The War Hound and The World

Chapter IX

I HAD FALLEN into the habit of deriving a kind of joy from the irony of my position, from the paradoxes and contrasts of my Quest. It led me to contemplate the most horrible crimes which could be committed by me in the name of the Grail Search. Was I strong enough, I wondered, to commit them? What kind of self-discipline was involved in forcing oneself, against one's own nature, towards vice? My inner debates became increasingly complex and unreal, but perhaps they served to take my mind off unwelcome actualities.

A hard week saw us through the heart of the mountains. We had experienced landslides, a couple of poorly organised attacks from local brigands, two or three near-falls on the higher passes and, of course, the ordinary vicissitudes of the climate. Sedenko's spirits had not declined a jot and my own gloom had begun to lift when we halted our horses on a high promontory and looked down into what we assumed must be our destination.

All we could see was glowing, golden mist, filling the wide basin of a valley, whose cliffs were snow-capped and whose sides were almost sheer.

"There's where Philander Groot dwells, captain," said Sedenko, leaning on his pommel, "but how do we reach it?"

"We must keep looking," I said, "until we find the way in. It must surely exist, if Groot has come and gone from there."

We began, by means of a narrow trail, to descend. There would be about four hours left until twilight, when we should of necessity camp. These mountains were too dangerous for night travelling.

The first intimation we had of the valley's guardians was a whistling in the air. When we looked back and up towards the clear blue of the sky we saw two of them, sharply outlined. Then- intentions were clear. They meant to kill us.

I had never seen eagles so huge or so resplendent. Their bodies were pretty near as big as those of a small pony and their wings were, each one, about twice the length of their main bulk. They were predominantly white and gold and scarlet, with a certain amount of deep blue around the heads. The beaks shone like grey steel and were matched in appearance by their wide-stretched claws. As they came down on us, they shrieked their intention, celebrating their anticipated triumph.

Our horses began to rear and cry out. I pulled one pistol free, cocked it, aimed and fired. The ball struck the first eagle in the shoulder and it veered off silently, blood streaming from the wound. Sedenko's sabre cut at the second and caused it to stay its attack, Buttering over his head and making such a wind as to threaten to blow us down into the valley. My other pistol was produced and fired. This was a better shot, to the head. With a terrible wail the eagle tried to regain height, failed and fell heavily into the chasm. I watched its body pass through the mist and vanish. Its companion (perhaps its mate) sailed over the spot for some little while before its attention returned to us and, glaring and screaming, it resumed its attack. I had no time to reload. We had only our swords, now, for defence. The creature dived and snatched and, had not Sedenko ducked his head, the young Kazak would have been carried off for certain. As it was his sabre sliced several tail-feathers from the gigantic bird. These Sedenko grabbed from the air and brandished with a grin as a prize.

The bird came to me next. Those claws could easily impale me as readily as any pike. My horse was bucking and trying to flee and half my attention was on him, but I struck back with my sword and drew blood, though nothing worth the trouble.

The eagle was flying erratically, thanks to its wounded shoulder and lack of tail-feathers. Sedenko got in another blow which removed the better part of one claw and now the bird was weakening, though it had no thought of giving up its attack.

With every fresh dive it was driven off, having sustained another small wound or two.

And that was how we fought it. Slowly but surely we cut the great creature to pieces until all of its lower body and limbs, its neck and head, were a mass of blood and ruined feathers.

On the bird's final attack, Sedenko leapt onto his saddle and, standing on tiptoe, sliced so that a wing-joint was severed. The eagle fell to one side in the air, desperately trying to regain its balance, then smashed down into the snow which immediately became flecked with blood and feathers of white, gold and scarlet. It screamed in outrage at what we had done to it and neither of us had the stomach to watch it die or the courage to descend the slope and put it out of its misery. We looked at it in silence for a few minutes before sheathing our blades and riding on. Neither of us believed that we had won any kind of honourable victory.

Slowly the trail led down through the glowing, golden mist, until we could hardly see a couple of feet on any side. Again we dismounted and went with considerable caution, until night fell and we were forced to find a relatively flat stretch of ground where we might tether our horses and camp until morning.

Before he slept, Sedenko said: "Those birds were supernatural creatures, eh, captain?"

"I have never heard of natural creatures like them," I said. "I am certain of that, Sedenko."

"They were the servants of this magus we seek," he said. "Which means that we have offended him by killing his servants…"

"We do not know that they serve him or that he will be angry at our saving our own Jives by killing them."

"I am afraid of this magus, captain," said Sedenko simply. "For it is well-known that the greatest sorcerer is the one who can command the spirits of the air. And what were those eagles but air-spirits?"

"They were large," I said, "and they were dangerous. But for all we know they saw us merely as prey. As food for their young. There can be few travellers in these parts, particularly during the winter months. And little large game, either, I would guess. Do not speculate, Sedenko, on things for which no evidence exists. You will waste your time. Particularly, I would guess, in Mittelmarch."

Sedenko took this to mean that he should be silent. He closed his lips, but it was obvious he had not ceased to consider the matter of the eagles.

We continued our journey in the morning and noted that the air grew gradually warmer, while the golden mist became thinner, until at last we emerged onto a broad mountain trail which wound down into a valley of astonishing beauty and which was completely without snow. Indeed, it might have been early summer in that valley. We saw crops growing in fields; we saw well-ordered villages and, to the east, a large-sized town built on two sides of a wide and pleasant river. It was almost impossible for either Sedenko or myself to realise that all around us lay stark crags and thick snow. "We have gone from spring into winter in a single stride," said Sedenko wonderingly, "and now we are in summer. Are we sleeping, like the old man of the legend, through whole parts of the year, captain? Are we entranced without realising it? Or is this valley the product of sorcery?" "If it be sorcery, it's of an exceedingly pleasing kind," I told my friend. I took off my cloak and rolled it up behind me.

"No wonder they guard this place with gigantic eagles." Sedenko peered down. He saw herds of sheep and cattle: a land of plenty. "This would be a place to settle, eh, captain? From here it would be possible to ride up into the snow when one wished, to sally out on raids…" He paused as he contemplated his own version of Paradise.

"What would we steal on the raids?" I asked him good-humouredly, "when all that we should need is here already?"

"Well"…he shrugged…"a man has to raid. Or do something."

I looked up. The golden mist stretched from end to end of the valley, giving it its name. I could not understand what caused this phenomenon, but I believed it to be natural. Somehow the cold, the snow, did not touch the valley. I had known well-protected places in my time, which were harmed less by the seasons than most, but I had never witnessed the likes of this.

We rode down slowly and it took us well over an hour before we had neared the bottom. Here, on the trail ahead of us, we saw a great gate, impossible to pass, and before the gate a mounted sentinel, standing foursquare on a giant charger, dressed in all the warlike regalia of two or three centuries since, with plate armour and crests and plumes and polished iron and oiled leather, in colours predominantly gold, white and scarlet, bearing a device of just such an eagle as we had fought above.

From within the closed helm a voice called out:

"Stop, strangers!"

We drew rein. Sedenko had become cautious again and I knew he was wondering if this being, too, were of supernatural origin.

"I am Ulrich von Bek," I said. "I am on the Grail Quest and I seek a wise man who dwells in this valley."

The guardian seemed to laugh at this. "You are in need of a wise man, stranger. For if you seek the Grail you are a fool."

"You know of the Grail?" Sedenko was suddenly curious.

"Who does not? We know of many things in the Valley of the Golden Cloud, for this is a land which is sought by those who dream of Eden. We are used to legends here, stranger, since we are ourselves a legend."

"A legend and you exist. So might the Grail exist," I said.

"One does not prove the other." The guardian shifted a little in his saddle. "You are the men who killed our eagle, are you not?"

"We were attacked!" Sedenko became defensive. "We protected our own lives…"

"It is not a crime to kill an eagle," said the guardian evenly. "We of the Valley of the Golden Cloud do not impose our own laws on strangers. We merely ask that strangers do not bring their specific ideas of justice to us. But once you have passed this gateway, you must agree to obey our laws until you leave again."

"Naturally, we would agree," I said.

"Our laws are simple: Steal Nothing, whether it be an abstract idea or another life. Examine Everything. Pay a Fair Price. And, remember, to lie is to steal another soul's freedom of action, or some fragment of it. Here a liar and a thief are the same thing."

"Your laws sound excellent," I said. "Indeed, they sound ideal."

"And simple," said Sedenko feelingly.

"They are simple," said the guardian, "but they sometimes require complex interpretation."

"And what are the penalties for breaking your laws?" asked Sedenko.

The guardian said: "We have only two punishments here: Expulsion and Death. To some, they are the same."

"We will remember all you have said," I told him. "We seek Philander Groot, the hermit. Do you know where we might find him?"

"I do not know. Only the Queen knows."

"She is the ruler of this land?" asked Sedenko.

"She is its embodiment," said the guardian. "She dwells in the city. Go there now."

He moved his horse aside and made a sign so that the iron portcullis might be lifted by unseen hands within the towers.

As we passed through, I thanked him for his courtesy, but such was my state of mind that I determined to look carefully about me. It had been many years since I had been able to believe in absolute justice, and some weeks since I had been able to believe that there existed in the world (or beyond it) justice of any kind.

The air was sweet as we followed a road of well-trodden yellow earth through fields of green wheat towards the distant city, whose towers and turrets were predominantly white, reflecting the gold of the mist above us.

"A noble creature, that guard," said Sedenko, in some admiration, looking about him.

"Or a self-righteous one," I said.

"One must at least believe in Perfection"…he had become serious…"or one cannot believe in the promise of Heaven."

"True," said I to that poor damned youth.