Quoddy and Machias kept low, cresting the top of the trees as best they could without risking flying into them. Night flying was dangerous even with the stars in the sky. But the cloud cover that had moved in shortly after their capture made it almost suicide to attempt anything lower and certainly not beneath the canopy. How many tales had they heard at Fellowship meetings of their brother and sister birds thinking they knew the woods as well as their wings and ended up bruising their skulls against a poplar or pine that they were sure hadn't been there? More times than they had toes that was certain.
They bore west and ever so slightly south; just enough to avoid passing to close to the castle. That and the city were all they could see in the distance past the dark line of trees that marked the edge of the clearing where only the previous morning Strom had been tending his sheep. Torches flickered along the walls and at the handful of guard towers and shacks quartered through the city. Soldiers would be patrolling the streets and they'd know to look for a gull and puffin.
And in the sky somewhere they knew their brother Lubec would be watching for them. They could not see him, but they knew it had to be anyway.
That thought proved to be too much for the puffin who banked his wings and landed on an upthrust branch. When Quoddy circled back around to join him, Machias hopped down through the branches until he was safely beneath the canopy and in the sheltering darkness. He could hear and after letting his eyes adjust to the near total shadow, he could see his brother come down to join him. They both shifted human enough to speak and speak softly. The branch groaned beneath their webbed feet but held.
"I... I can't do this, brother," Machias said as he trembled and kept his wings close to his sides. "They're too powerful. He's got Lubec. Lubec..."
Quoddy hopped a bit closer and gently pressed one wing against the puffin's back. "And we have to save him. He's our brother. And Pharcellus is our friend. So is Lindsey."
"But how?"
"I don't know," Quoddy admitted. The gull tilted his head upward as a sudden wind rattled the branches around them. They both listened in complete silence for several long seconds before Quoddy spoke again, even more quietly, which made his voice a raspy, garbled whisper. "We have to find the others. There has to be something we can do together. And if that doesn't work we'll fly back to Metamor and get the whole Fellowship and anyone else who wants to come to help us rescue our friends."
At the mention of the Fellowship, Machias's beak cracked open in a faint avian smile. "Oh, they'd come in a heart beat. I can see Emily biting Gmork's legs off." The image of the quadrupedal komodo with jaws chewing through that monster's deformed legs made both of them chuckle. But the moment of levity passed quickly and the puffin sighed. "I hope it doesn't come to that."
"I hope not as well," Quoddy admitted. The gull glanced around once more. The tree they perched on was shrouded in impenetrable darkness not more than five feet in any direction other than up. The clouds above faintly reflected the torchlight from the town, and now that they lingered in the shelter of the forest they could see that faint illumination and a solitary shadow passing back and forth in front of it. The gull almost squawked but checked himself and stiffened. Quiet as death, he whispered, "It's Lubec."
Machais peered into the sky and after several long seconds he sucked in his breath and began to stomp his webbed feet in agitation. The gull turned and preened at his brother's neck feathers to calm him down. "He's looking for us," Machias whined.
"Aye. And he'll certainly see me if I get anywhere near the city. How are we supposed to get to the mill with him..." Quoddy felt his chest tighten as the idea formed in his mind and took deep root. It was a risk he hated even more than the fact that his brother had been possessed by their enemy. But it was so obvious and so true that there was no other way.
"Machias, I am going to distract Lubec. He will see me, and will follow me. I'm going to head south and lead him away from the city, just like Pharcellus is leading Gmork away from the city. You can then go and find Elizabaeg and the others and tell them what's happened."
The puffin spread his wings and shook his head. "No! We need to stay together."
"He'll catch us if we stay together, and then we'll have no chance. I don't like it either, brother. But this is our best chance. Remember the training we've had. Remember what Copernicus taught us. We can do this."
Machias shook his head again. "No. You can do this. But... I don't think I can."
Quoddy leaned in closer and the branch creaked beneath them. "Please, Machias. This is for Lubec. He's our brother and he needs us. You have to go find Elizabaeg."
"But... but... I'm afraid!"
"I am too."
The two birds sat huddled together on that branch for nearly a minute pressed close together, neither saying a word. They held each other in their wings and shuddered one against another. Quoddy's tail feathers shook back and forth nearly the whole time as the branch groaned. A sudden northerly breeze chilled then and made the world rattle about them.
"Can you do this, Machias?" Quoddy asked ever so gently.
The puffin chirped under his breath. "If I must."
"You must, my brother. Now, I am going to go fly until Lubec sees me. It shouldn't take long. I'm going to head south away from the city. After we're both gone, wait another five to ten minutes and then head for the mill. They have to know what we know. Do what you can." Quoddy hugged him one more time then stepped painfully back along the branch. His webbed feet would never like trying to perch on a shaft of wood, but in the two and a half months they'd been here in Arabarb he'd started to get used to it.
"Don't get caught," Machias added with a mirthless chortle.
"You either. Now," his voice caught in his throat before he could go further. Quoddy felt a hideous fear rise in his heart that kept his wings firmly along his back. In all of his fear, he'd forgotten to turn to the one place where he and his brother could find true relief. "Before I go, we must pray."
Although he could only see his brother's white cheeks, he knew his eyes almost surged in relief. They bowed their heads and intoned, "Pater noster, qui es in caelis..."
As the words of the prayer passed over his tongue, Quoddy felt a sense of peace come over him. Tentatively at first, it nevertheless seeped from his toes to his beak and then out to each of his wings. The trembling stopped and he breathed more easily. Even the chill of the night and the darkness no longer held terrors for him. And with the "Amen" he felt his beak crack in an honest smile. "Okay, it's time to go. Eli be with you."
"And you, Quoddy." The terror was gone from his brother's voice, and that too gave him a renewed hope. Quoddy spread his wings behind him and jumped into the air. He moved from branch to branch back the way they'd come until he reached the top most branches, and from there he launched himself into the sky.
He couldn't see Lubec against the mass of dark clouds even with the pale illumination from the torchlight below. Still, he moved toward the city in a lazy zig-zag pattern to disguise where he'd come from. He also lifted himself high above the treetops so he could maneuver more easily.
Fjellvidden appeared quiet, both castle and city. He could see soldiers manning the walls of the castle, including a few Lutins, and some soldiers patrolling the city streets. But had he not known otherwise, there was little to indicate that this was a city under the thumb of a despot. It looked so much like many of the other cities he'd seen in his years flying along the coasts of Galendor. How could it have come under the hand of so great an evil as Calephas and Gmork?
Quoddy heard a muffled squawk somewhere above him. Lifting his gaze, he saw a dark shape moving toward him beneath the heavy clouds. He immediately swung his wwings back and turned in a rapid arc. He put the city behind him and beat his wings as fast as he could, heading straight for the thick forests carpeting the tumbled landscape to the south. His heart beat faster, but he knew he could keep Lubec close behind him. How often had he done so on their many journeys south together? The cormorant would come close, but would not be able to catch him.
Quoddy chanced a glance over his shoulder and saw that his brother was following, beating his wings hard to catch up. The gull squawked and flew faster. The game was on.
Yajgaj waited on the castle walls until he saw the human soldier Gwythyr leave through the western river door as he had so many times before when bringing messages to the Resistance. The man wove his way through shadows that from the castle walls no human eye could penetrate, but which the Lutins could see. Ever since he'd learned of Gwythyr's indiscretions, he'd instructed the Blood Harrow to never speak of it to any other human but only to him. He knew one day that such precautions would prove useful.
And that day was today.
Satisfied, he left two of the other Blood Harrow to keep watch from the walls while the other four with him accompanied him back down into the castle. There were a total of just over two dozen Blood Harrow Lutins in Fjellvidden, and before the dawn had come all of them would be guarding the key positions in the castle.
But before Gmork or any of his pups returned, there was one thing he had to do and do by himself. Proceeding hastily but without betraying his haste, they made their way to the dungeons. He left the other four to guard the entrance at the top of the long stairs, and then continued down by himself.
At the antechamber where he'd spent most of his days since arriving, he checked on the supplies he'd left in the little chest beneath the rudimentary cot where he slept. The food would need to be freshened but the short sword and armor were in good repair. The blade was sharp and the mail freshly oiled. He'd kept them for two months now ever since their bearer had been taken prisoner. How he sorely wished he could risk letting him free now. Calephas's prisoner had suffered far too much deprivation and horrors already.
But Blood Harrow were stronger. He gathered himself, and ran his green fingers across the bones dangling from his necklace. He'd taken all of them and they'd won him respect and admiration from his tribe. And, with grim delight, he knew he'd have more to add before the day was done.
Quietly, Yajgaj opened the door to the dungeons and stepped through, leaving the door slightly ajar. Cajudy's body was near the entrance and several rats were busy enjoying the feast left for them. They scattered as soon as Yajgaj passed, but once he was far enough away they returned to their meal.
The Lutin did not bother with a torch, as the one at the top of the staircase was sufficient to guide his steps. The rank mildew and human offal was a familiar bouquet, and the earthiness of the single inhabitant of the dungeons guided him through that empty garden of decay and despair. The old man sat with his legs chained to the floor, arms propped up on knees and shaggy head hanging between them. Yajgaj approached on silent feet, even though the man must know he was there already.
Abruptly, the man lifted his head and though Yajgaj couldn't make out any details in his shrouded face, he could imagine him squinting. "You aren't Gmork."
Yajgaj stepped around behind him, and with bone knife in hand, pressed the tip ever so gently against the man's back. The old man stiffened but made no objection. Yajgaj hated to do it, but he knew that humans would never trust a Lutin, and that this particular human would take great pleasure in killing his gaoler if he could.
"No," Yajgaj admitted in a fierce whisper. "I am not Gmork. He is out of the castle. We can talk now. Quiet though. He may still listen."
Alfwig did not move. "I have nothing to say."
"Good," Yajgaj chuckled as he leaned in closer, his wide lips nearing the human's small round ears. How strange to think of them as so small. "I do the talking then. In a few hours I will bring you food. Good food. It will help you get your strength back. And when I do, I am going to unshackle you, and I will leave the prison door unlocked."
He shifted the point of the knife so that it wasn't pressing as firmly against the man's back. "I am not going to kill you. I want to set you free. But you cannot escape easily."
"True," the man admitted. "But why should I believe you at all? You have a knife in my back."
"I do," Yajgaj admitted. "It stay there until you believe me. I know you are fast and you are strong. I don't want you to kill me."
Alfwig's voice was filled with an almost amused bitterness. "And you think I won't when you unshackle me?"
"I fear it. But if you do, you will never escape to see your children again."
"Calephas is going to poison Lhindesaeg tomorrow morning. And then kill him. Can you stop that?"
"Only if the Resistance arrives before Calephas wakes. I have arranged for them to get into the castle. When they do, you are to leave the prison. At the first landing is my quarters. You'll find your armor and sword as well as some food in a chest beneath my cot. Take them, and then in the confusion you can make your escape."
Alfwig said nothing for several long seconds. Yajgaj pulled the knife back so that it didn't press at his back anymore. In truth, he could never use it against this man, but Alfwig didn't know that. The human shifted slightly, but he did not try to strike him. "What of Calephas and Gmork?"
"They not survive this day. I will not let them. Blood Harrow not let them."
"You're their gaoler."
"Ruse. They now trust me enough to let me get close to them with a weapon. When Resistance arrives, I kill them both."
Again, Alfwig said nothing for several seconds. Yajgaj waited, though he did look at the doorway half afraid that Gmork would step through with a malevolent grin stretching his ever growing muzzle. But the man didn't make him wait long. His voice was subdued, cold, but betrayed a growing conviction that he believed the Lutin. "So why are you setting me free?"
Though his vows to the Blood Harrow elders prevented him from speaking it and they also made him loathe to even think it, he could not keep the real reasons completely from his mind. Now it was his turn to say nothing as he pondered just how to respond. In the end he settled for a solid truth that he hoped was sufficient. "Blood Harrow hate Calephas and Gmork too. We all better off if they dead."
"I don't trust you," Alfwig said quickly, but not harshly. "Your kind are invaders in my homeland and are not welcome. Even if you are telling the truth and we defeat them both, we aren't going to let you stay here."
"We don't want to. Blood Harrow live beyond the mountains. When they dead, we will leave. And we'll take other Lutins with us when we go or we kill them too." He shifted on his feet a little as he pulled the knife even further away. His bone necklace rattled a little as he moved.
"Whose fingers are those?"
Yajgaj chuckled ruthlessly. "All soldiers of Calephas and Nasoj. No man of Arabarb has ever died by my hand."
Alfwig grunted at last and shifted about until he was sitting cross-legged. "If you do come back with good food and unshackle me, then I will wait until the fighting starts before I leave." He turned and stared back at the Lutin. In the glimmer of light from the doorway Yajgaj could see the man's face twisted into a vicious snarl. "If I see you again before then, I will not spare your life, Lutin." The last word he spat like a curse. Yajgaj swallowed it down as if it were a bitter tonic.
Yajgaj straightened and backed away from him. "You won't... human. Sleep." He sheathed his bone knife and stalked back toward the doorway. The disquiet in his soul vanished when he walked past the corpse again. He smiled hungrily, revealing all his teeth which with his his eyes shined in the torchlight. He locked the dungeon gate on his way back up.
A few more preparations and then he would risk an hour or two of sleep. The morning would come soon.
If not for his fury at the death of one of his pups, Gmork would have admitted to the weariness he felt when he and his children returned to the castle. He was furious also at himself for allowing the insufferable dragon to have drawn them away from their home for so long. They'd been gone for at least three hours and now the night grew late. Dawn would come in about four hours and then he would need to be even more alert.
What he'd learned from Lubec about the Resistance massing in the city had only been the tip of the claw. A dragon's claw. He could take no risk in underestimating their forces or capabilities; not when they had a dragon as their ally.
Apart from his newest pup who was still strongly showing human features in his posture and the length of his arms and legs, he and his children loped through the forest in their wolf guises. His newest pup at least had managed during their run to shift his head completely into that of a wolf. His fierce golden eyes burned with an inner light that mocked the lack of moon or stars in the night sky. Once this one was fully converted he would be a devoted and ruthless son to his father. Gmork cherished him deeply. What had been that human saying from the Suielman Empire, 'Corruptio optimi est pessima'? How very, very true.
The eastern side of the castle rose up along the declivity, and stretching up to encompass the gatehouse at the southern end of the bridge over the river gorge. The forest sloped on down toward the city, with new growth appearing within fifty feet of the castle walls. The main gate to the castle was in the southwest pointed towards the city, but a small eastern gate opened into the castle directly. The door was barred with iron inside and out and fitted with thick locks that even a determined battering ram would find nearly impregnable. It was to this door, nestled in a crook of the high walls that Gmork and his pups loped.
When they reached the door, they one and all adopted more human guises, though they still hunched over on misshapen legs with tails dangling beneath the animal furs that had transformed with their flesh. The rudimentary clothes they still wore bespeaking of their former human lives remained in tattered rags. His eldest pup continued to select new clothes that he deliberately wore into decrepitude, but the other two had never bothered to change theirs. The youngest of course still had on the dungeon stained black robe he'd worn when he was first called by Gmork to be his child.
Gmork used his gate key to unlock the door and was greeted in the dimly lit hall beyond by a half dozen Lutin spears. They blinked and lowered them when they saw who it was. They bowed their heads submissively and intoned, "Hail, Gmork, great wolf."
His jowls flecked at that appellation but said nothing in response. His children entered before him and then he closed and locked the door again behind them. Hard gray eyes scrutinized the Lutin soldiers with distaste; he would never understand why Calephas tolerated their presence. They held their weapons with grim satisfaction and through lowered eyes returned the gaze. They would do nothing against him or his pups, but they certainly had no love for him.
One day Gmork would become the true master of the castle and the land. On that delicious day all the Lutins would be either food or in retreat.
And even as he thought of food, he recalled his promise to his pups in the woods. Together they headed straightaway for the dungeons. They found the gaoler Yajgaj coming up the stairs from the dungeons. The Lutin blinked in surprise to see them, but regained his composure quickly, gripping the guisarme he carried in his spindly hands. "You come to see prisoner?" He asked with a guttural laugh. "He trying to sleep."
"The old man is not my concern," Gmork said acidly. "but open the door that we might enjoy the feast prepared for us."
Yajgaj turned back around and opened the heavy door. He left it standing open and returned to his little antechamber to wait. Gmork and his four pups poured into the room, witchlights dancing above their heads. One of his pups pounced on the rats scattering from Cajudy's corpse. They squeaked as they dangled in his pup's jaws, until he shook them back and forth and snapped their necks. Those jaws opened wide, throat swelling cavernously, before the rats were flung back between the rows of vicious teeth and swallowed entire.
Gmork and the others quickly descended on Cajudy's corpse, or what remained of it. The rat's had denuded the body in several places, especially the belly which had already been torn out by his youngest's claws. But there was more than enough meat and sinew left on his bones, not to mention the juicy marrow they contained, to sate all of them.
His youngest grabbed a leg between his jaws and chewed ravenously, tearing off large chunks and gorging them down, the coagulated blood smearing across his jowls and down the lush silvery black fur on his neck. Gmork contented himself with an arm, crushing each finger and bone between his teeth and delighting in the savory richness of the meat. The other two pups concentrated on his chest, while the last, after he had swallowed another two rats, came to feast on the last leg.
For a few precious minutes Gmork could allow himself to think of nothing but indulging his beastly instincts. No greater thought came to him except the burning fire within his belly, the rich, metallic flavor of the cold blood, the hard sinew of flesh on his tongue, and the crackle and drip of marrow between his fangs. His nostrils flared with each whiff of meal, each cascade of odor a thrill that erupted more and more fur along his back and made the claws on his fingers and toes swell with fierce abandon. What could be more satisfying than this, a ravenous feast upon a dead man with his pups at his side?
It was not long before they were cracking bones to lap up the marrow, the flesh consumed between them, and satiated growls and yips tokens of their pleasure. Gmork sat back on his haunches and let his muzzle retract even as his long tongue licked the blood from his fur and whiskers. His voice rumbled from within his swollen belly. "Take the larger bones with us to gnaw upon later. We are done here and there is much still to do."
His pups obediently assumed more human guises and gathered what remained of Cajudy's skeleton, mostly the arm bones, several ribs, and a pair from his legs. These they carried as they followed their father back up the stairs, witchlights dancing merrily overhead. The Lutin gaoler watched them go with a curious glint of avarice in his yellow eyes. Gmork could hear him heading back down to lock the dungeon as they left.
Gmork led them to his listening room three flights above and in the midst of the castle well away from any windows. The room glowed with the lights of his baubles and each captured will. His pups placed the bones in one corner and waited for their father's instructions. Gmork ran his paws over a few of the nearest baubles as they glowed serenely in their cushioned reliquaries.
He then stood as tall as his legs would allow him and placed a hand on his two middle children. "Rest here with me for a few hours. I will send you out as the dawn comes." They bobbed their heads and wagged their tails before padding over to the rumpled pile of furs in the corner and laying down together like a pair of dogs.
Gmork rested one hand on his eldest and youngest pups and smiled, jowls revealing yellowed teeth licked clean of blood. "Go into the city and see if you can learn from the shipwright where the others in the Resistance might be. Follow their trail and if you can, kill them. If they are too strong, wait for your brothers. They have a dragon as an ally so we must all be careful. There might be others."
He leaned forward and licked their faces. Both of them licked back, eyes eager to please their father. His youngest was especially eager. "And remember," he counseled with a firm but fatherly tone, "return here to sleep when your brothers come. You both need your rest too."
"We will, Father," his eldest said with a quick wag of his mostly naked tail.
His youngest allowed his face to sprout silvery black fur apart from the auburn mop of soft hair between his ears that was the only remnant of his human hair. His growling voice was strong and sure as he agreed with his brother. "We will find them, Father. And we will come back to sleep as you ask."
"Good," he barked and stepped back. "Now go. I will listen here."
They yipped and bolted out the door, falling to all fours in their haste to do their father's will. Gmork smiled and closed the door behind them before settling down to listen to the voices of his human pets.
The comfort Machias felt after their prayer, after that wonderful reminder that they were never truly alone in the world and that Eli was watching over them, lasted him long enough to see his two brothers heading south. After Quoddy had taken flight, the puffin had climbed back up the branches until he could watch the sky. The white and gray-feathered gull had been easy to follow and his abrupt turn to the south made Machias's heart skip in excitement. Coming down at a hearty dive from above was the black-feathered cormorant, his brother Lubec.
Once he'd sighted them both it was easy to track their movement through the midnight sky. But soon he lost sight of them when they passed well beyond the line of trees in the south. He perched there uncomfortably for several long minutes more, recalling the words of that sweet prayer, the chant rhythm of its phrases and intonation soothing every sudden stress in his muscles and heart. But after ten repetitions he knew he could afford to delay no longer.
Frightened though he was, Machias leaped into the sky and beat his wings, gaining enough loft that he was able to glide safely over the treetops. He followed the curve of the forest-line around to the western edge of the city. He'd seen the mill only the one time when he'd first arrived, and to his relief, it was as far from the castle as one could go.
This meant that it took him a long time to circle around the city before in the dim shadows he saw it through the copse of trees that sprang up on either side of the tributary it plied. The road from the south cut through the forest a good thirty paces from the mill before joining the east west road another hundred paces to the north. The mill was built into a rock foundation that reached down to the river's edge when swollen with the Spring thaw. The wheel groaned as it turned rapidly with the rushing water.
Machias perched on a nearby tree and took several deep breaths. There were no lights on in the mill. The second story was small with windows on all fours sides, but each of these were closed and shuttered. The main floor which opened out onto a small dirt track that led to the main north-south road into Fjellvidden had an adjoining stables in which the puffin could hear at least four horses. The water wheel was attached to a winch system that allowed it to be raised and lowered at need. At the top of the winch he could see that there was a small open window just large enough for him to fly through were he at his smallest size.
He concentrated on making himself as much of a normal puffin as he could, and once he'd finished shrinking in size, Machias jumped into the air and flew as gracefully as he could toward that open window. The mill tilted dizzily from side to side as he adjusted his path, the walls swelling in proportion as he neared. And then he turned up his wigs and stretched out his feet, bumping them against the sill and tumbling forward into a a pile of hay strewn across the shelf just inside the window. A couple of mice working on a stolen bit of potato nearby scattered into the encompassing darkness.
Machias straightened himself out and waddled across the hayloft shelf. The entire house was shrouded in gloom; he could make nothing out apart from the desultory piles of old hay scattered around him and now poking into his soft feathers. He shook himself from beak to tail, and then preened those bits of hay free.
His little ears could hear the groaning of the inner wheel beneath him but nothing more. If the Resistance was gathered here, then either they must have been arrested already or there was a secret entrance that even Pharcellus hadn't known about. Without any light at all, it would be impossible to search the mill. Machias settled down where he stood and sighed. There was nothing he could do but wait.
The puffin had no sooner started to count his daily prayers when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching and could see a flicker of torchlight through gaps in the wooden walls on the town side of the mill. Machias took a deep breath and then kept completely still, eyes fixed on those shafts of fiery light.
As the steps grew closer he could tell the man wore boots and that he walked in the style of a soldier, each pace matched to every other pace. His stride was quick as well and in only a few seconds he reached the mill and opened the door. He carried a hooded lantern with him that shone the floor and space before him but did not reach to the hayloft above the inner wheel. He was dressed in the blue-gray livery of Calephas's soldiers and carried a sword at his side to which his free hand stayed close.
Machias's heart trembled in fear. Had the Resistance been discovered? Was he going to be discovered too? Would they take him back to Gmork so that he could be a mindless slave like Lubec desirous only of being eaten by that monster? The prayers flowed through his mind like water through a sluice.
The soldier shut the door quickly behind him and then peered through one of the cracks in the wall, being careful to cover his lantern. Machias thought this strange behavior. If he had come to expose them, why did he check to see if he'd been followed? Curious, Machias inched closer to the edge of the hayloft and peered down at the soldier.
The soldier was a tall man with dour expression under a long mop of dark, brown hair. He pushed back this hair with his free hand as he turned away from the door. His eyes fixed on the wheel beneath the hayloft and he quickly crossed the room, being careful to make as little noise as possible.
He passed beneath the hayloft and Machias leaned over as far as he dared to get a better look. A much smaller water wheel turned on the inside. At one time it must have been connected to a series of pulleys and winches but now it turned free-standing. The man walked behind it into a narrow space and then knocked on the wood panel beneath the screw. Machias blinked in delight when the panel opened inward to reveal a grizzled man with black beard and swarthy complexion. He growled, "Gwythyr. About damn time. How'd they know we were here?"
The soldier shook his head. "I'm not sure. But we may have more allies than we expected."
The Resistance! Machias felt his heart soar with excitement. He jumped off the hayloft and allowed his body to swell as he half glided half fell to the stone floor below. The soldier jumped back around the water wheel with sword in hand as Machias turned and spread his wings apart. "I'm a friend! I'm Machias of Metamor!"
The black bearded man crossed his arms. "You were captured by that mage."
Gwythyr the soldier lowered his sword and shook his head. "That dragon helped them escape; that's what I heard. If he's an ally he should be an ally still."
Machias squawked as he stepped a little closer. "I know who you cannot trust. Vysterag! He's one of Gmork's pets. Pharcellus said so!"
"Pharcellus?" the black bearded man asked.
"He's the dragon."
The two men looked at each other briefly and then the soldier pointed his sword at the ground. "Well, we may as well let him in. If he's a spy, then our enemy will know where we are already. But I don't think he is."
"He was captured," the black-bearded man insisted.
"And I've been in the castle too," Gwythyr reminded him. "We don't have time to argue. Come, Machias of Metamor." Gwythyr glared meaningfully at the man standing in the doorway outlined in light from below.
The black bearded man sighed and started down the stairs. "Just move quickly."
Machias followed the soldier behind the turning water wheel and then through the door. Gwythyr closed it behind them and latched several metal bolts. The air from below was stale but had the faint musk of fish. Machias realized that he hadn't eaten in so very long and his stomach grumbled at him.
After twelve stone steps, a room opened up on their left fashioned from stone and with a pylon in the middle to support the ceiling. There was a closed wooden door on Machias's right, and on either side of it were small tables. Little earthenware jars sealed tight with wax stoppers were stacked on the table, while a scrawny man washed the tables down with oil. Boxes and cots filled out the room to his left, and on these sat men sharpening axes and swords, and carefully stringing bows and fletching arrows. In the middle of them with her hands wringing a set of prayer beads was a very familiar woman.
"Elizabaeg!" Machias squawked in relief. "You're free!"
She lifted her bloodshot eyes and the worried crease of her cheeks softened. "Machias. You escaped. Where's my boys?"
Machais stumbled into the room as the dozen men all turned to look at him and Gwythyr. "That evil monster has Lindsey still! Pharcellus rescued Quoddy and me, but... that monster is controlling my brother Lubec! Oh it was horrible! He was going to control us too and make us beg to be eaten by him! And he did eat Strom! Murdered him. Oh, it was horrible! But Lindsey wouldn't tell them anything No, nothing at all!"
"Slow down," Elizabaeg begged him as she fought to keep her hands from trembling. "Where are Quoddy and Pharcellus?"
"Who are Quoddy and Pharcellus?" one of the other members of the Resistance asked, a short blond-haired fellow sitting in the far back and twirling a knife in his hands.
"Quoddy is heading south to lure Lubec away. Pharcellus is heading east to lure that monster and his pups away."
"That's been tried before," the blond haired man said as he caught the knife between two fingers. "That mage is no fool. He'll be back to the castle soon enough."
Elizabaeg got up, cast withering glance at the blond haired fellow, and then stepped next to Machias and put a hand on his shoulder just above the wing. "Machias, I know you are frightened. We all are. When I saw the soldiers converging on Strom's paddocks... I knew something terrible had happened. Tell us, as slowly as you can what happened." She glanced at Gwythyr and smiled faintly. "I'm glad you could come. Whatever you have to say can wait until this one is done."
"He's a Metamorian," the blond-haired man said as he stood up and sheathed his knife. "They haven't done anything but make things worse. This is our home."
"They are friends of my son, Lhindesaeg," Elizabaeg snapped. "They are with me, Jarl. You will listen to him."
"No," Jarl replied disdainfully, "I'm going to go watch for our enemies." He shoved past them both and climbed the stairs two at a time. Four of the other men shook their heads but the rest ignored the young man's behavior. When they heard the door close behind him, Elizabaeg finally sighed.
"Don't mind him," she assured Machias in a kindly voice. "Now tell us what happened."
Machias was not a very good storyteller and had difficulty slowing his recitation down past mad dash. Even thinking about what happened made him squawk in dismay and his heart tremble. Twelve pairs of human eyes were fixed upon him and that made him even more nervous. It was one thing to deal with a few humans at one time, especially when they thought him nothing more than an animal. But it had been a very long time he had been in the midst of so many humans. The only crowds he ever usually experienced were the birds and reptiles at the Fellowship meetings, but he was one of them so he felt safe there.
Not so here. He blabbered and cawed his answers, beak swinging back and forth and wings pressing as tightly against his back as they could go. Elizabaeg with steely eyes silenced the men of the Resistance, but they turned gentle and reassuring when they rested on the flustered puffin. Her questions were short and helped him think clearly. If not for her, Machias knew he would have broken down into tears just speaking about his brother Lubec.
And also thanks to her, they were finished before he quite realized it.
"Luvig, bring Machias something to eat and drink. He is famished." The scrawny man cleaning the tables nodded and poured him a small cup of something strong and hot, as well as provided a little bit of cooked fish that he gobbled in a single bite.
"If Vysterag is one of the mage's spies, how long will it be before they find us here?" The black-bearded man asked.
"He didn't know about the mill," a red-bearded man with thick upper arms replied. "He only knew Strom, Elizabaeg and I." His face suddenly grew ashed white. "Oh, Eli. My apprentices! They're going to the tannery and they won't... they won't..."
"It's too late, Ture" Elizabaeg said softly. "There's nothing you can do. They don't know where we are."
"But that mage will kill them!"
"He will kill all of us if we don't end this." She took a deep breath. "We cannot expect any help from the rivermen if Lubec was a spy. What of the tundra? Machias, where are the men of the tundra?"
"They should arrive tomorrow... later today."
"And you said there would be a dozen of them?"
"Aye, that's what I was told."
"Twenty-five of us against all of the monster and the mage's forces. We won't have a chance," Ture slammed his hand into his fists. "And I believed you, Elizabaeg. I believed you when you said this time we'd succeed."
"We may yet," Gwythyr said softly. "I'm not sure we can trust him, but I don't think we have a choice."
"What are you talking about?" Ture snapped.
"The gaoler, Yajgaj, a Lutin, told me to tell you that he's switching all of the guards at the eastern gate with his own tribe. He says that if we come today, he will make sure we have a clear shot at the armory, the baileys, and both our enemies. If he is telling the truth, we can seize the castle in less than an hour and have both of them dead. He's giving us a window of a day, after that he cannot risk it."
"And have you lost all your sense. A Lutin?" Ture and several of the men looked ready to start swinging their axes. "They're as much our enemy too!"
"He knew I was part of the Resistance," Gwythyr said, holding up one hand and backing a step away. "He even knew how I was getting out of the castle to come meet you. But he hasn't said anything. He hasn't said anything. If he did, we'd have all been dead or the mage's pets long ago. I've seen the mage do that to people. I've seen it! If this Lutin hasn't turned us in, then, couldn't he possibly be really trying to help us?"
"Maybe he hates Calephas too," Machias suggested as he slurped down another fish. The fish and the brew were making him very warm and alert. He felt almost relaxed in fact. "I know a lot of the Lutins have turned against Nasoj after their last failed attack on Metamor."
Elizabaeg rubbed her clean cheeks and nodded. "It is possible. If he's lying and we go, then we'll all be in a trap from which there will be no escape. And if he is telling the truth and we don't go, then we will have missed our best chance to end those two and take our home back. Because if we truly could get into the castle, even with only two dozen... that would be enough."
"His armies are still much, much bigger."
"And how many of them will fight for him once he's dead?"
Ture grimaced and sat back down. The scrawny man Luvig rolled one of the little pouches back and forth in his hands. "But if he is lying, we'll never be free from him."
"I've already lost one son to him," Elizabaeg said with bitter anger in her voice. "If I do not go, I will certainly lose the other. I am not going to take that chance." She turned to Gwythyr and nodded her head. "I will go. And if any of you here still have some loyalty to Alfwig, you will go too."
"Alfwig was a good man," Ture admitted with a long sigh. He hefted his axe over his shoulder and nodded. "And this is the only way my apprentices have any hope of not being that beast's next meal. I'll go."
The others were quick to agree after that. These were desperate men and they had been driven to the end of their patience and their hope. Machias was amazed and relieved that they would accept even the most slenderest and fragile of hopes offered by a Lutin. Once all had offered their assent, all of them crept closer to Elizabaeg and Gwythyr who stood in the center of the room.
Lindsey's mother smiled faintly but with warmth at each of them. "This may be our last day. If it is, we will not go quietly. They will know that they have not crushed the men of Arabarb. Or their women." At this a few of the men laughed heartily. Her smile widened. "Now, we are not going to go into this blindly. Luvig, are your jars ready? Will they work?"
The scrawny man hefted one of the two dozen earthenware jars and shrugged his shoulders. "They're ready. They shouldn't smell anything until it's too late. I do not know if it will work. The ingredients the Whalish sailor told us were sketchy at best."
"What is it?" Gwythyr asked as his eyes swept over the pile of pouches. Each was small enough to be hidden in a human palm. They appeared as nothing more than a small jar for flour or oil.
Luvig smiled, revealing a few missing teeth. "A surprise for the pups. Whatever you do, don't light them on fire or get them wet."
Gwythyr swallowed uncertainly as he nodded.
"Thank you, Luvig. I know you spent the last two days working very hard on them."
"And the last two years gathering the ingredients," he added with a frown. "I just hope it works."
Several of the other men grunted their agreement. Elizabaeg turned back to Gwythyr and said, "You will need to return to the castle. Now. If you wait any longer, the pups might find you. You can help us best from the inside."
"Of course. Yahshua be with you."
"And also with you."
Gwythyr smiled awkwardly to the puffin as he walked passed. He patted him on the shoulder with the queerest expression on his face that Machias had ever seen, and then raced back up the staircase and out into the mill proper.
"Now, we have to assume that the pups will find us here. That means we need to make preparations for their arrival. But first, Machias, I am sorry to have to ask you this, but do you know where the tundra men will be?"
The puffin cawed in surprise at being addressed, but began to nod his head before shaking it. "I know the route they're taking, but not where they'll be."
Elizabaeg pursed her lips but the faint smile returned. "Good enough. I want you to fly to them now. Tell them to move as quickly as they can south around Fjellvidden to the eastern gate. We'll meet in the woods along the way. We need them to move quickly if we are to attack today."
Machias fluttered his tail feathers back and forth and bobbed his head up and down. "Could I have just a little bit more to drink before I go?" Elizabaeg smiled and several of the men laughed.
Gmork's youngest followed his eldest through the town accompanied by some of the Baron's soldiers. He didn't particularly like the Baron or his soldiers, but so long as they were loyal to his father he would tolerate their presence. He paid them little mind as he kept a close pace behind his brother, one eye ever watching that mostly furless tail swing back and forth in time to his steps.
Of much more interest to him were the townspeople themselves. He had never been in Fjellvidden, only the castle. He recalled like quicksilver the day he'd come to the castle intent on killing the Baron. The fire of that earnest goal still tantalized his heart and made the fur covered hand wrapped about his magical core tremble with a sense of justice long delayed. As he swung his shortened snout from side to side, triangular ears lifting at each sound, he saw the quiet homes shuttered against the night. But he could smell the fear and the trepidation and that bothered him. It was because of the Baron. When these humans belonged to his father they would no longer be afraid.
Like the shipwright they'd spoken with shortly after leaving the castle. He'd been delirious with joy at being of service to Father. While his brother questioned the human, he had explored the shop and smelled the fishing gear that the dragon and boy had used. The dragon's scent he recognized and immediately his hands draped themselves in fur, his claws swelled to an inch in length, and his hackles rose all along his back. The boy's scent was oddly familiar but he couldn't determine why.
The shipwright had apologized profusely when he admitted that he only knew of one other person in the town involved with the Resistance, some tanner named Ture. His brother had nodded and the youngest of Gmork knew that the human traitor was known to his brother. And with eager confidence he followed him through the streets of Fjellvidden, wishing that the soldiers would douse the noisome and smelly torches they carried.
The Tanning shop was a two story building with a large double door gate in the front. The upper windows were shuttered but he could still faintly hear someone snoring within. His elder brother lifted a mostly human hand and glared with his blue eyes at the six soldiers accompanying him. "I will open the door, and my brother and I will go in. Guard the exits and make sure that none of them escape."
One of the soldiers hefted a cudgel. "Knock them on the head if they try to run?"
Gmork's youngest shook his head and almost barked. "Nay. They may not be traitors. My brother will question them and then we'll know."
He tucked his tail between his legs and glanced at his older brother hoping that he hadn't spoken out of place. His brother's face distended into a long snout and the jowls pulled up in an amused smile. He wagged his tail in relief.
While the soldiers fanned out around the house, Gmork's eldest stood before the gates and traced runes that glowed a faint purple. The youngest watched and waited, sniffing at the air and allowing himself to grow more beastly now that the soldiers were not so close. He slunk lower to the ground until his hands had become paw-like and rested on the hard, cold dirt.
The spell did not take long to cast. When it was complete, the rune flashed and disappeared while the gates slowly swung inward, ponderous yet quiet. They crept forward cautiously. The eldest summoned a witchlight but kept it very faint as it bobbed from one end of the room to the other. Long racks draped in animal hides lined every wall, along with tools and work benches. Hammers, special knives, thread, and several fire pits with fresh wood piled nearby were everywhere.
The two pups sniffed and listened. The sound of snoring came from above them. A wide variety of animal scents permeated the shop, as did oils, smoke, ash, and the sweat of at least four men. Behind the front space in the shop was a door behind which hid a room with more finished products hanging along the walls. A set of wooden steps led up. The elder brother gingerly put a clawed foot on each step, lowering to all fours to move as quietly as he could. The younger followed him up, also moving on all fours. The man-scents were still intermingled and hard to distinguish for Gmork's youngest.
At the top of the landing they found another stove, a washbasin, a pot and skillet dangling from metal hooks, as well as a cupboard with bread, cheese, and a small portion of salted meat that made them both begin to drool. A doorway curtained off with a bear skin lead to a room with four beds stacked two by two with modest trunks at the foot of each bed. A quick glance showed that three of the four beds were occupied and that one set of boots was missing.
They had no sooner glanced over the beds when from the top bunk on their left a dark form jumped down and swung a hammer at Gmork's youngest. He twisted to one side, grabbed the hammer and the arm in a fierce grip that spared not his claws, and spun both of them to the floor with a loud whump. The figure grunted and shouted, "Run!"
From the other two occupied beds leaped two more young men, one clearly smaller than the other. But while his elder brother stood watching, he bounded after them with a powerful thrust of his legs, and in two leaps had grabbed the one's quilted jacket between his fangs, and the other he snatched around the thigh with a hand. He yanked them back in less than a heartbeat, throwing the one to the ground so strongly that the young man was left gasping for breath. The other remained dangling from his jaws before he finally slipped free of his coat and collapsed on the ground at his feet.
And through it all, the sound of snoring continued. His elder brother waved one hand and a little flash of green light sparked just above one of the pillows. "One of you knows a little magic," he said with syrupy delight. "Or is that your Master Ture?"
Two of the soldiers stomped up the stairs, but his older brother walked over and told them to wait below. Gmork's youngest growled at the three young men now laying next to each other in the middle of the room. They huddled together, eyes wide with fright and defiance both.
When his brother returned, three more witchlights joined the first and they could finally see them clearly. Two of them looked to be seventeen or eighteen years of age with beards too small to braid covering their chin and cheeks. Their hands were hard and callused, and their bodies were well-muscled from years of work.
The third apprentice was younger, perhaps fourteen at best, but his face was marred by three warts, one above his right eye, and the other two on either cheek. Each wart was a black bulbous mass sprouting hair. His muscles were not as well defined, but he was already abundantly apportioned and as strong as any of the soldiers. His eyes were shadowed as he brows furrowed in defiance.
"What do you want, pups?" the same one who had attacked with the hammer asked. His black hair spider-webbed across his face and shoulders, giving him a more ominous cast than he deserved.
He deferred to his older brother to speak while he allowed his jaws to distend and his posture to hunch monstrously. "We are looking for your master, Ture. Where is he?"
"Seydisfjord," the young man replied with words as short as his tongue could make them. "He left yesterday to gather supplies."
He didn't recognize the name of the village or town, but his older brother nodded so he must have known it. "What sort of supplies?"
The young man tilted his head forward, more of the dark hair falling in front of his face. "Food and thread."
He licked his nose as he glanced at his brother. His brother's blue eyes flashed by a passing witchlight, and there was no credence in them. He growled, a deep burning welling up from within his chest.
His elder brother glanced over the three of them, and then knelt more closely, sniffing and scrutinizing them with a vicious snarl in his jowls and fur standing up along the back of his neck and through the patched holes in his once fancy furs. All three recoiled from him, the youngest of the lot the most of all. When he brought his snout close to the boy, the other young man kicked at him.
The blow never landed. Gmork's youngest saw the young man's muscles tense, and he moved by instinct. The swirl of power within him flared to life and he crossed the space in less than moments, and with a quick smack of his outstretched palm, drove all the air from his lungs and made his ribs creak but not crack in protest. The man gasped for breath, his leg lifted but feeble, eyes bulging in pain.
And so unimpeded his brother inspected the youngest of the three. The boy lifted his arms to shield himself but no attack was forthcoming. His brother smiled and wagged his naked tail as he stood back up as far as his beastly legs would allow him. "It's you. You're the one who made the snoring spell. Father will love to meet you. All of you."
"I'm not going to that monster!" shouted the black-haired man. He scrambled to get up, but Gmork's youngest was on him, and smacked him in the chest too. His next imprecations died on his lips as his tongue stretched past his teeth and he quivered on the ground trying to put air back into his lungs.
"You all are," his brother added with a throaty growl. He turned his head toward the staircase and shouted, "Guards!" Swinging back around he smiled, revealing yellowed beastly fangs and molars. "You wont lie to him." He growled as his blue eyes lifted to meet Gmork's youngest. "Check their things and ware of traps."
He nodded, grinning that same beastly smile. Rising from all fours, his flesh became more man-like, revealing through the holes in his tattered black robe the myriad scars sluicing across the flesh of his back, arms, thighs, and chest. But his legs were still twisted so that he walked on his heavy padded and clawed toes, his fingers were flecked with black and gray fur and tipped with smaller claws, a tail swung between his legs, and his ears were those of the wolf. He could become no more human than that.
In two steps he reached the nearest of the chests. He picked it up gently on either side, and sniffed with his mostly human nose across the surface. Father was right again. There was so much to learn just from a simple breath of air, so much that only a beast could know. He reveled in each secret that breath taught him. This chest belonged to the young man with blond hair. He ate mostly bread and fish, heavily salted fish at that, though there were hints of something redder, perhaps deer or even bear flesh from the many times he had touched his chest after eating.
And then there was the subtle bouquet of a woman's body. A night of passion perhaps, or merely a demonstration of his adulthood? He couldn't quite tell. But it had happened some time past.
There was more, but nothing that seemed out of place for a tanner. Keeping his brother's warning in mind, he flung the chest against the wall where it splintered and trembled the rafters overhead. When the crunching echo faded, he heard the sounds of a quartet of boots thumping up the stairs.
His golden eyes skated across to tanner's apprentices before he shifted through the wreckage. But there was very little there other than rumpled clothes, ribbons for tying back hair, a good belt, and a scrimshaw comb. Resting atop the belt was a small wooden yew which he gingerly took out of the mass of splinters and bent iron and pressed to his lips before setting it back amidst the pile of threadbare clothing. Otherwise he saw nothing.
Gmork's youngest repeated the exercise with the next chest. This one belonged to the black-haired young man. All three of them flinched when he smashed the chest against the wall. But his belonging were equally meager and equally inoffensive.
The guards busied themselves with securing the three young men with rope while his older brother watched and ordered them to escort all three to their father. They struggled, but the soldiers smacked them on the head with the backs of their spears as they marched them back out of the house. He watched all of it out of the corner of one golden eye as he lifted a third chest to his nose. Once they were gone, he lowered it and said, "This one is Ture's."
His brother came over and together they allowed their snouts to elongate as they breathed in the tanner's husky mire. After a single breath he knew without looking which bed was his and every place in the room he had touched in the last week. Within two breaths he remembered which station was his in the tannery below. And with three breaths he recognized it as one of the flavors he'd sampled on the way here from the shipwright Vysterag's shop.
After six he felt certain he would recognize it anywhere.
"Let us see what the other two had before we go," his brother suggested. Gmork's youngest nodded then hurled Ture's trunk against the wall. The rafter's groaned in protest as the trunk spilled its contents across the floor. Had they hoped for some secret weapon or map they were disappointed as all they saw were more clothes and simple gear. So it was with the wart-covered boy's trunk as well. The only additional secret there was a little writing slate that he had sketched runes upon with a bit of charcoal. His brother drooled on them and then washed the slate clean before very gently replacing it. With a smile he said, "We'll want to bring that back with us. Father will want it to teach him."
Gmork's youngest nodded though he didn't quite understand just what his brother meant. But from the way his naked tail wagged and his ears perked, it must be a very good thing indeed. If it made their father happy, it gave strength and joy to his heart.
"There is nothing else here. Come." His brother walked back down the stairs and he followed closely. Their posture bent forward into a crouch as they reached the hard floor. By the time they left the tannery they were on all fours again, large with wide shoulders, long arms, and thick fingers spread like a man's hand. Their snouts savored the ground, turning this way and that, before their eyes were drawn resolutely to the west. Jaws slavering and eyes bright, they loped after the man who dared be their father's enemy.