“Pah! They break for camp,” growled Vidron after a moment, “and not to charge the walls below.” The Kingsgeneral sheathed his sword, and for the first time Tuck noted that he as well as Patrel, Danner, and Sandy had put arrow to string. But each one there upon the castle wall had readied a weapon of some sort at the boom of the great beat. Swords and poniards slid with metallic sounds back into sheaths, including Gildor’s Bale; and, as Tuck returned arrow to quiver, he wondered if the others felt as foolish as he did, for even had the enemy charged, the fighting would not have been up here at the fifth wall, but instead down at the first wall, nearly a thousand feet below. Doom!
“Come,” said Aurion, “let us to Council.” Down from the rampart they went, and into the Keep where pages went before, holding lanterns to show the way, for the pallid Shadowlight of the Dimmendark stole not into the castle. The King led them to a room where a great table stood in the center of the floor with massive chairs around, and maps and charts hung upon the walls. This was the War-council chambers, deep within the castle—but even here the renewed beat of the Rûcken drum sounded, slow and muffled and distant. (doom!)
Other Men came: Hagan of Valon, young and strong and flaxen haired; Medwyn of Pellar, grizzled and gnarled but with bright alert eyes; Overn of Jugo, fat he was, with a great black beard and bushy eyebrows; Young Brill of Wellen, tall and slender, an air of detached inwardness, some said he was a berserker; and Gann of Riamon, taciturn and reserved, perhaps the best tactician there. A mixed lot they were, yet warriors all, and with Vidron and Gildor they formed the High King’s War-council at Challerain Keep. Into this company came Tuck, Danner, and Patrel, and Tuck felt as out of place among these soldiers as would a child in a council of elders. (doom!) All took seats ’round the table, including the young buccen, who found that they had to sit upon the chair-arms to see and be seen over the flat expanse.
King Aurion spoke: “Warriors, we have fallen upon dire times. (doom!) The enemy numbers at least ten times our strength, and they surround our position: we are besieged. Too, others of Modru’s forces move south, and we are helpless to stop them. Would that I knew where mine own Host stands, or when they will come: even now the Legion may be marching north, yet we know not, for Modru’s curs waylay the messengers, and perhaps the muster has not yet begun. But no word has come from the south, not even by bird, and I fear they all be slain by black gor-crow, Modru’s allies of old. And so it seems with the Horde ’round our walls, none shall come lest it be borne by the Host itself.
“When last we met we chose two plans, each based upon the strength of the enemy: in the first we would take to the field and set our force ’gainst Modru’s; in the second we would defend these walls, and hold until the Legion arrives. Well now the enemy is come, and his numbers would seem to leave us little choice but to defend the ramparts, for we are beringed by a mighty Horde, and, mark me, they will attack. (doom!)
“I have called you unto me to ask if there be aught we can do but wait for the enemy to strike. Has any seen some weakness in the Swarm we can turn to our vantage? Have we any option but to ward the walls of Challerain Keep? Advise me now; I listen.”
No one spoke for long moments, and, reluctantly, Tuck stood in his chair and was recognized. “I am sorry, Sire, for being so stupid, but I have a question: why has not the enemy attacked? For what do they wait?”
The King looked to Lord Gildor, who said, “We know not the mind of the Enemy in Gron, nor the full disposition of his strength. Yet the Horde without surely awaits something. (doom!) I know not what, but something evil, of that you can be certain.” Lord Gildor fell silent, and Tuck felt a chill in the very marrow of his bones.
“How long can we last? Food and drink, I mean,” asked Patrel.
“Perhaps six months; no more,” responded fat Overn, “if we can repulse them from the bulwarks.”
“Won’t that be difficult?” interrupted Danner. “I mean, our warriors will be spread thinly along the walls. It looks as if they could break through anywhere.”
“Yes, Sir Danner, you are right,” answered Medwyn of Pellar. “It will be difficult, especially on the lower walls; in fact, those ramparts we expect to fall.” (doom!)
“What?” burst out Patrel. “You expect them to fall?”
“Indeed,” answered Medwyn, “for the lower walls stretch around the base of the mont and our numbers are too few to defend their great length against such a vast Horde. But the higher up the mont we come, the shorter it is around, and the less length we have to defend. Thus, as we fall back to successive ramparts, our strength effectively multiplies, for the perimeter of our defense grows smaller. Think of it this way: but a few sturdy warriors are needed to hold a narrow way—such as a bridge or a pass—for no matter how great is the enemy army, they can come at the defenders only a few at a time. Hence, a squad may defy a legion, just as we will defy the Horde—though we may have to fall back unto the last wall itself to do so.” (doom!)
Again Tuck’s blood ran chill, and his mind was filled with visions of hordes of ravers swarming up and over the castle walls. (doom!)
“But, Sire, I do not comprehend,” said Patrel. “You expect to fight losing battles upon the lower walls, ever retreating higher until at last we defend only the castle, where perhaps our perimeter will be constricted enough to withstand this awful Horde. And for how long? Six months at most, for then our provisions expire. Sire, perhaps I do not understand the plan aright, for it seems to me that we but put our heads into a noose fashioned by the enemy, and he will draw it tight until we strangle.” (doom!)
“Nay, Captain Patrel,” answered Aurion, “you understand the plan perfectly, for that is exactly our strategy, our road to victory.”
“What?” burst out Danner, leaping to his feet, his face livid, shaking off Tuck’s hand, reaching out to restrain him. “A road to victory, you say? A path to destruction, I call it. I say let us cleave into their ranks and engage them in battle. If we are to die, let it be in full attack and not while trapped like cornered rats!”
Young Brill’s eyes flashed hotly, and so, too, did Hagan’s as well as Vidron’s, seeming to agree with Danner, for this strategy suited their bold natures. But Gann of Riamon quietly held the floor: “And what, Sir Danner, will such a move gain?”
“Why . . . why . . . “ spluttered Danner, “we’ll take many of the maggot-folk down with us. Die we will, but a mighty swath we shall cleave among them.” (doom!)
“And then what?” Gann’s voice was coldly measured.
“Then what, you ask? Then what?” Danner ground his teeth in fury. “Nothing! That’s what! Nothing! We’ll be dead, but so will many of the enemy. Yet we will have died a warrior’s death, and not that of a trapped animal.”
“Precisely,” said Gann, now standing, “and therein lies the flaw in your ‘plan.’ You would have us sally forth and do glorious battle with the Horde. Yet you yourself recognize that such a course leads but to Death’s domain. Perhaps, though, we will be mighty and slay two or even three of them for each of us who falls. Yet, heed me: when we have all died your ‘warrior’s death’—each of us having taken our quota of the enemy down into the darkness with us—there will still be a vast Horde left standing, a Horde now free to ravage southward,” Gann’s fist smashed to the table, “crushing those in its path.” (doom!)
Gann’s eyes swept ’round the table, and it became clear to Tuck that the Man spoke to Vidron and Hagan and Young Brill as well as to Danner. “Attack? Nay, I say, for that path leads to a roving Horde free to savage the Land. Defend Challerain Keep? Aye, I say, for then we pin the Horde unto this place. And when the Host comes, ’tis the Spawn who will be trapped, and not we.” Gann sat back down, and Danner’s smoldering amber eyes refused to look into Gann’s cold grey ones, for the Warrow could see the clear logic of the Man’s argument; but still Danner seemed unwilling to accept Gann’s strategy, for it went against his grain.
“Ah, Wee One,” rumbled Hagan, his voice deep, �
��we in the War-council thought the Horde might be large, though we did not expect the vast number that came. We have argued this plan and others many times; and I know how you feel, for I sense we are much alike in this, you and I. It galls the spirit to be ever on the defensive, ever in retreat. Attack! That is our solution to life’s ills. Attack!”
Tuck was amazed at Hagan’s keen insight into Danner’s nature, for Tuck knew the Man was right. Danner did attack when faced with life’s ills, be it fear, trouble, a different viewpoint, or any other adversity: when Danner was crossed, he attacked; even when it led toward undesired ends, Danner still attacked. Why Tuck had not seen this about Danner before, he did not know, for it now seemed so obvious. It had taken two complete strangers—Gildor earlier and now Hagan—to show Tuck this truth about Danner’s nature, and Tuck did not think that either one of them would ever know just how clear their sight had been.
Tuck’s thoughts were wrenched back to the problem at hand as Vidron spoke: “Aye. Gann’s words ring true, and his strategy seems sound, for without moving we stop this Horde here in a place of great strength: we hold the high ground and our defenses are mighty. But there are these problems with the plan: First, we may not be able to hold the walls ’gainst this might. Second, even if we do hold, our own Legion may not come soon enough or in enough strength to defeat this Horde. Third and last, Modru may have other Swarms raving across the Land that are the equal of or greater than that which we face: a smaller one passed to the east, as you well know. Three things I have named, and if one or more of these three are true, then this strategy is not best, though it may be too late to do aught else.”
“Fie!” snorted Medwyn, starting to rise, but Aurion Redeye held up a hand, and reluctantly the Man from Pellar sank back.
“Let us not again stir up that particular hornet’s nest of plans and counterplans,” said the King, “for we have been stung too many times by the barbs of argument from both sides, and the balm of logic here does little good to soothe away the passion, for there are too many unknowns, and the best way is not clear.
“Instead, this I ask: ye have all seen the numbers of our enemy, and they are mighty: Is there aught else we can do, now that we know what we face? Does another plan come to mind we have not already discarded?” The King slowly looked ’round the table, his eye resting upon each one there: Gildor, Vidron, Gann, Overn, Medwyn, Young Brill, Hagan, Patrel, Danner, and finally Tuck. Each shook his head, no, and Tuck felt as if he had somehow failed when it came his turn to answer. (doom!)
“Then this War-council is done.” Aurion stood, but before leaving he turned to the Warrows. “Sir Tuck, move your belongings into my quarters, for I want you at my side should I need eyes to see through the Dimmendark. Captain Patrel, you’ll stay in Lord Gildor’s rooms, and Sir Danner, with Marshal Vidron. I return to the walls.”
The three young buccen entered the barracks to find that they were the last to remove their things to other quarters. The hall was empty and silent, abandoned, somehow forlorn. Tuck scooped up his bedroll and pack and took a long look around, and no happy Warrow chatter fell upon his ears, nor did smiling young-buccen eyes look into his own. A great lonely feeling welled up through his being, and his sapphirine eyes brimmed with unlooked-for tears. Without speaking, he turned and trudged toward the barrack doors, and Danner and Patrel walked with him. And as the trio crossed the courtyard, they did not look back.
~
Tuck went alone to the King’s quarters, bearing a lantern to light the way. He placed his belongings by a couch in the anteroom, selecting it as his sleeping cot. When he returned to the wall, Tuck found the King on the west end of the north rampart. Vidron and Danner were there, too, as well as Argo, now assigned to the Castle-ward company on duty. As Tuck came up the ramp he saw that all eyes were straining northward, and there was a stir of excitement. “What’s all the fuss?” Tuck asked, joining the others.
“Out there, Tuck, look,” said Argo, pointing far to the northwest. “Nearly beyond seeing. I can’t quite make it out. What is it?” (doom!)
Tuck looked and at first saw nothing. He scanned intently, but still could see only the distant dark. Just as he was about to say he saw nought, a flicker caught his eyes, and at the very limit of his sight he saw . . . motion, but just of what he could not tell.
“Catch it out of the corner of your eye,” said Danner, trying an old night-vision trick.
“I don’t know,” said Tuck after long moments, looking both sidelong and direct. “Perhaps . . . horses. A force upon horses, running swiftly.”
“See!” crowed Argo. “I told you! That’s what I think they are, too, Tuck, but Danner says no.”
“Nar, I only said that it was too far to say,” growled Danner. “Besides, it could just as well be Hèlsteeds as horses.”
“Well, whatever it is, it’s gone,” said Tuck, unable to see it any longer.
“Yar,” said Danner, “it’s gone: lost in the Dimmendark.”
King Aurion, again frustrated at not being able to penetrate the murk cried, “Rach!” and struck the stone curtain with the edge of his fist. Then he mastered his ire and turned to Argo and said, “Pass the word among your Folk: search the very limits of the darkness for this and other sign. Mayhap some Waerling will see what we could not, and then we will know whether it is for good or ill.” (doom!)
~
When Tuck crawled wearily into his bed in the King’s antechamber, the great Rûcken drum continued its leaden toll (doom!) sounding the pulse of the waiting Horde—but what they waited for, Tuck could not say. His mind was awhirl with the day’s events, and though exhausted, he did not see how he could sleep with the Keep surrounded by the enemy and a great drum throbbing. Yet in moments he was in deep slumber and did not awaken when at last Aurion passed through on his own weary way to bed. And all that night Tuck’s dreams were filled with fleeting glimpses of swift dark riders sliding in and out of distant shadows—but whether they were Men on horseback or Ghûls upon Hèlsteeds, he could not tell. And somewhere a great heavy bell tolled a dreadful dirge: doom! doom! doom!
~
Twice more before Tuck returned to the ramparts, movement was seen upon the edge of darkness at the very limit of Warrow vision—yet none could say what made it. These as well as other matters were brought to the attention of the King as he took his breakfast with Vidron, Gildor, and others of the War-council. Rage crossed the King’s features when a messenger came bearing the news that the Rukha now plundered the barrow mounds along the north wall. “If, for nought else, they shall pay for this,” he said grimly, and Tuck shuddered at the thought of the maggot-folk digging in the barrows and looting the tombs of dead Heroes and Nobles and of Othran, the Seer.
To take his mind from the grave robbers, Tuck turned to Danner: “I dreamed last night of riders in the dark, but whether they were Men or Ghûls, I could not say.”
“Ar, dreams didn’t disturb me: I slept the sleep of the dead,” answered Danner.
“I kept waking in the night,” put in Patrel, “and, you know, every time I looked up, Gildor was sitting at his window seat, softly strumming his harp. Once, when I asked, he said not to worry, that the sleep of Elves is ‘different’—but just how, he did not say.”
“I wonder what he meant, different?” Danner pondered, but before they could say on, it was time to go.
They rose and donned their outer winter garb and then strode through the halls and out upon the cobbles. When they came into the frigid air, Tuck was grateful for his snug eider-down clothing even though it hid his splendid silveron armor, for he thought that only a fool would exchange warmth for vanity.
As they went toward the ramparts, Danner said to Tuck, “I’ve been thinking about the pickle we’re in. What it all boils down to is that the Horde still waits . . . for who or what, no one can say; and our own forces stand ready to defend the walls, falling back until we are trapped in this . . . stone tomb. I don’t like it, Tuck, I don’t like it at all, thi
s waiting to be trapped; instead, give me the freedom of the fens and fields and forests of the Seven Dells, and the Horde will rot before they conquer me there.”
“I agree with you, Danner,” said Tuck, “this waiting is awful. All we seem to do is wait, peering out over the enemy into the darkness beyond, rushing from this wall to that to see something—who knows what—flickering through the shadows, and all the while just waiting, waiting for the blow to fall. I feel thwarted, too, Danner, and trapped, and it’s only been one ’Darkday! Lor, what are we going to do if they stand out there for weeks, or months? Go crackers, that’s what. But let me point out one thing: we are not waiting to be trapped, we’re already trapped. Now we have no choice but to follow Gann’s strategy, and hope it works: by staying here, we pin the Horde, too. And when the Host comes, the tables will be turned, for then it will be the Swarm who will be trapped.”
“Only if the Host comes in enough force, and only if we can hold Challerain Keep,” said Patrel. “As the King said, even his Host will be hard pressed to defeat this Horde; and as Vidron pointed out, should the Keep fall, the Horde will be free to strike southward.” (doom!)
On they went, and Tuck noted that ashes and cinders had been spread upon the paths and up the ramps and along the battlement ways, for the hoarfrost and ice made the footing treacherous. The cold was bitter, and hoods were pulled up and cloaks drawn tightly about to fend off the icy clutch.
At last they looked down upon the Horde, and it was vast and mighty (doom!) and beringed the mont. Again Tuck felt a bodeful dread as he once more saw the great array. Yet the enemy had moved neither forward nor aback since he had last seen them; instead, they waited. (Doom, doom!)
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