The Brega path tsc-2

by Dennis McKiernan

  Cotton ate his evening meal, then sat once more atop the broken dam and watched the labor at the far wall. The stars began to shine in the vault above, and still the effort went forth. Time passed, and Rand joined the Warrow. "In just three hours night will be at its deepest," remarked the Man, peering at the starfield.

  They continued to watch the work in silence, each immersed in his own thoughts. Farlon came and joined them, but said nothing as he, too, regarded the sky and judged the depth of the night. Shortly, however, there came a cheer from the Great Loom, and Cotton sprang to his feet. "They're done!" he shouted. "They must be! See, the light shows only a few rocks remain, and they are being rolled into the black crater even now."

  The three watched, and soon the lanterns began bobbing northward as the workers returned to the encampment. Word finally came: the task was indeed finished-the massive job done with. Durek, smiling, came carrying a lantern to the top of the falls. "Well, Friend Cotton," he rumbled, "we have succeeded, and with yet two hours to spare."

  Durek summoned a herald to him and spoke a word or two. The herald stepped to the edge of the falls precipice and raised a golden horn to his lips, and blew a blast that echoed throughout the vale, causing all who heard it to leap to their feet with hands flying to axe hafts. And even though Cotton was standing next to King Durek, still the Warrow found himself reaching for the hilt of the Atalar Blade, so compelling was the night to arms of the War Horn.

  At this sound, Farlon raised his own black-oxen horn to his lips, and an imperative call split the air. Again Cotton fc]t his heart thud and his blood surge, and his gaze leapt in wonder from Durek's golden War Horn to Farlon's black-oxen horn. And he glanced to the silver Horn of the Reach hanging by the green and white baldric over his own shoulder, recalling its heartlifting voice. The peals of these three clarions seemed, somehow, irresistibly compelling, though their calls were different: the golden horn was resonant and commanding; the black, flat and challenging; the silver, sharp and calling.

  Cotton, too, felt the urge to sound the trumpet he carried- the silver Horn of the Reach-and his hand grasped the bugle; yet he did not set the wind to it, for he knew the dread this token held for the Dwarves; and so he let it fall back to his side unvoiced.

  Yet other sounds peaied forth as Durek's and Farlon's calls were answered by the shouts of Dwarf warriors and by the clack of axe upon buckler, a sonance which soon became a great rhythmic pounding of steel upon bronze.

  And Cotton's heart pounded too, and his blood surged and his spirit flamed as the Ragad Vale rang with the great

  hammering and with the roar of the fierce War calls of the Chakka. And above this din pealed the wild cry of a hom of Valon, but above all belled the great golden command of Durek's mighty War Horn.

  And the Dwarves of'the Army came to the golden call, for it was the summons of their King. Their blood was up and their hearts aflame, and as they came "they shouted and flourished their weapons to the sky, and their Dwarvish passions blazeu. And when the clamoring Host had gathered on the sides of the vale near the Sentinel Falls, a great proud cry burst forth from the Legion entire as above them Durek stepped to the edge of the linn and stood.

  The light of he lanterns filled the valley before the Dwarf King, and he was wreathed in the blue-green phosphorescence. The Moon was full and shone down on him, and the circlet of stars on his black mail-shirt glittered silver in the moonlight. And at his side the water tumbling o'er the linn shimmered brightly. His black and silver locks fell from his helm, and his forked beard shone with luster. He grasped his silveron-edged axe in his right hand, and the blade sparkled. And he looked somehow greater than his stature, for he was King.

  Durek raised his arms, and when quiet fell, he spoke; and though he did not seem to raise his gravelly voice, still all the Host heard him: "We stand ready to issue into our rightful homeland and drive the foul usurpers out. This ancient foe we have met in battle many times, and never yet have we suffered defeat at their hands. But heed me: My meaning is not that the Grg is a soft, easy opponent. To the contrary, the Squam are evil and cunning, and in every battle the struggle has been mighty and the outcome uncertain. Yet we defeated the Foul Folk in the Wars of Vengeance; we defeated them again in the Battle of the Vorvor; and we again defeated Squam in the Great War, as well as in the Winter War. And now, once more we go to fight the Grg, and this time the victory may be yet harder to grasp, for this time they shall be in their strength, for the battle will take place underground, where the Sun threatens them not. But we, too, shall be strengthened, for we shall be in our rightful homeland. And when this War is done with, Kraggen-cor shall again be ours!"

  There was a great roar of voices, and a pounding of axe haft upon stone, and the black and golden horns blew wildly.

  After a time, Durek once more held up his arms for quiet, and slowly the swell of voices and horncalls and clatter of axes subsided, til only the susurration of the tumbling glitter of the Sentinel Fails remained. And above the shush Durek spoke: "We have conquered much that has stood in our way to come to this moment: we outfought the blizzard in the Crestan Pass; we overcame the deep snow on the Mountainside; we quick-marched long to defeat time and distance; we slew the vile Monster of me Dark Mere; and we moved a great mass of stone to uncover the Dusken Door. There is but one thing more that stands in our way, and that is the Grg Swarm. But as we have done before, so shall we do again: we shall meet them in battle and crush them! Victory shall be ours!"

  Again there was a mighty shouting and a wild pealing of the black and golden horns, and the strike of axe haft on stone became a great rhythmic beat, and four thousand voices chanted, Khana-Durek! Khana-Durek! Khana-Durek! fBreak-death-Durek!] over and over and over.

  At last Durek held up his hands for quiet, but it was a long time coming. "I go now to the Dusken Door to speak the words of power at mat portal. If the Squad of Kraggen-cor has won through the caverns to the goal, then at the.mid of this night we shall set foot into our ancient homeland, Yet hearken: it may not be the Squad we meet at the Door but, rather, the Squam army, for we know not the success or failure of Marshal Brytta's mission, and the Grg spies may have slipped past the Vanadurin and borne to Gnar word of our Army here at the Dusken Door. Regardless, if it is the Grg Swarm we meet, then we will begin the War just that much sooner and regain our ancient homeland all the quicker. Heed: We all know our battle assignments. Form into your Companies, for the hour is nearly arrived. And may Elwydd smile upon each of us, and Adon strengthen our arms."

  Then Durek flashed his axe up to the moonlit sky and cried the ancient battle challenge of the Dwarves: "Chdkka shok! Chdkka cor! [Dwarven axes! Dwarven might!"]

  And thrice a mighty shout went up from all the Host: Chdkka shok! Chdkka cor! and Cotton felt his heart leap and his blood surge. The Warrow stabbed his sword to the sky

  and he, too, shouted with all the Legion the battle cry of the Dwarves. And he turned to see that Rand, also, had his Riamon blade upraised in solemn pledge; and Farlon stood with the butt of his spear grounded to the earth of the Valley Ragad as a steadfast vow that he would lead the wounded to the south, out of harm's way.

  Then Durek spun on his heel and started for the Door with Cotton and Rand at his side; and the Dwarf Legion surged along the Old Rell Spur and up the cliff to follow after, while Farlon of the Valanreach stood firm.

  As the warriors strode around the crater and by the cairns along the Great Loom, desperate thoughts whirled through Cotton's mind; Oh, please let Mister Perry be at the Door. He's just got to he there. It won't be right if he ain't. But then he thought, Whoa now, Cotton Buckleburr, why are you thinkin' he might not be there? You know he'll make it. Nothing can stop 'him. not even a black mine full of maggot-folk. It'll sure be good to see him again-if he's there. If he ain't there, well, then, I'll just lead the Dwarves down the Brega Path til we find him and the others, even if Marshal Brytta didn't stop those spies and we have to go through a whole Spawn Horde. But I won't hav
e to do that, 'cause Mister Perry'11 be there and the maggot-folk won't be… I hope. Then he'll lead and I'll follow. But if I do have to lead then it's: two hundred steps up the broad stair; one and twenty and seven hundred level paces in the main passage 'round right, left, right, and right turns passing three arches… And as Cotton strode with the odiers toward the Door, through his mind marched the beginning steps of the Brega Path.

  At last they halted at the place of die Dusk-Door. Blank stone loomed where the portal should appear. It was not quite midnight, and so they stood and waited. Behind them the Host moved into position: Felor's companies were first, standing ready with axes, and some sported small bucklers on their left arms. Cotton could see rank after rank of Dwarves stretching back around the black crater toward the Sentinel Falls. Lanterns glowed softly, carried by the warriors. Cotton's eyes followed the lights all the way to the last group of lanterns: Bomar's company: die rear guard.

  Atop the Sentinel Stand stood Farlon and a head-bandaged Dwarven observer, peering at the stars overhead and at the bright Moon riding high. At last the two looked to one another and nodded; and the Dwarf took up his lantern and threw the shutter wide, and a beam sprang toward the Door, toward those under the great hemidome who could not see the whole of the spangled heavens wheeling through the ebon sky. And as the lantern flashed its signal. Rand drew his sword, and Durek gripped his axe. Hastily, Cotton, too, drew his blade. It was midnight, the appointed hour-time to attempt the opening. They did not know whether the doors would swing wide; and if the portal opened, would the. Host be met by friend or foe?

  King Durek stepped to the towering Loom and set his axe down, leaning it against the massif, and placed his hands upon the surface of the blank stone, muttering strange words under his breath. And springing forth from where his hands pressed, there spread outward upon the stone a silvery weft that shone brightly in the lantern glow and by the moonlight and starlight. And as the tracery grew, it took form. And suddenly there was the Door! At last they could see its outline shining on the smooth stone, and they could see within the glittering web three runes set thereupon, wrought of theen, the Wizard metal: a glowing circle in the center of the Door; and under the circle and off to the right, the Wizard Grevan's rune G, and to the left, Gatemaster Valki's glyph V.

  Durek caught up his weapon by the helve and steppeiiback from the high portal; all that remained was for him to say the Wizard-word for "move," and the Door, if able, would open. The Dwarf turned to Cotton, Rand, and Felor. "Stand ready," he warned, "for we know not whom we meet,"

  Cotton gripped his sword and felt the great pressure of the moment rising inside him. The tension was nearly.unbearable, and he felt as if he needed to shout, but instead he thought. Let Mister Perry be at the Door and not no Ruck.

  Durek turned back to the Door and gripped his axe; he placed his free hand within the glittering rune circle; then hjs voice rang out strongly as he spoke the Wizard word of opening: "Gaard!"

  CHAPTER 5

  SPEARS OF VALOM

  Forty hours before Durek spoke the words of opening at the Dusk-Door, the horse column of the Harlingar quickly moved out of the Ragad Valley. The warriors rode two abreast with spears bristling to the sky; favors fluttered from the hafts, while in the lead the War-banner of Valon snapped and cracked in the breeze. The dark helms of the Vanadurin threw back no glints, yet gauds of horsehair and wings and horns flared from the steel. Swiftly they passed, yet not at full gallop, for they had far to go and must needs save their mounts. And the earth trembled at their passage.

  Brytta rode in the fore with Arl at his side, and all cantered at the steady ground-devouring pace of a Valanreach long-ride. And no rider spoke as their grim eyes swept the bleak high wold for sign of movement but saw none. The column rode thus as the Sun clambered up through the winter sky, and miles fell away beneath the hooves. Slowly the land changed as they went, the rolling western wold yielding to rugged hills, which in turn gave way to a rough, broken region of shattered rock and deep defiles, of high stone walls and jagged slopes, and of flint-hard paths twisting through a splintered land, as if the world's crust had been thrust asunder by the towering mountains bursting forth from the fettering rock below.

  Brytta's force rode with relentless determination to succeed in this desperate mission to intercept the two bands of spying Wrg ere they could reach the hidden High Gate in Quadran Pass, for the Spawn were carrying to Gnar word of the Dwarf Army at the western Door. And but a bare four hours of daylight remained; and then the Sun would set and the Foul Folk would again take up their dash for the Gate. And the riders had yet some leagues to go to reach their goal: the road to the Gap.

  The land now consisted of huge upjuttings of red granite, striated in places with hued bands of layered stone. It would have taken great skill for the Harlingar to track the Rutcha through this tangle of rock, yet early on Arl had unerringly led die column to find Eddra's wake: Eddra, who had trailed the Spawn throughout the previous night, leaving clear Valanreach signs indicating the Wrg path for the pursuers to follow. And the Vanadurin had now followed that track for hours.

  'Mid the red crags and rudden bluffs wended the riders, strung out in their long column of twos, their gait slowed to a mere picking walk through the tumble of shattered stone. As Nightwind stepped through the broken rock, Brytta, seeking some tactical advantage over the foe, reflected back upon the tale Arl had told him during other slow passages such as this, a tale not stripped bare as would be a scout's terse report but, rather, one told in full:

  "Three days agone, after the Legion marched away from the fork in the road toward mat… mat dead vale, back there"-Arl gestured toward the Ragad Valley-"Eddra, Wylf, and I took the other fork and rode like the wind to me small watch-mountain, Redguard, where we set vigil o'er the pass. We huddled atop that cold stone peak for what seemed an endless time, wood for the balefire ready but unlit, awaiting the coming of a Wrg army. And we burned no cainpfire at night, for that would signal our presence to enemy eyes.

  "And cold we were, so cold… A bitter, rimed grip was upon the land; and the very stone cracked under heel-frost-riven, broken by that dread clime's grasp. Even Wylf's luck at finding comfort failed, and we lurked there among the icy rock in the long, bitter nights; and the cruel wind cut like sharp knives as we huddled shivering, urging on the mom so that we could men light a small campblaze for its feeble warmth. At times we even japed that should a Rutchen army come, we then could kindle the balefire and warm by its flames; yet it did not happen. For two nights nothing happened.

  "But, on the third night-last night-thirty or so Rutcha

  bearing torches came marching down from Quadran Col just after sunset."

  "Hold!" interrupted Brytta. "Whence came they? How far up were they? Did you see them come from the High Gate?"

  "I have thought long upon that," answered Arl, his brow furrowing, "and this is the way of it: the first we saw of their torches, they were nearly at the snow line, high up on the roadway o'er the Gap."

  Brytta grunted, then motioned for the young rider to continue his tale, and so Arl did: "Though we had hoped for some action to fire our blood, when the Spawn came all thoughts of discomfort, all longing for warmth fled in our dismay, for we knew that here could spell the doom of the quest. There were only thirty or so of them, but still it could mean discovery of the Host. Yet down the flanks of Stormhelm they tramped, and turned south. And while they marched, we considered our course.

  "Because there were so few, we did not light the balefire, for that signal was meant to warn the Legion of the coming of a full Wrg army, not just a mere squad. Too, a beacon would only serve to warn the Spawn that something was stirring on this side of the mountains. Yet it seemed likely that their spying eyes had seen our Army bear south along the Old Rell Way, and this force had come to see what was afoot.

  "They marched for two hours, or a bit more, going perhaps six or eight miles, down from the snow line and passing below us on the east flank of
Redguard. Yet suddenly they stopped, seeming to mill about in fear or confusion, and we wondered at the cause. Then we, too, saw what had affrighted the Foul Folk, and we ourselves were taken aback, for it was indeed a bodeful sight: that great cusp of a stone wall at the head of the Valley of the Door…" Arl turned and swept his hand back toward the hemidome of the Great Loom, which, through the granite crags behind, could be seen towering up the side of Grimspire, "that wall was flaring and blooming red and orange and yellow in the night, like the very forge of Hel, and great dark shadows were guttering and twisting and writhing up the mountain flank and into the blackness, as if some vast fire was ablaze in Ragad Vale."

  "Indeed, 'twas a great conflagration," verified Brytta, turning Nightwind through the jumble of rock, "set ablaze atop the dam last night to thwart the evil Warder as the Dwarves strove to break the stone and loose the lake. But that is a tale to be told later, after yours is finished. Speak on."

  But at that moment the land opened somewhat, calling for a faster pace. Arl shifted the banner spear from the left stirrup to the right, couching the haft butt in the cup there, and spurred his horse to a swift canter. They rode thus for a time before coming again to shattered land where the column had to slow. And when the pace dropped back, Arl continued as if there had been no break in his narrative: "We were filled with foreboding, whelmed by the unknown yet dire portent of the flaring upon the Loomwall. It seemed as if some great battle perchance raged in the Valley of the Door while we three on Redguard stood mayhap a less necessary duty. We argued whether or not to ride to the vale to help; yet we knew not the cause of the flaming, thus could not easily decide upon our course: at hand directly below us was the given threat of a small, perhaps unimportant, force of Wrg; while far off was the sign of a great raging effort of some unknown action, which for aught we knew could be entirely peaceful, though we three thought elsewise."