Gryphon Mountain Journals » Tales

Captives of Dalgindis

Ben — Sat, 26 Jun 2010 00:52:05 +0000

Terla 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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The Defenders of Easting

Ben — Mon, 15 Feb 2010 12:00:11 +0000

The bright blue light died, and Siggorund found himself sitting on one of the stone platforms, the backs of four stone gryphons toward him. Mendrion was nowhere in sight, but Siggorund wasn’t alone.

Trolls surrounded the stone gazebo, most of them arrayed downslope because the Gryphon’s Door was nearly backed up against a cliff. Dozens of heavy-lidded stares turned toward him, attracted by the light that had so quickly come and gone. Too many. But there was nothing for it; trolls were much too belligerent to let him pass among them peacefully.

Siggorund reached over his shoulder for his sword.

“I wouldn’t do that, Siggorund,” said a voice. Siggorund looked around quickly. He hadn’t heard that voice in years, but he would neither forget it nor mistake it for another’s. He caught sight of a familiar figure advancing through the troll camp. “It would not end well for you.” The trolls near him grinned and lifted their brutish weapons slightly, their eyes challenging him to ignore the warning.

Siggorund did ignore it. He drew his sword.

* * * *

When Mendrion saw the hut, his first thought was that maybe he’d find Siggorund inside. Perhaps the warrior had found his way here, and they would be able to continue their journey. Mendrion’s survival thus far owed much to Siggorund’s bravery and protection.

He circled around to the front of the hut, which faced down the slope, and knocked on the door. It was still midday, but his supplies were running short. He hoped the inhabitant had a friendly disposition and would help.

A young woman answered. Her raven hair hung nearly to her knees, and her pale green eyes pierced him. Mendrion looked again; she wasn’t old, but rather timeless. He could see seriousness and knowledge in those eyes beyond what a maiden of twenty years could possess. “I am Mendrion, the Seer of Gryphon Mountain,” he said. The statement was becoming a little easier. “Could you spare some supplies?”

“Of course,” the woman said. “I have some ready for you.”

“Someone told you I was coming?”

“Not exactly,” she replied. “I knew you were coming before you did, in a sense. Before the Mountain called you, I knew Terla’s time was short. I am the Bain Shae,” she added, a statement that was part explanation and part introduction.

She stooped and picked up a sack from just inside the door. “Take this with my friendship. . . .” Her eyes grew wide, and she dropped the sack before Mendrion take the strap. She choked and then covered her face. With a shrill wail, the Bain Shae spun and stumbled into her hut.

Mendrion hesitated, then followed, leaving the supplies at the threshold. The woman fell to her knees a few steps inside and wept into her hands. “What is it?” Mendrion asked.

The Bain Shae looked up at him. “The settlement! It will be destroyed by trolls! Many will die!”

The Seer’s stomach twisted. “Where is this settlement?” he demanded. “I must warn them!”

“Down the slope, near the southwest spur of the Mountain!” the Bain Shae cried, pointing. Mendrion dashed from the hut and paused to pick up the sack of supplies. He would need them.

“Wait!” the woman called from the hut. A few moments later, she emerged wearing travel boots and pulling on a cloak. “I’m coming with you.”

Mendrion read her determined expression and didn’t argue. Together, they sped down the slope.

“How much time do we have?” he asked.

“Not much,” she said. “I usually don’t know things are coming very far in advance.”

They ran faster.

Mendrion and his companion slowed to a jog for most of the rest of their journey, since keeping a running pace was both difficult and dangerous while descending a mountain slope. They stopped to rest only a few times, and in a couple of hours, they had reached the settlement.

A palisade taller even than Gargant ringed the town. Three heavy log gates, evenly spaced, gave the only passage; one faced up the slope, so the travelers headed for it. Daylight was fading quickly as it did on the eastern slopes of the Mountain, but their fear drove them to the chieftain’s home. The Bain Shae knew the settlement and the chieftain and was known to them, so she expected little trouble in gaining an audience with the leader even at this time of day.

They hurried up the main road among log buildings roofed with wood shingles to the chieftain’s house. Mendrion allowed himself a moment to feel impressed that the home they approached looked no different than any other—no additional wings or floors, no vast windows, nothing that Mendrion typically associated with the dwelling of someone in a higher station than those around. The only thing out of the ordinary was a green banner hanging on either side of the front door, illuminated by lanterns. Each banner bore a gryphon leaping upward with wings spread.

The Bain Shae rapped on the door with the metal knocker. Within moments, a middle-aged woman opened the door. “We wish to speak to Rulgrim,” the Bain Shae said.

“Yes, come in please,” the woman said, motioning. The Bain Shae and Mendrion stepped inside the entryway and waited while the woman hurried out of sight.

Soon, a burly man with a head of thick red hair and a close-cropped beard appeared. “My lady,” he said, bending at the waist. Then he held out his thick hand to Mendrion. “I am Rulgrim, chieftain of Easting.”

Mendrion clasped it. “Mendrion, Seer of Gryphon Mountain.”

Rulgrim’s face was serious. “We’ve heard of your journey around the Mountain. I wish we could give you a proper reception, but I have dire matters to attend to. I’ve had scouts report that the trolls and niflungs are extremely active.”

“That’s why we’ve come, or why I’ve come,” the Bain Shae said, her gaze and voice steady. “Trolls will be attacking you any time. Your guards must be gathered, or you will be overrun.”

“If this attack is imminent, why haven’t my scouts reported it?” Rulgrim asked.

“Have they returned from their current expedition?” Mendrion asked. The chieftain shook his head, and Mendrion exchanged a look with the Bain Shae. “Then it’s possible that the worst has befallen them, and they’re unable to warn you,” he said.

Rulgrim scowled for a few moments without saying anything. Then he muttered, “I wish I could say you’re wrong. Come.” He turned briefly and called into the house, informing his wife of his departure. Then he pulled on a cloak and led them outside.

“If the trolls attack, they’ll come from the south,” Rulgrim said. “Their encampment sits on the southern slope. Too close to feel comfortable, but they have minded their own business fairly well until now.” He gestured to a couple of men dressed in leather armor and cloaks in a deep green that matched the banners on Rulgrim’s home. He gave them some instructions, and they hurried off.

Rulgrim took Mendrion and the Bain Shae there himself. He climbed the ladder to the rampart and peered southward and then westward up the slope. When nothing happened, he rejoined his guests on the ground. “Nothing moving out there. You’re sure—” he began, but the Bain Shae gave a curt nod. “Very well then. You’ve been right before, and I’ve no desire to test you now. The men will be mustered soon—by the end of tomorrow morning, if they know what’s good for them.” He made a disgusting sound in his throat, then leaned to the side. However, he realized the Bain Shae was standing nearby, and he swallowed with a sick look.

“I’ll get things started tonight. The problem,” Rulgrim said, leaning close to Mendrion and lowering his voice, “is that we don’t have enough men to repel an all-out attack from those brutes. If they throw everything they have at us . . . Well, let’s just pray that the gryphons descend to help us.”

They agreed to meet there again at dawn. The Bain Shae led Mendrion to the small inn and purchased rooms for them. Mendrion passed the night in fitful and unsatisfying sleep, dreading the events of the next day. What if they were too late, and the rising of the sun would reveal an army of trolls besieging the town?

Finally, the Bain Shae was knocking at his door, and after a hasty breakfast, they returned to the southern gate. Some of the town guards had gathered and were scanning the land beyond the palisade.

“What can I do?” Mendrion asked Rulgrim.

Rulgrim regarded him expressionlessly. “Stand on the walls with us. I can tell by looking at you you’re not a fighter. But the more men we have standing on the walls, the better. Maybe we can scare them off.” He didn’t look convinced. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some mustering to see to.” He strode forward and met with the squad he had requested.

Mendrion and the Bain Shae looked at each other. “That’s it?” the Seer said. “Stand on the wall?”

“I don’t know what more I can do,” the woman replied. “I’ve done what I can. . . .”

“Seer!”

Mendrion turned and saw two somewhat familiar figures advancing. “Syrid? Annfalys? What are you doing here?”

The old woman grinned as they reached Mendrion. “Well met, Seer. I came to seek Annfalys’s forgiveness, for I have done her much wrong. She lives here in Easting, you know.”

Annfalys glanced at Syrid. “We have talked much,” she said. “Talking can’t restore what’s gone, but it can help heal wounds.”

Syrid nodded to the Bain Shae. “What brings you here, Seer?” she asked, looking back at Mendrion.

“I probably would have come here eventually, but the Bain Shae and I came together when she . . .” He wasn’t sure how to finish. Had she seen a vision? Or had she learned of Easting’s fate some other way?

“I saw Easting in flames at the hands of trolls,” the Bain Shae said. “We came to warn Rulgrim. He is mustering his guard force as we speak.”

“Yes, and you two must flee Easting,” Mendrion said quickly. He turned to the Bain Shae. “And you, as well. Get back to your hut. You must escape whatever happens here.”

“What will you do?” Annfalys asked.

“Rulgrim says he hasn’t enough men to stand against the trolls if their entire force attacks,” the Seer said. “He knows I can’t fight, but he wants me to stand on the wall with his men. He hopes that having all his men on the walls will intimidate the trolls.”

“That wall would have to be packed with guards to give trolls pause,” the Bain Shae said.

“Is there anyone friendly to Easting nearby?” Mendrion wondered. “What about the dwarfs?”

Syrid answered. “Yes, they may come, if someone could reach them in time. The Eagle Cliff Kindred, anyway. The trolls are between us and the White Forge Kindred.”

“Could the three of you go to the Eagle Cliff Kindred for help?”

“Seer, I’m an old woman,” Syrid said. “I barely made it this far. I’m not going anywhere. The least I can do for the woman my son loved is to stand with her people.”

“I will go,” the Bain Shae offered. She turned to Annfalys. “And you’re coming with me.”

The girl’s jaw dropped momentarily. Then she set her jaw and nodded. “Very well. We’ll see to it that the dwarfs come to Easting’s aid.”

The two women departed. Syrid left Mendrion’s side as well, leaving him to himself. He mounted the wall over the south gate. As Rulgrim had seen, nothing seemed to be happening. But Mendrion kept recalling the Bain Shae’s terror and tears.

The trolls were coming, all right. For some reason, Mendrion’s presence had roused the niflungs, and apparently the same had happened with the trolls. But how would Rulgrim’s men defend Easting against them? Mendrion had seen only two trolls so far: Durgul at the bridge and the troll that had tried to face down a gryphon and failed. Neither one was something Mendrion would feel any confidence facing in combat. Not for the first time in the last week, he wished he knew where Siggorund was.

Over the course of the morning, Rulgrim’s men armed themselves and lined up on the palisade’s ramparts. They gathered primarily on the southern third of the wall, but even then, they seemed sparse. Mendrion did his best to appear firm, but beneath his clothing, his stomach quivered, and his bowels felt like stone.

Noon came and went without a change. Mendrion descended from the wall and returned to the inn for his midday meal. He had barely finished when he thought he heard shouting. He dashed from the inn and jogged toward the south gate. As the wall came into view, Mendrion slowed.

Why were all the men crowded near the gate? Why weren’t they spread out in case the trolls attacked other sections of the walls?

Mendrion turned, and he saw that Rulgrim’s men stood shoulder to shoulder along the entire length of the palisade. Hundreds of them. Where had they all come from? Mendrion couldn’t imagine that Easting held this many people, let alone men who could protect the walls.

The Seer neared the south gate and located Rulgrim standing directly over the gates. Mendrion climbed up and joined him. And the sight beyond the wall made his heart drop.

Dozens of trolls, maybe even a few hundred, were emerging from the forest to the south and advancing on Easting. “Men!” shouted Rulgrim. “Give them something to think about!”

Dozens of guards lifted bows with arrows nocked, then released. At the same time, the rest brandished their weapons and began shouting. The arrows fell short of the attackers, but the number coming down gave the trolls pause.

Mendrion moved along the wall to try to give encouragement where he could. He passed perhaps twenty men before he realized that he didn’t hear anything coming from some of them. He began looking at them more closely. At first, when he thought he’d just passed someone that he was now seeing, he disregarded the thought. These men lived in the same town; they must all be related in one degree or another. But soon, he could no longer deny it.

He was seeing the same three or four faces, over and over.

The shouting continued, and as Mendrion watched, he could tell that some of the men—the ones who were actually making noise—were doing their best to make as much sound as possible. What was going on?

“Loose again!” bellowed the chieftain. Another volley of arrows sailed up and then descended toward the trolls.

Mendrion’s stomach sank. The trolls had hesitated, but they weren’t convinced that Easting would hold against them.

More guards passed Mendrion and lined up behind the men already there. The Seer stared. Where had they come from? No other guards had been on the ground when Mendrion had come, and as far as he could see, none had shifted from other parts of the walls.

The sudden appearance of an additional brigade or two had the intended effect. The trolls howled and waved their oversized weapons, but they backed off and finally retreated into the forest.

The defenders waited for some time before believing the trolls had truly broken off their attack. Mendrion met Rulgrim at the gate. “She did it, Seer!” called the chieftain with a laugh. He grabbed Mendrion’s hand and pumped at it. “She fooled them!”

“Who did?” asked Mendrion.

“The old woman!” Rulgrim said. “We must find her and congratulate her on her ruse!”

They found her slumped against a building, and Mendrion raced to her side. “Syrid!” he shouted. “Syrid!”

Her face was pale and her breath shallow. Mendrion cradled her upper body. Her eyes fluttered. “They’re gone, then?” she whispered.

Mendrion and Rulgrim nodded. “Where did all those guards come from?”

“Fooled even you, did I, Seer?” murmured Syrid. “They were no more substantial than a dream. But the idea was the chieftain’s. Scare them off with numbers.”

“Of course,” Mendrion said. “They all had the same faces.”

“It worked well,” Rulgrim said with pride. “Trolls think we all look alike anyway, so they couldn’t tell the difference. Especially not from that distance.”

“I don’t have enough imagination to put a unique face on several hundred illusions anyway,” Syrid whispered. She smiled slightly. “This is probably my last battle, I’m afraid. I won’t be in any shape to help with the next one.”

“You have saved my people, you and the Bain Shae,” Rulgrim said. “By the next time, the Eagle Cliff Kindred will be here, and we won’t need ghosts to scare the trolls off.”

They carried Syrid to Annfalys’s family’s home and made her as comfortable as possible. When the Seer and the chieftain had left, they spoke of their next steps. Rulgrim tried to convince Mendrion to stay, but Mendrion said, “I must continue my journey. I am also searching for a friend who journeyed with me for a time and guarded me against the niflungs, but he disappeared. I must find him.”

“As you wish,” Rulgrim said. “I promise you that the next time you come, we will give you the kind of feast you cannot imagine.”

“Thank you, friend,” Mendrion replied, gripping Rulgrim’s shoulder. They clasped hands once more, and Mendrion passed by the inn to retrieve his belongings. Within minutes, he was leaving the west gate and moving upslope once more.

Once more alone, the Seer of Gryphon Mountain left Easting behind.

This tale is #10 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 “Captives of Dalgindis.”

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Northward and Back Again

Ben — Sat, 16 Jan 2010 01:00:53 +0000

Several hundred feet above Gargant’s forest on Gryphon Mountain’s east slope rose a bulwark of rough gray stones. The ground rose on either side, forcing Mendrion and Siggorund to choose one of the two directions to continue their ascent. Mendrion halted before doing so, watching for defenders of some kind to call out. Nothing happened except for a pair of birds swooping past, their cries soon passing out of earshot.

After a glance at his mute companion, Mendrion chose left. The sun had already fallen behind the Mountain, bringing twilight early, even though out to the east the sunlight still lit the land. When they reached the point where the slope met the top of the wall, the Seer found a wide semicircular platform before him. Its surface consisted of more of the stones. Above the surface rose a sheer cliff. Mendrion caught sight of an outcropping near the top that resembled a hook, as if an arch had once extended from the cliff face but had been broken off.

Mendrion stepped onto the stones and walked its length. He looked out over the slope and saw nothing moving, not even in the dark streak of Gargant’s forest below.

He strode back to where Siggorund waited. “What do you think of stopping here for the night?” he asked the warrior. “Our back and front will be protected.”

Siggorund looked around, including upward. The cliff was much too high for anyone to come upon them that way. He nodded, and they prepared their evening meal. Unfortunately, their position would make a fire visible for miles, so they wrapped themselves in their cloaks and quickly ate their evening meal with little to warm them.

As Mendrion tried to fall asleep, a breeze arose and swept down the mountainside. The cliff offered something of a windbreak, but he still shivered occasionally. The quieter the night became, the more Mendrion noticed the roughness of the stones beneath. Nevertheless, he finally began to doze.

His eyes snapped open—had he heard something?

Without moving, he scanned the stone platform. There. A squarish section of the floor was tilted upward, and beneath it . . . a pair of eyes nearly hidden in shadow.

“About time you woke up,” said a voice.

Instantly, Siggorund sprang to his feet, massive broadsword gripped in both hands.

The eyes’ expression never changed. “Now, now, no need for that,” the voice said, the gaze darting at Siggorund, then back at Mendrion. The sound was like the rustle of leaves. “You the Seer, yeah?” Mendrion glanced at his companion and nodded. “Thought so. Well, if you want somewhere comfortable to sleep, you’re welcome down here. Underground, but at least it’s warmer than being in that wind.”

“Who are you?” Mendrion asked. For all he knew, he was being invited into a niflung’s cave.

“Oh, forgot my manners. You’re sitting on the doorstep of the Eagle Cliff Kindred.”

“Dwarfs?” Mendrion said.

“Of course. What else?”

Mendrion and Siggorund exchanged a look. Siggorund signaled that he would go first. He disappeared into the hole, stepping backward down a ladder, it seemed. Mendrion stepped forward. Below, Siggorund waved to him from what appeared to be a chamber or tunnel with a dirt floor. Mendrion found the rope ladder and descended.

As soon as he set his feet on the ground, a small but solid form brushed past him and clambered back up, replacing the rock slab and sliding a locking mechanism into place. Mendrion found another pair of dwarfs watching him and holding torches. A single tunnel led into blackness from the small chamber where they stood. The dwarf who had originally spoken to him dropped back to the ground. He peered up at Mendrion, dark eyes peering over a black beard that fanned out in all directions from his face, and thrust out a hand. “The name’s Kurlith. Pleased.”

Mendrion took his hand. “Mendrion . . . Seer of Gryphon Mountain.” He hesitated. “But you knew that already. How?”

“The White Forge Kindred sent a messenger to let us know you were on your way. He gave us your name and description. I’m glad you made it in one piece. Though the size of your friend’s sword probably has something to do with that.” He chuckled. “Come. We’ll sleep, and then I’ll introduce you to the chieftain.”

Kurlith led the way from the entry deeper into the Mountain. They stopped in a chamber near the entrance, a room stocked with blankets, cloaks, and other supplies. The dwarfs bedded down quickly. Mendrion found himself more able to sleep now that the wind wasn’t whipping around him.

The next morning, Mendrion quickly lost all sense of direction as Kurlith took them through a maze of tunnels and chambers. At last, they arrived at a room where a burly dwarf was falling to a large meal consisting of food Mendrion wouldn’t have eaten before midday.

“Chieftain! The new Seer has come to visit,” said Kurlith.

The dwarf’s eyes flicked up at the arrivals from under his bushy, reddish eyebrows. “Eh,” he said, adding a series of loud smacks. His beard sported a collection of crumbs and bits of gravy. “Come on in. Sit down and enjoy some breakfast.”

“Thank you,” Mendrion said. He settled onto a stool and immediately banged his knees on the edge of the table, shifting everything on it.

“Watch it!” barked the chieftain. A smile broke over his face. “Lucky you didn’t spill my ale.” He reached over and clapped Mendrion on the shoulder. The Seer smiled and nodded, but he figured it would take Gargant to upset a tankard of that size and thickness. “My name is Tolguron. Welcome to the home of the Eagle Cliff Kindred. You’re among friends.” Tolguron paused to chew a few times. “I understand that not everyone is welcoming you.”

“Yes, the niflungs,” Mendrion said. “They pursued me across the northern face of the Mountain. They even brought a troll with them once.”

“Niflungs . . . Not the most diplomatic of creatures. But something has their tribes riled up. And . . . our scouts have reported that the trolls are stirring as well. Something has them on edge, and I think it’s you.”

“Me?” Mendrion said. “What do I have to do with them? Other than we’ll be living on the same Mountain. I haven’t done anything to them. A troll tried to dump me from a bridge, but . . .”

“Ah, Durgul, yes.” Tolguron shook his head. “No idea what the stir’s about. But it must have to do with your arrival.” He cleared his throat. “We’ll keep an eye out for trouble and send word. We know where Seer’s Glade is. Everyone knows where Seer’s Glade is.”

They talked until Mendrion finished eating, and as Kurlith led the newcomers back out, Tolguron said, “Kurlith, show him the Gryphon’s Door.”

“Yes, chieftain,” Kurlith answered.

“The Gryphon’s Door?” Mendrion asked.

“You’ll see,” the black-bearded dwarf said.

The dwarf took them in the same general direction from which they had come. After some twists and turns, Kurlith led them into a side chamber. In the middle of the chamber rose four gryphons sitting back to back, wings partly unfurled. Mendrion recognized the same sculpture from the massive cavern he and Siggorund had used to escape the niflungs. “What is it?” he asked.

“A doorway,” Kurlith replied. “The Seer can use it to move quickly from one face of the Mountain to another.”

“You mean I can go straight from one to another? With magic?”

“Something like that, I suppose.”

“Why didn’t Terla tell me about it?” Mendrion wondered. The Doors certainly would have made his journey easier.

“I don’t know. The ways of you Seers aren’t always easy for the rest of us to understand.”

“I’m going to try it. What do I do?”

Kurlith shrugged. “Haven’t a clue. As I said, the ways of you Seers . . .”

Mendrion remembered the Gryphon’s Claw reacting to the stone on the platform. He climbed the steps to the gazebo that rested between the gryphons’ backs, at the same time drawing the Claw out of his satchel. The wide, translucent stone at the top of the pedestal flashed a blue light deep within as he held the Claw close. The glass nestled in the Claw emitted an answering light, but both fell dark again.

Just as with the other stone, the Seer could feel energy coming from this one. He placed his hand on the stone, and it instantly lit with that blue light. This time, however, the light didn’t fade.

“Siggorund, come up here,” Mendrion said, gesturing. The warrior joined him. “I want to return to the other Door, the one we found in that cavern. Are you willing to try coming with me? I’d rather not end up alone in that place.” Siggorund held his gaze and nodded. “Very well. Put your hand on my shoulder, and we’ll see if I can bring you with me.” He looked at Kurlith and said, “We will return in a few moments, I hope.”

He put the Gryphon’s Claw back in his pack. With a deep breath, he closed his eyes and thought about the pedestal and stone beneath the Mountain’s north face.

Instantly, Mendrion’s entire body grew warm. He gasped and opened his eyes. And they opened wider.

Around him stretched a blue plane, its surface streaking by beneath and above. A bright blue star shone before him and grew closer. He looked behind him and could see another receding. Another flashed to his left, and a fourth beyond that. “Siggorund!” he cried, pointing to the farthest one.

And Siggorund’s grip on his shoulder lifted.

“Siggorund!” Mendrion yelled.

The star toward which he sped flashed in his face, and darkness fell around him. Mendrion found himself on his feet, standing in the cavern, with his hand on the stone.

He was alone.

Where is Siggorund? His thoughts raced with panic. Closing his eyes, he pictured the Gryphon’s Door in the Eagle Cliff Kindred’s cave. Again, heat infused him, and he was racing toward a star on his left. The other stars burned in the distance on his right, but he could see nothing else except the deep, luminescent blue above and below. Then he was standing in the Eagle Cliff caves, hand on the stone. Mendrion looked around and saw Kurlith looking at him, but no one else was in the chamber.

Siggorund had disappeared.

This tale is #9 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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A Hidden Sword

Ben — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 23:53:13 +0000

Near the northeast shoulder of Gryphon Mountain spread an ancient forest. Mendrion and Siggorund had finished their descent of the north face and rounded the shoulder, having been left unguarded by the gryphons of the high slopes yet harrassed no longer by the niflungs. Mendrion had begun to think that perhaps the worst part of the journey was behind them.

Then Siggorund stopped at the sight of the giant wood and refused to enter it.

The Seer hadn’t seen his warrior companion look at anything with such an intense stare. He looked like a dog whose master was trying to pull it into a hole in the ground.

“What’s wrong?” he asked Siggorund. Nothing but that stare. “I have to go in there. Surely there aren’t ghosts.” Siggorund shook his head.

Curious, Mendrion drew the Gryphon’s Claw out of his satchel. “What dwells in the forest that gives Siggorund cause to be wary?” he asked. The glass surface glimmered. Mendrion saw the depths of the forest, all nearly motionless. Nothing happened for a moment, and then a hulking form emerged from between a pair of trees. Lack of light offered Mendrion little detail, but he could see gimlet eyes and waves of hair on the head and shoulders. “What in … ?” he murmured. Some sort of beast-man?

He looked up as the vision faded. He could certainly skirt the forest, but he had no idea how far it spread, and going around could take him much too far out of his way.

“Very well,” he said to Siggorund. “I must go in. If you like, meet me on the far side.” He paused. “You know, you really don’t owe me anything. You don’t have to follow me. You’re welcome to go live your own life.” The stare softened a little. “But I have appreciated the help. I probably wouldn’t have made it past those niflungs without you.”

Siggorund’s mustache quirked, and a smile nearly touched his eyes. His eyes turned hard. He faced the forest for a moment and then turned to Mendrion. One hand reached out, gesturing toward the forest. Mendrion nodded and stepped forward.

The woods closed about them in moments. Hardly a breeze stirred the branches and leaves high overhead, which almost completely blocked the sunlight. As a result, little grew on the forest floor, and the two men walked unimpeded by brush. The ground rolled, gradually rising toward the summit of the Mountain. Disembodied bird calls accompanied them. Occasionally, some small creature raced across their path or away from them, skittering through old leaves and sticks, but nothing larger than a badger showed itself.

About midday, they came to a stream that slipped over a high embankment and skipped down through a collection of head-sized stones. Mendrion and Siggorund climbed up onto the brink near the water and sat to eat their meal. They drew out their food and ate in silence because Mendrion could think of nothing to say, and Siggorund could say nothing.

They were nearly ready to resume when a shadow fell over them. They looked up, and Mendrion’s stomach sank as if a millstone were somehow fastened to it.

Mere feet away stood a man—or thing—so huge that it would loom head and shoulders over a troll. It had to be three times the height of the Seer. Mendrion stared, unable to take his eyes away lest the movement somehow catch the giant’s attention. A broad face looked out over the forest; a massive hand gripped a tree trunk; hides crudely stitched together hung about the bulky frame. Great shocks of hair framed the face and hid the neck, arms, and legs.

Mendrion and Siggorund sat there for moments that stretched as long as the miles to Gweth. When it seemed they would go unnoticed, the giant turned their direction, and his eyes fell upon them.

The face twisted with rage, and the wide mouth opened to reveal wide, tapered teeth. A roar burst forth, sounding like both man and animal. Before the sound stopped, one callused foot lifted toward them.

The travelers were already moving. Mendrion scrambled away from the brink on all fours, balance escaping him. Siggorund tried to follow, but the giant’s foot came down. It narrowly missed him only because the warrior leaped backward. Unfortunately, he leaped out over the stream and dropped onto on his back with a loud splash.

Mendrion finally gained his feet. The giant turned its awful gaze on him. Without any other warning, it leaped and brought down a fist.

The Seer rolled away. The giant reached toward him.

Then a rock the size of Mendrion’s head sailed through the air and bounced off the assailant’s temple. The giant stumbled to the side. Mendrion saw Siggorund below, waving him on, then climbing up with his large sword drawn. Mendrion took the opportunity to struggle up the slope. He made for several trees growing close together. The hand grasped at him again; next he heard the song of a blade and an answering roar.

Fear and exertion nearly choked him, but Mendrion hurried on. He made it through the trees and continued upward. The sounds of the battle gradually faded behind him. Guilt turned him around in time to see Siggorund tumble over the earth in an arc and then disappear.

The giant began scanning the forest, searching for Mendrion, he was certain. The Seer backed up quietly and as quickly as he dared. A twig snapped beneath his boot, the giant found him, and the chase resumed.

Mendrion made it another twenty yards before he came upon a thick growth of bushes. He threw his cloak up before his face and thrust through in hopes of finding a hiding place. Before he emerged on the far side, the brambles snagged his cloak, and he pushed and fought until he spun around and staggered backward.

Something struck his head, and he stumbled. He spun and looked about, looking for the giant.

Next to him rose the hilt of an oversized sword. The crossguard stretched wider than his shoulders. The blade was jammed deep in the earth and was marred by patches of rust. The hilt was spotted too.

Mendrion looked around for the giant and saw that he stood surrounded by the wall of bushes in a tiny hollow. He could see almost nothing of the woodland around him. The ground was furrowed perpendicular to the orientation of the sword’s hilt, appearing to have been dug by giant hands.

Giant hands … and a giant sword.

The giant had hidden his sword long enough ago that it had been spoiled by the elements. Why had he done that?

“YOU!” The word was a bellow echoing through the forest. The birdsong stilled. The cloak stuck in the branches must have given him away. “What brings you here? Come you to slay me? Or just to torment me?”

Not sure whom he was talking to, Mendrion cleared his throat. “Neither,” he answered, trying to manage a firm tone. His voice squeaked slightly. “I don’t know who you are. I am simply passing through this forest on my way toward the summit. I mean no harm to you or your forest.” Not sure how it would be received, he added, “I am Mendrion, Seer of Gryphon Mountain.”

A barklike laugh cut the air. “Impossible. Terla is the Seer. Unless you have …”

“I am replacing her,” Mendrion explained quickly. “She sent me on a journey about the Mountain. I promise you, I am only passing through.”

“With a companion carrying a large sword. He cut my leg.” This last statement carried a growl with it.

“He protects me,” the Seer said. He paused. “And his sword isn’t nearly as large as yours.”

Silence. Mendrion waited.

“You are a cruel man.”

Mendrion’s heart became heavy. He had never been called cruel, at least not to his face. “I mean you no harm. I’m coming out. I place myself at your mercy. Perhaps we can come to an understanding….” He twisted and pulled back through the wall of branches. When he emerged, the giant stood over him, arms folded. Mendrion held up one hand and drew the Gryphon’s Claw out of his satchel. “I carry the Gryphon’s Claw. I can prove that its power is mine now. I have done nothing to Terla. If I did, do you think I would be foolish enough to stay in the area?” The giant said nothing. “Have you a name?”

The giant regarded him for a moment. “Gargant.”

“Gargant,” Mendrion repeated. “I ask for your leave to depart unhindered.” He looked around. “As soon as I find my friend.”

“Very well,” Gargant rumbled. “But make sure he sheaths his sword and keeps it that way until you leave the forest.”

After Mendrion disentangled his cloak from the bushes, they located Siggorund, who lay unconscious near the stream. He stirred when Mendrion shouted his name. The Seer gave him a drink from his waterskin, then helped him stand. “He is allowing us to go,” Mendrion told the warrior, who nodded. Nevertheless, he kept a wary gaze on the giant.

Mendrion swallowed, gathering courage—or gall—to ask the question that nagged him. “May I ask you why your sword is fixed in the earth?”

“Why don’t you ask the Gryphon’s Claw?”

Mendrion’s mouth was tight. “I believe it would be against the Claw’s purpose to ask it something that … well, something personal. If you would rather not say … then I will leave it at that.”

The giant looked at him for a while, then replied, “I did something terrible with it once. I decided I would never use it again, so I hid it.” He turned and looked up toward where a few of the sun’s rays were slanting through the canopy. “This forest is large enough to hide me from those who think I am nothing but a beast, a brute. But there are certain other things that it can’t hide me from.” His voice had softened slightly.

Mendrion was uncertain he and Siggorund were supposed to hear that. “We will be going,” he said quickly.

“Yes,” Gargant said, his steely tone returning. “Begone. I don’t touch that sword, but I have other weapons.” He held up a fist. “If you set foot in my forest again, you may not come so well out of it.”

The travelers located Siggorund’s sword, and the warrior sheathed it on his back. They angled up the slope, steering well away from the hollow that sheltered Gargant’s regret. Siggorund tried to hide the soreness left from the giant’s strike, but his gait was stilted. Gargant himself stood still and silent as a statue, arms folded once more. His gaze and followed them until the trees separated them from each other’s view.

The Seer found himself tempted to ask the Claw about Gargant. He decided, however, that the giant deserved some privacy. He had hidden in a forest seeking it, and it wasn’t Mendrion’s place to take it away. He had no desire to give Gargant more reason to be his enemy. Out of all the beings he had met on his journey on the slopes of Gryphon Mountain who had tried to do him harm, the only one Mendrion felt a desire to make an effort for personal peace with was Gargant. He would be happy to never see Durgul the troll or the tribe of niflungs again.

But Gargant was different. Perhaps more intelligence or capacity for friendship was betrayed in the giant’s eyes. Or maybe it was because he could still have trampled Mendrion and Siggorund when the Seer surrendered, but he didn’t. Whatever it was, Mendrion knew that in spite of Gargant’s final warning, he would return.

This tale is #8 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 “Northward and Back Again.”

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The Seer of Gryphon Mountain

Kings of the Sky

Ben — Mon, 17 Aug 2009 23:17:51 +0000

Mendrion and Siggorund evaded their strange pursuers only as long as it took them to reach the snowline of the north face of Gryphon Mountain and descend halfway down. During those days, the small men had continued to search for them on the lower slopes, unaware that the pair had slipped through the caverns and emerged away from them. Because the Seer and the warrior had left no trace, the searchers were forced to divide up into small bands and spread out.

They were just as noisy, though, giving the travelers notice of their presence.

Since the searchers were wandering aimlessly as they worked their way across the slopes, Mendrion and Siggorund hurried ahead of them in a wide circle. “I would like to know why they’re chasing us,” the Seer said to his silent companion. “But I don’t want to get close enough to them to ask. I may have to go without knowing and just remain curious.”

Siggorund stopped. When Mendrion halted as well and turned, the warrior pointed at Mendrion’s satchel, then crooked one finger. “The Claw?” Siggorund nodded. “But it doesn’t answer why questions. Only wheres and whats. Maybe whos, but I’m not sure.”

The warrior shrugged. He tensed as a familiar horn blast echoed through the trees. Siggorund put up a finger for a moment. He spun and climbed onto an outcropping of exposed rock that rose up from the slope. In seconds, he was flying down toward Mendrion, eyes wide.

“What…” Mendrion began, but Siggorund pushed him, and they began running.

Only moments passed before they plunged headlong into one of the very bands they were trying to avoid.

Everyone’s eyes bulged for a second or two. Then, as some of them raised their weapons, Siggorund yanked his sword free and laid about him. A few went down, unprepared for the warrior’s strength and quickness. The rest scattered.

“Siggorund!” Mendrion cried. “We need one alive!” His stomach churned at the sight of several small bodies motionless. This can’t be the way of things, he thought. Is Gryphon Mountain such a wild place as to merit this…?

One of the pursuers had fallen in his haste to escape, and Siggorund grasped his jacket. With the small man suspended two feet above the ground, the warrior brought him over to Mendrion. The small man struggled, kicked, and shouted. “Be quiet,” Mendrion said, his innards still tight and heavy. “We won’t hurt you if you answer my questions and then leave us be.” He looked at Siggorund. “Quick, let’s find a place we can talk without being found—at least for a little while.”

They found a stream and walked up the middle of it until they saw a thick stand of pine. They entered its shade, needles rustling under their feet. Siggorund set the man down and pinned him against one of the trunks. “Now,” Mendrion said, doing his best to sound firm and menacing, “what are you? What race?”

Their captive’s chest heaved as he puffed and wheezed. Siggorund had been carrying him, so Mendrion figured he must be afraid for his life rather than tired. “Calm down,” he said. “Tell us what we ask, and you’ll go free.”

“Niflung,” the man answered.

“What?”

“Niflung,” he repeated. “You asked what I am—I’m a niflung.”

“Related to dwarfs?”

The small man spat. Mendrion wiped the peripheral spray from his face and grimaced briefly. “Not if I can help it,” the niflung said.

He looked like he was going to spit again, but Mendrion held up a hand. “Save it. Now, why are you chasing us?”

“We’re being sent out. It wasn’t our idea. We really couldn’t care less about the Seers as long as they leave us alone.”

“Whose idea was it then?”

The niflung raised his eyebrows slowly as his frown deepened. “Korashal,” he said. “It’s Korashal.”

“Who is that?” Mendrion said, and he glanced at Siggorund. The warrior’s eyes had gone wide. “Siggorund, who is Korashal?” he asked before remembering that the warrior wouldn’t be able to answer. “Who is it?” he demanded of the niflung.

Siggorund looked behind him; the sounds of more niflung hunters reached Mendrion’s ears too. Their captive kicked the warrior in the shin and tore away from the resulting loosened grip. He dashed out of the stand, yelling, “In there! In the trees! They’re in there!”

The two companions raced out of the copse on the opposite side, heading back up the slope. Two bands of niflungs came after them, shouting and whooping. Mendrion’s eyes locked on a massive figure that lunged forward from one of the groups and lumbered toward him. His mind flashed to a swaying bridge and crazed laughing. This wasn’t Durgul; this one was larger and less civilized looking, if that was possible.

Mendrion and Siggorund lurched up the slope to escape. They were no match for the troll’s speed. It closed quickly, horned head tossing and spit spraying from its bellowing maw. Mendrion could only guess what they had done to it to drive it berserk. He fell back.

The troll was nearly upon them when a shadow passed over. An even larger form crashed down onto the maddened creature. Mendrion scrambled to a safer distance, but he couldn’t pull his gaze away from the ensuing battle. The troll’s challenger leaped back. An eagle’s head stood erect above the powerful shoulders of a lion, feathered wings unfurled to lend an illusion of size. The gryphon needed no aid in this area, however, for Siggorund would have had to stand on Mendrion’s shoulders to reach its back.

Its madness driving it to senselessness, the troll unstrapped a gnarled club from its back. With the weapon gripped in both hands, it charged the gryphon. The gryphon leaped and bounded first to one side and then the other. Its fierce gaze fixed on its opponent without wavering. When one swing threw the troll off balance, the gryphon barreled into it, throwing it to the ground.

The gryphon was on the troll instantly, taking a hold with its claws. With a powerful spring, it launched into the air, briefly keeping its grip, and then letting go. The brute rolled like a boulder down the slope toward the niflung bands. The sight of the large body tumbling in their direction was enough to startle them out of their stupor, and they leaped to either side. A number of them came up with arrows nocked to bows and aimed at the gryphon. Mendrion feared a volley of arrows was capable of taking down even a gryphon.

Before the first shaft could be loosed, a second gryphon swooped down along the line of warriors. Its paws swiped at the niflungs, scattering them. The arrows hissed in various directions, harmless.

Both gryphons attacked, but Mendrion could tell they were holding back. The niflungs and the troll broke and fled back into the trees.

Breathless, Mendrion watched as the gryphons waited and then turned. They strode up the slope toward him. Knowing they could catch up effortlessly should he run, and sensing that they meant him no harm, he faced them. The first was nearly white over its entire body, both fur and feathers. The hooked beak was nearly black. The second bore a color like that of a lion’s coat, and Mendrion found stripes in its fur just a shade darker than the rest, so subtle that he nearly missed the difference.

They stopped when they towered over him. Their golden eyes rested on him for several moments. The Seer thought he should say something, but he couldn’t decide what. Finally, the gryphons dipped their heads toward him. Then they heaved their bodies into the air, wings pumping to lift them upward until they disappeared over a shoulder of the mountain.

Mendrion and Siggorund watched them until they were gone. Then Siggorund grinned and grasped Mendrion’s shoulder. The other hand gestured forward, down the slope. Mendrion nodded, glanced once more skyward. Then he and Siggorund were hurrying down the mountainside once more, taking advantage of the flight of their pursuers. Gryphons and the Seer of Gryphon Mountain had met at last; and as the former had made an opening for the latter, Mendrion hastened forward on his journey across the mountain, hopeful that the wonderful creatures would ever be nearby. They were truly kings of the sky and of Gryphon Mountain itself.

This tale is #7 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 “A Hidden Sword.”

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Silent Gryphons

Ben — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 18:36:27 +0000

Drumbeats pounded and torchlight flickered, shattering what had been a still night. Mendrion and Siggorund crouched near their small campsite and peered through the trees and underbrush. A band of small, wiry figures hurried along a dirt track below. Sometimes they called to each other in rough tones. Other voices sounded from various directions.

They’re built wrong for dwarfs. What are they after? Mendrion wondered. He would have asked the Gryphon’s Claw, but the talisman lay in his pack within his tent. He wanted to avoid the attention he would attract by going after it. He glanced at Siggorund, who watched the searchers steadily.

The noise of shouting brought them about. A group of the wiry figures had found their tents and extinguished fire. Siggorund, who had grabbed his sword upon rising, drew it from the scabbard. The warrior stepped forward and faced the intruders, his massive weapon raised. The small men hesitated and then backed down.

They had scarcely retreated to the edge of the camp when one sounded a hunting horn. The cries around them intensified. Mendrion raced to his tent, grasped his pack, and stumbled backward. Watching him intently, the intruders nevertheless made no move to stop him. Siggorund picked up his own satchel from where he had lain in the open. He motioned Mendrion to follow him, and they plunged into the forest.

Instantly, horn blasts rang in the air. Shouts and footfalls followed them. Mendrion scrambled up the mountain slope right behind Siggorund, who chose a path through the remains of fallen boulders. The warrior skidded to a halt, spun, and grabbed Mendrion by the arms. A thick finger pointed toward a gap between two large stones. Mendrion could see nothing beyond the gap—a perfect hiding place? He told himself later that he should have known better than to go into a dark hole, but he did it anyway.

Crouching, the Seer squeezed into the gap while Siggorund kept watch. Panic seized Mendrion when he realized that the hole opened into a cave barely big enough for him to sit in. He fought to turn around.

Suddenly the ground gave way.

Mendrion fell for a moment and then grunted when he hit solid rock. Dirt and pebbles rained down on him. Coughing against thick dust, he rolled onto his knees. Blackness and the smell of old dirt encompassed him. He strained to look up, but nothing appeared. He swore his eyes were wide open, and briefly he thought he had gone blind.

A light flashed and then burst into the cavern. Mendrion threw an arm over his eyes. When he could at least squint, he looked around again and saw a halo around him. He glanced up to find Siggorund looking down at him and holding a torch. The warrior was perched on the edge of a hole in the ceiling. Siggorund dropped the torch onto the floor of the cave, glanced over his shoulder, and then launched himself over the edge.

Even the expected grunt never came, reminding Mendrion of the warrior’s mute state. Siggorund stood, gave Mendrion a cheerful smile as he brushed cavern dust from his arms, and picked up the torch. The light barely hinted at a wall around them, though one end stood dark. Beams shored up the sides and ceiling, so someone had been here at some point. The pair moved forward and found that the darkness opened into a tunnel. Mendrion hesitated. That passage could end in ten feet, but it could also extend for miles and branch in numberless directions.

Far-away shouts from the hunters urged them to move ahead. May as well, Mendrion thought. We can’t get back out the way we came in. He tried not to think about what would happen if that was the only way out.

But there had to be a different way, a more established way. As they walked, the Seer realized that patterns in the layer of dust beneath their boots hinted at geometric impressions in the floor. Doorways—indeed, stones arched over the openings—marched past at regular intervals on either side. Occasionally, a larger hole suggesting a tunnel appeared. Surely a numerous people had lived here once. But where was everyone? Mendrion strained his ears for sounds of the inhabitants, but he heard only the scrape of their boots on stone and the creak of Siggorund’s leather and plate armor. They had stayed in the main tunnel the entire time, but it gave no illusion of stopping short of the far side of Gryphon Mountain. Mendrion wished he could see farther than the glow of the torch about them.

See. Of course.

“Hold on,” he said to Siggorund, and the warrior turned toward him. Mendrion reached into his satchel and took out the Gryphon’s Claw. “I should have thought of this before,” he said to his friend. Siggorund just watched him.

Mendrion looked at the glass nestled within the claw and asked, “How can we safely leave this cave without our pursuers finding us?” The glass flared, and then Mendrion’s view sped along the corridor, past two large shadows, and into a vast chamber. Swinging to the left, the magic raced along the wall and then up a set of stairs. The Seer was trying so hard to pay attention that he found himself forgetting everything. He looked at Siggorund and gestured with the Claw. “Straight ahead.”

Perhaps another hour passed—but then, who could tell?—and Mendrion began feeling weary. After all, the intruders outside had roused them before they could fall asleep. Siggorund glanced over at him just as he rubbed at one eye, and immediately he stopped. “No, I’m fine,” Mendrion insisted without firmness. Siggorund shook his head and led the way into one of the rooms.

The chamber contained a few pieces of furniture, all obscured by a thick layer of dust. Siggorund covered his mouth with his beard and brushed the dust from a couch. Then he gestured for Mendrion to take it. Too tired to argue, Mendrion wrapped himself in his cloak and lay down. In moments, he was asleep.

When Siggorund roused him, they reentered the passage and pressed on. Mendrion felt better, but he had no way to tell how much time had slipped by.

An hour or two later, the passage opened into a massive chamber. Mendrion’s stomach dropped away when he noticed that the cavern lacked a floor. A ledge hugged the wall all the way around. Several arches of stone lifted from the walkway around the room and converged in the center. Something in that convergence seemed to draw him—he felt an inexplicable need to investigate.

He took a step toward the nearest arch, but then he remembered that he and Siggorund were trying to escape their pursuers. They had to find their way out of the tunnels before they could be cornered. Visualizing what the Claw had shown him, Mendrion led his companion along the wall, looking for an exit where stairs led upward. They passed a couple of doorways that led to blackness. The next one matched the route the Claw had shown him.

Mendrion looked over his shoulder at the center of the chamber. Something was there, something important to him. He was suddenly certain of it.

Sparing a glance at Siggorund, the Seer strode to the closest bridge. Abruptly, his stomach clenched at the thought of crossing the open space. If he lost his balance and fell, Terla would be looking for another Seer. Mendrion scrutinized the span of stone, looking for cracks or other hints of weakness. He saw none.

He thought better of bidding Siggorund to wait for him here. Should he slip, Siggorund couldn’t help him from the ledge. “Come,” he whispered. The warrior’s brow wrinkled and his head cocked slightly, but he came to Mendrion’s side. The Seer proceeded across the bridge, which was twice his shoulders’ width and had no railing or balustrade. Slowly, they crossed the chasm to where a pillar rose at the center.

As the torchlight fell upon the end of the bridge, it revealed an eagle’s head and beak, then a lion’s legs and body. Finally, when they stood before it, they saw a pair of wings half unfurled behind the beast. Despite the statue’s age, the carving of feathers and fur had lost no detail. Mendrion had never seen a gryphon, had only heard tales of them, but if the real thing was more majestic than this figure, they surely ruled over all creatures. He stood in awe, looking up at the fierce, proud expression, and the eyes seemed to peer back and delve into his mind as surely as the former inhabitants of the caves had cut away the stone of the Mountain.

He almost felt … acceptance? Approval?

The halo of the torch hinted at the forms of three other gryphons, all sitting with their backs to a raised platform. Mendrion carefully moved to his right and up a set of short stairs that brought him level with the gryphon’s heads. An ornate stone gazebo sheltered a pedestal. At first, Mendrion thought the pedestal stood empty, but even before Siggorund’s light fell over its surface, a stone at the top glowed blue of itself. The Seer felt an energy emanating from the stone. His skin prickled.

A hum drew his attention to his satchel. He drew out the Gryphon’s Claw. The glass flared pale blue and went dark once more.

Mendrion looked back at the stone nestled in the top of the pedestal. He still felt the energy coming from it. He wanted to put his hand on it, but his complete lack of knowledge of the consequences stopped him. Mendrion looked at Siggorund, who watched him with that intent gaze, but the warrior made no move to discourage or urge him.

“We had better move on,” Mendrion said. “I’ll find out what this thing is when we’re not being hunted.” They returned to the stairs leading out and left the chamber.

The Seer consulted the Gryphon’s Claw one more time to be sure of the way out. They traversed another tunnel and emerged through an old, short door hidden behind tangles of brush and vines. The sun had just set, dusk falling again on the land, and the travelers could see the flicker of distant torches below them. “We’ve lost them—for the time being,” Mendrion whispered. Siggorund nodded, and they continued their ascent of the north slope of Gryphon Mountain.

Mendrion thought of the way he had been drawn to that stone in the cavern. And of how he had felt when looking at the gryphon statue. He would be blind if he thought it wasn’t tied to his being Seer of Gryphon Mountain, but beyond that…. The cavern had been empty of anyone who could have told him what that stone was—or his feelings.

At least there was Terla. If anyone could tell him what it was all about, she could. If he made it back. Who were those who pursued him and Siggorund? They were built wrong for dwarfs, and he was on good terms with the White Forge Kindred. Something was going on that he didn’t even vaguely understand.

He took some courage in the fact that he and Siggorund had discovered the cave at the moment they needed to escape the eyes of their pursuers. Perhaps the Mountain had sheltered him, literally and figuratively. But he couldn’t spend his entire journey escaping and hiding.

At some point, he would have to take on his opponents and get some answers.

This tale is #6 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 “Kings of the Sky.”

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The Woodsman's Axe

A Castle without a Master

The Seer of Gryphon Mountain

The White Forge Kindred

The Maiden at the Bridge

The Woodsman's Axe

Ben — Fri, 08 May 2009 04:57:38 +0000

Mendrion the Seer and Siggorund the warrior descended Gryphon Mountain’s west slope, leaving the ruined castle behind. Mendrion quickly became impressed with his silent companion. Siggorund foraged for roots and fruit, and he trapped a rabbit. Later, he trapped a deer.

They had nearly reached the bottom of the slope, the first leg of Mendrion’s journey almost over, when Siggorund left him to further forage and help replenish their supplies. As he walked alone, the Seer saw the glow of firelight below. As twilight was approaching, he thought to secure lodging for himself and Siggorund. He soon came upon a small cottage that looked like nothing more than a large, overturned bird’s nest with a roof of shingles. A large pile of uncut wood stood to one side, but from the look of the ax buried in a nearby stump, the woodcutter had been absent for at least several years.

Wary, Mendrion crossed the grassless area fronting the place and knocked on the door. A woman’s voice yelled, “What do you want?”

“Lodging for me and my companion, good woman,” Mendrion replied.

The door opened less than a foot, and a stooped old woman in a shabby robe peered at him. “Who’s your invisible friend?” She hitched up her rope belt.

“He’ll be coming soon,” the Seer said. “He’s gathering some food. If you like, we can contribute something to your meal.” He gestured toward the bubbling pot in the fireplace behind her.

She grunted. “Well, that’s fine and all, but I can’t offer anything in the way of lodging. I’ve barely room to turn around in here. What brings you to my door, anyway? This is hardly the beaten path.”

Having not decided what to tell people when they asked this, Mendrion said, “My name is Mendrion. I am sent by Terla to visit the inhabitants of the Mountain.” It was true enough.

“Ah, Terla. If she sent you … Very well, come in, come in.” She pushed the door open, and he slipped past her. The woman closed the door behind him.

She hadn’t been exaggerating about the space. Any surface, including the floor, was nearly covered with books, earthenware, loose parchment and scrolls, bolts of cloth, and assorted other items. “Please, sit down,” the woman said, removing a stack of books from a faded red velvet chair. Mendrion took it.

“May I ask your name?” he said.

“Syrid,” she answered. She moved to the fireplace to tend to the pot. Steam erupted from its contents as Syrid lifted the lid with a cloth and began to stir. “Strange for Terla to send you, you know. She usually would do such a thing herself.” She cast a sideways glance at Mendrion. “Did she send you for something in particular?”

Mendrion grew uncomfortable with her somewhat direct questioning, and the heat from the pot seemed to flood his face. For a few moments, the only sound in the chamber came from Syrid’s ladle hitting the sides of the pot. Terla had warned him not to volunteer his new position, but here there seemed nothing for it, and likely no harm would come from it.

“I am here to take her place,” he said slowly. “The Mountain is letting her go.”

“Ah,” Syrid replied. She lifted the ladle to her lips and slurped at the soup. “Hmmm, needs a little something else.” She rummaged around in a cabinet, took out a small pouch, and threw a pinch from it into the pot. “There,” she said. Syrid ladled some soup into a bowl and gave it to Mendrion with a spoon.

“Thank you,” he told her. She watched as he spooned the first few bites. Suddenly his stomach burned, but the sensation turned to a sense of deadening that moved outward to his limbs. His vision clouded. “What are you doing …?” he gasped. “I mean you no harm.”

“No, neither do I mean you harm. But you have something I want.”

Mendrion gripped the chair’s armrests and tried to stand. However, something held him in the chair as surely as if he were chained to it. And it wasn’t whatever Syrid had fed him.

“You won’t be going anywhere until you comply,” Syrid said, her voice gone hard. “That chair won’t let you go until I tell you that you can leave. A useful piece of magic, that is.” She leaned close. “Give me the Gryphon’s Claw.”

Mendrion shook his head slowly. “No, I won’t.” He felt any further resistance to be beyond his strength.

“Then I’ll take it,” Syrid spat. She leaned toward him and grasped his satchel. Mendrion tried to grapple with her, to force away her arms, but his muscles failed him. Syrid hadn’t to look long before she found the Claw. She stood holding it with both hands, a gleam in her dark eyes.

Rubbing his eyes and forehead, Mendrion fought to move. He fought to think. What would he do without the Gryphon’s Claw? Without it, he was no Seer. He was completely at Syrid’s mercy; if she decided to slay him, he would be unable to stop her. He didn’t completely believe that she wouldn’t harm him.

Syrid gazed at the Claw and moved to the center of the chamber. “Now,” she hissed. “you will give me what I ask. Show me…” The sharpness abruptly left her countenance, and her mouth quivered. “Show me why my son had to die!”

The old woman thrust the Claw upward. Mendrion watched through the haze in his vision. To his view, the Claw didn’t respond.

“Show me!” Syrid cried, shaking the talisman before her. “Why did that wretch lead him to his doom? He had only given her his heart!” Still nothing.

Syrid shrieked, a piercing and at the same time guttural sound. One hand squeezed the Claw until the knuckles were white and the tendons stood out. Then she dropped it and sank to her knees. Her hands covered her face, and sobs shook her shoulders.

To Mendrion’s surprise, his senses began to return. Syrid must not have used much of the ingredient that numbed him, or its potency was low. Either way, his mind started to race. “Your son,” he said. “What happened to him?”

The woman lowered her hands and glared at him. “He was led to his death by the woman he loved. He warned her not to cross Durgul’s bridge, and when she did, he followed. And the troll cast him into the chasm!”

“Annfalys,” Mendrion said.

“Yes, Annfalys,” Syrid repeated. “And I gave her what she deserved.”

“What did you do?” the Seer asked. “You transformed her into a hawk? But she is still at the bridge …”

“That is the curse I placed upon her,” Syrid explained, rising. “To spend the rest of her days lying to men and leading them to Durgul’s Bridge. To never have a life like that which she took from my son.”

Mendrion nearly called her crazy, but he stopped himself. He was already subject to her whims, and commenting on her mental state would only worsen the situation. Obviously, she had made some hasty choices in her grief.

“But shouldn’t the target of your anger be the troll? It is he who slew your son, not Annfalys.”

Syrid turned and paced slowly to the other end of the chamber. “Please lift the curse,” Mendrion continued. “I met Annfalys and nearly met my death because of your curse on her. But she defended me. When she became a hawk, she turned and fought against Durgul so he would stop his attempts to cast me from the bridge.”

“So she saved you, but not my son, did she?” Syrid hissed, the wrath returning to her face.

“The blame lies with Durgul, not with Annfalys,” Mendrion repeated. “She made a mistake, but Durgul is the one who delivered the killing stroke, so to speak.” Running out of things to say to persuade her, Mendrion feared she would force him to try to learn from the Gryphon’s Claw something that it probably would not show him, which would increase her sorrow and anger.

He thought of the woodpile outside and the unused woodsman’s axe. Her son’s axe.

“Syrid,” Mendrion said in as tender a tone as he could manage, “your woodpile is yet large. The work is undone. Allow me to ready it for your fireplace. I give you my word as a servant of Gryphon Mountain that I will not leave until the task is finished.”

She frowned at him briefly, but again her expression softened. She waved her hand and murmured, “Yes. Yes.”

Mendrion felt the chair’s grip on him release, and he rose. He said, “I’ll take this back, if you have no objection,” and picked up the Gryphon’s Claw. Syrid barely watched him, her eyes wistfully directed to one side. “I imagine the axe will need sharpening. Do you have a whetstone?”

Syrid pointed him to a small shed on the premises. He found the whetstone and sharpened the axe blade. With sleeves rolled up, Mendrion took a length of wood and began to cut.

And that’s how Siggorund found him. When Mendrion explained the situation, the warrior located a second axe in the shed and joined him. They chopped wood through most of the night and resumed in the morning.

Finally, that afternoon, they finished the task and stretched a length of old canvas over the pile. Syrid greeted them at her door and said, “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Annfalys—” Mendrion began.

Syrid held up a hand. “Already done. She is free. She may never realize what happened to her, but if you ever meet her again … tell her I regret my hasty actions.”

“Of course,” the Seer promised. “I’m glad we could come to an agreement.”

“You are both welcome here should you come this way again,” Syrid said.

“Thank you. I hope only that you will offer me a different chair,” Mendrion said. Syrid huffed a brief laugh, the quickest of smiles crossing her wrinkled face.

“Very well, Seer,” she replied with a nod.

As Mendrion and Siggorund walked away from the old woman’s hut, the Seer glanced over his shoulder. Syrid stood on the threshold, staring at the pile of freshly cut wood. Mendrion guessed he would return this way sometime during his life on Gryphon Mountain, and given his first visit to Syrid’s hut, he felt unsure how comfortable he would be about that. He put his hand inside his satchel to reassure himself that the Gryphon’s Claw lay safely inside it. Syrid’s attempt to use the talisman had showed him something about it: Either it wouldn’t work if taken from him, or it worked for no one but the Seer. He was inclined to believe the latter.

He also decided that it was safer to keep Siggorund with him for the rest of his journey. With the warrior’s silent but reassuring presence at his side, Mendrion began his climb of the Mountain’s north face.

This tale is #5 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 “Silent Gryphons.”

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Launching "Gryphon Mountain Tales"

A Castle without a Master

Ben — Thu, 16 Apr 2009 22:51:21 +0000

Following 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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The White Forge Kindred

The Maiden at the Bridge

The Seer of Gryphon Mountain

Launching "Gryphon Mountain Tales"

The Maiden at the Bridge

Ben — Tue, 31 Mar 2009 00:16:56 +0000

Mendrion stayed with the White Forge dwarfs for several days. They readily accepted him as Seer of Gryphon Mountain, especially because of his help in saving Hendrif’s life. “What tidings of Terla?” Brilg asked at one point.

“Nothing, really,” Mendrion answered, “except she’s waiting for me to finish the journey around the Mountain. I suppose I shouldn’t stay long, since I’m sure she would like a rest from whatever being Seer entails.”

“She’s been here long enough,” Brilg said. “She can stand to wait a few more weeks. I can’t imagine that being the Seer is such a chore that she can’t wait to begone.”

“How long has she been the Seer?”

“Long enough that I can barely remember the previous one,” the dwarf answered. He closed one eye and pointed a thick finger at Mendrion. “And don’t be asking how old I am, for that’s manners not fit for a goat.”

Brilg showed him the namesake of the tribe: a white anvil and a furnace built of white stones inside a cave. The steam and smoke from the forge escaped through a hole in the roof. Several dwarfs worked on iron and steel tools and weapons. As they labored, they sang in time to their hammers’ pounding. Brilg offered to tell the story of the White Forge the next time Mendrion visited. “It’s not a tale told lightly—there must be plenty of feasting along with the telling,” he said.

The morning Mendrion left, half the settlement saw him off, it seemed. He felt a little embarrassed to be the focus of so much attention. At least it was good attention. Brilg warned him about a bridge somewhere ahead. “An ornery troll lives up there,” he said. “Best to avoid the place. You can go around—just stay this side of the gorge, and eventually you’ll come to a waterfall. Go behind the waterfall, and you’ll come out on the other side. That’s not an easy path, either, but it’s better than taking your chances with the troll.”

Mendrion continued his journey up the slope. From here, the snowline was invisible over the humps and shoulders of the Mountain, but the Seer knew which way was up, and he would know the snowline when he came to it.

Not long after his midday meal, Mendrion came upon a young woman in a small clearing. She sat on a log, knees drawn close to her and hands covering her face. He knew something must be wrong for someone like her to be out here alone, and not dressed for travel, for she wore a gown woven for a lady of a king’s court. As soon as he drew near to ask if she needed help, she lowered her hands, revealing an otherwise lovely face ruddy from weeping.

“My lady,” Mendrion said, “what is the matter? Is there something I can do to help you?”

“Good sir,” she answered, “I seek herbs to mend my father’s health. I have wandered looking for them, but I have found nothing. I must return to my father and confess my failure. But I have become lost. My father’s cabin stands on the other side of the gorge, but I cannot find the bridge to get back to the other side.”

“You came by the bridge? Isn’t there a troll there?”

“I saw no troll,” she replied. “Can you help me find the bridge again?”

Mendrion wondered at her story. Brilg wouldn’t lie to him, and perhaps the troll found this woman too lovely to cause her distress. Cautious, he agreed to help, and she leaped up with joy. “Thank you!” she cried. “Now I can see my father and attend to his last needs.”

They traveled on. The young woman said little, gazing straight ahead most of the time. Worry wrinkled her brow but a little. Eventually, Mendrion asked her name. “Annfalys,” she said. “What is yours?”

“Mendrion.” Annfalys smiled and nodded once at him, then resumed her quiet demeanor. It was quite different than the way he had found her, but he supposed his agreement to help had changed her mood.

Another half-hour of travel brought them to the brink of the gorge. The footbridge of rope and wood planks stretched across the chasm not far from where they emerged from the trees. “Thank you,” Annfalys said again. “Please, accompany me the rest of the way?” She hastened ahead without waiting for an answer.

Not wanting her to travel alone in case she would lose herself a second time, Mendrion followed. “We should be careful,” he warned as he caught up. “I’m told there’s a troll—”

By now, Annfalys was stepping onto the bridge. She moved almost heedlessly. The Seer paused just long enough to glance around and assure himself that no troll was nearby. Then he gripped the ropes of the bridge and moved forward. His stomach tossed as the bridge shook, but he hurried to catch up with Annfalys.

He had nearly reached Annfalys as he came halfway across the bridge. He stopped dead as her form flashed and diminished. In her place, a falcon flapped its wings and swung away from the bridge. It glided to the edge of the gorge and alighted. One of its golden eyes stared at Mendrion.

Mendrion hardly had the time to wonder what had happened when the bridge began to sway. At the same time, a rough and frighteningly elated laugh rang across the gap. Mendrion looked backward and saw a great hand holding each side of the bridge and pulling at it, first one way and then the other. The Seer’s stomach sank before lurching again. He had found the troll—rather, the troll had found him.

The bridge swung wider and wider. Mendrion thought he was going to pass out or lose everything he had ever eaten into the gorge. He shut his eyes and waited to be flung into space.

A sudden drop made him think that the bridge had come loose and would carry him to his death, but the ropes held. A falcon’s cries cut the sky, accompanied by roaring from the troll. Mendrion threw a glance over his shoulder and saw the troll stumble into view. The falcon that had been Annfalys flapped her wings and clawed at the face of the troll, who in turn swung his great arms about to protect himself.

Mendrion took this opportunity and stumbled toward the far side of the chasm. When he reached it, he turned around to watch the battle and get a better look. In an instant when the falcon swooped away and circled back, Mendrion had a glimpse of the troll’s thick horns and jutting jaw.

To Mendrion’s surprise, the bird streaked toward him, let out a cry, and winged away toward the wood from which he and Annfalys had come.

“She never did that before!” bellowed the brute. “Wretched girl!”

His curiosity getting the better of him, Mendrion shouted, “Did what?” He figured he was safe on this side of the gorge anyway.

The troll’s eyes narrowed, and he didn’t answer for a moment. “Attacked me!” he yelled then. “She turns into the bird, but she always flies away so I can shake people off the bridge!”

“Are you mad?” asked Mendrion. “What did you have against me?” Remembering with a chill the sound of the troll’s laugh, he added, “Do you throw people from the bridge for fun?”

The troll laughed again, that same dreadful sound as before, and Mendrion had his answer. The mortifying fear he had felt as the brute had tried to throw him turned to anger. He decided that since he was safely away from the bridge, he wouldn’t press his luck and instead walked away.

“Ha! Come this way again! You will remember Durgul the next time, eh?”

Unfortunately, I’ll probably have a hard time forgetting you today, Mendrion thought.

As the bridge receded behind him, he also kept thinking of Annfalys. From what Durgul said, the Seer hadn’t been the first person to be led into danger on the bridge. Why would she deceive him and lead him there and then save his life? Was she some kind of sorceress to be able to change her shape?

These and other questions ran repeatedly through his mind, but he had as many answers as he had nerves left. Perhaps he would learn more in the course of his journey; in the meantime, Terla had given him a task. It would take him long enough to climb Gryphon Mountain four times without detours.

This tale is #3 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 “A Castle without a Master.”

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The White Forge Kindred

The Seer of Gryphon Mountain

Launching "Gryphon Mountain Tales"

The White Forge Kindred

Ben — Tue, 17 Mar 2009 21:40:59 +0000

Terla’s glade was tucked into the western slope of Gryphon Mountain, so Mendrion decided he may as well begin his journey on that side. Enfolded in a rough cloak, satchel slung across his back, he hiked upward. Early on in the morning, he came across a track that switchbacked up the mountainside. Since it must lead somewhere, Mendrion concluded, he would follow it for a time to see what he could learn about the Mountain.

As he walked, he wondered what he had gotten into. He had seen something when he first came to the Mountain—whether it was induced by a person, the Mountain itself, or something he had eaten, Mendrin was uncertain. Perhaps he had been dozing on his wagon when it happened, and it had really been a dream. But Terla seemed to know just what he was talking about when he described the vision to her. That could mean that she had somehow reached out to him and triggered the vision in his mind. She could be some kind of sorceress.

Though she had not told him much about the Mountain or being the Seer at all, however, Mendrion sensed that Terla was genuine. So if, in fact, Gryphon Mountain was capable of calling to him, then he could be needed here for some reason.

He supposed that after climbing the mountain four times, he would know.

A particular part of his conversation with Terla ran repeatedly through his mind:

“If I start, can I back out?”

“If you start, you won’t want to.”

Since he still had nothing but questions, Mendrion decided instead to study the scenery and the path he took. If he were going to take up residence here, he needed to know his way around.

Mendrion had just rounded the half-dozenth bend when a rough voice said, “I’ve never seen you before. New here?”

He looked around and quickly spotted a stout figure sitting on a rock. A wide, dark brown beard covered half the bluff face and most of the broad chest. A thumb tipped back his leather helmet so he could peer the better at Mendrion. “Well?”

The former cooper had met dwarfs in his time, so he knew one when he saw one. “Yes. My name is Mendrion.”

“Mendrion, eh? Where you headed?”

“May I ask who you are before I tell you my business?”

The dwarf grunted. “Fair enough. I’m Brilg. I’m waiting for my nephews to meet me.”

“I’m… on a journey.” Mendrion couldn’t think of anything else to say, given that Terla had advised him not to volunteer what he was.

“Up the mountain? There’s not much there but—”

A shout interrupted him. “Uncle, Uncle!” Puffing through his yellow beard, a second dwarf emerged from a grove, going full bore. He skidded to a stop next to Brilg and spared hardly a glance for Mendrion. “Uncle! Hendrif fell over a cliff! He needs help!”

“Of all the boneheaded…” Brilg leaped up and followed the younger dwarf back toward the trees. Mendrion followed in case he could somehow assist them.

The dwarfs left the copse and crossed a meadow. On the far side, the grasses thinned out, exposing wide rocks like bald heads mostly buried in the mountain. They stopped where the ground fell away in a nearly sheer drop. The younger dwarf pointed downward. As Mendrion caught up, Brilg looked; then his eyes passed over the spray of loose stones nearby. Mendrion surmised that some of the rocks had given way under Hendrif’s feet, sending him down the mountainside.

Mendrion carefully bent over the cliff and saw Hendrif on a shelf about fifty feet down. Hendrif glanced up, eyes wide. “Uncle!” he cried.

“You didn’t listen, did you?” bellowed Brilg. “Your mother will have my hide for dishrags if I don’t get you back in one piece!” He pulled a coil of rope from his pack and lashed one end around a nearby stunted tree. With his back toward open space, Brilg edged down the slope. Mendrion was about to say something about the tree, which wobbled when Brilg tied his knot and looked ill suited to hold any weight greater than that of a squirrel. Before he could say anything, and before Brilg had gone over the edge, the tree lurched outward.

Brilg cried out. Fortunately, the tree held. “Pull me up! Pull me up!” Brilg yelled. Mendrion scrambled to help the blond dwarf pull Brilg back to safety.

“Foolishness,” Brilg muttered. “No sense in both our crowns being cracked.” He peered at the tree and then downward. “How to get down…”

“Let me try,” Mendrion said. Brilg started to say something, but he stopped when he saw him take the Gryphon’s Claw out of his satchel. The blond dwarf let out a startled snarl and made as if to charge Mendrion. Brilg threw out a thick arm and stopped him.

“Hold, Ordrek,” Brilg said without taking his eyes from Mendrion. “Go ahead,” he said to the latter.

Mendrion looked at the Claw and swallowed hard. He hadn’t tried using it before, and it would be more than embarrassing to fail now. Hendrif needed his help.

“Where is a safe path to Hendrif’s location?” he asked, feeling more than a little ridiculous.

Nestled in the claw’s curve, the glass shard flashed to life. In its narrow span, Mendrion saw himself and the two dwarfs standing at the cliff’s edge. His view swung away to Hendrif’s right. Mere yards away, another narrow ledge curved upward. It eventually ran to the top of the cliff back in the direction from which they had come.

“Follow me,” he said to Brilg and Ordrek.

Hendrif yelled out as they disappeared. “Hold on!” Brilg shouted back. Without another word, they came after Mendrion to the place where the ledge began. It was by no means level, and rocks tumbled from beneath their boots as they stepped. All three had to move carefully to stay on. I thought I asked for a safe path, Mendrion thought. But a path was a path.

Soon, they reached the end of the ledge. Hendrif had heard them coming, and he watched them intently. “Now, Mendrion,” Brilg said, “since you’re the one in front, you’ll have to be the one to fetch Hendrif. I don’t suppose you can jump that gap…”

“Absolutely not,” Mendrion said, looking downward for only a second.

“In that case, here’s my rope.” He handed it over. “Toss Hendrif the other end. Crouch down, and we’ll hold on to you while Hendrif swings down and you pull him up.”

Mendrion shouted the plan to Hendrif, who nodded. He caught the end of the rope. “Now, swing down—slowly!” Mendrion grunted as Hendrif simply stepped off the ledge and dropped. Brilg and Ordrek held the Seer fast, and Mendrion managed to pull Hendrif up without falling. Hendrif grasped the ledge; then the others backed up so he would have room to get on. They worked their way back up to the clifftop.

“You,” Brilg said, shaking a stubby finger at Hendrif, “that’s the last time I bring you out to do anything for at least the next dozen years.”

“But, Uncle—”

“Uh!” Brilg interrupted. “That’s enough out of you. I’ll let your mother decide what punishment’s fit for you. I told you to watch where you step.”

“What were you doing, anyway?” Mendrion asked.

“I was teaching them how to find stones that look like basilisk eggs,” Brilg answered. “They were supposed to bring some back—stones, that is—so I could judge their progress.” At Mendrion’s confused look, the dwarf threw out his arms. “Basilisk eggs make a delicious omelet. But if you don’t fool the basilisk into thinking its eggs are still there, you’ll never get away fast enough to avoid a poisonous bite.” He grinned crookedly at Mendrion. “So you’re the new Seer, are you?”

“Well, yes, I am—at least, that’s what Terla says.”

“In my experience, what Terla says is what’s real,” Brilg said. “Ordrek thought you had stolen the Gryphon’s Claw from Terla, but I knew that if you had done so, the Claw wouldn’t have responded to you. Then we would have known for sure that you were an impostor.”

“Sorry!” Ordrek said with a shrug.

Brilg extended a hand. “Welcome to the Mountain.” Mendrion smiled and took it. “Please, come with us and share supper.”

Mendrion accepted, and the dwarfs led him upward to where the slope leveled out. Several low buildings ringed an open area in front of the entrance to a cavern. The dwarfs there, of the White Forge Kindred as Brilg said, provided him with a filling meal and plenty of congratulations on his new place as Seer of Gryphon Mountain. During supper, Hendrif gave Mendrion more than one sheepish look as his mother forced him to wash every piece of earthenware she could lay her hands on. Mendrion felt glad that at least his first experience as the new Seer had ended well and that he was accepted of the White Forge Kindred of dwarfs.

This tale is #2 in “The Coming of the Seer,” the story of Mendrion’s becoming Seer of Gryphon Mountain. Read the beginning of the story, “The Seer of Gryphon Mountain.” The next tale is “The Maiden at the Bridge.”

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The Seer of Gryphon Mountain

Launching "Gryphon Mountain Tales"