Chapter 4

Alfirian

Raavan’s stories took them far into the night. Talen could not remember when he fell asleep but he felt sure he had missed at least a tale or two, try though he did to stay awake for them all. As he sat up rubbing the weariness from his eyes he heard quiet voices nearby. It was early still, the sky cold and clear, and a small fire was just leaping up from the tinder which Dannadar capably fanned.
      ‘Well, hullo Talen,’ said Dannadar, ‘You’ve awaken just in time to fetch us some water—that is, if you fancy a bit of tea with your breakfast.’
      Talen yawned. ‘I do indeed, but I prefer to have it ready for me when I wake up. You should have it steeped and piping hot already.’
      ‘I’ve got the fire going, and no thanks to the rest of you slugabeds,’ said Dannadar. ‘Now do as I say and go fetch the water before I get cross.’
      ‘All right, already!’ said Talen. ‘Just give me half a minute to wake up. Anyway, who made you the taskmaster, I should like to know?’
      ‘Well, for your information, Raavan did,’ said Dannadar.
      ‘He did?’ asked Talen with some surprise.
      ‘Yes, he did,’ confirmed Dannadar. ‘Official Taskmaster of the Morning , I am. And task number one is to get everyone fed and tead in short order. He wants to get an early start. I think he intends to make it through the fens in a single day—so we won’t have to set up camp right smack in a swamp, don’t you know. Ahem—now where is my water, Elfling?’
      ‘Very well! I am going.’ Talen trudged off to the freshet nearby with a half empty water skin slung over each shoulder. The water was cool and fresh. The taste of it was sweet to his dry mouth, and he took a moment to wash his face before fulfilling his chore. A few blackbirds were singing in the distance and he heard the hollow drumming of a woodpecker not far away. The sweet smell of burning cedar drifted to his nose from the campfire.
      When he returned the others were munching on wafers and thin slices of a dark yellow cheese. ‘It has a nice, smoky flavour,’ Raavan was saying as he regarded the fare.
      ‘Best cheese in Laurelindor, it is,’ proclaimed Dannadar, ‘proudly made by Ambaer of Bathamstocks. That smoky taste is compliments of Kumar’s Smokeworks, situated conveniently next to Ambaer’s booth. I only wish we had some of Kumar’s bacon. I would have brought a few pounds along, but I wasn’t sure it would keep.’
      ‘It would not have kept,’ Falco assured him.
      ‘No?’ said Dannadar.
      ‘No,’ replied Falco, ‘—I would have eaten it all the first day.’ To this the others laughed heartily, even poor Fifin who was bruised from head to toe, and for whom even laughter caused a fair amount of pain.
      Before long they had had their tea and were striking the camp in preparation to depart. Now they were mounting their ponies and setting off toward the south.
      ‘We should come to the margin of the fens before too long,’ Raavan declared. ‘I know a way that is quite safe, but you must stay close—do not wander off the trail that I show you. You had best ride in file behind me when we reach the marsh. And do not dilly-dally! I want to make it clean through before dark.’
      ‘Can we not stay overnight in the house of your friend?’ asked Dannadar. ‘At Ferrymore?’
      ‘We should reach Ferrymore before noon,’ said Raavan, ‘and I do not plan on staying long. After that we should have enough time to reach the grasslands again before nightfall. In the meantime let us look to the path at hand. The Glassie Fens can be a bit tricky, so keep your wits about you.’
      ‘Into the lovely swamp we go,’ said Falco out of earshot of the wizard.
      ‘What adventures lay in store for us there, I wonder?’ mused Talen.
       
       
      They did indeed reach the margin of the fens before very long. Shallow pools began to dot the land and soon they were riding beside a rill that kept pace on their right. Modest stands of trees began to appear: sad, slender trees, many with a dead branch or three pointing starkly toward the horizon. They looked like the skeletons of giant travellers who had wandered foolishly into the mire, their arms extended in a vain plea for help. On these were often seen herons and egrets perched, lazily preening and sunning out in the open. Soon most of the land was covered in standing water, with the occasional narrow causeway wandering haphazardly through the bog like so many wrinkles on a glassy face.
      Along one of these grassy tracks the wizard skilfully led the party, and with surprising confidence, for only occasionally did he pause to consider the way. The Elflings followed in line behind him just as the wizard had instructed and they saw that it was indeed quite safe so long as they stayed on the trail.
      The foliage was lush with sedges and rushes and several types of bush. These latter tended to grow in dense clusters. When the company passed close to one of these they would sometimes catch a glimpse of a dark, chicken-like bird with a long, curved beak lurking in the shallow waters, haunting the shady palustrine avenues. Songbirds perched higher up on the tops of the bushes and in low trees and sang in their high, warbling voices or whistled long, plaintive notes. These latter echoed off the taller trees which separated the distinctly characterized zones of the swamp.
      In some of these zones they would see beavers splitting the water on their way to and from their mound-like lodges. Geese and turtles loitered on these mounds while snakes and frogs plied round the margins of the pool. In other places the water formed large, uninterrupted ponds carpeted with lily pads and dotted with floating white flowers. Often, the flowers reflected the sun so brightly they appeared almost as premature stars in a bright blue sky.
      In yet other parts the trees dominated, with many bushy trees and tree-like bushes growing close in by the trail, in some cases providing shade enough to make the crowded path seem almost dark and foreboding. But all in all the Elflings found the marsh to be a surprisingly pleasant place with much for the alert observer to see and hear.
      There were again many flowers which they could not identify, and these had them stretching their necks now and again to get a better look. There was in particular a large purple flower that especially piqued their interest with showy petals that curved under and wrapped again beneath themselves. These were surmounted by protruding slivers of a lighter colour that hung out like lolling pink tongues. Fifin thought these looked rather too much like small mouths, however, and his interest waned quickly thereafter. But Dannadar found them simply irresistible and he soon was hanging awkwardly off of his pony, stretching and straining to grasp at each as it passed slowly by. Several times he almost had it, but he always came up short.
      When he heard the splash Raavan brought his pony to a halt and calmly dismounted. The wizard walked back along the string of startled Elflings, and reaching the place where Dannadar had fallen in he made a long arm and pulled the soggy youth up onto the bank.
      ‘I am sorry, Raavan,’ said the dripping Dannadar. Though he feared the wizard would be angry with him it was soon apparent that he was not.
      ‘Please try to stay on the pony, lad,’ said Raavan simply. ‘Do you think you can manage that yourself, or would you like me to tie you to the saddle?’
      ‘No, Sir,’ said the embarrassed Elfling. ‘I think I can manage.’
      ‘Jolly good. Shall we continue, then?’ said the wizard as he made his way back to the fore. Dannadar wrung the water from his hair and scrambled up onto his pony, but only after yanking a splendid purple blossom from the bank.
      The other Elflings were of course snickering at their clumsy fellow. ‘I think even your pony is laughing at you, Dann,’ said Falco. But Dannadar ignored him, preferring to admire his purple prize. ‘Rather like an iris it is,’ he murmured, ‘though undoubtedly prettier.’ He decided that it had been worth the effort.
       
       
      Shortly before noon they reached a broad, elevated region that formed something of an island in the midst of the wetlands.
      ‘Ferrymore,’ announced Raavan unceremoniously as they mounted the grassy hill. They went briefly into a dark thicket of trees, then came suddenly out into a sunny, narrow slot formed by triangular-leafed bushes that had obviously been trimmed to form a path. This wound about several times, opening here and there onto pleasant little places where one could sit among great numbers of many-coloured flowers. The party went on and came through a trellised archway, green with spindly vines that were just putting forth dull yellow berries.
      Beyond the arch they came to an old stone wall made with white rough-hewn rocks and topped with a thick layer of slate. Up against this wall grew several fine rose bushes in full bloom. Here they turned to the right and led their ponies along the wall till they came to an opening on their left. Leaving their ponies here they passed through the opening in the wall to come to what appeared to be a very large vegetable garden with a low stone house at the far end. A short man was bent down there in the garden, a foreigner by his appearance, and he rose when he saw the party approach.
      ‘O!’ said the surprised gardener. ‘O, I get the man. Be right back. Wait here, pleese!’ With that the little man shambled off into the house. When the companions reached the door they were met by the man as he emerged again. He motioned for them to enter. ‘Master will see you,’ said he. ‘I tend to your horses.’ As he shambled off toward where their ponies were tethered the visitors went inside.
      The house appeared to have started out as a small hut long ago, with many additions having been added over the years, one upon another till the whole place became rather maze-like and offered quite a lot of room. The place was very cluttered, however, and was not altogether clean. The wooden floor was rickety in places and announced their every move with much unwelcome squeaking.
      ‘Brother Alfirian,’ said Raavan as he led the companions into the study of his elderly colleague.
      ‘O, young Raavan, is it?’ said the frail old man who was sitting behind a desk piled high with books and stacks of wrinkled paper discoloured with age. He squinted feebly through thick glasses as the party squeezed into the tight little room. ‘And whom have you brought with you? New apprentices, perhaps? Hmm?’
      ‘These are some friends of mine,’ said Raavan, ‘who are travelling with me to Aberlaven. This is Talen, that’s Falco over there, the bruised one is Fifin, and this here is Dannadar. They are Elflings.’
      ‘O!’ warbled the old man. ‘O, Elflings, is it? Come from Laurelindor, I suppose? Hmm? An awful long way to walk on such little legs. Eh, my fellows?’
      ‘We are travelling by pony,’ said Raavan.
      ‘By pony, yes, quite,’ said the elderly wizard. ‘Well, you must be hungry just the same. Allow me to offer you some lunch. Where is Andi? You there, why don’t you run along like a good boy and fetch my serving-man? You’ll find him pottering about in the garden, I should think.’ At this Dannadar ran off to the garden as the elderly man rose slowly from his chair. He was dressed in a long white robe and as he came round the desk they saw that he wore sandals on his excessively hairy feet. His beard was the longest they had ever seen, stretching down nearly to his knees and it occurred to Talen that with his long white beard and his long white hair he could almost knit himself a permanent robe. Indeed, so difficult was it to tell where the beard ended and the robe began that he half wondered if the old man had not done precisely that.
      Alfirian led them through an endless series of cluttered rooms in search of the kitchen. Along the way they were forced to negotiate round all manner of oddments that lay in their path. There were stacks of old books, gardening tools, maps, a lone wheel here and there, various boxes, sacks of grain, coils of rope, lanterns, a broken armchair, seed jars, buckets of loamy soil, and a great many jugs filled with a greenish fluid of varying hue. There was so much of it all and it was all so haphazardly placed that even Alfirian stubbed his toe on several occasions, and these were accompanied by the most terrific stream of foul language they had ever heard from an elder.
      ‘You are wanting lunch, Sir?’ said Andi, who found them just as they were entering the kitchen.
      ‘O, yes Andi,’ said Alfirian. ‘If you would be so good as to prepare some rabbit stew for our tired guests. They’ve a long way to go yet to, uh, where did you say you were off to?’
      ‘Aberlaven,’ supplied Raavan.
      ‘Uh, yes,’ continued Alfirian. ‘They’re off to Aberlaven, to see the wizards, and it’s a long way to go on an empty stomach. Especially on such small legs! Eh my fellows?’
      ‘I make the stew, Sir’ said Andi.
      ‘Good man,’ said Alfirian.
      They sat in an adjacent room with a moderately sized table which was large enough to accommodate them all, despite yet more clutter (which they simply kicked and shoved out of the way, following the example of their host). Andi had a fine stew whipped up in no time and there were no complaints from any of the guests, for they readily welcomed the chance to eat something other than their usual travel fare.
      During the course of lunch they spoke of their travels. Soon they were recounting with enjoyment the various misadventures that had come upon them over the past four days. Alfirian said little, but he appeared to enjoy their stories immensely and he laughed often at their antics in his feeble sort of way. Raavan spoke little as well and he laughed somewhat less than the others.
      ‘Ah me, but what a fine lot you are,’ said Alfirian. ‘Shall we now have a tour of the glasshouse? You will enjoy my orchids, I’ll wager. There’s an eye-opener or two in store for you, lads!’
      ‘I am sure,’ said Raavan.
      Into the greenhouse they went, and quite a number of eye-openers were had indeed. The first was at their recognition of the carnivorous plants which they had encountered on the stream bank north of the fens. Here there were perhaps two dozen of them, each in its own little pot. They were clustered together by the window, just inside the door.
      ‘Ah, Lifidox chlorogum ,’ said Alfirian, poking a wrinkled finger at the leafy mouths. ‘Say hello to my little snappers!’ The little plants then began to bite animatedly at his bony digit, and upon seeing this Fifin quietly excused himself to wait outside.
      ‘Is that one of your varieties , Alfirian?’ asked Raavan.
      ‘Yes,’ replied the frail wizard. ‘They are a personal favourite of mine, though they do not take well to the local climate. I’ve not got them to grow outside the glasshouse at all. Not yet, at any rate.’
      ‘We’ve seen your little snappers growing in the wild,’ Raavan informed him: ‘These are the plants that nearly swallowed up poor Fifin!’
      ‘O, don’t be ridiculous,’ said the elder wizard. ‘With these tiny little mouths? Come, now!’
      ‘There were bigger ones,’ insisted Raavan.
      ‘They don’t get any bigger,’ countered Alfirian. ‘Believe me, I’ve tried to breed bigger ones. I’ve been trying for several years. Anyway, I like them the way they are. O, look here at my Orchis rudimantis .’ And so they moved on as Alfirian showed them his many other specimens, quite a few of them in full flower and all of them magnificent to behold.
      ‘Mister Alfirian, Sir, these are truly fabulous,’ commented Dannadar. ‘Are these all naturally occurring hereabouts? Why did we see none of these in the fens?’
      ‘Well,’ answered Alfirian, ‘many of them occur only in this glasshouse—and nowhere else in the world.’
      ‘Brother Alfirian has taken to tinkering with nature’s designs,’ explained Raavan. ‘Most of what you see here are his own creations, if you want to call them that.’ Raavan seemed rather displeased, but the elder wizard paid him no heed, busying himself with the watering of several pots that seemed to him too dry. Humming contentedly to himself he led them toward the further door, past a large hanging pot which had mounted upon it a rickety wooden cage.
      ‘What is in here?’ asked Dannadar, sticking his finger between two of the bars. It was, of course, a mistake.
      ‘Ai!’ cried the Elfling as he jerked his hand away. His finger was withdrawn in the nick of time, for a pair of jaws snapped tightly shut where his finger had just been.
      ‘O, you mustn’t do that!’ cautioned Alfirian.
      ‘What is that?’ cried Dannadar, horror and surprise still evident on his face.
      ‘That is Lilifax thornalis ,’ answered Alfirian contentedly. ‘He has a nasty temper.’
      ‘Yes, but more importantly, he’s got nasty, pointy teeth!’ complained Dannadar.
      It was true. As the beastly plant waved its open mouth, gurgling noisily in their direction they could all see that in its jaws grew several rows of very robust-looking thorns. As Dannadar gazed at the monster he continued to feel up and down the length of his digit with the other hand to convince himself it was all still there.
      Raavan was very upset. ‘Brother Alfirian, we need to talk,’ insisted the wizard. As they filed out of the greenhouse onto the grassy lawn Raavan bade the Elflings go for a stroll while the wizards sat at a table under a spreading apple tree. ‘Do not go far!’ Raavan cautioned them as they wandered off to explore the grounds.
      ‘Raavan seems very upset with the old man,’ commented Falco when they were well away from the old men. ‘He was practically fuming in there.’
      ‘Why is he upset?’ asked Fifin, who had been waiting on the far side of the greenhouse for them to emerge.
      ‘I hope he is not too harsh on the old fellow,’ continued Falco. ‘He really is a gentle old soul, though perhaps a bit befuddled.’
      ‘Why is Raavan upset?’ repeated Fifin.
      ‘Mmm, never mind,’ answered Falco after a moment’s consideration. Then suddenly he hit upon an intriguing idea: ‘Hey! Do you know what I think we should do? We should sneak round from the other side of the house and see if we can catch a bit of the exchange between those two.’
      ‘That sounds like something Dannadar would suggest,’ said Talen doubtfully.
      ‘I would do no such thing!’ objected Dannadar.
      ‘If Raavan did not turn us into toads, I think Alfirian might just turn us into flowers,’ said Talen, ‘—and not necessarily on purpose!’
      ‘Being a flower might not be so bad,’ mused Dannadar, ‘though I fancy the bumblebees would be tickling our noses all day.’
      ‘Well, the rest of you can wander around here if you like,’ said Falco, ‘but I want to hear what those two are saying. I am sure Raavan does not tell us all that he has on his mind. That much is clear. He’s not even told us why we are going to Aberlaven in the first place.’
      ‘We are going to Aberlaven because that is where Raavan is going,’ explained Talen.
      ‘Precisely!’ exclaimed Falco. ‘But why is Raavan going to Aberlaven? Surely there is something very big in the works. I for one would like to know what it is, especially if we are to be tangled up in it.’
      ‘You have got a good point there,’ agreed Dannadar. ‘But how are we to sneak up on two powerful wizards? I mean, won’t they be able to detect us with their wizardry?’
      ‘Not if we are stealthy,’ replied Falco. ‘Come now—follow me!’
       
       
      They crept very quietly, and with the greatest care. Fortunately, there were no dry leaves about to give them away with a rustle, but there were dry twigs and small branches lying about and they had to be very careful not to snap any of these.
      It is not surprising that they were able to get as close as they did, because Elflings are naturally very skilled at moving silently. They crept on their bellies practically right up to the old apple tree where the wizards sat talking. Only a sparse line of bushes running up to the tree hid them from view.
      When they were finally in position this is what they heard:
      ‘...he appears to have made significant progress in deciphering the codex. Precisely what he has discovered, the message did not say. I have hopes that it will be something to our advantage, something we can use against Him. We are at our weakest, Brother. If war were to come upon us now, it would be very bad indeed. Alas, Alarus’ message did not suggest that such a breakthrough had been made, but he bade me come at once for a meeting of the council.’
      ‘And the other Kastairi?’
      ‘They will all be there, excepting of course Telion. I doubt very much that the summons will reach him.’
      ‘Well, I am curious to know why you regard this Silgoth as such a formidable enemy. Last I heard, he had a reputation for being little more than a resourceful amateur.’
      ‘His powers of necromancy have increased severalfold just in the past few years. And there is more: he no longer resides at Mâg Tuor, but has taken up residence at Hélethrôn where he has begun to gather a horde about him. I fear that in a few years he may have the power to bring even the Sraithes down upon us.’
      ‘Hélethrôn, indeed! It will take much more than that, my old friend.’
      ‘Why say you that?’
      ‘Think of who last released the horror of Sraitheoir upon us—Omenaton! Think you that this Silgoth can hold a candle to the likes of him? Pah! Besides, Brother, Omenaton had the favour of Úvar. Think on that a moment.’
      ‘Yes? What of it?’
      ‘Úvar was sorely humiliated after the defeat of Omenaton. I think he is unlikely to meddle in the affairs of men again. Not for a long time, at least.’
      ‘It has been a long time.’
      ‘Not long enough. Consider Mythron: he came, and there were no Sraithes.’
      ‘I am not convinced, Brother. There are signs almost daily. The Gargoyles are abroad.’
      ‘The Gargoyla do not serve Úvar.’
      ‘No, but they have awaken always just when we are teetering on the brink of doom. You know well what they seek: they can sense the blood of men. They can sense when it is likely to be spilt. I fear they have come at the right time.’
      ‘Is that all?’
      ‘Noromendor has resurfaced.’
      ‘Truly? Have you seen it with your own eyes?’
      ‘Look here, and you will see it with yours...’
      ‘Good heavens! Noromendor—yes, yes indeed it is.’
      There was a brief pause then.
      ‘I am too old to travel, my friend. I could not make the journey. There is still hope, moreover, that you have read the signs wrong. And if you have not, then we are powerless to stop it. What can one old man do, or six old men for that matter? If the darkness is coming then perhaps it is time for the long sleep.’
      Another brief pause followed.
      ‘Well, I am not prepared to give in just yet. Not while much that is fair yet exists and the memory of things still greater lingers on. I am afraid I must be off at once. We have stayed overlong already and I wish to emerge from the fens before dark. Now to find those Elflings.’
      ‘They are hiding just behind that bush.’
      ‘This bush?’
      A moment later a pair of large brown boots appeared before the Elflings and they looked up to see the towering figure of Raavan standing over them.
      ‘Look alive, lads,’ said Raavan with a whistle and a snap. ‘Go fetch the ponies. We must be off at once.’
      ‘You’re not angry with us for eavesdropping?’ asked Falco fearfully.
      ‘If I minded you eavesdropping, lad, I would have said so when I first spied you sneaking through the grass. Now, see to the ponies before I lose my patience. Quick, lads! The day wears on.’
      And so they all ran helter-skelter round the old stone house, through the garden, and past the white stone wall to where the ponies were tethered. Andi was there collecting the water and grain he had set out for their steeds before lunch. They led the well-fed ponies through the garden, where they met the wizards as they were coming round the house.
      ‘Alfirian has some provisions for us, lads,’ said Raavan. ‘Come inside and lend a hand.’
      They followed Andi into the old house. Now they were led through another maze of rooms that were so like all the rest that they were quite unsure if they had passed that way before. Andi led them to a storeroom where he laid upon them two bags of apples, several packages of dried fruits and two big cheeses. For these they were very grateful.
      Talen was standing near a corner of the room as they thanked their gracious host. Suddenly he felt a tug at his leg. He looked down to see a thick, leafy vine beginning to wrap itself around his leg. He became very afraid and he showed it by shrieking.
      ‘Oh, Mosely,’ lamented Alfirian. ‘Come now! You’ve had two marmots today already. I doubt you’ve got room yet for a whole Elfling. You had better let this one go.’ The plant did let go of Talen’s leg and the youth was very grateful for that. The truth is that they all wanted to leave, and so without further ado they did just that. They said their good-byes and their thank-yous once more and headed promptly for the door. On their way out they noticed a large black cat sitting on a window sill.
      When they were outside once more and about to mount up Talen leant over to Falco and asked: ‘Did you by any chance notice that cat on your way out?’
      ‘Do you mean the three legged one with no tail?’ replied Falco.
      ‘That’s the one,’ said Talen with a wry smile.