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Journals by EmailFollowing the harrowing experience at Durgul’s bridge, Mendrion traveled several days up Gryphon Mountain without encountering anyone. He now knew that not every denizen of the Mountain was friendly, so he kept a wary eye out for other travelers or for signs of human habitation. He saw a herd of elk, a moose, and even a black wolf. The green slopes of the mountain gradually turned to gray rock that exposed itself in ever increasing stretches. Oak and elm gave way to aspen and pine, which then thinned out as Mendrion approached the snowline.
When he came to the first snowdrift, he stopped. Glad he didn’t have to go any farther—the snow looked as if it would slide out from underneath his feet as soon as he stepped on it—the Seer turned around. His eyes widened, and his mouth likewise dropped open as if to participate in the feast of grandeur before him.
The Mountain’s slopes dropped away below him, and he could see above the nearest trees, revealing the land about him for miles to the north, west, and south. The rich plains reached to the horizon, the nearest dwellings of its inhabitants barely visible. Sunlight glittered on the surfaces of rivers and lakes as on the scales of blue serpents.
Briefly, Mendrion thought of what it would be like to establish himself as king over the lands he could see, with Gryphon Mountain as his palace and throne.
The rocks under his feet jolted loose, and Mendrion pitched sideways to catch himself. He hit the ground rolling. With trees, sky, and earth spinning across his vision with dizzying speed, he tumbled downward. An aspen trunk stopped him but drove the breath from his lungs.
After he had regained his breath, Mendrion stood. His ribs complained with every movement. He sat and breathed slowly to give the pain time to fade.
Travel down the slope was faster than the journey up—too fast for Mendrion’s taste. He remembered his fall with a sinking stomach every time he began descending at an unsafe speed. After a couple of days, he saw below him a castle built on a massive shelf. He approached it but soon realized that it had been uninhabited for some time. Ivy climbed the walls, doors sagged and rotted, and flagposts stood bannerless.
Full of questions about who had built the castle and where they had gone, Mendrion reached the main archway and slipped between the rusting gates. The only movement in the courtyard was the stirring of field grasses and flowers as a breeze passed through. Mendrion feared to encounter another troll or anything as malicious without prior warning, so he called out. “Hello!” His voice echoed and dissipated.
Curiosity urged his feet forward, and he crossed to the main doors and entered the castle to search for clues about the history of the place.
The doors led to the great hall. Left behind from banquets held long ago, tables and chairs stood scattered and empty. Faded tapestries stirred slightly. Mendrion stepped carefully as if to avoid alerting any ghosts that walked the halls.
His heart jumped into his throat when he saw a man standing in a shaft of light thrown by the sun through a hole in the roof. The figure was dressed in a combination of leather and plate armor, a horned helmet atop his head. “Hello,” the Seer said hesitantly. “Are you the lord of this castle?” The man shook his head.
Then, turning, he beckoned for Mendrion to follow him.
The Seer went. They traversed dimly lit corridors and chambers, the air and surfaces thick with dust. Mendrion covered his face against the stale taste. Tempted to glance around and memorize their route through the castle, he found it more important to keep an eye on his guide. The stranger walked with shoulders slightly slumped, but he moved at a steady pace. The large broadsword strapped to his back left no doubt that he was a warrior, but his manner so far had suggested that he meant Mendrion no harm.
At length they reached a door that looked to be intact and solid. The warrior produced a ring of keys and unlocked the series of padlocks and bolts on the door. Because he had no clue as to what waited beyond, Mendrion hung back. His silent companion pushed the door open and beckoned again as he entered the next chamber. The Seer cautiously came after.
The scene before him stopped him dead. He and the warrior stood on a wide porch overlooking a treasure hoard—just piles of gold and jewels nearly covering the floor of a chamber in which Terla’s cottage could have fit. Having been a cooper and lived among the common class of people all his life, Mendrion had never imagined that one person could own the wealth he now saw.
The warrior walked slowly to a pillar to the left and slumped to the floor, one leg drawn up to his body and the other outstretched. His dejected posture resembled that of a longtime prisoner in a dungeon.
Mendrion had no idea why the warrior had brought him here. He looked around at the treasure and noticed a beautiful sword lying near the steps leading down from the porch. He moved forward and bent to pick it up. Suddenly the warrior was there, grasping his extended arm. The grip was not harsh, and when Mendrion looked at him, he simply shook his head without expression. Then he let go and gestured toward the porch.
The Seer ascended the steps and sat on the stones. The warrior looked at him and gestured with both arms as if including the room. Then he drew his sword and adopted a battle-ready stance for a few moments. “You guard this treasure?” Mendrion asked. The other man nodded. “Then why did you bring me here?” he added without thinking.
No response. The warrior resumed his seat against the pillar. Mendrion began to think that the man was a mute. How long had he lived here, guarding this castle and treasure to no purpose, with not even his own voice to keep him company?
Hunger pulled at his stomach, and the warrior seemed to have withdrawn into his own thoughts, so Mendrion drew some food out of his bag. When he began eating, the warrior stirred. His head turned ever so slightly, and Mendrion saw his right eye fix on the strip of meat in the Seer’s hand.
Mendrion held out a second strip. “Would you like something to eat?” he asked.
A marked change came over the warrior. His eyes grew wide, and he slowly rose to his feet. As if waking from sleep, he stretched his thick arms to either side, his eyes closed and a small grin showing through his beard. His eyes opened, and he took the food. He looked at it for several moments and took a bite. He seemed to savor the first bite, and then he wolfed down the rest.
When his eyes opened, Mendrion saw in his expression the purest joy he had ever seen in a human being. The warrior leaned down and offered his hand. Mendrion took it. The warrior hauled him to his feet and gave him such an embrace as would make a bear envious. After releasing him, the warrior opened his mouth; his joy was briefly replaced by disappointment.
At his silent bidding, Mendrion left the trove. The warrior led him back to the courtyard. To the Seer’s surprise, his companion walked along with him to the front gate. They paused there, and Mendrion offered his hand. “I am Mendrion,” he said. “The Seer of Gryphon Mountain,” he added hesitantly, not accustomed to the title yet.
The warrior nodded firmly. He took a stick and wrote in the dirt to one side. “Siggorund,” Mendrion read. “Your name?” The other man nodded. Certain now that his friend couldn’t speak, the Seer said, “I am on a journey around the Mountain to become acquainted with it and its people. I thank you and shall remember you.” Siggorund lifted his arms toward Mendrion and then gestured forward. Then he took a couple of steps.
“You… want to come?”
Siggorund nodded. “What about the castle? The treasure?” He glanced around to reassure himself no one overheard his mention of treasure. Siggorund made a dismissive gesture toward the castle and resumed walking down the slope.
Mendrion gave one more glance to the castle. Siggorund obviously didn’t care much for the castle or treasure, though he was its guard. But the Seer took comfort in the fact that he now had a traveling companion—one with a large sword and a strong arm. He sensed he had done something for Siggorund, something that had changed the warrior’s life, but it would be difficult for Siggorund to tell him anytime soon.
For now, Mendrion would take his friends where he could find them.
This tale is #4 in “The Coming of the Seer,” the story of how Mendrion becomes Seer of Gryphon Mountain. Read the beginning of the story, “The Seer of Gryphon Mountain.” The next tale is “The Woodsman’s Axe.”
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