Cirwen drooped wearily on the back of his mare, the smell of wet horse thick in his nostrils. Three days he’d been riding hard through thickets, brambles, and dense forest, and still the Duke’s men pursued him. Who would have thought a simple silver chalice was worth so much trouble? Now in the foothills of the Spine Ridge mountains, his sharp elven eyes spotted a cave entrance hidden in the shadows of a rocky ravine and he headed for it.
The narrow fissure opened into a cavernous room with a soft dirt floor and jagged stony walls. Cirwen set up camp a short ways in and thought about Ardwena. With this chalice he’d be able to buy her a nice wedding ring. He relaxed against the wall. She deserved a fine ring, one that matched the beauty in her forest green eyes. Clutching the cup and thinking of his blonde haired beauty, Cirwen fell asleep.
He awoke with a start. What was that noise? No longer sure he was alone, he decided to explore.
The cave was large, going back forty-five paces from the entrance and twice as wide. He walked slow and listened carefully as he searched, not wanting to stumble across some wild animal in the dark. Even deep inside the cave he dared not light a torch, it might be seen from the outside.
Heading back toward the thin ribbon of light from the opening, his foot snagged on a jutting rock and he fell. What’s this? His hands didn’t land in dirt, but on something soft and luxurious. Fungus? No, it felt more like cloth. He felt it again. It was thick and soft. Cirwen couldn’t think of anything in a cave that would feel like that. He reached out a third time but the thing darted out from under his hand with a whooshing sound.
Cirwen gasped. He wasn’t alone. Dangerous or not, he yanked a torch from his pack and lit it.
The cave was empty, except for Piebald, his horse. What was he touching? Who moved it? And where had it gone? Torch in hand, he decided to find out.
A few moments later his torch illuminated a spot of bright red behind a large boulder. Cirwen pressed himself against the wall. What was that? The latest kill of the animal living here? Cirwen held his breath and listened. His heart raced in the silence, his palms got sweaty and his eyes opened wide. This was more exciting than picking a lock! Hearing nothing, he took another peek.
It was a carpet, royal red with gold tassels on the ends and butterflies woven into its pile. It lay by itself in the soft dirt behind the boulder. An odd thing to find in a cave, especially clean. He recalled how it felt when he fell. It could have been a carpet, but who moved it? Or maybe it was a magic carpet!
Cirwen warily approached, keeping a sharp look-out for the carpet’s owner. He lowered his torch for a closer inspection and one of the carpet’s tassels pointed itself at the flame. Cirwen froze. The thing moved on its own. It was magic! The carpet darted past him with another whooshing sound.
Hazah! He’d found a flying carpet. Now he had to catch it.
Searching again, he found it scrunched between two large pillars. If he could only get on top of it, it would have to obey his commands. Cirwen’s torch hissed and popped when he laid it on the cavern floor. With slow cautious steps he approached. Five feet from it, he dove.
As Cirwen flew one way, the carpet flew the other. Laying face down in the dirt, Cirwen developed a new respect for the speed of a flying carpet. This was going to be harder than he thought. Still spitting dirt out of his mouth, he retrieved his torch. The hunt was on again.
This time the carpet hid deep in a narrow finger in the back of the cave. Cirwen approached, brandishing his torch. “I’ve got you now.”
The carpet tried to escape, but each time it changed direction Cirwen used his torch to block its path. Slowly he crept closer. The carpet tried to feign left and dart right, but Cirwen was quick with his torch. He stepped closer. The carpet darted side to side but had nowhere to go. Cirwen eased closer. Finally, he stood on top its thick soft pile. He had done it! He had captured a flying carpet!
He tossed his torch aside and sat down on the carpet. He dared not stand until he was sure what the carpet would do. A smile came to his face. The Duke’s men would never catch him now.
“Carpet, up,” he commanded.
The carpet leapt off the ground and raced towards the ceiling. Cirwen enjoyed the sensation until he looked up. The jagged rocks above were rapidly approaching, threatening to crush him.
“Carpet, stop.”
The carpet stopped within an arm’s reach of the ceiling. Cirwen didn’t. He crashed into the stones and plopped back on top of the velvety thing. “Very funny, carpet,” he said, rubbing the top of his bruised head.
Something closer to the ground would probably be safer. “Carpet, down.”
The carpet plunged straight down from underneath him, leaving him to free fall. “Carpet, stop,” he shouted, intending the carpet to catch him, but the carpet kept descending.
“Stop. Stop!” The carpet ignored his orders and hurled itself against the dirt floor below.
Cirwen realized he needed to be on the carpet to give it orders, not next to it, above it or below it.
He crashed onto the carpet with a groan that echoed throughout the cavern. The dirt he thought was soft wasn’t so soft after all. He laid there catching his breath. He needed to be more careful with his commands. Apparently, this carpet didn’t want to be ridden.
He sat back up. “Carpet, rise slowly.”
The carpet leisurely ascended.
“Carpet, stop.”
The carpet stopped.
“Carpet, slowly go forward.”
Cirwen practiced flying around the cavern until he felt confident. In a few hours he was ready to face the Duke’s men.
“Carpet, slowly exit this cave.”
Outside, Cirwen grinned at the men searching the foothills for him. He decided to help. “Over here!” he shouted, standing and waving his arms.
A few moments later his three pursuers were below him.
He waggled the silver chalice and smiled. “Looking for this, little men? Sorry, but from up here you look so insignificant.”
“That, and you,” the Sheriff said. “Cirwen of Elm’s Bough, you are hereby under arrest for theft, by order of Duke Grisham. Come down at once.”
Cirwen tucked the chalice back into his pack. “You’ll have to catch me first.”
The Sheriff turned to his henchmen. “Do either of you have a bow?” Both shook their heads.
“Aw. What’s next, Sheriff?” Cirwen taunted, “Cast a spell? But, oops,” he said, putting a finger to his lips, “you don’t know magic, do you.” He laughed, then laid it on thick with a deep belly laugh while pointing at his helpless pursuers.
The next thing Cirwen knew, there was a torch burning at his feet and the bearded henchman was smiling at him. Cirwen stopped laughing. The carpet didn’t like fire. He snatched the torch, but not before the carpet did a spiral in mid air, dislodging both the torch and the elf.
Cirwen grabbed for the carpet as he fell but only caught air. He landed flat on his back with the torch in his right hand and the wind knocked out of him.
“Couldn’t control it, eh kid,” the henchman said, with a smirk. “Even carpets are allowed to defend themselves.” He untied the rope from his saddle and dismounted.
