8. Giant Trumblegast Remembers

‘Drimwort! What about Xanthus?’ hissed Katy, once they were out in the tunnel.
‘I don’t know,’ said Drimwort. ‘But he must be out here somewhere. Let’s get back to the fork and go left.’
‘No — right,’ said Simon. ‘That’s the way back to where we came in.’
‘I know,’ said Drimwort. ‘But that’s no good to us, don’t you see. We know Xanthus isn’t down there and, besides, we can’t get past the wall if we get out where we came in. The left fork is our only hope — even if we don’t know where it leads!’
They hurried on, hoping the dwarfs were still too busy fighting to stop and light the candle, and hoping too that they would not realise that their prisoners had already escaped. At the fork, they turned left as Drimwort had advised.
For some time, the tunnel led them on a straight, level course, but then it began to twist and turn and to rise quite steeply. Finally, it brought them to another fork. Drimwort hesitated. ‘Which way now, do you think?’ he whispered.
No one answered. But as they stood there, trying to decide, they heard, from up the passage on their right, what each of them had almost given up hope of hearing — the sound of a unicorn shaking its mane and pawing restlessly at the stone floor. They ran forward and found themselves in another cave. It was too dark to see anything but, when they whispered his name, Xanthus spoke to them from a little way to their left.
‘Over here,’ he said dejectedly. ‘Once you’ve untied my legs and those of my friend here, I suppose we’d better be on our way.’
‘Your friend?’ said Katy.
‘A donkey,’ said Xanthus in the same dispirited tone of voice with which he had greeted them. ‘Not a breathborn donkey, of course, but a nice-enough beast.’
Drimwort freed Xanthus while Simon attended to the donkey. But, as he untied the poor creature, he could feel that it was nothing but skin and bones and that it was quite terrified. Katy stroked it to try and stop it trembling.
‘What’s your name?’ she whispered. But, getting no answer, she said, ‘I shall call you Chervil after that star Drimwort pointed out to us. I think it’s a lovely name —’ she patted him, ‘— and I think you’re a lovely donkey.’
‘Now where?’ asked Simon impatiently.
‘Straight on,’ said Xanthus miserably. ‘If my nose is not deceiving me, there’s fresh air up there — and not too far away.’
He was right. Within minutes they were squeezing their way through a crevice similar to the one through which they had been herded as prisoners, but this one came out into the gorge above the wall of boulders. They were almost too late. From behind them, there now came the sounds of pursuit. But these, at least, roused Xanthus from the state of languor in which, inexplicably, he seemed to have sunk.
‘You two, on my back — quickly!’ he commanded the children. ‘And you, Drimwort, on the donkey! Now, let’s go!’
At a gallop, Xanthus flew into the darkness and the donkey, spurred on by the threat of recapture, did his best to keep up. Behind them came the sound of shouting and cursing and, glancing back, Drimwort saw the lights of lanterns as the dwarfs spilled out into the gorge. But soon the lights were left behind and after half an hour or so of hard riding the travellers were through the pass and far beyond the dwarfs’ clutches. Already, light was creeping into the eastern sky and ahead of them lay a dark pine forest shrouded in mist.
Xanthus slowed to a walk and began to tread his way down the slope to where the forest began. And it was then that they all saw the reason for his despondency. His beautiful silver horn had been removed — broken away, quite close to its base.
‘Oh, Xanthus!’ said Katy. ‘Oh, you poor thing. How could they have done that to you!’
‘They called me a horse, and now they’ve turned me into one,’ said Xanthus. ‘It’s not so bad out here in the middle of nowhere, I suppose; but I can never show my face in Shalanor again, of course. Not possibly. The shame would be too great. No — once my task here is done, I shall live as a recluse somewhere. Or kill myself. I haven’t quite decided yet.’
‘Oh, don’t say such things,’ said Katy. ‘Of course you won’t kill yourself — or live as a recluse. You’re still beautiful, even without your horn.’
‘Well, it’s nice of you to say so,’ said Xanthus, sounding a little comforted. ‘Even if you are being economical with the truth.’ He sighed. ‘Anyway, I must stop thinking about my mutilation for the time being. There are other more pressing matters to attend to.’ They were nearing the edge of the forest now and the unicorn slowed to a halt. ‘Once we’re under cover of those trees, we can rest awhile,’ he said. ‘Then we’ll try to decide where to go from here. But first, you’d better dismount. You may find something to eat in the bushes over there.’
The children slid off Xanthus’ back and Drimwort climbed off Chervil. The donkey was a mixture of fear and bewilderment. He was trembling and looking about him as if he were seeing the world for the first time. Xanthus, true to his resolve to lay aside his own troubles, turned and nuzzled him.
‘You’re all right now, laddie,’ he said gently. ‘You’re quite safe here. Crop some grass — it’ll put some strength back into you.’
The donkey bent his head and began to eat, but cautiously — glancing up every few seconds as if expecting the blows to rain across his flanks as usual. Then, at last, it dawned on him that his days of being beaten were over and that he really was free of the dwarfs. With a great bray of joy, he rolled on his back and kicked his legs in the air for sheer happiness.
Xanthus turned away in some embarrassment. ‘Really!’ he muttered. ‘Such lack of decorum! Still, after what he’s been through, I suppose one has to make allowances. And, after all, he’s not a breathborn beast.’ He cropped some grass himself. ‘Anyway, who am I to talk,’ he said. ‘A unicorn without a “corn”!’
The children and Drimwort returned to Xanthus and the donkey, their mouths stained red with juice.
‘Blackberries!’ cried Katy. ‘The bushes are covered with them!’
‘I thought they might be,’ said Xanthus. ‘Well, now you’ve had your breakfast, let’s go and get some rest.’
They threaded their way among the silent trees to a point where they could still see the edge of the forest but could not easily be seen by anyone looking in. Then they all sank down on the carpet of pine needles.
‘I wonder where Roken’s got to,’ said Simon, yawning.
‘I don’t know,’ said Drimwort. ‘And I can’t say I particularly care. But no doubt he’ll turn up again before the day’s out.’ He stretched his arms. ‘Galloping gooseberries, I’m glad we’re out of that lot!’
‘Drimwort, you were just brilliant!’ said Katy.
She told Xanthus how the rabbit had provoked the quarrel among the dwarfs; and, for a while, the four of them talked about their escape. Then they discussed how they might best begin their search for giant Trumblegast. But, before long, their eyes began to droop with tiredness and soon they were all fast asleep.
It was Simon who, as usual, was the first to wake; but, when he did, he had difficulty in believing that he was not still asleep and dreaming. Hardly daring to move, he nudged Katy and Drimwort and, when they saw what he could see, they in turn woke Xanthus and Chervil.
Around them, in a half-circle, stood the strangest creatures the children had ever seen. They were about three metres high and very, very thin. Their faces were brown and smooth, like pine resin, and their eyes were black like berries. But the strangest thing about them was their hair, which was a mass of dark green spikes like pine needles, and their skin, which was covered in overlapping scales like those you find on pine cones. They wore jerkins and breeches and boots of brown leather. One — their leader — carried a staff, but otherwise they were unarmed. And, though they swayed slightly in the light wind which was blowing through the trees, they did not move. They simply stood there, gazing at the travellers.
‘Firkins,’ breathed Xanthus. ‘I have heard tell of them in legend but never seen them — nor have any others of whom I know.’
‘Firkins are what you call us,’ said the creature with the staff. ‘But our true name is Sylvi-cembra-candestra-didendi.’ His voice was soft and gentle but reedy — like a breeze sighing through the tree tops. ‘We mean you no harm,’ he continued. ‘Rather we come to offer you our aid. We heard you speak of your quest — and of Trumblegast the giant. If you wish, we will take you to him.’
‘Then he is still alive,’ cried Katy.
‘He is alive and well — but very old for one of his race,’ said the firkin. ‘He dwells some five leagues from here. Come! Follow me!’
It was a strange journey. The children, mounted on Xanthus, found that their heads were about level with those of the firkins who had grouped themselves around the company; but Drimwort, riding on Chervil, found that he barely came up to the creatures’ waists. None of the firkins spoke to the travellers, but shortly after the journey began, the one marching next to Simon began to make a most peculiar sound, and, one by one, the others joined in. It was the sort of sound which people make when they are trying to whistle but do not know how. They blew at different pitches and some blew a series of short notes while others blew long ones. The result was so weird to Simon’s ears that he had to fight hard not to giggle — especially when he looked at their shiny, brown lips, puckered like those of a roomful of elderly aunts who are waiting for you to kiss them.
‘It’s a marching tune!’ said Katy.
‘I know,’ said Simon. ‘It sounds like you when you practice your flute.’
‘Cheek!’ Katy gave him a push and he nearly fell off Xanthus. ‘At least I sound better than you do when you’re practising the violin.’
From time to time, they came to glades in the forest where there was grass underfoot instead of dry, brown pine needles, but the firkins passed through them without pause. Now and again, they saw red squirrels and deer, and once they heard (and later saw) a greater spotted woodpecker drilling away with its beak at a dead tree-trunk.
Then, after they had been travelling for about two and a half hours, they heard the sound of rushing water and the firkins led them down a slope to where a shallow stream flowed between broad, grassy banks. Beyond the far bank rose a wall of rock and in the wall was a great oak door hung on iron hinges and studded with iron nails. But it was the person sitting in front of the door who claimed everyone’s attention.
Even when seated, he was enormous. (‘Five metres, at least,’ Simon reckoned afterwards.) And his girth matched his height. His hair was white and shaggy and it covered most of his face as well as his head. And his beard was so long that it would easily have reached his waist, if you had ever been able to find it. His skin (what little you could see of it) was pink, and his eyes were of the palest blue and very kind and gentle.
The giant was busily peeling potatoes and throwing them into a large, black cooking pot which hung on an iron tripod over a wood fire; but, when he saw his visitors, he put down his knife and got up to meet them.
‘Greetings, Trumblegast,’ called the leader of the firkins. ‘We found this company in the forest. They were seeking you, so we have brought them to you.’
‘Seeking me?’ boomed the giant.
‘Yes,’ called Katy. ‘Minerva told us we should seek you.’
‘Minerva!’ said the giant. ‘Minerva the owl? Old Minnie from Kinder Chase?’
‘The same,’ called Xanthus. ‘But we come from Elyon — on his business and in his Name.’
At this, an excited kind of piping, whispering noise spread among the firkins.
‘You come from Elyon,’ said Trumblegast. ‘From the Faun himself! Bless my soul! Is he then in Shalanor once more?’
‘Aye,’ said Xanthus. ‘And he has called this Son and Daughter of Tellus from their own world to aid us here in our struggle against the tyrant, Morlok. By Elyon’s good will, he will be overthrown and Emeline will soon, once more, be Queen in Arwendal Keep. But we need your help.’
The giant tugged his beard. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘If you need my help, you shall have it, of course. Aye, that you shall. But I’m getting on in years, you know; and I can’t pretend that I’m as strong as I used to be. Oh, dear me, no. But come across here! Join me at my table and tell me what you want of me. Whatever I can do for you, that I’ll gladly do.’
Xanthus turned to the leader of the firkins. ‘My thanks, good friend,’ he said, ‘for your great kindness to us. We shall long remember this day and the service you have done for us — and for Elyon.’
‘It is him we serve and none other,’ said the firkin. ‘We are the spirits of the great pines. He awoke us and we danced with him when the world was young. We shall dance with him again. Call to us if you need us, and we shall come to you.’ Then he turned and his whole company moved silently back into the forest.
Xanthus and Chervil carried the children and Drimwort across the stream where they dismounted. Trumblegast threw some sliced carrots and turnip and a handful of herbs into the pot.
‘Mutton stew,’ he said. ‘But it won’t be ready yet for a while. Let me get you something to drink and then we can talk. Which would you prefer — cider or lemonade?’
‘Cider,’ said Drimwort and Xanthus.
‘Lemonade,’ said the children.
Trumblegast disappeared through the door into his cave and returned a few moments later with two large jugs, two bowls the size of bread crocks and three much smaller bowls. He put one of the large bowls in front of Xanthus and handed a small bowl to Drimwort and to each of the children. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to use these here egg-cups,’ he said. ‘I’ve nothing else small enough!’ Then he poured the drinks, took a huge pull of cider from his own bowl, lit a pipe, and sat back on his stool. ‘Now,’ he said, puffing away. ‘What’s all this about?’
Drimwort began the story by telling of the events at Salamander Cave and Witton Barracks, and Simon added to it from time to time. Then Katy told her part (but said nothing, of course, of the green stone in her pocket); and Xanthus told of their meeting with Minerva and of their journey to the Northern Peak.
For the most part, Trumblegast listened in silence, but when Katy told of her meeting with Elyon he leaned forward, lifted her chin with his huge forefinger and looked into her eyes. ‘Well, well,’ he said, ‘’Tis true. You have met him. It shows, you know. It shows!’ Then, when Xanthus got to the bit about the dwarfs, he gave his knee a mighty slap and sparks from his pipe flew everywhere. ‘Dang me!’ he said. ‘Have they been blocking Griffin Gorge again? If I’ve knocked that wall of theirs down once, I’ve knocked it down a dozen times.’ And when Xanthus told him what the dwarfs had done to his horn, the giant grew even more angry. ‘They’re a bad lot, you know. A bad lot!’ he said. ‘It’s high time I went and banged their heads together again!’ But when the story was finished, he just said, ‘Olrik, eh? So you want to know about Olrik?’ and sucked at his pipe (which had gone out half an hour earlier).
‘Well,’ said Katy, breaking the silence which seemed likely to go on for ever. ‘Who is Olrik? We’re all longing to know.’
‘Olrik is dead,’ said the giant. ‘Bound to be. Minerva was right about that. He must have been dead these three hundred years; and he had no children that I know of. But he wasn’t a true giant, you know — Minerva got that wrong. No — Olrik was a cyclops.’
‘A cyclops?’ said Katy. ‘What’s one of those?’
‘I know,’ said Simon. ‘There’s one in the story of Odysseus. We’ve done it at school. It’s a giant with only one eye, isn’t it? Right in the middle of its forehead.’
‘Aye,’ said Trumblegast. ‘That’s what a cyclops is, all right. Or maybe I should say "was". For, you see, there ain’t no cyclops around now. Oh, dear me, no. Olrik was the last.’
‘How did he die?’ asked Drimwort.
‘Now there’s a thing,’ said Trumblegast. ‘No one rightly knows. As I was told it when I was a youngster, it was like this —’ He lit his pipe again.
‘The Prince of Darkness — you’ll have heard of him, I don’t doubt? — had Shalanor, and all the lands around it, including this, in his clutches. He’d made it so that it was always twilight and the sun never shone. And for three or more years he’d ruled their peoples something cruel — the breathborn beasts and the satyrs and naiads and dryads — everyone, even us giants.
Now, there were some who tried to stand up to him, but it weren’t no good, see. Why? ’Cause he could turn anyone into stone, just by lifting up his Shield of Doom. It had a human head in it, you know — the head of the dead Queen Amaryl — but with horrid, writhing, hissing snakes where her hair should have been. And he had his spies everywhere. So as soon as anyone tried to plot against him, he would get word of it. Then he’d be off like the wind on that black stallion of his and the next thing the plotters knew they’d been turned into statues!’
He took another draught of cider.
‘Well, one day Olrik decided that enough was enough and that he would try to bring the Dark Prince down. Olrik lived way beyond here, further in among the mountains, and he reckoned that the Dark Prince was far too busy with Shalanor to bother his head much about the Northern Peak. So he began to recruit an army! At first, he gathered around him only those he knew and could trust — snow leopards, a dragon, goats, lynx, a yeti, a roc, eagles, some of the black bears, a manticore — and giants, of course. (Oh yes, there was one of us Gasts there, as I’ve heard tell — we go back a long way, we Gasts do, you know.) Well, then they recruited others — beasts and birds that they knew and could trust. And so the army grew. At first it was tens, then it was hundreds.’
He knocked his pipe out into the fire, pushed it into the pocket of his jerkin and pulled himself to his feet.
‘Now,’ he said. ‘I don’t doubt but that you’ll be a-wondering where you could keep an army of that size hidden. Am I right? Well, I’ll tell you. In the heart of Mount Pendallyn, that’s where! Come with me a minute.’
He led them a little way downstream and then up a steep footpath which wound around to the top of the hill over his cave. From there, wherever they looked, they could see mountains. Trumblegast pointed west.
‘See the one with a summit like a crown with three points?’ he said. ‘That’s Mount Pendallyn. And they do say it’s full of caves — some so big that it would take you half a day to walk through them! Well, it was in one of those caves that Olrik had his army. And that’s where he hatched his plan to overthrow the Prince of Darkness.’
He turned and began to lead the way back to the stream.
‘So what went wrong?’ asked Simon. ‘Did someone betray him?’
‘Not exactly,’ said Trumblegast. ‘It was like this, see. In the Dark Prince’s time, a river ran through Mount Pendallyn. It still does — out over the Falls of Imbrahad, down to the cliffs, over Thunder Force, into Carmel Pool and (as the River Fleet) through Shalanor to the sea. And it runs through the cave where the army was quartered. Except that, because the Prince of Darkness had blocked out the sun, it was frozen solid in these upper reaches when the army was there.’ He paused to light his pipe again.
‘Well, one morning, Olrik was busy drilling his troops in the secret cave when one of them — a hare, so they say — accidentally stepped onto the frozen river, lost his footing, and shot off like a toboggan. Before anyone could catch him, he was over the Falls, down the river and leagues away, lying in a broken heap on the ice of Carmel Pool. That’s where the wolves found him — with his sword and his helmet, and a shield with the dancing, golden faun painted on it, would you believe! — and carted him off to the Dark Prince himself.’ The giant drank the last of his cider and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
‘Well,’ he continued, ‘it didn’t take him long to put two and two together! He followed the frozen river back to the mountain and into the cave. And there, so they say, he nabbed the lot of them!’
‘Oh, no,’ cried Katy. ‘And what did he do to them?’
‘That’s just it,’ said Trumblegast. ‘No one knows. They all just vanished. Vanished without trace!’