Trek to Kraggen-Cor

by McKiernan, Dennis L. , 1932-

  The Warrow wheelwright of Budgens, Ned Proudhand, had done a first-rate job on the wheel—replacing the iron rim and broken spoke, and regreas-ing not only the hub on the repaired wheel, but all the other hubs and the waggon-tongue pivot and the whiffletrees as well. He had painted the new spoke red to match the others. For this fine craftwork and conscientiousness, Anval grudgingly paid Ned with a tiny golden coin, the only one that Ned had ever seen, copper being his usual fare, with an occasional silver. But this coin was gold! Ned vowed to keep it all his life, on display, pledging never to spend it, claiming it as his Dwarf hoard, declaring that it would become an heirloom of the Proudhand clan.

  Anval turned the rig over to Cotton, who drove it down to the common stables at the Pony Field on the southeastern edge of Hollow End. There he removed the harness and watered the two horses, whom he dubbed Brownie and Downy—one being all brown and the other a chestnut with an especially soft, fluffy, white mane. He rubbed them down and filled the feed bins in their stalls with an extra helping of oats. And after talking to them for a bit while combing their manes and tails, the buccan returned to The Root.

  It was dusk when Cotton came up the walk toward the burrow. The autumn eve was mild, and from the open window of the study he could hear Perry's voice: "... paces up the gentle rise from the First Neath to the East Hall at Gate Level; then it's two hundred forty level paces across the hall and out the Daun Gate to freedom ..."

  Why, that's the Brega Path what Mister Perry's reciting, Cotton thought. Why in the world . . . Before his mind could carry on, he heard Borin grunt and Anval reply, but what was said he could not tell. Hoy, hold on now! Why, them cheeky Dwarves are testing Mister Perry . . . as if they don't believe that us Warrows have good memories! Cotton stormed toward the front entrance.

  As the ired buccan stalked into the study, Borin looked up from the original Scroll; and Anval and Lord Kian glanced up from two of Perry's linen-paper copies. Empty-handed, Perry stood in room center.

  "Well?" asked Perry.

  "Exact," grunted Borin, a growing look of approval in his eye.

  "Your duplicate, too, is letter-perfect, Waeran," rumbled Anval, turning to Lord Kian, who also nodded.

  Borin stood, his black eyes aglitter in the candlelight. "Master Perry, we have seen for ourselves the exactness of your copies of the Brega Scroll; hence, because that work has proved to be unerring, we no longer doubt the accuracy of your duplicate of the Raven Book. You are indeed a crafter of true worth."

  Borin and then Anval bowed deeply to Perry, and the buccan smiled and bowed in return. Cotton, mollified by the Dwarves' respectful behavior, completely forgot the angry words he had come to heap upon them.

  "Well then," said Perry, moving to the desk, "I'd better pack some of these copies to take to King Durek." He stood undecided a moment, then mumbled to himself, "I suppose I'll just take them all. . . ." As an afterthought, he opened a desk drawer and added a small chart to the stack. "... as well as this sketch of mine."

  That evening, once more they feasted on Holly's fine cooking. This time the meal consisted of an overlarge kettle of well-spiced green beans slow-cooked for hours with a huge ham bone and gobbets of meat and large, peeled potatoes and parsnips. There was also freshly baked bread with honey, light golden beer, and cherry cobbler for dessert. Again Anval out-ate a straining Cotton. And the conversation touched upon hunting and gold, deer and gardens, delving and writing, weaponry and seeds, Wizards and Dragons, and many other things. This night Borin also joined in the talk 'round the table and proved to hold many tales of interest.

  But all through the evening both Perry and Cotton would at times lapse into silence and gaze about them at their beloved Root, wondering when they would see it again.

  The next morning ere dawn. Holly awakened them all, and they sat down to an enormous breakfast of scrambled eggs, hotcakes, honey, toast, and marmalade. "It is well we are leaving today," growled Anval. "Another week of this fare and I could not get into my armor."

  At sunrise Lord Kian strode to the Pony Field stable and hitched up the team and drove the waggon down to the Market Square, where gaping War-row merchants loaded the supplies the Man had purchased the day before. When he returned, the Dwarves and Warrows. dressed for the journey, were standing on the stoop—packs, bedrolls, armor, and weaponry ready. They placed all their goods in the waggon, and the Dwarves piled aboard with Kian. Perry and Cotton took one last long look around, reluctant to get aboard now that it had come to it. Cotton glanced at Pern and, at his nod, reached up to grasp the sideboard to climb into the wain. But before he could do so, Holly came rushing out of the door. She spun Cotton around and hugged him and whispered into his ear, "Goodbye, Cotton. Now you stay by Mister Pern, and take care of him. and keep him safe." Then she turned to Perry, and she hugged him and kissed him and then held him at arm's length and with brimming eyes looked at him as if to fill herself up with the sight of him for the long days to come. And Perry, stunned and dumbfounded, shuffled his feet and peered at the ground, unable to look again upon the anguish in Holly's face. She tried to say something, but could not and burst into tears, and with one last quick embrace she ran weeping back into The Root.

  Pern stood a moment gaping at the pegged panels of the oaken door through which she had fled, and suddenly he realized how much he cared for her—in that quiet. Warrowish sort of way. Now his yen for adventure seemed somehow less important, but he glanced up into the wain where his companions were waiting; and in that instant—like countless others in all ages have found—he, too, learned the first lesson of quests: whether for good or ill, the needs of the quest overrule all else.

  Curbing his confused feelings. Pern climbed into the waggon with Cotton and the others, and they drove away to the east.

  CHAPTER 6

  THE HORN OF THE REACH

  Anval, Borin, Kian, Perry, and Cotton; they all rode away from The Root in silence, each deep in his own thoughts. In this fashion they passed down the canted road from Hollow End and on through Woody Hollow, past the mill and across the bridge over the Dingle-rill. And everywhere they passed, War-rows stood silent by the road or ran from their homes to watch the waggon roll by. This was, after all, an amazing sight, one not likely to be repeated in anyone's lifetime:

  Imagine, two Dwarves and a Man, actualh right here in Woody Hollow! And Mister Perry and Cotton goin' away with them and all! Wonders never cease! It was to be the talk of the Boskydells for months, even years, to come.

  A flock of chattering younglings, led by the two tag-alongs, ran ahead of, beside, and behind the wain all the way to the bridge over the Dingle-rill, where the children stopped and stood watching as the waggon slowly trundled across and went on. Some tykes silently waved, others gaily piped farewells, and some seemed instantly to lose interest, for they began playing tag or wrestling or simply went wandering off. Soon the horse-drawn vehicle was around the bend and over the hill and out of sight.

  Nothing was said by anyone in the wain for a mile or so, and apart from an occasional bird or an insect coming awake with the warming of the Sun, the silence was broken only by the sounds of the waggon and team: the creak of harness, the jingle of singletrees, the clip-clop of hooves, an occasional whicker or blowing, the rattle of sideboards and tailgate, and above all else the unremitting grind of iron-rimmed wheels turning against the hard-packed earthen road. In this somber mood they rode without speaking til they came to the village of Budgens.

  Upon sighting the small red waggon drawing nigh, the hundred or so citizens of that village, too, turned out to watch the wayfarers pass through, taking up a position on the Monument Knoll, with Ned Proudhand in the crowd forefront showing all who would look—and there were many—his Dwarf gold piece.

  As the wayfarers rolled by the Monument, Cotton, driven by an inner urge, drew the silver horn from his pack and blew it. An electrifying note rang out, clear and bell-like, its pure tones carrying far across the countryside. A great cheer went up from the s
mall crowd, and everyone there on the knoll stood straight and tall. The gloomy mood was lifted from the occupants of the waggon, and they waved to the gathering. A youngling Warrow broke from the ranks and ran down toward the wain; others saw this and also ran down the hillside and onto the road, joining him; soon all were thronging around and keeping pace with the van.

  "Where you headin', Cotton?" cried a voice from the mob.

  "Out east and south, Teddy," answered Cotton, his eye falling upon the one who had called forth.

  What for? shouted several at once.

  "The King says there's trouble in the mountains and we're fixin' to help set it right," replied Cotton, which brought forth a great cheer; for the folks living at Budgens, being near the Monument and all, thought that Warrows were the greatest resource that the King could draw upon. Why, it was only natural, only right and proper, that the King call upon a Warrow or two to help settle his troubles, whatever they might be.

  Persons in the crowd continued in this fashion to shout out questions or give encouragement to the travellers as the wain slowly trundled through the village. And Cotton was aglow with it all: He introduced Lord Kian and Anval and Borin to the citizens, and much to their delight the Man actually stood up in the rolling waggon and gracefully bowed 'round to all, though the Dwarves merely grunted. Then Cotton reminded the Budgens folk as to just who Mister Perry was; and the Ravenbook Scholar stood and bowed to the crowd, too. At each introduction, or reply to a question, or statement made by the wayfarers, the villagers cheered. And in this festive atmosphere the voyagers were escorted through Budgens. At the town limits they were given a hip, hip, hurrah/ send-off, and soon were out of sight and hearing of the hamlet by the Rillmere.

  "Well, now," said Lord Kian, white teeth smiling through yellow beard, as he turned upon the driver's seat to look back at his passengers in the van, "that was quite a lively band of citizens."

  "Ever since the great battle, the folks of Budgens have had a reputation for being spirited," replied Perry. "Did you see that monument back there on the knoll? Well, that's a memorial not only to the nineteen Warrows actually killed in the Battle of Budgens in the Winter War, but also to the thirty wounded and the nearly three hundred others who took part in the fight to overthrow the reavers—evil Ghuls who were trying to usurp the Bosky, to steal our homeland during the days before the fall of Gron. And we were successful; we Warrows slew many of the corpse-foe, and later, with the help of the Men of Wellen, we drove them from the Bosky. But it was in Budgens where it really got started. Oh, the Warrows of that time had been in a lot of

  skirmishes with the Ghuls back when the reavers first invaded the Bosky, but it wasn't until Danner and Patrel came that the Warrows were organized properly. The first big battle of the Struggles took place in Budgens, a War-row name of honor: Brave as Budgens, we say these days. The people of Budgens know that, and they see the Memorial every day, and carefully tend the garden there at the foot of the stone monument. The glory of those Warrows' bravery is with the folk of Budgens always, and they take pride for their part in history."

  Borin looked at Perry. "So you Waerans have already dealt with usurpers, as we Chakka have yet to do," he rumbled, a new respect showing in his eye at the thought of these Wee Ones driving back a great gang of the reaving-foe, driving them out of Budgens—each Khol twice Waeran size—and doing it while suffering a loss of only nineteen. "You are a small but mighty adversary."

  Then Borin turned a curious eye to the other Warrow. "Cotton, show me that silver horn upon which you blew the clarion call that stirred my spirit and made hope leap into my heart."

  "It's the same horn, you know," said Cotton, rummaging in his pack. "It's the one Captain Patrel used to rally the Warrows in fight after fight with Modru's Reavers. That's why I blew it; it was back to Budgens again. Usually we blow it here once a year, on the battle anniversary; but it seemed like the thing to do today also, since we're setting off on a mission." Cotton passed the small bugle to Borin.

  Perry spoke up: "It's called the Horn of the Reach, and it was given over to Patrel by Vidron himself, General of the Alliance, Whelmer of Modru's Horde. The Raven Book says the horn was found almost twenty-six hundred years ago in the hoard of Sleeth the Orm by Elgo, Sleeth's Doom; but of its history ere then, nothing is said."

  "Elgo, Sleeth's Doom, you say? Thief Elgo, Foul Elgo, treasure stealer, / say," snapped Borin, angrily setting the horn aside, ire flashing in his eyes. "He slew the Dragon, true, but then he foully claimed the Chak treasure for his own. But it was not his! The Dragon hoard was ours! Sleeth came to Blackstone—the Chakka Halls of the Rigga Mountains—plundering, marauding, pillaging, slaying; we were driven out. Sleeth remained, sleeping for centuries upon a bed of stolen gold. Then Thief Elgo came and slew the great Cold-drake. By trick! When we heard that Sleeth was dead, we rejoiced, and asked for that which was rightfully ours. In sneering pride, Foul Elgo came to Kachar, to the throne of Brak, then DelfLord of those halls. And False Elgo laughed at and mocked us, flinging down a great pouch made of Dragon's hide at Brak's feet, scoffing. 'A purse such as this you must make ere you can fill your treasuries with Dracongield; yet beware, for only the brave may pluck this cloth from its loom.' " Borin chopped the edge of one hand into the palm of the other. "Such an affront could not be borne, and we were avenged against Jeering Elgo, who japed nevermore. But nought of

  Sleeth's stolen hoard was ever recovered by us, the Chakka, the true owners." Bonn's eyes flashed darkly, and the muscles in his jaw clenched, and he breathed heavily.

  Perry had listened with growing amazement to the anger in Bonn's voice, and saw that Anval, too, was grinding his teeth in suppressed rage. "But Borin, Anval," said the \ arrow, baffled by the Dwarves' intense manner, "those events took place ages past, far from here, and concerned people long dead; yet it is you who seem ired, though it happened centuries and centuries before either of you were born."

  "Elgo was a thief!" spat Bonn. "And an insulter of my ancestors' He who seeks the wrath of the Chakka finds it! Forever!" Borin turned his face away from Pern , and his smoldering eyes stared without seeing over the passing countryside, and Anval sullenly fingered the edge of his axe.

  Interminable moments passed, but at last Pern- spoke: "Whether Elgo was a thief as you say, or a Dragon-slaying hero as some tell it, or both, I cannot say; but the silver horn at your side perhaps came from that disputed treasure."

  And in the back of the rolling waggon, slowly and with visible effort, Borin at last mastered his Dwarvish passion; grudgingly, he began to examine the trumpet. "This was made by the Chakka," he muttered, and then he turned his attention to the engraved swift-running rider-mounted horses winding through carven runes twining 'round the flange of the horn-bell. Borin gave a start and sucked in air between his teeth, and looked hard at the clarion; and he hissed a Dwarf word— Warokf"

  Xarok: Bonn's taut utterance seemed to jerk Anval upright, and he stared sharply at his brother.

  After a long while Borin passed the bugle to Anval, who studied it as intensely; and then, after another long while, Anval reluctantly gave the clarion back to Cotton, warning, "Beware, Waeran, this trump must be blown only in time of dire need." And about it neither Anval nor Borin would say more.

  In wonder, Cotton took back the horn and looked at it with new eyes, studying it closely for the first time, driven by the Dwarves' curious behavior to seek what they had seen.

  The companions had followed Woody Hollow Road to Byroad Lane, and then they had joined the Crossland Road, which would earn them all the way to the Gnmwall Mountains. And the wain continued to roll eastward during the day, through Willowdell. and Tillock, and beyond, one person driving while the others lounged in conversation on the packs and bedrolls in the cargo bed. Often they changed position when some bone or joint or muscle protested at being held in one place too long or at being jounced against a hard waggon-plank by an occasional rut or rock or washboarded section in the road—not that there we
re many; for the most part the road

  was smooth and the pace was swift. Nor did the travellers engage in continuous talk; at times they lapsed into long silences and simply watched the countryside roll by, the trees beginning to change hue in the quickening autumn—many reds and yellows and a few browns starting to show amid the predominant greens.

  Frequently they would stop to rest the horses and water them, and to trade off driving, and to take care of other needs. At one of these stops they saw another sign of the changing seasons: two flocks of geese flew southward overhead, high in the sky, one wedge flying above and ahead of the other. Their lornful cries were faint with distance, and Perry, as always, felt a tugging at his heart. Lord Kian shaded his eyes and looked long: "Year after year, since time immemorial, they pass to and fro, their flight locked to the seasons. Little do they care that Kingdoms and tyrants rise and fall; it is as nothing to them in their unchanging journey through time. They fly so very high above our petty squabbles and fightings and Wars and slayings. How small we must seem to them."

  At another stop they fed the horses some grain while they themselves lunched on the contents of a basket provided by Holly: cold beef sandwiches and crisp Bosky apples. Anval sighed when the food was gone. "I somehow feel that may be the last I eat of Holly's cookery," he said, rubbing his stomach. "You are a fortunate Waeran, Master Perry." Perry did not answer, though he gazed thoughtfully back to the west, his mind seeing amber dam-man eyes brimming with tears.