Trek to Kraggen-Cor (24 page)

Although the craft was large, still it was confining, and there was little to do. Even so, now that the raft was once more in midstream of the wide river and needed only minor corrections, Pern replaced Anval at the aft sweep. Trie Dwarves gathered in the center of the float just forward of the cargo, and fell to talking about the ways the Dusk-Door might be constructed, the red-bearded Gatemaster Barak did most of the talking while the others, including Anval and Borin, listened closely The Dwarves sat up away from the lapping plash, each on a short section of log split in twain lengthwise and placed on the craft with the flat side up while the round side was down, trapped from rolling, lodged in the long clefts between raft logs. Thus the Chakka sat and debated while the craft was borne south by the River Argon

Slowly the land changed, and the farther south they drifted, the sparser became the woods that lined the shores, until late in the afternoon the> floating between open plains with only an occasional thicket or a willc m two to break the view. They had come to the far northern reaches of the

Dalgor March, and they camped that evening in a thicket at the edge of that land.

The next day the raft floated down past the point where the Dalgor River issued into the Great Argon River. The open Dalgor March had become more and more fenlike as they neared the tributary, and a breeze blew rattling through the tall, waving reeds, now brown with winter approaching. The sky was bright and the day clear, and Perry looked on this area with interest. It was here in this region that the Othen strain of the Wee Folk had settled and later fled, for here it was that savage battles were fought in the Great War with Gyphon, and heroes were slain, and the Dawn Sword vanished. It was an area steeped in the epic happenings of History, though now it was deserted of all but the wild things.

The float continued on past the southern reaches of the Dalgor March, and the land became less marshy and began to rise around them. Thickets began to reappear, and isolated large trees too; and by evening the Seven were again drifting between river-valley woodlands.

All during the morning of the next day, the land gently rose until it was well above the level of the river. The raft swept downstream at an ever-increasing pace, for as the land had risen, the watercourse had narrowed.

In the early afternoon the float approached a long, strait, high-walled canyon known as the Race; and the closer the raft drew to the gorge, the louder came the roar of crashing water within. The Race was the narrowest point on the Argon below Landover Road Ford, and the current was swift and strong; here river traffic going north had to travel overland along the portage-way on top of the eastern bluffs; but river traffic going south needed only to stay in the rushing center of the river, away from the jagged rocks at each side.

Lord Kian and Anval used the sweeps to position the rude craft as close to dead center as they could judge, and then shipped the oars on board. Kian shouted the command to "Hold fast!" and the raft plunged into the bellowing gap.

The uproar in the ravine shook Perry's small frame, for the river thundered between the high stone palisades, the deafening sound trapped betwixt the high walls to reverberate and roar and shout and rend the air with the thunder of water plunging apace along the ramparts, cresting and rolling and breaking over hidden barriers, smashing around great rocks to leap and fall crashing back only to drive into the next barrier and the next and the next. And amid the crests and troughs and rolling swells came the raft: out in midstream and turning slowly, beyond the control of the two sweeps.

Perry and the others tightly clung to the cargo frame as the craft pumped and smashed over roiling, roaring billows; and the cold river water crashed

again and again up through the gaps between the logs to spray and drench them all with the icy splash.

Again and again the raft leapt up, to pause, and then to plummet back to the water; and Perry caught his breath each time the craft fell; he and the others were jolted and jarred each time the timbers smacked down; and once Perry was knocked to his knees, but he held on tightly with both hands and lifted himself up again before the next plummet. The turning, pitching float bucked and plunged downriver, racing toward a place where the canyon walls drew inward. As Pern saw the notch rapidly loom closer, he fleetingly pictured the cliffs pinching together to crush these insignificant intruders; but then they passed up a swell and through the constriction and slid down a long ramp into a deep trough, to spin and plummet onward.

Suddenly the walls began to diminish and recede as the land sloped downward and the watercourse grew wide. The thundering roar became a rumble, and the plunging crests smoothed to long, undulating rolls; and then they were back on the broad, smooth river curving between quiet, brown, river-border woodlands, with the din just a faint, dying echo behind.

"WTiew!" exclaimed Perry, his voice seeming unnaturally loud on the rewon stillness, "that was quite a wild ride. I could not hear my own thoughts back there, it was so deafening."

"Aye, Friend Perry," agreed Delk, "mayhap it is the loudest spot in the known Kingdoms." And he dug a little finger into one ear and yawned and swallowed to try to regain his full hearing.

"One would think so," said Kian, untying the canvas so that all could change into dry clothes, "but the river itself has a place of even more roar: it is Bellon, the great cataract to the south. Its voice shouts endlessly as it plunges down the Great Escarpment and into the Cauldron. It is a sound that not only assaults the ears but also thunders into your entire being to shake and rattle your very essence. Ah yes, the Race is thunderous—but Bellon is whelming."

Anval and Borin grunted their agreement, for twice within Ctor's shout they had walked the Over Stair, an ancient portage-way across the Great Escarpment to pass around Bellon. There, too—five miles to the west—could be seen the silvery Falls of Vanil, where the River Nith plummets down the Escarpment and into the Cauldron to join the mighty Argon.

Late in the afternoon Barak and Delk used the sweeps to bring the craft to the western shore, and the Squad made their final landing, for it was the sunset of the fourth day of travel, and they had come to the wold above Darda Galion. The Pitch, Dawn-Gate, Drimmen-deeve, all lay directly to the west: a march of five days would bring the Seven to the eastern entrance of Kraggen-cor.

CHAPTER 17 WARRIORS ON THE WOLD

That same evening, as the Squad sat around the campfire and took supper together, Kian announced, "Now comes the long wait: here we must tarry for six full days, and start west on the seventh, for we must pace our arrival to fit with Durek's plan. Once we start overland we will burn no more fires; but here in this uninhabited realm we are far north of the raiders' range; for as I have said before, the Yrm harass the people in the regions south of Darda Galion, down the Great Escarpment and beyond into the North Reach of Valon, and they strike southeastward at the river traffic along the Argon above and below Bellon Falls. Hence they come not into this empty region, and here we will wait.

"While we wait, we will lay our final plans, and study Perry's map, and think closely upon what we must do to aid our chances at success. For one thing, Perry, we must do something about that bright silver armor of yours— mayhap blacken it—so it will not shine like a lost gem in the Spaunen torchlight within the caverns of Drimmen-deeve."

Perry held up a silver-clad arm and turned it slowly and saw that it glittered in the firelight. "I simply could wear a long-sleeved jerkin over it," he suggested, seeing that something indeed had to be done to hide its glint. The Warrow stepped toward his belongings. "What about our faces? We should blacken them, too, else they'll show in the torchlight. Perhaps we should use charred wood—or mud, as Cotton and I did in the Wilderness Hills when we were 'Rucks.' " Perry began rummaging through his pack.

"Chakka armor is already black iron," grunted Delk. "And we have with us the Chakka blackener for hands and face, and so our Squad need not use ashes or dirt. As to how to spend the next six days, 1 deem we need to discuss further the way the Dusken Door is perhaps made, for I have had some new thoughts concerning it."

"There," interrupted Perry, "how's this?" He had slipped a dark green shirt over his starsilver armor; it brought nods of approval from all the com-

pany, for no longer did he gleam like a minor beacon: the shimmering corselet was completely hidden.

"We must also select which of these things we mean to carry to the Dusken Door," said Tobin, waving a hand toward the pile of supplies. "What I would wish is that we carry only our axes to caress Squam necks. But, alas, we must eat, and drink, and work on the Door as well." Tobin's remark brought grim smiles of agreement from the other Dwarves.

The discussion continued as each proposed ways of using the six-day waiting period. They spoke of maps, and of making alternate plans for crossing the Great Deep should there be no Spawnish bridge for them to sneak over, and of the need to deal with sentries and patrols; those and many other topics were debated far into the night. Finally they all felt the need for sleep and so bedded down, except for the one on watch. They maintained the same order of guard duty that they had been using since the ford—Kian, Anval, Tobin, Perry, Barak, Borin, Delk—each in turn patrolling the perimeter, heeding Lord Kian's reminder to keep their eyes off the fire, the better to see into the dark.

That night, after Perry had awakened Barak for his turn, as was their custom they talked while the Warrow stoked the campblaze and the Dwarf stood looking into the night and sipped upon a cup of tea. Perry looked forward to these nighttime conversations with Barak, for the red-bearded Dwarf spoke intensely of many things not heretofore known to the Warrow. "Barak," asked Perry, "what do you plan to do after this is all over?"

"When it is over? Pah! Waeran, you know not these Squam. War with the Grg will never be over—not until the last of them are slain or are driven from this world, from Mitheor," growled Barak. The Dwarf held up a hand to forestall Perry's interruption. "Yet, Friend Perry, I do understand your question. As to what I plan when we have driven the Squam from our homeland: I shall search out all the other doorways of Kraggen-cor and discover each of their ways of working, and put them in order."

"Other doorways?" asked Perry, puzzled. "What other doorways?"

"Hah! Kraggen-cor has many other doors, some hidden, some plain. But it is the secret doors I would discover: there are those within the caverns to hidden rooms; and those that issue out, to the east, west, north, south, and points in between. There are high doors and low doors, many openings onto the slopes of the Quadran, onto the four great Mountains: Uchan, Ghatan, Aggarath, and Ravenor. Heed: the Dusken Door and Daun Gate arc not the only ways in and out, they are just the only known ways, the others are lost. But once inside the caverns, the doors can be found again: at what looks to be dead ends of passageways; under arches against blank walls, behind uncommon slabs in chambers; and near special, secret marks.

"When found again, I aspire to divine their means of opening: Some doors open by keys, some by secret levers hidden behind intricate carvings or lim pie blocks, other doors are opened by pressing special places on the stone

TREK TO KRAGGEN-COR

Some Chakka portals are fashioned after the way of the Lian, an ancient Elf race of Mastercrafters from whom we learned much; these doors usually are opened by Elven-made things, such as carven jewels that fit in special crevices, or a glamoured key, a spellbound blade, or an ensorcelled ring; or they are opened by speaking the correct word or phrase, such as is the fashion of the Dusken Door.

"As to why I seek these hidden doors . . . Hai! It is to discover what they conceal! Some doors lead to secret treasure rooms, or secret weapons rooms, or secret hideaways. My heart hammers to think of these doors, for they will open into chambers that contain things hidden away for hundreds, even thousands of years. Yet such rooms must be entered with caution, for once inside, the door may close and vanish, trapping the unwary in a sealed vault —it is a defence against looters and other evil beings. Yet all delved chambers have ways in and ways out, if you can find the secrets of the doors and have the keys. The trick is first to find where each portal might be and then to divine the means required to open it. Without the key, even a Wizard or an evil Vulk cannot pass through some hidden doors.

"Aye, Perry, I shall search out the lost portals of Kraggen-cor. And when I locate them and deduce the ways of their opening, I shall pass through those doors and tread where no Chak has trod for centuries . . . and I shall discover. " Barak paused, staring out into the darkness beyond the campblaze, lost in thought. After a moment he roused himself as Perry threw another log on the dying fire. "That is my dream. What is yours?"

"Mine? My dream? Well now, I haven't thought of what I'll do. Go back to my studies at The Root, I suppose. Or maybe write this adventure up as another chapter to be added to the Raven Book, since our tale does have its roots in the War and all." Perry sighed. "Of course, it seems to me that all we've done is wait, and then we rush to some other place just to wait again. I mean, well, it isn't much of an adventure that has its principal characters just sitting around waiting for something to happen."

Barak momentarily turned away from his vigil of the dark beyond the limits of the firelight and looked hard into Perry's jewel-like, sapphirine eyes. "I would that this were all the action any of us ever sees," he said sharply. "That Kraggen-cor were totally deserted would be best for us all. But we know that is not so. Let us next hope that the Squam are few and the fighting short."

Perry was taken aback by the sudden intensity of Barak's manner, but he did not know what caused it or what to say. After a while he said good night and went to his bedroll. He lay and watched the stars, and just before he drifted off he saw one fall, and then another, and then two more. How can such a wondrous thing be the awful portent to the Dwarves that it is? he mused drowsily. Falling stars always seem to come this time of year. And besides, when two or more strangers far, far apart see the same falling star, for which is it meant? And what about when a star falls which no one sees? I must