Hanlo Bramblethorn spoke up: “You all know how I feel in this matter: the sooner we strike, the better. Yet though my Reya are ready now, we’d best get some rest, for the fight may be long and hard, and the pursuit merciless. But this I do say, not a ’Darkday should pass without action against the Ghûls. Hence, I say we fight on the morrow.” And the chestnut-haired, amber-eyed buccan sat down. Merrilee’s heart raced in her bosom, but when the vote came, she added her aye to all the others.
~
They rode from the barren Eastwood, crossing first the Southrill and then the trace running north and south; and they came at last among the Brackenboro Hills. They were six Companies strong: fifty-four squads: one thousand eighty-six Warrows, armed with nought but bow and arrow to go up against the spears and tulwars and Hèlsteeds of the Ghûls.
Among the Warrow Companies rode the guides from Brackenboro, buccen familiar with the hills and vales around the town. And they led the squads behind the ridges and through the downs until the ’Boro was beringed by the Warrow warriors.
Long did they wait, hidden on the hillsides, and watched as companies of Ghûls on Hèlsteeds rode along the Boro Spur, coming from and going to their vicious ends.
Now the Warrows crept unseen down through the bracken—unto the very edges of the ruins—and once more they waited, this time for the signal.
Ghûls rode in and Ghûls rode out, and yet still too many stayed among the ruins. And Merrilee’s heart hammered loudly in her ears, and she despaired that the odds would ever tumble in the Warrows’ favor. And every moment that passed increased the chances of discovery. But at last, more reavers seemed to be riding out than rode in, and the numbers of the remaining Ghûls began to dwindle.
The Warrow strategy was simplicity itself: when the Ghûl numbers had diminished favorably, the archers would strike fast and hard; and if they overwhelmed the Ghûls remaining in Brackenboro, then the archers would lie in ambush along the Boro Spur and slay the Ghûl companies as they each in turn came back from their ravaging missions. Should the odds shift in the Ghûls’ favor, then the Warrows would retreat through the Shadowlight, first to the hills and then to Eastwood, covering their tracks in the snow, losing the foe in the Dimmendark. Yet though their overall scheme was simple, still they had planned their movements and signals down to the finest possible detail, with alternative plans should events turn in other ways. And now approached the moment to see if their strategems would succeed or fail.
The numbers of Ghûls had fallen below five-hundred; and still the Warrows watched. And Merrilee’s heart raced, for two more Ghûlen companies prepared to set forth; and she knew that when they were gone, the signal would sound and the attack begin. Once again she checked her arrows: she bore two full quivers, and nearby sat boxes full of extra quarrels.
Now the Hèlsteeds’ hooves thundered as the two companies of Ghûls set forth upon the Boro Spur, swinging west then north to join the Crossland Road. And Time seemed to step on quickened feet.
At last the ghastly companies passed beyond vision, but still the signal was not sounded, for the Warrows waited until the Ghûls were beyond hearing, for it would not do to have the reavers hearken the call to battle, or the sounds of combat.
Time passed, and Patrel kept watch upon the hill northwest of Brackenboro, and so did nearly all the Warrows; for upon that hill a lookout was posted, and he would signal when the Ghûls were beyond seeing.
At last the hooded lantern flashed—just once—and all then knew the battle was only a tick of time away.
And arrows nocked strings . . .
And hearts thudded . . .
And eyes sought out the nearest Ghûls, the nearest targets . . .
And breaths were drawn in . . .
And time seemed frozen.
~
And Patrel raised the silver Horn of the Reach—the Horn of Valon—to his lips, and a clarion call split the air: a call to arms, a call to War, a call to attack:
~
Ta, tahn! Ta, tahn! Ta, tahn!
~
And even as the silver notes pealed forth, a sleet of arrows hissed through the air to strike home; and Warrows were up and running and setting new bolts to string, then stopping to loose the quarrels ere dashing forth once more.
Again and again the silver call belled forth, and everywhere brave hearts were lifted and bold spirits surged. Yet the Ghûls quailed to hear such notes, and Hèlsteeds reared in fright.
Hails of arrows thudded into corpse-flesh, and foe fell slain, pierced through the heart. But Ghûls rallied and mounted beasts and spurred forth upon the Wee Folk. And barbed spears and curved tulwars pierced and hacked, and some Warrows were caught unaware and slain by point, edge, and hoof, for the Hèlsteeds were trained to trample enemy underfoot. Yet though Warrows died, still the flying quarrels rained into the Ghûls.
Merrilee nocked arrow after arrow, her eyes and aim following charging Ghûl, and Tuck whispered in her mind as she methodically loosed bolt upon bolt. And where she aimed, reaver fell.
But Danner was magnificent, for his amber eyes were everywhere his arrows could reach, and he dropped Ghûls left and right. Along with a select few, Danner’s was the chore to spot Ghûls coming at Warrows unknowing, and to slay the foe ere they could rend death. And only one buccan in Danner’s sector fell by Ghûlen hand, and that was by a flung spear.
And, almost as soon as it had begun, the battle was ended: the Ghûls had stood little chance, for the odds were five to one against them. And the Warrows had cast death from afar and did not stand to fight, but instead slipped aside as elusive as the shadows in and out of which they faded. The Warrows had been victorious, but not all the Ghûls had died, for a score or so had fled on Hèlsteeds, some down the Boro Spur, others up through the hills.
A scattered cheering broke out among the Warrow ranks, but was silenced quickly, for only this skirmish had been won, and not the Battle of Brackenboro, not the War of the Boskydells: the Struggles went on. And squads were assembled to trot swiftly down the Spur to set up ambush for the returning Ghûlen companies, likely now to be on alert, for the escaped foe would warn them.
~
The six Warrow Companies lay in Shadowlighted ambuscade along the Boro Spur—three on the north side, three on the south—and this was their plan: Once the returning Ghûls were deep within the trap, the Companies would catch them in a deadly crossfire. And when the Ghûls were slain, if need be the Companies would move up the road away from the slaughter and lay in ambush again.
But though that was their plan, no Ghûl had yet fallen victim, for none had yet returned. Long had the Warrows waited; and all about them a westerly breeze rustled through the winter-dried bracken.
“They’ve never stayed away this long before,” said Rollo Breed, one of the Brackenboro scouts. “By now the ’Boro should be full of them again.”
“Ar. Those that escaped have warned them off,” gritted Hanlo. “Like as not, they’ll be coming in force and we’ll have to melt away before them.”
Patrel looked to the hilltop with the sentinel on it and fretted, for no signal had come from the lookout that Ghûls were on the way: green meant that the returning force was small and could be ambushed, whereas red would mean retreat.
On a premonition, Patrel said, “Rollo, head up to the hilltop. Make certain that nothing untoward has befallen Chubb; I just now recall that one or two escaping Ghûls rode that way.”
Rollo ran through the stirring bracken and sprang upon the back of his pony. And as the buccan spurred up the snowy hill, Danner grunted, “Good idea,” and they watched the scout as he disappeared among the winter-dried fern brakes.
Long they peered, both along the road and up the hill. Yet nought did they see. Then Hanlo raised his hand and barked, “Hist! I hear . . . something.” And before any could say aught, the elder Bramblethorn dropped to the ground and laid his ear to the earth. “Hooves! Many hooves! Like thunder they come!” he cried.
At that mom
ent Rollo and his pony burst back through the bracken. “Cap’n! The Ghûls! The Ghûls are coming!” Rollo leapt down at Patrel’s side, breathless words tumbling past one another in the scout’s urgency to get them all out. “Chubb is dead, slain by Ghûl spear, and a dead reaver lies nearby, but I found the tracks of two Hèlsteeds. Chubb got one Ghûl, but the other got him. Chubb’s lamps were shattered, so I couldn’t signal you when I saw the Ghûls down on the Boro Spur. Ghûls come on Hèlsteeds: hundreds . . . and fast. And three miles or so behind comes another bunch: five, six times as many. We’ve got to get away! Now! They are too many!”
“Too late!” spat Hanlo, setting an arrow to string. “Here they come!” And bursting ’round a bend in the Boro Spur hammered five-hundred Hèlsteeds, howling Ghûls on their backs, Ghûls howling for revenge.
~
Patrel glanced at Danner for his advice, but that young buccan, just like his sire Hanlo, set arrow to bow preparing for battle.
“Wait!” cried Merrilee. “Rollo is right! We can’t stand and fight them! They are too many, and an even greater force follows these! Signal the retreat, Patrel, and most of us will live to fight again!”
Patrel looked sharply at Merrilee, and then at the charging Ghûls now less than a half-mile away, the Hèlsteeds’ driving pace rapidly closing the distance.
Withdraw! Withdraw! Withdraw! The silent hand-signal flashed up and down the Warrow ranks on either side of the road, as Patrel gave the order to retreat. And buccen began to slip quietly back into the Shadowlighted fern brakes, moving with the legendary stealth of the Wee Folk.
But then the foetid scent of the charging Hèlsteeds was borne by the wind unto Rollo’s pony being led through the brake, and the small steed plunged and reared and screamed in fear at this foul stink, and jerked the reins from Rollo’s hand and bolted in fright through the bracken and onto the road, fleeing eastward down the Spur.
At sight of the stampeding pony, the Ghûls harshly checked their ’Steeds to churn about while some stalked forward, their dull, flat, dead black eyes trying to pierce the rustling bracken alongside the Spur; it had not occurred to the Ghûls that an ambush could have lain along their path, for they had thought instead that their foe now occupied the ruins of Brackenboro.
A Ghûl in the fore uttered harsh barks and howls, and the Hèlsteed force split in twain: half rode into the bracken to the left, half to the right. And now they were alert and wary, their spears lowered at the ready, tulwars in hand. And the Hèlsteeds breasted through the rattling fern brakes, surging, lunging apace, while before them—as yet unseen—the Warrows faded back among the shadows.
Yet Hèlsteed is swifter than Warrow on foot, and suddenly there came a Ghûl yawl, cut short in mid-howl by swift arrow; even so, fleeting Warrows on the north side of the Boro Spur had been discovered, and at nearly the same time Hèlsteeds stumbled across pockets of Warrows on the south side, too. Chilling yowls split the air, and there came the raucous blats of Rûckish horns, answered by the hiss of deadly quarrels as Warrows paused to loose arrows at the questing foe ere fading onward through the bracken.
Now the Ghûls knew their enemy, but despite the fact that the corpse-foe had been whelmed in Brackenboro, they as yet held the Wee Folk in contempt, and charged the Hèlsteeds through the winter-dried fern brakes. Swish! Swash! rattled the bracken at the passage of the Hèlspawn, while hidden Warrows fled among the shielding growth.
But the balance between the reavers and the archers began to shift, for the close-set bracken was a two-edged sword: not only did it shield the Wee Folk, but it also hid the Ghûls, and Warrows could not see to loose their arrows. And Ghûls burst forth upon buccen, and spears dipped to take their toll, or slashing tulwars rived redly, and Warrows were trampled under cloven hooves. Thus did Regin Burk die, and Alvy Willoby, and Neddy Finch, and many others, for now the spear and blade and driving ’Steed were favored in the shock of sudden onslaught, and Warrows fell by the tens and twenties as they fled through the brakes and up the hill slopes.
Danner and Patrel and Merrilee ran among the bracken, and to right and left Hèlsteeds crashed by unseen. Now and again the trio would glimpse other Warrows flitting through the Shadowlight, but for the most part they saw no one else, though howls of Ghûls and blat of horns and grunts of Hèlsteeds and hammer of cloven hooves were all about them, as well as the grim cry of Death.
Merrilee’s breath came in harsh gasps as she dodged among the brittle ferns with Danner and Patrel at her side, and racing blood pounded in her ears. North and up over the hills they had tried to flee, but always it seemed they heard Ghûls that way, and so they were driven east, back toward the ruins of Brackenboro, and Merrilee felt as if she were being herded by cruel hounds. East they went, and east some more, flying before blind pursuit. And at last after endless running they were driven from the rattling brakes to come in among the charred spars of the ravaged boro, and they fled along streets littered with the corpses of Ghûls the Warrows had slain earlier. And they heard the clatter of cloven hooves sounding on the cobbles around the corner ahead, and the trio crouched in hiding amid tumbled rubble alongside a blackened wall.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” panted Danner. “The Ghûls’ll come, some already are here, and we’ve got to be away before then.”
Patrel squinted at the hills above, his breath blowing in and out. “Our ponies are yon, beyond the near downs, yet Ghûls hunt the slopes between there and here. Perhaps we can . . .”
Patrel’s words were chopped short by a hideous howl as a Ghûl on Hèlsteed rounded the broken wall and saw the trio.
Thuun . . . shthock! Danner’s loosed arrow struck the reaver in the breast, and the foe pitched dead from the saddle; but a lifeless foot was stirrup-caught, and the Hèlsteed grunted and squealed in terror at this dragging thing and plunged away bucking. Yet though the Ghûl was dead, his last howl had brought others running, and three more Spawn on Hèlsteeds galloped around the corner, cloven hooves ringing on the cobblestones.
Ssthack! Sssthok! Thock! Flying death hissed through the air to fell two of the reavers, and the third hauled his Hèlsteed back and over too sharply, and the creature crashed to the icy cobbles. And as the Ghûl rose to his feet, Th-th-thock! three arrows slammed into him, any one of which would have slain him, and he fell slaughtered as his ’Steed scrambled up and bolted.
But now the three Warrows heard the hammer of more cloven hooves upon the pave, and other Ghûls burst ’round the edge.
Taa-tahn! Taa-tahn! The silver call of the Horn of Valon split the air as Patrel set the rune-marked bugle to his lips and blew. And the Ghûls checked their Hèlsteeds and quailed back from the pure, bell-like call, for the notes drove fear deep into the corpse-foe. And Danner and Merrilee loosed hissing Death upon the milling Ghûls, and two fell slain while the remaining five spurred forward, howling in anger.
Calmly, Merrilee continued to pluck arrows from her quiver and set them to bow, and her bolts flew at the oncoming foe. Danner’s quarrels, too, and now Patrel’s, sissed in deadly flight through the air. And the Ghûls charged at the Warrows, barbed lances lowered to spit these three; and cloven hooves rang on the cobble as on the Hèlsteeds came.
But bolts sped true to pierce Ghûl breast and heart, and corpse-foe fell slain, and ’Steeds veered wide, no longer commanded. Four Ghûls came on . . . now three . . . now two; and as the pair thundered down upon the Warrows, Danner, Patrel, and Merrilee leapt aside among the rubble, falling and rolling as the hooves hammered past; and the barbed spears missed the dodging targets, though a point pierced Patrel’s jacket to skitter and glance along the golden armor underneath. And Danner sprang up cursing and felled one more Ghûl as the two reavers raced away; and the lone survivor veered his Hèlsteed, and Merrilee’s arrow thudded into the Ghûl’s side and did not pierce his heart.
Now the Hèlsteed passed beyond arrow-range, and the Ghûl spun his mount and checked it. He plucked the offending arrow from below his ribs and flung it awa
y, and then he raised a brazen horn to his lips and blatted a call of assembly. Blares of nearby Rûckish horns clamantly answered from the surrounding ruins.
Calmly Danner began laying out arrows before him upon a fallen spar, where the quarrels would be within easy reach. “They’ve got us cornered, Paddy, Merrilee, and they’ll come in numbers too great to overcome, yet we’ll take as many down with us as we can.”
Harsh blares and brazen blats drew nearer, and there was the clatter of cloven hooves upon the cobble pave. Now two, then eight more corpse-folk rode into sight to join the surviving Ghûl at the north end of the street. Rawling horn blasts came from the south, as distant Ghûls hove into view, and calls from east and west sounded, too.
Merrilee set her quiver before her and put arrow to string. Her jaw was set at a grim angle, and her breathing was deep and measured, and there was no hint of fear in her clear sapphire-blue gaze.
Patrel took up the Horn of the Reach. “I’ll sound it one last time. Then we’ll give ’em a battle that bards would tell of ages from now if any but knew.”
And amid the blats and blares of the brazen Spaunen horns, a pure silver clarion cry rose up into the sky and across the land as three Warrows—two buccen and a damman—prepared to fight a last battle, prepared to fight and die.
And as the call of the Horn of the Reach pealed across the land, the blatting blares of the Rûckish brass fell silent, though in the distance it seemed that other horns sounded, too, as the silver echoes rang from the hills. And the Ghûls paused a time, and peered uneasily about.
But at last the chief Ghûl among them raised his face to the darkling sky and howled a chilling cry. And from the west—from around the corner of the standing wall—there came the sounds of driving hooves upon the stones of Brackenboro and blasts upon belling horns.
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