“They’re coming!” cried Patrel, facing toward the corner, his bow drawn to the full, Death set to fly.
Now the hooves drummed louder—a thunder to the ear—and the pealing of horns rang clear, and then the first of many riders hove past the wall and into view:
Men upon horses!
“No!” cried Danner, knocking Patrel’s arm up, sending the arrow flying skyward over the silver-bearded horseman’s head. “It’s Vidron!”
And thundering upon coursers charging through the streets of Brackenboro came a full one-thousand Men: warriors bearing the blue-and-white colors of Wellen, warriors sounding the horncalls of that western Land, warriors led by Kingsgeneral Vidron, Hrosmarshal of Valon. And squads and companies hurtled among the ruins of Brackenboro, and swords rived and lances pierced, and the deadly Ghûls were utterly overwhelmed as shafts burst through their hearts and blades clove their heads from their bodies.
And amid the clash and clangor of battle, and while the hooves of steeds hammered past, and as the peals of horns split the air and lifted spirits, three Warrows—two buccen and a damman—danced about and shouted deliriously and hugged each other and cried.
~
“Arn, Captain Patrel, when I heard that silver horn—Elgo’s horn of Sleeth’s hoard—I knew ’twas you in desperate straits!” A wide grin split Fieldmarshal Vidron’s face as he sat on a crate by the burned-out wall where he’d come riding to find them. The reunion was like that of a grand-uncle and his favorite nephews. And when Merrilee was introduced, the eyes of the veteran warrior widened in amaze. And he bowed to the damman, yet by his hearty manner he put her at her ease. And now they all sat in converse. “And so, to save your scalawag necks, I ordered the charge into Brackenboro, and no company of Guula are going to withstand a thousand horseborne Wellen warriors.”
“But General Vidron,” Merrilee quietly protested, “these are not all the Ghûls: another four-hundred or so ride the downs and bracken, searching for our kindred. Warrows are now hard pressed by the corpse-folk: the Ghûls hunt them like reya: like hounds after foxes.”
“Aye, we know, lass,” responded Vidron, beaming at the damman. “Some of your lads stopped us on the road and told us. Two-thousand more of the Wellenen hunt the foul Wrg even now; list, you’ll hear their horns.” From the hills—north, south, and east—intermittently sounded the calls of the horns of Wellen.
“Two-thousand more?” Patrel’s eyes flew wide. “How came you by this army, Fieldmarshal? And in the Bosky, at that!”
“Why, lad, I went to Wellen and got them,” answered Vidron. “And as to why, let me say this: When we broke free of the Guula at the north-gate of Challerain Keep, we rode in a long arc to come at last to Stonehill . . .”
“Stonehill!” burst out Danner. “But we—Paddy and I—we were in Stonehill, waiting . . . three days.”
“Two-and-a-half,” interjected Patrel.
“Two-and-a-half days, then,” continued Danner, “and no one came.”
“When?” asked Vidron.
“Let me see,” said Danner, reckoning the day while Patrel counted on his fingers. “I make it exactly two weeks past when we arrived there, early in the ’Darkday. The rest of the ’Day we stayed . . . all the next, too. Finally we left early on the third ’Darkday. And if my reckoning is right, that would make it the eighth of January.” Patrel nodded in confirmation.
“Why, then,” responded Vidron, “your path to Stonehill was swifter than mine.” Then the Man’s eyes widened in surprise. “Hola! If you left early on the eighth, you must have ridden out of one gate just as we rode in another!”
Danner and Patrel looked at one another and then at Vidron, and all three realized how close they had come to meeting together in Stonehill. And each realized, too, that the difference of but a moment in a person’s life can alter the course of events forever. Why, perhaps if the Warrows had met with Vidron, the Battle of Budgens would not have occurred, or Vidron’s journey to Wellen may not have taken place. Yet perhaps these things would have happened in any case, with the outcomes altered—in major or minor aspects, or . . .
Merrilee’s question broke into the thoughts of the three. “General Vidron, did any Warrows ride from Challerain Keep with you? Perhaps Tuck . . .” Her voice trailed off, her eyes anxious.
“Ah, but no, lass,” answered Vidron, shaking his head sadly. “When we broke free, not a Waldan was among us.”
Merrilee looked away from the Hrosmarshal, and her shoulders sagged in despair. Silence reigned among the four for long moments, though the hills cast occasional horncalls to their ears, and the clatter of hooves rattled on the cobblestones of Brackenboro.
At last Vidron cleared his throat, and spoke: “Of the five-thousand defenders at Challerain Keep, I had thought that only sixty-three of us survived that last battle: sixty-two Men and one Elf: Lord Gildor. But now I find that Danner and Patrel cheated Death, too, bringing the tally up to sixty-four. And so there is yet hope—though slim it is—that others also survived the ordeal and live on . . . perhaps your Tuck.” Vidron reached out and drew Merrilee next to him, and the young damman sat with him and leaned her head against the warrior’s side, and tears trickled down her face, yet she made no sound.
After a long pause Vidron picked up the thread of his tale: “On the second ’Darkday after we rode into Stonehill, a horseman came from the south. An ex-soldier he was, named Jarek; his cottage is in the Alnawood in Gûnar. His tale was chilling, though it explains much; yet it leaves as many questions behind as it answers.
“It seems that Jarek was on his way to Valon, only to find that the Gûnarring Gap had been seized by a force of swarthy warriors—perhaps from the south: Chabba, Hurn, Hyree, or Kistan, he did not know the which of it. Ai! But Fortune favored him, turning her smiling face his way, and he was not discovered by the foe.
“And Jarek turned north, riding for Challerain Keep, bearing the word to Aurion . . . or if not to the High King, then to the Kingsmen.
“Across Ralo Pass he came and down into the Riverwood. Near the ruins of Luren, at the ford across the River Isleborne, he came through the Black Wall and into the cursed Dimmendark.
“Again Fortune favored him, for no Spawn did he meet while riding through the Shadowlight up along the Post Road, though at the bridge spanning the Bog River, he did hear the distant howling of ‘Wolves,’ though I deem it was Vulgs instead.
“At last Jarek came to Stonehill, and there he found us: the pitiful remnants of Aurion’s northern might. And he told me his tale.
“Ai, but it was dire news, for I then knew why no word came from the south, and why the Host did not come to Challerain Keep: they fight an invading army in the south . . . likely our ancient enemies from Hyree, or Kistan, or both—for, ages past, they were in league with Modru, during the Great War.”
“But that means the Host will not come,” protested Patrel. “At least not for a while. Who, then, will fight the Horde? Who will keep them from the Bosky?”
“The Thornwall will thwart the Horde,” said Danner, “if we can get it stoppered up again; but we’ve got to slay the Ghûls, too, or drive ’em out.”
“We must slay them.” Merrilee’s voice was low.
“Vengeance?” asked Vidron.
“Nay,” answered Merrilee, “though to some vengeance would taste sweet. No, not revenge, but instead this: we must close the Thornwall now, to keep the Horde out. And the Ghûls must be slain, to keep them from opening it up again, as they did before at Spindle Ford, and the bridge, and perhaps at the other crossings, too. There is this, too: I think Modru uses the Ghûls to reave us, to keep our minds on them and not on the Barrier. Till now he has succeeded, and if the ’Wall is left open, then his Swarm will march in and raze the Boskydells, as Hanlo so aptly foresaw. Hence, we must close the Thornring ere they come.”
“You are right, Merrilee,” said Patrel. “Even though by closing the Thornwall, we shut the Ghûls in with us, it must be done . . . and that means
we will have to slay the reavers rather than drive them out. For to leave the Thornring open invites Modru’s Horde to enter, though why they have not already come, I cannot say.”
“Perhaps they still loot Challerain Keep,” said Danner.
“Nay,” spoke up Vidron, “for Modru would not allow petty spoils to disturb his careful plans. Nay, it is something else that delays his hand. Perhaps the Warlord of the Horde was slain in that last battle, and they await a new tyrant to drive them on.”
“Hey! The emissary!” exclaimed Patrel. “The one Danner slew at the north gate. Perhaps he was the Warlord you speak of. Mayhap your arrow, Danner, has stayed their hand thus far.”
“Be that as it may, it won’t stop ’em: if they don’t already have a Warlord, Modru will just send another,” responded Danner. “Merrilee’s right: we’ve got to plug up the Thornwall now. And then we’ll set about killing the Ghûls.”
“Ah, but your tactics must change,” Vidron said. “The Ghûls will be wary, now, and no longer fall easy prey to ambuscades. That’s why I will leave half of the Wellen horsemen here in the Boskydells to aid you. The rest I take to Gûnarring Gap to try to break the enemy’s hold there.”
“The Gap?” said Patrel. “You go to the Gap?”
“Aye,” answered Vidron. “When Jarek brought me the news of the enemy at that pass, I knew then that my mission would be to break their hold. I took my Men from Stonehill and we headed for Wellen, but Jarek I sent on to the Weiunwood to bear the news unto the Alliance and to Lord Gildor.”
“Lord Gildor?” asked Patrel. “Wasn’t he with you?”
“Nay, lad,” answered Vidron. “Gildor had turned aside earlier as we went north of the ’Wood. I went on to the Battle Downs and then south to Stonehill to keep the rendezvous, while he went to seek tidings from his kindred, Inarion, and to bear to the Weiunwooders the sad news of the fall of Challerain Keep and of the death of King Aurion.”
“We saw Aurion slain,” said Danner, his voice low. “He fought well and bravely, but there were just too many Ghûls.”
“He was a great King and a valiant warrior,” responded Vidron, “and his keen sword and royal hand will be sorely missed in the days ahead. If Galen survived, he is King now, and if not him, then young Igon.”
“But wait!” cried Patrel. “Do you not know?” Then the buccan smote his forehead. “Ach, how could you? Laurelin’s waggon train was Ghûl-slaughtered. All were slain but for Igon and the Princess, and they either escaped or were captured and borne east; at least that’s the way it looked to Danner and me when we came upon the wrack, six or seven days after the Ghûls fell upon that ill-fated train.”
Vidron’s face blenched at this dire news. “When was this, and where?” he gritted.
“It was on the Post Road where it swings west above the Battle Downs,” answered Patrel. “And, as to when, I would guess the Ghûls attacked the train on Fifth Yule, perhaps—nearly two fortnights past.”
“Rach!” Vidron struck a clenched fist into open palm and sprang to his feet in agitation. “That explains the mystery, then, as to why Jarek saw no waggon train bearing south along either Ralo Road or the Post Road as he came north with the news of the Gûnarring Gap. Ai, but he saw no riders either, and so the Ghûls may indeed have Laurelin and Igon, though it is by no means certain.”
Like a caged beast, Vidron paced in silence; but then he abruptly sat down once more. “Ah, but my heart cries out to do something: to go after the Prince and Princess . . . but where? They could be nearly anywhere! And their trail has grown cold beyond following. Garn!” He fell silent again, then at last said, “When we get to Gûnarring Gap, the foe will pay for this foul deed.” And there was a fell look in the warrior’s eyes.
At that moment, a horseborne warrior wearing one of the blue-and-white helms of Wellen clattered up.
“Sire, the Men begin to return, and Wee Folk come at their side,” said the warrior. “The Ghûls are slain or scattered, and at the moment are no threat.”
“Hai!” exclaimed Vidron. “Now if these Waldfolc can but get the Thornwall plugged, then with the help of the Wellen warriors who remain behind, this Land will be made safe again.”
And as the herald wheeled his steed and cantered off, Danner and Patrel and Merrilee looked at one another in astonishment and then fierce joy: for less than two hours past, they were plunged into despair fleeing a dreadful foe—knowing that the fate of the Bosky was perhaps teetering on the brink of doom—but now, with the arrival of the Men of Wellen, their fortunes had entirely reversed.
Vidron beamed down upon them, and his hearty voice said, “I think my promise to your Thornwalker Captain Alver has been kept.”
“Captain Alver?” burst out Patrel. “Do you know Captain Alver? And what promise?”
“Aye, lad,” answered Vidron. “Alver and I met when I rode through the Boskydells on my way from Stonehill to Wellen.”
“You rode through the Bosky? Why, of course, you had to; down the Crossland Road?” At Vidron’s nod, Patrel exclaimed, “Then that’s who it was! It was you and your sixty-odd Men who thundered past in the Shadowlight while Danner and I bedded down in the loft of the stable of the Happy Otter Inn at Greenfields. Again we just missed you!”
“The fortunes of War turn on small moments,” replied Vidron. “That we missed each other in Stonehill and then again in your Greenfields may have had little to do with this War, but on the other hand may have altered its course Past telling; and we will never know what would have been had we met in either place.”
“If you’d met in Stonehill,” said Merrilee, “I think all of you would have ridden in pursuit of the Ghûls who perhaps stole Princess Laurelin and Prince Igon, and the Warrows of the Bosky would not have dealt with the Ghûls as we did. How else we might have faced them—in what other fashion—is beyond our knowing; but that did not happen, you did not meet, and so it was Danner and Patrel who rallied us in our time of need, and you, General Vidron, who rescued us when all hope seemed lost.”
“Lass, you and I, we are right about one thing: we will never know,” answered Vidron. “And if Captain Alver had not given me and my Men food and shelter as we rode toward Wellen, then I would not have heard of the Guulen strongholt here in the ruins of Brackenboro, hence I would not have brought the Wellenen to fall upon them. But, my chance meeting with Alver near your village of Rood changed all that, and I did hear of the strongholt, and we did fall upon it just as soon as I returned with the Men of the eastern garrison of Wellen. And it was only the happenstance of keeping my promise to your Captain Alver to purge this place of the Guula that we were here at all to hear the Horn of Elgo blowing in distress, calling us to the attack. A long string of slim chance led us here, and a longer string may lie before us. In any case, on the morrow I will take half the Wellenen and make for the Gûnarring Gap; and thus will I see what my improbable string of chance will lead me to henceforward.”
“Improbable or not,” said Patrel, “I am glad your path led you here . . . and in the nick of time at that, else we three would be the deaders and not the Ghûls.”
“Hoy, look!” exclaimed Danner. “Here comes Luth and some others.”
“There’s your dad, Danner,” said Merrilee, pointing. “I am so happy for you.”
And as Danner ran down the street to meet his sire, tens and twenties of Warrows came into the village of Brackenboro, some on foot, some on ponies, and here and there amidst them rode the warriors of Wellen. And some of the Warrows wept, for they were from Brackenboro, and it was Rollo who said it best for them all: “The ’Boro may lie in charred ruins, its buildings burnt and sundered, but, by Adon, it is our home, and now it is free again.”
~
Men began to drag the corpses of the Ghûls to a nearby ravine to burn in a great fire made there, and billowing smoke rose into the Shadowlight where it was lost in the blot above. And the bodies of the slain Men and Warrows were recovered, and there began the raising of a great common burial m
ound on the bracken-covered hillside. And warriors large and small alike wept to see their comrades laid in the earth.
Men and Warrows continued to straggle in, and camp was made outside the ruins. And a council of Captains and lieutenants was held and tallies taken to judge the losses: Of the nearly one-thousand Ghûls, four-hundred-twenty-one dead were counted, two-hundred-seventeen of which had been felled by Warrow bolts. Of the three-thousand Men, ninety-two were known to be slain, though another one-hundred-twenty-three were missing; some were known to be yet on Ghûlen track, while others could be lying dead or wounded. Of the one-thousand-eighty-six Warrows, one-hundred-fourteen were known to be dead, and nearly three-hundred were missing, though Hanlo and others believed that most of these were alive and cautiously making their way back to the Eastwood rendezvous points.
Parties were sent out to scour the hills, and to sound the trumpets to assemble. Warrows were dispatched to the Eastwood rendezvous locations and to the camps to spread the word of the victory.
And in the council, plans were made to leave half the Wellenen in the Boskydells under the command of Captain Stohl. And Warrows would join forces with Men to run the surviving Ghûls to earth, for the reavers would yet be a formidable force in the Boskydells should they reassemble. Plans also were made to plug the Thornwall at Wenden, Spindle, and Tine fords, and to stopper the way across the bridge over the Spindle River, and to close off the old abandoned Northwood tunnel: for there was still the Horde to keep out of the Bosky should the Spawn march from Challerain Keep.
Then the council turned its thoughts to the freeing of Gûnarring Gap. And it soon became obvious that Vidron could use the sight of the Wee Folk to see for him in the Dimmendark. Danner and Patrel looked at one another, and Danner nodded to Patrel’s unvoiced question, but ere he could say aught, Merrilee spoke up: “Kingsgeneral Vidron, you will need Warrow eyes to see for you in the Shadowlight. Were my Tuck here, he would go with you; but he is not, and I will go in his stead. Yet you must take more than my eyes alone, for should I be slain, still you will need the Warrow sight. I deem ten of us will be enough, and I see that Danner and Patrel would go with you also. That leaves us but seven more to choose, and so I ask my kindred: would any of you come with us?”
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