Not far from here, there is a mountain.
Atop that mountain, instead of harsh, jagged peaks, there is a flat patch of
soft, green land. The soil is rich and fertile, and the heathers that grow
there are the finest that can be found.
Not long ago, the dwarves who made their
homes in the mountain's roots would dream of climbing the slopes, harvesting
the mountain's sweet heathers, and taking them back to their stills to flavour
their spirits. However, they seldom made the climb, and those who did rarely
returned. The mountaintop was beset by harpies, and the foul beasts would kill
and devour any dwarf who ventured too far skywards.
In the village at the foot of the mountain, there lived three
brothers. The eldest brother was the strongest warrior in the village, and the
other villagers said that if anyone could defeat the harpies, surely it was
him. So, keen to find fame and fortune, he put on his armour, slung his axe
over his shoulder and set off, up the mountain.
Less than a day later the eldest brother returned, his armour
scratched and his skin bloody. He had slain many of the harpies, he said, but
there seemed to be no limit to their numbers, and eventually he was forced to
flee. Disappointed, the villagers turned to the second brother, who was known
to be the fiercest warrior in the village. Hoping to best his brother and find
glory for himself, he put on his own armour, took up his broadsword, and set
off for the mountaintop. A few hours later, however, he too returned, lucky to
have escaped with his life.
With the village's two most respected warriors defeated, the
villagers despaired. To everyone's surprise, the youngest of the three
brothers, who was not a warrior at all, but rather a talented craftsman,
announced that he would go to the mountaintop and drive out the harpies. His
older brothers laughed in his face.
"You?" They jeered; "What can you do? Stay in your
forge, little brother, and make yourself useful crafting weapons and armour for
us real warriors."
But the younger brother was not deterred. He was quite accustomed to
his brothers' bullying. He took up the sword, shield, and armour he had crafted
himself, along with a large sack, and set off in the opposite direction, away
from the mountain. His brothers mocked him further when they saw him going the
wrong way, but he took no notice.
He walked downhill, until he reached the caves at the ocean's edge.
He knew the caves to be infested with goblins, and he went right inside. Now,
even for the most inexperienced dwarven warrior, goblins are child's play;
particularly if that dwarven warrior happens to be equipped with the most
exquisitely crafted armour and weaponry in all the land, as this one was.
Within an hour, the younger brother had slain several dozen. He tossed them
into the sack, and dragged them back to his forge. There, he set about
stripping the flesh from their bones, which he then began to fashion into
something different altogether. He used every part of the goblin, even boiling
down their fat to create a sort of glue to hold the bones together. He hacked
and carved and shaped and crafted for an entire day, and then, under cover of
darkness, he dragged his creation up the mountain, left it there, and went to
bed.
He was awoken at dawn by the sound of cheering. Outside, all the
villagers were gathered on the green, and in the centre of the crowd he saw his
two older brothers.
"Behold!" They cried; "Look upon the heroes who have
driven out the harpies from the mountain! Come, gaze upon our triumph!"
And with that, they set off for the mountaintop; the rest of the villagers
following excitedly.
When the crowd reached the final approach to the mountaintop, they
were greeted with a truly astounding sight. Upon the flat summit of the
mountain stood a gargantuan figure, some fifteen feet tall, hewn from bone and
clad in tattered, grey skin. The two older brothers stood to either side of the
effigy. It was clear to the young dwarf that his two brothers had followed him
up the mountainside the previous night, and now meant to take the credit for
his work.
"See!" The older brothers gloated; "The harpies dare
not come for us, because, as surely everyone knows, harpies are terrified of
giants! We can even stand upon the mountaintop without need for armour!"
The villagers rejoiced, cheering and laughing, all except for the
younger brother. He was not angry either, though. He simply watched, smiling,
as the sun rose over the horizon, creeping over the mountain, bathing the bone
giant in its rays. The giant creaked, swayed, and then abruptly fell, crumbling
into nothing more than a pile of dry, rattling bones. No sooner than the last
bone had hit the ground, could the sounds of shrieking and leathery wings be
heard upon the wind. The two older brothers tried to make for the cover and safety
of the mountainside, but were caught up in an enormous flock of cackling
harpies, and were torn to shreds instantly. The other villagers were shocked
and dismayed to see their two finest warriors killed before their eyes. Not the
youngest brother, though. After all, surely everyone knew that glue made from
goblin fat will hold fast in darkness, but fizzle away to nothing in the light
of the sun?
By Tom Hunt
