Trek to Kraggen-Cor (9 page)

They drove til the westering Sun touched the rim of the Earth, and they pulled off the road to the eaves of the bordering forest, Edgewood, to camp for the night.

While Cotton and Perry made several trips to gather firewood, Lord Kian tended the horses, and Anval and Borin unloaded the evening supplies and found stones to set in a ring for the fire, which was soon crackling in the early autumn twilight. Kian refilled their leather bottles and the large waterskin from a clear freshette bubbling through the trees and running into the meadow.

As they were out gathering a final load of wood, Cotton took the opportunity to talk alone with Pern': "Mister Perry, today I took another good hard look at that silver horn of ours. After the close way they both acted yesterday and what Anval said, any ninnyhammer could see there was a lot more left unsaid by the Dwarves than all we know. Well, lookin' at it, I saw something after a long time that, well, I don't rightly know what to make of it 'cause it only adds to the mystery. But anyway, what I mean to say is that them tiny little figures of the horsemen riding like the wind and curving all around the horn, well, Sir, them riders, if you study them up close, they ain't Men riders at all. They're Dwarves!"

"WTzczf?" burst out Perry, astounded by this new information. "That can't be! That horn has been known too long, seen by too many people for that to have been overlooked by all eyes til now."

"I can't help it, Sir," responded Cotton stubbornly, "but them eyes just didn't look close enough. They saw what they were expecting to see, if you catch my meaning. I'm saying that them people in Valon, well, they are a Folk what lives by the horse, and they purely saw those little figures as bein' riders just like they themselves are. And since Captain Patrel got the horn as a gift from the Valon people, well he saw Valon riders, too, just like everybody else has seen 'em since that time. Beggin' your pardon, Mister Perry, but

after all, it is called the Horn of Valon—or the Horn of the Reach—and when people hear that name they don't really look hard at the riders to see whether or not they are Men, Dwarves, Elves, or even Warrows; they only see that there are riders on galloping horses, nothing more. And with that name, naturally the people think they're Valon riders. But it isn't so. Oh, they're Dwarves right enough, but you have to look real close to see it."

"Cotton, I'm flabbergasted," said Perry, picking up another fallen branch. "If what you say is true, then it is a detail that's been overlooked by us Warrows for more than two hundred years, and by the House of Valon for twenty-four hundred years before that—since the days of Elgo and of Strong Harl. Of course if the riders truly are Dwarves, it'd help explain the mysterious way that Borin and Anval acted."

"Oh no, Sir, I beg to differ," said Cotton, breaking a branch in two and tucking the pieces into his bundle, "I'd say it only deepens the mystery."

"No, no, Cotton, what I mean is that the horn must have some secret meaning to the Dwarves, and that's why Borin and Anval acted as they did," Perry said. "But what do you mean, Cotton, 'deepens the mystery'? How can it get more mysterious than it already is?"

"Well, Sir," replied Cotton, "you know the old tavern talk about Dwarves not riding horses. And you remember back at The Root how Anval told me that all of his Folk had better sense than to climb aboard real horses instead of just ponies—oh, they use the big horses right enough, so that shows they aren't afraid of 'em, but they just don't ride 'em. Well now, I ask you, if they don't ride horses, why in the world are there figures all around the silver horn of a bunch of Dwarves ridin' on the backs of galloping horses?"

Perry, of course, had no answer for Cotton's question. He knew that the animals on the horn were horses and not ponies, but he, too, had always thought that the riders, though small in relation to the horses, were Men. Perry was eager to examine the trumpet closely for himself at the first opportunity.

Gathering the rest of the firewood in silence, they each soon had a load. On the way back, Cotton, who had collected an enormous bundle of dead-wood, stepped into a low spot and fell flat on his face, throwing the branches every which way as he flung out his arms to catch himself. "Whuff!" he grunted as he hit the earth and seemed to disappear in the deep grass.

"Cotton!" cried Perry. "Where did you go?"

"I'm down here, Sir," answered Cotton. "I stepped in a hole. It was just like taking that extra step at the top of the stairs only to find out there weren't one ... or rather it was like not taking a step at the bottom of the stairs only to find out there were one. Lumme! I threw wood everywhere."

And Perry, seeing that Cotton was unhurt, began laughing and describing to Cotton the cascade of limbs launched through the air. Cotton, too, began laughing, and their serious mood over the Horn of Valon was dispelled.

Happily, they collected the fallen wood, this tune sharing the load evenly, and returned to the camp just in tune for tea.

It had been a long day, and soon both Wanows were nodding drowsily. They spread their bedrolls and shortly were East asleep in the open air. An val and Borin bedded down also, leaving Lord Kian sitting on a log at the edge of die firelight whittling with his sharp-bladed knife, for the travellers had decided that a watch would be kept, though they were hundreds of miles and many days away from periL

Perry's turn came late in the night He was unaccustomed to sentry duty

and soon found his eyes drooping. To keep himself awake he slowly strolled

around and around the camp, stopping now and again to add wood to the

fire. While walking his post he began to softly hum the Song of the

rwatch, for at last he truly understood it

The flames, they flicker, the shadows dance,

z~.l\: S:~\ ■:■!:] v.-:-'-c-ii Night flies the quicker, Dawn does advance, for those snug in their bed.

for one on guard who walks fas round

And must remain awake, The Sight goes hard, for he is bound

Another round to make

In this manner he passed his vigil as the stars wheeled through the vault above, and soon he awakened Anval, whose turn had come.

Shedding his Erven-cloak and folding it as a pillow. Perry crawled sleepily back into his bed, and as he slowly feu toward slumber his thoughts drifted across Cotton's revelation about the Horn of Yalon. The rest of that night Perry's dreams were filled with thousands of horses endlessly thundering across open plains, making the earth shake with the pounding of their hooves. And upon the back of each rode a Dwarf.

CHAPTER 7 HICKORY SWORDS

Just before dawn, Cotton, standing the final guard, stirred up the embers and added more wood to the fire. He fed the horses some grain and made a pot of tea. When the brew was ready he awakened the others, Lord Kian first and Perry last. As daytide crept upon the land, Perry stumped to the crystalline stream and splashed cold water on his face and hands and the back of his neck, making great whooshing sounds as the icy liquid startled him fully awake. "Hoo, that's brisk!" he called to the camp. Then he made his way back and took a bracing hot cup of tea.

Though there was not yet an autumn frost, the morning was chill, and the fire was most welcome. The five huddled around the campblaze as they sipped hot drink and breakfasted on dried venison and tough waybread, part of the supplies obtained by Kian at Woody Hollow. In contrast to his overindulgence at The Root, Anval now ate adequately but sparingly, as if to conserve the supplies. Cotton, seeing the Dwarf's behavior and deeming it wise, held rein on his own voracity, too. And Borin rumbled, "Well done, Waeran Cotton, I see you learn travellers' ways quickly. Fear not, though: our short-rations fast will be broken tomorrow night when we reach Stonehill."

"With prime fare, too," reassured his fellow trencher, Anval. "Yesterweek, as we came to the Boskydells, we found that the White Unicorn sets a fine table—as good as any in the Lands."

Lord Kian downed the last of his tea, then made his way into the meadow to retrieve the hobbled horses. With Cotton's help, he hitched Brownie and Downy to the waggon, while Anval, Borin, and Perry broke camp—dousing the fire, refilling the water bottles and skin, and loading the supplies. Packs were repacked and bedrolls rolled; all were tossed into the waggon. Soon the travellers were back on the road, the wain rolling for Stonehill, with Anval at the reins.

Though Perry had wanted to examine the figures engraved on the silver horn, he did not get the chance, for the moment they got under way, Cotton turned to Lord Kian and said, "Well, Sir, seeing as how we're going off to

fight Rucks and such, it seems to me that Mister Perry and me are going to need to know something about what we'll be fighting—if you catch my drift, Sir."

"Indeed I do 'catch your drift,' Cotton," said Kian, smiling, yet looking with respect at the canny Waerling, "for to know more of your enemy than he knows of you gains vantage in battle.

"Withal, there are three of the enemy. First, the eld Rukha: foul creatures of ancient origin, of yore as numberless as worms in the earth, puff-adder-eyed, wide-gapped slit-mouthed, skinny-armed and bandy-legged, round-bellied, bat-wing-eared, small but tenacious, no taller than Dwarves, crude in the arts of battle but overwhelming in their very numbers. Second, the Lokha: evil spawned by Gyphon, cruel masters of Rukha and Trolls, in appearance Rukh-like but tall as a Man, strong and skilled in battle, limited in number. Third and last, Trolls: enormous creatures—some say a giant Rukh—twice Man height, strong beyond belief, hard as a rock; they need have little or no skill with weaponry, depending instead upon their stone hide to turn aside blades or other arms, and upon their massive strength to crush foes; there are only rumors that any still exist.

"Rukha, Lokha, and Trolls: all came from the Untargarda—from Neddra —and were stranded in Mithgar by the sundering of the way between the Middle and Lower planes. And they all suffer the Ban and must shun the sunlight, working instead their evil at night—though in Modru's time his malevolent will sustained them during day as well, for the Dimmendark was upon the land, and the Sun shone not."

"What about Vulgs, Ghuls, and Helsteeds?" asked Perry.

"Ah," responded Kian, "as to them, we think that all may have perished during the Winter War. The Wolf-like Vulgs, whose virulent fangs wreak death even though the victim is but scratched—"

"Vulg's black bite slays at night, " interjected Cotton, reciting the old saw.

"Aye, Wee One," nodded Kian, " 'tis true. But neither Vulgs nor the cloven-hooved, rat-tailed, horse-like Helsteeds have been seen among any of the Spaunen raiding parties that issue out from Drimmen-deeve. Hence, they may no longer exist upon Mithgar."

"And the Ghuls?" asked Perry.

"Ghola are not seen either," answered the Man. "And that is well, for they are a dreadful foe: nearly unkillable, taking dire wounds without hurt. Wood through the heart, dismemberment, fire: these are the ways to slay a Ghol.

"But as I say, neither Vulg, Ghol, nor Helsteed has been seen since the Winter War, and I deem we need only concern ourselves with Rukh, Lokh, and perhaps Troll—Spawn you name Ruck, Hlok, and Ogru: these three you must be ready for. And so, my wee fledglings, to practice your swordplay to enable you to meet these enemies we need but follow a simple plan: To learn to fight the skilled, Man-sized Lokha you shall instead fight me; I shall play

that part. And to learn to engage the small, unskilled Rukha you shall do battle with each other." Here Kian smiled.

"What about the Trolls—the giant Ogrus?" interjected Cotton.

"Though I doubt if any still exist," said Kian, "if we come upon one, then you must flee, or you will be crushed like an ant under heel."

"Flee? Flee?" protested Perry, taken aback. "Do you counsel us to flee in the midst of battle just because the foe is overlarge? Some would say that is cowardice and is unworthy advice."

"Perry, Perry, green-Waerling Perry, you know not of what you speak," said Kian, shaking his head in rue. "Let me ask you this: If an avalanche were descending upon you, would you oppose it or would you flee? If a raging whirlwind were rending trees from the earth's bosom, would you slash at it with your sword or would you take shelter? Perry, Ogrus are like that: Troll-ish, nearly unstoppable, almost unkillable. Oh, they can be slain all right: by a great boulder dropped on them from a far height, or a fall from a mountainous precipice, to name two ways; but to slay them in battle is nigh impossible, requiring a fell weapon to be thrust just so: in the groin, or under the eyelid, or in the mouth, or in one or two other places of vulnerability. And even then the weapon may shatter against the Troll, no matter the blade's birthforge, for the Ogru is like a rock: hard and obdurate."

"Bane! Bane will sorely wound any foe," averred Perry in a grim voice, drawing his sword from its scabbard and flashing it to the sky. "It was made by the Elves, and it is said that Bane's blade-jewel shines with a blue light if Rucks or other evil things come near. It is a potent Troll-bane, and I trust my life to it."

"Indeed, Bane is a fell weapon of Elvish origin," said Kian, reaching out a gentle hand to touch Perry on the shoulder as the Waerling lowered the glittering blade, "and it may penetrate even the Troll-hide of the Ogrus. But, Perry, Bane is just an Elven-knife, though a long one, and may not reach an Ogru's vitals. Bitterly wounded he may be, but crush you he still will. No, you must flee and let others more able try to vanquish this foe."

Borin, sitting beside Anval on the driver's seat, twisted about and growled, "Even Chakka, as skilled in fighting as we are, give Trolls wide berth, yielding back rather than doing battle. But if we must, we will attack in strength; great numbers of axes are needed to slay an Ogru. Even then, many warriors will perish."

Somewhat disconcerted by Kian's but especially by Bonn's words, grim-lipped Perry slipped Bane back into the scabbard fastened to his pack. Cotton vowed, "Well you can be sure, right enough, that if ever I see a great Trollish Ogru he won't see me: I'm going to take to my heels and fly!"