~
Again they went upon the eastward track, moving through the Shadowlight of the Dimmendark, Tuck’s jewel-hued eyes scanning to their limits. Yet naught did he see but the bleak ’scape of Winternight, and onward they pressed. And though he did not remark upon it, Tuck knew that this ’Darkday was Year’s End Day; tomorrow would be Twelfth Yule, Merrilee’s name-change birthday, the first day of a new year—and Mithgar was in chaos.
~
The next ’Darkday, Year’s Start Day, a snow began to fall, and Galen raged at the darkling sky, for the Ghûlen track before them began to fade ’neath the new fall. Eastward they rode for many hours, and the snow swirled thickly. Now at last they could no longer see the Ghûlen wake, yet Lord Galen continued onward; but what track he followed or what sign he used to guide him east, Tuck did not know; yet the young buccan sensed that eastward they went, for Warrows are wise in such matters.
Then before them, through the swirling snow, dark shapes loomed. Trees! Thickly wooded! “Lord Galen, a forest lies ahead,” said Tuck, his voice muffled by his hood drawn tight.
“Aye, I see it,” answered Galen, for in the heavily falling snow the Warrow’s sight was no better than the Man’s. “It is the Weiunwood, I deem.”
Weiunwood! An ancient homeland of the Warrows. Settled before the Boskydells. Steaded in the last days of the Wanderjahren, near the end of the long journey of Homecoming. Weiunwood, a shaggy forest in the Wilderland north of Harth and south of Rian. Weiunwood, now stark in winter dress.
“Slip behind me, Tuck,” said Galen, “for we know not what we may meet therein.”
Into the barren woods they rode, and still the snow eddied down. Now Jet was slowed to a walk, picking his way through the trees. They came among a stand of ancient oaks, and rode through into a glade. Across the open space they went, but ere they entered the oaks again:
“Chelga!” came a sharp cry, and Tuck was astounded, for it was a command in the ancient Warrow tongue and meant, “Stand still and speak your name.”
“Ellil! (Friend!)” cried Tuck, and urgently whispered, “Stop Jet, Prince Galen, for we are under the eyes and arrows of my kindred.” And the black horse was reined to a halt.
“Chelga!” came the command again, and Tuck slipped over the tail of the steed and to the ground and stepped to the fore casting back his hood and calling out:
“I am Tuckerby Underbank, Thornwalker of the Boskydells, and my companion is Prince Galen, son of High King Aurion.”
“Welladay now! Why didn’t ye say so in the first place?” came the voice from on high, and Tuck looked up to see a golden-eyed young buccan step out along one of the great limbs of an oak to the fore. In one hand he bore a bow, string nocked with arrow. “From the Bosky, are ye now? And ye, my Laird, is yer sire Redeye himself?”
Tuck nodded and Galen laughed, the first merry sound Tuck had heard in many a day.
“Well, then, I am called Baskin, and I come from the Westglade, south of here,” said the young buccan. “Where be ye bound?”
“Sir Baskin,” answered Galen, “we are on the track of a large force of Ghola. East they fled from a slaughter of innocents, perhaps with a hostage or two. They would have passed through here perhaps five ’Darkdays agone. Have you seen aught?”
“Nay, Laird Galen,” responded Baskin. “But five ’Darkdays past we were locked in great struggle with Modru’s Spawn. Whipped ’em, too, we did now: striking hard and melting back, and they couldn’t get their grips on us. Three ’Darkdays we fought: the Warrows of Weiunwood, the Men of Stonehill, and Elves from Arden: and a fine Alliance it is, for now the Spawn march east, lickin’ their wounds, passin’ us by.
“Yet as to the ones ye’re chasin’, they could have come here and none may know the better for they could have passed through unseen. Perhaps they joined the struggle, though I’m sure I can’t say.” Baskin paused in thought. “But wait, if perchance someone spied them then they would have sent word to Captain Arbagon. When my relief comes in an hour or so then I’ll take ye to my squad’s camp, and get ye a guide to haul ye to the Captain.”
And so they waited while snow fell to earth from the Dimmendark sky above. And while Baskin stood guard, both Tuck and Galen sat with their backs to the great oak and dozed, for they were weary. An hour passed and then another, and at last Baskin’s relief came riding a small brown pony. Wide were the Warrow’s emerald-green eyes to see Tuck and Galen, and he was but barely introduced—Twillin was his name—before Baskin fetched his own hidden steed and led the strangers away.
~
“Aye it’s Captain Arbagon yer lookin’ for, and he’s to the east, followin’ the progress of the nasty Spawn, makin’ sure they’re pullin’ no tricks whilst they run away.” The speaker was Lieutenant Pibb, leader of the squad assigned to keep watch in this area of the Weiunwood. “After ye’ve had yerselves a good rest, Baskin’ll lead ye to him, and if anyone has reported sight of them that ye’re after, then he’ll have the word.”
“Ye’ll like Arbagon,” said Baskin, “for a great buccan warrior is he. They call him Rûckslayer, now, for he slew many in battle. And once he even rode a horse to combat—one that was runnin’ free, its own master felled. Arbagon got so mad, he got on that horse and rode it to the fight; and it was a real horse, too, and not a pony like Pudge there. Ah, ol’ Arbagon must’ve been a terrible sight upon that great beastie.”
Tuck looked at Jet tethered nearby and wondered how a small Warrow could ride in command of such a large creature.
~
With his stomach full of the first hot meal he’d had in more than a week, and with a Warrow squad standing guard close by, Tuck slept the sleep of the dead. Yet he did vaguely recall having a bodeful dream, one filled with visions of pursuit and dread—but whether he was chasing or being chased, he could not say.
~
Sometime during the hours they slept, the snow stopped. Yet the track of the Ghûls had long been hopelessly lost, and when Tuck awakened, his spirit was at a low ebb, for if Laurelin or Igon had been captured, Tuck did not see how they could be found even with Arbagon’s advice.
After breakfast, Baskin led them away through the winter forest, following unmarked Weiunwood trails. Tuck was again mounted before Galen upon Jet, for Pibb’s squad had no ponies to spare for Tuck’s use.
As they went they varied the pace of the steeds, at times dismounting and walking, for the trek to Arbagon’s camp was a long one. During one of these walks, Baskin told them of the Battle of Weiunwood, at times his voice chanting like that of a skald’s: “Three ’Darkdays we fought and had many battles, the first one bein’ where the Elves led the Rûcks and the Hlôks headlong into a trap. Right into the gorge they ran, and we hurled rocks and boulders down upon them and set great logs to rolling, smashing them flat.
“But they were too many, and so we slipped away into the forest, Warrows leading Men and Elves alike. By the hidden pathways we went, brushing the snow behind to hide our tracks except where we wanted them to follow.
“In a great loop they chased us, to come runnin’ out of the trees where they’d started. Oh, ye should’ve heard them howl in rage.
“Back into the ’Wood they ran, right into another trap, can ye believe? This time we fought with sword and pike and arrow, and a great slaughter befell the Rûckish Spawn.
“Out we drove them screamin’, runnin’ for their safety, for they didn’t know how to fight among the trees, using them for shields and wards.
“And that was the end of the first ’Darkday.
“Now they licked their wounds for hours, but then the Ghûls came. Oh they howled in anger, made my blood chill to hear it.
“Once more into the woods they came, this time creeping forward in caution. Before them we faded like smoke, drawing them into deadfalls and staked pits, flying arrows at them from hiding, felling at a distance. Still they came on as we drew back.
“And that was the end of the second ’Darkday.
“
At last, toward the great oak maze we led them, and into it they walked unsuspecting. Now their great force divided as they became confused, wandering among this wood.
“Split they were into several factions, and we came upon them one at a time, slaying one group then falling upon another, till they ran forth shrieking in terror.
“Now the Ghûls became enraged, and to the woods they thundered in wild fury, upon Hèlsteeds swift and dark. A hundred raced in among the trees, where Men with long pikes lay in hiding. Now the pikemen leapt up to their feet, the lances braced well upon the ground. It was too late for the Ghûls to turn, and into the great spears they rode full tilt, impaling themselves upon the wood. Elves with bright swords sprang among the fallen: snick snack, they cut them into pieces. A hundred Ghûls had charged in fury; less than thirty fled in fear.
“And that was the end of the third ’Darkday.
“Toward the east they withdrew, marching for the Signal Mountains, skirting the Weiunwood, passing us by.
“Hundreds upon hundreds we had felled, but we escaped not unscathed, for many of our brethren had fallen: Men, Elves, and Warrows alike. And whether or no we can fight like that again, I know it not, for the tally of our slain was considerable.
“Yet this I say: Evil Modru will think twice before comin’ at the Weiunwood again, for it’ll cost him dear to conquer these glades.”
With that, Baskin leapt astride his pony while Tuck and Galen remounted Jet, and through the woods once more they rode. And Tuck could nought but marvel at the victory won by the Alliance of Weiunwood.
Baskin’s steed, Pudge, was quick through the woods, and they covered nearly thirty miles before making camp. And all the time they rode they saw neither Warrow, Man, nor Elf, though Tuck felt that they were safe, as if well-watched by the shaggy Weiunwood itself.
~
Early after breaking camp, they rode into the site of the Weiunwood Alliance. Men, Elves, and Warrows were there, and all looked curiously at Tuck and Galen upon Jet as the black horse followed Baskin’s pony to camp’s center.
Arbagon Fenner, buccan, Captain of the Warrows, was at the main fire: small he was, three inches short of Tuck’s height, sapphire-eyed, brown-haired. When he learned of Lord Galen’s identity, heralds were dispatched, and soon a rotund Man, Bockleman Brewster of Stonehill, arrived and knelt unto the Prince. Shortly thereafter came a tall Elf, Inarion by name, one of the Lian Guardians from Arden. These three—Arbagon, Bockleman, and Inarion—captained the Weiunwood Alliance.
~
“Well now, that’s a bad piece of news that I never thought to hear,” said Bockleman Brewster, wringing his hands in front as if wiping them upon the apron he customarily had worn as proprietor of the White Unicorn, the inn in Stonehill. “The Keep burnt and abandoned. What will Modru do next, I wonder?”
“Whatever it is, I’m thinkin’ he’ll steer clear of the Weiunwood, after the drubbin’ we’ve dealt him.” Arbagon stood up to his full three-foot-three-inch height and fetched another cup of tea for Tuck.
“Be not certain of that, Small One,” said Inarion, softly, “for we are a thorn in Modru’s side that he will want to pluck forth once he can bring his full weight to bear upon us. We met but a tithe of his strength, and then it was all we could do to fend them aside.” The Elf turned to Tuck. “Those we met in battle must have been but a splinter of the Horde that brought down the Keep.”
“Perhaps you fought that distant force we saw from afar marching to the south,” said Tuck, harking back to the first ’Darkday the Horde had come to Challerain Keep.
“Well, splinter or Horde, they’ll not root us out of these deep woods,” responded Arbagon, “no matter how many they send against us.”
“But, Arb,” objected Bockleman, “they won’t have to come in and get us: Modru’ll just starve us out. You can’t grow crops in Winternight, and that’s a fact. All he has to do is wait till our food runs out, and then we’re done for.”
“Ye may be right, Bockleman,” answered Arbagon, “and ye may be wrong. But, thinkin’ like Modru: what’s the good of conquerin’ Mithgar if ye don’t bag a bunch o’ slaves to do yer biddin’? And how can ye keep a crop o’ slaves if ye don’t raise a crop o’ food to nourish their bodies? I say this: Modru has some trick up his sleeve to banish the cold once he’s brought Mithgar to its knees. Then we’ll have crops aplenty to sustain us in our fight.”
Inarion shook his head and smiled at Galen. “The debate goes on, and neither knows the mind of the Evil One. Bockleman is right, I think, in that Modru will take vile glee in starving many of us, warrior and innocent alike; as long as his power holds icy Winternight o’er the Land, crops will not grow, for there will be no spring nor summer, and no autumn harvest. Yet I think canny Arbagon has a strong point upon his side, too: Modru must have some plan for bending us all unto his will and tormenting us in the endless years of slavery thereafter; and this he cannot do if there is nought to keep us alive.”
“Ar, you’re right as rain about one thing, Lord Inarion: none of us knows the mind of Modru,” said Bockleman. Then he turned to the Warrow Captain. “Arb, we don’t need to inflict ourselves on our visitors.” Now Bockleman turned his gaze upon Prince Galen: “Baskin tells us you and Master Tuck ride on a quest, m’Lord.”
“Yes, Squire Brewster,” answered Galen. “We follow a force of Ghola, perhaps one-hundred strong. They butchered the folk of a waggon train upon the Post Road, on the north margins of the Battle Downs. The Ghola left the slaughter behind, their track beating east. This path in the snow we followed, but the storm of two ’Darkdays past has covered their wake, and we know not their destination. And my betrothed, Princess Laurelin, as well as my brother, Prince Igon, may be hostage of the ravers.”
“Hostage?” Bockleman and Arbagon burst out together. Inarion shook his head in regret.
“Such a force did pass eastward,” said the Elf, “on the first ’Darkday of battle with the Spaunen. We were just out on the plains, my Company from Arden, horseborne, ready to flee before the great force of Rûpt, to lure them into the trap we had set within the woods. From the west came the band of Ghûlka you name; to the east they went. Ah, but we did not think they may have had hostages among them, and so we did nought to stop them. Yet even as they went by, our plan was already in motion, and we were running south toward the forest, drawing the Spaunen behind. “ Inarion fell silent.
“Aye,” continued Arbagon, “Warrow sentries elsewhere saw them, too. Our eyes followed them as they skirted east. When last we sighted them, five ’Darkdays past, they had swung a bit south as east they bore.”
“What lies east and south?” asked Tuck. “What goal?”
Arbagon looked to Inarion, then said, “Many things: the Wilderness Hills, Drear Ford, Drearwood, Arden, all of Rhone, the Grimwall. Pah! I name but a small part of where they could be bound; who knows their goal?”
Inarion pondered. “Drear Ford and Drearwood beyond, I would say. It was a fell place before the Purging. Perhaps they seek to make it a dread region as of old.”
Arbagon pointed to a trail between two great pines. “Then that’s the way to follow, for it runs through these woods to the Signal Mountains, and beyond them lies the open plain to Drear Ford on the River Caire.”
“Hoy!” Bockleman interrupted, “didn’t the north lookouts also tell of a lone rider on the same course, a ’Darkday or so behind?”
“Man or Ghol?” Lord Galen’s voice was tense.
“That I cannot say,” answered Arbagon. “Ghûl we thought, but Man it might have been.”
Lord Galen turned to Tuck. “Sir Tuck, I must ride on, and soon. It would be better for you to stay with your kith in Weiunwood. Here you have food and shelter and companions to aid you: a safe haven. Whereas I ride after one-hundred enemies, and . . .”
“Nay!” Tuck sprang to his feet, his denial vehement. “You cannot leave me behind, for I love Laurelin as a sister, and Igon as a brother. If they are captive, then you will need
my bow.” Tears welled in the young buccan’s eyes. “Lord Galen, if you tell me that Jet cannot bear my weight, then I will take a pony and follow after. And if a pony I cannot have, then I will run on foot. But afoot or on pony, I will follow, even though I come days late. Hlafor Galen, tuon nid legan mi hinda! (Lord Galen, do not leave me behind!)” Tuck started to kneel to the Prince, but Galen raised him up ere he could do so.
“Nay, Tuck,” answered Galen, “Jet can bear thy weight as well as mine; that is not why I would have thee stay. Tuck, I follow a hundred Ghola, to who knows what end? It will be dangerous beyond compare, and I would not have thee fare ’gainst such ill odds.”
“I remind you, Lord Galen,” Tuck held his bow on high, his voice grim, “I have slain more than eighty Rûcks with this; know you another warrior who can say the same?”
“Eighty?” Arbagon’s jewel-blue eyes went wide with wonder, and Bockleman put his hand to his mouth in astonishment.
“And I thought I had done well to slay eight,” breathed Arbagon.
“And I nine,” added Bockleman.
“Hai, Warrior!” cried Inarion, leaping to his feet and flashing his sword on high, then bowing to Tuck to the wonder of those nearby in the camp. Inarion then turned to the Prince. “Lord Galen, you forget one thing: you must take Sir Tuck, for you will need sharp Warrow eyes for vantage o’er the foe.”
Before Inarion could say on, there was a great hubbub from the south, and into the camp an Elf on horseback thundered, hauling the steed short. “Alor Inarion!” cried the rider from the back of the rearing horse, “The Spaunen turn! They attack the Weiunwood from the east, from the Signal Mountains!”
Horns sounded, and Man, Warrow, and Elf alike sprang to their feet. Pikes were hefted, and bows and swords sprang to hand. Ponies and horses were mounted, and quickly the force gathered to sprint southward to meet the enemy’s thrust.
Inarion came leading a grey steed. “Prince Galen, come with us to fight the foe, or stay till we return. Then I and others will join you on your quest.”
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