A vast army came marching northwesterly along the route: first the scouts, spread wide, rode far in the lead; well behind rode the vanguard; they were followed by the main body.
Long did Regga look, and he was joined by several warrior captains come late.
After a while, Regga said, “How many do you estimate, Balor?”
To the DelfLord’s right stood a grizzle-haired Châk, Regga’s warlord.
“Ninety, a hundred thousand,” said Balor.
“I concur,” said Regga, even as other captains nodded in agreement.
Behind Regga, Delek breathed, “No wonder refugees fled past.”
“Aye,” growled Balor. “Mostly from West Bank I would say.”
Long they watched as the main body drew on, and finally Delek said, “I see the flags of the Fists of Rakka.”
“The flags of Chabba, too,” said Varak, another of the eagle-eyed scouts.
“And Alban and Garia,” said Delek.
“I see in the lead . . .” said Varak, but his voice fell to silence.
“What?” asked Regga.
“My lord, it is the High King’s standard,” replied Varak.
“Kruk!” snarled Balor. “Arkov!”
Regga took a deep breath. “The rumors are true, then. Arkov leads an army of Gyphon worshippers.”
“Where do they go, Lord Regga?” asked Delek.
“To meet King Reyer and the Northern Alliance,” said Regga.
“And their coming together will not be gentle,” said Warlord Balor.
They continued to watch as the army drew near, none saying aught.
Finally, without turning his gaze away from the force below, Warlord Balor asked, “Do we march, my lord?”
Regga nodded and said, “We do.”
53
Gûnar
Where the north–south run of the Grimwall Mountains turns southwesterly, a breakaway spur of that chain continues on southerly for some sixty-odd leagues before also curving southwesterly to come to a gap, beyond which the run continues to bend until it heads due west to rejoin the mother range. That long-curving arc is called the Gûnarring, and, combined with the Grimwalls, the land of Gûnar is surrounded by mountains, with the Grimwall lying along one bound, and the full two-hundred-league curve of the Gûnarring forming the opposite marge.
A large forest, called the Alnawood, flourishes in the angle where the Gûnarring rejoins the Grimwall, and in that forest lies the baronial estate of a long line of King’s Thieves—the most famous of which was Fallon the Fox, son of Delon the Bard and Ferai the Thief, two of the companions of Arin Flameseer and Egil One-Eye in the perilous quest of the Dragonstone. Other than that forest, Gûnar is mainly a prairie, with scatters of thickets here and there nestled against rare runs of rolling hills, but for the most part the land is a rather flat and featureless ’scape.
There are two primary roads through Gûnar, each some two hundred miles long: the Ralo Road, angling down slantwise across Gûnar from Ralo Pass in the Grimwalls to the gap in the Gûnarring; and there is the north–south Gap Road, running away from the south end of Gûnar Slot in the north to join the Ralo Road just ere it enters Gûnarring Gap. In past days, the Red Coach as well as traders’ wains, waggons, drays and carts, and a few carriages traveled along these routes, but the only waggons that had of recent journeyed through this realm were the supply wains of the Northern Alliance, all of which had been stationed for weeks along the route the army would march, the waggons standing by to reprovision the forces on their way to Gûnarring Gap. Yet that dearth of rolling traffic in Gûnar had now changed. . . .
. . . For, as southerly along the Gap Road the legion of the Northern Alliance tramped, the provisioning wains the army had passed had fallen in behind. . . .
• • •
SINCE LEAVING GÛNAR SLOT, the Alliance forces had marched for nigh upon a sevenday altogether—the weather fair, but for one morning of foul—and they were perhaps but a day or so from the ruins of Annory, there where the Gap Road joined the route known as Ralo. Yet on this day an Alliance scout came riding at speed from the south. He sounded a horn and Reyer called a halt, and the army slowly ground to a stop.
The scout, a lithe youth, haled his blowing steed to a standstill, but for its sidling steps. “My lord, there are people along the road. From West Bank they say, and they flee ahead of Arkov’s horde.”
Reyer frowned. “Horde?”
“Thousands upon thousands.”
“Gave you a count?” asked War Commander Raden.
“No, my lord, they only said ’twas a horde, and the West Bankers say there be Chabbains among the mass.”
“Then the rumors are true,” said Silverleaf.
“So ’twould seem,” said Conal.
“And they are starving, my lord,” said the scout. “The people from West Bank, I mean.”
Alric turned to Conal. “What is this West Bank, Da?”
“At the Argon Ferry along Pendwyr Road there are two towns: West Bank on this side of the river, and East Bank on the opposite.”
“How many West Bankers?” asked Reyer.
“I tallied nigh three hundred,” replied the scout
“Where lies the nearest supply train?” asked Reyer.
“A half day south, my lord. Though another is camped just outside Annory.”
“And which way do they fare? —The refugees, I mean.”
“West along Ralo Road, my lord.”
“Then tell the quartermaster of that train to feed the hungry.”
“My lord,” protested Baron Fein, “should we not—?”
“Baron,” interrupted Commander Raden, “we have sixty thousand to feed, so another three hundred means little.”
“Ah, yes,” said Fein. “I withdraw my opposition, though if several thousand follow, then we must needs ration their take.”
“We must needs ration it regardless,” said Raden.
Reyer nodded, then said, “Tell the quartermaster to give them enough to reach Luren.”
“I will, my lord.”
Reyer turned to Ewan. “Captain, would you see that this man gets a fresh horse?”
“Aye, my lord.”
Then Reyer looked at the scout. “How many are you? Scouts, I mean.”
“Nine, my lord.”
“Who is your captain?”
“Sergeant Deyer, my lord.”
“And you are . . . ?”
“Scout Alden, my lord.”
“Well, Alden, after you’ve a drink and a bite to eat, return and tell your sergeant to go with caution; he and you and your comrades are to fare along Pendwyr Road. He is to give me a count of Arkov’s force, and to remain at a distance and shadow Arkov till he makes camp. He is to send whatever information will benefit us back to me.”
“As you will, my lord.”
“And take care.”
“I shall, my lord.”
Moments later, the march got under way again, and not long after, Alden galloped away upon a fast-running fresh piebald mount.
• • •
ONE DAY LATER IN the early afternoon, the army reached the ruins of Annory, a village destroyed by a large force of Hlôks and Rûcks during the Great War of the Ban. Only a few yet-standing but vine-laden stone walls remained of the once-thriving town, and it was there that the army rested.
“Ninety thousand?”
“Aye, my Lord King Reyer,” reported Alden. “They camp mayhap a day’s march away from Gûnarring Gap.”
Reyer glanced at his war commander.
“As are we,” said Raden.
“They are half again our strength,” said dark-haired Lord Aarnson of Thol.
“Aye,” growled Raden.
“How many horse?” asked Viscount Axton of Wellen.
�
��Six thousand, my lord.”
“Then we are evenly matched there,” said the Wellener, grinning, his sharp features reminding Digby of those of a hawk.
“Don’t forget my ponies,” said Captain Windlow.
“Never,” said Axton.
“I say we can help even the odds if we make our stand in the Gap,” said Conal, stabbing a finger to the map.
“If we start just inside Ellor,” said Raden, “and, if needs dictate, we slowly fall back, I deem that will give us the best chance to defeat them.”
“We can get the jump on them if we march this eve,” said Alric. “Choose the best battleground for our advantage.”
Reyer shook his head. “Nay, Alric. We will leave in the yet-dark early morn. Recall what Armsmaster Halon taught us: warriors fight better when not exhausted.”
“Good advice,” said Rader.
Axton studied the map and then looked at Reyer and Raden and said, “There is this: should we overmatch their cavalry, then we can circle behind and split their forces fore and aft, and perhaps gain an upper hand.”
Captain Windlow grinned and said, “How about my riders target theirs? Seems a good strategy to me.”
Axton laughed and clapped the Warrow upon a shoulder.
They talked into the dusk, and before full dark fell, their strategy and tactics were well set.
That eve as they bunked down, Digby turned to Perry and said, “As Windlow says, bucco, a plan is perfect till the first arrow is loosed.”
54
Long-ride
The secret, if one can call it a secret, to the Jordians’ ability to cover long distances in relatively short times is to have well-conditioned horses, lightly loaded, and to vary the gait often during the ride. In addition, the riders themselves must be fit, well trained, and matched to their steeds. Both man and horse must be watered and fed often while traveling, for long-rides require vigor to be maintained, else stamina suffers. And at times when the gait is a walk, the riders, too, should be afoot to relieve the horse of its burden and let it recover. Except for emergencies, one should not ride at speed in the darkness, else the animal might be maimed by burrowers’ holes, unseen rocks, sudden sharp dips or rises, and the like. In stopping for the night, the needs of the horse take precedence over that of the rider—water, food, and grooming, especially currying to keep saddle-knotted hair from galling. So, too, in the mornings the horses are watered and fed, and as they eat, the men take their own breakfasts and then break camp ere saddling up and otherwise preparing for the ride. And the first mile or so, the horses are walked, and not ridden, to warm them up for the ride ahead. In camp at night and in the morn, as well as throughout the journey, riders must care for the horses’ hooves, to remove any pebbles and prevent lameness or loose shoes and loss. If possible, when stopping to camp, the riders must select a good place to rest—a site protected from predators and sheltered from the elements.
There are more things to be considered when engaged on a long-ride—for example a longer route over level ground is preferable to a shorter one over rugged and steep terrain. Oft one or more of these needs cannot be met, in which case both riders and horses must simply endure . . . such as not getting enough rest overnight, as was the case at Jallorby Pass. Even so, the riders and horses had remained the rest of that day in Alvstad, recovering, and the following morn King Ulrik’s Legion had pressed on, and they now found themselves at Landover Road Ford. . . .
• • •
. . . IN THE TWILIGHT ULRIK looked toward the Grimwall Mountains to the west and turned to Dalavar and asked again, “Are you certain, Lord Dalavar, that we will go swifter by the route you advise rather than over Crestan Pass?”
Even as Commander Röedr lit a candle and unrolled a map, Dalavar said, “I am. The route I would have you take is more or less in a straight line to Ellor, and if the High King’s force is anywhere in that land, we will have a direct route to it. However, should we use Crestan Pass, the way to the Gap will be at least one day farther, and should the High King be deep in Ellor, it will be another several days ere we reach him.”
“But what if he is in Gûnar instead?” asked Prince Valder, peering at Röedr’s chart.
“That is the gamble we must take,” said Dalavar. “Yet, heed, it is less risk to assume he is in Ellor. E’en if we find him at the Gap, still we will be a day or so swifter by the route I propose.”
“How far, then?” asked Valder.
Dalavar’s finger traced a line. “As the raven flies, ’tis some hundred eighty-four or -five leagues to Gûnarring Gap.”
“Just over five hundred fifty miles,” said Durgan.
Dalavar nodded, but Valder said, “We are not ravens, Lord Mage.”
“True,” said Dalavar. Again he traced a route. “As the Wolf runs, it falls short of two hundred leagues by eight or nine.”
“I make that about five hundred seventy-five miles, or nigh,” said Durgan. “That’s but twenty-five miles more than the raven’s straight line.”
Ulrik nodded and said, “Indeed, lad. And we know that the route using Crestan Pass is nigh two hundred twenty leagues.” As he spoke, his finger went across the map and down.
“Then Lord Dalavar’s way is some thirty or so leagues shorter,” said Valder, “yet is it as swift?”
Ulrik looked at Dalavar and said, “Horses are not Wolves, Lord Mage, and by Crestan we ride along roads, all quick but for the twenty leagues up and over the pass. How lays the land by the way you suggest?”
Dalavar pointed here and there along his proposed way and said, “’Tis mainly wold ’tween here and Darda Galion; forest within that wood, but gentle and easily rideable; a short stretch of narrow passes through the Grimwall to fare ’round one end of the Great Escarpment, and then the plains of Ellor beyond.”
“Grimwall? What of the Wrg?” asked Ulrik.
“Since the Felling of the Nine, they dare not the wrath of the Lian in Darda Galion,” said Dalavar, smiling.
Ulrik cocked an eye, but said naught.
“What of these rivers?” asked Valder, pointing at the map.
“Easily fordable,” said Dalavar. “The pack and I had no trouble.”
“If it rains . . . ?” asked Durgan.
“I see no major storms coming,” said Dalavar.
Durgan smiled and nodded, for after all, Dalavar was a Seer.
“So the route is swift, then,” said Valder.
Dalavar said, “Only when faring down through the narrow passes of the Grimwall will we go at a slower pace, yet no slower than if we were faring across Crestan Pass.”
Durgan frowned and said, “Then, by Dalavar’s route, it is—what?—some eleven, twelve days to Gûnarring Gap, assuming, that is, we ride fifty miles a day. But were we to go over Crestan Pass, it would be some thirteen days.”
“And rockslides in Crestan are an issue,” said Valder.
“They are in all the Grimwalls,” said Ulrik. He smiled at Durgan and said, “Yet, by this lad’s reckoning, Dalavar’s route will save us a day or two.”
Speaking up for the first time, Commander Röedr said, “But how shall we know where the army of the Northern Alliance is?”
“I will send two of the ’Wolves to find them, and then they will come back and lead us,” said Dalavar.
“You can do that?” said Durgan. “Send two of your Draega, that is?”
“They are not my Draega,” said Dalavar, “for they answer only to Greylight. Yet, I deem they will take on the mission.”
“Well and good, then,” said Ulrik. “Lord Dalavar, as you will, when morn comes, lead on.”
• • •
FOLLOWING SEVEN SILVER WOLVES, west the legion fared, crossing the mighty River Argon to come into the wide wold ’tween river and mountain, where they turned south for Darda Galion, the Grimwalls on their right, the Argon to their le
ft.
Two days they rode down the wold o’er rolling green hills and flat, and only occasionally did they have to veer ’round rocky upjuts or ledges or drop-offs; thick runs of gorse blocked the way at times, yet the legion circled these to left or right. On early morn of the third day, they came into sight of the Dalgor Marches, where they would have to cross a reed-filled place of muck and mire. In that bog during the Great War of the Ban, Galarun had been slain and a great token of power, the Silver Sword, had been lost. But those were days long past, and the Draega led the legion to a point higher upslope from where that disaster had occurred. They guided the Legion to the place where the Dalgor River first began to divide into many streams to form the swampy delta, but even here the waterway was filled with sludge and reeds. Spreading the force wide, into the marsh they plunged, the bog sucking at hooves, the shallows slow and arduous but fordable, unlike the swift deep waters of the Dalgor River upstream flowing down from the high Grimwalls to the west. The crossing was wide where the ’Wolves had chosen to ford, and the cavalcade slowed to a walk. The horses who came late found the way even more grueling, caused by the churning hooves of those who went before them. At times the riders dismounted to slosh alongside their mounts, giving the horses respite. At other times, men gathered together to aid a steed that had become bogged. But the brigades endured and slogged onward.
Yet, even though any individual rider was not long in the crossing, with ten thousand riders, each towing two pack animals, the total time involved to get the entire force through was considerable.
As for the Silver Wolves, they splashed across without hindrance, and waited afar for the riders to come.
The first of the legion came upon the wold again, and rode onward as others made the crossing. Finally all were beyond the mire and south the cavalcade fared for the rest of that day.
• • •
ALL THE NEXT DAY THEY RODE, and off to their right in the Grimwalls they could see four great peaks, tinted grey, black, azure, and red. And they knew that under these peaks was delved the Dwarvenholt of Kraggen-cor, though the Vanadurin called this place the Black Hole. In there Dwarves dwelled, and ever since the days of Prince Elgo, hostilities between the Harlingar and the Châkka lay ever under the surface.
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