The Iron Tower Omnibus

by Dennis L McKiernan

  The Iron Tower

  A NOVEL BY

  Dennis L. McKiernan

  ISBN 978-0-9903555-5-7

  Thornwall Press

  Tucson

  The characters and events and locations in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Copyright © 1984, 2000, 2019 by Dennis L. McKiernan

  Cover photo

  Cover design by Dennis L. McKiernan

  Cover design © 2019 by Thornwall Press

  Thornwall Press is wholly owned by Dennis L. McKiernan

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

  Thornwall Press

  2115 N Wentworth Rd

  Tucson, AZ 85749-9741

  First e-book edition, August 2019

  ISBN 978-0-9903555-5-7

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  Works by Dennis L. McKiernan

  The Black Foxes Series

  Caverns of Socrates

  eBooks

  Shadowtrap (formerly titled Caverns of Socrates)

  Shadowpreyl (coming soon)

  The Faery Series

  Once Upon a Winter’s Night

  Once Upon a Summer Day

  Once Upon an Autumn Eve

  Once Upon a Spring Morn

  Once Upon a Dreadful Time

  The Mithgar Series

  Tha Iron Tower

  The Silver Call

  The Dragonstone

  Voyage of the Fox Rider

  Hel’s Crucible duology

  Book 1: Into the Forge

  Book 2: Into the Fire

  Dragondoom

  Stolen Crown

  Tales of Mithgar (a story collection)

  The Vulgmaster (a graphic novel)

  The Iron Tower (omnibus edition)

  The Silver Call (omnibus edition)

  The Eye of the Hunter

  Silver Wolf, Black Falcon

  City of Jade

  Red Slippers: More Tales of Mithgar (a story collection)

  Other eBooks

  Jezebel

  At the Edge of the Forest

  Strange Visions (a story collextion)

  The Iron Tower

  In Woody Hollow

  With a final burst of speed, the young buccan Warrow raced through ankle-deep snow, his black hair flying out behind. In one hand he carried a bow already nocked with an arrow, and he sprinted toward a fallen log, clots of snow flinging out behind his flying boots; yet little or no sound did he make, for he was one of the Wee Folk.

  ~

  It was a harsh winter, one said to be unnatural, or so they claimed in the One-Eyed Crow. And the ’Crow was rife with rumors, those telling of Wolves raiding flocks and sinister creatures slinking about and dreadful beings lurking just beyond the Thornwall. Yet all is not ill, for young buccan Warrows are training to be Thornwalkers, and they’ll patrol the bounds and deal with the Wolves and guard against any dreadful others.

  Thus begins The Iron Tower, a heart-pounding fantasy that twists and turns throughout—involving omens and ancient legends and dark forces and prophecies . . . and the return of a malevolent one. And as with any Dennis L. McKiernan story, prepare to laugh and weep and curse and shout for joy and suffer in silence and be captured by words and read till the early hours, even though school or work or other obligations must surely be waiting in the wings of morrow.

  You have been warned.

  Acknowledgments

  To my wife, Martha Lee, who is my first reader, and who kept me from including too many bloody viscera scenes

  And a special thanks to Michael Stackpole, fellow author and good friend who helped me with the ins and outs of e-book formatting.

  Too, I would like to extend that special thanks to Frankie Robertson (also a fellow author and good friend) for pointing the way to the uploading of e-books onto Amazon.

  And another special acknowledgment to my two sons:

  Daniel, who maintains my Mithgar.com website, and who contributed two maps used in this book—Arden Vale and Stonehill.

  Patrick, who produces audio and video trailers for my other eBooks on my website.

  To my very own Merrilee

  Martha Lee

  And to Laurelin

  Tina

  And the ichor and thees and thous

  are respectively dedicated to

  the memory of

  Ursula K. Le Guin

  Notes

  In the text, so as to keep the reader from looking up translations of foreign phrases and words, or looking at a footnote, for many of them (but not all) I have included a parenthetical translation immediately following the foreign phrase. But for those not translated, the meaning is left to the imagination of the reader.

  And for some “combined words” such as, say, DelfLord, soldier onward, dear reader, for the spelling is I want it to be.

  Maps

  The Maps in this eBook version are best seen on an iPad or other touch-screen-equivalent device, one loaded with the Kindle app (application). Just tap the map and then expand it (as you would a photograph),

  Also, all of the maps are hand sketches and represent my best guess at the geographical features of the realms and lands and oceans (I was working from tattered documents and stone carvings and old oral stories and other clues). In some cases, I hand lettered the maps; in other cases I used program fonts. I could use all program fonts, but there seems to be a bit of tradition in leaving the hand-lettered ones as they were originally drawn.

  Let me additionally say that, woth my permission, two friends, Jack Cook and Neal Ulen, took the time to generate maps based on my original maps of “The Brega Path” and of “A Part of Mihgar.”

  Jack produced maps hand-drawn on canvas, and he graciously sent me copies. He and I ran some contests, the prizes being a copy of his “Brega Path” rendition or a map of “A Part of Mitgar,” each with a letter of authentication, signed by me and stamped with my wax seal.

  Neal, on the other hand, generated a fully colored map of “A Part of Mithgar” and made it available to Mithgar fans for use in following the Warrows and Elves and Dwarves and Humans and others on their adventures through this perilous world. You can see and use this map at:

  Mithgar.com/map

  HTTP://Mithgar.com/map/

  As I said above, Neal’s map is best viewed on an iPad or other touchpad, or on a computer screen. I am not certain it will show up well on, say, a Kindle reader.

  Foreword Again

  This will be the third time I have written a foreword for The Iron Tower. The first time was for the initial release of the tale in the original hardcover and paperback editions of the trilogy. Then I wrote Forward Anew for the omnibus paperback edition. Now I write Foreward Again for the omnibus eBook version.

  Even though this eBook is an omnibus edition, I have formatted it in three sections which echo the trilogy.

  During the proofreading few minor corrections were made and a very few editorial changes; that’s because I am a better writer now than when I first penned this tale. But I am very proud to say that when I copyedited the story I laughed aloud at some passages, and I found the tale most gripping in other places, and tears spilled at still other places.

  This is a helluva good story, I say to myself.

  Some might say I ripped off Tolkien, but I say not. Even so, much credit it due to him. He was and is an inspiration to many of
us.

  Before I wrote The Iron Tower, I wrote The Silver Call, and together they were published in five books. Since then I have written thirteen more books in the Mithgar Series, five books in the Faery Series, two books in the Black Fox Series, three other eBooks (see the list somewhere near the front of this eBook),

  Thank you JRRT for your inspiration.

  And now, on to The Iron Tower.

  Book One

  ~

  The Dark Tide

  “And that is what evil does: forces us all down dark pathways we otherwise would not have trod.”

  ~Rael of Arden

  January 10, 4E2019

  1

  Thornwalkers

  With a final burst of speed, the young buccan Warrow raced through ankle-deep snow, his black hair flying out behind. In one hand he carried a bow already nocked with an arrow, and he sprinted toward a fallen log, clots of snow flinging out behind his flying boots; yet little or no sound did he make, for he was one of the Wee Folk. Swiftly he reached the log and silently dropped to one knee, quickly drawing the bow to the full and loosing the arrow with a humming twang of bowstring. Even before the deadly missile had sped to the target, another arrow was released; and another, another, and another—in all, five arrows were shot in rapid succession, hissing through the air, striking home with deadly accuracy.

  “Whang! Right square in the center, Tuck!” cried Old Barlo as the last arrow thudded into the mark. “That’s four for five, and you would’er got the other, too, if you’d’er held a bit.” Old Barlo, a granther Warrow, stood up to his full three-feet-two-inches of height and turned and cocked a baleful emerald-green eye upon the other young buccen gathered on the snowy slopes behind. “Now I’m telling all you rattlepates: draw fast, and loose quick, but no quicker as what you can fly it straight. The arrow as strays might well’er been throwed away, for all the good it does.” Barlo turned back to Tuck: “Fetch up your arrows, Lad, and sit and catch your breath. Who’s next now? Well, step up here, slowcoach Tarpy.”

  Tuckerby Underbank slipped his chilled hands back into his mittens and quickly retrieved his five arrows from the tattered, black, Wolf silhouette on the haycock. With his breath blowing whitely in the cold air, Tuck trotted back through the snow to the watching group of archers at the edge of End Field where he sat down on a fallen log, standing his bow against a nearby barren tree. As he watched little Tarpy sprint toward the target to fly arrows at the string-circle mark, the young buccan sitting beside him—Danner Bramblethorn as it were—leaned over and spoke:

  “Four out of five, indeed, Tuck,” Danner said, exasperated. “Why, your first arrow nicked the ring. But Barlo Stingy won’t give you credit for it, mark my words.”

  “Oh, Old Barlo’s right, you know,” replied Tuck. “I hurried the shot. It was out. He called it true. But you ought to know he’s fair, Danner; you’re the best shot here, and he says so. You’re too hard on him; he’s not a stingy; he just expects us to get it right—every time.”

  “Hmpff!” grunted Danner, looking unconvinced.

  Tuck and Danner fell silent and watched Old Barlo instruct Tarpy, and they carefully listened to every word. It was important that they as well as the other hardy youth of Woody Hollow become expert with the bow. Ever since the word had come from the far borders of Northdell that Wolves were about, in autumn no less, many young buccen—that time of male Warrow-hood between the end of childhood at twenty and the coming of age at thirty—in fact most young buccen of the Boskydells, had been or would be in training.

  ~

  Even before the onset of winter, which had struck early and hard this year, killing most of the late crops, wild Wolves had been seen roaming in large packs up north; and strange Men, too, were spied in the reaches across the borders beyond the Thornwall. And it was rumored that occasionally a Warrow or two—or even an entire family—would mysteriously disappear; but where they went, or just what happened to them, no one seemed to know. And some folks said they’d heard an awful Evil was way up north in the Wastes of Gron. Why, things hadn’t been this bad since the passing of the flaming Dragon Star with its long, blazing tail silently cleaving the heavens, what with the crop failures, cattle and sheep dying, and the plagues that it had brought on. But that was five years ago, and past, and this winter and Wolves and strange happenings was now.

  ~

  And down at the One-Eyed Crow, not only was there talk of the trouble in Northdell, but also of the Big Men far north at Challerain Keep, mustering it seems for War. At the moment, holding forth to a most attentive Warrow audience was Will Longtoes, the Second-Deputy Constable of Eastdell, who, because of his dealings with the authorities, namely various Eastdell Mayors and the Chief Constable in Centerdell, appeared to know more than most about the strange doings abroad:

  “Now I heard this from young Toby Holder who got it in Stonehill—them Holders have been trading with Stonehillers ever since the Bosky was founded, they came from up there in the Weiunwood in the first place, they say—anyway, the word has come to Stonehill to gather waggons, hundreds of waggons, and send ’em up to the Keep.”

  Hundreds of waggons? Up to the Keep? Warrows looked at each other in puzzlement. “Whatever for, Will?” asked someone in the crowd. “What can they want with hundreds of waggons?”

  “Move people south, I shouldn’t wonder, out of harm’s way,” answered Will.

  What? Move ’em south? With wild Wolves running loose and all?

  Will held up his hands, and the babble died down. “Toby said rumor has it that, up to the Keep, King Aurion is gathering his Men for War. Toby said the word is that the Big Folks are going to send their Women and youngers and elders west to Wellen and south to Gûnar and Valon, and even to Pellar.” As Will took a long pull from his mug of ale, many in his audience nodded at his words, for what he said seemed to fit in with what folks had heard before.

  “But what about the Wolves, Will?” asked Teddy Cloverhay of Willowdell, who was up in Woody Hollow delivering a waggon-load of grain. “I mean, wull, ain’t the Big Folks afraid that the Wolf packs will jump their travelling parties, it being winter and all, and the packs roaming the countryside?” A general murmur of agreement came from the listening crowd, and Teddy repeated his question: “What about the Wolves?”

  “Wolves there may be, Teddy,” answered Will, “but Toby says the Big Folks are preparing for War, and that means they’re going to be sending some kith away to safe havens, Wolves or not.” Will took another pull on his ale. “Anyways, I reckon that the Wolves won’t tackle a large group of travellers, the Wolf being what he is, preying on the weak and defenseless and all.”

  “Wull,” responded Teddy, “there ain’t many as is weaker than a younger, or some old gaffer, or even a Woman. Seems to me as they wouldn’t send them kind of folks out west or south to fend against Wolves.”

  Again there was a general murmur of agreement, and Feeny Proudhand, the Budgens Wheelwright, said, “Teddy is as right as rain: folks just don’t send their kin out agin Wolves; not even the Big Folks would do that. It sounds like Word from the Beyond, if you asks me.”

  Many in the crowd in the One-Eyed Crow nodded their agreement, for people in the Boskydells tend to be suspicious of any news coming to them from beyond the Spindlethorn Barrier, from Foreign Parts as it were. Thus the saying Word from the Beyond meant that any information from beyond the borders, from Outside, was highly suspect and not to be trusted until confirmed; certainly such news was not Sevendell Certain. In this case, the Word from the Beyond had in fact come from beyond the Thornwall, from Stonehill to be exact.

  “Be that as it may, Feeny,” shot back Will, fixing the Wheelwright with a gimlet eye, “the Holders are to be trusted, and if young Toby says he saw the Stonehillers gathering waggons to send up to the Keep, and preparing for a stream of Big Folk heading to the south, down the Post Road, then I for one believe him.”

  “He saw them?” asked Feeny. “Well, that’s different. If Toby says he
actually saw them, then I believe it, too.” Feeny took a pull from his own mug, then said, “I suppose it’s the Evil up north.”

  “That’s what they say,” spoke up Nob Haywood, a local storekeeper. “Only I talked to Toby, too, and he’d heard that the Big Folks are saying that it’s Modru’s doings!”

  Ooohh! said some in the crowd, for Modru of Gron strode through many a legend, and he was always painted the blackest evil, and so was also commonly known as “the Evil One.”

  “They say he’s come back to his cold iron fortress way up north,” continued Nob, “though what he’s doing there, well, I’m sure I don’t know.”

  “Oi then, that explains the winter and the Wolves and everything!” exclaimed Gaffer Tom, thumping the iron ferrule of his gnarled walking stick to the floor. “The old tales say he’s Master of the Cold, and Wolves do his bidding, too. Now everybody here knows it started snowing in September, even before the scything, and certainly before the apple harvest. And the snow’s been on the ground ever since, with more coming all the time. And I says and everybody knows that ain’t altogether natural. Besides, even before the white cold came, there appeared them Wolf packs, up Northdell way for now, but like as not they’ll be near Woody Hollow soon. Oh, it’s Evil Modru’s doings, all right, mark my words. We all know about him and his mastery of the cold and the Wolves.”

  A hubbub of surprise mingled with fear rose up in the room, for with these words Gaffer Tom had reminded them all of the cradle-tales of their youth. And the Gaffer had voiced their deepest fears, for if it truly was Modru returned, then it was a dire prospect all of Mithgar faced.