“This, also, I know: were the . . . were the Lady Laurelin able to say, she, too, would urge you south, to save the Realm, for you are King.”
Tuck fell silent, his face to the window, and Galen said nought.
There came a knock at the door, and the Elf Lords Talarin and Gildor entered. Talarin spoke: “Galen King, the time has come to choose.”
Galen’s voice was grim, barely above a whisper. “South. We ride south. For I am King.”
A dreadful pall fell upon the hearts of those in the room, and Tuck wept bitter tears.
~
Long moments fled, then Gildor stepped to Galen’s side. “When last I saw your Lady Laurelin,” said Gildor, “she bade me to stand by the King and advise him, and I gave my pledge. Now you are King, Galen, and if you will have me in your Company, I would ride south with you, for I would not break my word to that young damosel.”
Galen simply nodded.
At last they walked down from the guest quarters and joined the Lady Rael seated at a large table. Upon hearing that Gildor would fare with Galen, Rael smiled. “It has ever been so that the High King has accepted one of the Lian Guardians unto his service,” said the Elfess, and she reached out to clasp Talarin’s and Gildor’s hands. “It pleases me that you accept our son, as did Aurion, your father.”
Gildor is Talarin’s son: thought Tuck, somewhat astonished, looking from one to the other. No wonder they favor. Then Tuck’s eye glanced from Rael to Gildor: Yet there is something of Rael in him, too.
Food was served and they broke their fast. And while they ate, they were joined by another, one who looked to be Gildor’s twin: Tuck stared in amazement from one to the other, yet, but for their clothes, he could not tell them apart.
The stranger smiled at the Warrow’s confusion, and winked.
“Ah,” said Talarin, looking up, “Vanidor.” The Lian Lord turned to his guests. “Galen King, Sir Tuck, this is my other son, Vanidor; he is but three ’Darkdays back from abandoned Lianion, the First Land, the domain also known as Rell. He can tell you of the regions to the south, toward your goal of Pellar.”
Vanidor bowed to Galen and Tuck, then sat and took a bowl of dele, a type of porridge, but like no other Tuck had ever tasted, for it was delicious.
“Lianion falls into darkness,” said Vanidor. “Modru’s myrk hides all: down the Grimwall it has stalked, reaching nearly unto the Quadran when last I saw, some fifteen ’Darkdays past.
“Your mission is to Pellar, and so you must fare south through Lianion, but not upon the Old Rell Way, for that is the route of the Rûpt: Ruch, Lok, Ghûlk, Vulg: they, too, march south along the Grimwall, following the tide of the Dimmendark.”
“Crestan Pass, it is near,” said Galen. “Can we not take the Crossland Road up and the Landover down to come to the Argon: If unfrozen, we could ride that river south along the marches of Riamon and Valon to Pellar.”
“The River Argon is frozen, Galen King,” answered Vanidor, “in the north, that is, perhaps unto Bellon Falls. Even so, you could not cross the Grimwall at Crestan Pass, for it is winter, and the cold is too bitter at those heights. Too, the approaches are held by the Spaunen. Nay, your first chance to pass over the Grimwall will be perhaps at Quadran Pass—if it is not snowed in or held, also.”
“If Quadran Pass is blocked by winter or foe,” said Gildor, “then Gûnar Slot will be our next chance, then through Gûnarring Gap to Valon and along Pendwyr Road to Pellar.”
“Can the enemy be that far south?” asked Tuck, remembering the maps of the War-council.
“Perhaps, perhaps not,” answered Vanidor. “Their goal could be the Quadran, for under those four mountains lies Drimmen-deeve, where rules the Dread: And if the Dimmendark sets that creature free, then Darda Galion will be their target.”
At Vanidor’s pronouncement, grim looks came upon the visages of Talarin, Gildor, and Rael, for dearly did they love Darda Galion, Land of the Silverlarks, Land where grew the twilight Eld Trees, home now of the Lian. And for a Gargon to be free to rave into that faer sylva would be a dire prospect, indeed.
“This, then, is my advice,” said Vanidor: “Go south through Arden Vale to come to Lianion. Follow parallel to the Old Rell Way and not upon it, for there go Spaunen. You can try to cross the Grimwall at Quadran Pass, and if the way is free you can fare south through Darda Galion where our Lian kindred will aid you on your way.
“Should the Quadran Pass be held by the foe, or if it is closed by winter snow, then you must turn south once more for Gûnar Slot, or even Ralo Pass beyond, and then to the Gûnarring Gap and on to far Pellar.
“Because I know not the mind of the Enemy in Gron, none of these ways over the Grimwall may be open and how you will ultimately come to Caer Pendwyr I cannot say, yet there you must go, and those are the choices before you.”
Galen nodded his understanding, but it was Talarin who spoke next: “Galen King, if I thought it would help, I would send an Elven warrior escort with you. But I think that evil eyes would follow a large force and set a trap, where but two or three might slip south undetected.
“This, too, I say: Aurion King was a loved friend and we share your loss. And we know you journey southward when your heart cries out, north. And though my son has not told you, last night we held counsel and debated our course should you choose north, or south. You have chosen south, and this is now our plan: Vanidor, Duorn, and two you have not met—Flandrena and Varion—will slip into Gron. By stealth they will approach the Iron Tower, and if there be aught a way to rescue your Lady Laurelin, they will do so. Else, they will bring word of Modru’s forces at his strongholt, so that when the time does come at last, we will know something of the Enemy’s strength and disposition. This we will do while you muster the Host.”
Galen said nought, but there stood tears in his eyes, and he gripped Vanidor’s hand.
~
“Prince Igon is awake, Galen King,” said the healer. “Pray, tax him not.”
Galen and Tuck stepped through the door. While Tuck stood at the portal, Galen stepped to the bedside. Igon smiled wanly, the youth pale in the yellow lamplight. Galen spoke: “We now go south, my brother, to gather the Host.”
“South: But no!” Igon protested, his voice weak and atremble. “Laurelin is north!” Then he seemed to see the Waerling for the first time. “Sir Tuck, why are you here: Challerain Keep . . . Father . . . “ There was a silence, and then Igon asked, “Are you King now, Galen?” At Galen’s nod the young Prince wept. “Then it was not a fevered dream as I had hoped. Father is dead.” He turned his face to the wall.
The healer made motions to Galen, and the new King took his brother’s hand and held it in his own two. “We must go now, Igon. The Horde must be stopped.”
Galen loosed Igon’s hand and gently stroked the young Prince’s hair, then stepped to the door where stood Tuck. Igon turned his face to them. “I understand, Galen. I understand. You are King, and the Host is south.” And as Galen and Tuck passed through the door, behind they could hear Igon’s quiet weeping.
~
Now it came time for the parting, and Tuck and Galen stood in the company of Elves. And neither the Dimmendark nor the solemnity of the occasion could dim the fair brightness of the Lian. Beautiful Rael stood with Talarin and at their side was Vanidor. As they stood, three rode up: Duorn, Flandrena, and Varion: with Vanidor, they would essay into Gron and attempt to reach the Iron Tower itself. Assembled there, too, were other Elves: warriors in the main: Lian Guardians.
Gildor, Galen, and Tuck stood before Talarin; and the warrior leader of Arden Vale turned and held out his hand, and Rael the Elfess came to stand at her Elf Lord’s side. “Galen King,” said Talarin, “ere I bid you and your comrades farewell, I would have my Lady Rael speak, for her words often bear portents.”
The gentle voice of the graceful consort fell softly upon their ears: “Galen King, the way before you is arduous, for the Land is fraught with dire peril. Along your path will lie g
reat danger, yet unbidden aid will be found there, too, just as you and others before you found our aid here at the Hidden Stand. Now you and your small companion go forth with my son, and you take all of our blessings with you. Yet hearken: even as you three fare south, four others will bear north.” Now Vanidor and his three companions came to stand before golden Rael, too. “And so both of my sons—Gildor Goldbranch and Vanidor Silverbranch—as well as all of us are caught up in events of Modru’s making.
“And that is what Evil does: forces us all down dark pathways we otherwise would not have trod. By choice we would not have stepped out upon these courses, yet little or no choice are we given, and our energies are turned aside, turned away from the creation of good and toward the destruction of Evil. Make no mistake, Evil must be crushed, not only to eliminate the suffering Evil causes, but also to atone for the good lost. But if for no other reason, Evil must be destroyed so that we can once more guide our own destinies.
“Until that time the fates of us all are intertwined, yet the fortune of one weighs heavily upon me. Ever have there been soothsayers in my lineage, and auguries come unannounced at times. Yet this sooth has long been upon me, since the flaming Dragon Star fell, but now seems to be the time to speak it:
~
Neither of two Evils must thy strike claim;
Instead smite the Darkness between the same.”
~
At these words, Tuck’s heart pounded unexpectedly, but he did not know why, and he did not understand the message. And Tuck looked to see that the others were just as puzzled as he by Rael’s rede, yet what she said next only added to the mystery: “I know not what it means nor to whom its portent bodes.”
Rael moved to the wayfarers and pressed the hand of each, kissing Gildor and Vanidor upon the cheek. And when she stood before Galen she said, “We will tend young Igon until he has the strength to join you. Hence, fret not upon his state as you fare south, for that would be needless worry.” Then she stepped back to Talarin’s side and spoke no more, though her eyes were bright.
Now Talarin spoke: “Galen King, should your course be through Darda Galion, bear our greetings to our Lian kindred; they will help you on your way. Unlike Arden Vale, their Realm is wide and their strength is great. Yet this, too, I will say: though my warrior band in Arden is small, still Modru’s minions give the Lian wide berth, for they fear us. Yet though the Dimmendark does not grasp this vale as much as it cloaks it, if the Spaunen are left unchecked, there will come a time when they will fall upon us, both here and in Darda Galion; and we, too, will drown beneath that dark tide. But ere then, with good fortune, you shall guide the force to shatter Modru’s black dreams of power. And now this last: when you need us, we will be at your side.”
Now all the wayfarers mounted up, and Tuck was boosted astride the pack horse to sit before the supplies strapped to a cradle cinched to its back.
Galen upon Jet turned to Vanidor and the three Elven comrades who went to steal into Gron. “My heart goes with you to the holt of Modru Kinstealer. May fortune smile upon you.”
Then Galen faced Talarin and Rael and the Elven gathering, and he raised his hand. “Dark days lie behind us, and darker days loom ahead, yet by my troth one day the Evil in Gron shall be overthrown and the bright Sun shall shine again down into this deep-cloven vale.”
Galen flashed his sword from its scabbard and to the sky and cried to all: “Cepân wyllan, Lian; wir gân bringan thê Sunna: (Keep well, Lian; we go to bring the Sun!)”
Gildor, too, raised his sword, as did Vanidor. “Cianin taegi: (Shining days!)” cried Gildor. “Cianin taegi!” answered Vanidor, and a great shout rang up from all.
And as the sound echoed through the pines, Galen, Gildor, and Tuck started south while Vanidor, Duorn, Flandrena, and Varion set off for the north.
And Tuck on the pack horse being led by Gildor on Fleetfoot spoke quietly under his breath: “May the fair face of fortune smile upon us all.”
~
South they rode, Gildor, Galen, Tuck, alongside the frozen Tumble River running through the deep cleft of the vale. Pines covered the valley floor, and craggy stone palisades could be seen rising steeply up into the Shadowlight. Narrow was the vale, at times pinching down to widths less than a furlong from wall to wall, and in these places the river spanned the full vale width; in these narrow gaps, pathways could be seen carven upon the faces of the stone bluffs, but the trio shunned these icy ways, choosing instead to go upon the frozen surface of the river below.
Long they rode down the vale, yet when at last they stopped to make camp, still they were between the high stone walls, for Arden Vale was lengthy. Some thirty-five miles they had ridden south, and Gildor said that perhaps fifteen miles more lay ahead ere they would leave the gorge.
Their supper consisted of Lian wayfarer’s food: dried fruit and vegetables, hot tea, and, much to Tuck’s delight, mian, a delicious Elven waybread made of oats and honey and several kinds of nuts. “Sure beats crue all hollow,” said the Warrow, taking another bite and savoring it.
Tuck prepared to bed down, for he was weary and had the mid-watch and so needed sleep. But ere doing so, he reclined against a log by the small campfire and wrote in his diary. Nearby, Galen sat with his back to a tree and gazed at the red eye-patch in his hand.
“Lord Gildor, speak to me of the last hours of my father.” Galen’s voice was low, nearly a whisper.
Gildor looked upon the Man and then spoke: “When there we stood upon the final parapet of Challerain Keep and chose that last desperate course—to break through the Rûpt ring and win free—I felt a deep foreboding and this I said to thy sire: ‘Beware, Aurion King, for beyond yon gate I sense a great Evil lurks, an Evil beyond the Horde at our door, and I deem it bodes ill for you.’ Little did I know that at the north gate of the first wall would we be met by Ghûlka led by Modru.”
“Modru?” cried Tuck, sitting bolt upright with a start.
“Aye, Modru,” answered Gildor. “It was he who taunted the King before the sundered gates.”
“But that was a Man!” exclaimed Tuck. “The Man from Hyree: Modru’s emissary!”
“’Twas Evil Modru who spoke at the north gate,” answered Gildor, but ere he could say more, Tuck interrupted.
“Then Danner slew him.” Tuck’s fist smacked into palm. “Danner’s arrow struck him full in the forehead, crashing into his brain; he was dead even as he pitched backward off his Hèlsteed.”
“Nay, Wee One,” answered Gildor, holding up a hand to forestall Tuck’s protests. “It was only one of Modru’s puppets that was slain. Did I not say that Modru uses hideous powers to command his Horde: This, then, is one of them: though the Evil One sits afar in his Iron Tower, still he can look out upon distant scenes through the eyes of his emissaries, listen through their ears, speak through their mouths, and at times slay through their hands. None knows how far he can reach out to possess his pawns, but his power is great. Yet perhaps it diminishes with distance.
“Nay, it was not the Evil One himself slain by Danner’s arrow, though I think Modru felt the unexpected blow. Yet, at the most, Danner’s bolt has but delayed Modru’s plans: for Danner slew the puppet, and now Modru has lost his eyes and ears, his mouth and hands at Challerain Keep—though another pawn by now must have been sent to take the place of the one slain, for Modru will not long allow the Horde to sit idle at the Mont.”
Tuck shuddered at the thought of the Evil One possessing another; and now the Warrow understood why the emissary’s slack face writhed and became evil when Aurion and Tuck came to parley: It was Modru “taking over.” And Tuck thought he knew, too, why the emissary did not join in that treacherous fight upon the parley field: If the hideous power diminishes with distance, it just might be that Modru back in Gron could not control the Hyranan well enough to engage in combat upon the fields of distant Challerain.
Tuck’s speculations were interrupted by Gildor speaking: “Galen King, thy sire won through the north gate af
ter you and your band broke the Ghûlka ring. Yet he was sorely beset, and had taken many wounds. But still he fought with the strength of many. At the last he was surrounded, and pierced through by Ghûlken spear. Even with the lance in him, he slew two more foe ere he fell forward to Wildwind’s back.”
Gildor drew his long-knife and sword and thrust them out before him. Each held a blade-jewel, one blood-red, the other ocean-blue, and they glinted in the firelight. “Even with these two blades, Bale and Bane, still I could not win to his side in time to save him. Yet the scarlet fire of Bale and the cobalt blaze of Bane drove the Ghûlka back, for they fear these weapons forged long ago in Lost Duellin, forged to battle evils such as they. When they fled, I caught up Wildwind’s reins and rode free of the mêlée.
“On a nearby slope, I eased Aurion King to the ground. He said but one thing ere he died: ‘Tell Galen . . . Igon . . . I chose freedom.’ Then he was gone. What he meant, I do not know.”
Tuck sat with tears in his eyes. “I know the pith of his words,” said the Warrow. “When the emissary . . . when Modru met us on the field to parley, he offered to spare the King’s life in return for the surrender of all of us into slavery. But the King said, ‘Pah: Say this to your vile Lord Modru: Aurion Redeye chooses freedom!’“
For long moments no word was said, and the only sound was the crackle of the fire. At last, Gildor stirred. “I cut loose the eye-patch so that none would know him or defile his body, and so that Modru would not know that Aurion King had been slain. Then I laid his sword beside him and composed his hands over his breast, and remounted Fleetfoot to return to the fray.
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