They had no idea how far behind them the Urkku were. Soon after dawn they had seen them coming through the little valley between the two hills at the top of the slope but they had not seen them since; nor had they been seen for the cover was good and the path had run for much of the way alongside a little mountain brook which cut its way deep into the earth leaving banks of rich dark peat on either side through which the tangled roots of the heather stuck out and in which cotton grass grew.
They had stopped for a very short break around Sun-High and eaten Ivy’s packed lunch, which had tasted delicious and made them feel as if they could go on running for ever. Now, however, Beth felt tired again; she had not really recovered fully from her exhausted state, and the fact that she was soaked to the skin again because of the damp mist made her feel worse. At her side Brock suddenly gave a frantic shake in an attempt to get rid of the large droplets of water which the mist had deposited all over his coat. They were staring at the huge rocks and wondering, now they were here, how they would go about finding the mountain-elves when suddenly they heard a sound from way above them. It was a high plaintive tune, the notes of which floated down to them on the wind almost as if it was being played by the breeze itself.
‘Look,’ said Perryfoot, and they all saw on top of one of the rocks a little elven figure sitting cross-legged and playing a reed pipe.
‘Jim was right,’ said Beth. When the elf saw that they had seen him he stopped playing, stood up and waved at them, beckoning them towards him up the mound. Quickly they clambered up the slope and met the elf at the base of one of the rocks which towered over them, completely blotting out the sun.
‘I am Morar,’ said the elf. ‘There is no time to lose; follow me,’ and he began to climb back up over the rocks, leaping nimbly from boulder to boulder, while the others did their best to follow, groping for footholds and grabbing on to pieces of lichen and moss as they made their way up these enormous pieces of granite which leant against one another as if they had been thrown down by some giant and so precariously that the animals felt they were liable to collapse at any moment and did not dare to look down.
Suddenly they were at the top, bathed in a pale yellow light as the sun tried to shine through the mist, and Morar was urging them to descend down into a dark gaping opening in the rocks. Beth climbed in first and helped Brock and Perryfoot down. Warrigal and Nab were about to follow when the mist suddenly cleared for an instant and to their horror they heard a chorus of shouts from behind them which rose swiftly in a crescendo of triumph. Looking round they saw the column of Urkku not far from the base of the mound, pointing at them and yelling excitedly at one another.
‘There they are. We’ve got them. They’ll not get away this time.’ Nab felt his stomach turn to ice. He had a vision of a sea of howling faces, mean, pinched and dirty with empty narrow eyes and slavering mouths which dripped hatred like blood, and then he felt Morar push him and he half-slid and half-clambered down into the dark space under the rocks where the others were waiting. It was blessedly quiet in here and he felt his heart thumping.
‘They’re here,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Just outside.’
The others looked at him, their eyes wide with fear until Morar spoke.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Follow me. They don’t know exactly where we are and they’ll never find us where we’re going.’
Their eyes were now growing accustomed to the gloom and they could dimly make out ahead of them a small rectangular entrance formed by two columns of stone at either side with a stone lintel on the top. In the centre of the lintel a large rune had been expertly carved by the hand of some elven stonemason. The mountain elves were renowned for their stonecraft and as they passed under it the animals marvelled at the delicacy of the work and Warrigal whispered that it was their symbol; a new crescent moon, a single blade of grass and a craggy mountain peak. In those few simple lines the artist had captured the very essence of the mountains and the moors so that all who saw it felt their hearts stir.
They found themselves now in a large low-ceilinged chamber, roughly square in shape but completely empty except for rows of swords and shields which hung on the walls. Each was different; the handles had all been carved to represent a different mountain creature and the blades were all embossed with a different runic symbol.
‘We each have our own hereditary sword,’ said Morar. ‘Rarely used, but cleaned and sharpened every day.’ The points gleamed silver in the dark and the colours on the shields seemed to flicker and move as what little light there was caught them.
They crossed the chamber and went through another smaller doorway at the far end and now they began to descend some stone steps which ran down a narrow tunnel. They were small and there was a dip in the centre of each one where it had been worn away by endless centuries of use. A type of bannister had been carved into the stone on either side of the passageway but this was not much help to Perryfoot and Brock, who kept slipping and had to be guided by Nab and Beth. As they went further and further down it grew very cold and damp and their teeth began to chatter loudly in the intense quiet. It felt to the animals as if they were descending into the very heart of the mountains; their footsteps echoed loudly in the stillness and they could hear the steady dripping of water all around them.
They seemed to have been going down for ages when the tunnel gradually began to grow much wider and lighter. The walls were now streaked with different coloured minerals; bright blues and golds and crimsons and even at times an intense snowy white which bathed the tunnel in silver. The path was almost level now and frequently they would come across little caverns and grottoes at the side which were filled with stalagmites and stalactites of strange shapes and sizes; either very tall and thin or else rounded like a thick mushroom; some hanging down while others grew out of the dazzling multicoloured rock gardens. They kept stopping to wonder at these magical sights and Morar explained about each one; its name and history and the legends surrounding it. Many of them were believed to contain the spirits of ancient, long-dead, elven heroes so that there was the Peak of Eynort, the Sword of Braewire or the Spike of Ardvasar. The elves each had their own special one which looked after and guided them and which they in turn repaid by caring for and guarding and making sure, above all, that they were not touched for they were so delicate that they were easily broken and the dead elves’ spirits would then be released to wander, homeless for ever.
So involved were the animals in these fantastic surroundings that they forgot all about the danger that lurked behind them up on the surface and even where they were and what they were doing, so that it came as quite a shock when Morar called them to a halt and they found themselves standing in front of a large stone door on which were many carvings portraying the old histories and sagas. Morar pulled his reed pipe out of his belt and began to play a strange lilting air. When he had finished he waited a short while and then played the same tune again. This time, when he stopped, the great door very slowly started; to swing inwards. They walked through the doorway, whereupon Morar played a different tune, again twice, and the door silently closed behind them.