---
1 ---
Under
the hill where the Dwarf-Lord dwells
the
hammers ring like the sound of bells.
They
ring on the rock to extract the ore
that
the Dwarves melt down by their Dwarvish lore.
When
the ore is molten, the silver they take,
and
from that silver they cunningly make
swords
and knives no shield can withstand,
and
rings too fine for any hand
save
that of a princess of royal birth.
None
are so skilful in all the earth
at
miner's work and silversmith's arts
as
the Dwarves who dwell in the mountainous parts.
---
2 ---
High
on a hill, overlooking his lands,
Duke
Hermann's castle, the Watchtower, stands,
and
never an English, French or German
Duke
or King was as rich as Hermann.
Once
a month, like his father before,
he
rode to the mountain where the Dwarves mined
ore.
He
went to the mountain with horses and carts
to
buy what they made by their Dwarvish arts.
The
carts rolled down from the Watchtower's gate
on
the first of the month as sure as fate,
and
every cart was piled up high
with
the finest food that money could buy.
Then
all those carts rolled along the road
to
the hill of the Dwarves to exchange their load,
and
when they reached the Dwarf-Lord's hall
the
Duke would dismount and loudly call:
"Hradlaub!
Hradlaub! Bring me silver!
That
is what I have come to your hill for.
Bring
me silver, wrought so fine,
and
I will give you food and wine."
Then
one by one they unloaded the waggons
of
bread, and ham, and wine in flagons -
enough
of the best to keep them all fed
for
a month at least - and in their stead
the
Dwarves piled high all the things they had made,
and
the Duke and the Dwarf were
pleased with their trade.
Then
the Dwarves took the food and
they carried it down,
while
the Duke and his men rode back to town,
where
they climbed up the track to
the Watchtower's door,
as
their fathers and grandsires had done before.
Then
Dwarves and Men both took their rest
and
were grateful to God that their life was blessed.
---
3 ---
Finally
there came a day,
the
Dwarves were waiting at their door
and
looking out along the way:
the
Duke was late and gloom now lay
on
every face as ne'er before.
The
hours went by, the sun had set.
The
Dwarves took back within their halls
their
silver, and as black as jet
the
Dwarf-Lord frowned - he'd hoped to get
food
for a month within his walls.
The
next day, and the next again,
they
waited on the mountain side.
They
saw no carts, they saw no men,
the
reason was beyond their ken.
No
longer could they quietly bide.
Then
Hradlaub called his chiefest lords.
"Our
food is nearly gone," he said.
"We
cannot live on silver hoards.
We
cannot win our food with swords.
Unless
the Duke arrives we're dead.
"Unto
the Watchtower I will go.
Dole
the food out, but be careful.
Is
the Duke held by some foe?
That
is something I must know.
You
must wait and watch. Be prayerful!"
Next
day Hradlaub took his hood
to
shade him from the blazing heat,
in
his hand a staff of wood,
his
cloak about him, and a good,
stout
pair of shoes upon his feet.
Evil
things in darkness lurk.
Goblins
are afraid of light.
Goblins
fight and steal and shirk.
Dwarves,
however, love to work.
Goblins
prowl about by night.
So,
despite the burning heat,
Dwarf-
and Man-kind walk by day.
Hradlaub
trudged on aching feet,
and
the blazing sun did beat
down
upon him all the way.
---
4 ---
Hradlaub
walked alone all day
underneath
the blazing sun,
and
long and weary was his way,
how
weary none but he can say.
He
walked till day was nearly done.
At
last before his weary eyes
he
saw a hill that stood alone.
On
top, outlined against the skies,
a
castle stood, immense in size,
the
Watchtower, high upon its throne.
On
he went till he espied
a
very steep and narrow track
which
spiralled round the mountainside,
that
all who on it walk or ride,
who
come as friends or to attack,
who
come in war or come in love,
who
climb towards the Watchtower's gate -
the
fox, the serpent and the dove -
can
be observed from high above
and
each receive a worthy fate.
---
5 ---
The
castle gate was barred and locked.
A
lesser mortal might have quailed,
but
Hradlaub took his staff and knocked.
The
keeper of the gate he hailed.
The
guard within cried, "Who goes there?
Speak
stranger! Are you foe or friend?
Announce
your name, but take good care
lest
you may meet a bloody end."
"Hradlaub
is my name," replied
the
Dwarf. "Pray let me come inside,
for
I must see the Duke today."
"The
Duke lies sick, you know full well,
the
victim of a Dwarvish spell,"
the
guardian said. "Go on your way!"
"The
Duke's our friend, in him we trust
our
silver artifacts to buy.
If
he should die then we too must.
A
Dwarvish spell? Vile knave, you lie!"
"For
five long nights the Duke has lain,
gasping,
groaning, on his bed.
Some
evil spell has worked this bane -
Dwarvish
magic, it is said,
for
ever and anon he cries
as
on his bed of pain he lies,
Hradlaub!
Hradlaub! Bring to me
Silver!
That is what I crave!
The
Dwarves will bring him to his grave.
If
you're Dwarf you'd better flee.
The
Duke is loved throughout his land.
From
his foes we'll all defend him.
If
there should fall into our hand
the
author of the spell, we'll rend him
limb
from limb. We'll show no mercies
to
those who cast such evil curses.
If
you're a Dwarf you'd better go,
for
every Dwarf we count as foe."
Sadly
Hradlaub left the gate
to
wander thence where'er his fate
might
take him in the dark of night.
Should
he go back to his hill?
No
cure lay there for Hermann's ill:
the
Dwarves could not help Hermann's plight.
---
6 ---
Evil
things in darkness lurk.
Goblins
are afraid of light.
Goblins
fight and steal and shirk,
love
to plunder those who work.
Goblins
prowl about by night.
Hradlaub
gripped his trusty staff.
Fearfully
he glanced around him.
Had
he heard a Goblin laugh?
Were
they trying to surround him?
In
the darkness all around him
fearful
shadows to confound him,
misty
shapes he couldn't see
stole
about from tree to tree.
Evil
things in darkness lurk.
Goblins
claw and scratch and bite,
rob
and murder those who work,
stabbing
them with sword or dirk.
Goblins
prowl about by night.
As
the clouds beneath the moon
fled
like sheep before the wind,
sending
shadows all aswoon
of
wicked beasts, some horned, some finned,
running,
slinking through the hedges,
across
the fields and round the edges,
black
and shapeless, grey, unclear,
the
stoutest soul begins to fear.
Evil
things in darkness lurk,
Goblins
eager for a fight,
armed
with sword or knife or dirk,
and
wicked hands that with a jerk
would
break a victim's neck by night.
Unclear
shadows on the rock,
stealthy
movements in the trees,
swirling
clouds that seem to mock
the
eye that knows not what it sees.
Did
something swoop across the sky?
Had
Hradlaub heard an anguished cry?
Would
he survive this evil night
and
see again the morning light?
Evil
things in darkness lurk,
Goblins
filled with hate and spite,
loathing
all who live by work,
wreaking
havoc in the murk,
killing
travellers lost by night.
---
7 ---
At
length a fresher wind began
to
blow, at once the clouds all ran,
and
by the moonlight he could scan
the
peaceful place around him
No
wicked Goblins could he see
creeping
up in murderous glee.
From
all his fears at last set free,
they
could no more confound him.
Then,
from a window in the tower,
he
heard a noise that made him cower.
The
Duke lay prey to some dread power
that
overcame and bound him.
Hradlaub
found a place to hide,
while
fearful moans came from inside.
He
saw the guardian had not lied
or
made up tales to hound him.
A
voice - and it could only be
the
Duke's - cried, "Hradlaub, bring to me
silver!
Set Duke Hermann free!"
He
heard. It did astound him.
---
8 ---
Hour
after hour the groans went on,
the
Duke fought for his breath,
and
Hradlaub, listening down below,
feared
he might hear Death.
He
feared the Duke might gasp and die,
crushed
by all his pain,
that
in a lonely, painful death
his
friend might end his reign.
Hour
after hour throughout the night
Duke
Hermann gasped and groaned.
"Hradlaub,
Hradlaub, bring me silver!"
the
voice now shrieked, now moaned.
Hradlaub
shivered down below.
The
night was damp and cold.
He
hoped and prayed that with the dawn
the
bane might loose its hold,
and
with the coming of the light
Duke
Hermann be released.
He
prayed the night might quickly pass,
and
stared towards the East.
At
last the black of night turned grey.
At
last he could discern
the
Watchtower, dark against the sky,
before
his nose a fern.
---
9 ---
From
the window in the tower
where
the Duke groaned on his bed
rose
a shriek in that grey hour,
a
shriek that made the Dwarf-Lord cower,
a
shriek to wake the dead.
"Hradlaub!
Hradlaub!" came the cry.
"Bring
me silver from your mine!"
It
rose, then fell, soft as a sigh,
a
roar, a howl, and then a whine.
"If
you would set Duke Hermann free
then
silver you must bring to me!
Bring
me silver from your hoard!
Bring
me silver, Dwarvish lord!"
By
the misty light and grey
Hradlaub
saw the Watchtower clear
at
the dawning of the day.
Across
Duke Hermann's window lay
the
shadow of a nameless fear.
A
blackness crouched upon the sill,
and
in the blackness, glowing red,
were
eyes. A cold and ghastly thrill
filled
Hradlaub with a trembling dread.
This
spawn of Hell was what had tried
the
Duke so sore he might have died.
It
would return in hope of gain,
perhaps
until the Duke was slain.
Glowing
red, those eyes were staring
straight
at Hradlaub, so it seemed,
through
the chainmail he was wearing,
his
inmost thoughts and spirit baring,
all
he'd feared and all he'd dreamed.
It
screeched a great triumphant shout,
then
launched itself into the sky.
Spreading
wings of darkness out,
the
baleful thing began to fly.
Hradlaub
crouched before the beast,
but
it rose high towards the East.
He
knew that he'd not watched in vain:
a
Nightmare was Duke Hermann's bane.
---
10 ---
At
sunrise Hradlaub rose and sought
a
stream. He ate the bread he'd brought,
scooped
water in his hands, drank deep.
He
washed himself, then climbed the steep
path
towards the Watchtower's gate
with
confidence. He held the fate
of
good Duke Hermann in his hands,
the
ruler of those peaceful lands.
The
gate stood open at the top,
and
there a soldier called out, "Stop!"
"Who
goes there?" the sergeant cried.
"Hradlaub.
Let me come inside.
The
Duke lies victim to a spell.
I've
urgent news that I must tell."
"The
Duke sees none, as you well know -
none
better, for a Dwarvish blow
confined
him helpless on his bed.
Hradlaub
was the name you said?
Well,
there are those that will see you.
Grab
that evil Dwarf, you two!"
Two
soldiers seized him in a hustle,
up
steps, through doorways, what a bustle,
his
feet could scarcely touch the floor.
The
sergeant knocked upon a door.
"Lord
Hincmar, we have caught a spy,
a
Dwarf, Sir. He was going to try
to
find out if the Duke was dying.
We
caught him, Sir, we caught him spying!"
Hradlaub
fell upon his knees,
not
to utter piteous pleas
but
because they threw him there.
He
rose as furious as a bear.
"I
wasn't! It's a pack of lies!
I
gave my name! Is that what spies
would
do? I'll have you whipped, you dog!
Give
me a whip and I will flog
you
myself, you sly, uncouth ..."
"Enough!"
said Hincmar. "What's the truth?
Did
this Dwarf here give his name?"
"Well,
yes, he did, but all the same
he's
spying," said the sergeant. "Look,
we
know the Dwarves bewitched the Duke ..."
Hincmar
said, "That may be so.
You
men can wait outside. Now go!
Leave
the Dwarf alone with me,
and
I'll find what the truth may be."
---
11 ---
"Tell
me, Dwarf, and tell me quick,
what
it is that brings you here,"
said
Lord Hincmar, "or a stick
laid
across you 'll do the trick -
Just
think of me as Hermann's ear."
"Hradlaub
is my name. I rule
the
Dwarves who dwell beneath the hill,
and
I would say the man's a fool
who
claims we wish Duke Hermann ill.
Young
man, I say the Duke's our friend.
If
he dies then our trade would end.
Besides,
I think you know full well,
there's
not a Dwarf could cast the spell.
But
first it's spells and then it's spying
that
I'm charged with by these dolts!
Making
sure the Duke is dying?
Peeping,
poking, meddling, prying?
Had
I now but magic bolts
then
they'd learn their lesson soon.
But
listen now to what I tell.
Last
night was cloudy and the Moon
cast
shadows over moor and fell.
I
lay concealed throughout the night
below
the Watchtower, out of sight,
and
heard Duke Hermann gasp and groan,
and
pitied him at every moan.
Evil
things in darkness lurk.
Goblins,
filled with hate and spite,
love
to plunder those who work
and
slit their throats with claw or dirk -
but
worse things fly about by night.
All
night long I heard a voice
calling
Hradlaub,
bring to me
silver,
there's no other choice
if you would set Duke
Hermann free.
Then
at last before the dawning
light
could herald in the morning,
just
before the sun did rise,
I
saw a shape with glowing eyes.
The
thing was black, its eyes were red.
Its
screech would almost freeze the blood.
I
feared Duke Hermann might be dead,
the
creature on his life had fed
and
nipped his flowering in the bud.
It
flew away towards the East.
I
saw it black against the sky,
and
then I recognised the beast,
and
so, Lord Hincmar, that is why
I
come now to the Watchtower's gate,
to
bring you news of Hermann's fate
and
tell what passed within his room:
a
Nightmare is Duke Hermann's doom."
---
12 ---
"A
Nightmare?" said Lord Hincmar. "Well,
I
believe that this is true.
I
watched outside his door while you
were
down below, but some foul spell
held
me back, would not allow
me
to enter. What was there
bewitched
me that I did not dare,
thanks
to you I know it now.
You
and I shall watch this night
in
the bushes down below.
I'll
see this Nightmare, eyes aglow,
then
I can plan how we shall fight."
Throughout
the night they lay concealed.
All
was done as Hincmar said.
They
heard and saw the Nightmare dread,
and
next day early they revealed
to
the Councillors of State
all
that they had seen and heard.
Many
an hour and many a word
were
spent discussing Hermann's fate.
It
was decided they should seek
a
powerful sorcerer to ban
the
Nightmare, but where was the man
of
magic strong enough to speak
the
runic words and cast the spell
to
overcome that hidden power
that
sent the beast to Hermann's tower,
to
ban and banish it to Hell?
In
all of Germany was none
so
skilled that he could match the force
and
turn the Nightmare from its course.
The
deed, it seemed, could not be done.
---
13 ---
Helpless
stood the Council
till Wolfram poet spoke
"Far
beyond the mountains
beyond the sight of smoke
from
German chimneys lies
the land where ends the night,
from
where the Sun each day
returns to bring us light.
From
the pit he claws
his fiery way to birth
and
climbs into the sky
to cast his light on Earth.
He
strikes the darkness down
with all his fiery power,
till
sinking in the West
he meets his fated hour.
There
in the utmost East,
in stories we are told,
dwells
many a far worse beast
than our werewolves of old.
There
the unquiet dead
arise at night and fly.
They
cannot be struck down,
nor can they ever die.
By
day they lie as dead,
each night they rise again
to
prey upon the living
and drink the blood of men,
and
whomsoe'er they bite,
that very night he dies,
but
when the sun next sets
in quest of blood he flies.
There
once, in that wild land,
the great Attila reigned,
who
sheltered our King Dietrich,
as ancient tales explained,
when
he, by traitors driven,
had fled his land and crown,
until
he could return
to cast the traitors down.
There
too, it's told in stories,
Burgundian heroes fell
in
dire revenge for murder -
a tale too long to tell -
for
they had slain bold Siegfried
most foully from behind,
despite
their oaths of friendship,
which ought all men to bind.
Now
he had killed a dragon
and also won a hoard
of
gold and jewels which made him
by far the richest lord.
In
all the world no other
was generous as he.
For
fear of him they slew him,
but never were they free.
For
thirty years and longer
Kriemhilde planned their doom,
until
at last she had them
imprisoned in one room.
Her
brother then and Hagen
alone were not yet dead.
Kriemhilde
in her fury
struck off her brother's head,
for
Hagen, he had spoken,
and sworn upon his sword,
as
long as Gunter lived
he'd not reveal the hoard.
Kriemhilde
killed her brother,
and he swore by any cost
that
never should she have it -
he fell, the hoard was lost.
I
see by your demeanour
impatience spurs you on.
You'll
hear no tales of heroes
but on your quest be gone.
I
know of a magician
who dwells beyond the East,
and
he alone has strength enough
to fight and quell the beast.
What
may his true name be
there is no-one can tell,
but
Buvesz
he is called,
and Varaszlo
as well,
and
many fear his power
lest it may bring disaster,
for
darker names he has
like Boszarkany-Master."
---
14 ---
In
a shorter time than the poet had taken
to
tell his tale the hall was forsaken,
for
Hincmar knew what he had to do,
and
he gave his orders to others too.
Hradlaub
alone would have leisure to rest,
for
he'd stay at the Watchtower as Hincmar's guest,
and
food would be taken by Hincmar's men
to
feed all the Dwarves for a month again.
To
seek for the Sorcerer Hincmar would ride
through
the plains of Pannonia, far and wide.
Across
Scarabantia he'd make his way,
scarcely
resting by night and riding all day.
---
15 ---
Wide
are the grey Pannonian plains.
The
far away mountains against the sky
rise
up from the flatness like sharp, angry pains,
and
the wind-driven clouds go lumbering by.
Vast
are the great Scarabantian woods
and
wild are the rivers that fall from the hills.
There
many a traveller is robbed of his goods
and
cast in the lakes that the melting snow fills.
Steep
are the passes and narrow the ways,
many
the villages, countless the fields.
How
could a man, though he sought many days,
find
him whom he sought? - Surely nought the search
yields.
Had
Varaszlo heard that a traveller, a knight,
from
far-away Germany come on a quest,
was
seeking for him both by day and by night?
At
length he met Hincmar and bade him as guest
come
to his palace and tell him his tale.
The
Master of Runes then agreed to give aid,
but
Hincmar still sighed as they drank Hunnish ale
lest
their help come too late, and he still
looked dismayed.
"I've
ridden by day and I've ridden by night,
scarce
stopping for food, scarce stopping for rest.
Varaszlo
surely will not think it right
to
travel so hard at a poor knight's request."
"Indeed
I will not," the Sorcerer said.
"I
find that I have for such hardship no need.
I'll
travel as softly as though in my bed
by
means of a carpet that flies with great speed.
What
magic is in it none knows, even I.
It
comes from the Orient, Persian its make.
As
soon as we've finished our meal we shall fly,
Duke
Hermann to rescue, the evil to break."
---
16 ---
No-one
saw the carpet land
upon
the Watchtower's highest peak,
not
even Hradlaub, close at hand,
looking
east across the land -
but
then he heard Lord Hincmar speak.
That
night Hradlaub watched again
with
Hincmar and Lord Varaszlo.
Safe
between those valiant men,
he
heard the Nightmare, watched it go,
saw
its eyes both glowing red
in
the darkness of its head,
watched
it fly towards the East,
and
cursed whatever sent the beast.
Next
day then the Council met
to
hear what Buvesz had to say.
"A
Necromancer's cast this net
to
trap Duke Hermann and to get
all
the silver he will pay.
There
is no other way to free
the
Duke unless we quickly send
silver.
That's the ransom fee
that
we must pay ere he will mend.
That
will free him for a night
or
two, that's all. Such deadly spite
will
keep its grip and hold on fast
till
Hermann's poor and breathes his last.
One
other thing the voice has spoken:
it's
Dwarvish silver it desires,
by
none other to be taken
than
Hradlaub, all alone, forsaken
by
all who dwell in Hermann's shires."
Hradlaub
said, "I am afraid,
but
for Hermann's sake I'll go.
Can't
I have two Dwarves as aid,
to
hide then spring out at the foe?"
"All
alone, save for your horse.
No
other life must take your course.
Give
the silver. Seek no strife.
Relief
may save Duke Hermann's life."
---
17 ---
As
soon as the Council had come to an end
Hincmar
and Buvesz, and Hradlaub, their friend,
saddled
their horses and took to the road
to
the hill of the Dwarves, there to ask for a load
of
silver and silversmith's work, finely wrought,
wherewith
for the Duke a night's rest might
be bought.
Early
next morning a horse pulled the cart,
though
Hradlaub, the driver, was loath to depart.
Hincmar
and Varaszlo rode alongside,
but
after a while discontinued their ride.
Homeward
they turned and rode off to the west.
Hradlaub
went eastward and hoped for the best.
Though
chilled in his blood and afraid in his bone
Hradlaub
the Dwarf went onward alone.
---
18 ---
Hradlaub's
heart was heavy within him.
Wild
was the wood.
Threatening
thorns grew thick on the trees,
on
brambles and briars.
On
the slopes of the hills high grew the wood.
Rivers
came rushing,
swollen
and snarling in spate through the rocks,
filling
marshes with mud.
The
rotting trees were twisted and gnarled.
Many
boles were broken.
No
daylight came through down to the floor
of
the windless wood.
Boughs
and creepers banned the light.
No
birds in the bushes,
but
hidden snakes were sneaking about.
He
heard them hissing.
Then
his heart sank as he saw the Nightmare.
Darker
than darkness
it
sat on a stone staring at Hradlaub
with
evil eyes.
"Hradlaub,"
it croaked, crouching above him,
"Are
you alone?"
"But
for my horse to help with the cart
alone
I am."
"Follow!"
it cried and flew swiftly
without
waiting.
"Stop!"
shouted Hradlaub. "Stay till I come.
You
fly too fast."
The
cart was caught in creepers that trailed.
The
horse hauled,
but
the wheels stuck on stones and roots
and
sank into swamps.
"Wait
for me!" wailed the Dwarf.
The
beast came back.
"Come!"
it croaked, "You crawling midget!
Forward!
Follow!"
---
19 ---
Where
the wood grew thickest thorns and spines,
briars
and brambles
hedged
a house.
A
narrow way wound through the bushes,
too
cramped for the cart,
into
deadly darkness.
The
Dwarf shuddered, dread came on him
at
the Nightmare's nest
in
the thorny thicket.
The
Nightmare screeched, it screamed in greeting.
Out
shambled a shape,
square
and squat.
Black
as the night was the Nightmare's mistress,
evil
the eye
of
the wicked Witch.
"Hradlaub,"
she howled hobbling towards him,
"are
you alone?
Do
friends follow?"
"Lady,
I come lonely and helpless.
Friendless
I face
the
dark danger.
As
you have bidden I bring you silver
from
the Dwarves dwellings
under
the earth."
"Then
you shall carry it into my cottage,
sackful
by sackful
borne
on your back."
He
hefted and heaved and hauled in the sacks,
and
piled them in place
as
the Witch wanted.
Hard
was the work, heavy the silver.
He
sweated and strained,
dreading
his doom,
fearful
the Witch might want him to stay
to
serve her as slave
in
her thorn-hedged thicket.
At
long last the load was ended,
the
sacks of silver
housed
in the hovel.
The
wicked Witch waved him away,
and
homeward he hurried
on
fearful feet,
helping
his horse and heaving the cart
over
stump and stone,
through
thorn and thicket.
Lighter
the waggon unloaded of silver,
swiftly
they sped
through
the windless wood.
---
20 ---
Unknown
things in darkness lurk.
As
Hradlaub left upon his way
when
he'd completed all his work,
fleeing
through the gloom and murk,
he
passed by where two shadows lay.
After
he had passed they rose,
slipping
softly through the gloom,
walking
quietly, on their toes,
to
the windows of the room
where
the Witch and Nightmare gloated
on
their treasures, spiteful, bloated
with
their hatred for all life,
intent
on sowing grief and strife.
Hincmar
and Lord Varaszlo
were
the shadows who thus hid.
They'd
followed Hradlaub, lying low,
never
meaning him to go
alone
and unaccompanied.
But
they knew he could not lie
straight-faced
enough to fool whoever
had
sent the Nightmare. He might try,
it
was beyond his best endeavour.
And
so they'd followed him to find
the
lair where lurked the evil mind
that
gave Duke Hermann such great pain,
the
sender of Duke Hermann's bane.
---
21 ---
Hincmar
and Varaszlo heard the Witch:
"These
fools may think they can free the Duke
by
sending me silver. They'd stop his pain
with
one waggonload. Wait and see.
No
sleep shall he have, nor slumber nor dream,
Not
a night
till
the Dwarves wealth dwells with me,
hidden
in my house.
They
cannot break the binding chains!
The
might is mine!
They
can send silver.
Clippings
from his hair keep him spellbound,
fallen
fingernails
are
the hidden hold.
While
I have those what can stop me?
Dusk
is dimming:
time
for terror.
The
Duke is doomed.
Now,
Nightmare,
fly
to my foe!
Rob
him of rest!"
---
22 ---
Then
the Nightmare with a cry
left
the Witch's filthy hovel,
heaved
itself into the sky
and
sped to settle and to lie
on
Hermann's chest to make him grovel,
to
bind him fast with bonds of pain,
to
rob him of his very breath.
The
Nightmare was Duke Hermann's bane,
its
pleasure was his lingering death.
"The
creature's gone. We must act fast.
This
chance is both our first and last,"
said
Varaszlo. "I'll search her lair,
but
you must get her out of there.
Beware,
with magic she will fight,
and
you must face her undefended.
No
matter what your desperate plight
don't
count on me to put it right.
To
me my search is all till ended."
So,
without another word,
from
the hovel Hincmar stole.
Then
rising, sudden as a bird,
from
a deeply shadowed hole,
"Foul
Witch," he cried, "come forth and fight!
You
filthy spawn of evil night!
Come
forth and meet me if you dare
instead
of skulking in your lair."
---
23 ---
Lord
Hincmar stood in crepuscular gloom,
saw
the Witch come out and before him loom.
"You
miserable midget! You horrible hog!
I'll
whip you till you howl like a dog!"
cried
the wicked Witch, and she ground her teeth.
Her
weight was shaking the ground underneath.
"Your
tale you'll never live to tell.
I'll
obliterate you with my very first spell!"
Then
she hurled at Hincmar a curse like a flame
that
blistered the branches as it came.
He
dived for shelter. It struck a tree
which
burst into flames. She cackled with glee
and
hurled her spells with both her hands.
"You're
dead, you snake, if a single one lands.
This
one will turn you into an ant,
and
this a toad," he heard her rant
as
she went on hurling spell and curse,
"and
this, you serpent will disperse
your
body to the empty air!
Never
again will anyone dare
to
enter my forest without my leave.
Just
see what terrors I can weave!"
Then
all about him there crackled and hissed
the
Witch's spells, but all of them missed,
for
he dodged and danced and ducked and rolled,
and
not a single one took hold.
But
the air was purple and blue and red
as
she hurled her spells around his head,
and
the trees were burnt and broken and felled
as
she swung her staff and howled and yelled
curses
and spells, and she trampled the briars,
while
all around explosions and fires
had
torn up the bushes and blackened the ground.
Hincmar
escaped with a leap and a bound,
and
the Witch came lumbering after him
with
spells to rend him limb from limb.
"You
sneaking snake!" she spat her spite,
hurling
her spells to the left and the right.
Hincmar
fled and she rushed in pursuit,
forgetting
her lair and forgetting her loot,
hurling
her spells as she crashed through the trees,
wading
in brambles right up to her knees,
spitting
and cursing and gasping for breath.
Each
one of the spells that she hurled would
mean death,
and
she hurled them by dozens and hurled them
by scores,
paying
no heed to the cracks and the roars
as
the undergrowth blazed and the trees caught alight
and
the snakes and the spiders all fled in their fright.
---
24 ---
Varaszlo
heard the crack and the roar
of
flames in the forest. The flicker of fire
sent
shadows scurrying over the floor.
As
soon as the Witch had gone from the door
by
the window he'd entered that hovel or byre.
He
swiftly looked round the Witch's foul den,
seeing
boxes and barrels and bottles and bags
all
piled up so high that hundreds of men
could
have searched all the day, if that vilest of hags
had
been out of the way, yet still not have found
the
thing that they sought. Then with scarcely
a sound,
with
a flick of his hand and a glint of his eye,
a
spell he sent out that swiftly did fly
around
and around in the flickering gloom,
moving
through cupboards and drawers and shelves.
Hovering,
searching, it sped round the room,
seeking
the vessel that held Hermann's doom.
Then
barrels and caskets opened themselves,
spilling
rubies and diamonds, silver and gold,
emeralds,
sapphires and opals, (such treasures
as
rarely are seen), and jewels untold -
for
stealing and hoarding, those were her pleasures.
Evil
things too fell out of the bags:
bats'
wings and beetles and filth and old rags,
and
poisonous herbs and things with vile smells
that
she boiled in a cauldron to make magic spells.
The
searching-out charm very swiftly did fly
round
the dirty old hovel, amid the high heaps
of
treasures and vileness, until, by and by,
it
came to the place where a casket did lie.
Varaszlo
muttered, "So that's where she keeps
the
chains that bind Hermann, his nails and
his hair."
Then
he bent to examine the carved wooden chest,
and
sighed when he saw the runes written there,
for
the power that they held at the Witch's behest
if
the casket were opened would cause it to howl.
Then
the Witch would come back with murder most
foul
in
her mind and her heart, and exude such a breath
of
pestilent ill that he'd not escape death.
Varaszlo's
magic could not move the chest
without
making it scream and recalling the hag.
"I'd
have taken more exercise if I had guessed
how
my strength would be needed," he said, quite
depressed,
as
he picked up the chest and started to sag.
Then
he heaved and he got it up into his arms.
To
the door Buvesz staggered and out of the room,
to
the wood, where the Witch with her spells and
her charms
had
called thunder and lightning to seal Hincmar's
doom.
The
lightning came crashing and brought down the
trees
where
Hincmar was hiding, but swift as a breeze
he
tumbled away. Then she did it again,
but
he was concealed by a downpour of rain.
How
she cursed and she screeched as she flung out
her power,
while
Varaszlo staggered away with the chest,
and
Hincmar was forced to tumble and cower,
roll
over and flee, till he thought his last hour
had
come and that that was the end of their quest.
But
Varaszlo, straining his muscles, had hauled
the
chest to a thicket of briar and thorn.
He
opened its lid and straightway it called
and
screeched with a voice like a rusty old horn.
Varaszlo
took out the hair and the nails,
but
as soon as the Witch hear the screams and
the wails
she
rushed from the battle to get the box back,
so
Hincmar at last was safe from attack.
---
25 ---
Wearily
the two men met
beside
the riven rock where waited
their
horses. Now the sun had set,
but
that which they'd set out to get
they
had. Though tired they were elated.
Far
behind they heard a screech,
a
wail of pain, a howl of rage.
"I
think the wicked Witch can't reach
her
box, nor yet with spells beseech
it
to come out," observed the Mage.
"Her
magic there she cannot use.
My
third spell bars it, keeps it out.
To
get the casket she must choose
to
brave those vicious thorns and lose
some
blood. That's why we hear her shout."
"Serves
her right," said Hincmar then,
"but
if you say this spell's your third,
I'd
like to know just how and when
you
used the others in her den.
Pray
do not think I'll be deterred."
"The
third spell causes her to howl.
She
cannot use her magic charms.
The
thorns rip at her carcase foul,
and
make her curse and spit and yowl
by
scratching at her legs and arms.
But
she must quickly find her chest
or
she won't know if she has lost
the
treasure that she values best,
that
kept Duke Hermann sore oppressed,
so
in she crawls, whate'er the cost.
My
second was a searching spell
to
seek Duke Hermann's nails and hair,
for
heaped up in the Witch's cell
were
filth and treasures, piled pell-mell,
the
strangest hoard, beyond compare.
My
first - now don't be angry, friend -
was
merely a protection charm.
I
didn't want to have your end
upon
my conscience - Heav'n forfend -
a
spell to keep you safe from harm.
It's
no reflection on your daring.
You
didn't know, and if you had -
this
paradox is past all bearing -
it
wouldn't work, so stop your glaring ..."
Just
then they heard a pad ... pad ... pad.
---
26 ---
Evil
things in darkness lurk
with
claws that tear and jaws that bite,
armed
with knife or sword or dirk,
seeking
prey in mist and murk -
Goblins
prowl about by night.
Now
the Witch had changed her screaming
from
curses to a caterwaul.
At
that from every side came streaming
Goblins,
summoned by her call,
mountain
Orcs with shields of leather,
helmets
topped with vulture's feather,
armed
with axes, swords and maces,
wicked
grins upon their faces.
Evil
things in darkness lurk,
Goblins,
eager for a fight.
Though
avoiding honest work,
murder's
what they never shirk.
To
kill and rob is their delight.
The
Wizard said, "We are too late.
The
Witch has got us neatly caught.
We'll
have to fight and meet our fate,
for
magic will avail us naught.
I
see these Goblins are protected
by
a magic spell projected
by
the Witch who owns this wood.
It
seems that bad has beaten good."
Evil
things in darkness lurk,
Goblins
filled with hate and spite.
On
they come to start their work,
armed
with axe and mace and dirk.
Bloodlust
makes their eyes shine bright.
On
they come in screaming hordes,
made
fiercer by the Witch's call,
unafraid
are they of swords,
with
only two against them all.
Now
the Witch herself appears.
"Take
them both alive," she sneers.
Though
the time for magic's done,
the
final battle has begun."
The
Goblins charge. The horses fall.
The
men are standing back to back,
swords
in hand, to meet the brawl,
cutting
at the surging wall,
the
spitting, howling, surging pack.
Goblins
fall, but others come.
Hincmar's
sword is red with blood.
The
Wizard's arm is growing numb
and
still they cannot stem the flood.
The
Witch still caterwauls her dirge.
The
Goblins start another surge,
and
many fall like ripened corn,
when
suddenly there blares a horn.
Again
the horn sounds on the breeze.
Then
mail-clad warriors bearing light,
clustered
like a swarm of bees,
come
fiercely charging through the trees,
and
in their hands their swords are bright.
The
warriors charge.The Goblins turn.
Some
try to fight, but most turn tail.
The
flashing swords now seem to burn
about
their heads. The Goblins wail.
The
wicked Witch now casts a spell.
The
Sorcerer's voice, like sounding bell,
forestalls
her, and a shining dart
pierces
the evil to its heart.
It
writhes, and falls about her head,
and
now at last the wicked Witch,
with
all her Goblins fled or dead,
is
shaken by a sudden dread.
She
stumbles over root and ditch
in
anxious haste to get away
from
all those fearsome Dwarvish swords -
for
Dwarves it is who've won the day
and
rescued the embattled lords,
Dwarves
who've never used their arms
in
battle's dins or war's alarms.
On
Goblins' blood their swords have fed -
victorious
Hradlaub at their head.
---
27 ---
As
Hradlaub with his trembling horse
had
taken from the wood his course
and
come into the open land
his
eye had fallen on a band
of
Dwarves, all clad in coats of mail,
who
hurried up to hear his tale.
For
when he'd left the mine at dawn
they
had resolved that not forlorn
and
friendless would he face his foe,
but
all the fiercest Dwarves would go
to
be on hand lest he should need
from
some foul prison to be freed,
or,
at the last, if all else failed,
the
colours of the Dwarves be nailed
fast
to the staff of vengeance grim
to
slaughter what had slaughtered him.
Now,
being prudent, they'd sent out
a
party on ahead to scout,
and
these had not gone far when they
saw
two armed horsemen on the way.
Then,
creeping up where Dwarves might go
unseen,
observed Lord Varaszlo
and
Hincmar too, and so they guessed
some
plan was made, and thought it best
to
follow quietly in the rear
and
wait their chance to interfere.
Scarce
had they reached the final word
of
this bold tale when noise was heard
from
the forest: fire and storm,
lightning
bolt and every form
of
magic spell that brings destruction,
and
evil winds that by their suction
uproot
the trees and overturn them,
and
crackling flames that fiercely burn them.
No
place for Dwarves where spells are cast.
They
cannot fight the fearful blast
of
war that's fought with evil charms,
but
still they waited with their arms
at
the ready, shields and swords,
to
bring their aid to Hermann's lords.
Then
suddenly the battle ceased.
Their
ears and senses were released.
They
waited in the eerie calm,
and
hoped their friends were safe from harm,
until,
at length, a ghastly wailing
told
them that the Witch was ailing.
But
then her howling changed again,
full
of menace to the men.
Dwarvish
spies upon their knees
had
crept up quietly through the trees
and
seen the milling Goblin hordes
swarming
to attack the lords.
Hradlaub,
clad in mail, had led
the
Dwarvish charge - the Goblins fled.
---
28 ---
They
left the forest and the gloom,
returning
to Duke Hermann's lands,
and
far away in Hermann's room
the
Nightmare felt a sense of doom
that
seized its heart like two strong hands.
It
hurled itself from Hermann's tower.
It
hauled itself across the sky.
It
knew the Witch had lost her power.
In
panic it could scarcely fly.
They
saw it passing overhead,
flapping
feebly, nearly dead.
It
disappeared into the wood -
and
Hermann's bane was gone for good.
At
the Watchtower Varaszlo
kindled
fire and blew on flame,
made
the embers brightly glow
while
the flames were licking low
as
he spoke their secret name.
Then,
with careful incantation,
he
burned Duke Hermann's hair and nails,
and,
with a chant of celebration,
cast
a spell, that never fails,
to
give protection to the Duke,
still
sleeping, but with healthier look.
He
woke, he ate, he drank his wine.
When
evening came he rose to dine.
Duke
Hermann now resumed his life
and
once a month rode to the hill
to
purchase sword and jewel and knife.
His
sister was Lord Hincmar's wife,
and
neither man was ever ill.
The
Dwarf-Lord too lived long and well,
and
honoured was his worthy name.
Throughout
his days sound as a bell,
he
left behind him lasting fame.
Lord
Varaszlo, the Sorcerer,
still
lives, at least so men aver,
and
rides the broad Pannonian plain,
till
need may call him west again.
Please
remember that this
story is copyright. See Copyright and
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