Tuck stood in awe upon the edge of the sheer drop. Far could his eyes see, far across the land below, and in the morning light his vision followed this massive flank; and some seven miles to the east he descried another cataract, an enormous cascade plunging down the face of the Great Escarpment to thunder into the Cauldron: it was mighty Bellon, the falls marking where the great Argon River plummeted down the vast wall. Eastward, beyond the Cauldron, the Argon continued, flowing at the foot of the Escarpment marching off beyond the horizon.
“Lor!” breathed Tuck. “When the Ghûls chased us south from Quadran Pass, I thought the cliff we came down then was a great drop, yet this wall makes that seem but a short step by comparison. How high is this cliff, and how far does it stretch . . . do you know?”
“Aye, Tuck,” answered Lord Gildor. “In places it is two-hundred fathoms from top to bottom, though far to the east it dwindles down to meet the river bank. Here at your feet it drops one-thousand feet sheer. As to its length: eastward it comes twisting behind us, some two-hundred miles from the Grimwall to the Argon there before us; on eastward beyond the Argon, another two-hundred miles it reaches, curving at last southeasterly alongside part of the Greatwood. On this side of the Argon, the escarpment marks the boundary between Darda Galion and Valon: up here to the north it is the Land of the Lian; down there to the south, the Realm of the Harlingar.”
“How do we get down?” asked Tuck.
“By the Long Stair . . . there,” answered Gildor, pointing.
Tuck could see a narrow steep path with many switchbacks pitching down the face of the cliff alongside the silvery cascade of Vanil Falls.
By this way the four descended in single file: Gildor first, Brega last, and Tuck before Galen. Long was the descent, and they made frequent stops to rest, for they found that climbing down a long steep slope was nearly as difficult as climbing up. And all the way down, Tuck pressed against the cliff, for the drop was sheer and frightening. And as they came down, the roar of the water of the Nith plunging into the Cauldron became louder and louder, and they had to shout into one another’s ear to be heard; but finally all converse became impossible as they neared the bottom, a half mile south of where Vanil Falls thundered into the churn. And rainbows played in the great swirls of mist.
At last they reached the banks of the Cauldron, and in the roar Gildor led them to a grove of willows and pointed out a hidden Elven craft. Quickly they embarked, and by hand signals Gildor directed them along the southern shoreline of the churning water, their powerful strokes driving the boat through the swirling eddies and across the tugging backwash.
A mile or so they went, and again they could hear loud speech as the roar of the Vanil cascade receded behind them. But ahead Tuck could now hear the rumble of Bellon Falls, though it was still some six miles distant.
Swiftly they paddled, all but Tuck, and the banks of the Cauldron sped by. A mile, then two they swept, hugging the south shore, and the water became choppy and full of swirls, and once again they could not hear to speak. Another mile passed, and then one more, and the endless yell of Bellon hammered at Tuck and shook his small frame. Here the Cauldron began twisting the boat this way and that, but the skill of the three paddlers kept the craft on course. Another mile they went, and now they were at their closest approach to mighty Bellon, thundering some three miles to the north across the Cauldron; yet the towering curve of the sheer stone of the Great Escarpment hurled the shout of the mighty cataract out upon them, and its whelming roar rattled Tuck’s every bone and jarred his teeth, and his very thoughts were lost in the thunderous blast. Now it was all that the three could do to keep the craft driving straight, for here the chop and churn was great; yet on they pressed, past Bellon.
And as they went by, Tuck squinted and blinked with watery eyes at the great cascade: more than a mile wide, it was, and a thousand feet high; yet where Vanil had fallen silvery, Bellon was tinged pale jade.
East they went, slowly passing beyond the great falls; but it was long ere the roar began to diminish, and still they fought the Cauldron’s churn. On they pressed, and the shout lessened, and the chop quelled; and at last the boat passed out of the swirls and eddies, for now they came to where the Argon gathered itself up once more to flow toward the distant Avagon Sea. And as the craft slipped out of the Cauldron and into the laminar flow, Tuck knew that now began their long trip down the Argon to the ferry.
Behind them, Bellon roared on, but by raising their voices, again the comrades could talk.
“In the Châkka speech we call that great cataract Ctor,” called Brega. “In the Common Tongue, that means Shouter. But though it is called Ctor, never did I dream that its voice was so great.”
“Bellon shouts louder still to the Argon merchants,” spoke up Galen, “for these River Drummers come even closer to its yell. They portage their trade goods up the Over Stair—there upon the Great Escarpment—coming within a mile of the bellow. They are said to stuff beeswax in their ears to keep from going deaf.”
Tuck looked to where Galen pointed, and winding up the face of the escarpment just to the east of Bellon was another path, a portage—the Over Stair—a trade road considerably broader than the narrow path they had descended back at Vanil Falls. But even though the Over Stair was wider than the Long Stair, still Tuck would not have traded routes, for he could not imagine being closer to Bellon than they had been; and he could fancy his mother saying, “Why, it just might rattle a body apart!”
~
Now began the journey down the Great Argon River: East they went, alongside the Great Escarpment, rearing a thousand feet upward on their left; to their right lay the grassy plains of the North Reach of Valon; and before them was the wide, swift-flowing Argon, the great river of Mithgar. The way ahead would curve over hundreds of miles from east to south and then back southwesterly; their far goal was Pendwyr Road at the Argon Ferry, some seven-hundred-fifty miles away as the river flowed. And there they hoped to find the crossing in friendly hands, and steeds and guides to lead them to the Host.
All day they rode the river, stopping but once, briefly, on the south shore at sunset. But as soon as their needs were taken care of, again they launched their craft and pulled out into the swift current in midriver, Tuck now helping, for earlier Brega had used Bane to trim down a paddle to fit the Warrow and had shown the young buccan how to ply it in the straight bow stroke.
Dusk deepened into dark night and stars glittered brightly in the black firmament, while the shadowy orb of an old Moon clasped in the silvery arms of a thin crescent of a new Moon sank low to the west. And Brega seemed spellbound by the spangled heavens, and pointed to one of the brightest glints standing high in the east.
“Have you the name for that one, Lord Gildor?” The Dwarf’s voice was filled with a reverence for the celestial beacons.
“The Lian call it Cianin Andele: Shining Nomad,” answered Gildor, “for it is one of the five wandering stars; but at times it pauses, and then steps backwards, only to pause again and continue forth upon its cyclical journey. Why, I cannot say, though hearthtales speak of a lost shoe.”
Brega grunted, then said, “Châkka lore tells that there are many wanderers, some too faint to see. Five are known, including that one, and it is brightest. We name it Jarak: Courser.”
“Is it the brightest star of all?” asked Tuck, looking at the blaze.
“Aye,” answered Brega.
“Nay,” said Gildor at nearly the same time.
Tuck looked from one to the other in the dark, but nought could he read in their shadowed features. “Which is it,” he asked, “the aye or the nay?”
“Both answers are right,” responded Gildor, “for although Cianen Andele is usually brightest, at times others grow brighter; in elden days, for a brief time the blaze of the Ban Star surpassed all, though it is now gone.”
“Ban Star?” Tuck’s voice was filled with curiosity.
“Aye, Wee One,” answered Gildor, “when Adon set His Ban u
pon the Rûpt, the blaze of a new star lighted the heavens, a star where none had been before, growing so bright that it nearly rivaled the Sun: not only did the star o’erwhelm the late night sky; it could be seen in the early morning, too. So dazzling it grew that it was hard to look at, nearly blinding, for it hurt the eye. Many long nights did it shine—the Ban Star—growing brighter, but fading at last until it was gone, and once more that place in the night sky stood black and empty. And by this token Adon set His Ban upon those who had aided Gyphon in the Great War.”
“Lor: A bright new star,” breathed Tuck. “And one that disappeared, too. It must have been quite a sight, perhaps as wondrous as the Dragon Star.”
At mention of the Dragon Star, an unseen look of puzzlement came over Gildor’s features, as if he were searching for an elusive memory.
Brega pointed to the silvery crescent of the setting Moon. “I deem the most wondrous thing is when the Moon eats the Sun, biting into one side only to spit it out the other.”
Again, Lord Gildor seemed to cast back in his mind for a lost thought.
“When will that be?” asked Tuck.
Brega shrugged. “Elf Gildor knows, perhaps.”
Tuck turned to the Lian. “Know you, Lord Gildor: Know you when the Moon will next eat the Sun?”
Gildor thought but a moment, and then answered, and none questioned his knowledge, for the Elven Folk know of the movements of the Sun, Moon, and stars. “Aro: Why, in but twenty-eight days will it happen, Tuck. Yet here the Moon will not swallow all of the Sun; but north, in Rian and Gron and upon the Steppes of Jord, the Moon will completely consume the Sun, taking it in whole and keeping it for many long minutes ere yielding it up again.”
“Lor!” exclaimed Tuck once more. “When that happens, there in the Dimmendark, there in the Wastes of Gron, it will be the darkest day ever.”
“Aye, Tuck, the darkest . . .” Suddenly Lord Gildor fell silent, for at last his mind grasped the elusive memory—a hidden memory buried deep within the grief and shock of Vanidor’s death—and he drew in a long shuddering breath; then his voice came quiet: “Galen King, we must fare to the Host with all the haste we can muster, for an unknown doom is set to fall. What it is, I cannot say, but still it comes. For when Vanidor reached out with his death cry, he called my name; and in that fearful moment, a dire rede was thrust upon me:
~
‘The Darkest Day,
The Greatest Evil . . .’
~
Vanidor died giving warning, but I judge his message incomplete, for I sense there was something more—about the Dragon Star, and the Dimmendark—but what it was, I know not, for my brother’s flame was quenched by Death.”
Gildor fell silent, and nought was said for long moments, and though Tuck could not see the Lian’s face, he knew the Elf was weeping, and the buccan’s own tears ran freely.
Then Gildor’s soft voice spoke once more: “Now I think Vanidor’s rede speaks to the day when the Moon will eat the Sun, for Tuck’s words ring true: in Gron, it will be the Darkest Day; and then will come the Greatest Evil.”
Again Gildor fell silent, and none else spoke for a span of time. And the Elven craft was borne along the Argon River; the low bordering banks crouched blackly nearly a mile to either side. And to the north the Great Escarpment reared high and shone darkly in the glittering starlight.
At last Galen spoke: “And you say that the Sun Death is but two fortnights hence?”
At Galen’s words, Tuck shuddered, for to his mind came the image of Modru’s standard: a burning ring, scarlet on black: the Sun Death. And the Warrow’s memory returned to that ’Darkday upon the field before the north gate of Challerain Keep when the Sun-Death sigil of Modru stood above the broken scarlet-and-gold standard of Aurion.
Gildor’s answer broke into Tuck’s thoughts. “Aye, Galen King. In four weeks, when the Sun stands at the zenith, then will its light be eclipsed, then will it be the Darkest Day.”
“Then will the Greatest Evil come,” rumbled Brega. “Perhaps the Hyrani and Kistani have the right of it: mayhap Vanidor’s warning was of the Great Evil, of Gyphon, returning to cast Adon down.”
Tuck’s heart plummeted to hear Brega’s words, and Gildor’s breath hissed in through clenched teeth, for what the Dwarf said had the knell of truth.
“Warrior Brega, you may be right,” said Galen. “In any case we will follow Lord Gildor’s advice and fare to the Host as swiftly as we can, though how we can thwart Modru on the Darkest Day, I cannot now say, for we know in truth not what Vanidor’s rede means. But if we are to go swiftly, we must add our own speed to that of the river; we will take turns: two paddle while two rest—four hours and four—till we come to our goal.”
“Tuck and I will take the first turn,” Brega volunteered.
Tuck was surprised at Brega’s choice to pair up with him, for the buccan knew that he lacked the skill and strength to match that of his comrades, especially that of Brega. But Tuck also realized Brega’s power alone was nearly the equal of Galen’s and Gildor’s combined, and so the team of Dwarf and Warrow should match that of Man and Elf.
“Take the bow, Tuck,” called Brega. “I will take the stern. King Galen, Elf Gildor, we will awaken you in four hours.”
And so it was that while Galen and Gildor bedded down, Brega and Tuck began plying oars to the waters of the mighty Argon, and the Elven boat sprang forth swiftly upon the current. And the race for the Argon Ferry began.
~
Long grueling hours of punishing toil followed one upon the other as Dwarf and Warrow, then Lian and Man, plied the Elven boat down the long course of the mighty Argon. Four hours of wearying labor were followed by four hours of restless slumber; and each time it seemed to Tuck that no sooner had he gotten to sleep than it was time to paddle again—and the exhausting grind seemed endless. They would waken from sleep and take a meal of mian and then begin anew their arduous toil; and the Warrow wondered if their food would last, for the Elven waybread was being consumed avidly to keep up their flagging strength.
And they tried every trick they knew to ease their labor: they sought the swiftest channels, and quartered the craft slightly in the current to gain greater aid from the flow of the river, but the banks passed by at what seemed to Tuck to be a maddeningly slow rate; they rubbed oil from the boat-kit onto their hands to ease the chafing, yet still the paddles caused painful blisters; they rested ten minutes of every hour to renew their waning energy, but slowly it ebbed from them anyway; they stopped perhaps a half an hour of a morning and evening to stretch and take care of other needs, yet muscles became sore and stiff and knotted from the confinement. But, weary and sore, cramped and blistered, down the Argon they struck for their goal.
~
Mid of night the first eventide found them passing an unnamed isle in the river. Beyond the trees of the river-border forest the Great Escarpment hove up in the northeast, while west and south past the island and over the river and on the far side of the fringing trees lay the wide Realm of Valon. Now Galen and Gildor were awakened to take their turn while Brega and Tuck cast themselves into the bottom of the craft to clutch at sleep. Yet it seemed no sooner had he lain down than Tuck had to groan awake to take his turn again, and still the stars shone forth.
And as Tuck and Brega plied down the river, dawn came, and they could see through the bordering trees that the Great Escarpment had begun to dwindle, the cliff tapering down as the land fell to the south and east. And the sky slowly changed, heralding the arrival of the Sun. The golden orb at last rose up over the Greatwood to the east; this mighty forest reached from the River Rissanin in the far northwest to the Glave Hills in the remote southeast—a forest stretching some six- or seven-hundred miles in all. And the trees stood grey and barren in their winter dress.
They grounded the craft on the western shore and took their morning break standing on the soil of Valon.
~
Once more they took up the journey, and Tuck and Brega sl
ept while Galen and Gildor pressed downstream, and the Sun stood at the zenith when Tuck’s turn came again.
That evening, ere sunset, they stopped once more for a shorebreak, and the Warrow jotted briefly in his diary. Then it came time to press on, and Tuck wondered if they would have the energy to reach the Argon Ferry.
And as they embarked, Gildor said, “The coming weather looks foul. We may be in for winter rain or snow.”
Tuck looked all around, but the late-afternoon skies seemed clear, though some thin clouds laddered the high blue.
Brega watched the Warrow cast about, then grunted, “Look to the west for the coming skies and to the east for those that have gone.”
Here the river-border trees were sparse, and Tuck looked out over the plains of Valon, and low upon the horizon stood a dark bank of clouds that the Sun had fallen partly behind.
That night, a cold rain drizzled across the land, and Tuck was miserable as he and Brega paddled, but he was even more miserable when he tried to sleep.
~
The rain stopped just as they landed for their morning break on the north spit of an island in mid-river, and instead of continuing to bail, they beached the boat and turned it upside down, draining the last of the rainwater from the shell. As Galen and Brega uprighted the boat again, Tuck’s vision scanned to the horizons: As far as the eye could see, the sky stood bleak and leaden. To the east stood the Glave Hills, marking the end of the Greatwood and the beginning of Pellar. Still to the west lay Valon; yet they had come many miles around its borders: they had started some four-hundred-fifty miles upriver, travelling east along the North Reach of Valon; slowly the Argon swung in a great arc, from east to southeast to south, and the North Reach became the East Reach; ahead the Argon would continue to curve, to flow southwest between the margins of the South Reach of Valon and the Kingdom of Pellar, where, some three-hundred-fifty miles ahead, lay the Argon Ferry; since leaving the Cauldron, they had come more than halfway to their goal, yet it was still far downriver.
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