"Nay, Princess." Haddon's brow now beaded with sweat. "He harasses the Horde's flanks, trying to turn their energies aside. Yet there are so many, and he now has less than a hundred in his ranks. We were sent to spy, not to thwart an army, yet I do not think he will flee back to the Keep." Laurelin's pale eyes were bleak as she heard this news.
The door opened and in strode Aurion, followed by Igon, Gildor, and Vidron. As Gildor drew the healer aside and spoke quietly with him, Aurion sat by the side of the couch.
"How many does Modru send against us?" asked the King, peering into Haddon's face, now flushed with fever.
"Sire, they are without number," answered Haddon, his voice weak and falling toward a whisper. A shudder of chills racked the scout's frame, but his low voice spoke on: "Sire… the Ghola… Ghola ride in their ranks."
"Guula!" cried Vidron, and his countenance was grim.
"Do you mean Ghûls?" asked Patrel.
"Aye, Waldan," answered the Hrosmarshal. "This foe is dreadful: Man-height, with lifeless black eyes and the blanched skin of the dead. Dire in combat, virtually unkillable, they take dreadful wounds without bleeding or falling. Lore has it that in but a few ways can they be slain: a fatal wound by a pure silver blade, wood driven through the heart, fire, beheading or dismemberment, and the Sun. Skilled with weapons they are, and cruel beyond measure. They ride to battle mounted upon Hèlsteeds, horselike but with cloven hooves and hairless tails." Vidron fell silent, stroking his silver beard and thinking deeply.
The healer came with a goblet containing a sleeping draught. "Sire, he must rest, else he will die. And we must sear the wound, for he will fall into foam-flecked madness otherwise. A poultice to draw the poison is needed, lest it run wild through his veins, if it does not do so even now."
As Tuck heard the healer's voice, his mind went back to the fright-filled night atop Rooks' Roost, the night Hob died from Vulg bite, and he realized at last that they had not had with them the means necessary to stay the young buccan's death; yet knowing this did not take the sting from behind Tuck's eyes.
The King nodded to the healer, and Haddon was held up to drink the potion. The warrior's eyes slowly glazed over, yet he roused long enough to beckon the King unto him. Aurion leant down to hear Haddon's faint whisper, listening closely. Then Haddon's eyes closed, and he said no more.
As Gildor withdrew a glowing dagger from the fire, Igon asked, "Sire, what said he?"
Wearily the King turned to them all. "He said, 'Rukha, Lokha, Ogrus.' "
There came a cry and the sound and smell of searing flesh as Gildor set the ruddy dagger to the Vulg wound, while the healer prepared a gwyn-thyme poultice, and Laurelin wept for Haddon's pain.
"Rücks, Hlöks, and Ogrus?" asked Delber, voicing the question for all the Warrow company.
"And Ghûls, too," said Argo. "Don't forget the Ghûls."
"I knew it! I just knew it!" exclaimed Sandy. "That Black Wall stood out there like Doom, lurking on the horizon. You could feel it in the air, like a storm about to break. And now Modru comes at last."
All the company murmured in agreeement, for each Warrow there had felt the menace crouched over the Land; and Tuck, Danner, and Patrel had come in the wee hours of the morning to tell them the dire news.
"Hold on, buccoes," said Patrel above the babble. When quiet returned, he spoke on. "Now I've told you about the Ghûls and their rat-tailed Hèlsteeds, just as Vidron described them to us, only he called 'em Guula while Gildor called 'em Ghûlka. But let me tell you what he and Gildor said about Rücks, Hlöks, and Ogrus." Again a low murmur washed throughout the company until Patrel raised his hands for quiet.
"It seems that most of what we've been told in the past is correct," said Patrel in the hush. "The Rück is a hand or three taller than we, and, unlike the corpse-white Ghûl, the Rück is night dark. He's got bandy legs and skinny arms. His ears look like bat wings, and he's got the eye of a viper—yellow and slitty. Wide-mouthed he is, with gappy, pointed teeth. He's not got a lot of skill with weapons, but Gildor says he doesn't need much 'cause there's so many of 'em; they just swarm over you, conquering by their very numbers. Vidron calls 'em Rutcha and Goblins; Gildor calls 'em Rucha; but by any name, they're deadly."
Patrel paused and a hubbub rose up, and Dilby called out above the babble: "What do they fight with, Danner? Did Gildor say?"
"Ar, cudgels and hammers, mostly. Smashing weapons, he said," answered Danner. "The Ghûls use spears and tulwars; the Rücks, smashing weapons, though some use bows with black-shafted arrows; Hlöks usually wield scimitars and maces; and the Ogrus fight mostly with great Warbars. All of them use others weapons, of course—whips, knives, strangling cords, scythes, flails, you name it—but in the main they stick with those I named first."
"Gildor says that the weapons with an edge or a point may be poisoned," added Tuck. A low growl rumbled through the company.
"Yar, a minor nick from one of those can do you in days later if not treated quickly," said Danner.
"What about the Hlöks," asked Argo, "and the Ogrus? What do they look like?"
"The Hlök is Man-sized," answered Patrel, "like the Ghûl. Their looks are different, though, the Hlök being more Rück-like in appearance, darkish, viper eyes, bat-wing ears. His legs are straight, and his arms strong. Unlike their small look-alikes, the Hlök is skilled with weapons, and clever, too. And cruel. There's not as many Hlöks are there are Rücks, but the Hlöks command the Rück squads, and in turn are commanded by the Ghûls."
"Who tells the Ogrus what to do?" asked Finley. "Ar, and what be they like?"
"As to who commands the Ogrus, Gildor didn't say," answered Patrel. "Whether it be Ghûls or Hlöks or someone else, he did not tell the which of it. But this he did say: Trolls—that's what Gildor calls Ogrus—Trolls are huge, a giant Rück some say, ten or twelve feet tall. They've got a stonelike hide, but scaled and greenish. Ordinary weapons don't usually cut Ogrus, and the only sure way to kill them is to drop a big rock on 'em, throw them off a cliff, or stab them with 'special' swords—that's what Gildor called them, 'special.' But I think he must mean 'magical,' though when I asked him about it, he didn't seem to know what I meant by the word 'magic' "
"He did say that Ogrus sometimes could be slain by a stab in the eye, or groin, or mouth," added Tuck. "And, oh yes, fifty or more Dwarves have been known to band together in a Troll-squad and hew an Ogru down with axes, but at a frightful cost to the Dwarves."
"Hey," said Finley, "if ordinary weapons won't cut Ogrus, how come Dwarf axes work to slay them?"
"I don't know," answered Tuck. "Perhaps Dwarf axes are 'special' weapons."
"Nar," said Danner. "I think they just know where to chop."
"Anyhow, buccoes, that's all Gildor and Vidron told us," concluded Patrel. "All we have to do is wait and we'll see for ourselves, 'cause they're coming: Vulg, Rück, Hlök, Ogru, Ghûl: it's them we'll be fighting alongside the Men. Yet, that's a couple or more days in the future, and now we must gather some sleep, for our watch on the ramparts is but a few hours ahead, and our eyes need to be even sharper in the coming times."
And so they all took to their cots, but slumber was a long time coming to some, and others slept not at all. And they tossed and turned to no avail, occasionally rising up to see Tuck in a far corner scribing in his diary by candlelight.
The next morning a bleak grey dawn saw the Warrows come to the ramparts. North they looked, but the glowering skies were too sullen and the early light too blear to see the wall of Dimmendark. After the watch was set upon the bulwark, Delber and Sandy were left in charge while Tuck, Danner, and Patrel entered the castle to seek out the Princess. They went to bid her farewell, for this was the day she would leave. They took with them the clothes they had worn to her birthday feast, and also the armor, to return it. They found her in her chambers, taking one last look before departing.
"Oh pother!" she declared. "If ever you needed armor, now is the time, for War comes afoot."
"But my Lady,"
protested Patrel, "these hauberks are precious, heirlooms of the House of Aurion. We could not take them. They must be returned."
"Nay!" came the voice of the King as he stepped into Laurelin's parlor behind them. "The Princess speaks true. Armor is needed for my Kingsguards. Even now the leather-plate armor made for your company these past days is ready in my armories for your squads to don. But though I did not think of the Dwarf-made armor of my youth or that of my sons, Lady Laurelin remembered it. Now, too, she is right, yet not only because armor is needed, but also because you are the Captain and Lieutenants of the Wee Folk company, and my Men will find it easier to single out a Waerling in gold, silver, or black to relay my orders to. And so you will keep the mail corselets." He raised his hands to forestall their contentions. "If you take issue with the gift, surely you cannot oppose me if we call it a loan. Keep the Dwarf-made armor, and, aye, the clothes, too, until I personally recall them. And if I never do so, then they are to remain in your hands, or in the possession of those you would trust. Gainsay me not in this, for it is my command." The Warrows bowed to the will of the King.
Laurelin smiled and her eyes were bright. "Oh, please do dress again as you were last night, for that was a happy time, and I would have you bid me farewell accoutered so."
Hence it was that in the grey morn the three Warrows were arrayed once more in armor and Elven cloaks, in steel helms and bright trews and soft jerkins—silveron and blue, gold and pale green, black and scarlet. 'Neath overcast skies they stood in the courtyard at the great west gate as wounded Haddon was gently placed in the first of the two wains standing on the cobbles. Prince Igon stood by his horse, Rust, with stern Captain Jarriel at his side holding the reins of a dun-colored steed. King Aurion and silver-bearded Vidron were there, too, along with Gildor the Elf Lord. Princess Laurelin came last of all.
"Advise Igon well, as you would me," said Aurion to Jarriel, and the Captain struck a clenched fist to his heart.
King Aurion then embraced his son. "Gather mine Host to me, my son, yet forget not your sword-oath to the Lady Laurelin." And Igon drew his sword and kissed the hilt and raised the blade unto the Princess. Laurelin smiled and inclined her head, accepting Igon's oath to see her safely to Stonehill.
Then the Lady Laurelin made her farewells: King Aurion she embraced and kissed upon the cheek, bidding him to whelm Modru and keep her Lord Galen safe. Of Lord Gildor she asked only that he serve the High King until the War was ended, and Gildor nodded, smiling. To Marshal Vidron she said nought but hugged him extra tight, for he had been like a father to her in this Land so far away from Riamon her home, and Tuck was amazed to see a glittering tear slide down the gruff warrior's cheek and into his silver beard. Captain Patrel she named minstrel of her court, and to Danner she smiled and called him her dancer. Last of all she turned to Tuck and kissed him, too, and whispered to him: "Someday I hope to meet your Merrilee of the silver locket, just as someday I would that you and my beloved Lord Galen could know one another, for I deem you would be boon companions. Keep safe, my Wee One."
And then Laurelin was escorted by Prince Igon to the last waggon, and she mounted up into it. At a sign from Aurion, the portcullises were raised and the great west gates opened. With a flip of reins and a call to the teams, the drivers slowly moved the wains forward and through the portal, the iron-rimmed wheels clattering upon the flagstones and cobbles, horses' hooves ringing, too. Igon followed behind upon Rust, who pranced and curvetted, eager to be under way, and Captain Jarriel upon the dun steed came after. Outside the gate they were joined by the escort, and slowly the waggons trundled down Mont Challerain, heading for the final caravan waiting below.
Behind stood Warrows, Men, and Elf, waving goodbye. Tuck's last sight of Laurelin was one of sorrow, for although he could see her returning the farewell, he also saw that she was weeping. And then with a clatter of gears and a grinding of metal, the portcullises lowered and the iron gates swung to, and Tuck stood staring at the dark iron long after the barrier clanged shut.
At last the three young buccen climbed up to the ramparts and stood long upon the south wall in the company of Danner's squad. They watched as the waggon train wended southward out through the first wall and into the foothills, driving toward the plains beyond. And they all had heavy hearts, for it seemed as if a brightness had gone from their lives, leaving behind cold bleak stone and grey iron and empty barren plains under drab leaden skies.
They were standing thus when Finley came. "Oh, hullo, there you are," he said. "I've found you at last. You'd better come, Cap'n Patrel, Tuck, Danner, come to the north rampart and look at Modru's Black Wall. It's growing."
"Growing?" barked Patrel. "This we must see."
Swiftly they strode along the castellated bulwark, coming soon to the north wall. Climbing upon the weapon shelf they looked through crenels northward. Tuck felt his heart lurch and the blood pound in his temples, for Modru's forbidding wall of Dimmendark now seemed half again as high as when last he had seen it.
"Summon Marshal Vidron," said Patrel, not taking his eyes from the growing darkness.
"It's been done, Cap'n," said Finley. "He's at the mid-wall gorge."
"Come then," Patrel bade Tuck and Danner, stepping down from the shelf and marching toward the mid of the bulwark. As they went to Vidron, King Aurion also came with Gildor, striding up the nearby bastion ramp. They came to the gorge, and again the young buccen mounted the shelf and looked at the far Black Wall.
At last Tuck asked, "Why is it growing?"
"It's not growing, Tuck," answered Danner, "it's coming closer."
Of course! Tuck thought, surprised that he hadn't seen it for himself. How stupid can I be? No wonder it looms larger: it's moving toward us. Haddon said it was coming, and it is! His thoughts were interrupted by the King.
"Like a great dark tide, it comes, drowning all before it," said Aurion. "How much time do you deem we have, Marshal Vidron?"
"Two days, perhaps, but no more," answered the Man from Valon, his hand stroking his silver beard. "Modru comes apace."
"Nay," said Gildor. "Not Modru: just his minions come, his Horde, but not him."
"What?" burst out Patrel. "Do you mean that he's not with them, that he doesn't lead his armies?"
"Oh, no, Wee One, he leads them aright, but by a hideous power, and he remains in his tower in Gron to do so," answered Gildor, his voice low.
Tuck shuddered, though he knew not from what. But Danner spat toward the north: "Modru, you cowardly toad, though you hide away now, someday you will yet face one of us, and in that battle you will lose!" Danner turned his back to the Dimmendark, leapt down from the weapon shelf, and marched angrily away to rejoin his squad along the south rampart.
Lord Gildor watched him go. "Ai, that one, he vents his fear in anger, though tell him not I said so. He will be a good one to stand beside in times of strife—if he can control his passion. Rare warriors like him I have seen in the past, though not of the Waerlinga: the more difficult the task, the greater is their grit to win through."
Tuck thought, Gildor is right about Danner: the tougher a task, the more he strives. Grit, Gildor names it, though my dam called Danner "pugnacious," and my sire said he was "quarrelsome."
"Aye," said Vidron, "I, too, have seen warriors who turn dread into rage, but at times the berserker comes upon them, and then they are awful to behold, for then they do nought but slay. Yet were this to happen unto one of the Waldfolc, he would not survive, for they are so small."
"Nay, Marshal Vidron," said King Aurion. "Were a Waerling to have the battle rage come upon him, to become a Slayer, I, too, think he would not survive—but not because he is so small: instead because he is what he is—a Waerling—and were he to become a Slayer, even in battle, he simply would not live beyond that time." A feeling of dire foreboding came over Tuck at these words, and he looked in the direction that Danner had gone.
All that morning, Captains and warriors came to the north rampart to watch the ad
vance of the Dimmendark, and faces blenched to see the dreadful blackness stretching from horizon to horizon and stalking toward them. To the rampart, too, one at a time, came the young buccen of Danner's squad, now accoutered in their new corselets of leather plate, as were the Warrows of Tuck's squad. They watched the dark looming wall draw closer. Some made comments, but most simply stood without speaking and looked long before turning and going back to their posts.
"Ar, it looks like a great black wave," said Dilby as he stood beside Tuck.
"King Aurion said something like that, too, Dilbs," answered Tuck. "He called it a dark tide, though I think he meant Modru's Horde as well as the Dimmendark."
"Aurion Redeye can call 'em a dark tide if he wishes, but me, well, I think the Elves have the right of it when they call 'em Spaunen, though I would call them Modru's Spawn," Dilby averred. After a short pause, he spoke on. "I don't mind telling you, Tuck, seeing that Black Wall acomin', well, it makes me feel all squirmy inside."
Tuck threw Dilby a glance and then looked back at the blackness. "Me, too, Dilbs. Me, too."
Dilby clapped a hand to Tuck's shoulder. "Ar, squirmy or not, I hope it don't spoil our aim none," he said, and looked a moment more then stepped down from the shelf. "Ah, well, it's me for the south wall so as someone else can come here and see this black calamity."
"I'll go with you," said Tuck, jumping down beside Dilby. "I've watched Modru's canker long enough. Perhaps the view to the south will be more pleasant: perhaps Lady Laurelin's caravan is still in sight, though I would that it were gone far south days apast, for the Wall comes swiftly and the waggon train but plods."
To the south rampart they strode, where Tuck found Danner at the wall gazing south. Up beside him Tuck stepped and looked southward, too. "Oh, my!" gasped Tuck. "Have they gone no farther?" Out on the plains, seemingly but a short distance beyond the foothills of Mont Challerain, the caravan clearly could be seen, pulling up a long rise.
"They've been creeping like that all day," gritted Danner, grinding his teeth in frustration. "I keep telling myself that they're making good time, but deep inside I don't believe it. Look, you see that rise they go up now? Well that's the same one we galloped down on our last day toward the Keep. It took us a morning to arrive. It's taken the train about the same time to get from here to there. But, Tuck, I swear, their journey crawls slowly while ours trotted swiftly."
The Dark Tide Page 14
