Magic Three of Solatia (15 page)

“But do you dare to go to his castle?” asked the dwarf, the two heads again united in the question. “He would kill you, as he threatened me that night, with worse than death if I return.”

“Could aught be worse than the way you are now?” asked Lann softly.

“Yes,” said the one head.

“No,” said the other.

“No,” agreed the first.

“Yes,” agreed the second.

And in the end, the two-headed dwarf joined the giant and the minstrel. As they left the meadow and entered the wood again, a wild goose and gander flew overhead in a direction opposite to that in which the friends were heading.

“Night is coming on,” said Lann, as he remarked the birds’ flight.

“How can you tell, with the sky so continually dark and the wood as black as a hole,” asked Coredderoc, both mouths working as one.

“Because the geese have flown home for their supper,” said Lann. And then he told them of Bred and Bridda and Sianna of the Song. Both Coredderoc and Jared marveled at the tale and said it recalled something to them. But what it recalled, none of them was sure.

So arm in arm in arm, the three marched down the forest path. And it was only when Lann wanted to tune his lute again that the three friends dropped hands.

S
INCE IT WAS INDEED
dark in the woods, whether day or night, the three friends decided to push on. They sang with great gusto. It was, Lann remarked, the first time he had ever heard a trio that could sing in four parts.

They sang many of the old songs: “Hey to the Inn” and “A Lover and His Lady Fair” and even “Lord Muskrat and Black Elinor.”

They sang some new songs, too. One was their special favorite, which Lann had made up for the occasion.

There once were three who would be four,

With a hey, hi, ho and ho.

There once were three who would be four,

The tangled woods went to explore.

With a hey and away went they.

There once were four who would be three,

With a hey, hi, ho and ho.

There once were four who would be three

A pestilence to wizardry,

With a hey and away went they.

There once were three who well-a-day,

With a hey, hi, ho and ho.

There once were three who well-a-day

A wicked wizard went to slay,

With a hey and away went they.

But as they got closer and closer to the end of the woods, the three friends with the four voices sang the last verse more and more quietly. Till at last they left off singing it altogether. “A pestilence to wizardry” was suddenly changed to “as penitants to wizardry.” None of the three friends would lay claim to authorship of the new line. They didn’t like it. It made no sense. But they found themselves singing it with quiet fervor as they drew closer to the wood’s edge and the wizard.

Though the woods were beginning to thin out, it was difficult to notice it at first, for night had indeed fallen. Yet no stars lit their path. What moon there was, a pale, thin splinter, was shrouded with a gray blanket of cloud.

It was no wonder that they were practically at the edge of a cliff before they noticed they were out of the woods.

“The forest is behind us,” said Jared with relief.

“The worst is ahead of us,” said one of Coredderoc’s heads. The other nodded in bitter agreement.

“Come,” said Lann, “let us look around for a moment and then take turns standing watch. For sleep will be the Great Encourager. Only tired men are afraid.”

“Then I must be perennially tired,” muttered Jared, but softly so that only he himself heard it.

The dark was so deep that they could see nothing. The gray blanket never moved off the moon. The three friends huddled together for warmth. But warmth there was none.

Suddenly Lann remembered the feather inside his shirt. He took it out to see if there was some way he could share it with his friends. It felt unaccountably heavy, so he shook it. A down comforter sprang from the feather, soft and warm.

“Where does that come from?” asked Jared.

“From love,” said Lann. Then he added, “Here, friends, and welcome. I will stand the first watch.”

But first became last, for neither the giant nor the dwarf woke up until morning. Lann too fell asleep, his hand holding fast to his amulet.

When a wild goose and gander flew across the sky, they circled once around the sleeping friends, honking so loudly the three awoke at once. With great apologies to one another and waves for the departing birds, the three friends rose to greet the sun.

It was like no sun they had ever seen before. Instead of shedding a bright and cheery light, the sun looked thin and worn out, like an old penny. It hung forlornly over the edge of the cliff.

When Lann looked over the cliff’s edge he shivered. There was no way down.

Yet there, in the middle of a lake that began at the cliff’s bottom, was a huge crag of scaly gray-green rocks, and on the top, hunched like a vulture on dead meat, was a castle.

“Bleakard’s castle,” said Lann.

“How do you know?” asked his friends, though they knew in their hearts he was right.

Lann pointed.

Around the top of the castle, circling and circling and crying piteously into the wind were the wild goose and gander. Their cries carried clearly in the fetid air.

“W
E MUST GET DOWN
there and cross to the castle,” cried Lann, his eyes still on the circling birds.

Just as he spoke, a dreadful sound rent the air. It was a high, sinuous piping that repeated and repeated the same seven notes. It insinuated itself into the air, and the repetitions seemed to engrave the evil melody on their minds.

“My head is cracking from that sound,” said Jared.

“Your head!” cried Coredderoc. “Pity me. I have two.”

“It must be Bleakard’s tune. That infernal piping,” shouted Lann above the noise. “How can one think above it?”

“Think we must,” shouted one of Coredderoc’s heads.

“Without thought, man is an animal,” stated the other, and was immediately shushed by his friends.

“There is only one way to battle a spell of music,” said Lann. “Or at least that is what my mother taught me.”

“Well, hurry, whatever the way,” said the giant with a shout. “My ears will turn to stone if I listen a moment more. All I can think of is that one hideous tune.”

“Only music can defeat music,” Lann shouted back. “And love, hate,” he added in an undertone as if to remind himself.

He took his lute from the ground where it had lain all night. Without even stopping to tune, for tuning with that constant piping was not possible, he began a song.

With their ears covered, the others could barely hear him. But if they could have listened with care, they would have heard the same seven notes of Bleakard’s piping. But oh, the change! Lann’s song took the seven notes and turned them inside out. He gentled them, calmed them, made them sing of love, not hate.

My love is like a silver bird

That flies to me when night is near.

My love is like a silver bird,

And oh, I wish my love were here.

My love is like a silver boat

That crests the currents of the air.

And should I sink or should I float,

It’s oh, I wish my love were here.

My love is like the fount of life

That sprays into the summer air.

My love is of my very life,

And oh, I know my love is here.

At first Lann’s song was as gentle as lapping waves. But like the waves, his song was also persistent. And as the song continued, Lann’s voice became stronger. The lute, which had sounded flat and brittle because it was untuned and playing against the strident piping, became richer and rounder and stronger, too. Till at last Lann’s song filled the cliffside entirely, drowning out the grating flute. And when the three friends with the four voices finished singing the last chorus together, there was no pipe to be heard at all.

The moment the piping ended, the wild goose and gander stopped circling the castle. They hesitated for a moment in flight, and stood in the air like two figures in a tapestry. Then, banking sharply to the right, they flew toward the cliff, their powerful wings beating in unison.

“We have won,” shouted Jared, leaping into the air like a mighty fish out of the water. Where he leaped up, flowers sprang too. But when he came down on his left foot, flames shot out.

“We have just begun,” said Lann. “For when one battles wizards, all things come in threes.”

“Three?” asked the giant fearfully.

“Yes,” replied Lann. “As my mother taught me—first the singing, then the seeming, and last the slaying. If there is any need for a last.”

“What does that all mean?” asked Jared.

“I am not entirely sure,” admitted the minstrel.

Jared shook his head and tried again. “What I mean is, are we the ones who do the slaying? Or are we the ones who are to be slain?”

“I don’t know,” replied Lann. “All I know is that my mother is always right.”

“A pox on mothers who are always right,” said the giant, and he turned away. “I think I will go back to my forest home.”

“Stay, friend,” said Lann. “Perhaps this time she is not right.”

“I fear she
is
right again,” said Coredderoc with one head. “I seem to recall such an unholy trinity.”

“I
know
she
is
right,” said the other head. “Look!”

The friends looked where he was pointing, at the crags beneath the castle. The very rocks seemed to unwind themselves and a giant gray-green serpent uncoiled and stretched, turning its ugly head in their direction.

As it uncurled, it moved its shoulders. Two giant wings began to unfurl.

“If that is a
seeming
,” said the giant, “I do not like what it
seems
to be.”

“What if it flys up to us here?” asked Coredderoc fearfully. “We have no weapons.”

“Except my lute,” said Lann.

“I fear that is not enough, friend,” said Jared. “If that great scaly worm decides to fly here and have us for dinner, I fear it is not near enough. And as your revered mother has said, after the singing and the seeming comes the slaying. I fear, friends, we are all dead men.”

Almost as if it heard the giant’s voice, the great lizard pumped its mighty wings. The vast winds it created stirred the waters of the lake. And with an awful scream, which sounded like the seven notes of Bleakard’s song, the dragon flung itself into the air and plunged after the wild goose and gander that were fleeing toward the cliff.

A
S THE GREAT DRAGON
came closer, the goose and gander, who had been flying wing to wing, suddenly parted. They circled separately to each side of the gray-green monster. Then each by each, they struck at the dragon’s sides. The blows they gave it were but light little flecks. But like the kingbirds which can drive off the larger crows and hawks with many petty pecks, the goose and gander annoyed the monstrous worm. It stopped its headlong flight toward the cliff to try to strike its tiny tormentors.

The goose and gander flew out of range over and over again. When one was in danger, the other would swoop down upon the dragon. And in that way, the silver birds delayed the dragon’s descent upon the three friends on the cliff.

“Quick,” said Coredderoc, “I have a plan. I was a king’s minister and I remember something of war.”

“Tell us what to do,” replied Lann, “and it will be done.”

“First strip your lute of its strings,” said the dwarf’s first head.

“But it will never sing again,” protested the minstrel.

“If you do not,
you
will never sing again,” said the first head.

“Lutes can be replaced,” said the other head. “But men cannot be.”

“We are going to make ourselves some mighty bows,” the first explained.

Jared slapped his thigh. “Well said, friend. King I may have been, but now I take your orders. Command me.”

“Your part is next, friend giant,” said the first head. “Gather all the sticks and twigs you can find and three large green boughs. Go to the right. I shall to the left.”

Within moments they had a pile of wood. The giant was able to gather huge mounds of twigs and branches with his large hands. The three boughs they used as bows and strung them quickly with the lute strings.

“And now, friend, some fire. But just in the center of the pile.”

With a wild bellow, Jared leaped into the pile of sticks. He hopped up and down on his left foot, and the pile burst into flames. The minute the fire was well begun, Jared leaped out again.

Then the three friends reached into the pile of sticks and, grasping the faggots by their cold ends, placed the flaming arrows into their makeshift bows.

“To me!” shouted both of Coredderoc’s heads together as he sighted with his first head along the arrow shaft.

Jared and Lann took up the cry.

“To me!”

“To me!”

At their voices, both the goose and gander spun away from the dragon and fled to the cliff.

The dragon came after them straightaway.

The friends let go of their arrows at once. And though the bows were but poorly made and the arrows but poorly aimed, the dragon was such a large target they hit it with all three flames. Immediately the arrows struck, the three friends took up fresh ones.

The goose and gander dived down upon the flaming pile, and each grasped a burning branch in its beak.

The gander raced toward the dragon’s tail and scored the flame along its tender underside. But the goose, carrying a flame as large as her own body, flew straight toward the dragon’s eyes.

When Lann saw where she was flying he dropped his bow. “Bridda, come back! Oh, come back!” he screamed.

But the silver bird never turned. At the last moment, when the dragon opened its mouth and it seemed certain it would swallow bird and brand and all, she dropped the flame into its mighty maw. At the same instant, she swept her wings to her side and plummeted straight down, down, down toward the lake.