Into the Forge hc-1

by Dennis L Mcciernan

  "Up there, way back along the Grimwalls, one-two-three-four-five, no, six peaks back. Um, moving this way, I think. See it? A silvery speck."

  The horses stopped.

  "No, I don't see it," growled Beau, nettled. "Six peaks, you say? Counting from where?"

  Before Tip could answer, Phais gasped, "Adon, is it true?"

  Tip turned to see both Loric and Phais looking back as well, their features pale with shock.

  "Six peaks from where?" demanded Beau.

  "Is what true?" asked Tip, startled by the grim looks on the faces of the Lian.

  "Counting from where?" gritted Beau.

  Tip turned to see Beau angrily glaring at him. "Up there, Beau," Tip said, pointing. "See it? Oh, my, it's only five peaks away now, and getting bigger."

  Beau gazed up toward where Tip pointed. "Oh, yes," he said at last. "Why, it seems to be a… a silver bird."

  "Nay," came Loric's voice. "No bird is that, but a Dragon instead."

  Dragon! both buccen gasped simultaneously.

  "Settle down, my friends," said Loric. "The Drake is yet far away."

  And so the buccen relaxed somewhat and watched as the great beast flew along the Grimwall peaks.

  "Skail?" asked Phais. "Or is it Sleeth instead?"

  "I know not," replied Loric, "for neither one have I seen before."

  "I have seen each," said Phais. "They are much alike. And renegades both, I add."

  "Renegades?" asked Beau, glancing at Tip.

  "Those who did not take the pledge at Black Mountain," said Tip. "Don't you remember us talking about it back at Arden Vale? 'The Ballad of Arin,' the Dragonstone, and all."

  "Oh, yes," said Beau. "Now I recall."

  "Why is a Dragon in these parts, I wonder?" asked Tip.

  Still they watched as the Drake drew onward, ever near-ing, growing larger with every beat of its wings, while in Quadran Pass a mighty battle raged, the Dwarves driving the Horde hindward, pressing them down the ribbon of road.

  "I say," said Beau, glancing about nervously, "with the Dragon nearing, shouldn't we get out of sight?"

  Loric looked at Phais, and she said, "The Waerling is right, for Drakes have a taste for horse meat."

  "To say nothing of tasty Warrows," muttered Tip.

  Loric scanned the countryside, then pointed at a thicket a furlong or so away. "In there," he said, and spurred his steed, Phais doing likewise, the pack animals coming after.

  Safely ensconced among the trees, they all dismounted and tethered the horses and walked to the edge of the copse.

  Still the battle raged, and still the Dragon drew closer, now but three peaks away from the conflict.

  " 'Tis Skail of the Barrens," said Phais at last.

  "How can you tell?" asked Beau.

  Phais sighed. "I see him well."

  "You must have the eyes of an eagle," said Tip.

  "Not quite," replied the Dara, smiling.

  "As thou hast said, Sir Beau," murmured Loric, "the Drimma indeed are winning."

  Tip shifted his gaze from the Drake to the battle in the pass. The black-iron-armored Dwarves had driven the Swarm even farther downslope.

  Now Skail was but two peaks away from the conflict.

  "Look! Look!" cried Beau. "The Swarm flees!"

  Downward fled the Horde in silence, or so it seemed, Dwarves racing after.

  Skail was one peak away.

  Of a sudden Phais cocked her head as if listening. "Horns. Ruptish horns blow. Mayhap a hundred or more. 'Twas the signal to flee, though the sound is but now reaching us."

  Loric nodded, though neither Tip nor Beau heard aught.

  Now the great Dragon swung outward, westward, away from the peaks of the chain. Out he flew and out.

  Still the Dwarves pursued the fleeing Spawn.

  Now Skail wheeled on his great leathery pinions, turning toward Quadran Pass and swooping low, following along the road upward.

  Still the Horde fled.

  Yet the Dwarves stopped, for they had seen the gleaming Drake rushing through the air.

  Flame gouted from Skail, washing over Riipt.

  Tipperton shouted, "He fights for the Dwar-" but his voice chopped shut as Skail's flame spewed across the Dwarves as well, and they turned and fled upward, burning with Dragonfire.

  Now Skail had passed beyond the Dwarven ranks, and up he soared and up, upward into the crystal air above the peaks of the Quadran, where once again he wheeled in the sky, turning on his vast wings. And then down he plunged, aiming for the gap.

  And in that moment the vast roar of gushing Dragon-flame reached the thicket, for it was far enough away from the conflict that sound lagged well behind sight.

  And even the Warrows heard the mighty bellow of fire mingled with a Dragonshout of triumph.

  Back down hurtled Skail, and once again Dragonfire ravaged, burning not only Dwarves but raking over fleeing Spaunen as well.

  Still the Dwarves fled upward, those in the lead to disappear from sight of the foursome, their vision blocked by a flank of Aevor, the mountain just south of Coron.

  Once more Skail wheeled, and again came the delayed roar of his bellowing flame and his trumpet of exultation.

  Again and again he ravaged the Dwarves, raining fire down upon them, his strikes affecting the Spawn less and less the higher the Dwarves fled.

  And still the Dwarves ran fleeing, those that were not dead and burning.

  Finally the foursome could see the Dwarves no more, for all had passed from their sight beyond the intervening shoulder. Yet still the Dragon flew and stooped and vomited more terrible fire.

  Pass after pass he made, flame and glee roaring.

  But at last he made a pass and no flame spewed, and then he settled on the very summit of Coron Mountain, and bellowed in elation over what he had done.

  "Dragons attacking warring armies," said Beau. "What does it mean?"

  "He is a renegade," said Tip, as if that were enough.

  "Nay, wee one," said Phais. "I deem it much worse than a mere renegade harassing victims."

  "Oh, how so?"

  "I fear the rumors are true: that Modru has somehow wooed Dragons unto his cause."

  "But he burned Rucks, too," protested Beau.

  "Modru cares not if he loses Spaunen," gritted Loric. "They are nought but fodder for his cause."

  Phais nodded in agreement, then added, "Ye can see Skail does not now attack the Swarm. His mission was to slay Drimma, and slay them he did, until they were all dead or had escaped back through their high mountain door. The fact that Rupt were burnt as well is merely a trivial consequence of war to Modru."

  "Remember the trumps? 'Twas a trap," said Loric, "for at signal the Spaunen did flee downward, drawing Dwarves after, when Skail came winging nigh."

  Beau nodded, and Tip said, "If it's true that Modru has Dragons at his beck, then it's no small pebble he's dropped in the pond, is it now?"

  Phais nodded grimly. "Indeed, Sir Tip, indeed."

  Beau sighed, then said, "Well, pebble or no, what are we going to do now? I mean, given our horses and all, we can't very well set out for the Dusk Door with Skail up there shouting in glee."

  Loric turned up his hands, and Phais said, "Thou art right, Sir Beau. We have no choice but to wait."

  ***

  It was midafternoon when Skail stopped his triumphant bellowing and took to wing, flying away northward, back the way he had come.

  Untethering the steeds, Loric said grimly, "I deem we must now strike for the Old Way and make a run for it if we are to reach the Dusk Door into Drimmen-deeve ere dark."

  "What about the Rucks and such?" asked Beau. "I mean, isn't the road dangerous?"

  "Mayhap, yet where we now ride the land is rough, and reaching our goal will be slow going."

  Tip looked to Phais, and she said, "The Foul Folk are licking their wounds. I think they will not be coming this way."

  Loric nodded in agreement, and so they turned and delibera
tely pressed toward the road, riding through the ruptured land. Within four candlemarks they found the way, yet when they did, it too had been churned by many feet.

  "They seem to be going both ways on this road," said Loric, kneeling, "north as well as south."

  "I say that we ride the road regardless," said Tip, "for the sooner we are within Drimmen-deeve, the sooner we are safe from marauding Drakes."

  Loric remounted and looked at Phais, and she shrugged. And so southward they rode at a swift pace, the horses cantering over trodden ground. Yet the sun sank low in the sky as evening drew near, for much time had been lost to Skail.

  They reached the entrance to the vale of the Dusk Door just as the gloaming fell.

  As they came to the mouth of that long valley, suddenly Phais threw up a hand and reined to a halt, Loric stopping as well.

  "What is it?" asked Tipperton.

  But even as the question flew from his lips, his gaze followed the line of Loric's outstretched arm. And there in the distance down the high-walled glen ruddy firelight gleamed.

  Chapter 21

  In the deepening twilight Tip heard the soft footfalls of a nearing steed. With his heart pounding, he readied his bow and peered out through a gap in a jumble of boulders where the four had taken cover. He could glimpse a dark figure moving up through the trees and toward their hiding place.

  " 'Tis Loric," hissed Phais from better vantage.

  Relief washed over the buccan, and he relaxed the pressure upon his bow string and waited.

  Loric reached the rocks and dismounted and led his horse inward as Phais, Tip, and Beau stepped out to meet him.

  "Aye, 'tis the Rupt down the vale," he growled. "I followed their tracks a short way, and they continue on toward the Dusk Door."

  "If they have this west way blocked," said Phais, "likely they stand at the Dawn Gate as well."

  "Dawn Gate?" asked Beau.

  "The eastern door above Falanith."

  "Oh, you mean the way out of Drimmen-deeve. -On the other side."

  "Aye, it would be the way out, could we get in by this door."

  Tip groaned. "Dusk Door, Dawn Gate, Drimmen-deeve, Quadran Pass: what does it matter? They're all blocked. Even if we could get into the Dwarvenholt, from what you say we'd be trapped."

  "Speaking of being trapped," said Beau, glancing nervously back in the direction of the valley, "don't you think we ought to get out of here? I mean, who knows what might be scouring the land 'round about? -Rucks and such, I shouldn't wonder. -Perhaps Vulgs and other things as well."

  "Thou art right, Sir Beau," said Loric. "We must press on."

  Tip sighed. "Farther south, I suppose."

  "Gunar Slot," said Phais.

  Loric grunted in agreement and said, "We'll ride awhile in the night, then camp."

  The Elves boosted the Waerlinga up onto the packhorses and then mounted, and away from the boulders and trees they spurred and down the Old Way, Tip and Beau trailing after, leaving the Spawn-blocked Valley of the Door behind.

  They rode another five miles ere making camp in a hillside thicket somewhat above the road. Once again they set no fire, for still they were too close to the foe.

  After his turn at watch, Tipperton tossed and turned, fretting over the delay. But at last, under wheeling stars overhead, he drifted off.

  No sooner, it seemed, had he gone to sleep than he awakened to Phais with her finger across his lips.

  "Mph." He tried to speak "Hush, Sir Tip," she breathed. "Danger this way comes."

  "Where?"

  "Along the road."

  Starlight alone illumined the night, for the moon had set with the sun. Even so, as Tip got to his feet and took up his bow and arrows, he could see Loric and Beau moving toward the horses.

  "We needs must keep the steeds calm," whispered Phais, "for should they call out a challenge…"

  Quickly all four stepped to the animals and stood stroking them, Tip and Beau reaching up to do so, the Lian now and again whispering soothing words in Sylva.

  And Tip listened for the enemy, yet heard nought until Finally, to the north he could detect a faint patter, growing louder, until it became the slap of heavy boots jog-trotting through the night along the Old Way. And mingled in with the thudding of feet, he could hear a faint jingle of… of armor. Now and again there came a snarl of language, and a cracking, as of a whip. Moments later in the starlight, a jostling band of Rupt trotted darkly into view, coming from the north, heading to the south.

  Still the Elves and buccen and horses stood silently as the Spaunen loped along the road below, moving near and past and onward into the night beyond, and slowly the sounds faded in the distance.

  "Vash!" cursed Phais. "They are on the road ahead, mayhap to set ward on Giinar Gap."

  "Oh, no," groaned Tip. "Does this mean we have to ride even farther out of our way. -To Ralo Pass?"

  "Not if we go 'round them ere they reach the gap," said Loric. He turned to Phais. "In less than a league the road swings in a drawn-out arc from north to southwesterly, striking for the ford o'er the River Hath. If the Spaunen follow the long flexure of the road, we can cut the bow straight across and mayhap gain the ford ere they do. I say we ride at first light and make directly o'er the wold for the ford."

  "Why wait for first light?" asked Beau. "I mean, can't we go now?"

  "Nay, Sir Beau," replied Phais. "The land of the wold is too rough, too hazardous, for the horses to cross in the night. E'en could we go now, still we may not be able to outpace the Rupt, for ravines and bluffs may bar swift progress. Still, Alor Loric's plan is sound and gives us the best chance to reach the gap ere they do."

  "How far is Hath Ford?" asked Tip.

  "As flies the raven, ten leagues or so," replied Loric, "though should we encounter barriers, 'twill be more."

  "And how far by the road?"

  "Mayhap another two leagues."

  "And how soon is first light?"

  "Ten candlemarks."

  Tip frowned in contemplation, but Beau said, "Oh, my, this will be close, eh?"

  Loric nodded. "Should the Spaunen delay-to camp or rest ere reaching the ford-then we should be across and gone ere they arrive."

  "Then let us hope that Foul Folk legs grow weary and need long rest," said Beau.

  They saddled and laded the horses, then fed each of the animals a ration of grain and broke their own fast while waiting for dawn to come creeping o'er the Grimwall. And while they waited, a chill wind sprang up from the west.

  Across the high land they fared, pushing as swift as they dared, the wold rugged, then smooth by turns, with rolling hills interrupted by gulches and bluffs and rough stretches of jagged rock. Now and again the direct way would be barred by dense growths of furze and whin and gorse, and Beau would fret and Tip would fume as they were forced east or west and 'round. At times they would come to deep ravines, where they would dismount and lead the horses down and across and out, could they find a way; occasionally they would need ride the rim to locate suitable crossings, and always Tip wondered if they were ahead or behind the Foul Folk on the road. At other times the wold ran in long undulant stretches of loamy soil bearing a soft green sward with scatters of ling, and here they would canter at a goodly clip. Yet they could not run at this pace overlong, for e'en were the land friendly, still they had some thirty miles to go altogether, a long ride for horses they would spare. And so they varied the pace, now and then dismounting to walk or to stop for short rests, though neither Tip nor Beau did aught but pace while waiting to set out again.

  But even though they occasionally paused in their journey, the sun did not, its inexorable passage influenced not a whit by the fates of those below.

  Weapons in hand, they crept to the brow of the hill, crawling bellydown the last few feet, where they lay in the late afternoon sun and peered intently at the scanty woods alongside the River Hath. To their left the Old Way crossed over the land and down the bank to where the water ran wide, the river yet f
lowing swift with spring melt from high snow in the distant Grimwall. The road itself was empty, though less than a mile to the north it swung out of sight 'round the flank of a hill.

  Long they looked, peering into the ever lengthening shadows as sundown drew nigh.

  "I don't see a thing," hissed Beau at last.

  "Neither do I," murmured Tip. He turned to Phais. "What do your eagle eyes see?"

  "Trees, shadows, a river," murmured Phais, "and nought of Foul Folk. E'en so, it seems unnaturally still, for no birds wing nigh, nor do animals chitter and scurry among the leaves. Too, only in places can I see past the trees at hand and to the far bank beyond." She glanced at Loric. "What sayest thou, chier?"

  Loric turned his head to the others and took in all three with his gaze. "There is but one way we will know, and that is to cross over now, ere the sun sets, for if it comes to combat I would not have the Waerlinga's sight and battle skills hampered even one jot by darkness."

  At these words, Tip's heart leapt into his throat, and he heard Beau gasp. Tip took a deep breath and then blew it out. "Then we'd better get cracking," he said, looking at the sun now lipping the horizon, the strength in his voice belying the knot in the pit of his stomach.

  They slid back from the brow of the hill and then, stooping, made their way down to where they could stand without being seen by anyone nigh the ford. As they reached the horses, Loric said to Phais, "What wouldst thou have, chier? Ride at a gallop or a walk?"

  Her brow wrinkled. "At a gallop we chance riding full-speed into an ambush. At a walk, any lying in wait will have longer to prepare."

  She looked at Tip.

  "The sooner in, the sooner out," said the buccan.

  She looked at Beau.

  He shrugged.

  She turned to Loric and grinned. "As Sir Tipperton has said, the sooner in, the sooner out."

  Loric grinned back. "At a gallop, then."

  The Lian boosted the Waerlinga onto the packhorses, Phais saying, "Make ready, for even though we saw nought, still there may be Rupt ahead, especially on the far bank where we could not see."

  Tip nocked an arrow to string, and Beau loaded his sling with a leaden shot. As Phais turned to mount her steed, Beau said, "I just wish I had practiced at casting from horseback," to which Tip responded, "Who knew, Beau? Who knew?"