City of Jade (30 page)
Authors: Dennis McKiernan
“And now you’ll be able to fit them with jewels,” said Pipper.
“Aye.”
“I say,” said Pipper, his eyes lighting up, “perhaps you could fit Bink’s bow with a gemstone. He’s a fine archer, you know—or perhaps you didn’t know, but that is neither here nor there. Me, I use a sling instead. But a jewel in his bow, well, that would look splendid.”
Binkton frowned. “I don’t need a gemstone in my bow, Pip; it’d probably just weaken it.”
“Not if it were done properly,” said Brekka. “I would put it just above your grip, and not in one of the arms. You see . . .”
Much of the rest of that day, Brekka explained the ins and outs of setting jewels into weapons—into hilts, pommels, blades, helves, butts, grips, and such, and both Pipper and Binkton fell quite asleep during the drawn-out oration. Other passengers nodded off as well, but Brekka continued to detail the fashioning of such as the road slowly rose toward the distant mountains, the Dwarf talking to himself as much as to anyone else.
Three days and several changes of horses later they reached the way station among the foothills at the base of the col. In the morning they would hitch up a fresh team and take a second unladed team in tow, for the pass itself was some twenty leagues from end to end, and, but for a few pauses partway through to feed and water and change teams, there would be no stopping, barring a broken wheel or such.
“And barring attacks by the Grg,” growled Brekka as he oiled his crossbow that eve.
“You mean Spawn?” asked Pipper, his eyes wide in speculation.
“Of course he means Spawn,” snapped Binkton.
“What I meant, Bink, is, are any likely to be there?”
Brekka set aside his crossbow and took up his double-bitted axe and said, “It’s the Grimwalls, Pip, one of the haunts of the Grg.”
Pipper’s eyes widened. “Rûcks and Hlôks and Ogrus, you mean?”
“What else would he mean?” growled Binkton.
“Do not forget the Khôls,” said Brekka.
“Ghûls,” said Binkton before Pipper could ask.
“We’ve never seen any,” said Pipper. “No Rûcks, Hlôks, Ogrus, or Ghûls. What do they look like?”
Binkton groaned. “You’ve read about them, Pipper.”
“Yes, but I would have someone who has actually seen them tell me from firsthand experience.”
Binkton started to protest, but Brekka pushed out a palm to stop him. “Ükhs are about a head or so taller than your folk. Dark they are, and skinny-armed and bandy-legged and have bat-wing ears and viper eyes; some Humans—notably the Harlingar—call them Goblins. They mostly use cudgels as their weapons, though some have skill with crooked bows loosing black-shafted arrows, poison-tipped, for the most part. Hröks look about the same as their smaller kindred, though their limbs are straighter. They stand about Châk height or a bit taller, and they use scimitars and tulwars as weapons and loose black-shafted arrows as well. Trolls, now, they also resemble the Ükhs and Hröks, though they stand about ten or twelve feet tall. They have stonelike hides that arrows do not penetrate, but they can be killed by a shaft through an eye or the roof of the mouth. The soles of their feet are tender, and caltrops do great damage to them. They fear fire. Like all Foul Folk, they also dreaded the withering death of Adon’s Ban, but that is no longer in effect. Oh, and Troll bones are stonelike as well, and the Trolls fear water, for they sink like rocks and drown should it be over their heads. Their weapons of choice are great, long, thick, heavy iron bars—warbars, which they sweep through their enemies, mowing them down like a reaper cutting wheat. As to the Khôls, man-sized and dead-white and corpselike they are, and they use cruelly barbed spears and ride Hèlsteeds. Khôls are a most fearsome foe, for ordinary steel—whether they be piercing or cutting or crushing weapons—does little harm to them, though they can be killed by a silver blade or by a weapon of , by wood through the heart, by fire, by beheading, or by dismemberment.”
“See, Pipper,” said Binkton, “you knew all of that.”
“Yes, I know,” said Pipper, a tremor in his voice. “But hearing Brekka actually describe the Spawn out loud is like to give me the blue willies.” He paused and then added, “I’ll probably be riding a haggard horse all darktide.”
Binkton’s eyes softened, and he said, “If you have a nightmare, Pip, I’ll waken you and we’ll wait till you settle down again.”
Pipper reached out and touched his cousin’s arm and said, “Thanks, Bink. I can always count on you.”
They sat in silence for a while, and then Pipper turned to Brekka and asked, “Have you met them in combat, Brekka?”
“Aye,” said the Dwarf. “Many times, for the war against the Grg never ends.”
“How do you deal with Ogrus?”
“We use ballistas to launch steel-pointed spears.”
“Ballistas?”
“Giant crossbows we mount on wheeled carriages. Though if we must, fifty or so Châkka gang up on each Troll and we try to bring them down by heel-chopping the tendons or hamstringing them using battle-axes.”
Pipper turned to Binkton. “Lor, but I hope we don’t meet any Ogrus in the pass ahead.”
“If we do,” said Brekka, “the drivers will whip up the team and we will flee. Otherwise we’ll sacrifice one of the trailing horses to draw the Troll away. They cherish horsemeat, and that is what a Troll would be after.”
“Oh, poor horse,” said Pipper, and he reached out for Binkton again, who took him by the hand and said, “Pip, better a horse than us.” Pipper glumly nodded his agreement.
“We are not apt to meet a Troll in the pass or a Khôl on a Hèlsteed, for that matter,” said Brekka. “Ükhs and Hröks are more likely.”
“Rûcks and Hlôks, eh?” asked Pipper, and he took a deep breath and turned to Binkton. “Well, then, you’d better fetch your bow and arrows, Bink, and I my sling and bullets.”
Binkton nodded, and together the Warrows stepped out to the coach and climbed atop and unlashed their chest enough to open it. Binkton took up a bow case and quiver, while Pipper grabbed a pouch and looked inside. Satisfied, he tied the pouch to his belt, and then he and Binkton closed the chest and lashed it down once again.
Early the next day, a candlemark before dawn, the Red Coach pulled out from the station, trailing horses behind. Two additional footmen were atop, and all were armed.
And up through the remaining foothills they fared.
Sometime just after sunrise, the sky began spitting tiny flakes, for even though the days were not quite verging upon mid autumn, at these heights winter came early.
“In a fortnight or two,” said Brekka, “this pass will be closed by snow.”
“What’ll happen to the Red Coaches then?” asked Pipper, and quickly, before Binkton could say ought, Pipper added, “What I mean is, how will they fare between Caer Pendwyr and Challerain Keep?”
“Up the Gap Road and through Gûnar Slot,” said Brekka, “and then along the Old Rell Way to Luren, until that route becomes snowed in, in which case the coaches will not cross through the Grimwall at all.”
Just then they reached the jagged maw of the pass, and one of the footmen atop swung down and rapped on a window, startling Pipper and Binkton along with other passengers. As Brekka lowered the sash, “Be alert,” said the footman, and then scrambled back up as Brekka cocked his well-tempered, steel-armed crossbow and loaded a quarrel.
Brekka and Binkton were the only ones with bows, and so they took stations on opposite sides of the coach.
There was one female among the nine passengers, a nineteen-year-old named Rebecca, slender and black-haired and blue-eyed and quite pretty. They placed her in the midmost position, and two of the men mistakenly tried to place Pipper beside her, but Brekka said that a Warrow with a sling was almost as valuable as one with a bow. “Besides, I would remind you that the most deadly warriors in any combat are Waerans.”
Pipper nodded sprightly and said, “Tuckerby Underbank slew more than eighty Foul Folk in just three days.”
The men looked at wee Pipper and Binkton in wonder, and none made any further suggestions that the buccen remain anywhere but at the windows.
And as they entered the looming dark walls of the slot twisting upward through the mountain chain, Pipper looked out at the grim frowning stone and said, “Lor, but I wish we had Bane with us.”
“Me, too,” said Binkton, his bow in hand and an arrow held loosely.
“We left before dawn, and it will be after nightfall when we reach the far end,” said Brekka, “but most of the journey will be made under the sun, and the Grg hate the light of day. Nevertheless, be on guard.”
On they fared up into the pass for mile after mile after mile with sheer stone rising to either side, and the sun rode up into the sky. And still no threat appeared. Exhausted by remaining so alert, Pipper fell quite asleep, and he slept until the coach stopped to change teams partway along the rise. Here the passengers, cautioned to be vigilant, were allowed to debark and stretch their legs and take care of other needs, Rebecca given her privacy behind a large boulder while Brekka stood ward in front of it.
Soon the horses had been fed and watered and exchanged—the fresh ones now in harness, the others tethered behind—and the coach started out once more.
“You sleep, Bink,” said Pipper. “I’ll call you should the need arise.”
Binkton looked at Brekka and received a nod, and so he curled up next to Pipper. But he tossed and turned—“Gah! I can’t sleep!”—and after a while gave up and resumed his watch at the window.
It was a mark or two past noon when they crossed the crest of the pass, where again they took care of needs and changed the teams, and then started down the opposite side.
Pipper fell asleep again, and Binkton looked at Brekka and pointed at Pipper and said, “Some sentry, eh?”
Brekka smiled at Binkton and said, “In the never-ending war against the Grg, I have fought alongside comrades who could fall asleep at the drop of a helm, even though combat was but moments away. This I would say: a well-rested warrior is much better to have at hand than one worn down by fatigue. I believe your Pipper will make good account of himself should there be a need.” Then Brekka looked at Binkton and said, “Not that all should sleep, for we do need those who remain on watch to signal should the foe draw nigh.”
Down the long slope of the pass the coach went, the teams working nearly as hard on the descent as on the climb, and the driver stopped a third time to make one more exchange.
Soon they were on their way again, the sun sliding down the sky, and dusk fell as the pass widened and they came in sight of the foothills below and the plains of Gûnar beyond.
Even so it was full dark when they came to the way station. And as the passengers debarked, one of the men looked back toward the Grimwalls and said, “Well, that was nothing.”
Brekka looked at him and gritted a warning: “Be glad that this time it was nought. Also be glad not only were there four stage guards atop, but also three warriors inside. And when next you fare through such, I advise you to come well armed—with bow and arrow and a sword or axe—else, somewhere within, you might not live long enough to regret it.”
Two days later in midafternoon, in a small stretch of woods on the way through Gûnar, five brigands, armed with clubs and knives, stood afoot by a log they had felled across the road to stop the coach.
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