Trek to Kraggen-Cor

by McKiernan, Dennis L. , 1932-

  Thus the Warrow and Bomar passed the day—tending the kettle on the forge in the lean-to, brewing hot tea, and serving grateful Dwarves—while all around the snow spun and the wind groaned. Busy as he was, Cotton still fretted and worried, vexed by the storm but helpless to do anything about it Stranded/ he thought. Stranded here on the mountainside. Rolf said, "Beware of Waroo," and he was right: the White Bear has us trapped like buys on a board. Oh, Mister Perry, what's to become of you?

  The next morning, before dawn, Cotton bolted upright in the shelter thinking, What's that? but he struck his head against a thick branch in the shelter roof and flinched back down, rubbing his crown through his hood. What did I hear that made me bump my noggin? he wondered, and he listened intently, but heard only Bomar's quiet breathing in the still night. Excitedly, he grabbed Bomar's shoulder and shook him. "Bomar! Bomar, listen! What do you hear?" he cried. Bomar came groggily awake and cracked open the lantern hood, and blinked and rolled his eyes in the phosphorescent light. "Listen, Bomar, what do you hear?" repeated Cotton.

  Bomar listened quietly and then exclaimed with fierce exultation, "Nothing! I hear nothing!"

  "That's just it!" chortled Cotton. "Nothing! No sound at all! No wind! No howl! The storm is over!" And he grabbed the lantern and scrambled from the shelter with Bomar right behind. And the buccan was correct: the wind that had howled and moaned and groaned and shrieked for two days was gone; the blizzard had blown itself out; all that remained was a light snow falling gently through the pines. And the Warrow laughed and danced and capered in the deep snow by the blue-green radiance of the lantern, while the usually somber Dwarf looked on with a great grin upon his face.

  As dawn broke, Bomar and his crew again had prepared a hot breakfast, and had served storm-weary but grimly smiling warriors. The light fall had stopped, and the skies had begun to clear. Now the meal was over and the utensils cleaned and stored, and still the command to prepare for the march did not come. Two more hours passed and yet no orders came and nothing was heard. Finally a Chief Captain arrived and called the warriors of the glen together. "The way is blocked by great drifts," he announced—and Cotton's high spirits plummeted into despair—"but three miles downslope they diminish, and the snow on the road beyond is not deep, and it can be travelled. Hence, we must dig a path to freedom.

  "There are four thousand Chakka to open the way, yet we have but a limited number of shovels. Heed: use any scoop to move the snow—spare pots and pans and kettles from the cook-waggons, the beds from the small-forges, and aught else that works.

  "Our first task is to clear a route from here to the road; let lie any snow that is less than knee deep, for the horses can broach that. When we reach the road we are to work in shifts with other companies.

  "We are already delayed, and the Seven depend upon us to be at the Dusken Door and ready to enter on the twenty-fifth"—and the Chief Captain raised his voice in a shout—"so let us work as only Durek's Folk can!" And the squadron gave a great yell, and Dwarves rushed out to be at the task, while Cotton, Bomar, and the cook-waggon crew remained behind to prepare hot food and drink for the road workers.

  The snowbound Army inched a clear path down the mountain as the bright Sun climbed up in the sky to shine down on the white slopes. Each Dwarf pulled his hood tight and peered out through the resulting fur tunnel, using it to screen out the intense glare and ward off snowblindness. And they scooped snow with shovels, pots, pans, forge-beds, boards, helms—anything that could be used. And slowly they crept downward.

  Company relieved company, and the toil continued. Weary Dwarves trudged back to their campsites to grab a hot bite to eat and drink, and then to cast themselves down in their shelters for a short rest—which ended all too quickly, for in due time they were called upon to relieve yet another company. The cycle went on and on. And at one of the busy yellow waggons— Bomar's—Cotton helped with the work. And it seemed to the Waeran that no sooner did he finish feeding one crew than another would line up for a meal.

  Progress down the mountain was measured in tens of feet. Cotton spoke to the returning crews and got reports on the headway: a giant wide drift at the quarter-mile mark slowed progress to a creep. The Dwarves finally broke through just before noon, and the advance went more swiftly.

  It was not long after when there came the flat Tan-ta-ra of a Valonian black-oxen horn faintly bugling up over the snow from the slopes far below. Instantly, it was answered from a nearby glen by Brytta's great ebon horn. Again and again they called to one another, at times in short bursts of but a few notes, at other times with long flourishes . . . and finally they fell still.

  Cotton wondered at the signals, and when Brytta eventually came, searching for the Warrow to speak with him and to take a meal, there was a huge grin upon the face of the Marshal of the Valanreach. "It is Hogon!" he exulted. "And Eddra and Arl and Wylf! My advance scouts. They are safe! They spent the blizzard with their horses, out of the blast—in a cave five or six miles downslope. Aye, I should have known that Wylf would have one eye out for comfort. Arl claims that at first flake-fall Wylf declared 'twas time for snug shelter, and led them on a line no bee could have flown straighter nor swifter direct to the hole; Eddra and Hogon checked it for the bears that were not there, and in they went, horses and all, two steps ahead of the white wind. And this morning they kicked and clawed and dug their way out through the snow that had drifted over the cave mouth. Ah, but they are safe! And they wait below for us to break through."

  "You learned all that just from tootling horns across a snowfield at one another?" Cotton asked, and at Brytta's pleased nod the Warrow marveled at this, to him, heretofore unrealized potential of horn calls. And though Cot ton had not met the advance scouts, he felt eased that they had come to no harm. Yet his relief was tempered by the realization that tunc was slipping away from the Army, and Mister Perry and the Squad depended upon them

  to be ready on schedule at the Dusk-Door; and here they were—drift-trapped.

  In the early afternoon the army of digging Dwarves passed the half-mile point, but then the snow deepened, slowing the forward way. At sundown the road had been cleared for a mile, and work went on by lantern-glow and by the light of the stars. At midnight, the mile-and-a-half point was reached.

  Bomar urged Cotton to take to his shelter for a rest. The buccan had been working nonstop all day, and was bone weary. Yet he was frustrated, for he had the irrational feeling that if only he were out there shoveling rather than back here cooking, well, the road would just get cleared a whole lot faster. What can be taking so long? I mean, a whole army ought to be able to do this job in just an hour or two. Not only was Cotton frustrated by the snail's pace of the progress, he was angry with himself for being frustrated in the first place, for he knew that the Dwarves were advancing downslope as quickly as possible, and he could make his best contribution to the effort by working with the cook-crew and not with the road crew.

  After only five hours of sleep, the Warrow awakened and trudged back to the cook-waggon. He took a bite to eat and drank a cup of hot tea, and then relieved Bomar. It was false dawn, and the sky was pale grey. A thin crescent of a waning Moon rode low over the mountaintops. Cotton and three of the cook-crew were on duty, and soon another shift came to be fed. Cotton discovered that the road crews had just passed the two-mile point.

  Dawn came, followed by another bright morning. The exhausting, back-breaking job went on, and again the Sun marched up the sky. Word came that the road gangs had encountered another giant drift, and the advance was stalled just a half mile from the end. Cotton felt both helpless rage and unremitting despair at the news, and he threw himself more than ever into his work.

  Before noon, Bomar and the other five Dwarves rejoined the cook-crew, and the discouraged Warrow took a mug of hot tea and wandered to the edge of the glen where it was quiet and he could rest a moment. The Sun was just reaching the zenith when from far off something rumbled low and long, like distant thunder among the
crests. Cotton stared in the direction from which the roll had come, but the trees obscured his vision, and he could see nothing to indicate the source of this unknown, far-off roar. A few moments later the buccan returned to the cook-waggon and asked Bomar, "What would make a great nimble up in the high peaks?"

  "Snow avalanche," replied Bomar. "That was a distant avalanche. Something caused a Mountainside of snow to give way and cascade down; it comes as a giant wall and carries all things before it, snapping off trees both large and small and rolling great boulders along under it, causing other snow to

  cataract down too. Sometimes it slides for miles, a great wave growing wider and higher as it thunders down to wreak its destruction and bury its victims."

  "Lawks!" responded Cotton. "I thought the rock slide was bad, but this sounds worse. I hope no snow avalanche decides to slip this way "

  About two hours before sundown a ragged distant cheer echoed up over the quiet snow to those in the glen; the road crews had broken through the last drift, and the way before them held only diminishing snow The word came to harness up the teams and prepare to move out; no more time was to be spent in the high country, the Army was to trek down to the foothills, marching part of the night.

  And so, even though they were weary, the Host gladly shouldered their packs or hitched up the horses or otherwise prepared to travel Just as the Sun disappeared, the trek began, and lanterns were carried to illuminate the

  The Host moved slowly out of the glens and onto the road Cotton and Bomar in the yellow waggon again brought up the rear, and often they would come to a complete halt, to stand and wait for long minutes while the leading teams and wains struggled through places still deep in snow, with Du pushing and pulling and straining to roll the stuck vehicles forward by grasping and turning the wooden-spoked wheels. Then the column would move ahead once more until the next deep place was encountered and the horses again needed help.

  And thus the train moved down the mountain, sometimes easily, sometimes struggling. It proceeded like a great undulating caterpillar, bunching up behind barriers and lengthening out beyond them. At the rear of the column, the only trouble Cotton and Bomar encountered was that of the waggon oft' sliding where the snow had been packed unto ice by the four thousand warriors and nearly five hundred waggons ahead of them here. Brownie and Downy found the footing treacherous, and the wain brake was of little help Even so, still they managed to work the waggon past these slick strck come to safer purchase.

  In places the wain went between high, close walls cloven through the , deep drifts. At times the snow ramparts were well ovei the heads of the Warrow and Dwarf sitting up high on the waggon seat, and at L OOtlld envision the massive effort required to clear the road, and he humbled

  The long line of swaying, bobbing lanterns wended sloulv akmg the carcn track set within the snow In harness again, the horses seeme* 1 forward, and their breath blew white from flaring nostrils in the COM night air

  as they worked tin waggons downward through the drifts, following after the leaders .is repeatedly they emerged in>in one long, narrow, deep channel and

  into the open, only to enter another long notch

  Thus they p.issol the three miles from the ijens and dou n through the

  COme at last to the shallow tall It had taken the nn a A.w

  and
  path, and now Cotton and Bomar had driven its length in less than two hours.

  The Host continued the march for six hours, and came down out of the high country and into the foothills above Arden, covering some fifteen miles in all. The lower they came, the less snow there was, until it but barely covered the rim of a waggon wheel where it touched the ground. At last Durek called a halt to the march; the Captains posted a picket of warders as Dwarves made campfires; and weary warriors fell asleep wherever they found themselves.

  Just as Cotton was preparing to lie down, Durek and Rand came walking to his fire. The buccan had not seen either for three days, but they said little to one another, for all were spent; this night neither King nor Prince returned to the head of the column; this night they bedded down by the last fire instead of the first.

  And as Cotton was drifting off he heard another long, low rumble of distant thunder, and he knew that somewhere a white avalanche had cascaded down the mountainside. He wondered if their old, high-country camps and glens had been buried, and if the backbreaking work of days had been covered in mere moments by masses of slipping snow; but before he could speculate more, he fell fast asleep.

  CHAPTER 19 WRATH AT THE DOOR

  The next morning, Durek, Rand, and Cotton broke fast together. Each felt the pressing need to get under way, for the snowstorm had trapped the Host for three days, and their rendezvous with the Seven was now in serious jeopardy.

  "We are late and the Legion is weary," rasped Durek, "and the goal is far south down a ruined road through rough, inhospitable land. Yet we must somehow recapture the days lost to the storm but not expend the whole of the strength of the Host in a race for the Dusken Door; we must not be exhausted when we enter Kraggen-cor, for there we must be strong to meet

  the foe. I have thought long as to how we might gain back the time without losing our strength, but no good plan comes to mind except a forced march, where our brawn will wane with each day of the pace. We cannot ride the waggons, for there are too many of us—and the wains may be too slow in any case. Prince Rand, a question: Can we float down the River Tumble on rafts? Dwarves know not the skill of swimming nor the art of these craft; yet we would go that way if it would regain the lost time and husband our strength."

  "Nay, not the Tumble," answered Rand, shaking his head. "Oh, as to the rafts, though I could teach you the way of their making—and the manner of poling and steering them is simple—still we could not use them down the Tumble, for the river is truly named: there are many rapids and falls between Arden and the place south where the watercourse turns west to join the Caire, where we would strike for Drimmen-deeve overland. . . . Nay, the Tumble is no river for a raft.

  "And since the Army can ride neither water nor wain, I, too, believe we have no choice but to force march down Rell Way. There is no other means, and we cannot be late to the rendezvous with my brother and the others."

  "On that we agree," gritted the Dwarf, vexed, "yet such a course will but weary our Legion more. We do not want to arrive too spent to swing Chakka axes at Grg necks." Frustration loomed in his eyes.

  "King Durek, if we can force march but a week or so, we can draw almost even with our first plan," said Rand, "and that will leave us five days at normal pace to regain strength before reaching the Dusk-Door. And at the Door, only those removing the rubble will be working; all others will rest until it is their turn at that task."

  "Again our thoughts agree," growled Durek, "but for an army going into battle, a long rapid march is a heavy burden to bear."

  "Speaking of heavy burdens," piped up Cotton, "why don't we give the armor a ride? What I mean is, well, we can't very well give every warrior a ride, but armor is a different thing. Most of the food waggons are now only partly full and so there's room; and the horses can pull the extra weight. Chain mail is a burden, right enough, and warriors would march lighter and faster without that load of iron."

  Durek and Rand turned to one another in surprise. That simple suggestion was completely obvious to one unaccustomed to wearing mail—such as the Warrow—but Dwarves made light of heavy burdens, and a Dwarf going to War always wore his mail shirt; neither Durek nor Rand had ever considered it being any other way. This mail had in fact been worn all the way from Mineholt North, and thus the idea simply had not occurred to either. Durek roared with laughter and clapped his hands together, for Cotton, of course, was right.

  Thus it was that when the Army began its march, nearly all the armor nKlein the green waggons, and the Dwarves marched "lighter and faster without that load of iron," though each Dwarf still bore his pack an
d his beloved

  The Riders of the Valanreach swiftly ranged far to the fore and aft and out on the flanks of the Host as down out of the last of the snow they came at a forced pace, down from the high foothills; and ere they came nigh the southern reach of the cloven vale of Arden, southward they turned onto an eld abandoned roadbed: the long-disused Old Rell Way, grown over with weeds now dead in the winter cold.

  The land the Legion entered was rough, and the trees sparse, there being only barren thickets or lone giants with empty branches clutching at the sky. In the folds of the land grew brush and brambles, but for the most part the region was one of open high moors and heather. Into these uplands they forced march south on the ancient way—and though they did not know it, they were paralleling the path taken by Tuck, Galen, and Gildor more than two hundred and thirty years past; those three, however, had gone secretly in the Dimmendark and had not taken to the Old Way until they were nearly fifty leagues south of the Hidden Vale, for in those days the Way near Arden was patrolled by Ghuls—Modru's Reavers.

  At times the ancient road was blocked by thicket growth or fallen stones, or by a washout that cut the track; but the waggons were guided around the blockage, or many Dwarves gathered and removed the barrier. Twice the roadbed completely disappeared, but Rand led the train along pathways that soon rejoined the Old Way.

  The day was bright and the pace was swift, and the Host stopped but once for a rest and a quick noon meal of crue and water. They marched all day at the same hard stride, always bearing southward with the Grimwall Mountains towering off to their left. And when they stopped that night they had covered twenty-nine miles, and Rand and Durek were well pleased.