At last the Warrows were relieved by the Men of the Castle-ward, though no one could tell when the Sun had set in the grim cold, for only near noon could the faint disk be seen, and it faded beyond sight as the orb fell toward the unseen horizon. Time now was measured in candlemarks and by the waterclocks and sand, and though it was now reckoned to be nighttime, neither Moon nor stars shone through the Dimmendark from the skies above. Yet still the harsh land below could be seen in the spectral Shadowlight.
~
After a troubled sleep, the Warrows arose to, as Danner put it, “A dawnless ‘day,’ if time in the Dimmendark can be measured in ‘days,’ that is: though Lord Gildor says that the days have now fled, and the ’Darkdays are come upon us.”
Dread filled the mess hall, and voices were grim and hushed. And after breaking their fast, once more the young buccen took station upon the walls of the Keep, and gazed out upon the darkling land, out into the Shadowlight. Time wearily passed and the stone of the walls grew bitter, for the cruel grasp of Winternight clutched full upon the hills and plains, and hoarfrost crept upon Challerain Keep, and ice rimed the battlements and glittered coldly.
King Aurion with Lord Gildor came once more unto the north rampart, riding caparisoned steeds into the bastion gorget below. Now they were armed and armored, with the King bearing a great sword at his belt and a spear in his hand. Lord Gildor had a lighter sword at his own girt, with an Elven long-knife to one side. They were clad in chain mail and capped with helms of steel. The King wore red and gold, Lord Gildor, Elven grey. The King’s grey horse, Wildwind, and the Elf’s white-stockinged chestnut, Fleetfoot, pranced and sidled as they came into the gorget, but stood quietly as the riders dismounted.
Up the ramp strode the two to join Tuck and Patrel, and Aurion stared out into the spectral dark, but little did he see in the ghostly werelight.
“How far see you, Lord Gildor?” asked the High King.
“To the fifth rise, no more,” answered the Elf.
“Ai, that is a far sight in this icy shadow,” said King Aurion. “Mine own one eye is accounted good among Men, yet I but see to the first, nay, the second rise. Perhaps a mile or two at most.”
Aurion turned to Tuck and looked at the strange Warrow orbs, and even in the Shadowlight the young buccan’s tilted eyes were bright and sapphire blue. “How far see you, Wee One?”
“Sire, I see north one hill further than Lord Gildor and even beyond a bit, out upon the plains, but after that I see nought but darkness,” answered Tuck.
“Ai!” cried Gildor in wonderment. “Never before have the far-sighted Elven eyes been bested at seeing. Yet here in this baffling shadow it happens. The vision of your strange eyes now proves to see beyond those of the First Folk in this Shadowlight. Yet, it is said among my kindred that the Waerlinga have talents not easily seen, and now I find it is true. Perhaps there is more to the tale of your Utruni eyes than I had thought to be.”
“Utruni eyes?” asked Tuck, puzzled. “Do you mean Giants?”
“Aye,” answered Gildor. “It is believed among my Folk that the Wee Ones have in them something of each of the other Free Folk: of Elf, Dwarf, Man, and Utruni. In this case, even though the shape of Waerling eyes is the same as Elvenkind’s, the hue is like that of the jewel-eyes of the Utruni.”
“Jewel-eyes? The Giants had jewel-eyes?” blurted out Patrel.
“Yes,” answered Gildor. “Great gems of eyes: ruby, emerald, opal, sapphire, amber, jade, and many other gemstones did their eyes resemble. Once I saw an Utrun with eyes of diamond.”
“You saw? You saw an Utrun?” Tuck was astonished. “But I thought the Giants were no more.”
“Nay, in that you are wrong.” Gildor’s own green eyes looked sad. “Though it has been many long seasons since I last saw Utruni, they exist still, but deep within the living stone of Mithgar, moving through the solid rock far below, toiling in their endless fashion to shape the Land. Aye, they live, but it is not likely that they will ever again help us surface dwellers in our petty struggles.”
“Oi!” said Patrel, sharply. “I just remembered: there’s an ancient Warrow legend that we are of the Giants.”
“Ar, few would say they believe that hoary tale,” said Tuck. “I mean, how could the smallest of Folk come forth from the largest?”
Gildor answered Tuck’s question with a question of his own: “Who knows the way of Adon?” The Elf paused, then: “Have I not said there seems to be in you something of each of the High Folk, even the Utruni? Mayhap that is why you see farther than Elves in this Shadowlight, for Utruni eyes are strange, too.”
“And you say that we have eyes like theirs?” Patrel asked. “Gemstone eyes?”
“Nay, Captain Patrel, I say only that the hue of your eyes resembles theirs,” answered Gildor. “The clear Waerlinga eyes are emerald green, or golden amber, or sapphire blue: three bright colors only, as you well know. Utruni eyes have many more hues, and seem to be the actual gemstones they resemble; moreover, they see by a different light than we, for it is told that they can peer a distance through solid stone, and we are but insubstantial shadows to them. How they came to notice us in the Great War against Gyphon, only Adon knows, though fragments of lost legends have it that here, too, Waerlinga played some unknown but key role in gaining their aid.”
“Are they as tall as I’ve heard?” asked Tuck.
“I know not what you have heard, but twelve to seventeen feet the grown ones reach in height,” responded Gildor. “Yet wait, we could speak many days upon these strange Folk, and perhaps a time will come when we can talk at length about the Stone Giants, but now we must lay that aside and wrench our talk back to this War:
“King Aurion, I think we must turn the far-seeing eyes of the Wee Folk to our good. We know not how distant the eyes of the enemy forces can peer through this darkness sent by Modru, yet if the Waerlinga can see farther than the foe, then that will give us great vantage: advantage to set our forces beyond their vision and watch them come into our traps, and then strike swiftly and with deadly force, falling upon them out of the cover of their own dark myrk.”
King Aurion struck a fist into his palm and a fierce smile broke his frown. “Hai! At last a ray of hope. If you are right, Lord Gildor, if the Wee Folk can see farther than the eyes of the enemy, then they will prove to be the key to our tactics: for we shall place Waerling eyes throughout our forces and swoop down upon the Horde like hawks upon rabbits.”
“Hsst!” Gildor suddenly held up a hand for silence, his head snapping up, and he listened intently. “A drum tolls.” Swiftly Gildor drew sword from scabbard and held the weapon high, and lo! set within the blade was a rune-carved blood-red jewel, and deep within the gem pulsed a ruby light! “Bale whispers Evil comes,” said the Elf, and he leapt to the wall and turned his head this way and that, trying to locate the drum sound. Tuck, too, as well as the others listened attentively, but they heard nought. “From the north it comes,” said Gildor at last. Long moments fled, and all the while the faint glow grew within the scarlet jewel, and Tuck knew that he looked upon one of the “special” Elven weapons forged long ago by the House of Aurinor. And he reckoned the jewel-fire signalled that evil drew nighr. And so they peered through the murk and listened, all eyes and ears.
“Hoy,” breathed Patrel, “I hear it now.”
So, too, did Aurion; and at last Tuck detected the faint throb of a distant drum: boom, boom, boom. All about them on the walls, others, too, heard the regular throb: boom, boom, boom. Slowly, ever so slowly, the leaden pulse became louder. Boom, boom, boom! And Tuck’s now-racing heart kept double-time to the thud. Boom! boom! boom!
“So ho! Tuck!” A call from Finley sounded above the ominous beat. “Look out beyond the hills!” Boom! Boom! Tuck and Patrel peered intently to the north, and Tuck’s heart leapt to his throat and his blood surged in his ears. Boom! Boom! Doom!
“What is it?” cried Aurion Redeye, his own sight unable to pierce the murk. “What see you?�
�� Yet the Warrows did not immediately answer, waiting to be sure of their words ere speaking, and the pound of the drum came onward. Boom! Doom! Boom!
At last Patrel turned: “Modru’s Horde,” he said, his voice grim, a fell look in his viridian eyes. “Modru’s Horde is come and their numbers are endless.” Doom! Boom! Doom!
And out on the prairie vast arrays marched toward Challerain Keep, file after file emerging from the black Shadowlight, like a great flood of darkness pouring forth over the snowy plains, covering it with thousands upon thousands of Modru’s ravers. Before them loped the savage black Vulgs, and within the ranks marched dark Rûcks and Hlôks. Upon Hèlsteeds amongst the Horde rode the corpse-white Ghûls. And they came to the pulse of a great War drum: Doom! Doom! Doom!
~
Into the foothills they came, flowing toward the Keep, and now Gildor’s vision could see them, too, and his eyes glittered in the Shadowlight as he watched them pour forth, and now the ruby flame from Bale’s blood-jewel flickered along the edge of the blade.
Doom! Doom! Doom!
King Aurion peered intently, and he struck the stone curtain in frustration. “Still I cannot see them. What are their numbers? The arrangement of their march? What kind of forces?”
Patrel spoke: “Thousands do I see; I cannot guess at their number, yet more come through the ’Dark behind. They are spread on a wide front, perhaps a mile or so. Most are what I take to be Rûcks, though among them stride the taller Hlôks, while one in a hundred are mounted Ghûls, and Vulgs range wide to fore and flank.”
Aurion’s face turned ashen to hear such dire figures, for his forces were meager compared to the Horde. “Is there aught else?”
“Nay, Sire,” answered Patrel, “except that more march out from the ’Dark.”
Doom! Boom! Doom! Boom!
The sound of drum was answered by a stirring call of Valonian horns, and Tuck looked down and saw the army of Challerain Keep march out to take up positions upon the hills below: pikemen to the fore with archers behind, foot soldiers with halberds and swords and axes came next, and mounted riders of Valon in back with spears that would be couched for the charge through lanes when the enemy hove to.
“But Sire,” protested Patrel, “they are too many and we too few to meet them in open battle. We have not one-tenth their forces. It would be senseless sacrifice to set our handful ’gainst their Swarm.”
“Pah!” grated Aurion. “Could I but see them, then would I know whether to strike hard or withdraw. Rather would I cleave into their ranks in fury than to fight like a cornered badger.” He turned to Gildor.
“I think, Sire, that Captain Patrel is right,” said the Elf and sheathed burning Bale. But Aurion said nought in return, and Tuck’s spirit wrenched in desperation as he watched the vast array inexorably march through the hills toward the King’s forces. Yet Tuck, too, said nought, though his eyes brimmed with tears of distress.
Doom! Boom! Doom! Boom! Onward came the enemy. Vidron strode up the ramp and stood beside the King. At last the Horde hove into the range of Man-sight, and Aurion Redeye blenched to see the Swarm in all its numbers. With a groan, the High King signalled to Vidron, “Sound the withdrawal. They are too many to meet upon the field.”
Vidron lifted his black-oxen horn to his lips and an imperative call split the air: Hahn, taa-roo! Hahn, taa-roo! (Return! Return!) From the distant force below came a faint horncall. “Sire,” rumbled Vidron, “Hagan questions the order.”
Doom! Boom! Doom! Doom!
“Ah, Vidron, your Captains of Valon are brave, yet bravery alone is not enough to whelm that Horde. Only the numbers of mine own Host can even begin to challenge such a might, and they are yet far south. “ King Aurion looked weary. “We have no choice but to follow the War-council’s plan to defend the walls.”
Hahn, taa-roo! Hahn, taa-roo! demanded Vidron’s black horn. Slowly the meager army of Challerain Keep withdrew, coming at last through the first wall, and the gates clanged shut behind.
Boom! Boom! Doom! Doom! onward came the Horde, a dark flood. Now the sharp Warrow eyes could see that among the Hlôks were those who lashed at the Rûcks with whips of thongs, driving them forward if any lagged or strayed in the slightest.
Boom! Doom! Boom! Still the vast Horde poured forth out of the blackness, and among the ranks were carried standards bearing Modru’s sigil: a burning ring, scarlet on black, the sign of the Sun Death. And where the standards were, there, too, rode Ghûls upon Hèlsteeds, pacing the Swarm forth. And they came until they were just beyond bowshot from the first wall, nor could mangonels fling missiles to reach their ranks. With a hideous, chilling howl, like that of a Vulg, a Ghûl in fore-center flung up his hand, tulwar raised high, and so signalled all the Ghûls. A harsh blat of Rûcken horns sounded, discordant and grating, and the ranks of the Horde split, like a vast flood cleaving around a great rock, curving east and west and south again. Once more the chilling Ghûlen howl rent the air, and as if released from a duty, the Vulgs left the Rûcken Horde and raced away to the south. Swiftly they ran, as if following the wave of Dimmendark engulfing the lands afar. At last their black shapes were lost to Warrow sight, and the beasts passed beyond seeing, leaving the Horde and Keep far behind. And still the Swarm curved ’round the mont, at last to come together on the far side, beringing the walls.
And then the great drum pulsed loudly: DOOM! DOOM! DOOM! and fell silent.
The Horde ground to a halt and stood facing Challerain Keep, and the only sound was that of a thin chill wind gnawing through the merlons on the ramparts of the besieged mountain city.
~
An hour passed, and then another, and still the Horde stood fast, facing the Keep. On the ramparts the King paced back and forth, like a caged lion, and he would stop for long moments to stare down at the silent foe and then resume his pacing. At last he called Vidron and Gildor unto him, and they spoke softly. After a moment he summoned Patrel. Tuck, nearby, heard the King’s words: “Captain Patrel, we must have sharp Waerling sight throughout the ranks of my forces, for only the strange jewel-eyes of your Folk have the vision to see afar through this myrk. And though it means a separation of kith from kith, friend from friend, and like from like, still I must ask that Waerlinga be at the right hand of as many of my Captains as are your numbers, save this: I would that you and your two lieutenants remain with me and join my War-council, for I deem it will take all three of you to be our far-seeing eyes throughout the long days ahead.”
Thus it was that the Warrow Company of the King was dispersed among the armies of Challerain Keep, and Tuck, Danner, and Patrel joined the War-council of the High King. Yet as had been foreseen by the King himself, although the Wee Folk were honored by the special role given them by Aurion Redeye, still they were stricken by the sundering of their Company. And Tuck was filled with the feeling that somehow he was abandoning the young buccen of his squad, or that he was being forsaken by them. Too, he felt guilty that he and Danner and Patrel would perhaps remain together while each of the other young buccen would be alone among strangers; the only consolation being that they were all still in Challerain Keep and would at times see one another.
Lord Gildor turned to Patrel. “Captain, if you will be my sharp-eyed comrade, then I’ll teach you the harp while you show me the lute.” Patrel’s features split in a wide grin, and he inclined his head, accepting the Elf’s offer.
King Aurion cocked his eye toward Marshal Vidron, who said: “Sire, it would please me if Sir Danner would peer through the blackness at my side.” At the King’s nod, Vidron strode off toward the south rampart to find Danner.
Thus it was that to Tuck fell the honor of being the far-seeing eyes of the High King. “Come, Wee One, walk with me while I take Wildwind back to the stables; you can lead Lord Gildor’s Fleetfoot,” said Aurion, and he and Tuck strode down to the horses while Patrel and Gildor remained behind upon the ramparts.
~
“Sire,” a herald came breathless unto the King, “Lord
Gildor sends word: something is afoot along the eastern flank.”
“Sir Tuck!” called the King, and the young buccan popped out of the stall where his grey pony was stabled, a curry comb in his hand. “Swift, to the east wall we go,” barked Aurion, and Tuck spun and set aside the comb while snatching up his cloak. Legs churning, the Warrow had to run to catch the King, as Aurion strode rapidly out and across the courtyard. Up a ramp they went and to the midgorge of the east bulwark. There stood Gildor and Patrel, while Danner and Vidron came from the south.
“There,” said Gildor, pointing.
Tuck looked, and a large force of Ghûls, Hlôks, and Rûcks could be seen to the east, marching southward. Far they were, just within Gildor’s seeing, and no sound came unto the ramparts from their distant tramp. Like a sinister gliding shadow, they flowed through the werelight and across the land. All this Tuck described to Aurion while Vidron listened, for the force was beyond Man-sight.
Patrel said, “Sandy spotted them about an hour ago. Out of the north they came, and south they go, but where they march, I cannot say.”
“Perhaps they march upon Weiunwood,” said Danner. His fists were clenched.
“Or Stonehill.” Aurion’s voice was grim.
“Mayhap they have discovered that Arden Vale is an Elven strongholt,” said Gildor, gripping the pommel of his long-knife. “Perhaps they will strike east for Talarin’s hidden valley. Yet I think they would assault that gorge from the Grimwall. Aye, it’s Weiunwood or Stonehill they march upon.”
Yet wood, village, or valley, none knew whence the force was bound; and Man, Elf, and Warrow stood as the buccen watched the distant Horde silently pass once more into the ominous ’Dark. And when none of the Warrows could any longer see it, Aurion sent heralds to call his War-council together. But as the King turned to go down into the castle, Doom! the mighty drum of the Horde sounded. Doom! again came the pulse, and from the walls Tuck could see a great stir among the Rûcken ranks. His heart leapt to his mouth, and swiftly he nocked an arrow to his bow, his eyes never leaving the enemy. Doom!
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