I don't own anything except the story and my OC's.
Chapter 4
Prydain was known for two main things.
The first was its large cities, in particular the one that made the capital, that had grown up around the grand castle where the king and queen of Prydain, with their daughter, Princess Eilonwy, lived. These cities were where the majority of the populations of Prydain resided, living in cramped, noisy, but clean and safe quarters. Nearly everyone was rich or getting there, and anyone visiting any one of the several cities in Prydain for the first time would be dazzled by its beauty. The streets were wide and well-paved, the shop-fronts bright and inviting, vendors with their stalls lining both sides of the road, leaving gaps for the little streets that branched off between the main ones between the buildings, yelling out their advertisements for their wares. The homes were hospitable and regal looking. Laughing children would chase each other happily through the streets, dodging horses pulling cabs, buggies, carts and wagons loaded with various supplies, peddlers on the street corners, and dozens of people either walking or riding to their destinations.
This was a brief but efficient look at the everyday life inside the high-walled cities of Prydain.
Outside the cities, life was a little different. Sprawled over the broad outskirts beyond the walls of the cities were the large, industrial farms and orchards. Miles upon miles of them. Several were privately owned, by rich lords or noble knights, but most of them belonged to the king. And on any given day, were you to travel down the smooth, wide dirt road, either to the capital or from it to another city, you would see the peasants in their fields, working. Sowing, scything, plowing, caring for the orchards.
These peasants were the force behind the cities. The people who supplied crops for everyone else. The people who kept the city flourishing and alive. Without these farmers, life in the city could not exist.
The king had hired most of them to work on his lands, producing crops and the like for the city-dwellers, and in exchange they would get enough of the harvests to feed their families and stock, if they had any, through the barren months. The king allowed them to build little farmhouses and a small barn, enough for a pig or some sheep, on his land if they wished. Not many other countries' kings would do that. As a result, because the royal family treated everyone fairly and justly, the king was loved and respected by nearly everyone. His wife and daughter were thought of equally fondly as well.
But there were several families that lived so far away from the bustling cities and large, industrial farms that skirted them that they only came to civilization two or three times a year to sell their own crops, maybe some stock and furs, and purchase the essentials, such as sugar, flour, salt, and other things before returning to their distant, isolated farms. These "Brush Farmers," as the city-dwellers called them, were the people that chose to make their farms in the wilderness of Prydain, secluded from the city. These little farmers worked with a zest and a zeal not seen in any of the large, industrial farmers. They valued their solitude and independence, were honest and friendly and always willing to drop everything if a fellow neighbor needed aid. But even among themselves, they settled down a respectable distance from one another, valuing their privacy. (Respectable meaning completely out of eyesight and earshot) The city-dwellers called them crazy and backwards, and the ones who didn't respected these brave, modest people and would readily make business with them.
Only a few families dared to try and forge a living like this out here in the wilderness. Only a few could step outside, see their fields and the great tree-line looming up all around them, far as the eye could see, compassing them in, not another human in sight or hearing, and not feel even a twinge of unease. Only a few could lay down at night, listen as the forest came alive with its predatory sounds, knowing they were a day's ride from the nearest neighbor, and for some, a full week's ride from town, and sleep peacefully.
For Prydain was a wild country. As wild, savage and mysterious as it had been nearly a thousand years ago when a group of rebels, after defying their cruel king, fled across the sea and shipwrecked on the country's rocky seacoasts, and made their own government and land borders. Sometimes when invaders had threatened them, either from the sea or by land, the wilderness itself killed more men than the warring parties did. And though the city-dwellers felt safe and secure behind the high stone walls, and the outskirt farmers felt at ease in their little homes, most avoided going outside at night if it could at all be helped.
For the savage, wild beasts of Prydain could be heard in the forests encircling civilization then, filling the night with their cries. The who-who of the owl and various songs of insects and other night-birds were overshadowed by the wide variety of grunts, growls, snarls, barks, chatters, cries and howls of the multitude of predators as they began their hunt. But even worse was the silence in between all that, the silence the beasts actually hunted in. The type that made you hold your breath if you listened hard enough, and finally, when the scream of unsuspecting prey filled the dark night, made you jump in fear yourself. The Brush Farmers would barely bat an eyelid at it, unless it came too close to their homes, but it was a sharp reminder to every city-dweller in hearing distance that Prydain was still a wild country, and it would never be truly tamed and conquered. The humans were still foreigners here.
But despite the fact that the civilized areas of Prydain, though very large, the main cities were generously spaced apart, some days from each other, leaving miles of wilderness between, it was the little farms of the brush farmers that speckled the wilderness in random areas that a certain little goblin was having great trouble avoiding.
Creeper's gwythaint had flown for hours after the Horned King's defeat over the wilderness, till dawn had came and Creeper had had to stop the beastly thing and make the exhausted creature land before they were spotted.
He had been living in the wilds for nearly a month now, living off anything edible, and for a goblin, that was quite a selection.
Creeper was having the best time of his life. He had never felt so happy. For the first time in his existence, there was no one to kick him, step on him, tease or torment or mock him, no Horned King to choke him whenever one of his master's schemes hadn't gone as planned. . .there was absolutely no one.
And Creeper loved it. He had never tasted freedom till the Horned King's defeat, and he had never enjoyed himself so completely. The gwythaint was his only companion. Perhaps it was lack of its own species nearby to associate with, or perhaps it still viewed the little green creeper as its groom, or perhaps it was want of companionship, that caused the beast to remain near the goblin. And although the sentiment never once entered Creeper's head, he valued the gwythaint's presence. A little goblin would be pitifully easy prey for any one of the predators that roamed Prydain, so having the gwythaint near him was a bonus. Its presence meant protection. No one, man or beast, would dare mess with a dragon. Unless they wanted a grisly, early demise.
The sun was crawling up the horizon from the east, slanting through the crowns of the trees and giving light to the dimmer forest floor as Creeper was digging up wild potatoes of some sort for his breakfast, digging like a dog. The little potatoes were bitter and tough to humans, unless cooked a certain way, but Creeper ate them straight from the soil in heavenly bliss. That, and he didn't know how to make a fire anyway. As Creeper crunched on them happily, he chattered at the gwythaint, who was lying contentedly at the base of a large tree, dozing. It had eaten only a couple hours ago, and the now-skeletal, mangled remains of a deer lay several yards away, covered in flies. The white bones showing through the bloody mess glowed slightly in the crimson stain on the forest floor.
"You ugly beast!" Creeper told the creature around a mouthful of potato. "Your lucky you haven't been spotted by any of the humans yet, because if you lead them to me I promise I'll rip you to pieces and leave you here! I want nothing to do with those pests!"
If anyone had been looking on at the time, they may have been amused at the sight of a goblin, only a little over two feet tall when standing upright, threatening this dragonic creature the size of a horse, with teeth and claws longer than the goblin's forearm.
Creeper took another bite, then in a fit of joy suddenly leapt in the air and turned a backflip. Being so small, he could do it with such ease he didn't even bother moving his arms, he just did it.
"Who's laughing now?" He cackled in glee. "I'M not the ones that got crushed by the stones, or the ones that drowned or got eaten by the Cauldron's mist!"
Creeper cackled again. He was referring to the various henchmen that the Horned King had picked up somewhere or another to do his bidding, and they had tormented the goblin constantly. Many had died when the Cauldron had destroyed the castle that the Horned King had taken over.
"Even HE didn't make it out alive! Master is locked in the Cauldron forever, and there is no escape!"
In sadistic glee Creeper did a little jig around the pile of potatoes he had accumulated.
The gwythaint suddenly stiffened, opening its pale green-ish gold eyes, sliding back the transparent film of the second eyelid away from its pupils as the creature raised its dragonic head.
"YOU can never bother me again, Massster," Creeper snarled, putting a bitterly sarcastic edge on the last word. "I belong to no one now, and you are my master no more!"
He yammered on, not even noticing the uneasy gwythaint lash its tail once and carefully stand up, turning its head on its long neck in all directions, as if listening for something.
Creeper crunched on another bite of potato as he jabbered on to himself. "Maybe after I eat I'll ride over one of these little farms and scare all the humans. They'll be the ones running from me this time! Hah!"
He stopped in mid-chew for a moment. "But if the humans see the gwythaint, they may get a hunting party to come after us. Of course, I could always silence them. . .permanently."
Creeper grinned evilly at the thought. Noise caught his ear and he finally turned around to see the gwythaint pacing the tiny clearing, its head up and eyes burning, wings folded neatly to its sides. Creeper scowled as the creature snorted loudly through its nose, its ribcage shuddering as it scented the air.
"Quiet, you foul creature," Creeper hissed. "Your disturbing me!"
The gwythaint suddenly ceased all movement, eyes narrowed, nostrils wide, neck arched, as it cocked its earhole toward the west.
'He calls,' the gwythaint heard in the breeze, 'Your master calls to you.'
The beast could not understand what the wind spoke, but what it meant was crystal clear. Abruptly the gwythaint turned, and, quicker than anyone would imagine a beast with the power of flight of its size to be on the ground, snatched up the Creeper by his little cape and the back of his shirt. Creeper yelped in shock and surprise as the gwythaint lifted him off the ground in its strong jaws.
"Set me down this instant, you beastly brute!" Creeper shouted. "You obey ME! I'm not your toy!"
The gwythaint ignored him as it had all morning, and throwing its head up, began to pump its leathery, batlike wings. Creeper's throat tightened suddenly, and it wasn't just from the increased pressure around his neck.
'Oh no, its going to fly!'
Creeper screamed as the gwythaint's powerful wingbeats scattered the forest litter in all directions as it rose into the air, pumping hard, its head rocking up and down for extra momentum, throwing Creeper up and down like a rag in the wind. By the time the dragon burst out of the treetops and into the sun, throwing leaves everywhere, Creeper felt like he'd been kicked down a flight of stairs in a barrel. A very Looong flight of stairs. He was seeing three of everything and the back of his head throbbed from the constant knocking it had taken against the gythaint's teeth.
The beast soared higher and higher, seeking a wind current to ride on. After it found one taking them in the direction it wanted to go, the gwythaint leveled itself out to glide. No longer having to constantly pump to stay in the air, the creature's flight became smoother and definitely more comfortable for the goblin in its iron-jawed grip. True, the ride would have been very relaxing, if Creeper had been on the gwythaint's back and not dangling from its mouth, getting dizzy watching the ground sweep past below him and realizing just how high up he was, and should the gwythaint drop him. . .he shuddered in fear.
"Where are you going?" He asked the creature in a near-panicked tone, as he looked down at the earth below him again in fear.
The trees looked like little bushes from this distance. The gwythaint suddenly braked in midair and veered sharply to the right to avoid flying over a brush farmer hoeing a large field he had probably cleared out himself. His attention was only on the ground he was hoeing though, and he didn't even look up as the gwythaint flew away.
"Ow!" The goblin barked before he could stop himself as the back of his head hit the gwythaint's teeth again. "Be more careful next time, and don't drop me!" He snapped crossly.
The gwythaint's flight became a little smoother after that. Creeper noticed it would dodge the farms before it reached them instead of waiting till the last minute, but it didn't help the goblin's frame of mind much. Humans were everywhere down there, although they were all hidden from this range, the dragon stood out like a cardinal in wintertime in the sky, in painfully full view. Some of the beast's drool ran down Creeper's back, and he cringed.
'This is going to be a looong day.'
Perhaps it was better that he did not know then what was in store for him. It may have made him bring his breakfast up, and being airsick was not pleasant.
After what felt like days, but Creeper guessed it was only about one and a half hours, possibly two, judging by the sun, that he noticed the giant lake start looming into view on the horizon, a big blue splash in the middle of the greys, browns, greens and assorted wildflower clusters on the land. Creeper looked at it for a moment, thinking.
'The lake. . . . the one that the Horned King's castle was currently resting at the bottom of in pieces, and you're going back now, after all this time. . .'
Creeper tried to twist his head up to look at the gwythaint. "Your mate is dead, you know," he half shouted to be able to hear himself above the wind. 'It perished the same as everything else."
There was no response from the creature packing him. Creeper huffed.
He had seen the other gwythaint burn to death as it was buried alive simultaneously. Suddenly the gwythaint lurched in the air, earning a shriek of terror from the goblin as it fought its way back to the draft that had helped carry it all this way. Creeper suddenly noticed how labored the dragon's wing-beats had become, the deep, struggling breaths it took through its nose as it pumped, not being able to open its mouth.
'Its been flying longer than it has in nearly a month,'
Creeper realized. A gwythaint would never tire itself like this intentionally unless it had a very good reason, always making sure to save reserves of energy to chase and kill prey. A tired gwythaint caught no food. Creeper turned back to the lake, which was getting closer. The thick, white fog from last night had not burned off it completely, but it was clearing off, and as they drew closer, Creeper noticed a large dark form inside the mist beginning to take shape in the middle of the lake. Creeper squinted his eyes, trying to focus on it, right as the gwythaint drew close enough that the mist parted for them and the goblin saw something that made his breath hitch and his stomach go to his throat in shock.
'What the. . .'
For right there, in the center of the lake, the lake making its grand moat, stood the old castle, looking nearly as it had before it had been destroyed, just as frightening and eerie as it had when the Horned King ruled it. Complete with the drawbridge spanning the lake-turned-moat to the shore, everything was there.
'What in the name of. . .' Creeper thought in shock. 'I SAW that castle blow up and sink with my own two eyes! How on earth. . .'
Then, as the gwythaint drew ever nearer to the castle, Creeper looked into the arching window-hole in the stone overlooking the drawbridge, and saw something that made his heart turn to pure ice and drop straight into his toes in total horror. For there, in the window, watching them draw closer, was the menacing silhouette of someone Creeper had never, not even in his worst nightmares, had ever expected to see again in the rest of his days. . . .
The Horned King himself.