On the evening of the sixth day from the Dusk-Door, they arrived at the Ford of New Luren. Here, the abandoned way they followed joined the Ralo Road, and when that track passed north of New Luren, it became known as the North Route by some and as the South Route by others, yet most called it the Post Road. Just above Luren, the rivers Hath and Caire joined, and the ever-changing swirl of the waters of their meeting was named the Rivermix. From that point on down to the sea, the river was called Isleborne by all except the Elves, who named it the Fainen. At Luren crossed the trade routes between Rell, Gunar, Harth, and Trellinath, for here was the only ford in the region. And on the west bank of the ford was the site of Luren.
Old Luren had been a city of free trade serving river traffic and road commerce from all the regions around. It had suffered mightily during the ancient Dark Plague-more than half its populace had died-but slowly it had recovered, and though it did not reach its former heights of commerce, still it was a city of importance. But then a great fire raged throughout the city, and Luren was devastated and abandoned.
It was not until about fifty years ago mat New Luren sprang up on the site, mainly serving travellers going up and down the Post Road and the Ralo Road. New Luren was but a small village surrounded by the great Riverwood Forest, yet it had an inn-the Red Boar-where the food was plentiful, the beer drinkable, and the rooms snug and cozy. Cotton drove the waggon across the ford and into the village.
When the three travellers stepped across the threshold and into the Red Boar, all conversation among the locals came to a halt as they craned their necks to get a look at these strangers. At first the Lurenites thought a fair youth and two boys had entered the inn; but then Perry and Cotton doffed their warm jackets, and there before the patrons stood two small warriors in silver and golden armor-and the fair youth in green was suddenly recognized to be one of the legendary Elf Lords. And a murmur washed throughout the common room:
Lor! Look at that. One of the Eld Ones. A Lion! If these are people out of legend, then the two small ones must be Waerlinga, the Wee Folk.
The proprietor, Mister Hoxley Housman, stepped forth.
"Well now, sirs, welcome to the Red Boar," he boomed, drawing them toward the cheery fireplace, and unlooked-for tears sprang up in Cotton's eyes, for it was the first "proper place" he'd been in since that night, oh so long ago, at the White Unicom in Stonehill.
The next morning was one of sadness, especially for Perry, for Shannon Silverleaf was turning back to Drimmen-deeve and then going beyond to Darda Galion. Three ponies had been purchased from innkeeper Housman, one for each of the Warrows to ride and one to carry their goods. Shannon would return the horses and waggon to the Dwarves.
Cotton stood outside saying goodbye to Brownie and Downy, while inside the Red Boar, Shannon looked at Perry and smiled. "Friend Perry, I, too, think I'll visit you in the Bosky-in summer, when the leaves are green and the flowers bloom and your gardens begin putting forth their fruit. Not this coming summer, but the next one instead, for I deem it will be that long ere all will be ready for that encounter. But fear not, I shall come, and I think others will too."
Together the Elf and the Warrow stepped out of the Red Boar to join Cotton; and the pair of buccen said their goodbyes to Shannon, and the Elf climbed up on the waggon and flicked the reins, and drove back in the direction of Luren Ford as the Warrows watched. Finally Perry and Cotton turned and clambered aboard their ponies and began the journey north and west, up the post Road toward the Boskydells, their pack pony trailing behind.
On the fourth day along the route, the Warrows came to a fork in the road: the Post Road turned northwards, heading for Stonehill; the left-hand road, the Tineway, swung westerly, making for Tine Ford on the Spindle River, and the Boskydells beyond. Along this way the buccen turned, and in the afternoon of the next day they came to the great Spindlethom Barrier. Into the towering bramble they rode, following the way through the vast tangle. It was late afternoon when they crossed over Tine Ford and again entered the long thorny tunnel on the far side. Another hour or so they rode, and it was dusk when they finally emerged from the Barrier and came into the region known as Downdell. At last they were back in the Boskydells.
On the west side of the Spindlethorn they stopped the ponies and dismounted and stood looking out upon the land. Cotton peered through the twilight to the north and west, and filled his lungs with air. "It sure does feel good to be back in the Bosky," he observed, "back from them Foreign Parts. Why, here even the air has the right smell to it, though it's winter and the fields are waiting for the spring tilling, if you take my meaning. But though we're back in the Dells, we've still got a good bit left to go before we're back to The Root-about fifty leagues or so. Right, Mister Perry?" And Cotton turned to Perry, awaiting his answer.
But Perry was gazing back toward the thorny growth, along the dark road that they had come, looking in the direction of faraway Kraggen-cor, and his eyes brimmed with tears. "Wha… what, Cotton? Oh yes, another fifty leagues and we'll be home." And he quickly brushed his eyes with his sleeve and began fumbling with his pony's cinch strap.
The way from the Spindle River toward Eastwood and beyond to Woody Hollow, though long, was not arduous. And the Warrows rode during the day and camped at night, as they had throughout their journeys. On the fourth morning after entering the Boskydells they awakened to a light snowfall. They had camped south of Brackenboro on the eastern side of a trace of a road in the eaves of the Eastwood standing near. After breakfast they prepared to cut cross-country, striking directly for Byroad Lane through Budgens to Woody Hollow.
As they rode, the snow thickened, but mere was little wind and the flakes fell gently. And for the first time in a long, long while, Cotton burst into song, and soon he was joined by Perry:
The snowflakes fall unto the ground,
In crystal dresses turning 'round,
Each one so white,
Their touch so light,
And falling down upon the mound.
Yo ho! Yo ho! On sleighs we go, To slip and slide on a wild ride. Yo ho! Yo ho! Around the bend, I wish this ride would never end.
The snow lies all across the land
And packs and shapes unto the hand.
Rolls into balls,
Shapes into walls,
Makes better forts than those of sand.
Yo ho! Yo ho! Let's throw the snow, From bright fort walls sling white snowballs. Yo ho! Yo ho! Here comes a hat. Let fly the snow, knock it kersplat!
Let fly the snow, knock it: Kersplat!
And both Warrows found themselves laughing in glee.
They rode all through the daylight hours and came to Byroad Lane at dark. By then the snow was nearly a foot deep, and their ponies chuffed with the effort. Still the flakes swirled down thickly, but there was only a slight breeze, and neither Warrow was uncomfortable.
The ponies plodded through Budgens and past the Blue Bull. Yellow light shone out through the inn windows and across the white snow. Singing came from within; and as the two rode by, someone stepped through the door, and the song burst forth loudly, only to be muffled again when the door swung shut.
The Warrows rode on, and finally crossed the bridge over the Dingle-rill and passed beyond the mill. Their ponies plodded up into Hollow End, and they came at last to the curved hedge along the snow-covered stone walkway to The Root.
They had dismounted and were tethering the ponies to the hedge fence when the oaken door burst open, and out flew Holly. She hugged them both and kissed Perry. And Perry held her tightly and tears coursed down his cheeks, but he said nothing. And she held him close for a moment, and then drew them bodi inside. And there they found waiting a rich meal of roast goose and three places set at the table, for as Holly explained through her tears of happiness, "It's Year's End Eve, and I've been expecting you all day."
CHAPTER 10
THE HEROES
A year and a half had passed since Mister Perry and Cotton had come home, and
the Bosky was bubbling with excitement. For on this day-Year's Long Day-there was to be a Ceremony. Oh, not just an ordinary Ceremony-with Mayor Whitlatch giving a speech and cutting a ribbon-but a real King's Ceremony. In fact, it was even better than that, for it was to be a High King's Ceremony: High King Darion himself had come with a great retinue to the Boskydells. But it wasn't only the High King that had come: it seemed as if every King in Mithgar was in the Dells…well, maybe not every King, but all the important ones had come; and the gossips and the tittle-tattles were having a field day:
There is that King from North Riamon, Kian, the one as what fought the Rucks and such; there's that King Eanor from Vaion and his Man Brytta, the ones as what came with all those horse riders; and lawks! there's even a Dwarf King, Durek, the one as what gave Mister Perry and Cotton that box of jools! Yes, and he's got that Dwarf with him the one as limps, Tobin something-or-other, and all his Company of Dwarf warriors what came in riding ponies, wouldn't you know, except for them two Dwarf striplings, them as what came riding on horses, just grinning and lording it as if they were doing something really special. But more, there's that Company of Elves with the Elf Lord, Vanidar Shannon Silverleaf, and if he ain't the King of the Elves, I'll eat my hat! And who knows what other Folks might come, what with more Outsiders arriving alt the time. Why, another whole bunch of them big Kingsguards rode in from Dael just this morning. Oh, it's a big day in the Bosky, alright, one that'll be remembered when it's long past.
Yes, the Boskydells were all aflutter, because the important thing about the Ceremony was that all those Kings had come to honor two Warrows: Peregrin Fairhill and Cotton Buckleburr.
It's like the folks down to Budgens always say, "Whenever them Kings get into trouble they allusfind they got to call on a Warrow or two to settle them troubles, whatever they might be."
But the folks of the Boskydells thought that the very best thing about the Ceremony was that right afterward there was going to be a big free meal down at the Hollow Commons, and everybody-I mean everybody-was invited.
And inside The Root, Holly fluttered about her husband of one year, getting him ready for the Ceremony. "I'm so proud of you, Perry, and Cotton, too," she chatted as she straightened his cloak collar and brushed back a stray curl, thinking how splendid her buccaran looked in his starsilver armor. "Imagine, you're to be named a Hero of the Realm."
"Oh, piffle," protested Perry, uncomfortably, "I'm not a hero. Anyone who's read my journal knows that I'm just an ordinary Warrow and not some great warrior." On the table by his bedside was his journal; it was open, and on the first page, in Perry's fine script, was written:
The Silver Call
A Tale of Quest and War as Seen by Two Warrows
The Journal of Peregrin Fairhill
"Well, I've read your journal," said Holly, "and a lot of others have too: the Ravenbook Scholars, to name a few. And we all think that your story, and Cotton's, well, it's a tale of a noble quest."
"Ah, but my dammia, that's just it," sighed Perry. "My tale wasn't meant to be noble; it was meant to tell of the horror of War. 1 wanted to tell of War as it really is. In so many tales, none of the heroes ever get killed or even hurt."
Perry paused, raising his hand to touch the blood-red jewel that marked the armor where the Ruck-arrow had pierced through. "Oh, some hearthtale heroes now and then have been slightly wounded, nothing more. But in most tales, only the villains die. And the heroes never suffer the pangs of fear or doubt, and the villains can't seem to do anything right. Well, that isn't what War is really like. In real War, many, many heroes are slaughtered, and feel fear, and make blunders. And the villains are victorious… oh, so often.
"And as to it being noble: this War, well, it was just fleeing and fighting and killing down in a great, dark hole in the earth. We slew living beings, Holly, without warning when we could-Rucks and Hloks to be sure, and an Ogru or two, but living things all the same."
"But it was necessary," insisted Holly. "Cotton says it was necessary; Kian says it was necessary; Shannon says it was necessary; Durek says so, and so does High King Darion, and all the Dwarves, Elves, and Big Men that have come to honor you."
"Necessary, yes; still it was abhorrent," said Perry. "Arid so many comrades, who didn't deserve to die, fell in battle. So who am I to be singled out with" Cotton to be a hero? I'm just an insignificant character in the role of the world."
"Why, Mister Peregrin Fairhill, don't you go saying such a thing!" protested Holly, golden fire flashing deep in her great amber eyes. "If it weren't for you and Cotton, the maggot-folk would have won. They'd still be raiding and killing in the Lands around; and more: Shannon Silverleaf told me that if the Spawn had won, they would have started spreading out in the Grimwall Mountains again, and that would have spelled trouble for everyone. Why, they might even have tried to invade the Bosky after a time. But thanks to you and Cotton, that won't happen. You are Heroes of the Realm: Cotton's sword saved Durek from the Monster of the Mere, and Cotton was a Brega-Path guide, and he killed the Troll, and he carried the Horn of Narok; without Cotton doing those things, the quest would have failed. And you, Perry, you carried Bane that warned of maggot-folk, and you were a Brega-Path guide, and you found the key to the Gargon's Lair, and you solved the riddle of Narok; without you the Spawn would have won.
*'Oh, you're heroes alright, but you just don't see that you are. Instead you say you are just some 'insignificant' character in the world. Well, don't you see that it is just the ones that you seem to think 'insignificant' that are truly important? It's on folks like you and Cotton that major events turn. Without you "insignificant" ones, the world would fall before the cruel and evil.
"Now don't you go downplaying yourself just because you're a Warrow and not a King or a Big Man or a high Elf, or even a clever Dwarf. You're a Warrow, the best there is, and a Hero of the Realm, and that's why all the Kings are here to honor you and Cotton: King Eanor's Land of Valon is no longer being plundered; King Kian's subjects in Riamon no longer live in fear of Rucks and Hloks; and Shannon Silverleaf, Elf Lord of Darda Erynian, his Land of Galion is free of spoilers; the Halls of Kraggen-cor are once more filled with Dwarves, and King Durek reigns; arid High King Darion, well, all is at peace in his Kingdoms again. And without you it would not have happened, and they've all come to pay you the highest homage because of it."
Not quite convinced, yet unwilling to argue further with his dammia, Perry stood still while Holly fastened the silver brooch at his collar. Again he fingered the blood-red jewel inset among the links of his armor; and deep within his shoulder there pulsed a dull ache, and he knew that within two days the weather would change. But he said nought and instead wished that these formalities would just get over and done with.
Holly, flicking one last invisible speck from Perry's cloak, stepped back and appraised her buccaran with a critical eye. "Well," she said at last, pride shining in her face, "it looks like you're ready. Now there's a Big Man waiting in the study with Cotton to escort you both before the assembled Kings. You'd better hurry on now before you're late."
Perry sighed and stepped out of the bedroom, and went down the hall and around the corner toward the study. As he approached that chamber, he saw an object on the table outside the study door. And his heart leapt, for it was a great black mace!
"Ursor!" he shouted, and ran into the room just as the great bear of a Baeran was getting to his feet. "Ursor!" cried Perry, and he wept and laughed, and the Big Man smiled, and Cotton grinned from ear to ear.
"Well, little one," huge Ursor rumbled, "we meet again." And he caught up the wee Warrow and embraced him with a whoof! and then sat him down on the edge "of a table like a small child, the buccan's feet dangling and swinging.
"Ursor, we thought you were dead!" exclaimed Perry, an incredulous look on his face. "What happened? How.did you escape? Tell me before I burst with perplexity!"
"It's a long tale, and we can't be late before the Kings," smiled the Baeran, fingeri
ng a deep scar mat ran down his left cheek from the corner of his eye to his jaw. "I'll tell it in full after the Ceremony. Let me just say that I decided to mislead the Spawn up the north passage from the underground river, to make certain that they didn't follow my Liege Lord, Kian, now King of North Riamon. My running battle with that company of Wrg in the undelved halls of the Black Hole lasted long, and I did nearly die, but it was of starvation and not by Rutchen hand. I was lost, but at last found my way to the Dwarves-or they to me, for Durek had sent them searching right after the great battle. And they finally found me, and I was saved, three days after you had gone.
"But we will speak of the full story later, for I want to hear your tale from your own lips too," declared Ursor, Commander of the Kingsguard of Riamon. "But now the Kingdom awaits its Heroes."
And so they stood and stepped into the hall, where Ursor took up his great black mace and hung it from his belt; and they strode to the oaken door of The Root. Ursor opened the portal, and the sunshine outside was bright.
Through the doorway Perry could see, to his wonder, the Kings of Pellar, Valon, Riamon, and Kraggen-cor, and an Elf Lord of Darda Erynian: each down upon one knee, paying high homage to him and Cotton. Beyond the Kings, all the knights and warriors and attendants-Men, Dwarves, and — Elves-of all the retinues also knelt on one knee. And beyond them it seemed as if every Warrow of the Boskydells stood quietly in End Field, waiting.
Perry looked up at Ursor, and over at Cotton, and last of
all to Holly, and she beamed and inclined her head toward the open door. And Perry and Cotton, smiling, stepped forth into the sunshine, resplendent in their sparkling silver and glittering golden armor; and from the waiting multitude a mighty roar flew up to the sky.
FB2 document info
The Brega path tsc-2 Page 19