The Moon of Gomrath (16 page)

“They attacked with the moon,” said Albanac, “but we hold them. And you?”

“Colin is here, unhurt,” said Uthecar, “and the Brollachan is within, so we must hold them still.”

“The Brollachan?”

“Ay: shut in a room of foul magic.”

“Tell me more when there is time for thought,” said Albanac. “Just now it is labour enough to stay alive.”

But although Albanac did not overstate their danger,
the fight was slackening. The palugs had little stamina, and the bodachs were realising that they had lost the impetus of the attack, and were now wasting lives. They withdrew, hoping to tempt the lios-alfar to follow them, but none went.

“This quiet will not last,” said Albanac. “Colin, you must have weapons, and I fear they will be ready to your hand.”

He crossed the lawn, and moved about among the fires, and when he came back he brought with him a sword and a shield identical to those that Susan carried.

Colin fitted the shield on his arm, and tested the weight of the sword.

“Remember,” said Uthecar, “these are for the palugcat. Do not be picking quarrels with a bodach.”

“We'd be a lot better off with guns,” said Colin.

“Would you?” said Uthecar. “That is where we part from men. Oh, you may look here, and find us at the slaughter, but we know the cost of each death, since we see the eyes of those we send to darkness, and the blood on our hands, and each killing is the first for us. I tell you, life is true then, and its worth is clear. But to kill at a distance is not to know, and that is man's destruction. You will find in the bows of the lios-alfar much to explain their nature, which was not always as now.”

The last part of Uthecar's outspokenness was mingled with a commotion that started at the bend in the drive and spread to the whole company. Instead of charging from all directions at once, the bodachs and palugs had formed up on the drive and had come in a body. They were through the circle and half-way to the house before anyone knew what was happening, but the elves were swift in their reactions, and they closed in right to the walls.

Now the fighting was desperate, since the elves could not manoeuvre, but stood their ground, using swords alone. The horses reared, and slashed with wicked aim.

Uthecar and Albanac held the doorway, the children by their side. The dwarf's instructions to fight only the palugs were impossible to carry out, for cats and goblins seethed in front of them, and it would have been fatal to have tried to discriminate.

The worst moment for Colin and Susan had come when the attack was seconds away, when they knew that they had to lift their swords and bring them down on living things. Colin remembered the games of years ago. The blade he held now was like lime, and the edge like dew. But when he saw the teeth and claws that were rising towards him and no one else, he struck instinctively, and after that the will to live was in control.

The bodachs stabbed with their spears, and leapt high to rake with their clawed feet, and the palugs added their viciousness to the struggle.

But again cold patience wore down rage, and the bodachs fell back, the elves advancing in step with the retreat, until the original circle was formed again.

Albanac kept the children by the house, and they sank to the ground, exhausted; but Uthecar was still in the heat of the fight, and he moved past the elves to the very limit of the fire, throwing down his shield whenever it grew too heavy with the weight of the spears imbedded in it, and snatching another from the mounds that littered the grass.

He looked as though he had cooled to the point of turning back when he gave a shout, and peered along the drive.

“So it is still living you are, and well out of the fight! But I see you! My sword is waking to its hilt for you!”

“Come back!” cried Albanac. “Your reason has gone with the ghosts of the mountains if you think you will live to take a step further!”

But Uthecar was spinning his sword about his head, gathering himself to charge.

“Run, bodachs! Make way! For when I chance to come upon you, as many as hailstones, and grass on a
green, and stars of heaven will be your cloven heads and skulls, and your bones, crushed by me and scattered throughout the ridges!”

And he shot forward past the light, into a din of cries and a crash of blades.

“He is mad!” said Albanac. “When his blood is less hot he will wish himself far from this, but it will be too late.”

The noise seemed greater than when the house was under siege – bellowing, spitting pandemonium, out of which no one sound emerged. Albanac mounted Melynlas, and rode to the edge of the circle.

“Uthecar!”

“Ay!”

The voice was indistinct.

“How is it?”

“There – is breaking – of spears about the place – where I am. I will not say – but that I may retreat!”

“I am with you!” shouted Albanac.

“Fool!” answered the dwarf.

But Albanac cantered back to the house, turned Melynlas, and broke into full gallop along the drive. A line of bodachs knelt on the fringe of the dark, but Melynlas swept down on them and, as they couched their spears in the gravel, soared high and safe over their heads into the moonlight which the fires made blind to
the children and the elves. All the children knew of what followed was told by the sounds that came to them.

And then Melynlas grew out of the night, foaming and red-hoofed. Uthecar rode behind Albanac, still cutting the air, but Albanac was low over the horse's neck, and a gold-handled sword trailed from his side.

M
elynlas halted, and Uthecar jumped to the ground and eased Albanac from the saddle. He slumped into the dwarf's arms, dragging him off his feet, but Atlendor came to his other side, and between them they half carried him to the shelter of the terrace below the lawn. Gently Uthecar drew the sword out of the wound.

Albanac opened his eyes: they were blue and clear.

“I had hoped it would not be so soon in the night,” he whispered.

“Rest you until the battle dies,” said Uthecar. “Then you will be safe.”

“I am safe,” said Albanac. “Here – anywhere. The Howl of Ossar: there is nothing to be done when that one calls.”

A group of elves dismounted, and made a cradle of their swords, and lifted Albanac on to it.

“We shall tend him,” said Atlendor, and they carried him to a sheltered place between two walls of the house.
Colin and Susan went to follow him, but Uthecar shook his head.

“He is better with them,” he said. “They are skilled in these things, and we shall be needed here.”

For a while he was talking, a snigger of laughter had run through the bushes outside the circle, backed by hoots and jeers, and when Uthecar showed that he had heard them, the laughter changed to taunting words.

“Was that not the foray! Well is it said that no iron is as true to its lord as is the spur! Hornskin, will you be bringing me my sword?”

The hate that broke in Uthecar at the touch of this voice was frightening to see. He rushed out to the middle of the lawn, and drove the golden sword into the turf.

“Come now without your bodachs, Pelis son of Argad, and claim your sword!” he cried. “I give you safe passage. But if you leave, and I yet alive, the bows of the lios-alfar shall sing to you. And if I am dead, then none shall stay your going. Here is your sword! Take it!”

There was a minute of silence. But then there were footsteps on the drive, and a black and gold figure came into the light, passing between two of the lios-alfar, who looked at him, but did not lift their weapons against him. He carried a shield, and his stride was firm across the grass.

Pelis the False took hold of the sword, and wrenched it from the ground, and he faced Uthecar without a word for him, nor did Uthecar speak, and they came together like stags. The air shivered at their meeting.

Uthecar was frenzied in attack, since the guilt for Albanac's wound ached in him, and he tried to deaden it with anger. At first he had the advantage, but he was fighting more with his heart than with his head, while Pelis countered, and wasted no strength.

And before long the passion left Uthecar, and weariness seeped into its place. His arms grew heavy, his muscles shot through with cramp, and Pelis the False continued to match him stroke for stroke. And he did not merely check Uthecar: now he was driving the blade aside, and it was Uthecar's shield that rang. He retreated across the lawn, feeling his life wane from him, and then Pelis was through his guard, and the blade sank into his shoulder above the ribs.

The pain cleansed Uthecar's mind of all weariness: he saw that if he did not use this moment there would be no other. He threw his shield from him, and leapt a twisting salmon-leap into the air, high above Pelis, and came down over his arm. The sword went through Pelis to the hilt, and the two dwarfs crashed together, the one fainting, the other dead.

Colin and Susan had watched from the edge of the lawn, and they ran forward and lifted Uthecar, and carried him back to the wall. Colin ripped lengths of Uthecar's tunic into bandages, while Susan cleaned the wound as best she could.

“Did I kill?” said Uthecar.

“Yes,” said Colin.

“The wonder is that I am not lying there, black in the light,” said Uthecar. “Such rashness merits it. Are you hurt?”

“Only scratches,” said Susan.

“And Albanac?”

“I don't know.”

“See how it is with him. But go with care,” said Uthecar.

Colin and Susan went along to the side of the house towards the corner where the elves had taken Albanac, but they had not gone far when they heard a sound that rooted their feet – the howling of a dog, very near to the house, and in front of them. The notes rose and fell in a sadness that swept the children's minds with dreams of high landscapes of rock, and red mountains standing from them, and hollows filled with water and fading light, and rain drifting as veils over the peaks, and beyond, in the empty distances, a cold gleam on the sea.
And into that distance the voice faded like an echo, and Atlendor came towards the children from the shadows of the house.

“Albanac is not here,” he said.

“Not here?” said Colin. “But he was badly hurt. Where is he?”

“He has gone to heal his wound: he will come again.”

“Why didn't he tell us?” said Susan.

“There was not time: he was called: it is always so with the Children of Danu, since it is their destiny never to be at the end of what they undertake. They help, but may not save.”

“When will he come back?” said Colin.

“The Children of Danu are seldom long away,” said Atlendor. “And we shall go. I have kept my word: let us ride now.”

“We can't go yet!” said Susan. “What about the Morrigan? And the Brollachan's still in there – if she lets it out you don't know what will happen.”

“I know that it has been a dear promise,” said Atlendor. He looked at Colin. “One life has cost thirty: it shall not take more. We ride. Make you ready.”

Atlendor turned away, and walked back to the corner, where the elves who had carried Albanac were still huddled.

“How
can
he leave everything like this?” cried Susan. “It's not safe, and we mustn't let the Morrigan get back into the house. Doesn't he realise?”

“But he's right,” said Colin. “You can't ask him to lose any more for something that isn't important to him.”

“Isn't it?” said Susan.

When they reached Uthecar they found Melynlas standing guard over him. The horse pricked up its ears at the sight of the children, and thrust his muzzle into Colin's shoulder.

“How is he?” said Uthecar.

“We didn't see him,” said Colin. “They say he's gone. And the elves are going too.”

“He knew it was to be this night,” said Uthecar. “It was not in us to keep him.”

“But how can he go?” said Colin. “Why has he left his horse?”

“He has no need of it,” said Uthecar. “You may have thought him a strange man, but Albanac was more than that: he was of the Children of Danu, who came to this land when all was green. They were the best of men.”

“Is he dead?” said Colin.

“Not as you would have it,” said Uthecar. “Say rather that in this world he has changed his life.

“The Children of Danu are never far from us, and all
their days are spent in our cause, but there is a doom on them that they shall not see their work fulfilled, since the gold of their nature might then be dulled, its power turn to selfish ends. When their leaving is close, the Hound of Conaire appears to them, as you have heard and seen. Ossar's howl shadows their lives.”

“I can't believe it,” said Colin. “It makes everything so pointless.”

“He expected no less,” said Uthecar, “and there was no place for sadness in him. He will come again.

“But the elves, you say? Is it that they are going, too?”

“They're running away,” said Susan.

“Then I think the better of them,” said Uthecar.

“
You
?” said Susan. “What's the matter with everybody? You mustn't let the Morrigan win!”

“Can I stop her?” said Uthecar. “Listen to me. We have Colin, and there is nothing more to do, since magic holds the Brollachan in its circle. We have killed many bodachs, and routed the palugs. When I was fighting out there I saw but a dozen in all, and when they are spent the Morrigan must needs come herself, and that is no stopping time for me. I fear her, without shame. But also, wounded as I am, the bodach is not dear to me, and for death and its fearful afflictions, and the pang of the blue blades, I will not be clamorous, either.”

“I'll stay by myself, then,” said Susan.