Trek to Kraggen-Cor

by McKiernan, Dennis L. , 1932-

Cotton reached the head of the column where were assembled the Chief Captains. They gazed up at the linn high above them, now just a stark rock precipice over which no stream tumbled. As they looked, Durek stepped into view on the edge and motioned for them to mount up the steps.

  When Cotton arrived at the top with the others, he stared uneasily at the flat, still, dark waters and thought, Well, now, there's something about this lake that isn't right. It's like the water itself is dead. And then he saw that neither cloud nor sky nor the towering Loom was mirrored in its depths; not even light itself seemed to reflect back from the dull surface. And as if to underscore the unpleasantness generated by this dark pool, several large bubbles rose to the surface nearby to burst with soft plopping sounds and release a foul-smelling reek of rotted matter, while the dark rings of passage writhed and intertwined and spread outward and quickly died to leave the sullen surface without motion once more.

  "Over there," Durek rasped, pointing, "lies the Dusken Door. That pile of rock against the Loom holds within it the shattered edifice and columns spoken of in the Raven Book. We can see the facings whence they were sundered, shallow with age but still sign of where it all once stood flanking and capping the portal—a massive work, now destroyed. There, too, are uptom trees, rent from the drowned courtyard. Yet, even with all the stone and wood, Turin estimates that but one half and two days are needed to clear the way, which will put us at the Door on the twenty-fifth, as planned."

  There was a general murmur of approval, and Cotton's heart leapt for joy; he had been worried about being late, and now his anxiety fled with the news.

  "Turin has a plan," continued King Durek, "of how to array the stone workers to make short shrift of this labor."

  Durek stepped down from the large stone upon which he had stood to address the Council, and Turin Stonesplitter, Masterdelver, mounted up in the Dwarf King's stead. "First, we shall divide ourselves into the same shifts as were used against the snow," he began, and then went on to describe how the pile would be reduced and what tools were needed.

  And though Cotton tried to pay attention, his eye was irresistibly drawn to the darkling mere, its ominous surface lying dead and dull. And Turin's voice faded from the Warrow's consciousness as he swept the length of the lake with his sight, to see . . . nothing.

  The westering Sun was low and the Great Loom bloomed orange with its setting, yet the tarn showed only dismal gloom in its bodeful murk And as

  the Council came to an end, the planning over, and the Captains made their way down the stairs in the dusk, Cotton took a last look at the lake as he brought up the rear; he heard a soft plopping and saw out in the center large rings rippling shoreward, and he wondered if they, too, were caused by bubbles.

  Work began early the next morning as hundreds of delvers lined along the base of the Loom on either side of the ramped rubble while many more scrambled up the face of the heap. With picks and mattocks and sledges and spikes and levers and ropes, they began loosening and breaking up the pile, freeing stone and tumbling it down for the others to carry or drag away. As Rand had noted the day before, much of the rock was already split and shattered, and great shards were toppled to slither down to those waiting below. Yet there were large fragments requiring many Dwarves hauling upon strong ropes to nudge them, grinding, away from the ramp. Slowly the workers uncovered one of the great trees, and they brought into play axes and saws to hew the branches and sever the trunk, and Dwarves dragged and rolled the hacked and sawn timber aside.

  Amid all this activity, directing the work forces, white-bearded Turin Stonesplitter climbed and pointed and gesticulated—in command. The laboring Dwarves set to with great energy: shoving, rolling, pulling, hauling, pushing, and dragging the great stones and timbers away, while others hammered and pried and tied and chopped and sawed, tumbling the wood and rock down. Shifts changed, but the toil ceased not.

  Across the lakelet, Cotton sat atop the dam and watched the work proceed; he was far enough away so that he marveled at how much like an anthill the activity seemed. All day he looked on, only taking time away for a quick lunch, watching the pile slowly diminish, measuring its fall by its height on the Loom.

  It was nearly sundown when Rand, Durek, and Brytta mounted up the carven steps. "Ho, Cotton!" hailed Rand, "we are going around to see the progress made on this day. Care to join us?"

  Would he? Yes indeed! Cotton eagerly jumped to his feet. He had been itching to go take a look, yet had not wanted to be in the way; but now it was an altogether different prospect, for he had an excuse: he was going with the King to inspect the work.

  As they trudged through the sere grass and brown weeds, and around the clots of thorny, woodlike, dried brambles tangling through the stunted, twisted, withered trees along the scum-laden shore of the dull pool, making their way toward the north end of the Dark Mere, Durek spoke: "This vale seems utterly dead, unlike the tales of old when it was said that lush grass and slender green trees and fruit-laden bushes carpeted the land and stood upon the slopes; and the dell was a verdant emerald set among the towering Moun-

  tains. But now it is Death-struck, as if this dark lake were a great strangling cesspool of choking black poison, and it seems as if the very earth of this once beautiful Ragad Vale has been slain by this evil.'*

  Cotton looked around and shuddered at Durek's imagery, and Brytta added, "Aye, this vale indeed seems cursed, for Nightwind and the other steeds will not touch this foul pasturage. Yet there is not enough grain nor clear water to long support the herd, for there are more than a thousand of your horses, and forty-four of ours. We must move the steeds, and so I have sent a scout looking; shortly we will drive them south to the great winter grasslands of the western vales—that is, as soon as you succeed in uncovering the Door and enter the caverns."

  Durek nodded and sighed. "Just so, Brytta, though I had hoped we would not have to take this step as you foresaw we might; for I have come to depend heavily upon the eyes of the Yanadurin, and the loss will be greatly felt—though we have little or no choice."

  '"Even so," Brytta growled, "it rowels me to know that we will not be with you at the Wrg-slaughter, avenging the victims of North Reach and elsewhere. But we Sons of Harl are better suited to deal with the horses, and to watch the Quadran Col should Spawn come that way—though the high snows blocking the gap would seem to bar that event.

  "Yet, the Rutcha and Drokha may have found the High Gate you spoke of, and may now have a way to march from that direction. But even though it is more likely that the Spawn will come at you through the dark passages of the Black Maze, I swear that they shall not strike at your back by coming down from the Quadran Pass and through this valley, for we shall keep sentinels posted at the gap, and they shall light a signal fire should the Wrg come, and we will abandon the herd and harass the Spawn to draw them aside and keep them from falling upon you from behind.

  "And when you enter the caverns and the battle begins, should any flee your axes and escape through this west Door, ere they can debouch Ragad Yale, another of my guards posted here will strike a signal fire and summon the Harlingar from herd duty, and the craven Spawn will fall prey to our lances."

  Here, Brytta flourished his spear, thrusting it forward as if he were lancing from horseback. "Perhaps we shall see some fighting yet—though it seems likely that it will not come to pass, and some of us will merely watch in vain for Rutcha and Drokha, while the rest of us keep the drove.

  "Nay, galling or not, we must tend the herd and guard the vale, for it is better we do these necessary things we know than to flounder about in a dark crack in the earth, more a hindrance than an aid, for the Black Hole is no wan-ing place for a plainsman bred."

  "Hah!" cried Durek, clapping the Man of Yalon upon the shoulder "Plainsman bred you are and plainsmen bred we need: to be our eyes, and to guard our flanks, and to speed tidings of our fortunes along the margins of

  Valon where lies the mineholt of my kindred in the Red Hills, and thence to you
r King Eanor in Vanar; and to ride beyond Valon to Pellar and bear the news to High King Darion at Caer Pendwyr. And aye, we need you to ward horses, as Vanadurin have done throughout the centuries. And further, we need you to stand fast at our backs and guard against unseen assault. Yet think not that these are but small tasks, Brytta of the Valanreach, for without the Riders of Valon, much would go amiss."

  And Durek clasped the forearm of the Reachmarshal, and the blond warrior smiled down upon the Dwarf King; and Prince Rand and Cotton the Waerling witnessed the final healing of the ancient rift between the Men of Valon and the Line of Durek, and they were glad.

  The four strode up to the north end of the black pool and crossed over the torpid water, there to turn south along the Loom. Cotton did not like wading through the skirt of the stagnated mere, his boots sliding and sucking through the muck; and the clinging slime and yellowed scum made his feet feel befouled even though they were shod, as if something evil and unclean had defiled him. He tried to shake off this impression but did not succeed, and still his jewel-like viridian eyes strayed over the menace of the dull-black waters. He felt certain that the Krakenward was gone, for surely by now it would have attacked the workers; yet somehow the dark mere seemed to bode an ominous doom—a threat he felt growing with the coming of darkness.

  The four of them crossed the bridge and came to the northern arm of the work force, and Durek nodded and smiled at the workers as he passed, saying words to a few. And then they came to the pile, and Turin jumped down to speak to his King. To Cotton and Brytta the remaining heap looked enormous at hand, but to Rand and Durek, who had seen it before, it was greatly diminished.

  "We are doing better than I gauged," said Turin. "We may finish earlier than expected."

  Durek smiled and said something in return, but Cotton did not hear it.

  A great feeling of dread overwhelmed the buccan and he turned to look at the lake, the hair on the nape of his neck standing erect. He could see nothing, yet fear coursed through him and his heart pounded. The Sun was low and sinking, and work had been called to a halt. The Dwarves were retrieving their mail from the base of the Loom and donning it, slipping their broad-bladed axes back into their carrying thongs. Again voices around Cotton seemed to become muffled, and he felt an impending doom approaching.

  The Sun sank lower, and now its rays crept up and away from the black mere until they struck only the Great Arch of the Loom. And at the moment that the last ray left the lake and its leaden surface fell into shadow, Cotton's searching eyes saw a hugh ominous wave flowing out of the dim recesses of the southernmost end—as if something large and fast were speeding just below the surface . . . speeding toward the Door.

  "Look!" Cotton shouted and pointed. "The Warder comes!"

  Durek spun and saw the fast-flowing wake, a hurtling wedge of water, its point aimed at the Dwarves. "Chdkka shokf'he barked, and all the Dwarves grimly drew their axes, and Cotton and Rand unsheathed their swords, while Brytta gripped his spear.

  On came the great wave, a massive flowing heave in the ebon waters, a foaming black wake churning behind, hard-driven by some hidden leviathan menace. Onward rushed the dark billow, toward the grim-faced Warrow and Men and Dwarves, sword and axes at the ready. And Cotton trembled to see how swiftly it came. Onward the crest of the huge wedge sped, straight toward the Door, nearer and nearer, the wave at last surging and boiling over the strand.

  And then a hideous creature was upon them:

  Great ropy tentacles writhed out of the water to grasp at the intruders on the shore. Dwarves coiled back and cries of dismay rent the air. Brytta set his black-oxen horn to his lips, but ere he could sound it a huge tendril slapped him aside, and he was whelmed against the Great Loom and fell senseless to the ground at its base.

  Then a Dwarf was snared, and another, and another, and drawn struggling in vain back across the strand and pulled beneath the water. Other Dwarves hewed at the slimy arms, but the axes did not cut through the thick, unyielding hide. And Durek was grasped about the waist, a great tendril wrapped about him several times, and he was thrown to his knees and his axe flew forward, lost to his grip; he was slowly dragged toward the foul black water, as if a malevolent evil intelligence was toying with a helpless small thing— torturing it, slowly drawing it toward a horrid death.

  Rand sprang forward and drove his black-handled sword down onto the arm, but the blade merely bounced from the vile hide; again and again he struck, but to no avail, and Durek was drawn onward.

  Rand flung his own useless sword aside and caught up Durek's silveron-edged axe; but ere the Man could use it, Cotton brought his weapon of the Men of the Lost Land to bear—this Atalar blade had been forged to battle against powers of evil, and its golden runes flashed bright in the dying sunlight. Cotton dropped to one knee and slashed the blade downward in a great overhead two-handed stroke which landed athwart the snaky arm and clove a deep gash in it. Instantly Rand hewed the glittering axe into the opening made by Cotton's weapon; the end of the tentacle was shorn off, to drop from Durek's waist and flop and writhe and coil and lash out with a life of its own. The main tentacle gushed forth black blood and was whipped back into the water as Durek stumbled hindward to the Loom wall

  And the creature went mad, for only once before had it ever felt pain, and that was when it had been dealt a wound b the ven same Atalar Bid..

  blade wielded long ago by yet another who sought to enter the Door; but that pain then was as nothing compared to now, for golden-runed sword and silveron-edged axe together had maimed it dearly.

  The foul water roiled with the creature's anger, and a great stench filled the air as twenty or more tentacles boiled forth to lash out and grab Dwarves and fling them against the Loom, and to wrench others into the black lake, swiftly now in rage and no longer slowly in calculated cruelty. The creature grasped a huge boulder and pounded it like a great stone maul, smashing with dreadful effect into the helpless Dwarves. It snatched up several of the Chakka and rolled them in tentacles to squeeze them lifeless; the dead were flung down and others caught up; thus did Turin Stonesplitter die.

  Durek looked on with horrified eyes at the havoc being wrought as tens and twenties of his kindred were destroyed. "Flee!" he cried. "Back!" And Rand, calling upon a reserve of hidden strength unexpected in one of his slim build, hoisted unconscious Brytta over his shoulder and carried the stunned warrior as they all scrambled and fled northward, trapped within the creature's reach on the narrow strand between the Loom and the water.

  Cotton ran in terror, stumbling and scuttling over the rocks and slabs as the creature's great tentacles lashed and flailed all around him, grasping and smashing and slaying. A huge tendril whipped into the rocks just ahead of him, but the Warrow leapt over it and ran on as it snatched empty air inches behind him. A Dwarf was grabbed up from beside him and hurled into the Loom. A ropy arm cracked the great rock hammer to smash into the ground to miss Cotton again. Another tentacle shot out to bar the way, but the buccan slashed it with his sword of Atala, and again the bitter blade gashed the creature; the cut arm lashed back and forth, but Cotton fell flat and it swept overhead.

  The frightened Warrow scrambled up and fled onward, across the bridge and along the sundered causeway. And all around him, before and after, others ran and fell and scuttled and fled and died as the Helarms pursued, still under the black surface, with only its huge tentacles worming and writhing and grasping and smashing fleeing victims, until the quarry came to the north end where the water was too shallow for the creature to follow. Even then its great bulk flanked the shore as the survivors made for the dam, but they stayed well up out of the Monster's reach as, weeping and defeated, they came stumbling down the hill to the Host.

  An hour passed and the dusk deepened, and still Durek sat on a rock, unmoving, with his hood cast over his head. The gathered Legion waited in silence, even those who wept. Brytta had regained his senses, and he, too, sat grim and silent as Hogon bandaged the Reachmarshal's ri
ght hand, broken by the Krakenward's slap. Rand stood with his own hands tightly clasped behind his back, his face stern, staring at the fading violet sky to the west as dusk yielded to night and the vale gradually fell into darkness. Cotton sat

  nearby on the slopes in the twilight as slowly his horror and grief gave way to a dull red hate. And then from across the lake there sounded a great clatter of rock, and a sentry came down from the top of the hill and said to Durek, "Sire, the Maduk heaps more stone upon the Door."

  Durek sat a moment without moving; then he cast back his hood, and there was a fell look upon his face. "This cannot be borne," his voice grated. "We shall slay that spawn of evil. Get Gaynor to me, and Berez, and Bomar. Bring Tror and his Hammerers and Felor with his Drillers. Before this night is over, it shall be done."

  As Cotton watched, the message went forth, and Dwarves arrived, bearing with them tools from the black waggons. Lanterns were unhooded and carried up the stairs to the face of the dam. Gaynor, Berez, and Bomar were all accounted Masterdelvers and had been second only to dead Turin. With King Durek they crawled over the stone face of the dam, studying the fissures in the rock, judging its faults. Then Tror with twelve other Dwarves carrying sledge hammers, and Felor with as many carrying tongs and pointed iron rods and wedges, climbed up to the sites indicated by the Delvers; and they set the rods and irons in place and began hammering them and wedging them into the cracks and crevices. The Host and waggons and animals were gathered up out of the valley and moved to high ground. And by the blue-green light of the Dwarf-lanterns the pounding and delving went on.

  They were going to break the dam.

  They had hammered but a short time when suddenly a great tentacle looped over the top of the barrier and wrapped about the neck of a Driller, snapping it and then flinging the Dwarf aside. With cries of terror, the others fled downward as more arms writhed and slithered over, reaching and grasping, clutching two more ere the others escaped.