Murgen dismissed the matter with a gesture. "It is beneath my dignity to notice. And now, Prince Aillas, I wish you a safe journey."

Murgen departed the room; the woman in the white robes led Aillas along the dim halls to the portal. She looked up to the sky where the sun had already pa.s.sed the zenith. "If you hurry," she said, "you will reach Oswy Undervale before dusk turns to dark."

Aillas went briskly back down the trail. He approached the grotto where sat the two gryphs. They turned to observe Aillas' coming. "Will you dare once again to offer us insipid honey? We crave more savory stuff!"

"Apparently you are both famished with hunger," said Aillas.

"That is the way of it. Now then-"

Aillas brought out two combs of honey. "Ordinarily I would offer one comb to each of you, but one must be more hungry than the other, and he should have both. I leave them here, and the decision shall be yours."

Aillas backed away from the instant altercation and before he was fifty yards along the trail the gryphs were pulling each other's beards. Though Aillas hurried, sounds of the dispute reached his ears for many minutes.

He came to Sinkings Gap, and warily peered over the edge of the cliff. The great boulder, as before, swayed in precarious balance. The raven stood nearby, still lacking wings and tail, with head c.o.c.ked and one round red eye staring up the gorge. Its feathers were bedraggled; it half-sat, half-stood on its bent yellow legs.

Fifty yards to the east, a twisted old cedar tree extended its crooked trunk over the lip of the cliff. Aillas threw the rope over the trunk where a crotch would hold it away from the cliff's face. In one end he tied a loop, arranged it under his haunches, pulled the line taut, swung out over the void, and lowered himself to the base of the cliff. He pulled the tail of the line over the tree-trunk, made a coil and slung it over his shoulder.

The raven stood as before, head c.o.c.ked, ready to thrust at the boulder. Aillas silently approached from the opposite side and prodded the boulder with the tip of his sword. It toppled and crashed, while the raven uttered cries of dismay.

Aillas continued along the trail, down the slopes of Mount Gaboon.

Ahead a line of trees marked the course of the River Siss. Aillas halted. Somewhere, so he surmised, the fox-woman lay in ambush. The most likely spot would seem to be a thicket of stunted hazel only a hundred yards along the trail. He could make a detour either upstream or down, and swim the river rather than crossing by the ford.

Aillas drew back and, keeping to cover as much as possible, made a wide half-circle in a downstream direction to the river-bank. A fringe of willows barred him from the water, and he was forced to turn upstream. Nothing stirred, at the thicket or elsewhere. Aillas began to feel taut. The silence was unnerving. He stopped to listen again, but heard only the gurgle of the water. Sword in hand, he proceeded upstream, step by step,.. Approaching the ford, he came to a clump of heavy reed-gra.s.s, swaying in the wind... In the wind? He turned quickly to look down into the red mask of the fox-woman, sitting hunched like a frog. He swung his sword as she thrust herself high, and cut off her head at the neck. The torso and legs tumbled into a heap; the head fell at the water's edge. Aillas nudged it out into the stream with his sword. It bobbed and rolled downstream. The torso clawed itself erect and began to run aimlessly here and there, waving its arms, darting and jumping, finally to disappear over the rise toward Mount Gaboon.

Aillas washed his sword, crossed the ford and returned to Oswy Undervale, arriving just as dusk became dark. He dined on bread and ham, drank a pint of wine and went immediately to his chamber.

In the dark he brought out the gray gem which Murgen had allowed him. It showed a pale shine, the color of a misty day. Quite dull, reflected Aillas. But when he looked away he thought he sensed a peculiar flash at the corner of his vision, a perception to which he could put no name.

He tried several times, but failed to reproduce the sensation, and presently he fell asleep.

Chapter 21.

FOUR UNEVENTFUL DAYS brought Aillas to Tawn Timble. Here he bought two plump chickens, a ham, a flitch of bacon and four jugs of red wine. He packed some of the goods in his saddlebags, tied the rest to his saddle and rode north through Glym-wode, to the cottage of Graithe and Wynes.

Graithe came to meet him. At the sight of the provisions he called back into the cottage: "Woman, start the fire under the spit! Tonight we dine like lords."

"We will dine and drink well," said Aillas. "Still I must arrive at Madling Meadow before tomorrow's daybreak."

The three supped on chickens stuffed with barley and onions and roasted to a turn, hearth-cake set to catch the drippings, a pot of fieldgreens simmered with bacon, a salad of cress.

"If I ate so much every night, I would no longer care to chop logs in the morning," declared Graithe.

"Pray the day will arrive!" exclaimed Wynes.

"Who knows? Perhaps even before you expect it," said Aillas. "But I am tired and I must arise before sun-up."

Half an hour before sunrise Aillas stood by Madling Meadow. He waited in the gloom under the trees until the first glint of rising sun showed in the east, then slowly started across the dew-wet gra.s.s, the gem in his hand. As he neared the hummock he began to hear small twitters and warblings in a register almost too high for his ear to perceive. Something slapped at the hand which carried the gem; Aillas only clenched his hand the tighter. Invisible fingertips tweaked his ears and pulled his hair; his hat was whisked away and flung high in the air.

Aillas spoke in a gentle voice: "Fairies, kind fairies: do not treat me so! I am Aillas, father to my son Dhrun, whom you loved."

There was a moment of breathless silence. Aillas continued toward the hummock, to halt twenty yards short.

The hummock suddenly became misty, and underwent changes, as of images gathering and going, shifting in and out of focus.

From the hummock came a red carpet, unrolling almost to where Aillas stood. Along the carpet came a fairy five feet tall, pale brown of skin, with an over-sheen of olive-green. He wore a scarlet robe trimmed with white weasel-heads, a fragile crown of gold strands and green velvet slippers. To right and left other fairies showed on the margin of visibility, never totally substantial.

"I am King Throbius," stated the fairy. "You are indeed the father of our beloved Dhrun?" "Yes, your Majesty."

"In that case, our love transfers in part to you, and you will find no harm at Thripsey Shee."

"I give you my thanks, your Majesty."

"No thanks are needed; we are honored by your presence. What is that which you hold in your hand?"

Another fairy spoke softly: "Oh, the thrilling dazzle!" "Your Majesty, this is a magic gem, of enormous value!" Fairy voices murmured: "True, true. A fervent gem, of magic hue."

"Allow me to hold it," said King Throbius, in a peremptory voice.

"Your Majesty, ordinarily your wishes would command me, but I have been most solemnly instructed. I want my son Dhrun returned to me alive and well; then and only then may I relinquish the gem."

From the fairies came murmurs of surprise and disapproval: "A naughty fellow!" "Just so, the mortals!" "One can never trust their gentility." "Pale and coa.r.s.e as rats!"

King Throbius spoke: "I regret to state that Dhrun is no longer resident among us. He grew into boyhood and we were forced to send him away."

Aillas gaped in astonishment. "He is barely a year old!" "In the shee time jerks and skips like a may-fly. We never trouble to reckon it out. When Dhrun left, he was, in your terms, perhaps nine years old."

Aillas stood silent.

"Please give me the pretty bauble," coaxed King Throbius, in the voice he might use upon a skittish cow whose milk he hoped to steal.

"My position remains the same. Only when you give me my son."

"That is next to impossible. He departed some time ago. Now then"-King Throbius' voice became harsh-"do as I command or never will you see your son again!"

Aillas uttered a wild laugh. "I have never seen him yet! What have I to lose?"

"We can transform you into a badger," piped a voice.

"Or a milkweed fluff."

"Or a sparrow with the horns of an elk."

Aillas asked King Throbius: "You promised me your love and protection; now I am threatened. Is this fairy honor?"

"Our honor is bright," declared King Throbius in a ringing voice. He nodded crisply right and left in satisfaction, as his subjects called out endors.e.m.e.nt.

"In that case, I return to my offer: this fabulous gem for my son."

A shrill voice cried out: "That may not be, since it would bring good luck to Dhrun! I hate him, most severely! I brought a mordet* on him."

*A unit of acrimony and malice, as expressed in the terms of a curse.

King Throbius spoke in the silkiest of voices: "And what was the mordet?"

"Aha, harrumf. Seven years."

"Indeed. I find myself vexed. For seven years you shall taste not nectar but tooth-twisting vinegar. For seven years you will smell bad smells and never find the source. For seven years your wings will fail you and your legs will weigh heavy as lead and sink you four inches deep into all but the hardest ground. For seven years you will carry all slops and slimes from the shee. For seven years you will know an itch on your belly that no scratching will relieve. And for seven years you will not be allowed to look upon the pretty new bauble."

Falael seemed most distressed by the final injunction. "Oh, the bauble? Good King Throbius, do not taunt me so! I crave that color! It is my most cherished thing!"

"So it must be! Away with you!"

Aillas asked: "Then you will bring back Dhrun?"

"Would you take me into a fairy war with Trelawny Shee, or Zady Shee, or Misty Valley Shee? Or any other shee which guards the forest? You must ask a reasonable price for your bit of stone.

Flink!" "Here, sir."

"What can we offer Prince Aillas to fulfill his needs?"

"Sir, I might suggest the Never-fail, as carried by Sir Chil the fairy knight."

"A happy thought! Flink, you are most ingenious! Go, prepare the implement, on this instant!"

"On this instant it shall be, sir!"

Aillas ostentatiously put his hand, with the gem, into his pouch. "What is a 'Never-fail'?"

Flink's voice, breathless and shrill, sounded beside King Throbius. "I have it here, sir, after great and diligent toil at your order."

"When I require haste, Flink hurries," King Throbius told Aillas. "When I use the word 'instant' he understands the word to mean 'now.'"

"Just so," panted Flink. "Ah, how I have toiled to please Prince Aillas! If he deigns me only one word of praise, I am more than repaid!"

"That is the true Flink speaking!" King Throbius told Aillas. "Honest and fine is Flink!"

"I am interested less in Flink than in my son Dhrun. You were about to bring him to me."

"Better! The Never-fail will serve you all your life long, always to indicate where Lord Dhrun may be found. Notice!" King Throbius displayed an irregular object three inches in diameter, carved from a walnut burl and suspended from a chain. A protuberance to the side terminated in a point ripped with a sharp tooth.

King Throbius dangled the Never-fail on its chain. "You will note the direction indicated by the white fairy-tooth? Along that slant you will find your son Dhrun. The Never-fail is failureproof and warranted forever. Take it! The instrument will guide you infallibly to your son!"

Aillas indignantly shook his head., "It points north, into the forest, where only fools and fairies go. This Never-fail points the direction of my own death-or it may take me without fail to Dhrun's corpse."

King Throbius studied the instrument. "He is alive, otherwise the tooth would not snap to direction with such vigor. As for your own safety, I can only say that danger exists everywhere, for you and for me. Would you feel secure walking the streets of Lyonesse Town? I suspect not. Or even Domreis, where Prince Trewan hopes to make himself king? Danger is like the air we breathe. Why cavil at the club of an ogre or the maw of an ossip? Death comes to all mortals."

"Bah!" muttered Aillas. "Flink is fast on his feet; let him run out into the forest with the Never-fail and bring back my son."

From all sides came t.i.tters, quickly stilled when King Throbius, not amused, thrust his arm upward. "The sun stands hot and high; the dew is going and the bees are first at our flower-cups. I am losing my zest for transactions. What are your final terms?"

"As before I want my son, sound and safe. That means no mordets of bad luck and Dhrun my son in my safe possession. For this, the gem."

"One can only do the reasonable and convenient," said King Throbius. "Falael shall lift the mordet. As for Dhrun: here is the Never-fail and with it our warranty: it shall lead you to Dhrun in life's full vigor. Take it now." He pressed the Never-fail into Aillas' hands, who thereupon released his grip on the gem. King Throbius s.n.a.t.c.hed it and held it high. "It is ours!"

From all sides came a suspiration of awe and joy: "Ah!" "Ah, see it glow!" "A lump, a lummox!" "Look what he gave for a trifle!" "For such a treasure he might have claimed a wind-boat, or a palanquin carried by racing griffins, with fairy maids in attendance!" "Or a castle of twenty towers on Misty Meadow!" "Oh the fool, the fool!"

The illusions flickered; King Throbius began to lose his definition. "Wait!" cried Aillas. He caught hold of the scarlet cloak. "What of the mordet? It must be lifted!"

Flink spoke aghast: "Mortal, you have touched the royal garment! That is an irredemptible offense!"

"Your promises protect me," said Aillas. "The mordet of bad luck must be lifted!"

"Tiresome," sighed King Throbius. "I suppose I must see to it. Falael! You, yonder, so industriously scratching your belly- remove your curse and I will remove the itch."

"Honor is at stake!" cried Falael. "Would you have me seem a weatherc.o.c.k?"

"No one will take the slightest notice."

"Let him apologize for his evil side-glances." Aillas said: "As his father, I will act as surrogate and tender his profound regrets for those deeds which disturbed you."

"After all, it was not kind to treat me so."

"Of course not! You are sensitive and just."

"In that case I will remind King Throbius that the mordet was his own; I merely tricked Dhrun into looking back."

"Is that the way of it?" demanded King Throbius.

Flink said: "Just so, your Majesty." "Then I can do nothing. The royal curse is indelible."

"Give me back the gem!" cried Aillas. "You have not held to your bargain."

"I promised to do all reasonable and convenient. This I have done; anything more is not convenient. Flink! Aillas becomes tiresome. On which hem did he seize my robe-north, east, south or west?"

"On the west, sire."

"The west, eh? Well, we cannot harm him, but we can move him. Take him west, since that seems to be his preference, as far as possible."

Aillas was whirled up and away through the sky. Windy draughts howled in his ears; sun, clouds and earth tumbled across his vision. He lofted high in trajectory, then dropped toward glittering sunlit water, and alighted on sand at the edge of the surf. "Here is west as west may be," said a voice choking with merriment. "Think kindly of us! Were we rude, west might have been another half-mile."

The voice was gone. Aillas, rising shakily to his feet, stood alone on a bleak promontory not far from a town. The Never-fail had been tossed on the wet sand at his feet; he picked it up before the surf could carry it away.