Murgen wore no beard. His hair was white from natural tendency rather than age; his blue eyes were as bright as Aillas' own.
Murgen spoke: "You are here to consult me?"
"Sir, I am Aillas. My father is Prince Ospero of Troicinet; I am Prince in direct line to the throne. Something less than two years ago I met the Princess Suldrun of Lyonesse. We loved each other and were married. King Casmir immured me in a deep dungeon. I finally escaped to find that Suldrun had killed herself in despair and that our son Dhrun had been taken as a changeling by the fairies of Thripsey Shee. I went to Thripsey Shee, but they remained invisible. I beg that you help me rescue my son."
Murgen poured a small quantity of wine into two goblets. "You come to me empty-handed?"
"I carry nothing of value, save a few bits of jewelery which were once Suldrun's. I am sure you care nothing for these. I can offer you only the mirror Persilian, which I stole from King Casmir.
Persilian will answer three questions, to your advantage if you phrase the questions correctly. If you ask a fourth question, Persilian goes free. I offer him to you on the condition that you will ask the fourth question, and so liberate him."
Murgen held out his hand. "Give me Persilian. I accept your conditions."
Aillas relinquished the mirror. Murgen twitched his finger and spoke a quiet syllable. A white porcelain box floated across the room, and settled on the table. Murgen threw back the lid and turned the contents out upon the table: thirteen gems, cut, so it seemed, from gray quartz. Murgen watched him with a small smile.
"You find these uninteresting?"
"I would judge them so."
Murgen touched them lovingly with his finger, moving them into patterns. He heaved a sigh. "Thirteen nonpareils, each encompassing a mental universe. Well, I must avoid avarice. There are more where these came from. So be it. Take this one; it is gay and enthralling by the light of sunrise. Go to Thripsey Shee just as the first rays of sunlight sweep down across the meadow. Do not go by moonlight, or you will suffer a death of weird invention.
Show the crystal to the sunrise, let it glint in the rays. Do not let it from your grasp until a bargain has been made. The fairies will honor their word precisely; they are, despite popular belief, a most exact-minded race. They will fulfill their terms: no less, and certainly not an iota more, so bargain with care!" Murgen rose to his feet. "I bid you farewell."
"A moment, sir. The gryphs are truculent. They are not happy with their honey. I think they would prefer to suck the marrow from my bones."
"They are easily diverted," said Murgen. "Offer two combs to one and none to the other."
"What of the boulder at Sinkings Gap? Will that be poised as before?"
"At this very moment the raven balances the stone in place— no mean feat for a bird lacking both wings and tail. It is vengeful, so I suspect." Murgen held out a coil of pale blue rope. "Near the head of the defile a tree overhangs the cliff. Pass the rope around the tree, make a loop to sit in and lower yourself down the cliff."
"What of the fox-faced woman at the River Siss?"
Murgen shrugged. "You must find some way to trick her. Otherwise she will claw your eyes out with a single kick of her leg. The scratch of her fingernail paralyzes; do not allow her approach."
Aillas rose to his feet. "I thank you for your help; still, I wonder why you make the way so dangerous. Many who visit you must consider themselves your friends."
"Yes, no doubt." The subject clearly failed to interest Murgen.
"As a matter of fact, the hazards have been established by my enemies, not by me."
"With the gryphs so close to Swer Smod? That is insolence."
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 passed 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 cocked 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 cocked, 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-grass, 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.