all of them should be settling down to get some sleep, for they’d need to be up by dawn. What they’d do he had no idea, but as quickly as possible they had to have a course of action planned. Conrad, he thought, might have turned up some new piece of information, and it was important that he see him soon.
It was just possible that Conrad had wandered over to another fire. Purposefully he set out for the nearest one. He had gone only a couple of hundred feet or so when someone hissed at him from the darkness of a clump of bushes.
Swiftly he swung around, his hand going to the sword hilt.
“Who’s there?” he challenged. “Show yourself.”
A deeper shadow detached itself from the bushes. Moonlight shimmered on the crumpled horn.
“Scratch, what are you doing here?” Duncan asked.
“Waiting for you,” the demon said. “I have a thing to tell you. Quietly. Not too loud. Squat down so we can talk.”
Duncan squatted to face the dumpy little figure. The demon leaned forward painfully, head thrust forward by the hump upon his back.
“I have been listening,” he said. “You are in trouble.”
“It’s nothing new,” Duncan told him. “We always are in trouble.”
“But this time facing powerful forces on all sides of you.”
“That is true.”
“No way to escape?”
“So the Little People tell us. We do not take their word entirely.”
“There is a way across the fen,” said Scratch.
What was going on? What was Scratch attempting to do here? Shut up in the castle for centuries, how would he know about the fen?
“You do not believe me,” said the demon.
“It’s hard to. How could you know?”
“I told you once that someday I would tell you of my adventures. We never got around to it.”
“You did tell me that. I’d be delighted to hear the tale you have to tell. But not now. I’m looking for Conrad.”
“Not all of it now,” said Scratch. “Just a part of it. You must know that once I fled from Hell the word got around in human circles there was a demon loose — a fugitive demon from whom the protection of Old Scratch had been withdrawn, fair game for anyone who could lay hands upon him. I was hunted mercilessly.
“That’s how I came to know about the fen. At this very place, the south end of the fen, I hid for several years; until I felt that I was safe, that everyone had forgotten me, that the trail had grown cold and the hunt been given up. So I came out of the fen and, wouldn’t you know it, almost immediately was gobbled up.”
“But the fen is death,” said Duncan. “Or so we have been told.”
“If one knows the way…”
“And you know the way?”
“A water sprite showed me. A grumpy little sprite, but he took pity on me. One must be careful, but it can be done.
There are certain landmarks …”
“It’s been a long time since you’ve been in the fen. Landmarks can change.”
“Not these. There are certain islands.”
“Islands change. They can shift or sink.”
“The hills come down to the fen and stop. But a part of them, very ancient parts of them, still remain, much worn down and lower than the hills. These are the islands that I speak of. They stand solid through the ages. All rock, they cannot sink. Rock ledges run underwater between them, connecting them. The ledges are what you follow to get across the fen. They are covered by water and just by looking, you cannot see them. One must know.”
“Deep water?”
“Up to my neck in places. No deeper.”
“All the way across? To the western shore?”
“That is right, my lord. A hidden ridge of rock, a part of the ancient hills, but there are tricky places.”
“You’d recognize the tricky places?”
“I am sure I can. I have a good memory.”
“You would lead us, show us the way?”
“Honored sir,” said Scratch, “I owe you a debt I had never hoped I could repay. Showing you across the fen would be only partial payment. But if you would accept…”
“We do accept,” said Duncan. “If events so order themselves…”
“Events?”
“It may be the main Horde of Harriers will block our way. They are moving up the west bank of the fen. If they should continue moving north, as they were when last seen, then, with your help, we can cross the fen and be clear of them.”
“There is one thing else.”
“Yes?”
“At the western edge of the fen stands a massive island, much larger than the others. It is guarded by dragons.”
“Why dragons?”
“The island,” said Scratch, “is a wailing place. The Place of Wailing for the World.”
26
Diane, Meg, and Nan were sitting together by the fire, a little apart from the others, when Duncan returned, trailed by the limping, lurching Scratch. A short distance off, Andrew was stretched out on the ground, covered by a sheepskin, fast asleep and snoring. A long, slender fold of black velvet lay on Diane’s lap.
Meg cackled at Duncan. “You should see what Diane has. You should see what Snoopy gave her.”
She gestured at the fold of velvet.
Duncan turned to look at Diane. Her eyes were sparkling in the firelight and she smiled at him. Carefully she unfolded the velvet to reveal what lay within it.
The naked blade shone with a hundred fiery highlights and a nest of inset jewels glinted in the hilt.
“I told him,” she said, “that it was too magnificent for me, but he insisted that I take it.”
“It is splendid,” Duncan said.
“The goblins have guarded it for years,” said Nan, “as a sacred treasure. Never, in their wildest dreams, did they ever think they’d find a human they would want to give it to.” She shrugged. “Of course it is far too massive for a goblin or any other of our kind to ever think of wielding.”
Duncan went down on his knees in front of Diane, reached out to touch the blade.
“May I?” he asked.
She nodded at him.
The steel beneath his fingers was cold and smooth. He ran his fingers along its length in something that was close to a caress.
“Duncan,” Diane said in a hushed voice, “Duncan, I’m afraid.”
“Afraid?”
“Afraid I know what it is. Snoopy didn’t tell me.”
“Then,” said Duncan, “I don’t think you should ask.”
He picked up one end of the velvet and folded it back to cover the sword.
“Cover it,” he said. “It is a precious thing. It should not be exposed to the damp night air. Snug it safe and tight.”
He said to Meg, “There is something I should ask you. Some days ago you told us about the wailing for the
