And slowly the fight became a grim stalking, as the Vanadurin dismounted and took up torches and spread across the road and searched each cleft and shadow. And the Foul Folk were found, sometimes singly, sometimes clotted together in pockets. And no quarter was given.
Brytta sat upon Nightwind, looking down the defile; he watched as the Harlingar sought living Spawn in the blackness, and made certain that those lying upon the ground were dead and not feigning. It was long-knife work, and saber, too; and struggles were short and fierce. And as he looked, a stone rattled down from above.
On the wall! A Drokh! No, two! Flitting through the shadows above Brytta were two Drokha who had managed to scale up a cranny to a high path along the south wall of the defile, a path running to the top. And now they were fleeing along it, escaping the defile, fleeing for the High Gate.
With effort, Brytta strung his bow, cursing the pain and clumsiness of his broken right hand. Another rider was nearby; "Didion! To me!" cried Brytta. "Wrg! On the wall! Your bow!" And as Didion rode to him, Brytta set an arrow to string and tried to draw the weapon with his broken hand. A low agonized groan hissed between his clenched teeth, and with the bow but half drawn the arrow fell from the weapon and clattered to the ground. "Rack!" Brytta cursed, and changed hands, shifting the bow to his clumsy right, reaching for arrow with his left. The Drokha now scrambled the last few steps toward the top of the wall, an open plateau-and if
they reached it, they were free!
Again Brytta set arrow to string, this time drawing the bow against the heel of his shattered right hand and gritting against the grinding pain while beads of sweat burst forth upon his brow. "Take the right, Didion, I'll take the left," he gasped, and as the Drokha momentarily reappeared from the shadows, two arrows hissed through the air, one well aimed, the other less so. Now at the top and just entering the shadow again, one of the enemy flung up his hands and a piercing scream rent the air as he plunged backward down the defile wall to land with a sodden thud in the roadbed. The, other Drokh pitched forward into the blackness, and if he was arrow-struck, they did not see.
"Didion, after him! He must not escape!" Brytta barked. "Ged!" he called to another rider coming nigh. "Go with Didion! Drokh on the height!" And Ged leapt from his horse and scrambled up a cleft behind Didion, finding the steep climbing no easy task.
And the search for Rutchen survivors went on.
Night passed and the Moon set, and dawn crept upon the land to find stricken Harlingar: exhausted, for they had spent two nights without sleep; wearied by struggle, first with the Krakenward, then with Wrg; drained, for some, weeping, had had to slay their own steeds, legs broken in battle; afflicted, for nearly half the warriors bore wounds, some serious, some minor, now bandaged; filled with heartgrief, for five of the Vanadurin would never again answer home all. Thusly did the dayrise find the riders of the Valanreach.
Earlier, a count showed mat three and seventy Rutcha and one Drokh had fallen to the riders; and in the predawn the carrion were dragged down out of the defile and flung into a ravine, where the coming of the Sun would shrivel them to dust, as Aden's Ban decreed. The Wrg weapons were gathered, and in dull rage the riders snapped the blades and shattered the hafts and bent the iron bars beyond repair, and these, too, were cast into the ravine.
In midmorn, Didion and Ged returned to the defile and sought out Brytta. "Sire," said Didion, drawn and weary,
"long we hunted, and this we found." He held up an arrow, broken in twain, covered with dried black Wrg gore. Brytta examined it closely and grunted; it was his. "Yet," Didion went on, "no Drokh did we find, not near nor far; and by dawn's light we searched even unto the snow line. At the first, a spotted trail we followed, and quickly found the arrow. Soon the trail diminished, at last to disappear on the edge of a deep crevasse with a black still pool at bottom. Ged, here, climbed down while I cast about, but neither he nor I found aught else."
"Skut!" spat Brytta, flinging the fractured arrow from him and looking bitterly at his broken hand. "The Drokh may have been but fleshwounded, snapping the arrow in twain and pulling it through himself. As to the Wrg's fate thereafter, we know not whether he pitched off into the crevasse by accident, or while dying, or not at all. He may have escaped entirely; if so, then even now word goes forth to Gnar.
"Yet you have done all I could ask, and though, no Drokh was found, feel no blame; the hand that failed was mine." And Brytta dismissed the two and cast himself to the ground. And he sat with his back to the wall, and his brooding stare bore into the stone opposite him. His mood was black and bitter, and in his eyes lurked fault.
Yet after a long while of smoldering thought, he again stood and gathered his warriors to him: "Vanadurin," he spoke, "I deem we must remain on guard in this defile, for other bands of ravers may be about the land. Yet all must come through this slot to reach the secret High Gate. And though this is the night appointed when King Durek will attempt the Dusk-Door, still it may not open, for the Squad of Seven may be delayed.
And it is in my mind that other trials may come, and we stand at guard here at the Dwarf Army's back. Even now, word may be going forth to Gnar, and he may set a Rutchen army on the inside of the Door to await the Dwarves. And in that event, if the Squad be delayed, then likely they will not be able to penetrate Gnar's waiting Swarm to reach the Door hinges. And if the Squad cannot reach the inside of the Door, then who will let Durek's Legion within?
"Too, there may be other doors, other gates, through which Gnar may launch an attack upon the Host. Yet the secret Gate in yon Quadran Gap is the only one we are certain of. And if an army marches down this way, then we with quick slashing strikes must bait and harass and divert their energies aside for as long as our War-skill permits, to give the Squad and the Legion precious time to ope the Door.
"And so, here we must stay, both foreguarding and hindguarding the Dwarf Army. And a long wait it may be, for we know not when the Door may yield: tonight, tomorrow, in a seven-night, or never.
"Yet even though we wait, there is still much to do: Place our slain comrades 'neath stone cairns, until proper burial. Tend your steeds. Then rest, for you are weary. Go now, and know you stand a vital duty."
And the warriors saluted Brytta-Hdlf-and turned to take up their tasks.
"Hogon," Brytta called, "set forth a ward of eight: four upslope, four down, two-hour watches."
And while Hogon selected the guard, Brytta turned to a flaxen-haired youth: Brath, Brytta's bloodkith. "Brath, sister's son, to me," he said wearily as he sat down upon a small boulder.
The younger Man, his left arm bound in splints and held in a sling, stepped to his kinsman's side. "Sire?"
"Your arm is shivered and your leg gashed," observed the Marshal, a Fierce pride in his eyes, for Brath had accounted for many of the Rutchen slain. "Were we in other times or other places, I would send you to the hearth." Brytta held up both hands, forestalling the protests leaping to the young warrior's lips. "Instead, I would have you go to yon mountain"-he pointed to Redguard-"and relieve Wylf, for he is hale and we need his strong arm. In mis, go with honor, for we must have one to tend the balefire, to signal the Host if need be. Take an extra overgarment, for Arl said it is cold; his cloak will do, for he needs it not and would give it gladly could he say."
And Brath went forth, and Gannon went with him, for both of wounded Gannon's hands were shattered, and he could no longer bear arms, though his vision was sharp and he could set watch.
And temporary cairns were made for the slain riders, to shelter them until they could be brought forth to the wide
grasslands below and laid to rest 'neath turves. The Vanadurin withheld show of their grief for their fallen brethren-though it cut to the quick-for it is the custom of the Harlingar to mourn not until the final burial.
The Sun climbed high and passed overhead, and warriors rested. Two hours ere sunset, Wylf rode into the quiet encampment. He sat in the afternoon Sun, basking in its warmth as Brytta slept. Wylf spok
e to one of the warders, and in the Valonian War-tongue the companion told the tale of the Krakenward, the Rutchen spies, and the battle in the defile; and Wylf listened grimly, and his eyes took on a steely glint.
In foredusK the camp awakened, and a quick meal of waybread and dried venison was taken, and the horses were gathered from the sward downslope. And warriors girded themselves for what the eventide would bring.
Night fell, and again the devastating trap was set, ready to spring shut should Spawn come. This time the Vanadurin posted a bowman upon each wall of the defile, to stop Wrg from fleeing that way; yet Brytta thought that this was latching the stable after the stallion has fled, for it yet burned within him that perhaps a Drokh had escaped to carry word to Gnar, to the great ill of the quest-a Drokh that he, Brytta, should have slain; and the Marshal again glanced with bitterness at his broken hand.
The darktide deepened, and stars wheeled above. Again the Moon shone silvery, full and bright. And the warriors spoke quietly of the Dusk-Door and wondered if it would open, for this was the night.
Time crept by at a slow-moving gait, and each moment seemed frozen in stillness.
Yet of a sudden the twelfth hour was upon the land. Now was the time for King Durek to say the words of opening. Silent moments fled and mid of night passed, and Brytta yearned to know what befell at the Door, and his heart felt taut with foreboding. And again time plodded.
Suddenly the bowman upon the south steep shouted in wonderment: "Ai-oi!" he cried, his voice loud in the hush. "Sire!" he called to Brytta, "at the Great Loomwall in the Valley of the Door, a balefire flares!"
"What? Balefire? At the Dusk-Door?" cried Brytta. "A recall beacon! Spawn! Or does it mean the Door opened? If so, was the Host met by friend or foe? Or have the Wrg fallen upon them from another gate? Fie! Whether or not we knew the which of it, it is of no moment, for we must ride!"
And Brytta sprang to Nightwind's back and raised his horn to his lips and blew a mighty blast that rent the air. And Nightwind reared and pranced and curvetted with sidle-steps, eager to answer the Valonian night to arms. And Brytta called to the Vanadurin: "Mount up, Harlingar, and ride! Ride to the Dusk-Door! Let any who fall behind come at their own pace, for we are summoned! Forth, Harlingar, ride!"
And he clapped his heels into Nightwind's flanks, and down the shadowed road they sprang, hooves thundering, horn pealing, racing through the moonlit night. And so went alt the Vanadurin, bursting forth from Stormhelm Defile, sparks flying from steel-shod hooves. And the fierce horns of Valon blew wildly.
CHAPTER 6
TRAPPED AGAIM
A day earlier, with the Squad lost at a dead-end passage and with no Gatemaster, and but twenty-eight hours remaining ere the appointed time of the rendevous at the Dusk-Door, Perry drank his fill from the clear cold water of the underground river and refilled his leather water bottle. He was putting in the stopper when another faint homblat echoed down the cave behind them. "Oh, why didn't we search for a way to close the secret door to the Gargon's Lair?" he asked. "Then the Rucks wouldn't have been able to follow us."
"We were fortunate just to have found the way out," rumbled Bonn, "and we had not the time to spare to look for the way of closing the portal; it is not our mission to discover the workings of all hidden gates in Kraggen-cor; our goal is to reach the Dusken Door and set it right.''
"Well, we've got to get out of here," responded Perry. "The Spawn will be upon us shortly."
"I judge they are only about an hour or so behind us in that hard passage," said Shannon. "In the meanwhile, I urge that we look for another hidden door. The secret way at the Lost Prison opened onto this passage, and so there must be another door in and out of this cave."
"But mat hidden door could be anywhere over the miles we just travelled!" cried Perry. "There's no reason to believe mat it's here, near mis dead end. Besides, we don't even know what we are looking for: it could be another slot for a west-pick, like Bane, or a stone that gets pressed, or a special word that must be said, a glamoured key, or a hundred other things. And our Gatemaster is dead."
"But we must try, Friend Perry," insisted the Elf softly, "we must try."
"Oh, Vanidar Silverleaf, you are right, of course," admitted the Warrow, abashed at his own behavior. "I am just bitterly disappointed at this setback."
"So are we all," said Lord Kian. Above the gurge of the river came another faint horn sound. "Ursor, can you swim? Good. Doff your clothes and cross the river with me, and we will search the far wall for slots, runes, hidden levers, and other such devices. Anval, Shannon, take the right-hand wall. Borin, Perry, search the left side. Let us see if we can locate a way out."
Long and hard they searched by lantern light. Anval and Shannon found only one strange-looking rock, which, when they twisted it, merely came loose from the wall. Borin and Perry ranged along the left side, and Bane was thrust into several crevices to no avail. Kian and Ursor disrobed, then cast a grappling hook to the opposite bank of the river; it caught between two rocks, and when they tugged, it remained well anchored; after tying the line to a boulder on the near shore, they pulled themselves across the swift current and over to the far bank. But after a careful search, the sheer end-wall proved to be a blank. All the while the Squad looked, the Rucken horn sounded closer and closer. Finally the comrades also examined the rough floor of the cavern for sign of an exit from the cave; but that, too, proved fruitless. "We must have passed it," called Kian from the far bank, waving a hand toward the Gargon's Lair as he prepared to cross back over.
The Squad came back together on the bank of the river, Ursor coming last, casting loose the grapnel and grasping the boulder-tied rope to ride the swift current and swing to the near shore. The Rucken horn echoed again, and Bane blazed fiery blue. "We'll make our last stand there," decided Lord Kian as the Baeran came out of the water and into the group; Kian pointed at a high ledge running athwart the cavern. "That stone wall will be our rampart, and we will give good account of ourselves before their very numbers overcome us."
"Sire," spoke up Ursor, "there is but one other thing I'd like to try first. If I fail, it may mean you will be without my strength in the final battle. But if I succeed, then we will yet escape the Spawn."
"Escape?" exploded Perry in astonishment. "How can we escape? There is no way out!"
"There may be one, little friend," answered Ursor. "The river. As I was crossing back over I was swept toward the left wall, and I wondered where the river goes on the other side of it, if indeed there is another side; it occurred to me that the river may run into another cavern."
"It may," rumbled Anval, "but then again it may not, and you may drown finding out.''
"He also may succeed," countered Bonn.
The Rucken horn blatted again, and Kian looked back the way they had come. "The gamble is worth the risk," he said after a short moment. "Our mission is to reach Dusk-Door, not to engage Yrm. If Ursor does not try, we will die fighting Spaunen. If he tries and fails, again we will perish. But if he succeeds, then we will go on. Yet hurry, for not much time remains."
Their longest line was swiftly fixed to Ursor's waist, and he took a Dwarf-lantern for light, for they are unaffected by water. "Let Wee Perry›count one hundred heartbeats," Ursor instructed, "then pull me back."
"But my heart is racing," protested Perry as the Rucken horn sounded again. "One hundred frightened-Warrow heartbeats will take but a moment. Let Shannon count instead."
Shannon nodded; and after four deep breaths, the giant Man ducked under, the lantern around his neck casting a rippling glow through the crystal-clear water as his powerful strokes and the current carried him under the wall. The others watched the glow recede and payed out the line. In spite of the fact that Shannon was counting, Perry also kept track of his own racing heart. The Warrow's count was nearing two hundred and Perry was feeling frantic when Shannon called, "Time!" and they began hauling in the rope.
At last the glow of light appeared and became brighter
as they pulled strongly, and then Ursor emerged from beneath the wall and surfaced, blowing and gasping. "Nothing," he panted after a bit, "not even an air pocket."
Perry's hopes were dashed, but then Ursor spoke: "I'll try the opposite side."
The echo of a Rucken horn sounded down the cavern.
"They come," gritted Kian.
The giant moved to the upstream wall and again entered the water. Once more the Baeran breathed deeply, and on the fourth breath he dived under and swam now against the strong current and slowly passed out of sight beneath the wall. Again Perry's racing heart passed the count of two hundred, and once more the blat of Rucken horn clamored along rock walls. The raucous blare was much closer, and Bonn ran to the rampart and looked down the length of the dark tunnel. "Their torchlight is faint but growing swiftly," he called back. "They will overtop this ledge in less than a quarter hour."
Lord Kian, who was tending Ursor's line, announced, "He's taking no more rope. He's stopped."
A moment iater, Shannon called, "Time!" and Anval and Kian hauled on the line.
"It will not budge!" shouted the Dwarf. "He must be caught on something!"
Shannon and Perry sprang to the line and pulled also, but still it would not haul in. "We've got to do something!" cried Perry. "He'li drown!" But the rope stubbornly refused to be drawn in and only grew iron-rod taut under the strain.
Then Shannon cried, "Look! A light!"
And a faint glimmer appeared in the water and swiftly grew to a bright glow, and then Ursor came under the wall and burst to the surface. "It's there. Another cavern," he gasped. "I tied the line to a boulder. We can use it to hale ourselves against the swift current."
"Quickly!" cried Kian, beginning to don his clothes in haste and motioning Ursor to do likewise. "Shannon, you go first. Perry, you second. Then Anval and Borin. Pull yourselves hard hand over hand along the line. Leave your packs, but carry your weapons, and wear your armor. Don't let go of the rope. Here, Shannon, carry this lamp at your waist. Go now, swiftly. The Spawn draw near." As if to spur them on, a discordant bugle blatted loudly.
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