Brytta's voice was grim: "Arl, get a fresh mount; you will lead us back to'Eddra. If they have not yet done so, these Wrg must not escape to alert Gnar. Go now; and bring Nightwind to me." And as Arl sprang down the steps, the Reachmarshal glanced at the morning sky. "Prince Rand, by the straightest horse route, how far lies the road to Quadran Gap?"
"Nine leagues, perhaps ten, through the foothills by horseback will set you upon the way to the pass," answered Rand after some thought. Both Brytta and Durek grunted in agreement, for the estimate confirmed their own. Rand continued: "The route through the margins wil! be rock-strewn and slow, rugged, broken, though I can see no swifter way to cut off the Yrm." Rand then turned to the Dwarf King. "Even so, King Durek, when the Vanadurin reach the road, how far upwards should they ride? Where lies the secret High Gate?"
Durek shook his head. "Lore only tells us that it is some-where within the pass. Yet it cannot be more than a league or three upslope, for we now know that it is this side of the high snow, the deep snow, else the Grg could not have used it. How they found it and discovered the way of its working, we may never learn, though they have had more than a thousand years to know of it."
"Oh, no sir," spoke up Cotton. "Beggin' your pardon, King Durek, but I think they've not known about it all that time. Why, if they knew of that High Gate just as recent as Tuck's time-two hundred thirty or so years past-well then, Sir, you can stake your last copper on the fact that they'd've used the High Gate to get at him and the other three when those four tried to cross over Stormhelm during the Winter War." Cotton looked around and saw nods of agreement. "So, as I'd say, since they didn't grab at Tuck in the pass, well, they must have got that secret door open since then."
Brytta glanced down into the vale and saw Arl riding a fresh mount and leading Nightwind to the Sentinel Falls.. "Regardless as to when it was discovered by the Wrg, they know of it now. No more time can be spent in speculation.ft is time for deeds, not talk." And Brytta raised his black-oxen, horn to his lips to signal the Harlingar.
"Wait, Sir!" cried Cotton. "What about the wounded? What about those hurt in the fight with the Monster? Who will take them south? And, for that matter, what about the horses? We can't just leave them here in this dead place; how will they live?"
"Cotton, my gentle friend, unforeseen events are running roughshod o'er us, trampling our careful stratagems,"'declared Brytta. "Hence, for those things you name-and-perhaps more-other plans must needs be made; for, wounded or not, horses or not, still the Spawn must be stopped ere they reach the High Gate; and none else can do that but the Vanadurin. We must ride now!"
Astride a fresh mount and leading the ReachmarshaFs steed, Arl had come to the foot of the linn; and Nightwind reared and his forelegs pawed the air, sharp hooves flashing. Brytta glanced down, and then spoke to all in Council: "Fare you well, Lords. May each of you succeed in your mission, and we in ours." v
And Brytta again raised the black-oxen hom to his lips, and this time an imperative call split the air. Nightwind belled a challenge, and other notes rang forth as Brytta's c.all was answered in kind by each of the Harlingar; and horn after horn resounded, which set the echoes to ringing, and the Ragad Vale pealed with the fierce calls of the untamed horns of Valon.
'Mid the Vanadurin homcries to battle, Brytta sprang down the steps and vaulted to Nightwind's back. And'with yet another blast upon his horn, the Reachmarshal spurred his dark steed to the west toward the mouth of the valley, and at his side rode Arl on a grey. High upon Arl's upright spear flew the War-banner of the House of Valon: a white horse rampant upon a field of green, an ancient sigil ever borne into battle by the Harlingar.t And as Brytta and Arl went swiftly past each of the other riders, they, too, spurred in behind. Soon all the Vanadurin were in the column, riding at a fast pace, in pairs, a forest of spears bristling at the morning sky: thirty-seven grim warriors upon whom the hopes of the Dwarf Army rested.
And as the Valanreach column rode forth. Cotton turned to Prince Rand. "Sir, what about Marshal Brytta's broken hand?" asked the Warrow, fretting. "How can he fight? How can he defend himself?"
Rand did not take his eyes from the distant riders, and his answer was a long time coming: "Fear not, Cotton, for he shall manage," said the Prince finally; yet Cotton was not comforted by the words. i
Slowly the day crept forward, and Cotton's weary mind continued to churn with worry: over Perry and the Squad; over Brytta and the Vanadurin; over the vast amount of rubble covering the Door; and over the mission in general. Realizing at last the state he was in, he decided to try to break this darkling mood with a trip to see Brownie and Downy, and to visit with the cook-crew of the last waggon.
Tiredjy the buccan trudged along the Old Spur back to where the rear of the train was encamped upon the vale sides. All along the way there was torn landscape where the loosed water had whelmed the ravine. Most of the black rot from fee lake bottom had been washed away by the Duskrill flowing once more along the ravine, yet some of the decay still clung here and there to the rocks and crevices of the valley floor. And where the rot was, an unclean odor emanated; but there was a cool breeze blowing along the vale and toward the mountain and up, and the reek of centuries of accumulated foulness, though prevalent, did not overpower those at the wains.
After visiting the horses, Cotton ale a meal with Bomar's cook-crew. They seemed pleased to see the small, gold-clad Warrow; yet at the same tirqe, something about the buccan's presence unsettled them. Uneasily, they sat in a circle; and what conversation there was turned again and again toward Brytta's mission, and toward the upcoming invasion of Kraggen-cor. And in the fashion of Dwarves, the talk went from Dwarf to Dwarf around the circle:
"Just how did the foul Squam discover the High Gate into Quadran Pass?" growled Nare.
"If a thieving Grg found.it, then it has to be easily done-no doubt from the inside," answered Caddor. "It is,' after ail, a secret door, Chakmade. Yet, in this, i think it,tt concealed only on the outside."
"Let us hope the Vanadurin can intercept them before they regain the High Gate," said Belor, to a general murmur of agreement.
"Why were the Fou! Folk on this side of the Mountains anyway?" snapped Naral. "There are no homesteads nearby, nor villages, no one to ravage or plunder."
"For aught we know, they were trailing us," responded Oris. "We marched by the pass. In open view."
Crau leaned forward, poking the fire. "Aye, Oris, mayhap. Yet there were two bands."
"One band trailing us and another band trailing them? Spies watching spies?" queried Funda, scratching his head.
"Who knows?" growled Littor, exasperated- "Ravers, scouts, trackers, spies: the only thing that matters is they have seen us and must be stopped!"
"Wull," chimed in Cotton, "if anyone can stop 'em, it's Marshal Brytta and his horse riders!"
Shifting edgily at Cotton's words about horse riders, most of the Dwarves glanced at the silver hom the Warrow. bore and men quickly away, and a strained silence fell upon the group. Finally, after a time, with visible effort, Nare again took up the conversation, and soon all were engaged:
"It is an ancient dream, the retaking of Kraggen^or," observed Nare. "We of Durek's Folk have dreamed this dream for many a long age."
"Aye," responded Caddor. "An ancient dream of an elder race. It is a dream yearned for by many: bethink! we here do not fight just for ourselves; we also fight for our kith who remained behind in Mineholt-and in the Qiiartzen Caves, too."
"Not to mention those down in the Red Hills," added Belor, pouring himself a cup of tea.
"For that matter," spoke up Naral, "some of Durek's Folk dwell in the far western Sky Mountains and in the rewon halls of the Rigga Mountains to the north."
"But it is not only Durek's Folk we fight for," said Oris thoughtfully, "or just the Chakka. The foul Squam raid the
Lands of VaJon and Riamon, where they maim and slaughter the innocent and plunder that which others' labors won."
"I have heard
the Elves of Blackwood and the Baeron think on action against the raiders," declared Crau as he threw a log on the cook fire.
"I know the Men of Pellar stand ready to aid us if we call," added Funda.
"It means that our Captain has the right of it," stated Littor. "We must strike and strike hard in the coming conflict. Dwarves, Men, EJves: all will gain from our victory."
"Hey!" exclaimed Cotton, "What about us Warrows? 1, mean, we'll benefit too. You left us out, Littor."
"Ho, my Friend Cotton," laughed Littor, standing up and bowing low to the buccan, "Waerans, too. I did not intend to exclude you, though it is not likely that Grg would bother the Boskydells-or the Waerans of Weiunwood near Stonehili, for that matter."
"Wull, that's where you might be wrong, Littor," asserted Cotton. "I mean, we fought the Spawn in the Bosky during the Winter War… and over in Weiunwood the maggot-folk tried more than once to invade-but the Ruckslayer drove 'em out, he did."
"Ruckslayer?" asked Caddor.
"That's what he was called," answered Cotton. "His real name was Arbagon Fenner. He led the Warrow force in the Battle of Weiunwood and drove the Rucks and such out; that was back in the time of the Winter War too. The Ruckslayer must have been quite a buccan: why, they say he once even rode a horse into battle-and 1 don't mean a pony, I mean a real horse."
At this second mention of horse riding, all the Dwarves again uneasily glanced at and then hastily looked away from the silent hom that Cotton now carried in plain view-a horn no longer stowed out of sight in the Warrow's pack. An irredeemable pall fell upon the conversation, and Cotton soon started back toward the head of the column.
The Dwarves at Dusk-Door toiled without pause, and slowly the great rock pile diminished. The stone itself was used to build cairns for the fallen against the Great Loom. All Dwarves worked hooded out of respect for their dead kindred, but they took not the time for formal mourning, though grief-stricken they were. Several cairns also were made near the broken dam for those killed by the Krakenward during the drilling. Gaynor's remains were recovered and put to rest, as well as were the slain Drillers and Hammerers and the members, of the fireteam broken by the clutch and slap of great tentacles. The Monster itself had been crushed by stone, and now it, too, was completely covered by rock, all Dwarf companies and Brytta's scouts having tumbled blocks down upon it.
Late in the afternoon, Farlon, a Valonian scout, rode in from the south. Not finding Brytta, he located Prince Rand to report that good pasturage with hearty grass and sparkling water lay in a wide vale but eleven miles downchain. After giving his report to the Prince, Farlon swept his eyes about the flood-whelmed valley and noted, "Much seems to have happened here since yesternoon, when last I saw this vale-as if a great stroke has hammered this land. The stream that was dry now flows again. The falls that were not, now tumble free. The dam that was whole is now shattered. A foulness lingers on the air. And gone are my comrades, and Marshal Brytta. Where are they? Where are the Vanadurin? And what has befallen this vale?"
Rand now realized mat Farlon had ridden south at noon the day before to look for fair pastures for the horses. Hence, the scout knew nought of the events concerning the battle with the Monster, nor of the discovery of the Host by the spying bands of maggot-folk. And so the Prince told the horseman of the struggle with the Warder of the Dark Mere, while Farlon stared with eyes wide with wonder at the broken dam and the black crater, at the Duskrill and the Sentinel Falls, at the Great Loom of Aggarath and the pile of rubble over the Door, at the toiling Dwarves, and at the cascade-shrouded mound of stone covering the creature's carcass.
Then Rand spoke of the prying Spaunen and explained Brytta's mission, and Farlon railed at the Fates for separating him from his brethren on this thrust to intercept the Ruck spies. Even then Farlon would have ridden to join the Vanadurin, and he strode resolutely to his horse. But ere he could mount, "Hold!" commanded Rand. "Your fellow horsemen are by now too far toward the pass for you to overtake ere nightfall, when the Yrm begin to stir. And a lone rider running at speed in the dark or by moonlight perchance would spoil any ambush set for the Foul Folk."
Farlon began to protest, but his words were cut short by Rand: "Horse rider, think! Would you gamble our quest 'gainst your desire to join your comrades in battle?" At Farlon's sullen silence. Rand spoke on: "In sooth, horseman, we have more need of you here than there, for someone must lead the wounded south to the haven you have found.''
"Gam/" growled Farlon, "I'm a warrior, not a nurse-maiden."
Cotton, who had been listening to the exchange, flushed with anger. "Warrior? Nursemaiden?" he cried, stepping in front of the scout. "Those words have no meaning in this! Ally! Helper! Friend! That's what's needed now! Come with me, warrior, and look!" And the small enraged Warrow grasped the Man by the wrist and stormed off toward the white waggons standing nearby, hauling die astonished rider in tow.
Long minutes fled, til nearly an hour had passed. Yet finally the two returned to Rand's side. And Farlon was most subdued, for he had seen and spoken with many Dwarves lamed and broken by the- evil Monster's might in the long battle with that hideous creature. "Sire," said the rider to Rand, "I am much shamed by my unthinking words. I do humbly place my service at your command, to succor the needs of the Dwarvenfotc wounded in that dire struggle."
And Farlon turned to Cotton. "Little friend, you spoke truth: neither warrior nor nursemaiden are words to be bandied here; rather ally, helper, or friend best describes the need." And Cotton shuffled his feet and peered at the ground, all too embarrassed by his own temperamental outburst.
Rand clapped the horseman on the shoulder, and the awkward moment was dispelled. "Good! Now we must think upon how best to move the injured south; in this we must seek the advice of a healer. As to when to move them: if the Door opens at the mid of night on the twenty-fifth, and if the Host enters Kraggen-cor, then you must move them no later than the morn of the twenty-sixth, perhaps e'en sooner, to get them out of harm's way should Spawn flee the battle and come forth through this vale."
"Aye," answered Farlon, "there is mat to think on. And there are the horses, too. My original mission was to find them good pasturage, which I have done. Yet how will I get them south? Drovers are needed, but all my brethren are gone, and the wounded cannot move the herd. Yet the steeds cannot be left here."
"You can do nought but loose them and hope that most will follow behind your waggons bearing the hurt Dwarves," stated Rand. "They are horses of Riamon, more tame than the fiery steeds of your Land, more likely to follow. Even so, if they do not come with you, I think they will stay together in a great herd and wander to other pastures upon the western wold, to be found again once the issue of Drimmen-deeve is over and done with."
"Mayhap we should leave some of the horses behind, here near the Door; perchance there will be a need," suggested Farlon. "Come, let us see how that might be done. And, too, let us find a healer and speak upon the move south."
And the scout and the Prince strode away, leaving Cotton behind. And the Warrow watched across the black crater as the work at Dusk-Door went on. The Sun set and darkness fell, yet the toil at the distant Loom continued by lamplight. Shifts changed and fresh workers replaced weary ones. Dwarves not working slept, as Cotton finally did, succumbing at last to his fatigue.
The next morning. Cotton awakened to find that more than half the stone had been removed from the Door, and he was overjoyed until he tallied up the hours to find that more than half the work time also was gone. He breakfasted with Rand, who said, "It is going to be close. Whether we reach the portal-by mid of night depends upon whether any more great stones are found like the one last eventide mat took more than an hour to move." No sooner had he said that than word came that another massive block barred the way.
After breakfast, Cotton went to the remnants of the dam above the falls and sat and once again watched the work. Time passed, yet by midmorn the pile did not seem to have diminished. The Warrow let his sight stray
up along the reaches of the massif and down into the black crater. And then his jewel-like eyes swept to the Sentinel Stand. He could see someone-Farlon it was-carrying a bundle of wood up
the steps to the top of the spire. Now why would the rider be carrying a fagot up there? But ere Cotton could puzzle it through, Durek brought his Chief Captains to the buccan, and Cotton began to describe the main features that the Army would see along the Brega Path, starting at the Dusk-Door.
Using copies of Perry's map, Cotton began by telling of the stairs leading up behind the western doors, and he went on to speak of the halls and chambers and passageways they would encounter within Kraggen-cor. The Captains were especially interested in places where there would be bottlenecks, or where maggot-folk could lie in ambush. Cotton had to draw upon all of his knowledge of the Brega Scroll te answer their enquiries, particularly those of Fetor the Driller, who asked many penetrating questions, dwelling almost exclusively upon the first several miles of the Brega Path. Cotton was later to discover that Felor's companies were to be in the forefront of the invasion-the spearhead of the Dwarf Army.
Though he couldn't answer all their queries, Cotton had done well, and the Chief Captains thanked him for the review, and at noon they withdrew. But shortly thereafter, Cotton went over the same information with another group of Captains. Three more times, meetings were held at which the Warrow spoke of the Brega Path in terms of bottlenecks, ambuscades, deployments, and other tactical features. It was sundown when he finished, and at last all the Captains had heard his words.
During the time Cotton was speaking, the work at Dusk-Door continued. At times it went swiftly, at other times slowly, yet progress was being made. More than three quarters of the stone was now out of the way, yet only seven hours remained until midnight. Lanterns were again unshielded, and the toil went on.
The Brega path tsc-2 Page 8
