XLIX
It is time to return to Knale. Having delivered the twin trolls’ heads to Water-Nela, and having thereby finally brought ruin to all of Glamo’s hateful progeny, he grew rather listless.
‘My purpose,’ he said to himself, ‘is spent. What is left for me, undying in a dying world?’
He sat down to consider his options, whereupon his thoughts turned to his brother Feydo, who had very cruelly treated Glamo’s grandsons with dignity and compassion.
‘I should kill him for that,’ he said. ‘In fact, I think all my wretched brothers could do with a throttling. Yes, my purpose is not yet spent, for neither are my grudges. If the world is dying, I shall be the one to kill it!’
So he went in search of his brothers, or those who yet lived. He knew many were already dead, for he had been involved in most of their deaths, albeit to varying degrees, and he knew Feydo and Flawko yet lived, for he had met them both in recent years. They proved difficult to find, however, for neither wanted to be found. Only three of his brothers remained unaccounted for. The first was bull-horned Glavo, he who stood among the mightiest of the elves. Second was black-beaked Thwere, the raven of the west, but no one had heard anything of him for a good long while. The third was snake-fanged Bleygo.
‘There we go,’ said Knale. ‘He had something or other to do with the little sage. Gesdelo will tell me what became of him, or I will make him.’
When Knale came up to Bradhambelaw, he found Gesdelo seething above the world and asked what he knew about Bleygo.
‘I know all there is to know,’ said Gesdelo, ‘but I will tell you none of it.’
‘How gloomy!’ said Knale. ‘This is no way to treat your auntie. Come, be a good boy and tell me all about him.’
‘I have nothing more to say to you, elf.’
Indignant, Knale changed his face to resemble that of Bleygo, at least as he remembered it, and said, ‘And what do you say to me, my master?’
But Knale and Bleygo were identical of face, as were all the elf brothers.
‘I see past your little tricks,’ said Gesdelo. ‘Begone, I say, and spend no more time here than you must.’
Knale ended up spending a very long time at Bradhambelaw. At first, he kept trying to coax whatever information he could from Gesdelo, but that sour man was much too stoic to relent. Thus, he turned instead to snooping around, sniffing about for any knowledge there might be to find. One day, he chanced upon a fragment of a claw.
‘And a serpent’s claw at that,’ said Knale. ‘I wonder whose this might be!’
It was Bleygo’s, of course, a piece of his claw that had been fractured during Gesdelo’s battle with his brothers. Gesdelo had kept it as a keepsake ever since.
‘And now it is mine!’ said Knale. ‘If you will not give me what I want, magic man, I will take it.’
Then Knale crept away in the night. He put on his fox fur, took a big whiff of Bleygo’s claw, and followed its scent. The trail led him all across Eymalonn, along that ruinous path Bleygo had carved centuries ago, until, at last, he came to a barrow up on Draffel, in the moors of Syoglonn. Knale lay his fingers on the sealing stone, and at once, he felt a great power emanating from within.
‘Glavo?’ he said. ‘Dead. Good riddance, I suppose. Now tell me, brother, whatever have you hidden in here?’
Knale dispelled the seal, shoved the stone aside, and saw his quarry at last. There was Bleygo, asleep in his serpentine skin upon a bed of ancient treasures, the furnishings of a royal grave long forgotten. Knale went to him, felt the cold of his scales, long untouched by the light of day, and then stepped away. For all his faults, he knew them—however much he longed to slay his brother, he would stand little chance against so fearsome a beast.
‘No,’ he whispered, a deadly smile on his face. ‘There are better ways to go about this.’
Then he donned his foxen coat and scurried away.
* * *
After the birth of Thalo’s sons, things were quiet at Samnew for the better part of three years. Awldano continued to hold his lordship well and honourably, and Thalo continued to spend his days at his side, or else brooding here and there, and getting up to very little. Nothing much more is said of that time, until, one night, Thalo was afflicted by yet another terrible dream.
There were the foxes at their dinner table, silent, solemn, but so thick was the darkness settled upon the room that he could not discern its location. He could see only the golden light shining from their golden eyes, all locked upon him. In the middle of the table, on the glittering platter, opened another pair of eyes. Thalo could not see his face, but he knew those eyes.
‘Wavo?’ said Thalo. ‘No, no. Goldhego.’
‘How for,’ said the old fox, his voice little more than a whisper.
No one moved. Someone should have been dancing, Thalo thought, but no one was.
‘Which of you will dance?’ he said. ‘Dance!’
The old fox gave him a cup. He had a sip to drink, but coughed it all back up again.
‘Where is Awldano?’
Thereupon Thalo awoke. Awldano was beside him. He could not sleep after that, so he spent a while outside, and then made his way into the stable. He sat himself beside Ondayo, his oldest friend, his faithfullest companion, and spoke his woes away.
‘My boy,’ he said, ‘how many years has it been? How many deaths? The count may be the same each way.’
He reached up to pat Ondayo’s rear, but as he did so, the horse cowered.
‘What is it?’ said Thalo, but Ondayo did not reply, for he was a horse.
Then a peculiar feeling arose in Thalo’s heart, like dread, but more erotic, and it drove him up and outside. As he stepped into the darkness, a sultry voice drifted down from atop the stable.
‘Oy-oy!’ said Knale, behind him.
‘You!’ said Thalo.
‘Yes. Me.’
‘Why have you come here?’
‘I promised you glory, did I not?’ Knale dropped down from the roof, came up to Thalo, and rested his hand gently upon his chest. ‘I am here to deliver it.’
‘That was a long time ago.’
‘For you, maybe. And in any case, time never settled a debt.’
‘There is no debt to be settled.’ Thalo stepped away and put his hand upon his beltknife. ‘Begone, ghoul, or I will strike you.’
Knale flashed a cheeky grin. ‘Come on, then! Take out your little knife and strike me.’ He wiggled his bottom. ‘Strike me hard!’
If only he could! Thalo tightened his grasp about the knife, but he could not find the strength to draw it. Despite the terrible aura swelling around Knale, despite the preternatural air of malice that seemed to seep from his every pore, his beauty remained utterly beguiling. Thalo’s hand fell away from the knife.
‘Your glory awaits,’ said Knale, ‘but I will not spoil the surprise. When fate beckons, you will stride forth to meet it. You must, witch boy, or all will have been for nought.’
Knale stepped forth once more, kissed Thalo’s cheek, and then put on his fox fur and vanished into the night as abruptly as he had arrived. When he returned to Bleygo’s barrow, he stood in the opening, the dawning sun behind him, and looked upon the sleeping serpent. His slumber elf-spelt, only an elf could wake him. With his fingers outstretched, Knale spoke this verse:
‘Awake! Arise! Arise! Awake!
O brother beast! O sleepful snake!
Arise! Awake! Awake and slake
thy wrath, thy rage, thine ancient ache!
Awake! Arise! Arise! Awake!
Awake and wake thy dread-drake’s quake!’
Bleygo’s breathing shallowed. Within the dim light of the opened barrow, the pale dwimmer-glow of elfin eyes emerged, then the glimmer of a dragon’s sheen, then a snort. Bleygo had awoken. He unfurled himself, unravelling his whole length, and stepped towards his brother.
‘O Bleygo,’ said Knale, ‘just how long has it been? I hope, for all that time, you still remember this.’
Then Knale took out Bleygo’s fragmented claw, dropped it, and stepped away, out into the light. At once, the memory of that day beset the beast. The agony of years long ago was renewed, the pain searing his skin, his mind, and after spitting forth his deadly venom, bitter and rankled, he roared. The rage of ages past stirred within him, welled within his breast, and he went barrelling from the barrow.
For three days Bleygo terrorised the local farms, wreaking such destruction that wherever his temper took him, he alone would leave. On the fourth day, he went once more from his barrow bed and came to a village called Marnawl, not far west of Samnew, where the local farmers were all bonded to Awldano’s lordship. There he did as he had done each day before. With dagger-fangs and a whip-tail, he destroyed the buildings, laid waste to crops and livestock, and slew everyone he saw, melting their skin with a maw of poison. Yet, for the first time since his awakening, one man survived.
He was a chap named Ogo. He had been out hunting a hoary hart, but after stalking it for some time, his first arrow missed its mark, and it was long gone before he could notch another. He went home in a sullen mood, only to find his home destroyed, his friends and neighbours dead, his family just the same. But as Ogo sat grieving in the ruin of his house, he heard a terrible grunt nearby. He poked his nose out from behind a portion of wall, and just as quickly ducked back down again, for there was Bleygo slithering away. Ogo was struck with such terror that it stole his every breath, and he could only crumple to the floor and hope he went unnoticed.
He did. A little while later, when it seemed Bleygo had gone away, Ogo slunk out of his hiding spot and saw the full measure of the damage. Everything was destroyed. He wiped a tear from his eye and said, ‘My house, my home, my happiness. My every love lies ruined, but this is an otherworldly affair. I should be compensated.’
Ogo found a dead pig in the pig shed, its head mauled, its side bearing three great gashes, then slung his bow on his back and went at once to Samnew.
Upon his arrival, Ogo came into the hall and said, ‘A dragon! A dragon has attacked!’
Awldano came to meet him and said, ‘A dragon? Have my ears grown old before the rest of me?’
‘Not at all! A dragon has destroyed my home, slain my family, my friends, and everyone else. Everything is lost.’ He held the dead pig aloft. ‘Not even the livestock were spared.’
‘Is this meant to be proof? Anyone can strike at a pig.’
‘Not like this. Come and see.’
Awldano came down to have a look at the pig’s injuries. He knew too well what sorts of wounds were wrought by the weapons of war, and these were not those. Whatever had dealt them was surely a terrible beast indeed.
‘Given the nature of my misfortune,’ said Ogo, ‘and my newfound state of destitution, I had hoped that my very benevolent lord would compensate me.’
‘We can discuss such matters later,’ said Awldano. ‘Ogo, I bid you stay in my hall and enjoy its comforts. Let that your compensation until I can reckon a satisfactory award.’
Ogo accepted that. In exchange for Awldano’s kindness, he offered him the pig, though Awldano declined it and asked him to recount the dragon’s attack as fully as he could. Ogo said he had been out hunting when he came home to find the village utterly ruined, and that he saw the culprit slinking away.
‘I was stricken,’ he said. ‘My bones themselves became as ice. Once they melted, I found my resolve again and came straight here.’
‘You have done well to bring me this news,’ said Awldano. ‘If all you say is true, this beast cannot be allowed to roam as it pleases. Something must be done forthwith.’
Thereupon Thalo strode into the hall and said, ‘I will kill it!’
He had been down on the beach all morning, but as he was coming back up to the hall, he heard talk of a dragon, and with each step he took, it became all the clearer that such a beast was abroad, and that fate was beckoning.
‘I will meet it,’ he said. He pointed at Ogo. ‘Man, take me to this dragon. Come tomorrow’s dawn, it will be dead, and by my hand alone.’
‘No, no,’ said Awldano. ‘This is no little lizard. It would be foolish indeed for anyone to fight it alone.’
‘It is fortunate, then, that I am not anyone. I am Thalo Thennelo, and this is my task, my glory, my fate! I must stride forth to meet it.’
Then Thalo went away to prepare himself. Awldano tried again to dissuade him, but his mind would not be changed. He donned a thick shirt and a coat of mail, strapped his sword to his belt, and readied a shield and a spear. Last of all, he took out his mother’s helmet, old and faithful. For many years it had served him well.
‘And how many more?’ he said to himself.
‘Many,’ said Awldano, ‘if only you would hear me.’
Thalo ignored him.
‘Thalo, as your lord and your husband, I bid you lay aside this folly.’
‘The man before me,’ said Thalo, ‘is not my husband, for I did not marry a coward.’
Then he left the room.
In the hall, Thalo told Ogo to take him to Marnawl. Ogo was unwilling to do that, but Thalo pointed his spear at him and said, ‘I will not ask you again.’
‘Nor need you,’ said Ogo. ‘We can leave right away.’
That they did. They rode together to Marnawl, Ogo in front, and Thalo just behind. When they arrived, they got off their horses and Ogo showed Thalo where he had seen the dragon.
‘It slithered off this way,’ he said, ‘but I could not say where it went.’
‘No matter,’ said Thalo.
It was quite apparent where Bleygo had gone, for he had left in his wake a trail of barren earth, as if all life had withered beneath his cursed feet. Thalo followed it, and Ogo followed him, until they came to the barrow, draped in the evening twilight. Carefully, Thalo went to the entrance and peered within. There was the mighty stonework of ancient days, dust stirred up in the waning light of the day, the glint of manifold treasures softened by time and stillness, and amid it all, a sleeping dragon.
‘Here we are,’ said Thalo. He clutched his spear, braced his shield, and brought to mind his joys and his sorrows, and all the days of his life. ‘All have led me here. This mound will be a tomb once more, but mine or yours, beast, only fate can decide.’
He stepped forth, but at once, a hand pulled him back. It was Awldano’s.
‘Thalo,’ he said, ‘hold!’
Thalo turned to him, and he saw beautiful Awldano in his beautiful armour, his resplendent helmet, his shining mail, a worthy warrior. His shield and spear lay on the ground beside him, cast aside to reach for Thalo, to cling to him.
‘Why have you come here?’ said Thalo.
‘I came to stop you,’ said Awldano, ‘but I know better than to command the tide. If you will not be stayed, Thalo, I shall follow you.’
‘No. This is my deed to do, and I alone will do it. This will be my greatest feat, my immortal glory, my everlasting life. I alone will slay this dragon.’
Awldano took Thalo in his arms and said, ‘And I will not be parted from you. Fate may bring forth calamity, but I will walk beside you, come what may. That was my oath, my vow, and I will hold it.’
‘So it was.’ Thalo kissed him and stepped away. ‘The sun is setting, the day fleeting. Pick up your shield and show me Awldano the Bold! Show me the Writhe-wrangler! Show me Kawo’s might!’
Then Thalo spoke this verse:
‘Hold fast thine axe, hold fast thy spear, and firm thyself ‘gainst fright and fear. Steadfast we stand, all shield-to-shield— we fate-feared folk are ne’er to yield!’
‘Oy-oy,’ said Awldano. He picked up his shield and spear. ‘Ne’er to yield.’
Then they strode together into the barrow.
There Bleygo slept, all curled around himself, and what a magnificent thing he was! His skin glittering in many colours, brighter and more beautiful than any jewel or gem, he was the greatest of the barrow’s treasures. To see that sight, Awldano’s feet failed him, stopped fast in the entrance. He could only marvel—first in awe, and then terror. But Thalo stood beside him.
‘Have no fear,’ he said. ‘I am with you.’
Awldano’s heart wavered no more. They gave each other a single nod, slow and purposeful, and then got down to business.
Thalo made the first strike, plunging his spear into Bleygo’s belly, and then Awldano followed up likewise. Bleygo awoke at once, cornered and snarling. He seized Thalo’s spear in his teeth, sundered the shaft, and stung his shield with his tail. Thalo would have faltered, so forceful was Bleygo’s blow, but Awldano stood behind him. He kept him up.
So Thalo drew his sword and renewed the attack, hacking at Bleygo’s side. The wyrm recoiled, sprang forth, and gripped him in his maw, his teeth biting into his mail, venom seeping into his body and burning his flesh. Thalo dropped his sword and cried out. He fought to free himself from that deadly grip, but he had not the strength to pry those fetid fangs apart. It was not until Awldano came forth once more, bore a blow from Bleygo’s tail, and drove his spear hard into his side that he was released.
Yelping, Bleygo dropped Thalo and turned to face his new foe. He hissed, snapped his tail, and lunged at Awldano, bowling him over and taking his head in his jaws. And as Awldano cried out below him, as his once handsome helmet splintered beneath Bleygo’s bite, as the serpent’s fangs cracked into his skull, Thalo arose. He laid aside all his pain and his weariness, the deadly heat rising in his blood, and set his mind upon vengeance alone. With his sword in hand, spite-sped Sleme, he leapt forth and struck at Bleygo. That blow fell with such fervour, such violent wrath, that it cleft through his neck unwavering, sundering his spine and removing his head, one final hurt to end centuries of torture.
Thalo looked upon his fallen foe, his greatest deed, but as his gaze turned to Awldano, his head and helmet mangled and bloody, he at last succumbed to his exhaustion, the venom in his blood.
‘Awldano,’ he said, and he fell to the floor, his sword beside him.
Outside, Ogo heard Bleygo’s death cry and the silence that followed. He waited a moment for Thalo and Awldano to come stumbling forth, but neither appeared, then waited a moment more before finding the courage to venture in himself. There was the dragon’s glimmering body lying still, his head severed, his blood upon the floor. There was Thalo beside him, unconscious but yet alive. And there was Awldano, slumped whimpering on the floor, his eyes torn, his head mauled.
‘Ogo?’ said Awldano. ‘Ogo! I cannot see!’ Ogo went to him, knelt above him, and he continued, ‘Tell me, Ogo, does Thalo yet live?’
‘He does,’ said Ogo, ‘but barely.’
‘Take him home.’
‘And what about you?’
‘Kill me! This pain I suffer is utterly unyielding. Ogo, I cannot bear it!’ He took out his beltknife and pressed it into Ogo’s hand. ‘I beg of you, Ogo! You must do this for me!’
Ogo did as he asked. He took the knife and stabbed into Awldano’s chest, beneath his mail coat. Awldano loosed his last breath, and clutching Ogo’s wrist, he muttered his dying words.
‘Thalo,’ he said. ‘To death and beyond.’
Then he died.
Ogo took Thalo home at once. He carried him out of the barrow and slung him over Ondayo’s back, but as he was about to leave, his eye was drawn back behind him. Atop the mound he saw a certain silver fox, and it seemed to be grinning.
‘An ill omen,’ he said, and then he rode away to Samnew.