Alan Garner Classic Collection. Alan Garner

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СКАЧАТЬ for us? Then how, pray, shall we gain the upper world? There is no other road.”

      “There is: just one. And, in its fashion, it bears more perils than the gate, though these cannot be mastered by the sword. At least, if we should perish on this road, Firefrost will lie hidden for untold centuries to come; for we are going where no svart will ever tread, nor any living thing, and only I, in all the world, can tell the way.”

      “But Fenodyree,” cried Susan, “what do you mean? There are lots of entrances!”

      “Not here. We are in West Mine, and from it there was one exit made. But so deep did men delve that they touched upon the secret places of the earth, known only to a few; and, of those, my father was the last. There were the first mines of our people dug, ages before Fundindelve; little remains now, save the upper paths, and they are places of dread, even for dwarfs. The way is hidden, but my father taught me well. Never have I trod the paths, save in evil dreams, and I had always hoped to be spared the trial; but now it has come to that.”

      “Nay, speak this no more,” growled Durathror. “I like it not.”

      They travelled on without rest, talking little, for Colin and Susan had not the energy, and Durathror was subdued by what he had heard.

      “It is not far,” said Fenodyree, “to … ah!”

      Ahead of them a light flickered on the wall: the source of the light was hidden round a bend in the tunnel, but the dwarfs did not have to guess what to expect.

      “What say you now, cousin?” whispered Durathror eagerly. “Do we run like shadows before this light, or do we snuff it out?”

      Fenodyree’s face was grim.

      “We are too near: we must not turn back.”

      “Good! This shall we do: let the men-children stand here. Go you forward to younder opening, and stay hidden, with drawn sword, till I call. I shall wait behind this boulder. Hold your ground, Stonemaiden; be not afraid. No svart will touch you, that I can promise!”

      And he melted into the dark.

      The light grew stronger, and cast shadows on the wall; spindly shadows, with broad heads and hands; and round the bend came the svarts.

      There were ten of them, white svarts, with pug-noses. Each carried a torch of wood that had been dipped in the flame of the firedrake’s blood. From a girdle round each of their waists hung a crude axe or hammer. The head was a roughly worked stone, kidney or dumb-bell shaped; there was a groove about the middle, round which was bent a withy lashed tight with rat-skin thongs.

      Colin and Susan involuntarily shrank closer together, and the lamp trembled in Colin’s hand. The svarts halted; a deep sigh ran through them; and slowly they began to advance.

      In spite of the knowledge that Durathror was close at hand, the children had to fight to stop themselves from running.

      The svarts came on: the last of them was past Fenodyree. They held the torches high, and the other hand was poised to clutch. Colin flashed the lamp in their eyes, but they did no more than blink, and laugh hungrily. The children retreated a step. The svarts rushed forward. But at that moment Durathror stepped from behind the boulder, his sword Dyrnwyn in his hand, and bowed low before them, and addressed them in their own tongue.

      “Hail, O eaters of toadstools! We are well met!”

      The svarts fell back, mouths agape, and hissing after the fashion of giant lizards. But those to the rear of the pack had more courage.

      “See!” they cried. “It is he whom we must kill! The men-children are of no matter, but our lords have long wanted his life, and for him was the moot held.”

      “No! No!” screamed another. “There is the maid who tricked us, and see! see! she has the stone once more!!”

      “The stone! The stone! The stone!”

      “The morthbrood have played us false!”

      “Or she has stolen it!”

      “Seize them! We shall take the stone to ourselves!”

      Their eyes glowed green and yellow as desire mastered their cowardice.

      “Ho!” cried Durathror. “So there is courage in svart-alfarheim! This is a day of marvels, to be sure! Come, let my sword test the mettle of your new-grown backbones!”

      “We come! We come!”

      And they hurled themselves upon the dwarf.

      “Gondemar!” bellowed Durathror, and he whirled Dyrnwyn above his head with both hands. Two svarts died under that stroke. They buckled at the knees, and crumbled into dust.

      “Gondemar!”

      Sparks flew as iron rang on stone, but there were now six svarts in the tunnel, and four torches guttering on the sand. Six to one: far too few for battle, whatever the prize. The svarts turned tail, and ran. Durathror rested on his sword.

      “Cousin, it would seem Dyrnwyn is too bitter for their taste: let them then savour Widowmaker!”

      Fenodyree came from hiding, and the svarts halted in dismay.

      “It is the white one’s dog!”

      “What does he here?”

      “It is a trick!”

      One of the svarts turned, and ran towards Durathror, but, seeing he was alone in this, he scuttled back to his comrades, who were by this time in distress. Fenodyree was laying about him in silence. He did not feel Durathror’s joy of battle: these creatures stood between him and his purpose, and must be killed: that was all. He was no born fighter.

      The uproar grew less and less. Fenodyree’s round helmet spun under foot, and his mail shirt rang with the dint of blows: but not for long. Soon the two dwarfs stood gazing at each other across a litter of torches and stone hammers.

      “I see Widowmaker is well named!” Durathror chuckled. “She has gained two upon me in this fight; I lead you now by one only. I must find me more svarts!”

      “Nay, come away, cousin; we must not turn from the path, nor rest, till we are beyond their reach.”

      Colin stooped to pick up a hammer. It was heavy, but balanced well.

      “Shall we take a couple? They may be useful.”

      “They would drag you to your death, where we are going,” said Fenodyree. “Leave them; we do not need such tainted things.”

      “Durathror,” said Susan, as they journeyed on, “where do the svarts go when they disappear?”

      “To dust, my Stonemaiden; to dust. They cannot endure the bite of iron: it has a virtue that dissolves their flesh – and would all creatures of Nastrond were as they!”

      “Here is the first of our trials,” said Fenodyree, “but it is naught that a cool head will not overcome.”

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