And all of the Warrows would go with the King, for none of them bore major wounds, except perhaps Tuck, and neither his broken foot nor his blindness would significantly affect his riding.
~
That night guards again were posted against the distant vileness whispered of by Bane and Bale, yet no evil came to pass. And just after mid of night, the snow ceased to fall. The storm had ended.
~
The grey light of dawn found eight Warrows gathered around three cairns set upon the moor, out before the dark fortress. With them stood Brega, Bekki’s son, Dwarf warrior of the Red Hills.
“I bore them here in the blizzard,” said Brega, his voice low, his hood cast over his head. “Harven, Rollo, and Danner. I could not leave them within the walls of that vile place, for they were my comrades in arms. And so I laid them here beneath these stones. Brave warriors were they all—brave as any Châkka—and they strode in honor. Nothing greater can I say of anyone.”
Tears ran freely down the faces of all those gathered. Tuck knelt and reached forward with a hand, and Merrilee guided it to rest upon a stone of Danner’s cairn. And Tuck spoke: “Once before—oh, it seems so long ago—I knelt beside a cairn like this. And I placed my hand upon a stone and swore an oath to avenge the comrade beneath it. And you, Danner, you swore that oath, too. And we kept it, you and I, and Patrel here . . . and all the rest. For the Evil that slew Hob and Tarpy and so many others is himself now dead. But oh, my friend, I would gladly give my own life if you could but have yours back . . .”
Tuck buried his face in his hands, and great sobs shook his frame. And Brega tenderly lifted him up as if he were but a babe, and bore him back toward the bridge. And, weeping, and leading the horse that had carried Tuck out to the cairns, so went all the Warrows—except Patrel, for the tiny buccan remained behind as the others walked back toward the fortress. And as they crossed the bridge, there came to their ears a sweet singing; and they turned at the sound, pausing, seeing a small figure in the distance standing alone in the snow before Danner’s cairn. And Patrel’s voice rose up into the clear, early sky, but he was too distant for any to catch the words of his song.
~
In midmorning, the Legion entire at last rode out of the fortress. Five-thousand had ridden north, and but thirty-five-hundred now fared south, for hundreds had fallen in battle. And among the many Men that had survived rode a Princess, two Elves, eight Warrows, and a Dwarf.
South they hammered across the wind-swept snow, leaving behind the abandoned hulk of Modru Kinstealer’s holt, the hideous iron mask nailed to the wall above the gate as a mute warning to all who would follow Evil’s path.
~
Southward they fared, day after day, the white miles lengthening out behind them as they skirted ’round the edges of enormous drifts, keeping to the wind-scrubbed flats.
Down across Claw Moor they rode, and at the end of the second day they came to Claw Gap. The following morning they struggled through great drifts to pass across the Gap River valley, for there was no way around. And when they had won beyond that barrier, onward they pressed along the eastern margin of Gron. Past the great Gwasp they rode to come to the long treeless barrens wedged between the Rigga Mountains and the Gronfangs.
Late on the eighth day they came to the north end of Grûwen Pass, where they pitched camp. And among the drifts they found scattered heaps of Rûcken armor, as if a great battle had ended here.
Dawn of the ninth day found the Legion pressing through Grûwen Col; and time and again they rode past the frozen bodies of slain Men and Elves half buried in the snow, the blue and white of Wellen and the Eld-Tree flags of Arden Vale proclaiming the identity of the dead. Here too lay a cluttered splay of empty Rûcken armor and shattered scimitars, and broken staffs bearing a scarlet ring of fire on an ebon field: the wind-tattered standard of the Evil One who was no more.
Past the rimed carnage and frigid litter of War they rode, now and again breasting through icy drifts; and it was late in the starry night when at last they came down out of the frozen pass to make camp in the Land of Rhone.
Few, if any, spoke of the bitter sights they’d seen this day. And neither Lord Gildor nor Flandrena came to take a meal at the fire; instead they stood at the edge of the night and stared out across the bleak moonlit snow.
~
Just ere noon of the tenth day, as the weary Legion wended along the northernmost flank of Arden Bluff, one of the forward scouts galloped back toward the Host, and lo! riding with him came Elf Lord Talarin and Hrosmarshal Vidron. And as the scout turned and again bore off to the fore, the Lord and the Marshal reined their steeds in a wide arc to come alongside Galen, matching their pace to that of Wildwind.
“My King!” hailed Vidron, striking a clenched fist to his heart, a great smile beaming out from his silver beard. “Good news from the south: the War there is ended! We have won!”
Galen put his face in his hands, and long moments passed ere he looked up again.
“Kel, Galen King,” said Talarin, his manner somber. “My eyes are glad to see you, yet my heart grieves for the dead.”
“Aye,” replied Galen, “many have fallen in this struggle against Evil. Yet it is finished at last.”
At that moment, Prince Igon thundered up on Rust, and in his wake rode Gildor and Flandrena and Reachmarshal Ubrik.
“Hai, Vidron!” cried the young Man, happy to see the warrior; and then, more gravely: “Hál, my Lord Talarin.”
In response to the exuberance of youth, a brief smile flickered across the features of Talarin and he nodded to the Prince; and the Elf’s eyes sought those of Gildor and Flandrena as the Lian warriors and Ubrik joined the small foregathering. And they looked upon one another and were glad. And the talk turned to the ending of the War.
Yet Vidron raised in his stirrups and twisted to look back along the column bearing southward. But his searching gaze saw not what he sought, and settling back into his saddle, he turned to Galen. “Sire, I must ask: the Lady Laurelin . . .”
“She is well, General Vidron,” replied Galen. “She rides behind the vanguard in the company of Warrior Brega and the Wee Ones.”
“Hai!” barked Vidron, a fierce grin upon his face. “And the Waldana, how fare they?”
“Three were slain, and Tuck was blinded,” answered Galen. “Your Danner was one who fell.”
Vidron turned his eyes out over the snow, and for long moments only the sound of hooves was heard. Then Talarin cleared his throat. “As you have said, Galen King, many have fallen in this struggle against Evil.”
They rode along without speaking for a time, then again Talarin spoke, the Elf gesturing at the glittering brightness. “Once you pledged to bring the Sun back unto the world, and so you have; yet I pray that the price you paid to do so was not as heavy as the cost we bore in Kreggyn.”
“Our burden was most heavy—as was yours,” responded Galen, his mind casting back beyond the trailing Legion and up into the frozen reaches of the mountains where lay Grûwen Pass, called Kreggyn by the Elves. “We saw the signs of the brunt you bore.”
“Long we held them,” rumbled Vidron. “Yet each ’Darkday they hammered us deeper into the Pass. At last they drove us through, and we were trapped. As they mounted their final charge, a great blackness fell. But then, whoosh! the Dimmendark was gone! And they fell to Adon’s Ban.”
“But wait!” cried Galen in amaze. “That means you held them for . . .”
“Five ’Darkdays,” interjected Vidron. “We held them five ’Days. Fifteen hundred Wellenen and five hundred Lian . . .”
“Against ten thousand Spaunen!” exclaimed Galen.
“Hai!” cried Igon. “This will be a saga the bards and tale tellers will chant for ages to come.”
Talarin nodded. “Aye, long will the harpers sing of Kingsgeneral Vidron, the Whelmer of Modru’s Horde, for indeed it is a mighty tale. Yet let them not forget to sing of those heroes who did not ride away from the field when the battle
was ended.”
At last the fore of the long column of the Host had ridden nearly to the concealed entrance to Arden Vale. “Come,” said Talarin. “Lead your weary Legion down into the Hidden Refuge to spend some days of quiet and rest. We have warm shelter and hot food and drink. And as you pause, you can speak to us your tale, for we would hear how you brought about the downfall of the Dimmendark.”
As Ubrik raised his black-oxen horn to his lips and signalled unto the column, Galen said, “Ah, but it was not I who vanquished the Shadowlight, Lord Talarin. Instead it was Tuck who loosed the shaft that slew the ’Stone and freed the light to destroy Modru and hurl Gyphon back beyond the Spheres. It was Tuck who caused the collapse of the Dimmendark and returned the Sun unto the world to whelm the Spawn. Aye, it was Tuck and none else who did this thing, and we did but help the Waerling along his fateful course.”
And as Talarin and Vidron listened in wonder to Galen’s words, they led the Legion toward the bluff to ride through the hidden tunnel and down into Arden Vale.
~
Rael held a polished crystal in her fingers and peered through it and into Tuck’s eyes. Behind her the light of a single candle shone over her shoulder, casting a dim glow within the darkened room. Long she looked, first into one eye and then into the other. And no one spoke. At last she stepped back and gave a sign, and window curtains were thrown open to let vivid sunlight stream through and fall upon the buccan sitting in the chair. As Rael continued her examination, watching the reaction of the Waerling’s eyes to the brightness, Talarin continued a conversation he and Tuck had started earlier:
“And so,” said the Elf Lord, “had Gyphon come to rule in Mithgar, the power would have swung to Him.”
“King Galen once told me that Mithgar was like the fulcrum of a teeter-totter,” responded Tuck.
“Aye, Tuck,” answered Talarin, “although I had never thought of it in that light, Galen is correct. And as it is with any teeter-totter, at the critical moment, when the powers are within balance, the slightest impulse one way or the other can shift the equipoise for good or for ill.
“Such was the case with you, Tuck, for you tipped the balance, but the force you used was by no means slight . . . by any measure. For you see, although four-thousand years apast Gyphon set into motion events none could stop, so too must have Adon started his own plan—and tokens of power were created upon Mithgar to find their way unto the Iron Tower for use at the critical moment.
“And you, Tuck, chose and were chosen to follow the course that would bring you to Modru’s evil sanctum in that darkest moment of the darkest hour where you could shift the balance away from Evil and toward Good, away from Gyphon and toward Adon.”
Tuck seemed lost in thought. “Lord Talarin, this I have wanted to ask: Gyphon was so beautiful when I first saw Him; but then He changed to something ghastly. How can that be? How can it be that One so vile can be so fair to the eye?”
“Evil often comes with a fair face, Tuck,” replied Talarin. “But beneath it all is a hideous monster.”
Again Tuck seemed lost in thought. “There is something else that is puzzling me, Lord Talarin: In the moments just before I shot the Myrkenstone, Rael’s rede and the inscription from the tomb of Othran the Seer came into my mind:
~
‘Neither of two Evils must thy strike claim;
Instead smite the Darkness between the same.’
~
Loose not the Red Quarrel
Ere appointed dark time.
~
Now, in hindsight, the rede is clear: it told me to shoot the Myrkenstone instead of either Gyphon or Modru. But the tomb inscription still has me mystified: I thought it meant for me to shoot at any time during the Sun Death, but I couldn’t seem to loose that red arrow until Modru’s chanting was ended. And I knew, as if someone compelled me so, that I had to shoot then. Why couldn’t I shoot before? I mean, the Lady Laurelin was nearly slaughtered by my delay. Yet I did not, could not, shoot till the chanting stopped.”
In the silence that followed, Rael stood and turned and stepped to the window and looked toward the distant pines. Merrilee, who had sat quietly during the examination, went to sit by Tuck’s side, taking him by the hand. “Perhaps, Tuck,” said the Elf Lord, then paused, “perhaps it was only after the incantation was completed that the Myrkenstone was vulnerable, open to attack. Mayhap that was the appointed dark time spoken of by Othran the Seer ages agone.” Again silence fell.
Rael continued to gaze out o’er the sparkling snow, and in the stillness her voice spoke softly: “Tuck, say again how the Myrkenstone affected your vision.”
“Well, when we first saw the black light streaming from the tower it wrenched at all of our eyes,” responded Tuck, “all of the Warrow eyes, that is, for no other Folk could see it—not Man nor Dwarf nor even Elf. But the Wee Folk, we knew it was bad from the very beginning . . . yet none of us knew just how bad.
“When I first crawled into the room atop the tower where lay the Myrkenstone, it trapped my eyes: I couldn’t look away from it. And my vision began to dim, to fade; and if Gyphon hadn’t come, hadn’t pulled my gaze to Him, I think I would have lost all my sight then and there.
“But He did come, and I looked away from the ’Stone, first to Him and then to Laurelin and Modru. And I took up the Red Quarrel and set it to my bow. When I looked back at the Myrkenstone to shoot it, well, it took away the last of my vision: I could see nothing at all: my sight had been devoured by that terrible maw.
“I must have been looking right at the ’Stone when I shot it. And only in the unbearable glare of its burning did I have vision once more.
“And when the glare was gone, I was blind.”
Tuck fell silent a moment, then said in a low, halting voice, “My last sight . . . was of an unendurably hideous monster . . . falling . . . falling into a pit beyond conception. If one is to . . . to lose his sight, he should last see something of beauty . . . a flower, perhaps . . .”
Merrilee squeezed Tuck’s hand as Rael turned from the window to face the buccan. “I do not know what caused the damage to your eyes, Tuck: whether it was the strange black radiance of the Myrkenstone—as seems most likely—or whether it was the furious blare of the ’Stone’s destruction, I cannot say. But this I do know: your affliction is not unlike that of snow-blindness . . . but I fear it is permanent.” Rael paused, her eyes filled with a great sadness. “You who brought the Sun back to Mithgar may never again see the light of day.”
Merrilee drew in a great sob of air, and she wept bitterly. And Tuck drew her into his arms and stroked her hair and soothed, “Don’t cry, my dammia. There’s no need to cry. I may not live to see the Sun, but I can feel it on my face.”
And Talarin and Rael quietly went from the room, leaving behind a blind buccan holding a weeping damman while sitting in a pool of golden sunlight.
~
A week fled quickly, and well the Legion rested, gaining in strength and haleness from the Elven provender. And in the quiet vale, spirits were renewed. Yet there was no celebration, for the Lian moved in a state of deep mourning: although the number of their War-dead did not match that of the Men, still nearly half of the Elven warriors of Arden Vale had fallen in battle. And for a people said to be immortal, Death strikes an especially onerous blow: for with these Folk, the Dark Reaper does not cut life short by a mere few years—instead an uncounted span of eras is lost.
On the seventh day, the train of those wounded at the Iron Tower at last arrived from Gron, and they, too, were taken into the Hidden Refuge.
Their arrival seemed to be a signal to High King Galen: he would now fare south, and most of the Legion would go with him, for as he told the Council, “There is much to be done: the Realm is to be set aright, and I am needed in Pellar.
“Yet this also I say: I would that the Wellenen form an escort and return the Waerlinga unto the Land of the Thorns, for the Wee Ones have given more than any could ask; especially Tuckerby Underb
ank. None can ever repay him for the deeds he has done, for we owe him a priceless debt. Yet this is the way we will begin: Men shall come to help rebuild the Bosky, and Tuck’s will be the first home restored. But that will not be all, for the Crown shall ever remember our obligation unto him, and he will want for nought.
“Now, if the Legion stands ready, we shall fare forth on the morrow.”
Thus it was decided: Tuck and the other Warrows and the surviving Wellenen would strike west for the Boskydells while the Legion would fare south toward Valon, and beyond to Pellar.
But Brega—stubborn Brega—would not go with the Legion, for the Dwarf refused to mount a horse. “Hmmph! Ride a horse? Nonsense!” grumbled Brega. “The War is over, and the only mount I will now sit astraddle is a pony. The Legion may ride south in haste upon their great beasts, but as for me, I will make my way back to the Red Hills at my own pace upon the back of a sensible steed—if any can be found. And if not, well then I will walk.”
No amount of debate, no logic of argument, would sway the obstinate Dwarf from his decision: he would ride a pony or walk; nothing else would do. And the High King would not ask him to act otherwise, for although Galen did not know why Brega had taken this stand, still he respected the Dwarf’s wishes.
In the end, a pony was located and given over to Brega. On the morrow the Dwarf would set out south for his beloved Red Hills, and with him would go Flandrena upon Swiftmane, keeping Brega company; for beginning with their mission to climb the walls of the dark fortress, the Dwarf and the Elf had become fast friends.
As for Lord Gildor, he would remain behind in Arden Vale for awhile, for he too knew the healing art, and he would serve the wounded.
Thus were the Deevewalkers to be sundered, each to answer a calling of his own. On the morrow they would bid their farewells.
~
The dawn came bright and clear. The Legion stood ready to depart. So, too, stood the Warrows in the company of the Wellenen. And Brega held the reins of a small grey pony, and at the Dwarf’s side was Flandrena. Talarin, Rael, and Gildor stood before an assembly of Lian, and they faced Tuck and Patrel and Merrilee, and Igon, Laurelin, and High King Galen. And behind the King stood Vidron and Ubrik.
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