“Rain,” said Alric, glumly. “It’s coming.”
“Aye,” said Reyer.
Trailing behind, Perry looked up at the glum sky and said, “So much for your omen, Diggs.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” said Digby. “I mean, after all, Reyer was luminous when this day began. Besides, what better omen to have since we march toward a gathering storm?”
“I can see that, Diggs.”
“I meant the battle to come,” said Digby. “Not the weather.”
“Oh.”
Their ponies plodded along in relative quiet, but for the sough of the wind and the clop of hooves, and the treading of the men afoot.
And still the wind grew, and finally the rain came, funneled into the slot by the ever-growing bluster. And the rest of that day into the teeth of the storm they rode and marched through the great rift.
The Slot before them ranged in breadth from seven miles at its narrowest to seventeen at its widest. And the walls of the mountains to either side rose sheer, as if the pass had been cloven by a single blow from a great and monstrous axe. Trees lined the floor for many miles, though now and again long stretches of barren stone frowned at the army from one side or the other or both. The road they followed, the Slot Road, would run for nearly seventy-five miles through the Gûnar Slot ere debouching into Gûnar.
A third of the way through, Reyer called a halt, and that night the army camped well off the road and within a lengthy, strung-out stand of woods, the forest growing out from great set-back fissures to extend along the eastern side.
And still the rain fell and the wind blew, all of it channeled up the passage by the high sheer stone to either side.
The scant shelter of the trees and clefts did little to ward away the swirling showers from the blowing rain.
• • •
IT RAINED THE NEXT day as well, though not steadily, but rather in spates. Hence, at times water poured from the skies, while at other times only a glum overcast greeted the eye.
“Adon, but I wish the sun would shine,” said Perry.
“Me, too, bucco. Me, too.”
“If I were a certain ninny-head,” said Perry, “I would say this is an omen of worse things to come.”
“Worse things will come,” said Digby.
“Oh?”
“We are going to war, Perry. Not a picnic. And if I had to choose, I’d take rain and glum skies over combat any time.”
• • •
THAT EVE THE RAIN stopped and the skies above began to clear, and again they camped among thickset trees well off the road.
“Another day should see us out of this slot,” said Conal, as he shared out jerky and crue.
“We should reach Stede morrow eve,” said Driu.
“Stede?” asked Alric.
“Aye. A small village: it was burnt to the ground during the War of the Ban, yet it has recovered, though but a small hamlet still.”
Silverleaf nodded. “Back in the day it was a sizable town of import, when trade flowed into and out of Rell.”
“What day was that?” asked Reyer.
Silverleaf frowned, then said, “Not long before Awain became the first High King.”
“That would be—what?—something like nine thousand years ago,” said Reyer.
“Longer,” said Driu. “More like ten thousand.”
“More like ten thousand?”
“Aye.”
“But Awain is only nine thousand years back.”
“True, but when Silverleaf says ‘not long,’ he might mean a thousand years or more.”
“Back in the day, eh?” said Digby, then he broke into laughter.
Silverleaf simply smiled and shrugged, for he had done much trading in Stede when it had been a full-grown city ere falling to ruin following several plague years when the city was abandoned. Rain and wind and snow and storms and erosion and decay as well as lightning strikes and fires slowly erased the town, the char and other remains to gradually disappear into the soil until it had vanished altogether.
“Well, it might no longer be a large town,” said Perry, “but will it have an inn?”
“I think not,” said Driu.
“Barn rats, I was hoping for a soft bed to sleep in.”
Digby looked at Perry and made a sweeping gesture toward the full of the encamped army and said, “You and sixty thousand others.”
Perry burst into laughter, as did the rest ’round their small fire.
• • •
THE FOLLOWING MORN, the day rose to bright sunshine with a scatter of billowy white clouds serenely sailing across the blue sea of the sky. The scouts reported that the pass ahead was clear, and a warm wind began to waft, and once again the marchers got under way.
A mile or two along the Slot Road, someone among the ranks began to sing, and many of his comrades joined him, and though the words were in a language the Warrows and others did not understand, it lifted their hearts toward joy. After that, the various contingents sang in their own native tongues, and the march continued in good spirits.
In the eve of the third day, as Driu had said, the army reached Stede. It consisted of seventeen houses, none of which was an inn. Even so, the villagers did offer King Reyer hot tea and a meal. Reyer tried to repay their kindness with a small gold coin or two. Yet they would have none of it, and instead, led by a village elder, they all swore fealty to the one they called their true and rightful High King.
• • •
THE NEXT MORNING, Silverleaf and Driu stood out on the plain and gazed long at the wide land before them. It was a prairie, relatively flat and featureless, but for occasional stands of thickets and a low rolling hill in the distance.
“What of Dalavar?” asked Silverleaf.
Driu frowned. “There was a great disturbance in the aethyr three nights back. I believe he was responsible.”
“Does he yet live?”
Driu nodded. “Aye, but if it were he alone, then he was dreadfully weakened.”
“And the Jordians?”
“I believe they are on the long-ride, I hope under Dalavar’s guidance, for he knows ways they do not. Yet they have far to come and little time to do so, and whether they will arrive ere combat begins, that I cannot say.”
51
Wolfmage
Dalavar Wolfmage has a strange lineage: his mother a Seer, his father a shape-shifting Fiend—one who is said to be a mix of Demon and Spawn and Human. It is this lineage that sets Dalavar apart from others of Magekind, for Dalavar seems immune to the loss of youth when casting spells; is that due to the portion of Demon blood said to flow in his veins? Regardless, he has always seemed to be as he is now, neither aging nor growing younger, and were he a Human, in spite of his silver-grey hair he would seem to be in his late twenties or early thirties. Yet he has been on Mithgar for millennia.
Some know Dalavar as a recluse, dwelling in the Wolfwood, where it is said legendary creatures also dwell. Yet, recluse or no, there are times Dalavar takes up a cause—the destruction of his own sire one of these. Yet there are other missions he has undertaken as well: he was active during the Great War of the Ban, and he single-handedly brought about the destruction of one of Modru’s Hordes. Too, he aided Elyn and Thork in their quest for the Rage Hammer. It is a mystery as to why and how he takes up a stand; perhaps it is because he is a Seer, and he perceives things he must help to prevent or to enable.
Yet whether a Seer or an Illusionist, at times it seems the extent of his powers go well beyond. . . .
. . . As was the case at Jallorby Pass. . . .
• • •
“DALAVAR!” CRIED DURGAN, taking off at a run for the fallen Mage.
The hue and cry of fleeing Spawn faded in the dark distance, though wails of the Vulgs being savaged by the Draega seemed closer now that battl
e between the Jordians and the Foul Folk had ceased.
Aksel snatched up a burning brand from the nearby campfire, and, holding it high, followed Durgan into the milling herd, the warrior shoving agitated horses aside to reach the lad and the Wolfmage.
As to the horses themselves, they gave wide berth to the fallen spell-caster and the lad, more or less forming an irregular and stirring circle about the two.
In the wavering light of Aksel’s torch, Durgan knelt by Dalavar and put an ear to the Mage’s lips. Moments later Durgan looked up at Aksel and said, “He yet breathes.” He took up Dalavar’s wrist, and after a while: “His pulse is steady. I think he must have swooned.”
“Who is he?” asked Aksel.
Durgan said, “The one responsible for causing the bright light and casting fire on the Trolls, or so I do believe, for he is the Wizard Dalavar.”
Aksel sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. “A Heksemester?”
Durgan smiled. “Fear not, brave warrior. He is on our side.”
Aksel breathed a sigh of relief. “Living as we do so close to Gron, well . . .”
“I understand,” said Durgan. He gestured at Dalavar and said, “Yet no Modru is this Wolfmage, but a—”
“Ah, the Wolfmage,” blurted Aksel. “From the Wolfwood. We have legends of him. He is always cast in a good light.”
Durgan grinned and said, “And cast a good light he did.”
Aksel smiled at Durgan’s allusion, and then he glanced at Dalavar and said, “Let us get him to our fire.”
“All right,” said Durgan. “Shall we—”
“I can walk,” said Dalavar, opening his eyes, grey as a storm-laden sky.
“You’re awake!” said Durgan. “—Er, of course you’re awake. Silly me.”
Aksel dropped to one knee and inclined his head and said, “My lord, Dalavar Wolfmage.”
Durgan gaped, for it had never occurred to him that Dalavar was to be considered a lord.
The Mage waved a hand of dismissal and said, “Might you have some tea and mayhap a bit of crue or such? The casting took much from me.”
In that moment, six Silver Wolves came trotting among the herd, and the horses seemed to calm down at the sight of them, vicious fangs, Wolf shapes, or no. The Draega named Shimmer, if Durgan rightly recognized her, came and nuzzled Dalavar. With wonder in his eyes, Aksel looked upon these pony-sized Draega even as Durgan said, “Quite a sight, aren’t they?”
• • •
“IT WAS A POWERFUL CASTING,” said Dalavar. He took a gulp of strongly brewed tea, followed by a bite of crue. Then he added, “Much like the
Durgan and Aksel and King Ulrik and Prince Valder waited, but the Wolfmage said no more.
The Iron Duke strode into the firelight. “Two hundred and six dead,” he said. “Another two hundred disabled.”
Ulrik sighed and shook his head. “So be it. Assign as many as needed to care for the wounded. When we get to Alvstad, we can ask the citizens there to take on that task.”
“What of the slain?” asked Durgan.
Röedr turned to Ulrik. “My lord, I think we have not the time to bury our dead ’neath green turves; besides, these woods seem to be lacking such. Hence, I have ordered pyres to be set, though the wood is wet.”
Ulrik nodded and said, “As we must.”
Röedr said, “I repeat, the wood is wet. We had enough of a problem starting even these small blazes in camp. As to the pyres, we must of needs leave someone behind to—”
“Fear not,” said Dalavar. “I will aid.”
Durgan said, “He set the Trolls afire.”
Dalavar shook his head. “A mere illusion, lad. Just to terrorize the Ogrus. But as to the pyres for the fallen, I will set real flames, damp wood, wet wood, or no.”
Röedr sighed in relief, and Ulrik said, “Well and good, Lord Dalavar.”
Valder nodded his agreement and said, “Then we will sing them into the sky.”
A long silence fell upon them all, but finally Valder said, “Tell me, Dalavar Wolfmage, what brings you to this place?”
“Why, to guide you and the army of Jord to King Reyer’s side, Prince Valder.”
“Guide us?”
“By a way unknown to you,” replied Dalavar. “I have negotiated your safe passage through Darda Galion and down the Great Escarpment.”
• • •
IN MIDMORN, with the sun well into the sky, great pyres sat ready, with slain warriors in repose atop the wooden mounds. As to the slaughtered Foul Folk, they had withered to dust in the light of day, yet their weaponry lay at the feet of the dead Vanadurin. King Ulrik stood upon a boulder before the living. He signaled to his bugler, who raised his black-oxen horn to his lips and blew three long mournful notes. And all the Harlingar raised their own horns and replied in kind, with somber echoes ringing from the stone of far mountain sides. And then Ulrik led his legion in an ageless invocation in the warrior tongue of Valur:
“Hagl, Krigers av de Spyd og Ryttersable! . . .”
[Hál, Warriors of the Spear and Saber!
Hál, Warriors of the Knife and Arrow!
Hál, Warriors of the Horn and Horse!
Ride forth, Harlingar, ride forth!
Into the clouds on sky-running horses,
Carry your spears in pride,
Into the clouds on sky-running horses,
Ride forth, Harlingar, ride.]
Stalwart men wept, and Durgan, who had not understood a word of the incantation but who nevertheless knew the meaning, found his own cheeks wet with tears.
Ulrik then nodded to Dalavar standing among a solemn group of warriors who held unlit torches in their grips. Dalavar looked at the men, and of a sudden their brands burst forth in flames. And Dalavar followed the procession to each and every mound, and as the grim-faced warriors thrust the fire upon the wet wood, lo! it, too, blazed up and fiercely.
And when all were aflame, Ulrik signaled his army, and he along with the others knelt upon one knee, heads bowed. And then they stood and stepped to their horses and mounted up and rode away, not looking back as they went.
• • •
LATE IN THE DAY they camped, and midmorn the next the army reached Alvstad, and they turned the care of the wounded—some who had ridden, some who had been hauled on travois—over to the citizenry there.
And then they rested the remainder of that day.
• • •
GUIDED BY A PACK of Silver Wolves, the following morning Ulrik’s army rode away from Alvstad just after dawn.
Riding near the head of the legion, Aksel turned to Reyer and asked, “Where is Dalavar?”
Durgan looked left then right, and he leaned closer to Aksel and in a low voice said, “That ’Wolf in the lead, the darker one, that be him.”
Aksel’s eyes flew wide, and he hissed, “Skifteskape,” and with a finger he circled his heart in a plea for Elwydd’s protection.
• • •
THREE DAYS LATER OVER gentle terrain, late in the evening Ulrik called a halt at Landover Road Ford, there where it crossed the River Argon.
It was two days after Reyer and his army had marched out of Gûnar Slot and into the hamlet of Stede.
52
Redholt
The iron-rich Red Hills lie along the border between Jugo and the abandoned land of Ellor—called Valon by some. ’Neath this chain of tors and crags and low mounts is delved the Châkkaholt of Raudhöll—a Dwarven word that properly translates as Redhall, though most men know it as Redholt. Millennia agone, First Durek journeyed among these hills and claimed them for the Châkka, and the Dwarven ownership of them has never been challenged.
From the rich ores mined under this ancient range the Châkka forge arms and armor, much sough
t after by kings and nations. The finished metal of its making is dark and is named black-iron by the Dwarves; mayhap it is a form of steel, but only the Châkka smiths know the secret of its creation, and—warriors all—it is a secret they guard jealously.
Raudhöll is made wealthy by its trade in this weaponry, and oft do heavily laden wains fare out from the holt along the Pendwyr Road, a trade route skirting the northern flanks of the range and beyond: northwesterly toward Gûnarring Gap and the nations afar; southeasterly toward the docks along the River Argon, and from thence to Pellar and elsewhere.
And it was along this road one day . . .
• • •
“MY LORD, MY LORD.”
DelfLord Regga looked up from the ore-map he studied. One of the high scouts rushed toward him.
“Delek?”
“My lord, a large army comes.”
“Whence?”
“East.”
As Regga took up his axe and clapped a helm to his head, he called out to a standing warder, “Sound the alarm; close the gates.” Then he turned to Delek and said, “This I will see for myself.”
Aiming for the spiral stair to the heights, together they headed out from the chamber and along the lantern-lit corridors, the blue-green phosphorescent glow lambent.
Reaching the flight, up they went—one hundred, two hundred, three hundred steps, and perhaps a few more—and they came to a bronze door standing open, with guards just beyond and to either side.
Regga stepped through and onto a shadowed stone balcony nearly invisible ’neath a dark craggy overhang. He moved to the balustrade, and spread out below and before him sat hills and foothills of the chain, and beyond their fringe and extending far into the northern distance lay the green grassy plains of Ellor. Yet his gaze did not seek those verdant waves swashing in the gentle wind, but instead he looked down Pendwyr Road to the southeast.
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