They sat in silence for a while, and then Pipper turned to Brekka and asked, “Have you met them in combat, Brekka?”
“Aye,” said the Dwarf. “Many times, for the war against the Grg never ends.”
“How do you deal with Ogrus?”
“We use ballistas to launch steel-pointed spears.”
“Ballistas?”
“Giant crossbows we mount on wheeled carriages. Though if we must, fifty or so Châkka gang up on each Troll and we try to bring them down by heel-chopping the tendons or hamstringing them using battle-axes.”
Pipper turned to Binkton. “Lor, but I hope we don’t meet any Ogrus in the pass ahead.”
“If we do,” said Brekka, “the drivers will whip up the team and we will flee. Otherwise we’ll sacrifice one of the trailing horses to draw the Troll away. They cherish horsemeat, and that is what a Troll would be after.”
“Oh, poor horse,” said Pipper, and he reached out for Binkton again, who took him by the hand and said, “Pip, better a horse than us.” Pipper glumly nodded his agreement.
“We are not apt to meet a Troll in the pass or a Khôl on a Hèlsteed, for that matter,” said Brekka. “Ükhs and Hröks are more likely.”
“Rûcks and Hlôks, eh?” asked Pipper, and he took a deep breath and turned to Binkton. “Well, then, you’d better fetch your bow and arrows, Bink, and I my sling and bullets.”
Binkton nodded, and together the Warrows stepped out to the coach and climbed atop and unlashed their chest enough to open it. Binkton took up a bow case and quiver, while Pipper grabbed a pouch and looked inside. Satisfied, he tied the pouch to his belt, and then he and Binkton closed the chest and lashed it down once again.
Early the next day, a candlemark before dawn, the Red Coach pulled out from the station, trailing horses behind. Two additional footmen were atop, and all were armed.
And up through the remaining foothills they fared.
Sometime just after sunrise, the sky began spitting tiny flakes, for even though the days were not quite verging upon mid autumn, at these heights winter came early.
“In a fortnight or two,” said Brekka, “this pass will be closed by snow.”
“What’ll happen to the Red Coaches then?” asked Pipper, and quickly, before Binkton could say ought, Pipper added, “What I mean is, how will they fare between Caer Pendwyr and Challerain Keep?”
“Up the Gap Road and through Gûnar Slot,” said Brekka, “and then along the Old Rell Way to Luren, until that route becomes snowed in, in which case the coaches will not cross through the Grimwall at all.”
Just then they reached the jagged maw of the pass, and one of the footmen atop swung down and rapped on a window, startling Pipper and Binkton along with other passengers. As Brekka lowered the sash, “Be alert,” said the footman, and then scrambled back up as Brekka cocked his well-tempered, steel-armed crossbow and loaded a quarrel.
Brekka and Binkton were the only ones with bows, and so they took stations on opposite sides of the coach.
There was one female among the nine passengers, a nineteen-year-old named Rebecca, slender and black-haired and blue-eyed and quite pretty. They placed her in the midmost position, and two of the men mistakenly tried to place Pipper beside her, but Brekka said that a Warrow with a sling was almost as valuable as one with a bow. “Besides, I would remind you that the most deadly warriors in any combat are Waerans.”
Pipper nodded sprightly and said, “Tuckerby Underbank slew more than eighty Foul Folk in just three days.”
The men looked at wee Pipper and Binkton in wonder, and none made any further suggestions that the buccen remain anywhere but at the windows.
And as they entered the looming dark walls of the slot twisting upward through the mountain chain, Pipper looked out at the grim frowning stone and said, “Lor, but I wish we had Bane with us.”
“Me, too,” said Binkton, his bow in hand and an arrow held loosely.
“We left before dawn, and it will be after nightfall when we reach the far end,” said Brekka, “but most of the journey will be made under the sun, and the Grg hate the light of day. Nevertheless, be on guard.”
On they fared up into the pass for mile after mile after mile with sheer stone rising to either side, and the sun rode up into the sky. And still no threat appeared. Exhausted by remaining so alert, Pipper fell quite asleep, and he slept until the coach stopped to change teams partway along the rise. Here the passengers, cautioned to be vigilant, were allowed to debark and stretch their legs and take care of other needs, Rebecca given her privacy behind a large boulder while Brekka stood ward in front of it.
Soon the horses had been fed and watered and exchanged—the fresh ones now in harness, the others tethered behind—and the coach started out once more.
“You sleep, Bink,” said Pipper. “I’ll call you should the need arise.”
Binkton looked at Brekka and received a nod, and so he curled up next to Pipper. But he tossed and turned—“Gah! I can’t sleep!”—and after a while gave up and resumed his watch at the window.
It was a mark or two past noon when they crossed the crest of the pass, where again they took care of needs and changed the teams, and then started down the opposite side.
Pipper fell asleep again, and Binkton looked at Brekka and pointed at Pipper and said, “Some sentry, eh?”
Brekka smiled at Binkton and said, “In the never-ending war against the Grg, I have fought alongside comrades who could fall asleep at the drop of a helm, even though combat was but moments away. This I would say: a well-rested warrior is much better to have at hand than one worn down by fatigue. I believe your Pipper will make good account of himself should there be a need.” Then Brekka looked at Binkton and said, “Not that all should sleep, for we do need those who remain on watch to signal should the foe draw nigh.”
Down the long slope of the pass the coach went, the teams working nearly as hard on the descent as on the climb, and the driver stopped a third time to make one more exchange.
Soon they were on their way again, the sun sliding down the sky, and dusk fell as the pass widened and they came in sight of the foothills below and the plains of Gûnar beyond.
Even so it was full dark when they came to the way station. And as the passengers debarked, one of the men looked back toward the Grimwalls and said, “Well, that was nothing.”
Brekka looked at him and gritted a warning: “Be glad that this time it was nought. Also be glad not only were there four stage guards atop, but also three warriors inside. And when next you fare through such, I advise you to come well armed—with bow and arrow and a sword or axe—else, somewhere within, you might not live long enough to regret it.”
Two days later in midafternoon, in a small stretch of woods on the way through Gûnar, five brigands, armed with clubs and knives, stood afoot by a log they had felled across the road to stop the coach.
As the passengers debarked at the command of the leader of the bandits, Brekka loosed a quarrel to slay that sneering brigand; Binkton took down two more with his bow; Pipper killed one with a sling bullet; the fifth brigand fled, only to be brought down from behind by an arrow from one of the coachmen.
Brekka then looked at the man he had warned and said, “Waerans three, the rest of us two.”
27
Raudhöll
FIRE AND IRON
MID AUTUMN, 6E6
Brekka stepped to one of the fallen outlaws and—thuck!—pulled out his quarrel. He also retrieved one of Binkton’s two arrows; the shaft of the second had broken when that man had hit the ground. As for Pip’s sling bullet, there was no chance of retrieving it, buried in the third deader’s skull as it was.
Both Binkton and Pipper looked a bit nauseated, for ere now they had never slain ought but rabbits and other such small game. But even though these were brigands, still they were men, and their deaths sudden and violent, the battle over almost before it had begun.
“I-I never killed anyone before,” said P
ipper. “It’s awful.”
Pipper glanced at Binkton, only to see someone whose face was as stark as his own might be. Binkton nodded without looking at Pipper, his gaze fixed on one of the two men he had slain.
“I mean,” said Pipper, “one moment they could be laughing and talking, and the next, they’re just—just dead.”
“Forget it,” said Brekka, holding Binkton’s arrow out to the buccan. “They are nought more than Ükhs.”
“But, Brekka, even Rûcks, or Ükhs as you call them, are a walking, talking . . .” Pipper’s words fell to silence.
“All Grg are vile,” said Brekka. “They have no conscience, none of them, and act as Gyphon made them long past. And these foul men are even worse, for, unlike the Grg, they have a choice. Hear me, Châkka justice against the Squam is swift and sure, and these”—Brekka made a dismissive gesture toward the slain men—“these dregs deserve no better.”
Binkton took the arrow from Brekka and stared long at it, and finally swallowed, and looked up at the Dwarf and nodded. Then he stepped to the side of the road and cleaned off the shaft and point in the grass.
The driver called for all to climb back into the stage.
“Shouldn’t we give them a decent burial?” asked one of the men, gesturing toward the dead outlaws.
“Didn’t you hear me?” growled Brekka. “They are no more than Ükhs. Leave them for the scavengers.”
The man looked at the coachmen, and the driver said to the footmen, “You heard the Dwarf. Drag them to the side and leave them for the crows.”
As the crew dealt with the bodies, nineteen-year-old Rebecca kissed both Warrows on the cheek, and this seemed to cheer them somewhat, but when she approached Brekka, he held up a hand to stop her and said, “It was nothing more than killing vermin.”
The footmen then cleared the log from the road, and the coach got under way again.
That night, as they lay over at the way station, when the two buccen were alone and making ready for bed, Pipper said, “I did not like the feeling I had when I killed that man.”
Binkton sighed and shucked out of his shirt. “Neither did I. But I’ve been thinking about what Brekka said.”
“That Châkka justice is swift and sure?” asked Pipper, kicking off his boots.
“No. That these foul men were no different from Grg. And you know, I think he’s right.”
“How so?”
“Well, Pip, think of all that we have read and heard about Tipperton and Beau and Rynna, and of Tuck and Danner and Patrel and Merrilee, and Perry and Cotton, or Gwylly and Faeril, as well as Cousin Triss and Danby and Kipley.”
“That’s a lot to think about, Bink.”
Binkton nodded, then said, “And then there is Aravan and Brega and Gildor and Vanidor and Vanidar and Riatha and Urus and a whole host of others, to say nought of the many High Kings.”
“What’s all this leading to, Bink?”
“Just this, Pip: none of them hesitated whatsoever in dealing swift justice to evildoers.”
Pipper digested Binkton’s words for long moments as he and his cousin disrobed. Then he sat on the edge of his man-sized cot, his feet dangling freely. “Yes, but those we killed were just highwaymen, robbers. Who knows, they might have been men who had fallen upon hard times and who had turned to banditry simply to feed their families.”
“Perhaps, Pip, yet there are more honest ways of dealing with hard times. No, I think Brekka is right: they were no better than Rûcks.”
“But couldn’t we have simply captured them and turned them over to the King’s justice at the next town?—Oh, wait, perhaps that’s not practical. I mean, hauling prisoners all the way to the next gaol.”
“You’re right, Pip,” said Binkton, yawning and pulling his cover up around his neck. “That would have been impractical. Evildoers they were, and swift and sure justice is what they deserved. And listen: dealing swift justice doesn’t mean you have to like it; only that it must be done. Now blow out the candle and let’s get some sleep.”
Pipper snuffed out the flame and darkness descended, but sleep was a long time coming, as both buccen lay in the gloom and wondered if they were merely making excuses for their killing of those men, be they bandits or no.
Three days afterwards, the Red Coach rolled into Gapton, a town at the junction just beyond the Gûnarring Gap, a wide opening in the ringlike spur of the Grimwalls. In Gapton the road split and changed names: the Reach Road faring east to Vanar, the capital city of Valon; the Pendwyr Road running southeasterly, toward the Red Hills and past to the Argon Ferry and on to Caer Pendwyr beyond.
Brekka and the Warrows dropped off in Gapton, the Dwarf to rest and enjoy himself, the buccen to try for an engagement at one of the local inns. Binkton and Pipper found that once again their reputation had preceded them, and they made a commitment to the owner of the Red Foal to perform for the next five days, in exchange for room and board and a bit of the good King’s coin.
Brekka stayed at the same inn, and it was he who arranged for the captain of the city watch to be at the very first performance.
Once again Fire and Iron thrilled the patrons, and here, too, Binkton proved no gaol could hold him.
The days flew by, and as time drew near for the buccen to catch the Red Coach and move onward, they debated whether to travel to Vanar, a city of considerable size, or to stick to their original plans and go on to Argon Ferry Town. They asked Brekka for his advice.
“Certainly in Vanar, the Riders of Valon, the Harlingar, would enjoy your show. And I believe you would make a small fortune there. But what I would ask you to consider instead is to come with me to the Red Hills, and perform for Dalek, DelfLord of my Châkkaholt.”
“Put on a show for a king?” blurted Pipper.
“DelfLords are not kings,” growled Binkton.
“I know that, Bink, but he is the leader of a mighty holt, and putting on our show would be just the same as a royal performance, and if that’s not for a king, there’s hardly a whit’s difference between the two.”
“Yes, but he’s not a king.”
Brekka listened to them quibble for long moments, and then called for quiet between the two and said, “I suppose you could say it’s a choice between fame and fortune: fortune in Vanar, fame in the Red Hills, or at least in the Châkkaholt where I was born.”
Binkton looked at Pipper and asked, “What do you think?”
“We can always go to a large city, Bink, but how often will we get a chance to perform before a king?”
“DelfLord, you mean.”
“Oh, all right, DelfLord. But my question remains the same.”
Binkton turned to Brekka. “The Red Hills it is.”
Eight days later and travelling southeast, the Red Coach stopped at a stone-paved spur leading off to the right and into the ruddy hills looming up alongside Pendwyr Road. A flanking pair of Dwarven realmstones warded the pave, marking the boundary of a Châkkaholt. In the shade of a nearby tree a horse-drawn wain stood waiting, the driver, a Dwarf, sitting with his back to the trunk. Binkton and Pipper and Brekka descended from the coach, and with the aid of the footmen, they unladed the chest and their duffles and set them beside the road. The Red Coach then moved on, even as the wain driver stood and led the horses and waggon toward the trio.
“Brekka,” he called.
“Anvar,” replied Brekka.
City of Jade: A Novel of Mithgar Page 22
