly, hearing nothing, beside the dying fire, the moss-laden boulders slowly fading to dim shadow. Following the cascading water, Angus climbed slowly at first, until out of earshot of the Elf.

“I’m sure he’s well-meaning enough, but- oh, what harm could a quick listen be? Or just a quick look- no harm in that! I am of age enough to reckon these things- Elves don’t know everything after all. Only a little while, then I’ll climb back down-” he spoke to himself, though his throat was dry and his hands trembling as he walked. He stumbled, though not from darkness, and his legs seemed to now drag him upwards, though his head half warned him away. For some time he walked, it seemed, the bluffs across the valley brooding over him and staring menacingly. But it was not until the stream had dwindled to a gravely, trickling mire and the slope flattened that the corrie’s stone walls could be seen. Angus clutched at his stave, and wondered wildly why he was there, the place’s rumor growing on his mind. Above him the stone soared upwards, dark and threatening, and, chiseled coldly and smoothly, swept around to the left and right, two great arms out-thrust until they nearly met at the place where Angus stood. Fear was about him, and yet maddening temptation, a terrible yearning to come closer- and yet fear also, to flee and hide. But the temptation was stronger, and he failed to resist. He walked into the great circle of stone and slowly, reluctantly looked up. Standing still, he listened. Silence. His heart stilled somewhat, for nothing seemed evil or amiss. Cloud slid over the moon, and a thick darkness fell, all save a pale cold glimmer on the uppermost ramparts of stone.

“O, I should be- be-” Angus said to himself. But even as he muttered quietly, his voice echoed back to him. Like the pealing of silver bells it was, fine sounding beyond measure. He marveled to hear it, and after a moment, spoke again.

“How lovely I sound!” His words were louder, and came back yet fairer. He began to utter an old song, not heeding the words, for he cared little for them: it was his voice, its splendor and finesse, that he desired to hear. He forgot utterly the warning of Finaeth. He began to speak, nonsense words, songs, or lists of things- he took no notice of what he said, and indeed no notice of anything save the rapture of hearing his voice so splendidly construed. After a time, he began to feel weary, and sat down, still speaking into the corrie and eagerly listening to the echo. He felt a need of sleep, and momentarily tried to close his eyes. But he could not, and instead stood again, and cried out at the bluffs all the more vigorously. Soon all other thought or hearing left him save glory in his voice- now it was the ringing of a bell, now a softly plucked harp, now that of a skilled bard in a Elvish hall. Mist began to cover over his eyes- of weariness, perhaps, or something worse. The moon was now fully obscured, but the stones still glowed dully. But Angus paid them no heed, his enamourment with his echo crowding upon him like blackness in a deep grotto.

Nor did he see Finaeth come bounding up to the brim of the corrie, breaking through brush and skirting ledge in his haste. Daring not to shout lest he also be ensnared, Finaeth walked into the corrie- but a thick fog and blackness filled it, and obscured everything, even to the keen eyes of the Elf. Angus’s voice still filled the air, loudly babbling nonsense. By its sound Finaeth found him, and clutched at him. Angus did not resist: not, that is, until Finaeth carried him out of the corrie and the horrible echo.
Angus cried shrilly and fought agasinst Finaeth’s arm.

“What is this? You desire to rob me of my pleasure! loose your hand! I see! You are jealous of my fine voice, for I have the voice greater than any that walk the earth! Let me loose! I desire to hear myself again! Loose me! Ai! Oi! Treachery! O! O!” and so Angus cried, struggling against the Elf, seeking to break free.

“Still thy tongue! Do you not see the snare? O, what cruel fate led you hence?” But Angus’s din only rose, and he continued to struggle wildly, tearing at the Elf’s arms. Finaeth dragged him back, until they were beyond sight of the dreadful corrie. Still Angus cried out and fought maddly. Finaeth carried him to the river, though the struggle was fierce.

“I am sorry my friend, but you leave me little choice!” said Finaeth, and with those words he plunged Angus into the chill water, head-first. There was a splutter, Agnus’s voice still crying out out as he met the water. After a moment submerged, Fnaeth pulled him up out.

“Ai! Och, what are you doing- where am I? Finaeth? But, the voice, the silver and golden bells- what? Why did you throw me in the river?” said Angus shivering, as Finaeth dragged him up onto the bank. Angus sat down and clutched his head. “O! O! I recall it now- why, how long ago was it?I only just left my bed- or no, it was long ago- what is the time?”

“It is near dawn now. You have been in the fell corrie for several hours. An hour or two longer and I doubt anyone could have retrieved you- I snatched you from the brink of your ruin.”

“O! what foolishness took me! I could not sleep, I could only think of- of that place. I have always been a bit fond of reciting poetry, wanted to hear an old poem or two in the echo. I did not know- well, that it would be so swift. I heard myself, and loved myself- all I wanted was to hear my own voice, forever, it was so lovely and fair. I suppose I would never have left had you not come. What would have happened to me?”

“I shudder to think. None have ever passed long there, and none know what happen to those ensnared in the allure of theirselves. They fade from seeing, or else or taken, but whether by troll or trow or other none can say. But the danger is less in whatever haunts the corrie as in your own heart. The alllure of our skill and our pride is one too great for all but the strongest in humility. But you have been fortunate: I could not sleep, your braying was so horrble and loud,” laughed Finaeth.

“It sounded beautiful beyond words to me.”

“Beyond words it was! Few voices have I ever heard so racous and fell. But you cried out for your own glory, and not for any listening ear save your own.”

“I am terribly sorry! I should have heeded your warning- but I so terribly desired to hear it for myself.”

“There is no harm now- but do not go near that place again! Even though you were pulled from it, it may still lure you in again if you were to look upon it. Come, morning is nigh upon us. You shall rest for a short while, and then we will be off. I am sorry that you have lost sleep, for we have a hard road before us, ere we camp again tommorow. But rest and gather what strength you may. And do not fret overmuch- for by eve in two days we shall rest in the Elethnear-wood: the Wood of Light. It is a place of beauty and healing, though only a few of our folk dwell there now: It fades, even as our folk struggle and fade with it, and others triumph over us. But still we may rest there and not be troubled- for now.”

Leaving the steady roar and gurgle of the waters behind, they climbed back to their camp. Angus collapsed and fell asleep, but Finaeth climbed upon a ledge looking out over the river and sat in deep thought until the first light of morning seeped up from behind the crags.

“Awake Master Angus! I fear a long toil yet lies before us. There is strange rumor still among the birds- there is fear and disquiet on them. We may draw swords ere sooner than I had hoped.”

Angus sleeply arose and stumbled to a spring that fell from a nearby stoneface, the clear waters trickling down over stone and saxfriage to a rock-rimmed pool. He plunged his face into the cold water.

“Mayhaps,” he called back. “I’ll only want for a nice quiet spot, with a bit of a view and a little wood or holm, and no trows nor swords nor strange corries to disturb. The corrie haunted what few dreams I had for that little while- shall I ever be rid of it’s memory? O, and I daresay that is but a small bit of the peril that dwells off in these far parts. Well, there’s naught I can do now, is there? Let’s be off. If we are to draw swords, I would it come quickly and be done with.”

At the Blooming Heather Inn

The fogs rose slowly over the Blooming Heather Inn, drifting in among the stones and thatch and fading into the smoke that lingered over the low sloping roof. The short rowan trees looked out somberly, for the sky was gray and a mist fell steadily.The gray and green hills that climbed behind the inn marched gravely into the roof of fog, dulled and dimmed. Away to the north and south the valley was hidden in fog, but in those directions it streeled away for some miles from the inn. Northward the valley widened, into a large wood at its head- Conveth Wood- with many farms and byres and crofts scattered in between. About the inn were low hills, many covered in heather, hence the name of the inn. It was about this area that most of the folk of Strathmor lived, here, and in the lower valley. Southward the valley narrowed, and a bounding stream covered much of the leveler ground. Shaughs and dense woods crowded alongside the rill, until the valley floor rose to a range of hills and corries, and five springs that fed the Strathy-stream. Only a few folk
lived much southward from the inn, and no-one lived in the side-valleys and glens that branched off of the main body of the valley. The Blooming Heather served as the gathering place for the folk of the upper valley, above the Thane’s Wood, and on this day several had gathered there to escape the rain and mud. Inside the inn voices spoke in slow, rather tired tones, as if keeping pace with the weather about.
“I would say, there never was no such thing as heather beer, or ale, or wine if you have it that way. Just an old tale,” spake a voice, belonging to Ciol Diarmid, a weather-worn farmer from further down the valley.
“‘Finer than the Elve’s wines in the Elden Days, and able to heal all hurts and staves’, that’s what the old folk used to say, and I say it was real. Don’t know whether it could heal you up, but I suppose it was about as good,” replied Bhaineth Duarbh, who was something a herder- though he prefered the inn to the byre. A short older man, he remembered many old tales and imagined yet more.
“What’s this talk of heather beer?” joined a second voice, that of the inn-keeper, Eolghain MacAgairn, a portly, well-fed man, but friendly and good-hearted.
“Ah, a fine tale it is,” replied Angus Alpin. A quiet young man, he on occasion stopped in at the inn, when not wandering the fields and woods, as was his wont. He owned several head of cattle, but these he kept in the hands of a cousin, and gathered little profit from them. Most of his keep, it was said, came from an old store of wealth gathered by a great-grandfather, from whence none- including Angus- could say. Taken from an old cairn, gold from the Elden Days, a gift of the Elves, some said- cursed even, it was rumored,
though no ill had yet come to Angus. Not that Angus used much of the gold. He was content to simple provision and food, and grew much of his food stores. He was given more to studying growing things, and cultivating them in the garden that sprawled about his little stone house on the west slopes of Strathmor. His father had been known all through the east of Firthshire for herb-lore, and his son inherited a love of herbery, and of books and history. He was considered somewhat odd among his neighbors, but was in good
relations with all, and oft lended his knowledge. He composed an occasional poem or song, and was counted as a bard by his friends in Strathmor at least, if not in the king’s hall in Araochinnrigh, though he had not done so for some time.
“You see, my worthy fellow here, Ciol, stands against the oldest herb-lore and history we have in these parts, and probably even in Lothloniach’s great halls- though that’s not to say everything there even is true.
“In long off days, long before even the old kings raised their standing stones on the high hills, before the days were made sad and mournful, there lived an Elf upon the Cuchalluin yon, in a fir-wood hall, by the name of Nairgeth. He was once a bard to the High King in the hallowed realm, but tired of that land, and traveled west, until he came to the hill of Cuchallun.
“There he found an old man, old beyond measure it seemed, but not an Elf, but neither, it seemed, of the races of men the Elf was accustomed to. He was a bent-over man, and he clutched a strangely figured staff in his hand. Upon seeing Nairgeth, the old man stood up, and pointed down to the heather sprawling about him. ‘Here my friend, Nairgeth of gentle word, but wearied over-soon, come and gather the heather as it blooms! I will give you word and skill to quench thirst, but I cannot give you blessing to quench the darkness gathering in the lands beneath the sun.’ Nairgeth wondered at him, and asked what skill and word he was to be given. The old man replied that he was to give Nairgeth the mode of making heather beer, and this he did. ‘But,’ the old man said, ‘soon days will come when all must be sober, and no joy or mirth shall gather for many long ages beneath dimmed stars. Then the secret of the heather will be lost, and none will recall it.’ And with that he departed, and was never again seen by Nairgeth. But the Elf brewed the beer according to the word of the old man, and he found that no finer beverage, nor food even, had ever passed his lips. Filled with wonder at this remarkable thing, he sent for the High King and many of the great folk of the Elves, and they too tasted and declared its praises. Nairgeth dwelt for many years in his hall upon Cuchalluin, and oft enjoyed the fine drink. But then the Dark Years began, and, as the old man had said, Nairgeth could not recall how to make the heather beer, and nor could any other. Soon the storm broke asunder, and it was in those days that the Fair Folk were scattered, and the fair lands eastward were broken, and cast under gloom.
Nairgeth some say was struck down in battle, while others say he wandered into exile far eastward. By any account, the secret of heather beer was lost, along with many other things fairer.”
“Quite a tale that is! Where did you hear such things? I heard heather beer came from the old barrow-folk or some such,” said Ciol.
“A fellow from the High Glens told it to me, but it came from the Elves, in Dolamareth I think.”
“I say, Eolghain,” said Ciol, “who would have known we had such a fine teller of lore among us! Surely the man of the Glens did not speak it as our friend did- if I know anything of those folk. Not that they’re bad, mind you, just a bit rough round the edges, if you gather. Certainly not bardsmen, by any account. But you really should give us more stories and such Angus.”
“Aye, a fine skill you have!” spoke up Bhaineth, who had been sitting by quietly listening. “But who do you suppose the old gaffer was? It seems rather odd for a man to glaik about a hill-top with a recipe for beer, and a bit of prophecy. And beer- well- noble enough, perhaps, but rather odd all the same. Why not some better skill, if he could do all that- and I suppose he could- than something so rather plain?”
“Who can tell? Sometimes the simplest things are the deepest, so to speak. The Elves have a saying, ‘Foolishness is oft wisdom garnered in a cloak’. But I do not know any more than that bit I told- I suppose the Elves could tell more,” replied Angus, as he sipped at his mug.
“Yes, but the Elves hardly bother with us folk anymore,” spoke Ciol. “They have other things to worry with. I hear tell the High King down below the Firth is grapling with Fianan and his folk- there was an Elf, you know, at the Thane Wood a month back or so. I spoke a bit with him. He said there’s trouble with their kin out east on the border-lands, ill-stirrings along the Wall. The High King, it seems, has a good idea of things, but doesn’t like Fianan much. I suppose he doesn’t like us much either. But they’s worse folk yon
east, and maybe they won’t be kept behind the Wall no more.
“I’ve heard tell too of strange going-ons up in mountains above the River. Urisgs and trolls, big ones too- and real as real, not the bogies of old stories and such. Why the Elf at the Thane Wood said one of his folk smote a great troll up on one of the mountains- and trolls don’t normal come down out of their caves, if the old tales be true. And worse things down in the deep places- I didn’t hear it from the Elf, but there was talk up in Cluarthcuill of wraiths and black creeping things up in the high hills- things that would shiver you
cold, they said.”
“Ah, just hill-folk tales to scare you, Ciol!” said the innkeeper.
“Perhaps, but I doubt it- why my cousin, he lives up n Cluarthcuill, and he seen some strange things up in the hills. And he ain’t a liar, and never drinks.”
“The days are certainly grim in many lands, Eolghain,” said Angus. “I too have heard tell of things far worse than in any of the old tales. I fear we in Strathmor shall be caught in the perils of the wider world before long.”
Everyone was silent for a time, and the fire flickered low in the corner, and the lamps sputtered and smoked, even as the fog outside churned thickly. “If that be, sirs, let us hope it don’t come over-soon!” said Eolghain. “Angus, have ye any other stories? Happier sorts, perhaps?”
“I know but a few. My grandfather, he could weave great yore and yarn, but I recall but bits of them. So many were sad, of the Elder Days, and I never did like them much.
“But perhaps I will tell a few some other time- for now I must be off, a few things to look after before dark. Until then, farewell all!” And with that Angus left the inn. He ambled outside, where the fogs were still hanging low in the valley. A light rain trickled down and hung in glistening drops on the rowan tree berries, and Angus tugged his cloak about him and walked northwards. As he walked he sang softly an old song, brought to his mind, perhaps, by the talk of the Elves. It spoke of far-off days during the great War of Sundering, when the Elves were divided and scattered, and all the world upheaved.

MacNoir upon hill stood and looked
Looked out over sea and wake
Sea and wake, for his ship he waited
No ship saw he, but gloom arose
In the dread east where reeks rise.

‘Hail fair cheiftan! Stalwart brave!
What doom now awaits us?’
Called she, a maiden fair and grave
Twained the two for fate was on her:
An Elf-maid of the stricken lands.

‘Long have I wandered on lands
Fallen and far, now come I to thee.
My folk are departed forever and
No more will we meet, twained forever’,
Cried she and cast her face down.

Heart stirred to pity and great beauty
MacNoir lifted her, kissed her starry brow
‘Wander no more my maid!’ said he.
‘Mark though thy doom, my love,’ spake she
‘Grief shall one day come and mar thee.’

So MacNoir took an Elvish bride
And long life did he enjoy and propser
His bride fair and wise beside
And seven children bore tall and fair
But her doom was marked .

On Winter’s Eve a gloom of smoke arose
Off the dark danksome East fell and evil.
Fair MacNoir’s bride did close
Her door and depart her seven sons and daughters
And husband dear- fate drew her.

‘Where go ye my fair maiden?’ cried he.
‘Alas! a last herald cries- a wraith did lay
Doom upon me, to call me to the sea.
Darksome night is come, my love, draw
Not hither lest ye be also ensnared!’

But brave MacNoir his heart now riven
Followed her down to the boiling sea
War-rumor crying on yare-driven
Wind with call of death and terror.
Down to the foams they went in step.

No more does stout MacNoir guard his
Ocean-heights- no more does he softly
Hold his lovely Faerie bride’s hand in bliss.
Whence they went no mortal may tell
Mayhaps some distant shore lost to mortal folk.

But he stopped there, for he had reached his home- a low stone house, enclosed by a tall hedge of yew and maple, two great oaks at the rearward corners. A stone-walled lane passed alongside the house, dropping to a cleft stream opposite, and an ash and oak holt alongside. Beyond the house the slopes rose steeply, a few trees scattered among the heathers and grasses, until they climbed to a low thrust of stone that spanned along the hill-tops. Behind it lay a small glen, empty of trees. In the space between the lane and the beginning in earnest of the hill-side, Angus had laid out his gardens: they spilled over the stone wall and clambered uphill, and stretched away for some distance along the lane. They stopped northwards at an old stone fence, beyond which lay a thick wood. It was here that Angus held his errand, to gather a particular lichen for a Mrs. Ghairstair, as a yellow dye.
He climbed over the stone wall and walked into the wood, the rain still dripping down from the leaves. The great oaks and ashes clung groundwards, brooding in the mist. Angus climbed down through a ravine that shorned the middle of the forest, and up to a small knoll that stood off from the hills behind. Upon the gray stones that sprawled along the slopes grew the particular lichen- a beard-like stuff, coloured gray-green. Angus stooped and gathered them into his pouch, then turned to head back through the wood. As he walked along the bottom of the ravine, he had the thought that there was someone nearby. Stopping, he peered about, but no one appeared. Climbing out of the rill-cleft, he halted again- a cloak had rustled and dropped down the hillside. He followed and called out. A voice answered, but it was a near voice, and suddenly the voice was joined by a cloak and hood, and then a face looking out from the hood- an Elf. He was tall, taller than anyone in Strathmor, and his hair fell golden under his hood.
“Hallo! Ah, Fair Sir, what are you doing about here, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Eh? O! Yes- yes, I was looking about for you, sir- Angus Alpin? You have a house near- the quiet little place with the plants, very Elvish I thought,” said the Elf, smiling.
“O, thank-you. Yes, a quick walk yon is my home. But may I ask you your name, as you know mine it would seem, though I don’t rightly know how,” replied Angus.
“You may call my Finaeth. My proper name is Finaeth Dolrethnor Son of Fianan.”
“Son of Fianan? Well, well! Ah, I’m afraid my lodgings aren’t quite fit for- well, royal folk. My great-uncle was a bard for the king once- our Firthshire king of course, you understand- though, and I’ve an old sword of his, though it’s rusted down in the sheath, never been able to pull it out,” Angus said, as he walked in front of Finaeth. “I’ve a bit of tea, some from down south of the Firth even! And a bottle or two of my own stuff.”
“’Twill do, good sir. I have a bit of business with you- nothing ill, I suppose, and I should much enjoy a cup of your tea. Come then!”
They soon arrived at Angus’s home, and, pushing open the door, they came in and, Angus leading, walked to the kitchen. It was small, but a large window opened towards the hillside, and great boughs of plants and herbs hung from the rafter-beams and were scattered about on the table and floor. Angus placed several slabs of peat into the oven and soon had a pot of tea brewing. Finaeth stood by quietly, until Angus recalled his guest and bade him sit.
“I shall go right to my errand, Angus. I was a great friend of your grandfather, you know, and saw you a few times. I have been on rather urgent business for my father over the past few - what is it now- fifty, sixty years.”
“O, I am not that old!” Angus said.
“Hmm? No, of course- I’m not always off in the wilds. Swimming cold chasms and hunting trolls is wearisome work, and even the stoutest can not keep it up forever. But I-”
“O!” Angus exclaimed and lept up.
“The trolls might be somewhat perilous-”
“No sir, ‘tisn’t that- but the tea is boiling over,” Angus said as he took the tea from the oven and poured two cups, then sat back down. “Pardon me. Here, here, brewed from some southern galanath leaves- fine stock as you’ll find anywhere in these lands. Drink- evening meat I eat around night-fall, and we shall have better dine then. So now, what perchance brought you here? Not to drink my tea I suppose.”
“Why, to ask you to aid me! I am about to set off on a journey. Though your tea is quite good.”
“An adventure perhaps? I shall have to get old Gob to watch the place.”
“What? Don’t you wish to hear where we are going?”
“Where?”
“Well, northwards- through the Mountains.”
“When do we leave?”
“I suppose I shall bring you with me! You are remarkably like your grandsire,” Finaeth laughed.
“Ah, hardly sir! He was much less, well, settled, than I. I have hardly ever left Strathmor- he traveled to the Sea, and even across the Firth. I am quite content, really, with my garden and the woods and the inn, but a change of things, a bit of mountain walking, would be nice. And Fianan’s sons would not embark on a foolish errand.”
“I suppose. But perhaps many of our errands are foolish in these days.” Finaeth sank back into the chair, sipping his tea. “The days grow darker with every wax and wane of the Moon, I’m afraid.”
“Then are the rumors true? I mean, of war and all that?”
“Terribly true, and already some of our kin have fallen on the eastward slopes. But the storm is only brewing, and unlike your tea, Angus, it waits, and simmers cruely, and gives little warning before it overflows. But its simmering also gives us time. Though, perhaps, it is only cruel play on their part. The Black Lords are terrible Angus! Your grandfather’s old tales and histories told of what little your folk could learn. He knew more, of course- you know he lived in Dolamareth for a time- but never spoke of it to you. Nor are the worse tales written- for they go like graven stones upon our hearts, and we cannot forget those evil days, but we do not record them lest they trouble other hearts. No, and we cannot turn our eyes from our ruined land.”
They were silent for a moment, Angus looking gloomily into his cup.
“You are ready, and your heart is good- I have known that for many years. But danger we will face, if you embark with me Angus. And it is not merely the toils of the road and slot, or the occasional troll. Darker things lurk the wilds now. But I suppose you have heard such tales.”
“Yes. But your errand is of importance, and you would not journey here unless you were in need of my aid. But tell me more of it, anyway.”
“I seek the Trowie of Curbheth, and the Emrail tree. Do you know these names?”
“The Emrail I do- it is a sort of tree in the high northern hills, very sweet smelling. I have heard some yore of it- healing plant, I think, though it has long been lost to knowledge. But what do you want of it, and what of this trowie?”
“The Trowie guards the Sword of Finraith, and the Emrail grows hither. It is said its aromau will drive any trowies mad, and its healing resins have no equals. I seek it, and seek to battle the Trowie and seize the sword from its keeping- my main goal.”
“What sort of sword is it?”
“It is a fine sword, shaped by cunning smiths long ago in the Sundered Lands. But I seek it not for its strength in battle, great though it is. Nay, I seek it for a truly foolish reason- the High King has put our folk to an ancient oath, sworn by Finraith during the Sundering. Finraith was my father’s brother, and a great lord- in fact, the head of our house. His smiths crafted the sword- Curbheth, the Helm-cleaver- and he bore it in battle aganst the rebellious lords and hosts. They say it blazed fiercely, and when he bore it no man or elf
or any other could harm him, so quick was his blade. But a few folk could not avail many, doughty as the few might be, and the South Elves fled, not wishing to fight further. Only Abhagreth, the first High King, desired to remain, and only for the lust of Curbheth. He came to Finraith in secret, in a deep dell upon the Mountains of Horror, and told Finraith he would brng all his great host to bear against the enemy, if Finraith would give hm Curbheth. Finraith was desperate, so he swore to it. Abhagreth greatly desired it, and he
swore alliance to Finraith for all time, through all kingships in his line. So Curbheth passed to Abhagreth, and the South Elves were brought to bear against the dark host, and for a time they were stayed. But while on a distant campaign on the Western Wastes, Abhagreth fell wounded in battle with a dark host of uirisgs and trolls, and Curbheth was seized, and passed from hs ownership. Badly wounded, Abhagreth returned to his city of Alanoch, and there brooded. He decided hs oath with Finraith to be no longer binding, and
treachorusly withdrew his force. We could not withstand, so our folk withdrew to behind the Mountains of Horror. And true to prophecy, when the last of our folk had crossed the border and removed safely, there was a great roar of steam and smoke, and tremble of earth, and the Wall of the East shot forth from the rock below. And so there has been peace for many years, though brooding. Abhagreth died upon the sea, but his son, Narguth, held us distantly. Even now, he will not aid us. He demands Curbheth, and then, he says, he
will fulfill his oath. It is a foolish situation- but of late great pride has crept into Narguith’s heart, and he is loath towards us. He does not desire to aid us, and indeed made his oath only in a spate of his own foolishness- though he does not believe we can hold to it. He made his oath half in jest, but he must now hold to it. And so I was sent to seek for the sword, and bring it to Narguith.”
They sat silently for a moment. Angus twiddled with his cloak, and then looked up and asked, “I don’t suppose one can go and pluck this sword up and carry it off.”
“No, there are many perils, and it lies deep within the wild, where few men go- though darker things lurk there, in the meres and moors and black pits.”
“What then,” answered Angus, “do you want with me, begging your pardon? I mean, I am not the stuff of battle or peril and all that. I have never weilded a sword, nor spear- a stick at most, and only at a stubborn cow! I should much like to journey with you, but surely I would be but a hindrance.”
“To be quite honest with you Master Angus, I do not know why you are to journey with me. For it was not my choice, but that of my father. He is far older and wiser than I, though of late some have whispered his wisdom is failing. But it is not so: only he oft seems foolish in his ways, at least to those who have proclaimed themselves wise with little merit- and they are many, even among the Elves. In this matter I do not see his wisdom for myself, but do not doubt either his counsel or your prowitude. And many warriors fall more
easily than plowmen in some straights, it is said: a steady foot and heart are oft better than a strong hand. If nothing more, you shall give me company, for it is lonely work. None of my other brethern could journey with me, for they are away on the Eastwatch or south at the councils. Alas! that so much of our strength and attention is broken upon foolish strife and bickering among kin, as if our enemies were not danger enough for us. But such are things. Deep are the follies of the heart, Angus- those of our friends and kin oft worst.
“I will not conceal the dangers that would go with us, Master Angus: though I doubt not that you have a stalwart heart, there are many things in the wild to assail you, and some you cannot flee, but must face. And there is good chance that we be caught up in war ere we return. But then, soon all these lands- from southern port ot Firth to deepest glens- will feel the bite of blade.”
“I will go with you. Your father desires it, and I trust to his judgement, though I wonder at it. But I will go all the same. When do we leave?” said Angus, standing up.
“Soon, if we may- for war is being kindled, and I fear my father will soon lose all hope of any other persasion with the king. Let us leave, then, in seven days- does that leave enough time?”
“As soon as we take meat, I’ll head off for my cousin Gob and get him to come and keep up the place. How long shall we be gone, and what sorts of supplies should I gather?”
“How long shall we be gone?I cannot say, but gather supplies for two weeks of travel, and store clothingenough for winter in the high lands. Pack your sword! And cut a sturdy stave if you do not have one now. But trouble not of a horse. We shall bring a pony perhaps, but no riding will we do, for the lands into which we travel are rough and oft roadless. We shall ride, however, at least as far as the Great River. North from there we follow a winding, deep-cleft road through a long rivervalley northward. From there our paths turn into the hills and mountains, ere we travel through a high pass and come to the Guorlinaeth Valley, whence we will find the Sword and the trees.”