Beyond Budgens and along Woody Hollow Road they fared, plashing through Rill Ford and wending toward their goal. And as dusk fell, the escort crossed the bridge above the Dingle-rill to come into the town of Woody Hollow.
Up past the Commons they rode, Market Square and then Town Square on their left. And Warrows came forth to watch in silence as they passed. On up through the coomb they rode, soon to come to the wooded swale up at Hollow End. Yet they plodded beyond the curving lane to The Root—for Tuck’s home, Tuck’s burrow, had been burned by Modru’s Reavers. Instead, the escort rode on to Merrilee’s burrow, and there they stopped.
The two Wee Folk were helped down from their horses. And as the Wellenen turned to make camp in the End Field, Tuck and Merrilee moved slowly up the walk—the buccan hobbling with a cane and the damman leading him tenderly—and they went into the burrow and quietly closed the door behind. They were home at last.
And a soft warm wind blew gently from the south, and rills and streams sang with the sparkling waters of the snowmelt.
It was the fourth day of April.
7
The Raven Book
In the days following Tuck’s return to Woody Hollow, winter loosed its chill grip and spring grew into fullness and passed into summer. And free people everywhere came once more unto their homes, and the work of clearing away the rubble of War’s destruction began.
And, too, across the reaches of Pellar, Valon, Jugo, and Hoven, and in Grûwen Pass and out upon the plains of Riamon, great turved mounds were raised as the dead were buried at last.
Dwarves led by Brega marched north from the Red Hills into Rell to tenderly place the slain forty upon a fitting pyre. And as the only survivor of that mighty battle with the vanguard of a Horde, Brega spoke the somber speech of the Châkka ere he fired the great bier.
Along the Battle Downs, the slain of the last waggon train were laid to rest, while farther north at Challerain Keep great mounds were raised among the barrows. The Tomb of Othran the Seer was set aright, though the Atalar Blade and the Red Quarrel were now gone—yet these two tokens of power had only been held in the keep of the Seer until needed upon the face of Mithgar.
And Aurion Redeye was placed under the earth in a small barrow central to the mounds of those felled in that great opening battle of the Winter War. And above his grave a dolmen was raised bearing carven runes stating: Aurion, who chose freedom.
Far to the north in Gron, out before the dark citadel, a great mound was raised where the slain Harlingar were laid to rest. There too, in later years, a tomb was built above three cairns. Heavy was the stone, and dark, that made up the blocks of this monument. And three names were carven deeply in the rock. And under one of the names, another phrase was added so that the whole of it declared: Danner Bramblethorn: King of the Rillrock. Who built this tomb, and when, it is not told—though some say that it was the work of Dwarves.
And in the Bosky, in each of the Seven Dells, simple ceremonies were held as the fallen were returned to earth; yet many Warrow families grieved for their kith lost to War in strange and distant Lands.
And in that summer of the year Two-thousand-and-nineteen of the Fourth Era, waggon loads of Men, sent by the King, came to the Bosky bearing lumber and tools and other goods to aid in the reconstruction. And true to Galen’s word, the first place rebuilt was Tuckerby Underbank’s Warren—The Root—made larger, more spacious, with rooms to house guests who might be Men, so high were the ceilings. And the walls were paneled with rich-grained woods: walnut, oak, cherry, and the like. Furniture, large and small, was brought in, some of it made by the wicker weavers of Bigfen and Littlefen. Tables came from Thimble and chairs from Weevin, and cloth for curtains from the village of Preece. Too, gifts were sent from Stonehill and Weiunwood, and from Wellen in the west.
And when they were finished with Tuckerby’s Warren, the Men went to help others rebuild houses and stores and mills and barns and other buildings destroyed in the ravage of War. All told, this work would take three years to complete, though none knew it at the outset.
~
On Year’s Long Day—or as some would call it, Mid-Year’s Day—during Fair Time, Tuckerby Underbank was married to Merrilee Holt. Fireworks filled the air, and there was great celebration, for not only was it their wedding day, but this was also the annual celebration for all who had had a birthday or an anniversary in the past year—which, of course, included everyone—but especially those who had passed from one age-name to the next, as had Merrilee, going from her maiden years to those of a young damman.
~
In August of that year, the newlyweds moved into The Root, for at long last the work was finished. And there was a great homewarming party, and nearly everyone in Woody Hollow and Budgens came to see and to ooh and ahh over Tuckerby’s Warren.
~
In September, a Kingsman came to The Root, bearing a message from High King Galen, requesting the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Tuckerby Underbank at the wedding of Galen, son of Aurion, to Princess Laurelin of Riamon.
The wedding of the High King took place in the golden days of autumn. Caer Pendwyr had never before seen such pageantry and splendor. And every day in the last few weeks preceding the great event, it seemed as if some new and colorful retinue would come to the High King’s holt in Pellar. Kingdoms from all corners of the world sent lavish gifts: from Gelen, Leut, Thol, Jute, Gothon, Vancha, Basq, Tugal, Alban, Hurn, and distant Lands unknown to most. And Kings, too, came by land and sea to attend the ceremonies. King Dorn of Riamon of course was there, for Laurelin was his daughter. King Aranor and Queen Alare of Valon came with a great entourage of Harlingar. Coron Eiron, sad-eyed Elf of Darda Galion, and Lord Talarin with his consort Rael, came, as well as their son Gildor. And many looked on in wonder as the bright Elves and their escort came unto the castle. From Darda Erynian came Ural, a giant of a Man, Chieftain of the Baeron, and at his side was Lady Aska. Too, there came an unprepossessing Man from Stonehill, Bockleman Brewster, in the company of Elf Lord Inarion and one of the Wee Folk, Arbagon Fenner. Hrosmarshal Vidron and Reachmarshal Ubrik and other warriors too numerous to name were there. And Dwarves, too, marched into Caer Pendwyr: King Brek of Mineholt North; DelfLord Borta of the Red Hills. And in this company strode Brega, Bekki’s son. Additional guests came from Wellen and Trellinath and Rian and other places scattered o’er all Mithgar.
Yet it was one of the Wee Folk who drew a hush of reverent awe as he limped down the center aisle to take his place of honor, escorted on his right by a black-haired damman, and on his left by a wee buccan in golden armor. Dressed in silveron mail he was, his sapphire-blue eyes staring sightlessly from a whip-scarred face: he was the Bearer of the Red Quarrel, the ’Stone Slayer: he was Sir Tuckerby Underbank, Thornwalker, Hero of the Realm.
All that day, the bells of Caer Pendwyr and of all Pellar pealed in glorious celebration, ringing in the changes, for Galen, son of Aurion, resplendent in scarlet and gold, had taken radiant Laurelin of Riamon to be his wife.
On this day, too, there came into being the Realmsmen: chosen of the High King, defenders of the Land, champions of Just Causes. For as Galen said to Tuck and Merrilee and Patrel, “Never again shall a threat such as Modru steal upon us unawares. These trusted guardians shall ward the Realms, quietly, without fanfare. Perhaps in some small measure this will give Danner’s death meaning—and meaning to all those slain in the Winter War.”
There was a grand ball that evening, and many came to bid their respects to Tuck. And it was only afterward that the buccan realized just how many stalwart comrades he had come to know during the War, for as he said to Merrilee that night, “I began this quest in the company of strangers, but now I find that they were my brethren all along.”
~
Throughout that year, storms had raged with unprecedented violence, as if the weather of the world had been terribly disrupted by the Dimmendark. And the winter of 4E2019 was no exception.
Yet the Winterfest of Yule was
especially bright—in spite of the blizzard that raged over much of Mithgar in the north, and in spite of the freezing rain in the south. For this was to be a special Yuletide: the High King had decreed that Modru’s downfall had marked the end of the Fourth Era, and that this Year’s Start Day was the beginning of the Fifth. And everywhere, Free Folk rejoiced.
~
On January 15, 5E1, a monument was unveiled in Budgens, commemorating this village as the place where began the Struggles. It was set upon a knoll at the north end of the hamlet, and the names of the nineteen Warrows slain in the Battle of Budgens were engraved upon it. So too were Merrilee Holt’s words set into the stone: Let it be said now and for all the days hereafter that on this day the struggle began, and Evil met its match.
The damman Thornwalker was there with Tuck, and she made a speech at the unveiling; and Captain Patrel Rushlock had come all the way from his home near Midwood, and he blew a rousing call upon his silver horn, and all the gathered Warrows cheered.
~
A week later, before setting out from Tuckerby’s Warren to return again unto his home, Patrel gave over the Horn of the Reach into Tuck’s keeping, saying, “Hold it for me, my old friend, and blow it at least twice a year: sound it on the ninth of November, for that was the day you and Hob, Tarpy and Danner, and I all set out from Woody Hollow on a quest that ended with Modru’s downfall; and sound it again on the fifteenth of January, the day when we began the Struggles. Here now, I see protests springing to your lips, but heed me: there may come a time when the weather forbids travel, yet I would have this horn blown here in spite of it.”
Patrel then turned to Merrilee, and she hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. “You know, Merrilee, I don’t think I’ve ever told you this, but you were among the very best warriors in or out of the Bosky—bar none—yet you are the most gentle soul I have ever known.”
With that, Patrel stepped through the studded oaken door of Tuckerby’s Warren and mounted his pony and set off for his distant home.
~
On February the twenty-second, there was a general celebration throughout the Boskydells, for that was the day that the Dimmendark had collapsed, marking the end of the Winter War. Yet in a solemn rite he would perform on this day for the rest of his life, blind Tuck was led by Merrilee down to the Rillstones, where the buccan placed a burrow-grown flower upon the center rock, the Rillrock. And there too, upon the bank, stood Hanlo and Glory Bramblethorn, watching Tuck’s quiet ceremony, for on this date their son Danner had died.
~
On October 12, 5E2, Merrilee Underbank was delivered of a wee damman. Black was her hair, dark as night, and when he was told of it, Tuck named her Raven. The celebration at the One-Eyed Crow lasted far into the wee hours.
~
Over the next few years, a quiet change came over Tuck, and he seemed to slowly, gradually, withdraw from the world around him. He was not exactly embittered by his blindness, yet he seemed to feel as if he was useless—or as Tuck put it: “. . .not pulling my weight.” Only when he was playing with Raven did he seem happy—and then for but a little while. Yet even during those times he would become moody, for he could not see his own child.
Merrilee quietly, without telling Tuck, posted a letter to Galen, High King.
Three months later, a special courier came to the Bosky, bearing a missive for Sir Tuckerby Underbank. With trembling hands, Merrilee took the letter from the Kingsman, and, breaking the elaborate waxed seal, she opened the crackling parchment. Taking a deep breath, this is what she read to Tuck:
Sir Tuckerby Underbank
Woody Hollow, The Boskydells
My Dear Cherished Waerling:
You have been much in my thoughts of late. My mind keeps returning to that long, grueling journey we made o’er the face of Mithgar. And I can still envision you scribing in that diary of yours by the light of the fires we kindled.
It is about your journal that I write you, for it holds the tale of the Winter War—or a part of it at least. It is a tale that needs recording, not only for scholars to study, but also for folk the world over to hear.
And that is why I am writing, for I recall a remark I once made as we spent a night in an abandoned house south of Challerain Keep. There it was that I said that perhaps one day I would ask you to scribe your diary into a Waerling history of the Winter War—some day when the fighting was done.
Well, Tuck, that day has come, and I have a commission for you, if you will have it. I would that you write up your tale, and also tell the story of others who struggled in the Winter War. And when and if that work is ever done, I would have you gather other facts, other histories, other legends bearing upon Mithgar, and set them down, too.
Do not take on this task lightly, for it will take your lifetime and more, for it never will be finished since history itself is never done.
If you accept, then with the funds I have set aside I ask that you choose scholars to aid you with the gathering, reading, study, and scribing of the text. But you, my cherished Waerling, must lead this endeavor, for I can think of no one more well-suited to the task.
Galen, Son of Aurion,
High King of Mithgar
Post Script: Laurelin is heavy with child, our first.
Merrilee’s voice fell silent, and tears stood in the eyes of both Warrows; and it was long ere Tuck spoke: “Please pen a note to the King, my dammia. Tell him that I most graciously and humbly accept.”
~
In the succeeding years, Raven grew from a youngling to a maiden and then to a young damman. And her hair was as black as ebony and her eyes as blue as the sea. And this beautiful damman spent her formative years in the company of scholars; and she herself worked tirelessly upon the great history of the Winter War.
Raven or one of the other scholars would read aloud to Tuck the terse handwriting from his journal, and the buccan would try to recall in full detail the events surrounding the entry, as scribes took down his words. And slowly a huge tome took form: Sir Tuckerby Underbank’s Unfinished Diary and His Accounting of the Winter War.
Often the scholars would travel to other places, both within the Bosky and without, to speak to others concerning the events of the War. And many was the time that Tuck went on these journeys: to Stonehill and Vanar, to Challerain Keep and Arden Vale, and to Dael and Mineholt North, and to many other places. And everywhere he went, Merrilee and Raven went with him; and they were welcomed with open arms.
It was during a journey to the Cliffs in Westdell that Raven met Willen Greylock, and she knew that she’d lost her heart to this handsome buccan scholar. But a time was to pass ere she would see Willen again, for the Underbanks set forth for the Red Hills to seek out Brega, who was now DelfLord of those Dwarven halls, to speak to him of the dark trek through Drimmen-deeve.
Yet Tuck, Merrilee, and Raven spent much time in Woody Hollow, too, where historians quartered in Tuckerby’s Warren. And as they compiled the epic tale, often one scholar or another would marvel at how near to triumph Modru and Gyphon had come. In one of these moments, Tuck was heard to say, “Time and events are like a field of grain, each stalk producing seeds of chance that fall unto the earth. Some seeds lie fallow, while others take root and grow into reality and produce seeds of their own.
“General Vidron once said that a long string of chance had led him to rescue the Warrows during the Battle of Brackenboro. And I know that a long string of chance led me to the evil sanctum atop the Iron Tower.
“Think of how history might have differed had other events, other realities, taken root.”
~
Willen Greylock came to The Root to work on the history, and Raven walked about with her heart singing. Soon it became apparent that Willen, too, was smitten to the core, for he and the raven-haired beauty spent long hours gazing at the stars together—and if it wasn’t the stars, it was flowers, or the Moon, or ants, or an endless number of other totally fascinating things.
And Willen came to Tuc
k and asked for the hand of Raven, and consent was granted. And one of the wedding gifts given to them was Tuck’s original diary, and the first copy of the Accounting of the Winter War. As Tuck bestowed these precious books upon them, he said, “This account really ought to be called The Raven Book, for without Raven, it would not be what it is today.”
After they were married, Willen and Raven Greylock moved to the Cliffs in Westdell.
~
Throughout the years, many a harper sang the deeds of the Heroes of the Winter War; yet sadly, the words and music of most of these songs never found their way onto paper. But in the Boskydells, Patrel Rushlock, a buccan bard playing a black Elven harp with silver strings, scribed two of the best-known lays:
The Loosing of the Red Quarrel
Loose not the Red Quarrel ere dark appointed time
When through the gate His beauty shines
As the portal of Evil’s coming ope’s
To crush the good and dash all hopes.
His beauty shields vile as Moon shields Sun.
Destiny asks, ‘Strike which one?’
An Evil so fair, and an Evil in iron,
High in the tower in the Wastes of Gron.
Neither of two Evils must thy strike claim;
Instead smite the Darkness between the same.
Loose then the Red Quarrel and free the light.
Loose then the Red Quarrel but lose thy sight.
~
The Lay of the Iron Tower
From frozen north
Comes Vile Power:
The Evil One in
The Cold Iron Tower.
His black Vulgs rave
Down through the Land;
The Iron Tower Omnibus Page 69
