The Dark Tide

by Dennis L McKiernan

  "Captain Darby will speak to us tonight, in less than an hour, so eat up and finish the meal chores quickly. We are to assemble shortly at headquarters. Hop to it, now, for we've little time as it is."

  Hurriedly, Tuck wolfed down his meal, cleaned his mess kit, and pitched in with the pots and pans. Soon the chores were done, and the squad collected with the others at the main building. Captain Darby was there, his face enshadowed by a lantern swinging from a pole by the door. He spoke to a few nearby, then sprang upon a bench and overlooked the company. The night was cold, and a light snow had begun to fall. Warrows stamped to keep their feet warm, and their breath rose up in a great white plume as if from some huge aggregate creature. Squad call was made, and each was there except the third squad, who had Beyonder Guard duty.

  "Buccen," Captain Darby began, his voice raised so that all could hear, "some of the rumors are true: There is trouble brewing up north, beyond the Keep. High King Aurion prepares for War: War with Modru, the Enemy in Gron." A collective gasp of dismay welled up from the assembled Warrows, for this indeed was dire news, and many muttered grim words and spoke with their squadmates. Captain Darby let the talk run on for a bit, then held up his hand for silence. When it returned he continued.

  "I had a long talk with Captain Horth, leader of the waggon train escort. He said that the call had gone forth for the allies of the High King to rally to his aid. Why the summons has not yet come to the Bosky, neither he nor I can say. But I believe that it will, and so we must begin to think upon going. Those who will it may take their leave and join the Allies at the Keep. Yet the Bosky must not be left unguarded and undefended should the foe come nigh, hence that, too, must be considered."

  Again a babble rose up from the assembled young buccen. Leave the Bosky? Fight a War way up north? High King's call? Tuck, too, felt a wrenching at his heart, just as he had when Old Barlo had told him he would be leaving Woody Hollow, but this was even more unexpected. He had never dreamt that he might be asked to fight the foe in a strange land, especially when the Bosky itself was in danger from Vulgs. Yet how best to avenge Hob—face the enemy here, or in a far Land? For it now seemed certain that the High King's summons would come to the Boskydells, and Tuck would have to answer to his conscience no matter which way he chose. He was caught up in a dilemma: Could he leave the Boskydells to answer the High King's muster if Modru's Horde marched this way? But on the other hand, could he refuse the High King's call to colors at the Keep? For if he and enough others answered the summons and went north, perhaps the Enemy in Gron could be defeated ere War came south. What to do? Torn between love of home and duty to King, Tuck realized, but knowing this did not help resolve the question.

  "What about Modru? How do they know it's him?" someone called to Captain Darby, breaking Tuck's train of thought. Again a hubbub arose, but it quieted when the Captain raised his hands. "Captain Horth said that there's a great wall of darkness stalking down the Land from the north. Eerie it is, and frightening, too, like a great black shadow. And inside the darkness is bitter winter cold and the Sun shines not, though it rides the day sky. And there be fell creatures within that blackness, Rücks and such, Modru's lackeys of old, a gathering of his Horde. And it is reported that some skirmishes with the Enemy's forces already have occurred."

  Shouts broke out among the Warrows. Black shadow? Rücks and such? Modru's Horde? This is awful! Legends come to life!

  Again Captain Darby called for quiet, but it was a long time coming. At last, though, he said, "Hold on, for we know not whether these things be true, or are common events made dire in the telling. The black wall, for instance, could be but a cover of dark clouds. It does not have to be Modru's hand at work. But even if it is, till the High King calls we will concentrate on the defense of the Bosky, by Beyonder Guarding and Vulg Hunting. Yet when King Aurion's muster is sounded, then you must choose. But for now, we Walk the Thorns." Calling his squad leaders to him, Captain Darby leapt down from the bench and strode inside.

  Tuck, Danner, and Tarpy trudged back to their tent, each immersed deep in his own thoughts, and Tuck's entry into his diary that night took longer than usual.

  The next day the squad was assigned Beyonder Guard, this time on the late night shift, mid of night till sunup. As was the case with this shift, on the day before beginning the duty the squad was given no daylight assignment so that they would be rested and alert when their late assignment began. Hence, they lazed the day away in small tasks and idle talk—talk that inevitably turned to Modru.

  "Why now?" asked Tarpy. "I mean, well, after four thousand years, why does Modru threaten now?"

  "What I'd like to know is, what kind of creatures are in his Horde?" queried Arbin, as he fletched another arrow, sighting down its length. "I know about Rücks, Hlöks, and Ogrus, or at least what the tales tell. They're supposed to be all alike, just different sizes. The Rück is the smallest, a bit larger than we—say, four foot tall; the Hlök, big as a Man, I hear tell; and the Ogru, or Troll, as the Dwarves call him, twice Man-size."

  Danner, who was the only one there who'd recently seen a Man, and who knew how big they were, snorted. "Hah! Twice Man-size? I think the old legends exaggerate. Why, that'd make the Ogru the greatest creature on the land."

  "Except for Dragons," chipped in Tuck, "but none of those have been seen for five hundred years or so—or so they say."

  "You're forgetting one Dragon that's been seen recently," smiled Arbin.

  "What do you mean?" spoke up Tarpy, puzzled. "What Dragon has been seen recently?" He appealed to the others with outstretched hands, palms up.

  "The Dragon Star!" shouted Arbin in glee, having lured Tarpy into his word trap. Tarpy made a face, and the others smiled ruefully, shaking their heads.

  "Now there's a thing folks will talk about for ages to come," said Delber, a fair-haired young buccan from Wigge, "the Dragon Star."

  Delber was talking about the great flaming star with its long burning tail that had come blazing out of the heavens five years past, nearly to strike the world.

  For weeks before, its light could be seen, appearing at sunset, and it burned through the night. Night after night it grew brighter and larger, plunging through the star-studded sky. And its fiery tail, called "Dragon's Breath" by some, and "Dragon's Flame" by others, grew longer and longer. An awful portent it was, for the hairy stars had presaged dire events since the world began. On it came, rising each night, inexorably sweeping closer. Now it was so bright that it could be seen even in the dawn light, as it set while the Sun rose.

  But night was its true Realm, for then it silently clove the splangled sky, looming ever larger, ever brighter. And then folk noted that it seemed to be changing course, shifting, for slowly its tail swung behind till it no longer could be seen, as if the Dragon Star had turned and was hurtling directly for Mithgar. Some folk prepared for the cataclysm: cellars were dug, and food was canned and stored away. The sale of charms against the Dragon Star became brisk, though even the sellers said they were not at all certain that the amulets would work. And it was commonly told that Mithgar was doomed. And onward it came, now an enormous blaze in the night. And then the last night to live arrived, but in spite of the impending death of the world, most Bosky folks had worked their fields and livestock and trades as usual, though the taverns after the Sun set seemed more crowded than was ordinary.

  That night the great Dragon Star rushed across the sky of Mithgar, so bright that books could be read by its light. As if in escort, myriads of blazing, burning points of light seared and streaked across the heavens, brighter than the brightest fireworks. Huge glowing fragments were seen to splinter from the Dragon Star and hurtle down through the sky toward the ground, and great, loud blasting booms shuddered over the Land, breaking windows and crockery. One great flaming piece, gouting fire and rucketing boom after boom, seemed destined to destroy the Bosky, but it seared a great blazing south-to-north path, hurtling to smash somewhere far beyond the Northwood, in Rian or perhaps
even further.

  People wept and cried out in fear, and some swooned while others drank in the taverns. Some fled to their burrows, and others took to their cellars. But most simply sat and watched and waited, with their arms around their buccarans or dammias, or about their sires and dams, or their buccoes and dammsels, or granthers and grandams, or uncles, aunts, cousins, or other relatives or friends, for they knew nought else to do.

  Yet the mighty Dragon Star hurtled not into Mithgar, but instead rushed past. Still, its great glowing tail long washed over the world: it was said to the vast woe of Mithgar. For days upon days the bright glow of the Dragon Star could be seen in the sky, in the daytime now as it sped for the Sun. And the Sun at last seemed to swallow it, but later spat it out the other side. And the Dragon Star hurtled back into the heavens, now chasing its own tail, or Breath, or Flame, as the case may be, growing fainter every day, until at last it was gone.

  For weeks afterward, a day did not pass that the Sun and sky did not show sullen red in the fore-dusk—blood red, some claimed. At night, great blowing curtains of shifting light glowed and shuddered in the sky—Mithgar's Shroud, some called it. A caul fell upon the face of the Moon and did not fade for weeks. And a raging fever plague swept the Land; many died. Milk soured, cows went dry, crops failed, hens stopped laying, dogs barked without reason, and once it rained without letup for eight days. It was said that two-headed calves and sheep without eyes were born, and some claimed to see snakes roll like hoops.

  Wherever Warrows gathered, great arguments arose. Many believed that all of these strange things were the doings of the Dragon Star. Others said, "Rubbish! Most of these happenings are ordinary events; we've seen 'em before. And some o' these stories are just wild tales. Only a few things might be laid at the feet of the Dragon Star."

  Slowly the Land returned to normal: the plague abated and finally died out, Mithgar's Shroud and the bloody sunsets gradually disappeared, cows came afresh, hens laid eggs, and the crops grew. But no one who had seen the Dragon Star would ever forget it; it would be an event talked about for generation upon generation, until it, too, joined the other epic tales and legends told 'round the hearth, as it was now being talked about around the Thornwalker campfire.

  "Yar, I seen it," said Dilby Helk, peering at the other squad members, "but who didn't? I can 'member sitting on the hilltop near our farmstead with my elden grandam. And she said, 'No good'll come of this, Dilbs,'—she always called me Dilbs— 'mark my words. It means the death of the High King, or something else just as bad, or worse.' And I said, 'What could be worse, Granny?' And her face went all ashy and her voice all hollow, and she said, 'The Doom of Mithgar.' Wull, I'll tell you, I was ascared!" Dilby's eyes were wide and lost in the memory, then he shivered and looked up at the others and gave a nervous laugh. "Ar, but the High King's alive and Mithgar's still here, so I reckon as she was wrong."

  For a moment no one spoke. Then Tarpy said, "Maybe she was right, what with Modru stirring up north. Perhaps the Dragon Star came to forewarn us of that."

  "What if it was a sending of Adon?" speculated Arbin. "He might have tried to tell us of this coming War, but we just couldn't read His message."

  "Ar, sending!" burst out Danner, disgusted. "Why not say it was sent by Modru? Or even by bloody Gyphon, Himself? Hah! The Doom of Mithgar, indeed."

  "Yes, Mr. Danner High-and-Mighty. Sendings!" cried Arbin, his face flushed with anger. "Don't look down your crusty beak at me! Everyone knows about sendings and omens. Plagues are sendings of Gyphon, the Great Evil. If not from Gyphon, then plagues come from His servant Modru, the Enemy in Gron. And as to omens, well just look the next time you see a flight of birds, for they tell of fortunes, sometimes good, sometimes bad. So you see, Mr. Wise Danner, the Dragon Star could well have been a sending of Adon."

  Now Danner's ire, too, was up. "Ask yourself this, Arbin Oracle: If I shied a rock at a bird on a limb, and somewhere else you saw it flying in fright, what would it auger, what great omen of fortune would it tell you? Would it be a sending of Modru, or Gyphon, or one of High Adon? Answer me this, too: If Adon wanted to say something, why wouldn't He just come right out and say it plain? Why would He cast it in runes that nobody can read? Sendings! Omens! Faugh!"

  Arbin leapt to his feet, his fists clenched, and so, too, did Danner. And it would have come to blows except Tuck stepped in between and gently pressed Arbin back, saying, "Hold on, now, and save your fighting for Modru." He turned to Danner and placed a hand on his forearm and said, "Squabble with Vulgs, not Warrows." Danner shook off Tuck's grip and, glowering at Arbin, sat back down. Talk ceased.

  The tense silence was finally broken by Tarpy.

  "Look, we can't have you two buccoes forever glaring at one another like circling dogs. Let's just leave it at this: Sometimes events seem like sendings and omens, sometimes not, and who's to say the which of it? Perhaps some things are portents while others are not, even the flights of birds—there may be times that they mean something and other times not. Yet I think none of us here will ever read a winged augery. But this I say: Until we know the truth about sendings, omens, whatever, there's got to be room for different beliefs and respect for the right to hold diverse opinions." Little Tarpy glared at Danner and Arbin, both of whom towered over him. "Have you got that? Then formally put your wrath behind you." Both Danner and Arbin stood, albeit somewhat reluctantly, and stiffly bowed to one another, to the smiles of the other squad members.

  Tuck and Tarpy and eight others were assigned to the fore-barricade while Danner was among those that drew the aft-gate for their Beyonder Guard duty. Just prior to mid of night, they rode down the long black tunnel of thorns to their posts, greeting the squad there with Halloos and Hai-rois and Ai-oi, where you been? Have you bitten any Vulgs lately? What's the news from Modru? and other such banter. The relieved squad mounted their own ponies and rode back toward the encampment, leaving Patrel's squad to stoke the fires and prepare for the long watch. The fore-barrier was opened, and Dilby rode out to relieve the point-watch at the far side of the 'Thorn. After a while they could see the approaching torch of that young buccan, and as he rode up to the fore-barricade it was opened long enough for him to pass through on his way back to camp. Tuck watched as he rode across the frozen river and was passed through the aft-barricade.

  An hour dragged by, and then another, and few words were spoken. In the main, the gurge of swift water under ice and the pop of pine knots in the fire were the dominant sounds of the night. All of the ponies and half of the young buccen dozed while the other half drank hot tea and kept a sharp watch out. Another hour passed, and Tuck, on rest, was just nodding off when Tarpy shook him awake. "Tuck! Look sharp! Dilby comes, and he's riding fast!" Tuck scrambled up, and Warrows nocked arrows and stood ready, their senses alert. Arbin scuttled out the crawlway, kicked up the fire in front of the barricade to better see by, and scurried back through, making ready to drop the Spindlethorn plug into the crawlway if necessary. The signal was given to those across the ford to close the aft-barricade. They could see Dilby's torch bobbing closer and now hear the pony's hoofbeats as it raced toward the barrier. Patrel came running across the river, arriving just as Dilby pounded up.

  "A rider comes!" Dilby cried. "At speed! Sounds like a horse, not a pony. Let me in!" Quickly they opened the barricade and shut it just as fast once Dilby was through. He threw a leg over the pony and leapt to the ground, giving his report to Patrel as the others took up their posts on the ramparts of the barrier. "I was at the point and thought I could hear something coming up the road, far off. I put my ear to the icy ground, nearly froze it, and listened. The sound became plain—a horse, I think, at speed, running along the road, headed for the ford."

  "Oi! A light!" cried Delber, and all peered beyond the barricade to see a torch, its light growing swiftly. Now they could hear the pounding of hooves, this time horse rather than pony. On it came, growing louder, until a black foam-flecked steed, ridden by a haggard Man, burst into th
e firelight to thunder to a halt at the barrier.

  "In the name of the High King, open up, for I am his herald, and War is afoot!" cried the Man, holding his torch aloft so that all could see that indeed he was garbed in a red-and-gold tabard, the colors of High King Aurion.

  "Your mission?" called down Patrel.

  "Ai! Modru gathers his Horde to fall upon Challerain Keep," cried the messenger, his horse curvetting, "and I am sent to muster this Land, for all must answer to the call if the Realm is to brave the coming storm."

  "Open the barricade," ordered Patrel, and Tuck and Tarpy and two others leapt down to do so. "What news?" he called as the four set aside their bows to move the barrier.

  "Darkness stalks the north. Prince Galen strikes within the Dimmendark. Young Prince Igon has slain Winternight Spawn. And Aurion Redeye fortifies the Keep," answered the herald.

  The barrier at last was open, and the Kingsman rode through, but at the sight of the yawning black maw of the thorn tunnel on the far side of the ford, he paused and sighed. "Ah, Wee One," he called up to Patrel, "riding through this Great Thornwall is. like passing through the very gaping Gates of Hèl."

  "Would you have a hot cup of tea before going into those gaping Gates?" asked Tuck, looking up, marvelling at how huge both horse and Man seemed to be.

  "Would that I could, but I must away," smiled the Man down at Tuck. "And shut that thorngate soon," he gestured at the barricade behind, "for I ken something follows me."

  At a light touch of spurs to flank, the black steed trotted forward out of the mouth of the Thornwall and onto the frozen river, gingerly stepping toward the far bank, the strike of iron-shod hooves knelling through the ice. The Warrows watched his progress toward the far side and signalled the Beyonder Guard at the aft-gate to let the Man pass.