The council met until after mid of night, but at last the plans were set and the orders relayed. In the dawn, the Wellenen would foray against the force in Gûnarring Gap.
~
It was yet dark when the column set forth from the woods and went upon the Ralo Road to the southeast: dark shapes in the waning starlit night, moving out of the trees and toward the Gap ahead. And the Warrows stood at the fringe of the woods and watched the raiders bear off. And when the last one had ridden by, the Wee Folk turned to go in among the trees, and behind them the sound of hooves faded southerly as the skies greyed in the east.
~
Vidron rode at the head of the force, and after him came the full of his strength, save those few left in the woods. And the Hrosmarshal’s eyes strove to pierce the gloom of the foredawn and see through the enshadowed Gap to the warders at the far side.
Into the slot rode the fifteen-hundred, lances and sabers at the ready. And the skies lightened to the east as they rode onward in the cloaking dark of the Gap.
When the Sun lipped the rim of the world, a mile or so ahead the warriors could see where the Gap came to an end. And there the Ralo Road split in twain: bearing leftward and to the east ran the Reach Road, passing hundreds of miles across the plains of Valon to come at last to Vanar, the city in the center of that Land where King Aranor had his throne; rightward went Pendwyr Road, reaching southeastward all the way to Caer Pendwyr, nearly three-hundred leagues away, where dwelt the High Kings of Mithgar.
But Vidron’s eyes were not upon the junction of the roads nor beyond to the Land of his home. Instead he looked where stood a great cavalry, warriors mounted upon horses as if for some ceremony. And although their flags were unfurled, no wind blew, and so he could not see their sigil to say if they were from Hyree, Kistan, or some other Realm. And their numbers were very great, and Vidron knew that his strike would have to be lightning quick and swiftly withdrawn, for to stay and fight would mean defeat.
And even as the outriding scouts fell back to join the oncoming ranks, the Hrosmarshal gave a silent hand signal that passed back along the column, and the Wellenen spread wide in attack formation. At another signal, they lowered their lances and began a trot forward. And the long line of warriors moved as one great military unit.
Onward they went, and now Vidron signalled once more, and the horses broke into a canter. The Fieldmashal’s eyes swept left and right along the formation, and then to the force ahead, and those warders had not yet seen the oncoming Wellenen, for they stood in ranks with their backs to the Gap.
And Vidron raised his black-oxen horn to his lips, and when the long file burst forth from the shadows of Gûnarring Gap, he blew a mighty blast that echoed up and down the line as the horns of Wellen took up the call. And they raced forth at a headlong run, deadly spears leveled to strike: Death flying upon thundering hooves.
And now Vidron couched his spear, and urged his racing steed to greater speed. Yet even as he flew over the ground, his eyes were locked upon the horsemen in the closing distance. And Vidron gasped in dismay, for with great precision, they wheeled about and swiftly spread wide to meet the oncoming Wellenen, and began a charge of their own!
And Vidron knew that his force would not survive the shock of their clash.
2
Encounter at Gûnarring Gap
Tuck, Galen, Gildor, Brega, and Aranor looked to see the unknown force charging out of the shadows of the Gûnarring Gap. Ubrik barked a command in Valur, the ancient War tongue of Valon, and horns sounded, and the files of the Vanadurin wheeled and swiftly formed to face into Gûnar, lances and sabers at the ready.
Galen flashed Steel-heart from its scabbard, and Gildor drew Bale, and as Ubrik cried another command, the High King and the Elf Lord spurred forth with the Harlingar, and to the fore of the answering charge.
King Aranor cursed his wounded arm, but caught up a spear in his off hand and thundered after.
Tuck and Brega, standing upon the ground, looked at one another, and then the Dwarf took Drakkalan in hand and growled, “Come on, Tuck.”
And the Dwarf and Warrow ran on foot after the horseborne warriors, Brega bearing his black-hafted axe, Tuck his arrows and bow.
And now the buccan could hear the horns of Valon blowing wildly as the riders raced toward one another, spears lowered for the death-dealing clash.
But lo! bugles sounded in the oncoming force, and the file veered left! They were sheering off the attack! And now the horns of Valon sounded, too! And the charge of the Vanadurin turned aside, also!
Spears were raised and sabers lowered as the two forces swerved oppositely, and trumpets blew and were answered by black-oxen horns, and then the armies rode together to mingle.
Tuck and Brega ran toward the now-milling warriors, and the Warrow could see the standards borne by the others: white falcon upon blue field: the flag of Wellen!
And as Tuck dodged among the seething tide of shifting horses and stamping hooves and worked his way toward the center of the mass, he heard the familiar hearty laughter of a silver-bearded Hrosmarshal and looked up to see Vidron clasping Galen’s hand.
3
The Valanreach Long-Ride
Now the mighty cavalcade thundered northwest through the Gûnarring Gap, six thousand five hundred strong, for Vidron’s fifteen hundred Wellenen had joined the five thousand Harlingar; and among the column and near its head rode a Warrow and a Dwarf upon stirrup-shortened saddles, each of their steeds led on a long tether by a warrior riding before them, and the strength of the Dwarf’s grip upon the fore-cantle made his knuckles white. Wellenen, Vanadurin, Warrow, and Dwarf: they all rode in the Legion of King Galen, and their goal was the cruel Iron Tower in the Wastes of Gron.
They rode into Gûnar: first they would gather Vidron’s pack horses from the woods west of the Ralo Road, and then they would swing north to begin the long-ride to Claw Moor. The Hrosmarshal had smiled mysteriously at Tuck, but had said nought other than he had a “special gift” awaiting the buccan back in the forest by the road, though what this surprise might be, Tuck could not imagine.
And they rode along the margin of the woods, the Wellen horns pealing the calls of assembly, the sounds ringing among the trees.
At last the calls were answered, and Tuck could see the shapes of horses and Men moving through the forest to come to the verge of the road. And then his sapphirine eyes saw smaller shapes: Warrows!
Now the column halted, and, his heart pounding, Tuck leapt down and trotted toward his kith. And lo! he saw among them one taller than the rest: Danner!
“Danner!” he yelled, running now, nearly stumbling in his haste, “Danner!”
Warrows turned at Tuck’s call. There was Patrel, too!
But another figure broke forth from the Warrow ranks and ran toward the oncoming buccan. “Tuck! Oh, Tuck!” she called his name, and he saw that it was Merrilee! And then she was hugging him and kissing him, and Danner and Patrel were pounding him on the back in jubilation, and unabashed tears streamed down all of their faces, while smiling Vidron sat upon his steed and looked down at them as he wiped the tears from his own eyes.
~
What are you doing here? How did you escape the Ghûls at Challerain Keep? Did you know that Aurion is slain and Galen is now King? Are these others from the Bosky? Questions flew back and forth, but no answers.
At last Tuck threw up his hands. “Wait!” he cried. “We’ve a long trip ahead of us and plenty of time to tell our tales and hear the stories of the others. Just let me ask this: Dammia, I know not why you are here, nor how you came unto this place, but you must have come lately from the Bosky. What news is there of Woody Hollow? And how fare my sire and dam?”
At his question, Merrilee’s face fell, and new tears brimmed her eyes. And she took Tuck by the hand and led him away from the others. And Danner and Patrel watched from afar as she stood and spoke softly to her buccaran, telling him of the last hours of Tulip and Burt, and of the burial in the gl
ade in the Dinglewood. And when she was finished, she wept and stroked his hair and clasped him to her as he held on tightly and cried.
~
Horns and bugles blew the calls to mount up, and though he wept still, Tuck went to his horse and was lifted to the saddle, for the press of War yields no time to grieve. And once more the column started forth while horseborne scouts scattered to the fore, flank, and rear.
Lord Gildor glanced up at the Sun standing near the zenith and spurred forward to ride alongside Galen. “Galen King, the Iron Tower lies nearly three-hundred leagues to the north as the horse runs. And exactly twenty days from this very hour will come the Darkest Day: the Moon will eat the Sun, and Gron will stand in the utter blackness of the ’Darkday. We cannot delay, for though I do not know how we may upset the Evil One’s plans, we must do so ere that darkest moment comes.” Gildor fell silent.
“I do not plan to tarry, Lord Gildor,” responded Galen. “Yet our horses must last long enough to get us there, and the Wellenen have already come some eight-hundred miles at the pace of a Valanreach long-ride. Their steeds may not endure unto Gron and the Iron Tower.” Galen held up a hand to forestall the protests coming to Lord Gildor’s lips. “Aye, Goldbranch, I know. And if need be, we will ride on without the army Vidron brought from afar. Yet I would rather have their strength with me when we assail the Kinstealer’s holt than to leave them behind in our wake.”
Gildor inclined his head and then dropped back to ride alongside Brega, but what they spoke about is not told.
North the cavalcade turned, north along the Gap Road, heading toward Gûnar Slot, that great cleft through the Grimwall where the Mountains changed course: running away westerly on one side of the Slot, curving to the north on the other.
It was after sunset when they made camp in the margins of sparse woods to either side of the Gap Road. And the Warrows gathered about their own campfire, and Tuck held hands with Merrilee as he exchanged his story with Danner and Patrel and the damman while the other buccen listened and commented and added to the story of the Struggles. And occasionally Tuck would glance in his diary to recall a point or date. And all the Warrows oohed and ahhed when Tuck told of the harrowing pursuit of the Ghûls that led to the Dusk-Door, and their flight from the Krakenward, and the slaying of the Gargon.
But as he listened to the tale of the Struggles—of the reaving of the Bosky, and of Merrilee’s rescue of Danner and Patrel, and of the Battles of Budgens and Brackenboro—Tuck’s face would now and then cloud over, and tears would well from his eyes, and he would walk away to stand weeping in the darkness with Merrilee at his side. And when he returned to the fire, the tale would go on, taking up where it had left off as if it had not stopped at all.
And even while they talked and hoped fervently that the Thornwall had been closed up tight, the Horde raged across the Boskydells—ravaging, pillaging, slaughtering—while Warrows fled before them.
~
Three more days the cavalcade hammered to the north, and at last they reached the Gûnar Slot, camping near the woods at its mouth. And during these same three days, Tuck slowly recovered his good spirits, though a look of sadness would sometimes haunt his eyes. But then, whether he was staring into a campfire or the night, or whether he was riding during the day, Tuck would look up to see Merrilee gazing at him, and he would lose himself in her warm smile and grin foolishly back at her.
~
The next day they rode into the vast cleft, ranging in breadth from seven miles at its narrowest to seventeen at its widest. And the walls of the mountains to either side rose sheer, as if cloven by a great axe. Trees lined the floor for many miles, though long stretches of barren stone frowned at the riders from one side or the other. The Gap Road ran for nearly seventy-five miles through the Gûnar Slot, and so the Legion camped in the great notch that night.
~
The following day they pressed onward, coming out the north end of the Slot near the noontide and swinging slightly west for the ford on the River Hâth. And Brega grumbled that it seemed he was getting nowhere, for this was the very same route he had followed some five weeks past.
That night they camped just south of Hâth Ford, where the Gap Road came to the Old Rell Way. Before them stood the hideous Black Wall, the wind and snow rumbling along the great ebon flank of the Dimmendark. On the morrow they would enter once more into the cruel Winternight, and the hearts of all the warriors of the Legion fell because of it. And many sat up late into the night and watched the silvery full Moon and the glittering stars wheel overhead, for they knew it would be a long time ere any saw them again.
And Tuck and Merrilee sat with arms about each other and gazed at the Moon and whispered gentle things, and the argent orb sailed through the spangled night and shone its silver rays down upon them.
But Lord Gildor looked at the Moon with another thought—a dire thought—in mind; for he knew that just under fifteen days hence, the gentle Moon would consume the fiery Sun, and the Darkest Day would come unto Gron, to the woe of all Mithgar.
~
In the morning they passed through the howling wind and driving snow to enter the spectral Shadowlight, and Warrow eyes took over the chore of scouting. And all that ’Darkday they fared northerly along the Old Rell Way.
At mid of ’Darkday, the Legion passed by the mouth of the Valley of the Door, and Tuck pointed out to Merrilee the vale where stood the Dusk-Door carven in the Grimspire, unseen in the Dimmendark. And Merrilee shuddered, for she knew that in the distant Shadowlight in a black mere dwelled the monstrous Krakenward.
~
On the second ’Darkday, the cavalcade continued north and passed by the road leading up to Quadran Pass, and onward up the Old Rell Way they went. Soon they came to the place where Brega’s Dwarven Company had battled the vanguard of the Horde. And as they rode by, Tuck gasped in shock and Merrilee turned her eyes down and away and did not look up again through her tears of distress; but Brega looked upon the Warground and his frame shook with rage, for the Horde that had come later had mutilated the slain Dwarves: hands and arms and feet and legs had been sundered from the bodies, and heads stood on poles driven into crevices in the frozen ground, and dead eyes stared from maimed faces at the passing Legion; and the Spawn had committed other unspeakably foul acts of butchery that turned the stomachs of many a staunch warrior. And as the column rode past, Brega raised his face to the Dimmendark and cried out in anguish, “Châkka djalk aggar theck!” and cast his hood over his head and said no more. And what his words meant—what oath of vengeance or cry of sorrow he had uttered—none could say.
~
In the following ’Darkdays, the horses of Wellenen began to weaken, for they had come an enormous distance these past twenty-five days: more than one-thousand miles in all, from Wellen across the Boskydells and down to Gûnar Slot; then north through the Gûnar Slot and past the Quadran; and all of it at the pace of a Valanreach long-ride, which, although it got the most distance from a steed at the least cost to the horse, nevertheless took its toll in the long run. Each ’Darkday the Legion rode north was one more ’Day of nearly fifty miles of travel; and the Wellenen horses began to flag as the cavalcade rode through the spur of the Grimwall that stood across the Old Rell Way and turned aside to make for Rhone Ford across the frozen Tumble River. Galen King had chosen to leave the ancient Rell tradeway, for, as Gildor reminded him, it was the route used by Spaunen to travel to and from the region of the Crestan Pass along the western side of the Grimwall; and although they had seen no signs of the foe, still it would not do to meet up with a southbound Horde. And so they rode for the ford leading into the Rhone, and crossed into that Land ere making camp.
~
The following ’Darkday they swung wide around a dense winter-bared forest growing along the western side of the River Tumble, and then pressed back northward and east to come at last to the southern margins of Drearwood where once more the Legion made camp. And now the talk around the campfires was wh
ether or not the Wellenen would continue on, for their steeds were clearly showing the fatigue of the long journey they had made.
~
But on the ’Darkday next, once again the entire cavalcade bore onward. Up the narrow plain between the Drearwood and the River Tumble they went, at last to camp just north of the Crossland Road where it passed through the Tumble at Arden Ford. And Galen spent a lengthy time inspecting the horses of Wellen, and there was a brooding look upon his face when he took to his bed for sleep.
And Tuck sat by the campfire and scribed in his diary, his sapphire gaze often straying to his dammia, who was sleeping nearby. And out on the perimeter—alongside Men—stood two Warrows at watch, their tilted Utruni eyes scanning the spectral Dimmendark.
~
The following ’Darkday saw the Legion ride alongside the high Arden Bluff. Beyond the stone massif lay the hidden Arden Vale, and Tuck wondered what the Lian were doing. And he told Merrilee about the food and baths and clean clothing he and Galen had enjoyed in the Hidden Refuge. And Merrilee Holt thought back and realized that she had not had a bath in nearly four weeks, since three days after the Battle of Budgens—and that one had been but a quick laving from a basin, hastily done in a stall in Whitby’s barn, and not a proper bath at all. And Merrilee longed to be in a real tub full of warm soapy water, and her eyes stung with tears.
That ’Night they camped at the northern reaches of the Drearwood. They had come only thirty-two miles that ’Darkday, for the horses of Wellen could no longer hold the pace.
“They are nearly played out,” said Vidron. “Oh, some can go onward—in fact they all can—but no longer at the pace of a Valanreach long-ride. King Galen, I am troubled, for the Wellenen are nearly a quarter of your Legion. I would not have you face the Enemy in Gron at less than full strength. This I advise: drop the pace back to six leagues a day—say at most twenty-five miles, no more—then we will ride with you all the way to the Iron Tower, and thence you will arrive at full strength.”
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