The War Hound and the World's Pain (17 page)

The bird came to me next. Those claws could easily impale me as readily as any pike. My horse was bucking and trying to flee and half my attention was on him, but I struck back with my sword and drew blood, though nothing worth the trouble.

The eagle was flying erratically, thanks to its wounded shoulder and lack of tail-feathers. Sedenko got in another blow which removed the better part of one claw and now the bird was weakening, though it had no thought of giving up its attack.

With every fresh dive it was driven off, having sustained another small wound or two.

And that was how we fought it. Slowly but surely we cut the great creature to pieces until all of its lower body and limbs, its neck and head, were a mass of blood and ruined feathers.

On the bird’s final attack, Sedenko leapt onto his saddle and, standing on tiptoe, sliced so that a wing-joint was severed. The eagle fell to one side in the air, desperately trying to regain its balance, then smashed down into the snow which immediately became flecked with blood and feathers of white, gold and scarlet. It screamed in outrage at what we had done to it and neither of us had the stomach to watch it die or the courage to descend the slope and put it out of its misery. We looked at it in silence for a few minutes before sheathing our blades and riding on. Neither of us believed that we had won any kind of honourable victory.

Slowly the trail led down through the glowing, golden mist, until we could hardly see a couple of feet on any side. Again we dismounted and went with considerable caution, until night fell and we were forced to find a relatively flat stretch of ground where we might tether our horses and camp until morning.

Before he slept, Sedenko said: “Those birds were supernatural creatures, eh, captain?”

“I have never heard of natural creatures like them,” I said. “I am certain of that, Sedenko.”

“They were the servants of this magus we seek,” he said. “Which means that we have offended him by killing his servants…”

“We do not know that they serve him or that he will be angry at our saving our own lives by killing them.”

“I am afraid of this magus, captain,” said Sedenko simply. “For it is well-known that the greatest sorcerer is the one who can command the spirits of the air. And what were those eagles but air-spirits?”

“They were large,” I said, “and they were dangerous. But for all we know they saw us merely as prey. As food for their young. There can be few travelers in these parts, particularly during the winter months. And little large game, either, I would guess. Do not speculate, Sedenko, on things for which no evidence exists. You will waste your time. Particularly, I would guess, in Mittelmarch.”

Sedenko took this to mean that he should be silent. He closed his lips, but it was obvious he had not ceased to consider the matter of the eagles.

We continued our journey in the morning and noted that the air grew gradually warmer, while the golden mist became thinner, until at last we emerged onto a broad mountain trail which wound down into a valley of astonishing beauty and which was completely without snow. Indeed, it might have been early summer in that valley. We saw crops growing in fields; we saw well-ordered villages and, to the east, a large-sized town built on two sides of a wide and pleasant river. It was almost impossible for either Sedenko or myself to realize that all around us lay stark crags and thick snow.

“We have gone from spring into winter in a single stride,” said Sedenko wonderingly, “and now we are in summer. Are we sleeping, like the old man of the legend, through whole parts of the year, captain? Are we entranced without realizing it? Or is this valley the product of sorcery?”

“If it be sorcery, it’s of an exceedingly pleasing kind,” I told my friend. I took off my cloak and rolled it up behind me.

“No wonder they guard this place with gigantic eagles.” Sedenko peered down. He saw herds of sheep and cattle: a land of plenty. “This would be a place to settle, eh, captain? From here it would be possible to ride up into the snow when one wished, to sally out on raids …” He paused as he contemplated his own version of Paradise.

“What would we steal on the raids?” I asked him good-humouredly, “when all that we should need is here already?”

“Well”—he shrugged—”a man has to raid. Or do something.”

I looked up. The golden mist stretched from end to end of the valley, giving it its name. I could not understand what caused this phenomenon, but I believed it to be natural. Somehow the cold, the snow, did not touch the valley. I had known well-protected places in my time, which were harmed less by the seasons than most, but I had never witnessed the likes of this.

We rode down slowly and it took us well over an hour before we had neared the bottom. Here, on the trail ahead of us, we saw a great gate, impossible to pass, and before the gate a mounted sentinel, standing foursquare on a giant charger, dressed in all the warlike regalia of two or three centuries since, with plate armour and crests and plumes and polished iron and oiled leather, in colours predominantly gold, white and scarlet, bearing a device of just such an eagle as we had fought above.

From within the closed helm a voice called out:

“Stop, strangers!”

We drew rein. Sedenko had become cautious again and I knew he was wondering if this being, too, were of supernatural origin.

“I am Ulrich von Bek,” I said. “I am on the Grail Quest and I seek a wise man who dwells in this valley.”

The guardian seemed to laugh at this. “You are in need of a wise man, stranger. For if you seek the Grail you are a fool.”

“You know of the Grail?” Sedenko was suddenly curious.

“Who does not? We know of many things in the Valley of the Golden Cloud, for this is a land which is sought by those who dream of Eden. We are used to legends here, stranger, since we are ourselves a legend.”

“A legend and you exist. So might the Grail exist,” I said.

“One does not prove the other.” The guardian shifted a little in his saddle. “You are the men who killed our eagle, are you not?”

“We were attacked!” Sedenko became defensive. “We protected our own lives …”

“It is not a crime to kill an eagle,” said the guardian evenly. “We of the Valley of the Golden Cloud do not impose our own laws on strangers. We merely ask that strangers do not bring their specific ideas of justice to us. But once you have passed this gateway, you must agree to obey our laws until you leave again.”

“Naturally, we would agree,” I said.

“Our laws are simple: Steal Nothing, whether it be an abstract idea or another life. Examine Everything. Pay a Fair Price. And, remember, to lie is to steal another soul’s freedom of action, or some fragment of it. Here a liar and a thief are the same thing.”

“Your laws sound excellent,” I said. “Indeed, they sound ideal.”

“And simple,” said Sedenko feelingly.

“They are simple,” said the guardian, “but they sometimes require complex interpretation.”

“And what are the penalties for breaking your laws?” asked Sedenko.

The guardian said: “We have only two punishments here: Expulsion and Death. To some, they are the same.”

“We will remember all you have said,” I told him. “We seek Philander Groot, the hermit. Do you know where we might find him?”

“I do not know. Only the Queen knows.”

“She is the ruler of this land?” asked Sedenko.

“She is its embodiment,” said the guardian. “She dwells in the city. Go there now.”

He moved his horse aside and made a sign so that the iron portcullis might be lifted by unseen hands within the towers.

As we passed through, I thanked him for his courtesy, but such was my state of mind that I determined to look carefully about me. It had been many years since I had been able to believe in absolute justice, and some weeks since I had been able to believe that there existed in the world (or beyond it) justice of any kind.

The air was sweet as we followed a road of well-trodden yellow earth through fields of green wheat towards the distant city, whose towers and turrets were predominantly white, reflecting the gold of the mist above us.

“A noble creature, that guard,” said Sedenko, in some admiration, looking about him.

“Or a self-righteous one,” I said.

“One must at least believe in Perfection”—he had become serious—”or one cannot believe in the promise of Heaven.”

“True,” said I to that poor damned youth.

THE GUARDS AT the city gates were clad in the same antiquated regalia as the first guard we had encountered. They did not challenge us as we entered the wide streets to discover a well-ordered collection of houses and public buildings, a cheerful and dignified population and an active market. Since we had been ordered to present ourselves to the Queen of this land, we continued on our way until we reached the palace: a relatively low building of extreme beauty, with sweeping curves and pinnacles, bright stained glass and a general air of tranquillity.

Trumpets announced our coming as we passed under the archway into a wide courtyard decorated with all manner of shrubs and flowers. The unpretentiousness of the palace, its Atmosphere, reminded me somehow of my boyhood in Bek. My father’s manor had possessed just such a mood.

Ostlers came forward to take our horses and a woman in skirt and wimple of olden times emerged from the doorway to beckon us. She was an exceptionally lovely young female, with large blue eyes and an open, healthy face. She looked like the better type of nun.

“Greetings to you,” she said. “The Queen expects you. Would you wish to refresh yourselves, to bathe, perhaps, before you are presented?”

I looked at Sedenko. If I was half as filthy and as unshaven as he, I felt I would be happier for a bath and a chance to change my clothes.

Sedenko said: “We have been travelling through snow, lady. We hardly need to wash ourselves. See? Nature’s done that for us.”

I bowed to the young woman. “We are grateful to you,” I said. “I, for one, would like some hot water.”

“It will be provided.” She beckoned and led the way into the palace’s cool interior. The ceilings were tow and decorated with murals, as were the walls. We passed through a kind of cloisters and here were apartments evidently prepared for guests. The young woman showed us into one of these. Heated water had already been poured into two large wooden tubs in the centre of the main room.

Sedenko sniffed the air, as if he saw sorcery in the steam.

I thanked the young woman, who smiled at me and said: “I will return in an hour to escort you to the Queen.”

Refreshed, I was ready and dressed in my change of clothes when she came back. Sedenko had no change of clothes and had scarcely let the water touch his skin, but even he had deigned to shave his face, save for his moustache. He looked considerably more personable than when he had arrived.

Again we followed the young woman through a variety of corridors, cloisters and gardens, until we were led into a large-sized room with a high ceiling on which was painted a representation of the sun, the stars and the moon, what is sometimes called, I believe, a Solar Atlas.

There on a throne of green glass and carved mahogany sat a girl of perhaps fifteen years. Since she wore a crystal-and-diamond crown upon her dark red hair we naturally bowed and murmured what we hoped were the appropriate greetings.

The girl smiled sweetly. She had large brown eyes and red lips. “You are welcome to our land, strangers. I am Queen Xiombarg the Twenty-fifth and I am curious to know why you braved the eagles to visit us. You were not drawn here, as are some adventurers, by legends of gold and magic, I am sure.”

Sedenko became alert. “Treasure?” he said, before he thought. Then he blushed. “Oh, no, madam.”

“I am upon the Grail Search,” I told the young Queen. “I seek a hermit by the name of Philander Groot and believe that Your Majesty knows where I could find him.”

“I am trusted with that knowledge,” she said. “But I am sworn never to reveal it. What help can Heir Groot provide?”

“I do not know. I was told to seek him out and tell him my story.”

“Is your story an unusual one?”

“Many would believe it more than unusual, Your Majesty.”

“And you will not tell it to me?”

“I have told it to no one. I will tell it to Philander Groot because he might be able to help me.”

She nodded. “You’ll trade him secret for secret, eh?”

“It seems so.”

“He will be amused by that.”

I inclined my head.

Sedenko burst out: “It’s God’s work he’s on, Your Majesty. If he finds the Grail …”

I tried to interrupt him, but she raised her hand. “We are not to be persuaded or dissuaded, sir. Here we believe neither in Heaven nor in Hell. We worship no gods or devils. We believe only in moderation.”

I could not disguise my scepticism and she was quick to notice.

She smiled. “We are satisfied with this state of things. Reason is not subsumed by sentiment here. The two are balanced.”

“I have always found balance a nostalgic dream, Your Majesty. In reality it can be very dull.”

She was not dismayed. “Oh, we amuse ourselves adequately, captain. We have music, painting, plays …”

“Surely such ideas of moderation require no true struggle. Thus they defeat human aspiration. What greatness have these arts of yours? How noble are they? What heights of feeling and intellect do they reach?”

“We live in the world,” she replied quietly. “We do not ignore how it is. We send our young people out of the valley when they are eighteen. There they learn of human misery, of pain and of those who triumph over them. They bring their experience back. Here, in tranquility, it is considered and forms the basis of our philosophy.”

“You are fortunate,” I said with some bitterness.

“We are.”

“So justice requires good luck before it can exist?”

“Probably, captain.”

“Yet you seek out experience. You tell your young people to search for danger. That is not the same as being subjected to it, willy-nilly.”

“No, indeed. But it is better than not searching for it at all.”