When they camped that eve, Prince Valder turned to Dalavar and asked, “What think you the Dwarves imagine, now that an army camps nigh their doorstone.”
“They were expecting you,” said Dalavar.
“They were?” blurted Durgan.
“Aye, for I negotiated with them for passage across their realm.”
“We are on their land?” asked Ulrik, surprised.
“Nay. It lies somewhat west of here. But I thought it prudent to tell them you were coming.”
“You call that ‘negotiating’?” said Ulrik, laughing.
“I was very diplomatic when I visited their holt,” said Dalavar, smiling.
“Are they sending a contingent to aid Reyer?” asked Durgan.
“Sadly, not,” replied Dalavar.
“Pussyfooting Dwerg,” said Commander Röedr.
“Now, now,” said Ulrik. “We are at peace with them. DelfLord Thork and King Aranor made it so.”
The Iron Duke growled but said no more.
“Even so,” said Durgan, “why do not the Dwarves support Reyer?”
Röedr snorted in disgust, but Dalavar said, “Tell me this, Durgan: were the command of the Châkkaholt in dispute, would you counsel that we champion one Dwarf over the other?”
“Nay, I would not, but this concerns the High King, and not some Dwarf fiefdom.”
“Nevertheless, ’twould be a Dwarven matter to resolve, would it not?”
Durgan nodded. “It would.”
Dalavar smiled. “The Dwarves think the matter of the High King is a Human affair.”
“Even though they might be affected?”
“I believe they think no matter the King, they will endure without change.”
“I see,” said Durgan. “Still it is shortsighted, in my opinion.”
Ulrik laughed. “Shortsighted? My boy, Dwarves live for two, three hundred years. Any king they do or do not support will be gone well before their lifetime is over.”
“Shortsighted, long-sighted: I believe that was at the heart of the dispute between the Jordians and the Dwarves of Kachar,” said Dalavar.
Ulrik nodded and said, “It was. In that case, we were the shortsighted ones.”
“Argh,” said Röedr. “Enough of this jabber. I’m turning in, for we have another long day before us.”
“A very shortsighted view, Duke,” said Valder, laughing. “Even so, it’s to my bedroll for me as well.”
• • •
THE FOLLOWING DAY THEY continued southward yet on the open wold. And in the distance before them, they could see the tops of tall trees of a forest.
Durgan said, “Dalavar said we’ll espy Darda Galion soon after we begin today’s ride, so that must be it.”
“Well,” replied Aksel, “we’ll be there soon, then.”
“I don’t think so,” said Durgan. “He also said we wouldn’t reach to the fringes till nightfall.”
“Nightfall?” replied Aksel, gesturing at the trees in the distance. “Surely we must be closer than that.”
“No, according to Dalavar, it’s still a day’s ride away.”
“Are you certain?”
“That’s what he said.”
“Then that must not be Darda Galion,” declared Aksel.
On they rode throughout the day, the trees slowly coming into view, yet they seemed no closer.
A low chain of hills appeared on the right, and the cavalcade fared straight onward, staying on the open wold.
And still the forest lay before them.
“Elwydd!” exclaimed Aksel. “How tall are those trees?”
Finally, in early eve, and following the ’Wolves, they splashed across a river—the Rothro, according to the map—and Ulrik called a halt, for a squad of Elven warders stood before them in the fringes of Darda Galion. The Draega pack loped forward to greet them, and Shifter trotted behind a tree and Dalavar stepped forth.
And the trees, the great-girthed Eld Trees, towered above all a thousand feet or more. And the leaves themselves were not like those of pine, but broad and dusky green, for Elvenkind dwelled within the forest, otherwise the leaves would not take on that shade.
Ulrik dismounted and stepped to the fore, and the Lian who bore a black spear stepped forward and inclined his head in recognition of the Jordian king.
“Lord Ulrik,” said Dalavar Wolfmage, “I present Alor Tuon, the Chief Warder of the Northern Bound and bearer of Black Galgor.”
Now Ulrik inclined his head in recognition of Lord Tuon.
And Tuon said, “I welcome you to the Larkenwald, Lord Ulrik. And even though some herein intend to go with you, know this: the mission you pursue is not of our concern. We will render safe passage, yet I would have you remind your warriors that they are now in our domain and to act accordingly.”
“A rather chill greeting,” murmured Aksel.
Durgan nodded his agreement.
“As you will, Alor Tuon,” said King Ulrik. Then he stepped forward and held out his hand, and Tuon took it unto his own.
And Ulrik said, “Quite a spear you have there, Alor Tuon. We of Jord are familiar with lances. Might I heft the one you name Black Galgor?”
Even as Tuon and Ulrik compared weapons, Prince Valder signaled the bugler, who then blew the call to dismount and make camp, even as riders in the long Jordian train continued to splash across the Rothro and arrive.
55
Darda Galion
There are many magnificent forests in Mithgar: the Skög is perhaps the most ancient, there next to the Wolfwood. Perhaps the largest of the Mithgarian forests is the Greatwood in which the Baeren dwell. Lying just north of the Greatwood is Darda Erynian, where Hidden Ones and Dylvana share the tree land. But perhaps the most magnificent of all is Darda Galion, for the trees therein had been transplanted as seedlings from the Hohgarda—the High Plane—many millennia apast. And over the ages they have soared upward, hence this forest is also known as the Eldwood. Too, it is also known as the Larkenwald, for therein the Silverlarks used to sing, but no more, no more, for the sundering of the planes during the Ban War stranded them on the Hohgarda, and they have flown not among this forest on Mithgar since then.
And at the northern edge of this great woodland the Jordian Legion rested. . . .
• • •
THE EVE THEY ARRIVED, they made a cold camp, for the orders were to take no wood from the trees of the Larkenwald, for it was too precious to burn. Besides there was something about the forest that made the whole of it seem almost awake and aware.
And as Dalavar said that night, “These giants sense when Elves are among them, and they gather twilight unto themselves. It is said absent Elvenkind the forest will grow drab, as if lonely or in mourning.”
• • •
THE NEXT DAWN, A number of Lian Elves rode into the campsite, and among them was Coron Eiron, a simple golden circlet upon his forehead announcing his rank as the equal of a king.
“We have come to guide you, King Ulrik,” said Eiron.
“I thank you for letting us this passage, Coron Eiron,” said Ulrik, “even though you do not take up the cause.”
“Some five hundred Lian do,” said Eiron, “and they will ride with you to High King Reyer’s aid.”
“Hola! Five hundred? Five hundred Guardians? I welcome them, and gladly.”
• • •
THE NEXT TWO DAYS the legion rode among the wondrous trees of the Larkenwald, faring south, ever south, and a bit eastward. They crossed the River Quadrill on the first day, and then the Cellener the next. And the five hundred Lian had now joined them. That eve they made camp in the foothills of the Grimwall.
Now free of the Larkenwald, there was wood to be had, and the Jordians sat about campfires that night. During the evening meal, Lian spoke of the Felling of the Nine, when S
paunen had slaughtered nine Eld Trees, and the terrible vengeance wreaked upon the Foul Folk in return.
War Commander Röedr and Prince Valder and King Ulrik, along with several brigade commanders, pored over a sketch and listened as Dalavar said, “This is the route we will take.” His finger traced across the drawing.
One of those at hand was a Guardian who had lived long in Darda Galion: Alor Loric, leader of the five hundred Lian.
After Dalavar had completed his description, Ulrik said, “No Wrg along the way?”
Dalavar looked at Loric, and the Lian said, “Mayhap, yet ever since we took our vengeance for the Felling, they flee in fear at the sight of us.”
“That’s good,” said Valder, “for this is a twisty way and quite suitable for ambush.”
“Who in the world might ever find this route?” said Captain Hann.
Loric looked at the tall Jordian and said, “Other than the Lian, I know of only one who did so: First Durek, on his way to discovering Drimmen-deeve.”
“Do you discount me and the pack I run with,” said Dalavar.
Loric grinned. “Who?”
Dalavar broke into laughter.
• • •
THE NEXT MORNING, there were but five Silver Wolves leading, for Dalavar had asked Seeker and Longshank to go far ahead and down into Ellor to find the whereabouts of Reyer’s Host, Gûnarring Gap their first stop, for surely there they would pick up the trail.
The legion itself wended among hills and crags and tors, passing by slots and gaping Troll holes and dark Rucha passages and dead-end canyons and such, faring ever on a southerly course though the way was full of twists and turns. Finally in the eve they stopped. Darkness fell, and after they had cared for the horses and then had seen to themselves, the legion bedded down. Somewhat after, a distant rumble sounded. Shifter and Greylight left camp at a run, and a time later returned.
And the news they bore was appalling.
56
Guarantee
• • •
FOR SEVERAL DAYS AFTER the debacle at Jallor Pass, Nunde brooded.
And he made a number of aethyrial flights following.
He tracked the course of the Jordians, and finally deduced their intended route. It was then he struck upon a perfect plan to guarantee the outcomes he desired.
And thus the torture and slaughter began.
“More, Radok, bring me more, for I will need much
And so Drik after Drik died screaming under Radok’s hand, while Nunde soaked up the largesse.
• • •
NOW NUNDE FLEW THROUGH the night, and, swinging wide of Darda Galion, he sailed above the Grimwalls. He kept his distance out away from the path of the Jordians, for, even in aethyrial form, he dared not be espied by Dalavar Wolfmage. Nunde oft paused in his flight and carefully scanned among the slots and passes and crags and hills. Finally: There! There are the troublemakers, the would-be rescuers, Ulrik’s legion and Dalavar. And I was right! Fool Dalavar plans to lead them along that narrow way and no other passage will do.
Now Nunde headed for the place he had scouted two nights earlier, with its unstable rocks above.
He settled down upon the crest, and, gathering his will, he spoke a
And a rock tumbled and then another, and of a sudden it seemed the entire mountainside had given way.
57
Gûnarring Gap
Gûnarring Gap is a slot in the Gûnarring, and through it runs a trade road called the Ralo Road in Gûnar, and Pendwyr Road in Ellor. The Gap itself shoulders up into the Gûnarring on either side, and it varies in width from five to ten miles, though it is only level where the road runs through. If one has a legion of several tens of thousands, the gap can effectively be a choke point for battle. . . .
• • •
AFTER LEAVING ANNORY IN the dark before dawn the Alliance Army reached Gûnarring Gap in early afternoon. And when they had marched through and stood in Ellor, naught whatsoever greeted them but wafting waves of tall grass stretching to the horizon and beyond.
And the scouts brought word that Arkov’s army remained in camp, as if they were waiting for something.
• • •
THE FOLLOWING DAY, the outriders reported that Arkov’s army was now on the march, and somewhere nigh the noontide, out in the distance before them on the very rim of the horizon, the vanguard of Arkov’s Army hove into view, and not long after came the full of his force.
For much of the day, they seemed to pour over the brim of the world, the multitude dark and vast.
And even as the Alliance scouts rode inward to report, one came galloping from the south.
Reining his horse up short, the scout leapt to the ground and knelt before King Reyer. “My lord,” he panted, glancing at the army marching toward them, “to the south, mayhap a day distant, mayhap less, for most surely they will be here on the morrow, another thirty thousand Chabbains tramp this way.”
58
Fruition
Far to the north and concealed in the Grimwalls there sits a dark tower under the harsh command of a dreadful master of necromancy. This monster is well accomplished in the art of aethyrial travel, and upon returning from a night flight. . . .
• • •
CHORTLING IN GLEE, Nunde called for his apprentice to attend him. And as Radok entered the inner bed quarters, Nunde, unclothed, said, “It is coming to fruition, my splendid plan.”
“Master?”
“Little do they know victory is in my grasp.”
“Neither Arkov nor Reyer?”
“Neither!” snapped Nunde, irritated that Radok didn’t seem to grasp the full of all the subtle nuances of his master’s brilliant scheme. But then, what can one expect of a mere apprentice? Little more than a lackey, that is. “Neither they nor their allies nor that stupid King Fadal in Chabba, nor the numb-brained Fists of Rakka, nor any of my idiot fellow Mages.” He whirled around, his waist-length black hair flying outward as of a twirling woman’s skirt.
“What of the Jordians?”
Stopping his whirling gyre, “Oh, I have guaranteed they will be late to the dance,” cried Nunde in joyous merriment. “And when and if they ever arrive, by then I will be master of this world, for when the High King falls, so does all of Mithgar.”
“What of Driu?”
“That fool,” sneered Nunde. “I remained at a remove and she saw me not. And even had she espied my aethyrial form, there is little she can do.”
“But she’s a Seer, my master.”
Nunde ground his teeth at these unspoken inferences Radok was making. “My plan will surprise all, even Seers,” he snarled.
Then he glanced at his bed where a mutilated corpse lay. “Rid me of her”—Nunde took up a thin-bladed knife—“and send a fresh female. I would take my pleasure.”
Radok sighed and spoke a
sour look upon his features, took his leave. Someday, yes, someday he would be giving the orders and taking his long-overdue pleasure as well, or so he surmised.
Behind him, Nunde thumbed the keen knife and looked at his retreating apprentice. He had been surprised at the ease with which Radok had animated the corpse. He would have to keep a sharp eye upon his lackey, else Radok might take it in his head to overthrow his master, just as Nunde had overthrown his own.
59
Troll Hole
Ogrus are dreadful creatures: massive; ten to twelve feet tall; with bones like stone that not even the Ban affects, for, though Adon’s light rends a Troll’s flesh to dust, the bones lie undisturbed. An Ogru’s hide is also like stone, and it turns ordinary missiles and blades aside. Yet Trolls are vulnerable in their eyes and mouth, can one pierce them when they are open or agape. Among other things, Ogrus fear fire and Magekind and drowning, this latter because the weight of their bones render swimming impossible, and they sink like rocks. They live in large Troll holes in the Gronfangs and the Riggas and other mountain ranges . . . such as the Grimwalls, where the Jordian Legion now found itself. . . .
• • •
DALAVAR CALLED THE COMMANDERS TOGETHER. When all had assembled, he said, “The way ahead is blocked by a massive rockslide. It was not natural, nor Rûptish set, but fell by an act of Magekind.”
“Landslide?” said Röedr.
“Mage-set?” asked Valder.
But Ulrik said, “The question is: what do we do now?”
“Can we not ride over?” asked Captain Hann.
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