In Mondor bore Myk's poor mother a mage's mortal spawn, With one eye as onyx and another all verdant green. Minding men and mending beasts, Myk made for the Mountain Eld. Alone astride the alpine hills, Myk began to call Long lost and legendary animals could not forbear to listen And therefore hear how each brave beast heard and hastened hither:
First from forest fringed lakes in Eldwood's frosty North, Came gliding the great winged, golden eyed Black Swan of Tirlith. In songs is said, its swift wings were sent to save King Merroc's daughter.
In gloomy woods grown out of time great tales are lost to mind. But from beyond Myk's call bestirred a bristled boar, Cyrin the wise, white tusked and well-versed with every riddle, save one.
Deep beneath Eld's dim-lit dungeon drowsed the Dragon Gyld. Its centuries of slumber ceased, smiling at the sound of its name softly sung, And with easy effort agreed, its ancient horde to share with its august keeper.
Myk took a mere handful of the dragon's huge pile of gold To build a glistening mansion for his mountain hold.
Finally a fearless fountain girl with few words found herself a home with fierce Myk. The nameless lass liked well enough the animal legends and their lonely keeper. Strong and sturdy, she bore a son of solid stock. And Ogam was he named.
Ogam's eyes, of matching black, augered as well as his elder had. And with silent patience, he placidly perfected the summoner's power. Orphaned at last, Ogam inherited a menagerie, and opted to augment its collection.
The Lyon Gules, with gilded pelt, great men had led astray. Yet in its desert lair, lost to local legend, it listened when Ogam lowly called.
Wily Ogam went where a woodland witch lived with Moriah. The great grey cat got up when called, and gave over its grim gathering of charms and grievous spells.
Fierce blue eyes fought with Ogam's black before the Falcon Ter forfeited freedom and relinquished its name. Ter, 'tis told, once tore apart seven wizard killers with his terrible talons. But the bird of prey, did as bade, brought back to bide within his garden.
Lord and Lady Horst of Hilt, lost their daughter Laran to the wizard's lure. Laran abhorred the antique beasts, and after bearing one child expired. Ogam's surprise supplied a moment of silence till he named this daughter Sybel.
Sixteen years more passed until by age Ogam was felled, Leaving lady Sybel sole keeper of the Forgotten Beasts of Eld.
Heir to the power to have and to hold the bestial host, Sybel stretched out her strength and soon sought to increase the collection. In her vast library, virtuous patience yielded ink stained vellum with the secret desired, A white winged bird, whose wintry wings unfurled was once ridden by the only Queen of Eld. In her glass domed demesne, duly darkened by dusk, Sybel durst declare its name: Liralen
But ere the call could be answered, an unaccountable interruption: A stranger arrived importunate and abrupt and called out at her gate. With the mere touch of her mind, for such was her might, she woke the Gules Lyon. Gules rose and obeyed, reaching the gate and regarding the stranger with a grim warning glance. Yet the obstreperous shouting continued, urgent, incoherent. Exasperated she sighed.
Ter, she told, "Take this trouble in your two talons, to the top of Eld. Thence drop it to it's death"
So shortly upon such order, the shouting ceased. Satisfied, she sighed. But mere moments later, more startling yet, the miserable mewling of an infant made its way to her ears.
Perturbed now, well past exasperation, prevented from resuming her strange pursuit, she rose. Soft, on feet unshod, she strode through marble halls. To the gate she went, though the great garden where animals gathered, troubled and alert.
Without the gold jointed, iron wrought gate stood a man of war, with sword and well worn armor. Feeling the falcon's fell talons folded round both shoulders, he froze as though in fear. But in mailed arms, an infant, oblivious, emits its plaintiff cry.
Silently she spoke to Ter alone "I told thee drop them from the top of Eld Mountain"
"You are young my liege yet your power compels me." In her mind alone it spoke. "Tell me twice, then this thing I'll do, yet hear me first then think. "One man is weak, and will want no great work to dispatch if you wish. "Yet if you kill men, they shall come here continuously in deadly coordination. "And eventually in overwhelming numbers, to undue the walls, and loose your animals against your influence.
Frowning fiercely, but with some forced forbearance she turned to face the man. "Who are you. Why are you here, waking my beasts. With what need do you wail at my gate?"
"Lady" he breathed and his blood breached his mail. Small beads of red. Rolling eyes, she relents. "Release him. But remain wary."
"Coren of Sirle" said Coren of Sirle. Supposing perhaps, saying such stuff sufficient.
"That means nothing to me. Nor answers why need you natter at night by my gate; with a baby!"
Lady,” the man spoke carefully, “are you the daughter of Laran, daughter of Horst, Lord of Hilt?”
"Laran was my mother, yes. She lost her life in my labour." Lady Sybel let on lightly. "I knew her not."
"Your mother's sister's name's Rianna. Married she the Eldwold's King."
"Oh Eldwold's got a king again?" Asked Sybel as if it interested her at all. "What ever is his name?"
With startled breath Coren struggled on. Starting as far back as stories bear. And after more than one misstep told Ms Sybel thus:
For fifteen years King Drede has ruled, and for three he's had a wife. But Rianna loved Norrel of Sirle, and for this Drede took his life.
Then upon the birthing bed, Rianna bore a son and died. Norrel's brothers number six, not least of whom is named Coren. Sworn to vengeance, Coren quit the field just to come here with Norrel's child. For hopes has he, that Sybels house may prove a haven for his nephew. "His name is Tamlorn, take him please. Treasure that he is."
"A pretty name, a precious child" the lady mused. "But I'd prefer a girl." "And yet as I consider, I concede, it could compliment the collection."
Cursing, Coren cried "It is Norrel's son, not an animal!"
"It eats it sleeps and does not think. How hard can it be?"
Coren glared and said softly, “I am ill advised to leave him here with you, your ignorance and your heart of ice.”
Sybel’s face grew as still before him as the still full moon.
“It is you who are ignorant,” she whispered.
“I could have Ter tear you to seven pieces and drop your bloodless head on the Plain of Terbrec, but I am controlling my temper. Look!”
Silent anger. With sure fingers but shaking hands, she unlocked the shackled gates. Silent demands she snaps to the dream drugged minds about her. Swiftly roused, like her frigid rage, her rare and wondrous beasts surround the man.
Coren choked back his cry, cupped the cradled infant's head to ward it. Staring wildly, but standing as still as she, he watched. Resting her hand on the great hog's head, whose fire white tusks haunt hunters dreams, she speaks:
"Think that 'cause I care for these animals, I cannot care for a child?
"They are ancient, powerful as princes, restless, prescient and perilous, and I give them whatever they require.
"So shall I give this child what it requires. And if that is not what you want, then leave.
I did not ask you to come with a child; I do not care if you go with it.
I may be ignorant in your world, but in here you are in my world and you are a fool.”
Sharp and fair she spoke, as gently as a blade. But Coren bristled not, bemused, his mind o'er born by what beasts he now beheld. These beasts names had ceased to be sung by bards or told to bairns or bantered by anybody living. But Coren calmly clocked each one, its name and catalog. To Sybel's surprise, he swiftly said what none should know, about each secret apparition.
About the boar he breathed:
"You keep Cyrin!, “Rondar—Lord of Runrir captured—the Boar Cyrin that no man had captured before, the elusive Cyrin, Keeper of Riddles and—demanded either Cyrin’s life or all the wisdom of the world. And Cyrin uprooted a stone at Rondar’s feet, and Rondar said it was worthless and rode away, still searching...”
A great shape swooped toward them, silent, a shadow upon the night. The Swan folded itself gently before them, its back broad as the Boar’s, its eyes black as the night between two stars.
"The Swan of Tirlith—Is it the Swan? Sybel, is it?” “How do you know my name?” she whispered."
Two terrible cats, stepped through the trees, Tamlorn struggled, but Coren held tight. Grey pelted Moriah, with grinning yawn, gathered itself at Sybel's feet and Coren saw it's teeth.
"Moriah... Lady of the Night, who gave the wizard Tak the spell that opened the doorless tower where he was captured...
Gules Lyon, circled close about Coren’s legs, then settled in front of him, muscle sliding leisurely into muscle beneath the glowing pelt.
"There was a Lyon of the Southern Deserts who lived in the courts of great lords, dispensing wisdom, fed on rich meats, wearing their collars and chains of iron and gold only so long as he chose... Gules"
Astounded into silence Sybel mused, distracted, He brought me a baby but I do not know how, or where for he knows my name. What weird wizardry does he wield to know such things, as only I should know.
And yet ere she asked the infant bearing interloper a shadow rose With wings which blotted the moon, and shaded their faces Then descending each wing stroke a soundless sucking heartbeat The Dragon dropped, dreadful and sluggishly before them, holding Coren in its lucent green gaze. Its shadow welled huge to their feet
Its mind-voice was ancient, dry as parchment in Sybel’s mind.
"There is a cave in the mountains where his bones will never be found"
"No. I called you because I was angry, but I am not angry, now. He is not to be harmed"
"He is a man, armed."
"No" She turned to Coren, as he stood watching the Dragon with Tamlorn wriggling, whimpering, ignored in his arms, and her eyes curved suddenly in a little smile. “You know that one.”
Coren conceded, knowledge of the dragon's destruction and devastion lives on in Eldwold songs and lore. "There are tales still told of fire blazing out of the summer sky over Mondor, and the crops burning, and the Slinoon River steaming in its bed.”
Coren tended to Tamlorn's twitching finally, and the baby quieted. The shadow of well worn weariness had eased from his face, leaving it young for a moment, wondering.
"They are beautiful, so beautiful" be breathed before gazing back at her. "I must go. My brothers may well have died and battle and I must know. Will you take Tamlorn? He will be safe here, with such a guard. Will you love him? That—that is what he requires most.”
Wordlessly, she took the child, holding it awkwardly, and it tugged curiously at her long hair.
“But how do you know so many things? How do you know my name?”
“Oh. I wondered to an old woman living in the woods nearby. She gave your name to me.”
“I do know not of any old women, near or far.”
He smiled at a memory. “You should know that one. I think—I think if you need help with Tamlorn, she will give it to you.”
But such smile faded as he glanced at the fair faced child. Brow now burdened with a bewildered grief, Coren bid lady and his dead brother's baby thank you and farewell.
"Good bye" spoke Sybel, soft and somber, through the bars as he mounted. "I know nothing of war, nevertheless I know something of sorrow. And that is what you pass, I think, from hand to hand at Terbrec"
"It is true" he said. High upon his horse of war. He looked down at her and what she held "I know".
Turning from the gate she sought to slip inside but silver bristled Cyrin, stood still within her way. With the full might of her mind she made to dismiss the milling beasts: 'You may go now. I am sorry I woke you, but I lost my temper.'
But Cyrin Boar bided yet, bellicose and bold enough to chide her: 'You cannot give love' he remarked 'until you have first taken it'
'You're not very helpful' Sybel said letting slip her slight irritation.
'What would you give me for all the wisdom of the world?'
'Nothing, because I do not want it now. Give it to Coren. He said I had a heart of ice.'
Cyrin snorted wryly. 'Indeed, he is in dire want of wisdom.'
I told him so, Sybel said.
The wind whispered winter warnings through the morning pines as Sybel went out the next morning. Bare foot she strode upon pine needles soft and cool wherever she stepped. She carried Tamlorn, who slept, warm and heavy in her arms wrapped in a white wool blanket. She watched his face, with its long, pale lashes and its heavy cheeks. Once she stopped to nuzzle her face against his soft, pale hair.
Tamlorn,” she whispered. “Tamlorn. My Tam.”
Coming to a quiet clearing and a quaint and cosy cottage Sybel entered, as though already invited, She looked this way and that and the truth she thought was this: The woman who lived within was wise in weird and witchly ways, or worse. For she felt no floor beyond the threshold, but floated in a fog, And up rose the mist obscuring all, even as eyes observed her from in the walls. And though the door handle disappeared, and a distant raven called. Sybel was as untroubled as the infant in her arms.
Kissing Tamlorn, she said to whomever had ears to hear: "Whose heart am I in?"
In an instant all mist dispersed, an airy light illuminated the cabin's hearth. A thin old woman rose from a rocking chair, her ringed fingers clasped.
"A baby!" She took Tamlorn to her arms and cooed tuneless songs to him With a gummy smile he gurgled back and grabbed at her long nose. Then she looked at Sybel, eyes iron grey, sharp as swords. "You."
Me,” Sybel said, “I come for counsel if you could advise out of kindness or other cause.
"Why with Cyrin Boar and Gules Lyon to advise you, child, would you come to me? Oh look what lovely hair you have, so long and light."
"Cyrin Boar and Gules Lyon have never had a baby dropped into their arms. I must give its needs, and it cannot tell me what that is"
"Onions!" said the old woman. Sybel blinked at her.
Old woman, I have stood in the eye of your heart, anyone with such an inner eye is no fool. Will you help me?
Without demure, it was agreed the witch would share her wisdom, Sybel, in return offered up her bountiful allium harvest.
And in the cottage they sat and shared their thoughts and the old one already knew something of this infant:
"By my secret birds I know, it is not Norrel's child. In the Kings palace a raven watches, with eyes which never close. The boy is Drede's own son, and when found they shall make him king."
Lips parted Sybel stared at her, drew a slow breath. “I do not understand such things. What could I care about castles or kings? But I know that now he is mine to love.
It is very strange. I have had my animals for sixteen years, and this child for one night; and if I had to choose one thing from all of them, I am not sure that I would not choose this thing, so helpless and stupid as he is. Perhaps because the animals could go and require nothing from anyone, but my Tam requires everything from me.”
The woman watched her, rocking back and forth in her chair, rings flashing on her still hands, fire-flecked.
You are a strange child... so fearless and so powerful to hold such great, lordly beasts. I wonder you are not lonely sometimes.”
Why should I be? I have many things to talk to. My father never spoke much—I learned silence from him, silence of the mind that is like clear, still water, in which nothing is hidden. That is the first thing he taught me, for if you cannot be so silent, you will not hear the answer when you call. I was trying to call the Liralen, last night when Coren came.”
“Liralen...” The old woman’s face softened until it seemed dreaming and young beneath her curls. “The pennant-winged, moon-colored Liralen... Oh, child, when you capture it finally, let me see it.”
“I will. But it is very hard to find, especially when people interrupt me with babies.
My father fed me goat’s milk, but Tam does not seem to like it.”
The old woman sighed. “I wish I could feed him, but a cow would be more useful, unless I find some mountain woman to nurse him.”
“He is mine,” Sybel said. “I do not want some other woman to begin to love him.”
“Of course, child, but— Will you let me love him, just a little? It has been so long since I have had children to love. I will steal a cow from someone, leave a jewel in its place.”
“I can call a cow.”
“No, child, if anyone is a thief it must be me. You must think of yourself, of what would happen if people suspected you of calling away their animals.”
“I am not afraid of people. They are fools.”
“Oh, child; but they can be so powerful in their loving and hating. Did your father, when he talked to you, give you a name?"
“I am Sybel. But you did not have to ask me that.”
The gray eyes curved faintly. “Oh, yes, my birds are everywhere... But there is a difference in a name spoken of, and a name given at last by the bearer. You know that. My name is Maelga. And the child’s name? Will you give me that as a gift?
Sybel smiled. “Yes. I would have you had his name. It is Tamlorn.” She looked down at him, her ivory hair tickling the small, plump face. “Tamlorn. My Tam,” she whispered, and Tamlorn laughed.
So Maelga stole a cow, and left a jewelled ring in its place. And for months people left barn doors open, hopeful of such grace.
Years slid by, Tam grew strong, sweet and swift. His truest friends the magic beasts, mystic Maelga and a motley crew of shepherds children Together they toured the tall hilltops of Eld, Delving into caves and fetching forest-found herbs and fauna for Maelga.
Sybel continued her life long search for the Liralen. Calling by night darkened vigils, disappearing for days Returning with geriatric jeweled books with iron locks that just might hold its name. When Maelga scalded her for stealing she'd simply smile and say,
"What, these words? Whisked away from precious wittle wizardlings who know not what they're worth. These little larcenies are the least of my concern, I need to find the Liralen!"
“One day,” Maelga said, “you might mistake a great and mighty mage for a little wizardling.”
“So? I am great, too. And I must have the Liralen.”