IV – Gates to the Abyss

They entered the stable with their packs and swords at their waists. They would ride without armour, lest their intentions be misread—yet wearing the solemn cloaks that marked them as the Ministerian warriors they were.

Valcon, Gwion’s ivory-coloured steed, stood ready. One of the stable lads had saddled him at Narg’s request, but Tower had prevented him from approaching.

Without a second thought, Gwion snatched the saddle from the startled stable boy who had been watching the steed; he hoisted it onto his shoulder, fastened the straps, and opened the gate. Resolutely, he saddled the horse whilst avoiding his gaze and humming an old lullaby to himself.

Gregor ran his fingers through the white and brown mane of Clarens, his piebald steed, in farewell.

Neither of them liked the notion of riding aught save their faithful companion, with whom they shared a bond apart.

But Valcon and Tower were the swiftest—and though Clarens, shorter and broader than the rest, was well suited to bearing Gregor’s weight for miles on end, riding Valcon would shorten their journey time.

Hooves clattered over the rocks of the bridge and they left the kingdom behind them.

Narg, who had just taken a bath, though he had no intention of leaving the room, put on his riding breeches and red tunic and felt more refreshed as he finally took off his nightshirt.

The creaking of the chains upon the portcullis of the main gate told him that his commission was under way, and he approached the central window of his semi-circular bedroom, through which he could see the wall and beyond.

Surrounded by small candles that blushed the walls of his chamber with warmth, he watched their departure with a sombre cast to his eyes when Windar opened the door.

'I would like to keep thee company, my boy. I have brought my lucky cup to toast when Gwion returns.'

'Go and rest,' he ordered, glancing at her over his shoulder without turning round. 'I have matters to attend to; I shall inform thee when he returns.'

Windar set the golden goblet upon the round table beside the drinks and, ere departing, asked him:

'What hast thou given them in return?'

For reply, a silent smile—and then, lost in thought, he let his gaze drift towards the horizon. 'With the coming of dawn, light shall fall upon the kingdom, and there shall be nothing left to fret about.'

To ensure a peaceful journey, they elected to take the path leading north-west. In this wise, they would skirt the forest to avoid any possible ambush by roving bandits. Then, once they had crossed the border, a narrow track would lead them to the Ubberian fortress.

Gwion spoke not a word; he merely concentrated upon humming the lullaby within his mind and whistled snatches of it aloud. The burly warrior—long of arm, broad of sword—was afraid; the child within him trembled with terror, but that lullaby held him steady.

Narg had timed it perfectly; shortly after midnight they dismounted before the dark stone walls.

Two Ministerian soldiers stood guard and, upon recognising them, hastened to lower the drawbridge.

One of them escorted them through the citadel as they made their way past the houses, built of a mixture of straw and rock, to the castle entrance.

There he left them to tie up the horses whilst he announced their arrival to the inner guards.

Gwion had given Gregor his instructions: they would enter the castle and ask to see the widow, but whilst they waited for her to be woken, Gwion would carry out the mission about which he had given him no details.

Gregor agreed; he knew he would find out sooner or later.

He was patient—his years of experience as a member of Narg’s retinue guaranteed it.

Standing by the tethering post, surrounded by torches that lit up that corner of Ubberia’s main courtyard, with the swirling wind lifting his cloaks and making them crack, Gregor tied Valcon up. The slender steed’s magnificent white coat blended in with the orange hues of the surroundings.

Gwion, a few paces distant, avoided Tower’s gaze as he tugged at the reins to get him to follow him towards the tree trunk.

Suddenly, the northern air grew thick and he felt his body grow lighter.

His soul was at peace, but his heart, realising that supreme sensitivity was surfacing, began to beat wildly.

Dost thou no longer speak to me, that I might hold still?

Gwion let go of the reins and took several steps back.

Do not dare dig thy spurs into me again. I shall leave thee by the wayside and not look back—even at the cost of darkness’s triumph.

He plucked up his courage, and with his first stammered words, replied:

'If it is inevitable, then very well, I am here to hear you.'

Gregor’s eyes lit up like torches in the midst of a dark hall. He turned and found him motionless, mesmerised. He knew.

'First, breathe,' commanded Gregor. 'Second, I do not deem this the moment—not ere we have fulfilled the mission, lest the whole village hear us and drag us forth from this place amid axes and torches.

Many are glad of our victory, yet, as you must needs consider, there be still some loyal to Halfdan. '

Gwion paid no heed and, with a deep exhale, was ready and listened.

Thy soul hath awakened, that night, in the battle for the empire. Thy very essence proclaimeth thee immortal in memory, avenger of falsehood, reincarnation of truth. Through thy blood flow celestial springs—a gift bestowed for the purging of impurities.

The steed’s gaze pierced Gwion’s eyes, as if it wished to see beyond and reach his soul.

Were it not for this vessel, I would gladly howl with thee beneath the silver moon and run with thy pack.

Gwion, disoriented, strove to break the connection; an inner fire rose through his belly and suffocated him, yet he could not.

'No!' cried Gwion, his voice echoing across the courtyard. 'Enough of these riddles—if it is my mind, then speak plainly!'

Dost thou consider thyself my master, to speak to me in such wise? First thou dost run, and then thou dost bare thy fangs at me. Peculiar.

Tower took a step back and struck the ground with one of his forelegs.

Gregor’s eyes, like a pendulum, darted from Tower to Gwion and from Gwion to Tower.

He was more lost than a castaway in a misty sea.

It was one thing to enjoy the legends, to imagine what had happened, to relish the stories as if they were true and filled him with magic, but to experience it was quite different.

He was not part of the connection, and yet he could feel the electricity in the air.

Gwion stood in need of Gregor, there was no doubt of it, and with a nod of his head he invited the lad to draw nearer.

'It might be an oracle,' ventured Gwion. 'It spoke of having a vessel, but that, if it could choose, it would rather howl at the moon and be part of my pack.'

'Forgive my frankness, Gwion: for all your strength, you are slow,' observed Gregor. 'He is no doubt referring to your encounter with the wolf—who else forms packs and howls at the moon?'

Be not mistaken as to whom thou dost share the truth with; the gallows is a canoe that saileth in but one direction.

Tower accompanied those words with a loud whinny and reared up upon his hind legs.

Gregor did not need to hear them. Startled, he reached for the axe he carried upon his back, but Gwion stepped between him and the steed to calm them down.

Tower could not be harmed without expecting Narg to send them to meet the noose.

Gwion drew near to Tower warily, took the reins, and pulled them so that the horse would follow him to the log. He was convinced of the truth: he was losing his reason and had just put his king’s horse’s life at risk simply because of the madness in his own mind.

'I wish it were true,' said Gwion, defeated. 'I appreciate the effort, my friend, but I have made up my mind; when I return, I shall tell Narg.'

If thou dost not remember thy essence, that thou art the first wolf, I shall give thee the proof.

An icy wind lashed at Gwion’s neck, from side to side; he twisted his head so far that his ears brushed against his shoulders. Those words erupted from his feet until, striking his soul, they wrung a groan from him.

'What did you say?' he asked, his voice trembling and his face incinerated.

Wolf—what our king hath sent thee to seek is Perkolon’s manuscript.

His words paused, and Gwion recalled the last words spoken by Halfdan. For months he had striven to remember them, but, as if thinking of them stirred up the sediment of his mind, he had forgotten them.

Thou shalt not be able to read it; the fat man shall. Peruse it well, and thou shalt discover the great truth.

Gwion did not react, and Gregor, as though but a mere prop, beheld the scene without knowing what to do. In their daze, neither of them perceived that the palace’s principal door stood ajar, and a soldier clad in ancient Ubberian armour was calling out to them whilst waving a candle.

Go and deliver that missive to the ugly old woman—and ugly she certainly is.

Tower finished speaking and stamped his foot twice upon the ground whilst tossing his crest in the wind, as if what he had said amused him.

Gwion mimicked him, shaking his head to tie the loose ends of his thoughts together.

And, his throat parched, he revealed to Gregor, 'noblesse oblige,' his true mission.

The sentry ended up shouting at them, and both, whilst pretending to brush the dust from their cloaks, entered the castle. Gwion showed him the envelope and put it away. If the widow appeared before he returned, Gregor would have to find an excuse to gain time.