~
Flandrena looked up at the raiders gathered ’round Tuck. “Indeed, it does seem broken,” said the Elf. “Yet I cannot say for certain unless we remove the boot; but if we do, the foot will swell, so I deem it best to leave it shod. In any case, Tuck cannot go on. Our climb has taken overlong, for less than an hour remains until the Sun Death—and we have much yet to do. I think . . . nay, I know, we must leave Tuck behind.”
“What?” hissed Danner. “You cannot be serious. We can’t leave him behind. The ravine patrols . . .”
“We have no choice, Danner,” interrupted Brega. “We must go on. Up that wall.” The Dwarf pointed at the nearby rampart. “True, it will be easier to climb than the ravine, for the wall has projections, and it is sturdy. Even so, it is beyond a broken-footed Waeran’s power to mount it.”
“No . . .” Danner started to object, but again he was interrupted:
“He’s right Danner,” said Tuck, smiling in spite of the fact that his heart was sinking. “They’re both right. And though none has said it, for me to try to come with you would endanger the raid past reason. You’ve got to leave me behind. You must continue the mission. And none can stay with me, for all are needed to drop the bridge and raise the gate.” Tuck raised his hand to forestall Danner’s objections. “I know: the ravine patrols will come by, and soon. Well, help me to that jumble of rocks yon, and I will hide out as they draw nigh. But me no buts, Danner, for there is no other choice. Hurry now! For you all must be on your way.”
And so the raiders carried Tuck to a pile of boulders next to the base of the wall. And with tears in his eyes, Danner fastened Tuck’s cloak about the broken-footed buccan’s shoulders. And Tuck hoarsely whispered, “Thanks, bucco . . . now go! I’ll be all right.”
At that moment there came to their ears the juddering howls of roving Vulgs. “Hsst!” breathed Flandrena sharply. “Modru’s curs. We must hasten, for they migh have spied us.” With quick fare-you-wells to their injured comrade, the raiders swiftly returned to the corner and began to climb upward. And, blinking back tears, Tuck watched them go.
Upward the eight began to climb, the outjutting stones on the angle of the wall giving them easy purchase—for when the fortress had been constructed, Modru had not dreamed that any could gain these walls to scale. But suddenly, the raiders froze: dark blots on a dark wall.
Wha . . . Tuck wondered why they stopped. Then he saw: A ravine patrol! Coming this way!
Pain lancing through his foot, Tuck scuttled backwards into the boulders. And the patrol came on: snarling, jostling Spawn. Tuck’s eyes followed the Rûcks’ progress. Don’t look up! he willed the maggot-folk. Keep your eyes down!
And the dark shapes of the eight climbers moved not.
Onward came the squabbling patrol: now even with, now striding past the rampart corner, passing below the silent raiders frozen but a few feet above.
Then the quarreling Spaunen were beyond the corner, and they had not glanced up; and Tuck breathed a sigh of relief and slithered further back among the jumble of rock, where he no longer could see the patrol.
Yet hark! It sounded as if the Rûcks—or at least some of them—were coming toward the rocks of the Warrow’s hiding place!
Desperately, his foot shooting agony up his leg, Tuck scrambled even deeper among the boulders, squirming through small crevices between the huge stones, shoving his bow and quiver ahead of him. He crawled over a rusted iron grate lying between two huge rocks and squeezed forward into a black hole but barely large enough for him to enter.
Behind, he could hear the muffled sounds of maggot-folk speaking the harsh Slûk tongue; and, trying not to grunt, Tuck wriggled onward in the blackness, the hole so tight that he could not raise his head.
Ten feet he went, then twenty, the stone scraping along his chest and back; and he prayed that he would not get stuck as he pressed on; and there were places where he had to exhale just to go forward, but forward he went, for he knew that if he tried to back up, his own cloak and jacket would roll up along his body and jam him tight. And so, not really wanting to go ahead but afraid to back up, Tuck wriggled on.
Tuck did not know exactly how far forward he struggled to get through that long, constricted hole—twenty, thirty, forty feet, or more—yet at last he hauled and pressed and wormed his way to its end. And when he emerged he found that he had been crawling through a channel, a drain channel, one that ran under the fortress walls, for when he emerged to painfully stand in a shallow recess along the bulwark, Tuck discovered that he was in Modru Kinstealer’s holt: he had crawled under the cold stone walls of the dread fortress of the cruel Iron Tower!
~
The eight raiders held absolutely still upon the wall as the ravine patrol marched beneath them. Only the eyes of the climbers moved, following the track of the Rûcks below. Patrel, climbing last, did not even breathe as the maggot-folk tramped past not fifteen feet under, so close that the small buccan felt as if he could almost reach out and touch them; and all that the Rûcks would have to do would be to glance up and the raiders would be discovered. Yet the maggot-folk snarled at one another and cursed and jostled, so intent upon elbowing and shoving and squabbling that they saw not the eight Free Folk on the wall above.
Past the corner the Spawn marched and on toward the south. Yet wait! Two of the Rûcks swung wide of the squad, and they strode toward Tuck’s hiding place!
Upon the wall the raiders watched in anguish, and Danner made as if to descend. But Prince Igon reached out and grasped the buccan’s arm and whispered, “No!” and Danner froze once more.
Now the two Rûcks came to the rocks, and snarled in the foul Slûk tongue as they stood and relieved themselves. And then they turned and rejoined the squad, marching on southward.
And the eight raiders breathed a collective sigh of relief, for injured Tuck had not been discovered. And when the Rûcks disappeared from view beyond the distant buttress, once more the eight began to climb.
Up they mounted the soaring ramparts, their hands and feet finding ready purchase upon the outjutting rock in spite of the hoarfrost and rime. And upward they climbed.
At last Brega came to just below the crenel, where he stopped, and so did all the others—for the Dwarf would signal if the ramparts were clear, and then the eight would o’ertop the walls.
But Brega gave not the sign to proceed, for there came to the Dwarf’s ear the sound of scuffling Rûck feet as one of the foul folk came at the change of the watch; yet the guard he came to relieve was gone, lying slain at the bottom of the ravine. And below the slot at the lip of the rampart, Brega clung with only one hand to the stone while with his free hand he unslung the axe Drakkalan, for he heard the unseen Rûck mutter and pick up the dead guard’s fallen pike and then step straight toward the opening.
~
As Ubrik came riding back into the King’s camp, leading the long string of horses used to bear the nine raiders to the eastern side of the dark fortress, he found Galen and Gildor discussing the strategy of the Legion.
“Ho, Ubrik!” called Galen, seeing the Marshal return. “Fared they well?”
Ubrik dismounted and handed the tethers over to an attendant. “Aye, King Galen, as far as we went. Yet grave danger will face them not until they come to the ravine. The Waldan, Burt, and my scout, Aric, now watch the progress of the raiders and will report to us when the nine scale the fortress wall.”
Galen grunted and handed over a warm cup of tea to the Reachmarshal. “Let us then review one last time the tactics of our ruse.”
Their plan was simple: the Legion would ride to the north of the gate, where the ravine was narrowest. There they would send forth a force of Men in plain view with ropes and shields and escorts of archers, and this force would make as if to scale the ravine under the cover of arrows. In this, the remaining Warrows—led by Merrilee—would join the archers from Valon.
Meantime, a second force, proceeding in apparent secrecy, would move even more northerly
, and act as if to cross over the crevasse and mount the walls. It was expected that here too the Men would be seen, and it was hoped that the Rûcks would think that this was the true mission to breach the fortress, and thus would not look elsewhere for raiders.
And while these things were going forth, Lord Gildor would hold a strike force on the southern flank of the main body of the Legion. This group would mill about as if part of the whole, yet their purpose was to drive across the bridge—if and when it was felled by the raiders—and through the gate where they would hold the way until the whole of the Legion arrived.
Lastly, during the entire ruse, King Galen in his scarlet armor would ride Wildwind along the fore of the Host and draw Spaunen eyes to him and away from Lord Gildor upon the flank.
“Arrgh!” growled Ubrik. “I like not this plan of mine, for it accomplishes nought if the nine do not succeed. I think we have put too many, nay, all of our horses in but one byre, and if it should burn . . . My meaning is this: if the raiders fail, then there is nought can be done to halt the Evil One.”
“Aye, Ubrik,” responded Lord Gildor, “yet what else would you have us do? Were there siege engines, scaling ladders, and assault bridges, then would we act in a different manner. But there are none of these things at hand. This plan, as plain as it is, should draw the Rûpt attention to us and away from the eastern wall; our only hope is that the Spaunen will flock to jape at us and taunt us and sneer at our feeble attempts. Pray that their eyes turn toward us and not toward their own ramparts.”
“It is the sneering of the Wrg that bothers me most, Deva Gildor,” rumbled Ubrik, “I admit it. I realize that drawing Spawn in great numbers to jape at us is at the core of what we do. But I do not have to like it.”
“Yet you are right, Reachmarshal Ubrik,” said Galen, “if the raiders fail, then so do we all.”
Galen turned to the Lian. “Where stands the ’Day, Lord Gildor?”
“In but five hours, Galen King, comes the Sun Death,” replied the Elf.
“Then it is time to begin.” Galen stood and girted Steel-heart to his waist. “Like it or no, Reachmarshal Ubrik, now is the moment to draw Spawn jeers. Sound the signal to the Legion, for the hour has come.”
Ubrik raised his black-oxen horn to his lips and an imperative call split the air, and it was answered over and again as company after company signalled that they stood ready.
And Galen, Gildor, and Ubrik mounted their steeds and set forth at the head of the Legion, riding toward the Iron Tower: Ubrik on the left flank, Gildor on the right, and King Galen in the center. And just after Galen, rode the Wee Folk: Merrilee, Dill, Teddy, and Arch, all upon steeds being led by mounted warriors. Then came the wide-spread ranks of the Vanadurin: steel helms glinting darkly in the Shadowlight, spears couched in stirrup cups, sabers sheathed in saddle scabbards, and some warriors bearing bow and arrow. And far to the north rode fifty Harlingar: the false assault force.
And amid the jingle of armor and the rattle of weaponry and the drum of hooves, the peals of black-oxen horns rang forth, calling challenges to the forces of Modru Kinstealer’s holt.
Yet from the distant Shadowlight behind and to the north of the Host there came the chill howls of Vulg spies, calling unto the Iron Tower. And a shudder ran through Merrilee, for she guessed that Modru’s curs reported that a small band rode to the north—the false assault force—and the damman wondered if Vulgs had also seen the raiders: Did Modru know that Tuck and the others were coming, too? Or had the Vulgs been fooled, drawn off, missing the raiders altogether? Merrilee knew not the answer to her questions, and she could but hope that all had gone well.
Closer loomed the dark citadel, and Spawn could be seen rushing thither and yon atop the battlements. And an occasional arrow would be launched from the rampart as the Spaunen tested the range.
Still nearer drew the Legion, until they came to the limit of black-shafted Rûcken arrows; and Reachmarshal Ubrik’s horn call split the air to signal along the ranks. And the Legion ground to a halt.
In the fore-center, warriors with shields and ropes dismounted and marched toward the dark crevasse. Behind them came the bowmen, and in this company went the Warrows; and they took advantage of the great fangs of rock thrusting up through the land, using them for protection.
Closer they came to the black ravine, and closer still. Now the Men with ropes and shields came unto its edge; and they tied their lines to jut and boulder and cast the loose ends over the edge and down into the blackness below.
And Rûck and Hlôk and evil Ghûl looked upon these Men in disbelief: Did these fools think to scale the ravine and breach the walls under the very eyes of Modru’s Horde? Raucous jeering rose up from the Spaunen ranks.
Then a clamant blat of Rûcken horn sounded, and a sleet of black-shafted barbs hissed down upon the Men, thudding into shield and earth and flesh alike.
And the arrows of the Host hissed up to the battlements in reply, the shafts for the most part to sail o’er the walls or to shatter against the carven stone, though a few bolts found foe.
And a great prolonged shout rose up from the Legion, for the High King in a scarlet chain-mail corselet rode along the forefront of his Host, and Steel-heart flashed in the Shadowlight as Galen exhorted the ranks.
Still the black-shafted quarrels rained down upon those at the ravine. And arrows flew back in return. But at last, at a signal from their Captain, the Men abandoned their ropes and retreated back to the Legion, the archers loosing shafts up toward the walls and backing away too.
And along the battlements the Spaunen jeered in revelment, their strident wralls, their japing shrieks, wauling out after the fleeing allies.
And along the left flank, Ubrik ground his teeth in rage at the fleering of the Wrg.
Yet all was going as planned.
~
Brega gripped Drakkalan’s black helve, the Dwarf’s eyes locked upon the open crenel just above. He could hear the Ükh scuffling toward the opening, and Brega grasped the stone of the wall with his left hand, and thrust his feet deeper into the crevice supporting the bulk of his weight. Now he could hear the rasp of Ükh breath, the scrape of pike along stone, the slap of hand down upon the sill; and then the Grg leaned out of the opening to look below.
Chok! Drakkalan sheared through the side of the Rûck’s skull, sending bone and split helm whirling off below; and dark grume splashed upon merlon and wall and warrior. And the corpse slid backwards out of sight to collapse in a grotesque sprawl upon the ramparts.
Brega hoisted himself up and peered cautiously along the banquette. It was empty of guards! Signalling the ones below, the Dwarf quickly slipped over the top and onto the wardway; and the remaining climbers scrambled up after. And as the others joined him, Brega raised the slain Rûck overhead, and with a heave of his powerful Dwarven shoulders, he flung the corpse out and away from the wall, hurling it into the ravine below, and then cast the two pikes after.
“We must hurry,” hissed Flandrena, his voice filled with urgency. “Less than a half hour remains ere the Sun Death, and we have far to go to reach the gate, and much to do once we get there.”
Hastily, the raiders donned their soiled cloaks, and cast their hoods over their heads. Then, falling into ranks—the Warrows and Brega to the fore, Flandrena and Igon coming after—they began marching along the wall toward the distant gate, jostling and snarling among themselves as would the Spaunen do.
~
I’m inside! Inside the fortress! Tuck’s heart hammered wildly as he peered forth from the recess along the wall. Hundreds upon hundreds of Spawn swarmed across the courtyards before him: some carrying crates or kegs, others bearing weapons and marching up ramps to the battlements above, and still others jostling and snarling as they tramped ’round corners and away or marched toward the buccan. Among the teeming Rûcks, cruel Hlôks plied whips and snarled orders; and deadly Ghûls sat upon Hèlsteeds and watched o’er all.
Tuck pulled his hood as far over his hea
d as he could, hiding his face deep in a fold of shadow.
Out of the frying pan, thought Tuck. Now what? Back into the hole? Nay! I came to get into the fortress, and I did—by an unexpected route, to be sure, yet I am in.
Once again Tuck peered forth from the recess. The swarming of the maggot-folk had not abated one whit. And the dead black eyes of a nearby Ghûl swept across the courtyard before him. All right, bucco, now that you are in, do you think you might get to the gate? The raiders will need you there, you know. Due west: the gate is due west . . . straight across the fortress from here, straight through a hold teeming with the enemy. All you have to do is pass undetected through the entire Horde. But first, you have to get past that watching Ghûl.
Again Tuck peered out, and ducked back quickly, for a snarling Rûcken company marched along the wall toward his hiding place. Tramp, tramp! Forward they came, and Tuck pressed deeper into the darkness of the recess and slipped his bow and quiver across his shoulders and back. Tramp, tramp! On marched the Rûcks, and Tuck could now hear their quarreling snarls. Tramp, tramp! Now the first ranks strode past the buccan, and he moved not in the darkness of the wall. Tramp, tramp! Hlôks grated orders, and the jostling Rûcks bore onward. Tramp, tramp! Rûcks streamed by, and Tuck prayed that none would peer in to see him. Tramp, tramp! Now the last of the ranks hove past.
This is it, bucco! Tuck thought. And when the final Rûck passed, the Warrow stepped forth from the shadows and joined the marching Spawn.
And with each step he took, lancing agony shot up his left leg, and he could feel something grinding within his boot; yet he strode onward, his jaw clenched to keep from crying out in anguish, his heart hammering in fear—a lone Warrow marching at the tail end of a company of squabbling Rûcks. Like a foolish lamb in Wolf’s clothing, Tuck’s mind gasped between strides.
South they tramped, alongside the wall, and then turned westward, following a stone-cobbled way between squat buildings and stark towers. At the rear of the company, Tuck hobbled, refusing to yield to the stabbing torment of his foot, yet afraid that he would scream or collapse at each and every step.
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