tunnel was quite short, and soon they came to a door. The children stood aside while the old man fumbled with the lock.
“Where High Magic fails, oak and iron may yet prevail,” he said. “Ah! That has it! Now enter, and be refreshed.”
They were in a cave, sparsely but comfortably furnished. There was a long wooden table in the centre, and a few carved chairs, and in one corner lay a pile of animal skins. Through the middle of the cave a stream of water babbled in the channel it had cut in the sandstone floor, and as it disappeared under the cave wall it formed a pool, into which the old man dipped two bronze cups, and offered them to Colin and Susan.
“Rest,” he said, pointing to the heap of skins, “and drink of this.”
The children sank down upon the bed and sipped the ice-cold water. And at the first draught their tiredness vanished, and a warmth spread through their limbs; their befuddled, shock-numbed brains cleared, their spirits soared.
“Oh,” cried Susan, as she gazed at their surroundings as though seeing them for the first time, “this can’t be real! We must be dreaming. Colin, how do we wake up?”
But Colin was staring at the old man, and seemed not to have heard. He saw an old man, true, but one whose body was as firm and upright as a youth’s; whose keen, grey eyes were full of the sadness of the wise; whose mouth, though stern, was kind and capable of laughter.
“Then the legend is true,” said Colin.
“It is,” said the wizard. “And I would it were not; for that was a luckless day for me.
“But enough of my troubles. We must discover now what is in you to draw the attentions of the svart-alfar, since it is indeed strange that men-children should cause them such concern.”
“Oh please,” interrupted Susan, “this is so bewildering! Can’t you tell us first what’s been happening and what these things were in the marsh? We don’t even know who you are, though I suppose you must be the wizard.”
The old man smiled. “Forgive me. In my disquiet I had forgotten that you have seen much that has been unknown to you.
“Who am I? I have had many names among many peoples through the long ages of the earth, and of those names some may not now be spoken, or would be foreign to your tongue; but you shall call me Cadellin, after the fashion of the men of Elthan, in the days to come, for I believe our paths will run together for a while.
“The creatures you encountered are of the goblin race – the svart-alfar, in their own tongue. They are a cowardly people, night-loving, and sun-loathing, much given to throttlings in dark places, and seldom venturing above ground unless they have good cause. They have no magic, and so, alone, are no danger to me; but it would have fared ill with you had I not known their alarm echoing through the hollow hill.
“And now you must tell me who you are, and what it is that has brought you into such danger this night.”
Colin and Susan gave an account of the events leading to their arrival in Alderley, and of their movements since.
“And this afternoon,” said Colin finally, “we explored the Edge, and spent the rest of the day on the farm until we came here again about half past seven, so I don’t see that we can have done anything to attract anybody’s attention.”
“Hm,” said Cadellin thoughtfully. “Now tell me what happened this evening, for at present I can find no reason in this.”
The children told the story of their flight and capture, and when they had finished the wizard was silent for some time.
“This is indeed puzzling,” he said at last. “The crow was sent to arrange your taking, and I do not have to guess by whom it was sent. But why the morthbrood should be concerned with you defeats me utterly; yet I must discover this reason, both for your safety and my own, for my destruction is their aim, and somehow I fear you could advance them in their work. Still, perhaps the next move will tell us more, for they will soon hear of what took place this night, and will be much alarmed. But I shall give you what protection I can, and you will find friends as well as enemies in these woods.”
“But why are you in danger?” said Susan. “And who are the – what is it? – morthbrood?”
“Ah, that is a long story for this hour, and one of which I am ashamed. But it is also, I suppose, one that you must hear. So, if you are rested, let us go together, and I shall show you part of the answer to your question.”
Cadellin led the children out of the cave and down a long winding tunnel into the very heart of the hill. And as they went the air grew colder and the strange light fiercer, turning from blue to white, until at last they came into a long, low cavern. An echoing sigh, like waves slowly rippling on a summer shore, rose and fell upon the air; and before the children’s eyes were the sleeping knights in their silver armour, each beside his milk-white mare, just as Gowther had described them in the legend, their gentle breathing filling the cave with its sweet sound. And all around and over the motionless figures the cold, white flames played silently.
In the middle of the cave the floor rose in the shape of a natural, tomb-like couch of stone; and here lay a knight comelier than all his fellows. His head rested upon a helmet enriched with jewels and circlets of gold, and its crest was a dragon. By his side was placed a naked sword, and on the blade was the image of two serpents in gold, and so brightly did the blade gleam that it was as if two flames of fire started from the serpents’ heads.
“Long years ago,” said Cadellin, “beyond the memory or books of men, Nastrond, the Great Spirit of Darkness, rode forth in war upon the plain. But there came against him a mighty king, and Nastrond fell. He cast off his earth-shape and fled into the Abyss of Ragnarok, and all men rejoiced, thinking that evil had vanished from the world for ever; yet the king knew in his heart that this could never be.
“So he called together a great assembly of wizards and wise men and asked what should be done to guard against the enemy’s return. And it was prophesied that, when the day should come, Nastrond must be victorious, for there would be none pure enough to withstand him since, by that time, he would have put a little of himself into the hearts of all men. Even now, it was said, he was pouring black thoughts from his lair in Ragnarok, and these would flow unceasingly about mankind until the strongest were tainted and he had a foothold in every mind.
“Yet there was hope. For the world might still be saved if a band of warriors, pure in heart, and brave, could defy him in his hour and compel him to sink once more into the Abyss. Their strength would not be in numbers, but in purity and valour. And so was devised the following plan.
“The king chose the worthiest of his knights, and went with them to Fundindelve, the ancient dwarf-halls, where they were put into enchanted sleep. This done, the most powerful magicians of the age began to weave a spell. Day and night they worked together, pausing for neither food nor sleep, and, at the end, Fundindelve was guarded by the strongest magic the world has known, magic that would stay the sleeping warriors from growing old or weak, and that no evil could ever break.
“The heart of the magic was sealed
