Trek to Kraggen-Cor

by McKiernan, Dennis L. , 1932-

  It was nearly sundown when the waggon drove through Raffin, where, as in each of the other hamlets the wayfarers had passed, the citizens gathered to gawp at this strange assortment of travellers. Yet though it was late in the day, the wain did not stop, for Lord Kian planned on reaching the Happy Otter, an inn located on the western edge of Greenfields, the next town, ten or so miles east of Raffin. He and Anval and Borin previously had noted the 'Otter when the trio had passed in the opposite direction on their journey to The Root to see The Raven Book. Upon hearing that they were heading for the inn, Cotton perked up, for he had heard of the 'Otter's beer, and, as he said, he had a mind to try it. Anval, too, smiled with anticipation and relish at the thought.

  It was night when the waggon at last came to Greenfields; the inn was dark, for the hostelkeeper, Fennerly Cotter, had gone to bed. Borin leapt down from the wain and strode to the door and hammered upon it with the butt of his fist. After a long moment a lantern-light appeared in a second-storey front window, and the shutters banged open as Fennerly looked out, and then slammed shut again. Borin continued to pound the door in exasperation as the innkeeper's light slowly bobbed down the stairs and across the common room. Fennerly, in his nightcap, at last came grumbling to the door and opened it. Raising his lantern up to see just who in the Dell this door-banger was, the innkeeper swallowed half a yawn with a gulp and stumbled a

  step or two backwards as his now wide-awake eyes found a fierce Dwarf warrior, towering within his doorway, muttering something about Waeran innkeepers that went to bed with the chickens. But then scowling Borin was shouldered aside by smiling Anval with Cotton in tow; and he drew the Warrow to the taps, where he demanded they be served with the best ale in the house.

  As Fennerly was to relate later to a rapt set of cronies, "Wull, at first I thought it were a Dwarf invasion. Gave me right a. start, they did, and I was thinkin' about escapin' and soundin' the alarm bell at the Commons. Oh, I knowed that the strangers was in the Bosky, right enough, but I can't say as I was expectin' even one of them, much less all three, to come bargin' into my inn in the middle of the night—and draggin' two sleepy Warrows with 'em, no less. But in they came, the Big Man stoopin' a bit to miss the overhead beams while he and that Mister Perry was chuckling at some private joke of their own.

  "Wull, let me tell you, them five drank up half my best beer and ate all the kitchen leftovers, they did. And then them two Dwarves got to arm wrestling, and they grunted and strained and fairly turned the air blue, what with them strange, bloodcurdling Dwarf oaths they yelled. And each time one of 'em lost they'd take a swill of beer and change hands and go at it again. And the one was better with his right arm whilst t'other was better with his left. And the Big Man sat back and roared his laughter and puffed on his pipe. Then he arm wrestled with each, and though he finally lost, let me tell you it was a mighty struggle for them broad-shouldered Dwarves to finally put his knuckles to the wood. And all the while there was that Mister Perry sittin' there smilin' and yawnin' and blinkin' like a drowsy owl tryin' to stay awake, and Mister Cotton runnin' back and forth around the table, judgin' the contests and declarin' the victor when an arm was finally put down. But after a while the Big Man noticed that Mister Perry had fallen asleep, and so we all went to bed, and it was about time too.

  "But it seemed I had no sooner got to sleep than that Dwarf, Mister Borin —the one as pounds doors—well, he were at it again, only this time it was my own bedroom door though. And he was glarin' and mutterin' something about Waeran innkeepers what don't get up with the chickens. I fed 'em breakfast, and they were off at the crack of dawn.

  "Of course they paid me with good copper, they did, even though I hadn't got a bed large enough for the Big Man, who slept in the stable hayloft above the horses, slept right there even though they was callin' him 'Lord'—Lord Kian, that is. Don't that beat all if it's true? A Lord sleepin' in my stables! Him what is probably used to sleeping on silks and satins." Here Fennerly paused to fill the mugs and let the startling facts sink home, and sink home they did, for all the Warrows looked at each other in wonderment, and an excited buzz filled the taproom.

  "Ahem," said Fennerly, clearing his throat, announcing that he was ready

  to resume his tale, and silence quickly fell upon the inn's common room. "Of course, by the time anyone else in the 'Fields was up, the strangers was long gone, miles east of this village. Didn't say what they was doin' or where they was goin' or nothin'. But I'll tell you this: whatever it is they are doing, I'll bet a gold buckle that it's somethin' big." And with that pronouncement, Fennerly fell silent; and all of his cronies and listeners sighed and mulled over their ale, for they had missed the biggest event to happen in Greenfields since Tuckerby Underbank himself had passed through on his return from the Winter War. And no sooner would Fennerly finish his tale than another 'Fieldite would come into the Happy Otter, agog with the news, and the innkeeper would recount the events again, and all of the Warrows—each and every one of them—would sit forward on the edges of their seats so as not to miss a single one of Fennerly's words—though some of the enthralled listeners were hearing the tale for the sixth or even the eighth time.

  It was indeed the crack of dawn when the travellers left, after breakfast, with Cotton's head pounding but Anval seeming no less for the wear. Lord Kian was smiling and Borin scowling and Perry rubbing sleep from his eyes. Yet the road was smooth and the air crisp and fresh and soon Cotton was his normal chipper self, and all the others were wide awake and in cheerful good humor as the waggon continued to roll on toward the Boskydell border some fourteen miles to the east on the far side of the great barricade.

  In late morning they drove into the thorn tunnel through the Spindlethorn Barrier, and then over the bridge above the Spindle River, passing again into the spiked barricade beyond. At last they emerged from the thorns on the far side, coming once more into the day, leaving the Boskydells behind. Looking backward, Cotton remarked to Perry: "Well now, Sir, I really do believe that we are on our way. Into what, I can't say, but on our way at last. I guess I didn't believe it til just now; but somehow, lookin' back at the Spindlethorn, well, Sir, it has smacked it home to me that we have really and truly left the Boskydells and are off to a Ruck War. And I don't know nothin' about War and fighting, that's for sure. Why I'm along at all is a mystery to me, except I somehow know I'll be needed before we're through with this. And I don't mind telling you, Mister Perry, I'm scared and that's the plain and simple truth."

  "Oh piffle, Cotton!" snorted Perry, whose spirits had been on the rise all day. "That's not fear you're feeling, it's excitement! And as to why you're here, Cotton, well you've come along to help me, and I've come along to guide the Dwarves in the great adventure of our lifetime. But you are dead right about one thing: for our own safety we've got to learn to use the weapons we brought along. You'll see, Cotton, once we can protect ourselves, nay, rather, once we can carry the fight to the Spawn, then all thoughts of fear will vanish forever. I'm sure that Lord Kian here will show us how to use

  our swords, and we have many days to practice before they'll become necessary."

  "Well, my little friends," responded Kian, looking a bit askance at the two Waerlinga, "it isn't quite that simple. One doesn't become a master swordthane overnight. But I'll see what we can do between now and then to prepare you." Inwardly, the young Lord was relieved, for he had been about to broach the same subject to the Waerlinga. Ere now, those gentle Folk had had no need to learn the arts of War. But on this venture, like as not there would come a time when these two buccen would have to defend themselves, at least long enough for aid to reach them. The Waerlinga themselves had recognized their need to learn the rudiments of defense, thus he would not have to convince them of that; but they would have to train hard every day under deft guidance to be able to handle their long-knives by the time they reached Drimmen-deeve. Fortunately for the Warrows, Lord Kian possessed the needed skill to instruct them properly.

  The
y 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 wat
er 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."