Still trembling with excitement, Arbros made his way back to the great open space in the middle of the town where the assembly had been. He could see Rauno by the sacred stone, being addressed by a man who looked angry. As Arbros approached the man abruptly walked off. Rauno said:
‘We shall not sleep in the town tonight, Arbros lad. We are not welcome here. Let us make camp up on the hill overlooking the town.’
Arbros was delighted to find that Rauno had chosen a place for a camp near to the road that the Foul Rider had told him led directly to Uxul. He began making a plan for the morrow. Rauno and all the Thendári knew that Arbros loved riding Borotíki, and would take every opportunity to go out with him, often rising early in the morning to do that before they went on the road. Rauno permitted it, merely warning him to stay close to the camp.
So the following day Arbros rose very early and saddled up Borotíki, reckoning that the ride to Uxul and back would be no longer than any other early ride. And if he were a little delayed, how pleased Rauno would be to see him return with a sword, a crown, and a ring.
Soon they were jogging along a beautiful hollow way with the autumn sunlight of early morning slanting through the trees. Arbros kept Borotíki at a good pace because he was anxious not to be late. But as they rounded a corner they came upon a small figure sitting by the roadside next to an immense bundle. It was a Kabáda in a blue cloak, who called out:
‘Please, kind young man, can you help an old Kabáda? I have a heavy bundle to carry to market, and my leg is lame. ’Tis only a mile or so to town, then you can be back on your way.’
Borotíki slowed right down and seemed to want to stop, but Arbros was in a hurry. He called out:
‘I’m sorry sir, my errand is urgent. I will help you on my way back,’
Arbros urged Borotíki forward. The old Kabáda called after him,
‘I can reward you richly! I have many treasures!’
Arbros felt a pang, but hardened his resolve, and they went on up the road among the woods. It seemed a great deal longer than Foul Rider had said. The morning was wearing away when they came out of the woods and there somewhat to the left of them was the familiar hill, topped with a palisade enclosing the thatched wooden houses: Uxul. Between them and the village was a crossroads, where a highway, no doubt built by the Giants of old, passed through the valley. They trotted down to this place, where a great stone stood. As they passed it, Borotíki became nervous and had to be coaxed forward, up the lane leading between overgrown fields to the village. It felt odd to Arbros to approach this place on Borotíki’s back. Getting closer, Arbros could see that the gates were hanging open, with broken hinges.
When they reached the gates, Borotíki suddenly halted. Arbros urged him on, but he stood firm. He neighed and dashed his head to and fro. Arbros dismounting, said:
‘If you won’t go in, you must wait here. I shall not be long.’
He hurried along the street towards the well. How sad the empty houses looked. Some roofs had fallen in. Doors were wide open. Grass and weeds were growing everywhere. Arbros felt frightened, but told himself to be resolute. There was the sacred stone, and not far away, there was the sandy slope where the well’s entrance lay. He hurried to it and jumped down into the opening. How odd to be here alone, when the last time Vidnî had been with him. He felt another pang in his heart. But now he was at the bottom of the shallow shaft. There was the side chamber, with the little spring of water. And here was the flat blank inner wall — surely the entrance to the treasure cave. Arbros cried:
Gantë thûr, hlafaremef!
And his voice echoed frighteningly. Nothing happened. He put his hands and his ear against the flat rock. He said again:
Gantë thûr, hlafaremef!
He called the words out again, over and over. He explored the walls of the well with his hands. He scratched at them with his Thendáka knife. Nothing. No door. It was only too plain: Foul Rider had played a trick on him.
Arbros felt the corners of his eyes prick with tears. He slumped down on the stone, and sat there for a long while, his mind a blank. He had found no treasure: no crown, ring, or sword. He had spurned the lame Kabáda. He had lost the Kabáda’s promised reward. He felt miserable.
As he sat there, a small grey object on the ground caught his eye. He stooped and picked it up. It was a curl of silver wire, roughly wound round itself to make a tiny circle. Suddenly Arbros remembered it. He and Vidnî had been playing at weddings when they were quite little. He had found this bit of silver wire and twisted it into a ring. He began to weep. He wanted only to see Vidnî again. He didn’t care about being Lord of Tídris. He made to throw the wire away, but thought better of it, and put it in his pocket. It might be his only reminder of Vidnî.
Suddenly he began to feel uneasy, as if there were someone else nearby in the deserted town. He got up and raced back to the gates, not daring to look behind him. It was much later in the day than he had expected. It was afternoon, and the sun was dipping beyond the western hills. Where had the time gone? What would Rauno think?
His heart seemed to jump into his mouth. Borotíki was not at the gates. Nor was he anywhere to be seen, along the lane down from the gates, or in the overgrown fields on the hillsides beside it. Perhaps he had gone back to their camp. But suppose someone had taken him away. The thought was unbearable. In a panic Arbros ran headlong down the lane, past the stone at the crossroads, back the way they had come, up into the wooded hills, and along the hollow way. It was very dark under the trees, for the sun had gone, and it felt cold and clammy. A mist was rising. Then he heard a voice. He stopped and listened. It called:
‘Help me! Please help me!’
Arbros hurried around the next bend in the road. Through the gloom and mist he saw the same old Kabáda in the blue cloak lying by the road, near where he had met him in the morning. Arbros ran to the Kabáda and helped him to sit up. He gave him water from the leather bottle at his side, which the Thendâ had given him. The Kabáda said:
‘Thank you, young sir,. I find I am not badly hurt, just bruised all over. Pedrekkarpon, of Thémi Kabatigna, at your service.’
He looked more closely at Arbros.
‘Ah, ’tis you, the young fellow who wouldn’t stop this morning. ’Tis a shame you didn’t come and help me then, for a gang of robbers set on me as I was coming back from market, and all my treasures are gone. From those I would have rewarded you. I had swords, and rings, and even a crown, all wrought under the hills by the smiths of the Kabdath. But thus it was fated. Tell me your name, young sir.’
‘I am called Arbros. I am sorry that I did not stop. I thought I was going to find hidden treasures at Uxul. I was tricked. And I’ve lost my pony too.’
He turned away to hide the tears that came again.
Even as they were speaking together, the shadows grew deeper, and the mist became so thick that they could scarcely see the road in either direction. Arbros shivered. And at that moment there came voices, voices in the mist, some wailing, some cackling, some moaning. Then there was chanting, chanting from both sides, words they did not know; but they heard the frequent repetition of the word Mikhan-dâ. Then the drumming began:
Dûmbû dâbûn dûbunda dâbunda
Dâbûn dûbunda dâbunda dûmbû
Dûbunda dâbunda dûmbû dâbûn
Dâbunda dûmbû dâbûn dûbunda
Pedrekkarpon said:
‘They’re coming closer.’
Cold with fear, Arbros asked:
‘Who are they?’
‘Don’t you know, young fellow? The Sheefra. Yon’s a Sheefra-mist. Not many people get home from one of them! We can’t run, so we’ll have to stand our ground. Or, in my case, sit.’
And abruptly Pedrekkarpon fell back on to the grassy bank, overcome, it seemed, with sleep.
Scarcely knowing what he was doing, Arbros drew out his long Thendáka knife and stood over the prostrate Kabáda. They seemed to be in a small pocket in the swirling mist. The drumming and chanting was deafening. Arbros’s senses began to whirl, and he felt sleep taking him, even as the fearful din filled his ears. He found himself crying out:
Éyvar kúmi netári, hlabû-san ta-Émarul Sápha!
Then he knew nothing.
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