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Journals by EmailTerla halted and then stepped back behind a tree. Beneath, a squad of niflungs approached her cottage in the glade. Their dark eyes glinted above their beards, and their weapons cast back the rays of the sun. Among them strode a tall, thin figure enveloped in a cloak.
The tall one stopped before the cottage door and drew back his hood. Terla should have recognized him before: the crooked nose, the wiry eyebrows, the stringy beard—all grown larger since she last saw him. Signs of his extreme age. The years had been unkind, but such was the curse he had brought upon himself.
“Terla!” he called. “I have a request of you!” She could imagine the wry twist to his lips that his tone implied. He mocked the phrase that so many of the denizens of Gryphon Mountain used when they came for help. Moments passed, and the niflungs became restless.
“Terla!” the man yelled.
After waiting perhaps ten more seconds, he stepped forward, fists clenched at his sides. “Come out, or we’ll come in!” Scarcely waiting for a response, he turned and gestured to the niflungs in the front. Half-a-dozen of them raced forward, and he said something to them as they passed. His words were lost to Terla’s ears, overpowered by the whoops of the rest of the niflungs as they urged on their friends.
Perhaps because she was more afraid for her cottage than for herself—she had spent years getting everything arranged just so—she emerged from hiding and cried, “Dalgindis! Call them off!”
The tall man heard her and shouted at the niflungs as they reached the front steps. They growled but withdrew. Terla came down the slope and paused to set her basket of meadow flowers next to her garden. She would miss that plot of dark soil, especially now that the strength of her youth was returning and she could work longer hours in it. Her heart beat harder as she approached Dalgindis and the battle-thirsty niflungs behind him, but she forced herself to look him in the eye. “What do you want here?” she asked. “You haven’t belonged in this place for decades. You rejected it, and so the Mountain rejected you.”
“Hold your tongue,” Dalgindis said, his tone nearly calm. He paused. “You’re looking very youthful. The new Seer must have almost completed his journey.”
“In spite of all you’ve done to stop him,” Terla countered. “Yes, I’ve heard about your niflungs chasing him halfway around the Mountain. But Thel brought him here, and Thel will see him through to the end of it.”
“Thel has no say in this matter. I will own Mendrion and by doing so will own Thel. I will own the Mountain. I will get back everything Thel took away from me.”
He snarled these last words, and Terla shivered. She wore only a white wool gown and robe, and she pulled the robe about her to fend off the breeze that came through the glade. She suddenly felt weak, but she stood straighter and said, “Thel took nothing that didn’t belong to him in the first place. You shamed him, Dalgindis. You shamed everyone, and everything the Mountain—”
“Enough!” Dalgindis growled. “You will come with me. Now.”
“I won’t. You and your followers begone from here. This is a peaceful place and a sanctuary.”
“That means nothing to me.” Dalgindis gestured to the niflungs. Terla thought to run, but escape was impossible at this point. In the end, the only thing she could do was let them bind her hands and to begin walking.
****
Below the troll tribe’s settlement on the south face of the Mountain, a troop of the horned brutes waited for their master’s return. Siggorund sat in their midst, his wrists bound together but in front of his body so he could eat. He felt like a child for lifting both hands to his mouth with each morsel.
He didn’t know what the troop waited for, but he knew that they camped entirely too close to the Seer’s glade. Siggorund had never met the Seer who had replaced Dalgindis—he could only assume that one had come—and now Mendrion had come to replace that one. When Siggorund had emerged from the Gryphon’s Door here on the south slope of Gryphon Mountain, Dalgindis and this troop had been waiting for him. They had been expecting Mendrion, but the new Seer never appeared. Dalgindis grew impatient after a couple of days and moved on with whatever plan he had in place. He seemed to think Siggorund’s being his prisoner would help. The aged man joined a group of niflungs and headed down the slope.
Around Siggorund, trolls ate, shouted, and engaged in contests of strength. They wore their leather armor all the time and carried clubs, axes, and heavy spears. Fortunately, they had treated him decently and hadn’t starved him. Siggorund suspected that this resulted from Dalgindis’s wanting him to be able to walk. Of course, he thought often of escape, but several trolls had been specifically assigned to watch him from a distance.
A stir arose at the edge of camp. Dalgindis appeared, walking with a woman whose hands were also bound. Firelight gleamed on the red waves of her hair. She appeared calm, but Siggorund could see a hint of fright in her green eyes.
“Terla,” Dalgindis said, “sit beside our other guest. This is Siggorund. He is at least as old as I am, but he hardly shows it.” His eyes turned to the warrior as Terla seated herself. “Some day you’ll have to tell me how you’ve done it. Oh, wait—you can’t.” His laugh sounded like the hiss of a snake. “Rest yourselves,” he called to the trolls. “Tomorrow, we find the Seer.”
Siggorund looked at Terla, who sat several feet away from him.
She leaned toward him and whispered, “You’re a prisoner as well?” The warrior nodded. “What is Dalgindis planning?” This time, Siggorund shrugged and lifted his hands.
“Can you speak?” Terla asked.
He shook his head. Terla slid closer.
“I see.” She nodded slowly. “Well, we’ll just have to figure out a way to escape in spite of that.”
****
The troop that held Siggorund and Terla captive moved east of the settlement, led by Dalgindis. The niflungs gathered to the south and were joined by their own squads. Dalgindis was waiting for something.
That something happened after three days. An army of a few hundred trolls trudged up the slope. Dalgindis met the leader, and they held a heated discussion. Or rather, Dalgindis interrogated the huge troll, who managed to look sheepish. Finally, Dalgindis half-turned and gestured sharply. “Spread out!” he yelled. “The Seer will come this way, and you will stop him!”
Siggorund heard Terla gasp. “Mendrion,” she said. “He has made it to the south face, and Dalgindis wants to prevent him from finishing the journey.” She looked at Siggorund. “We need to warn him.”
The warrior raised his eyebrows. He had no idea how to escape at this point, and if they did get away, the leader of the troll troop who had captured Siggorund had his sword. Siggorund didn’t want to leave without it, especially when the trolls would follow them and he would need to defend himself.
His brow wrinkled as he thought about a puzzle he hadn’t yet been able to solve. Why did the trolls and niflungs follow Dalgindis, particularly given their history? What had Dalgindis promised them?
****
Terla observed the trolls, trying to find a weakness in their vigilance or a way to distract them. Nothing presented itself for hours, and her thoughts began to wander. Sitting as a prisoner gave her little to focus on. She repeatedly forced her thoughts to return to planning an escape.
As the sun slipped low in the afternoon sky, she heard a couple of their guards talking. “What Dalgindis is doing is not good,” said one.
“I don’t like him,” said the other, then spat noisily.
The first said, “He makes all people to fight each other. People live in peace before. I like fighting, but not this much.” He scratched his massive nose.
“Dalgindis knows nothing,” Spitter said.
“He says he knows where treasure is,” Scratcher answered.
“You believe him?” Spitter asked.
Scratcher was silent a moment before shaking his head.
Terla almost smiled. Her mind worked quickly. She became worried when some of the guards changed before sunset, but Scratcher was still there when it was over. He was her way out.
****
Siggorund had become lost in his thoughts to the point that he started when he realized Terla was gone. Siggorund looked around, and his heart thumped harder when he saw her talking with a troll. It was one of the ones who had been keeping watch over them. Siggorund looked away again, pretending not to have noticed. The rest of the troop seemed distracted with the arrival of the army and with trying to follow Dalgindis’s orders.
The sun hung low to the west when Terla rejoined Siggorund. “He’s going to help us,” she whispered. “He doesn’t like the fact that the trolls are doing what Dalgindis tells them to. I asked why they’re doing it, and he told me that Dalgindis has promised them that he’ll tell them where the treasures of Gryphon Mountain are. The troll leaders seem to believe him.” She paused. “I don’t know how he intends to do that, and I don’t know what treasures he means. But anyway, this troll is going to get the others to fight each other, and then we run for it. He’ll do it once darkness falls so we can hide more easily.”
Unable to ask questions or give input, Siggorund just nodded. The plan seemed all right, though vague. Fortunately, it shouldn’t be that hard to get the trolls to begin fighting amongst themselves.
****
Terla began to feel sleepy, and she wondered when Scratcher—Nugram, he had said his name was—was going to execute his plan. She looked up at the thousands of stars and wondered what she was going to do with her life now that the Mountain, now that Thel, was letting her go. And what gift would she ask?
The thumping of massive footfalls approached, bringing her out of her thoughts. Nugram loomed over her. He reached down, grasped her arm, and pulled her to her feet. “Where is it?” he roared. “Give it back! I’m going to kill you!” His broad face was so full of fury that Terla feared he would rip her apart. Her stomach sank like a ship’s anchor, and her heartbeat thudded through her mind.
Nugram pulled out a wide knife and grabbed her. He struck swiftly.
And her hands were free.
“Hey!” shouted another troll, as Siggorund placed himself between Terla and Nugram. “Dalgindis says to leave them alone!” He stumped closer. “You take your hands off!”
Nugram shouted back, “She took it! I know she did!”
“Wh—” the other troll started to say. Nugram bowled into him, knocking him flat on his back. Then Nugram heaved his challenger over his head and threw him into a third brute who had been approaching.
The camp erupted. Trolls flocked to the spot, not to watch, but to participate.
Before Terla knew it, dozens of trolls were brawling around her and Siggorund. “Come on!” she shouted, turning to dash down the slope. The warrior hesitated for some reason. “Siggorund, let’s go!” she cried. He came after her.
Terla soon found that her gown wasn’t made for running, and she nearly fell on her face. Siggorund swung her over his shoulder and dashed down the slope. He nearly fell several times himself, but they slipped into a grove of trees before any of the trolls noticed. Siggorund set Terla down, and she untied his bonds.
Howls of a different sort rang out from the troll camp, and Siggorund’s head snapped up. He motioned, and they left the cover of the trees.
The niflungs’ campfires glowed below them, and they were becoming aware that something was wrong. Terla and Siggorund hurried through the dark swath between the camps and then turned downslope.
Toward Easting, and, they hoped, Mendrion.
This tale is #11 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.”
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