"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!"
Kian smiled at Cotton's words, then grew serious once more. "Heed me now," he said. "Time is short and much needs doing. We must take advantage of every moment to train you at swords. While travelling in the waggon we will speak on the art of swords and the strategy of fighting Rukha and
Lokha—for your tactics must vary according to the size of your opponent, the weapon he is wielding, and the armor he is wearing and bearing. And at each of our stops to rest the horses we will put that art and strategy into practice, drilling at swords."
"But we've only been stopping a short while each hour," protested Cotton. "Is that enough time to learn? What I mean to ask, Sir, is, well, with such a little bit of practice, will we actually be able to fight Rucks and Hloks?"
Upon hearing Cotton's question, a surge of uncertainty washed through Perry, for now that it had come to the reality of beginning to learn swordplay, the buccan felt strangely reluctant to be schooled in the art of killing—as if some inner voice were saying, Not for you, Warrow.
Kian noted this hesitancy in Perry's eyes, and he knew that it was now or never: he had to start the training immediately, for it was vital that these gentle Waerlinga be able to defend themselves. "Let me show you, Cotton, Perry," he said, and turned to Anval, at the reins. "Anval, stop here. We must begin now."
Anval pulled off the road and into the eaves of the bordering woods. All jumped down from the waggon, Borin tending the horses. And then Kian revealed the product of his previous night's whittling: three swords made of hickory wood—two Warrow-sized and one Man-sized—blunt-tipped and dull-edged: the wood was green and supple and not apt to break. Unlike some who would have been chagrined at wielding wooden "toys," both Warrows seemed relieved at not having to practice with real weapons.
Kian allowed them each in turn to do unschooled "battle" with him, Cotton stepping back to allow Perry to "have the first go." Trie buccan started timidly, but the Man cried, "Ho, Waerling! Be not afraid of hurting me! Swing hard! Though I am not a real enemy, you must learn to strike with force as well as with finesse!"
With this encouragement, soon Perry was slashing and hacking at Lord Kian with abandon, yet the Man fended off the crude assaults with ease. Shortly, the Warrow began to see that swordplay was more than just wild swinging; furthermore, it came as no small surprise that no matter how cunningly he planned a cut, Lord Kian fended it, seemingly without effort.
When Cotton's turn came he attacked with a furious flurry, the clack of the wooden swords clitter-clattering among the trees of the verging forest, but he, too, could not pierce Lord Kian's defenses. Yet, on his part, the young Man was astonished at the native quickness of this small Folk. Each Warrow was breathless and panting in a matter of minutes; but their exuberance had grown, and each had collapsed upon the ground in laughter at the end of his turn at mock battle, whooping and guffawing at his own ineptness. Even so, they had passed the first hurdle; and now they were ready to begin their genuine schooling, with its slow, step-by-step, often tedious buildup of skill.
Much to the buccen's surprise, as breathless as they were, only a short while had passed; even so, it was time to get under way again. As the wain
rolled back onto the road, Lord Kian began their formal instruction: "For your swords to be effective weapons in battle, the grip is critical: hold it too tightly and you cannot move the weapon quickly enough; hold it too loosely and you will forfeit your sword at first engagement. You must grasp the weapon as if it were a small live bird, firm enough so that it cannot escape your hand and fly away, yet gentle enough so as not to crush its life. . . ." And thus, in the bed of a rolling waggon, the young Lord began their first lesson, each Warrow repeatedly grasping his sword under Kian's critical eye while he spoke of defense against the Spaunen.
At their next stop, their drill followed the lesson of the wain: the grip. Lord Kian directed the buccen to deliberately grasp the sword too loosely, and showed that this would lead to their being disarmed immediately; then the opposite was purposely tried, where too hard a grip was used, so that the Warrows could experience the limited speed of response and the swift tir
ing of the wrist and forearm.
As the waggon got under way once more, Cotton exclaimed, "Well now, not only do I understand the right way to hold a sword, but the wrong way too! I like the way you teach, Lord Kian, and that's a fact!"
"It is the way I was taught, Cotton," replied the Man. "Not only did I learn the fit ways of fundamental swordsmanship, but the unfit ways as well, the differences between them, why some ways are superior to others, and, as it is in your case, how they all relate to fighting Spaunen. Yes, Cotton, my own swordmaster taught me by this means, and a good method it is."
"Tried and true," rumbled Borin, then fell silent.
"Well, in any event," interjected Perry, "if what I've learned about the grip alone is any example of how well your approach works, then I just hope that you continue it throughout our journey."
"Fear not, Wee One," responded Kian, "I plan on doing just that; in the days that follow, there'll be little or no time for aught else.
"Now, let us speak of balance: When facing a foe . . ." And again the Man took up the lessons of the sword, and the Warrows listened intently as the waggon rolled toward the next stop.
On that first day alone, by the time they reached their evening campsite on the southern slopes of the Battle Downs just after sunset, the Warrows not only knew how to grip a sword, but also the importance of balance, several stances, and how to fall and roll with a weapon in hand. And though they had not again crossed swords in mock battle, after but a single day's training, Perry and Cotton, though rank beginners, knew more about sword-play than nearly all other Warrows in the history of the Boskydells. And the two buccen were to become much more skilled in the long days ahead.
That night Cotton sat on a log near the campfire, polishing his Atalar sword with a soft red-flannel cloth. The golden runes inlaid along the silver blade glistened and sparkled in the firelight. For long moments Perry lay on
his bedding and watched Cotton work, then reflected, "Your steel, Cotton, is but a long-knife to a Big Man, yet a full-sized sword to a Warrow. Recall, your blade was found north of here, in an ancient barrow, in the clutch of a long-dead seer of the Lost Land. Though nothing is known of its early years after forging, that weapon has a noble history after its finding—for it saved Gildor from the evil Krakenward."
Cotton paused in his rubbing, and his voice took on the rhythm of a chant as he recited the runes that foretold that deed: .
"Blade shall brave vile Warder From the deep black slime. "
"Just so," replied Perry, sleepily yawning. 'That is the very same long-knife Galen used to hack at the Monster when it grasped Gildor, and the Elf was saved; Gildor, of course, later saved Tuck; and Tuck at last slew the 'Stone; and so it rightly can be said that because of that keen-edged sword you hold, Modru finally met his end."
"Lor," breathed Cotton upon hearing these words. And he returned to his task with renewed vigor, the cloth in his hand fairly dancing over the golden runes; and Perry fell aslumber among the sparkling shards of glistering light.
Trie third day of the journey was much like the second, with sword lessons in the waggon bed and practice drills with hickory swords whenever the horses were given rest periods. The Sun climbed upward through the morning and passed overhead to begin its long fall unto the night as slowly the travellers wended their way toward the hamlet of Stonehill.
Stonehill, with its hundred or so stone houses, was a hillside village on the western fringes of the sparsely settled Wilderland. But because the hamlet was situated at the junction where the east-west Crossland Road intersected the Post Road running north and south, strangers and out-of-towners were often seen—in fact, were welcomed. Stonehill's one inn, the White Unicorn, with its many rooms, usually had at least one or two wayfarers as well as a couple of nearby settlers staying overnight: travelling crafters and traders, merchants, or a Man and his wife from a faraway farmstead. . . . But occasionally there would be some real strangers, such as a company of journeying Dwarves, or King's soldiers from the south, or a Realmsman or two; in which case the local folk would be sure to drop in to the common room of the inn to have a mug and hear the news from far away.
On this night, as the waggon rolled onto the causeway over the dike and into the village through the west gate of the high guard wall, there was only one guest in the 'Unicorn: a distant farmer who had come to the hillside hamlet to buy his winter supplies, and who had gone to bed with the setting of the Sun. Thus, when the two Warrows, the Man, and the two Dwarves
stepped in through the front door, the proprietor, Mister Aylesworth Brewster, was pleased to see more guests for his inn; he bustled to meet them, moving his large bulk past the long-table where sat several locals who looked up from their pipes and mugs at this strangely mixed set of wayfarers. They'd seen Dwarves, of course, but not many. And Warrows were not a strange people to them, since many of the Wee Folk lived in the Weiunwood over the hill—though travelling Warrows were not very common. Men of course were not at all uncommon. However, for the three Folk—Man, Dwarf, and Warrow—to be travelling together, well, that was an event never before seen.
Lor, look there! Well that's a strange sight if ever I saw one. 1 wonder if they re together or just came in the door at the same time. Oh, they re together all right. See: they re talking together. Dwarves, they don t talk to just anyone, only other Dwarves, or those in their party, or those they re doin ' business with. Dwarves is close people, right enough. The little uns are most likely from the Bosky, by their accent; but the Man, well, he has the look of a Realmsman, if you ask me.
Ignoring the hum at the long-table, Aylesworth stepped up to Lord Kian, his ruddy features brightening. "Well now, Sir, welcome back to the White Unicorn. Will you and your party be staying overnight?" At the young Lord's nod, Aylesworth glanced out the front window at the team and wain. "Ho, Bill!" he called. Responding to the innkeeper's cry, a slender young Man popped out from behind a door. "See to these folks' waggon and horses whilst I fixes 'em up with rooms."
As Bill hurried to stable the team and house the wain, Mister Brewster led the wayfarers out of the common room and into one of the spacious wings that contained the guest quarters. The White Unicorn was accustomed to housing Men, Dwarves, and even an occasional Warrow; thus its rooms were suitable for the various sizes of the guests. Hence, Lord Kian was escorted to Man-sized quarters, and two more rooms with small-sized furnishings were shown to the others: Anval and Borin in one, Perry and Cotton in the other. As he was getting his guests situated, Aylesworth suggested, "If you want to eat, there's a lamb on the spit that Molly will have ready in two quick shakes. In any case, you're welcome to join us in the common room for a bit of ale." And, wiping his hands on his white apron, he went bustling back down the hall.
Perry and Cotton quickly stepped into their quarters and removed their cloaks and began washing the dust off their hands and faces. "I don't mind telling you, Sir, I'm hungry as a spring bear, what with all this travelling and the exercise we've been getting with the swords," announced Cotton, splashing water on the back of his neck. "And I have a need for a mug or three of old Brewster's beer to wash down some of that dry Crossland Road grit."
"Me, too, Cotton," laughed Perry, wiping his wet face with a towel. "I've been anticipating the taste of the 'Unicorn's ale ever since we sighted Stonehill. By the way, I don't think we should advertise where we're going or
why. Oh, not that it's a secret, but I just feel that if anyone asks, then Borin or Anval should decide what to say about our mission."
Having made themselves presentable, the buccen eagerly left their chamber and hastened down the hall to the common room. They threaded their way among the tables and chairs and past the curious locals to a board prepared by Aylesworth. The news had travelled like lightning, and the ranks of the Stonehill folk had swelled considerably, for many had come to see for themselves the oddly mixed group of wayfarers. In fact, every now and again another local would arrive and make his way to join a friend already there
to find out what was afoot.
Gratefully accepting the two frothy mugs offered by a large, cheerful Woman—Molly Brewster, the innkeeper's wife—Cotton and Perry quickly discovered that the 'Unicorn's ale was just as tasty as the rumors back in the Boskydells made it out to be. Soon Borin, then Kian, and finally Anval joined the Warrows; and after a bit they all dug into a fine meal of roast lamb while listening to the songs being sung by the people gathered 'round the long-table. And they could hear Molly's robust soprano joining in from the kitchen as harried Bill popped in and out serving lamb to those who ordered it.
Surrounded by song, and partaking of good food and fine ale, the companions passed a pleasant hour.
The five had just finished their meal when one of the locals—a Warrow, as it were—began singing, and all at the long-table joined in chorus; though rustic, the song brought Perry to the edge of his seat:
From northern wastes came Dimmendark, ft stalked down through the Land; Behind black wall was Winternight, Ruled by cruel Modru's hand.
Our Men and Elves and Warrows, all, Stood fast in Brotherhood; Left hearth and home and lofty hall To band in Weiunwood.
The Rucks and Chuls reaved through the Land, As Cron put forth its might; Before them not a one could stand In bitter Winternight.
But overfull in Weiunwood The battle plans were laid, To ply the strength of Brotherhood, And arrow, pike, and blade.
And nearer came the Ruckish Spawn, And closer came the Chill.
The Dimmendark held back the dawn, The Land felt Modru 's rule.
In Weiunwood — as Gron drew near — The Allies' trap was laid, With Warrow arrow, Man-borne pike, And gleaming Ely en-blade.
Into the Weiunwood Gron came, Pursuing Elvenkind, Who ran before them in false fear And drew the Spawn behind.
In Weiunwood the trap was sprung By Warrow, Elf, and Man; They whelmed the Spawn, and it is sung The Ghulen rabble ran.
Trek to Kraggen-Cor Page 8